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V/O: For over ten years and going strong... SHOOTFIRE PRO WRESTLING has
provided the most cutting edge high impact sports entertainment in the world
today-
[The scene changes to a clip from the first ever SPW PPV Halloween Scream
where Shootfire wrestlers battle inside a Steel Thunderdome Cage on fire!
Dylan Dice, with his back on fire is just about to grab the SPW Heavyweight
Championship, but "Flaming" Bob Muretic, literally on fire, hanging from
the outside of the thundercage, grabs the belt a split second before Dice
and falls off of the side of the cage in a burning mass as Dice falls down
to crash to the canvas! The crowd screams, as Flaming Bob becomes the very
first Shootfire Pro Wrestling Heavyweight Champion!!!]
Steve Stone: And your winner, and SHOOTFIRE PRO HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION....
"FLAMING" BOB MURETIC!!!
"God told me! I've already Got the Life..."
Mike Waldrop: Kill, or be Killed!!
[Roddy Taylor, AntiGod, The Stallion and Nick Payne are brawling on a wooden
scaffolding high above the ring as then-commissioner Jack Macmillian's hooded
thugs in The Dominion chop the supports down with axes, causing all four
wrestlers to plummet to the ring below!!!!]
GB: CYA Lata SUCKAS!
"Welcome to the jungle, Watch it bring you to your-
It's gonna bring you down-HA!"
[Jeff Keenan jumping off a steel ladder hitting the "Quicktryke" Snake eyes
legsweep on Vile Vince Viper all the way down through a glass coffee table,
glass flying everywhere in a tremendous crash as Keenan and VVV are covered
in shards and blood, Chicago rising to their feet in the HCW Arena!!]
JPV: All Eyes on Me!!
Adam Cage: Because I'm Adam Cage- and you're not!!!
[Vile Vince Viper has Corey Irons pinned with a back suplex as both wrestlers
lay with shoulders on the mat in a cage that just expoded sending drifts of
smoke throughout times square, the 5 Phases of Death Match having counted down
to a mega explosion! At the last possible second, Irons kicks out to win the
SPW Trophy Cup at the conclusion of the Shootfire: Violent Ascension Tour!]
Sabbath: I am the Devil... and I'm here to do the Devil's Work!"
AsH: CAN YOU FEEL IT!?
"I'm not trying to make a difference"
[At Iconoclasm, AsH slams his chest and yells SPW before diving off the buckle
with the Air Rage! He leaps into a full arc and spins downwards to spread his
arms and spin like a tornado before driving his shoulder into the chest of
Adam Cage! AsH rolls off as Andrew Davis sails through the air in a 540
Degree Swanton Bomb!! Andrew crashes into Cage as the fans stand throwing
their arms up, AsH and Davis celebrating in the center of the ring!! The fans
cheer out and AsH immediately turns to strike his friend upside the jaw with
the T3 Superkick, pinning him but Andrew gets his foot under the bottom rope!]
Gionet: It's not about how or why-
"I bleed it out, dig it deeper just to throw it away!"
[As AJ Black yells out, banned wrestler Darin Kisler stabs Steve Greedy in the
calf, plunging a knife into his leg! The audience screams in horrified rage as
Black stands over Greedy, yelling down and Kisler puts a dollar bill in a cut
on Steve's arm, then sets it on fire to burn a cauterized wound in his flesh!!]
Gionet: It's all about Do, or Die!
Biz: Nothing personal- it's just Bizness!!
"What if I say I'm not like the others? What if I say I'm not just another
one in your place? You're the pretender, what if I say that I'll never surrender?!"
[Gionet flies up into the air as time slows down and at the height of his arc
his image changes into that of AsH! AsH starts to drop and twists to spread
out his arms, twisting downwards in slow motion to shoot out his arms for the
Skytwister Press as he suddenly morphs into Scott Starring! Starring rips his
legs upside down to fly out into the Shooting Star Press! As he falls he turns
into a twisting dive of black changing right into Despair as he flips into a
Corkscrew Moonsault!! Despair spins to change into Sammy Knight who lands the
Ghetto Stomp straight into a wrestler's back The Biz drives down through the
mat with a Kudoh Driver!!!]
EVD: IT'S... SHOWTIME!!!
"He said yeah you better come out with, both hands up we got you surrounded"
Sammy Knight: BLOOD IN... BLOOD OUT!
[Sammy Knight is held up on the shoulders of the Shootfire Locker room as he
celebrates at Wrestlebowl with his world title win, wiping tears of joy from
his face as his son Darrion looks on, joined by the raucous crowd, the cheering
seventeen thousand fans in Vegas and the millions watching around the word
enjoying his victory!!!]
"S! P W!!!" "S! P W!!!" "S! P W!!!" "S! P W!!!" "S! P W!!!"
Andrew Davis: Welcome to the Age of Andrew Davis!
Sammy Knight: It's all the motherfuckin' same....
V/O: Shootfire Pro Wrestling: Set the World on Fire!
TV (C C)
MA-VSL Closed Captioned
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S A P
Programación en Español R S N H D
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/__SPW____< >_______________________< >_______________________< >____SPW__\
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| Myriad Capital Management Proudly Presents... |
| From Times Square in New York City, NY |
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| SPW CHARITY CARNAGE: OFF THE CHAIN!!! |
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\__SPW____< >______________________< >________________________< >____SPW__/
/__________________________________OTC____________________________________\
[Fade in as Tara Silver is wearing a black sequin dress, a smile on her beautiful
face. Next to her, Vik is not wearing a smile. He sits back with boots on
the desk in his leather jacket as fans wave in loud enthusiasm behind them.]
Tara: Welcome everyone to SPW's Charity Carnage: Off the Chain!
Vik: Yeah, welcome. Ho, ho, ho.
Tara: Christmas is over, Vik.
Vik: I was talking to you, Tara.
Tara: I'd imagine Santa wasn't nice to you this year, Vik. And I can see why. Well aside from your attitude, we're beginning things off here tonight at Charity Carnage by a special edition of OFF THE CHAIN!
Vik: I got plenty for Christmas, Tara. And now I'm already beginning to compile my list for next year. Can you guess what is on it?
Tara: No, and I don't want to know. Now, this evening your favorite superstars are geared up and ready for Charity Carnage! First we caught Joe Petrow earlier today!! Let's take a look at this before getting to hearing from the other superstars.
[On screen caption reads "Earlier Today". A wide shot is shown of the
security gate leading to the entrance of the wrestlers parking lot. A
Toyota Prius enters the shot, towing behind it a small open trailer
containing a large, living cow, grazing contendedly on some hay stored
inside. The shot pans closer to the security guard approaching the
driver's side window.]
Sec: Uh, you're Joe Petrow I take it?
Joe: Yep, that's right, me and my weapon for the Rumble right here!
Sec: Right...wait one moment please.
Joe: Oh, gotcha, gotta get the VIP escort ready. [Shouts at the guard
who enters the building behind him] Make sure you've got extra
security on hand after the rumble, there's gonna be a lot of jealous
wrestlers backstage after I'm finished tonight!
[After a few seconds, the guard returns with a man in a suit and a
small SWAT team that rushes around to the back of Petrow's car. The
suited man approaches Petrow at the driver's side window]
Man: Mr. Petrow, I'm Special Agent John Sandano. We've received a tip
that you would attempt to import a large quantity of methane onto the
premises. There are strict restrictions on unauthorized flammable
material within the immediate vicinity of Ground Zero, so I am afraid
that we will have to confiscate your cargo at this time.
Joe: Whoa whoa, now just wait a minute! [Turns his head out to yell
behind him] Hey, stop that! [Addressing the man once more] You're
trying to take my COW!? My weapon for the Bring Your Own Weapon
Rumble!? My Bulldog Brown table already got held up in customs, this
is the only weapon I have left! You can't do this to me, I...hey,
look, I *have* authorization! [Petrow fishes around in his glove
compartment for a piece of paper, the only words legible from this
camera angle being "JTF Squaretable", that he presents to the agent]
See!? AJ told me I could bring a cow to this event!
Man: Well, this "AJ" isn't running things around here now, is he? [the
SWAT team appears to have successfully separated the trailer from the
car, and begins moving it away] Alright men, get that thing out of
town before it blows and detonate it as soon as possible!
Cow: MOOOOOooooooo!?
Man: Sorry about the inconvenience Mr. Petrow. Good luck with your match.
Joe: HEY! You know what that cow cost me?? THEY DON'T RENT COWS BY THE HOUR!!!
[The man, the SWAT team, and Petrow's cow disappear abruptly, while
the security guard finally raises the gates to the parking lot.
Petrow sits, simply stunned at the rapid turn of events, for several
seconds, before slamming the steering wheel with his fist.]
Joe: F[sound of car horn blaring]ck!!!
[With nothing else that can be done, Petrow drives his car into the
parking lot, and out of the camera's view.
We fade to Vik and Tara.]
Vik: Ha! What in the world?
Tara: You guess is as good as mine. All I know is Joe Petrow is one of a kind and we will hear from him again in a few. And we all know that tonight is going to be very exciting, so let's now kick things off by hearing from Vile Vince Viper, Luke Kinsey, SPOOKY DOOM, Shayne Grissom, the world tag team champions Team EGO, and some other fellow competitors of the Bring Your Own Weapon Battle Royal followed by the women who will face off in the first ever crowning of the Women's Hardcore Championship in a barbed wire massacre match!!!
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Are you there, God?
[Bright light. Is this heaven? Am I dead? Moving towards the bright light...]
Are you there, God?
[The light is almost blinding, it brings tears to your eyes. It's everything you hoped it would be.]
Are you there, Vince?
[The paramedic moves his flashlight from the left eye to the right, trying to gage the damage. Am I here? Where the hell is here? The ambulance is moving at high speeds. I'm awake! CUT OUT THE FUCKING LIGHT! Vile feels like cursing the young EMT, but slips into the collective unconscious first. Darkness. Sweet glorious darkness. Even with his eyes closed, Vile sees red spots from the stupid damned flashlight. Or maybe those are bloodspots. That was some beating. The Power Structure really did a number on him. The stupid motherfuckers... but is he really mad at the Power Structure? Is he livid at Greedy and JDM for beating him senseless? FUCK YES! ...No. The real kicker? Marissa Monet had her way. He laid it on the line, threw it out there... and not only were her wishes carried out, but she took Spooky Doom along for the ride. Poor Colt. FUCKING Marissa. How is anyone supposed to take him seriously as GOD, if his childish whims get thrown out the window at the drop of a hat?]
Why do you let bad things happen, God?
[...How is Vile supposed to inspire FEAR in the hearts of his enemies? In that rumble, Vile's going to be taking on an army... yet here he is, clinging onto life after dealing with a measly ten guys. TEN! Not thirty! It's embarrassing. It’s fucking humiliating. Vile once defecated all over himself to promote a super show, but selling for the Power Structure? Triple V finally knows shame. Is this what he’s been doing to people all these years? Maybe he is a heel. Your Uncle Vile feels like ending it all... but for that you need...]
[Weapons...]
[What does God need with a weapon?]
[He's omnipotent. God has the power of life and death. What God says goes. Weapon? Everyone else in the ring should be jumping through hoops to make HIM happy. HELP _HIM_ WIN. A happy God is a generous god. Eliminate my enemies... I'll give you a title shot. You don't need to win the rumble, I can make the matches. I can do anything... I can help you live out your wildest dreams, or I can make your lives LIVING HELLS if you cross me. The twenty nine other men should be afraid for their lives. Realistically, he just has to show up to win this... have them all fall out on purpose. That’s all this is supposed to be! So why aren't they afraid? Why aren't they terrified? ...FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY WHY HAVE THEY FORSAKEN HIM!?!]
[They don't believe you're God.]
[They're laughing at you.]
[...But if Vile isn't God, who else could he be?]
Are you there, Vince?
[A doctor leans over him. Doctors never look like they do on ER. Light. Light. Light. Light. He’s being moved through a hospital... he’s on a stretcher. This is bad. All this selling is going to kill Vile. The image fades in and out, as we eventually push through to a hospital room. Less motion can only help. Oh good, he’s attached to a slow drip. Drip. Drip. So many tubes. Even if Vile could muster the energy, he’s not sure he’d want to look under the sheets. The doctor again looms over him.]
Are you there, Vince?
[The image distorts, picture going in and out of focus, as the doctor’s grim face slowly morphs into sleazy smile of Jack Sharp. Dishonesty oozing out of every pour, Jack seems to be sucking in air, building towards a steady stream of hyperbole that will no doubt advertise the latest pay per view offering. Even as he promises the “Biggest Night of the Year,” Jack can’t be bothered to dress for the occasion; a cheap charcoal tuxedo further plays down the importance, as Jack impresses why he’s the voice of Shootfire, not the face. Shuffling some cue cards, Jack sits behind a black desk, the backdrop behind him covered in “Charity Carnage” paraphernalia. You feel like ordering the shirt. As a little SPW logo appears in the corner of the screen, you realize this must be the official rundown...]
SHOOTFIRE PRO WRESTLING’S
CHARITY CARNAGE
HARD SELL!
Jack Sharp: More than any other year, Charity Carnage promises to be the finest night in the annals of our sport! Fans if you haven’t picked up the phone yet, and ordered this showcase of the immortals, I have to wonder where your priorities lie. Rob a liquor store if you must, but find forty dollars, and became part of the GREATEST Pay Per View I’ve ever had the honour of announcing.
[We cut away from the studio to the fans slowly entering the arena, many running up to the camera to echo Sharp’s overly enthusiastic sentiments. Who will win, Knight or Davis? Who cares? The hallucination pre-show drifts back to Jack Sharp in the studio.]
Jack Sharp: The who’s who of the wrestling industry are on hand to deliver the most explosive card in the history of man. With the bulk of the matches having over-the-top violent gimmicks, you’d think that all the stipulations would take away from each other. They might... but they still won’t hold a candle to ONE MATCH... the real reason to CALL NOW AND ORDER... of course I’m talking about the Bring Your Own Weapon Rumble, a staple at Charity Carnage since the show first began. In fact, I don’t know if anyone will bother watching the show after the match is over, but for this ONE MATCH ALONE its worth your THIRTY NINE, NINTY FIVE...
[We cut to a poster of orphans begging for food: CHARITY CARNAGE – ORDER NOW!]
Jack Sharp: Now to help me do this match justice, we’ve invited one of the men who appeared in the very first addition, over a decade ago, Mister Vile Vince Viper!
[A blue screen in the corner shows clips of Viper’s many fabulous SPW accomplishments, from kicking the crap out of Mike Waldrop to kicking the crap out of Sabbath, reminding us how vastly superior he is to the rest of you scum. You really are scum. Slow drip. SCUM! Decked out in a cheap pink tuxedo – he no doubt rents from the same dive as Sharp – Vile Vince Viper bobs into frame, flashing his pearly yellows to canned applause from the empty studio this is being recorded in. As your Uncle Vile takes a seat at the desk, the blue screen accomplishments slowly fade...]
Jack Sharp: Welcome to the studio Vile...
Vile Vince Viper: Great to be here, Jack. Hoping all of my loyal Viperteersss had a safe and happy holiday, and more importantly, that they order the ssshow tonight. It promisssesss to be my finessst hour.
Jack Sharp: So a decade after you first made Charity Carnage’s BYOW rumble a Shootfire Classic, do you think you’re finally due to pull off the big win?
Vile Vince Viper <fake modest grin>: Jack, this isn’t about my vastly sssuperior athletic regiment, top form, or winning sssmile. <winning smile> I feel quite strongly that this is a one ssssssssnake race, but I don’t want to dissscourage all the Ssspooky Doom fans out there, that want to see their hero win. In these harsh economic times, SSSPW needs Ssspooky Doom to order Charity Carnage as well. Rather than hammer home the fact that I am the winner, and 29 other men are losssersss... I’d like everyone to know that this isn’t a mindless excesssss of violence, oh NO! There is a real ssstory behind this match.
[A bit off his cue, Jack Sharp waits half a second, before taking a sip of whisky, and doing a spit take at this announcement.]
Jack Sharp: A real story? Hang on Vile; I thought you were a hero... why would you lie to the fans?
Vile Vince Viper <shaking head>: I’m not lying. Unlike all the previous Bring Your Own Weapon rumblesss... HELL... unlike EVERY RUMBLE that’s ever happened before this, all 30 men have a REASSSON to be here. There is no filler... there is no RUMBLE FODDER... when a man steps through those ropes, he has a ssstory to tell, and a chance to tell it. This is the most unpredictable rumble of all...
[Jack Sharp takes another stiff drink... he doesn’t spit take this time. Cringing, Sharp forces the stuff down, knowing where this pre-show hype package is going. Word association. ...Collective groan.]
Jack Sharp: Everyone has a story? <grimace> Okay, I’ll bite. Let’s go through the list. Anarchy.
Vile Vince Viper: The Children of Hardcore. Mossst people don’t give tag team wrestlers a snowball’s chance in hell of winning a rumble. ...But their limited movesets are perfectly suited for leaning against the ropes and breathing heavy for long periods of time. Before Anarchy was stinking the place up with the Family, he was stinking the ring up as half of Real Xtreme. Now over in WILD, back in the day, Sssabbath and me competed with the prick and won the world tag titles in a match of the year contender. Highlight of his lousssy career. ...Ssshortly after that, I got bored, and decided to set the tag belts on fire in a rival promotion’s federation. It kind of cheapened the highlight of his career – losing to me – and he carries an axe because of it. Perhaps that AXE will be his weapon? Anarchy isn’t just another nobody tag wrestler, he HASSS a ssstory... trying to get revenge for me pissssing on his exissstence.
[The look on Jack Sharp’s face says it all. Jesus. Is Vile going to hype each participant as it relates to him? No one’s that big of an egomaniac, are they? Only one way to find out.]
Jack Sharp: ...BEEZELBOZO...
Vile Vince Viper: The demented clown. We were kind of ships in the night back when he worked in the IGA, but all of his promos usually revolved around serious child abuse, <chuckle> a subject I make light of constantly. Perhaps a year after he retired, he’s made a return to put me in my place? At face value, having a sssemi-retired clown enter the rumble reeks of comedy. ...A light hearted character, over-the-top gimmick shows up for a few minutes to distract the kids from the real violence. The only thing SSSPW forgot... there’s nothing funny about Beelzebozo. Ridiculed by that impossster sssecond generation of me, and a runner-up in terms of making Gabriel Van Zahn’s life a living hell, there are dozensss of reasssonsss for Beelzebozo to hate my gutsss.
Jack Sharp: ...Brad CUMMINGS...
Vile Vince Viper: The DCWL reject? Yeah... he signed his SSSPW contract just as I got my LEGENDSSS deal. All of a sudden I’m headlining shows, while he’s curtain jerking the OTC. Now, I’m me... he’s him... he’d be curtain jerking anyway... but he can’t even make it to the main show, because of me. If Brad Cummings can take me out... he gets that much closer to appearing on the MAIN SSSHOW... or at the very least, stops the limericksss making fun of his ssstupid name. ...Even if Brad Cummingsss veers dangerously close to being rumble fodder, even HE has a purpose... <chuckle> as it relates to me. Still at least the Cressscent City Kid’sss not Chessster Clarke... count your blesssssingsss.
Jack Sharp: ...Colt Montana...
Vile Vince Viper: It’s Colt’s dream to one day tag with me. While Marissssssa Monet and his former partner Ssspooky Doom did everything in their power to DASSSH Colt’s dream... it will happen. Of all the other participants, Colt is the one man I can trussst to watch my back... <the horror> Jesssusss.
Jack Sharp: ...Darkside Clyde...
Vile Vince Viper: I’ve been running in the same circles as Clyde for half a decade... and to be brutally honest, he’s never left a strong impressssssion on me. I’ve always found his existence to be a mild irritation, if not a complete bore. ...The first time Clyde ever managed to amuse me was beating that over-rated piece of shit, AsssH... and that was weeks ago! Years of boredom, and that was the pay off? ...But you see, despite sharing stomping grounds with him, when he finally had my attention, what did he do with it? IGA-E... a federation made up of friends of mine I wasn’t FUCKING invited too? Teaming up with my arch-nemesssisss Sssteve Liermann? Clyde you retarded bassstard, why would you show up on my radar just as you start do get REALLY annoying. <grimace> Clyde you finally have a chance to make an impresssssion on me, but it’s FAR more likely I leave an impresssssion on your ssskull.
Jack Sharp: ...DEATHKNELL...
Vile Vince Viper: Ah the ssscary big man. Over the years I’ve run with a few dozen guys with more sssize than ssskill. I’ve stood up to the best of them. DEATHKNELL doesn’t even rank. He was trained by a guy, who was trained by me. ...And I’m a ssshit teacher. After being fed every low end, lowlife in this dive, you got a big head; you started to believe the hype... only to get put out to pasture by the pretender to my throne. How did that make you feel? You probably don’t like Vile Vince Vipers... original or knockoff. Knocked off your high horssse... you must be blinded by rage, don’t care which Viper you get your hands on. You should... you actually stand a chance against the rip-off. If you come charging after me, I’ll chop you down to sssize.
Jack Sharp: ...Dirt Dog Allah...
Vile Vince Viper: A few years ago, during one of my many failed attempted retirementsss, I tried my hand at drawing political cartoons for a Danisssh newspaper. A few of them lampooned Muhammad, and I knew it was only a matter of time before Dirty Dog came gunning for me. <pandering smile> He JiHAD me at hello! <canned laughter>
Jack Sharp: ...Entropy...
Vile Vince Viper: Ssso before getting repackaged as the Children of Hardcore, Real Xtreme really weren’t going anywhere. Does anyone remember TSSSSSSSSSSSSWF? Me neither! No... so having recapped why Real Xtreme might dislike me, let us continue. They had ONE MONEY FEUD... ONE MONEY MATCH... the sssecond Gangsssta Paradissse against those Devilsss You Know. We ran it here... and for the briefest of seconds; it looked like they had a chance at a better life. Then Sabbath and myself hightailed it for more lucrative affairs, and the Children were cast out of Shootfire to ROT in the Tri-ssstate area. They’ve been given a lifeline as Chad Allen’s idiot stooges, but much like when DEATHKNELL did the SSSAME DAMN THING, that can only get strung out so long. You’re treading the same damn water... so for this YOUR LASSST CHANCE in the big leagues, can you finally settle the old score? Sssmart money is not with you, Entropy... not because I’m AMAZING, but because you sssuck. You sssuck on Chad Allen.
Jack Sharp: ...Frank Anthony...
Vile Vince Viper: Die Übermenssschen. Back in the IGA, Frank was part of Sssteve Liermann’sss little Nazi stable... the group that was responsible for BRANDING ME with a FUCKING SSSWASTIKA! And the kicker? The Kings of Hardcore are my favourite tag team not featuring ME! You really let me down Frank. It was one of the most degrading, horrible, dehumanizing experiences of my life... and everyone involved in the incident will pay. Given how infrequently the Kingsss work, I thought they’d escaped my rage. Frank Anthony has a ssstory... a ssstory of sssurvival. It won’t end well.
Jack Sharp: Gabriel Van Zahn...
Vile Vince Viper: Die Übermenssschen! More than the kings... Kasssady actually held my arms down while that monster Liermann carved me up. THE BODY OF CHRISSST! In recent years, Kasssady has had his share of problems with Steve... funny... he didn’t question Liermann when he was CARVING A SSSWASSSTIKA IN MY FUCKING BACK! I don’t like Kasssady. Oh... and since no one bought his little face run... a run so BAD that he was replaced by Spooky FUCKING Doom as Marissssssa Monet’s bitch sidekick, who was more believable for whatever reason. No one likes you! Ssso Kasssady just happens to join the Power Ssstructure. Sssteve Greedy... JDM Sssuperssstar... Fucking Kasssady, you just LOVE aligning yourselves with people I hate. Most of the bodies I throw out of the ring... the damage... the pain I cause... most of it’s just another paycheque for me. You, Kasssady... I’m going to enjoy taking you out.
Jack Sharp: “Highlight” Chance McKenzie...
Vile Vince Viper: There are some rumoursss flying around that McKenzie is related to one of my old friendsss. The rookie sensations was trained by the best of the best... and if he’s connected to one of my ancient acquaintances then the bad blood will carry over. Maybe I ended the career of someone close to him... maybe he’ll come looking for revenge? The best thing about rising stars... <fiendish grin> how fast they burn out. Chance... you want to emulate you’re mentor? Maybe I can break your neck.
Jack Sharp: ...James O’Connor...
Vile Vince Viper: Nice kid. Actually the one that reminded me that I was GOD... <arched brow> come to think of it, he has a lot to anssswer for. All the lives I’ve made missserable... all the wissshesss that have been rendered pointlesssssss basssed on how many guys are walking around with the book. Just based on the ssshit I’ve pulled, the boys must be wanting to kill the self-serving little prick. Jamesss doesn’t have a friend in the world... I’m counting on that.
Jack Sharp: ...Jayden Prince...
Vile Vince Viper: A year ago, I was in a very similar rumble over in the IGA. I was touted to win it... I put my best foot forwards... and popular opinion saw me get SSSHAFTED. The last IGA world champion was one, Jayden Prince. I have a lot... A LOT of backssstage HEAT with Prince, so chances are you’ll see everyone on the roster collecting a bonus to keep the two of us apart. I doubt we’ll crossss paths... NO ONE wants us to crossss paths... but I just wanted to remind you... I’m ten times the man you are, and I’m a snake. You were an over-rated, no-talent, piece of shit back in the IGA, and you’re an over-rated, no-talent, piece of ssshit today.
Jack Sharp: ...Johnny Pain...
Vile Vince Viper: You can’t help but pull for the kid. Ssso enthusiastically goofy to a fault! For those of you wondering why I spent five years in the IGA, the answer is simple... I’m addicted to ribbing Johnny Pain. Little jokesss, backssstage anticsss that might make him want to eat a .45, but provide me with my sole source of amusssement in these my lassst daysss. Could Pain see me as a brother in arms... or did my years of verbal abussse, persssonal attacks, and emotional trauma, somehow make him think that we aren’t friendsss? Ssstick with me kid... you’ll know Pain.
Jack Sharp: Junya Kontani!!!
Vile Vince Viper: ...Who doesssn’t love Junya? I first met the little racissst ssstereotype over in BSSSCW. We teamed up on a few occasssionsss... during one of them I promised to “NAIL MY DICK TO A 2X4,” if we lost the match. We won... no thanks to Junya. The obnoxious creep WANTED to see me do it... see if I was all talk. I’m not. Well, I pulled off the WIN and managed to forgo nailing my wood to some wood. Now in a rumble filled to the brim with weaponsss... sssomeone is going to bring a 2x4 into the mix... and all of a sudden Junya gets a second chance to achieve his life goal. While I enjoy the kid’s work... I have no intention of seeing my 24” python crucified.
Jack Sharp: ...Luke Kinsey...
Vile Vince Viper: A living legend... like me. Few namesss are as ressspected as Luke Kinsssey. I consider him almost an equal. The old Vile would be LIVID working the opener... with me in it, the BRING YOUR OWN WEAPON RUMBLE SHOULD BE THE MAIN EVENT!!! ...But then I see fellow HUGE SSSTARSSS like Luke Kinsssey, and I start to calm down a little. I follow his example and live with the insult. In terms of bad past history... Luke Kinsey hasn’t done a lot of embarrassing shit in his career. When he looks back on all the title wins, all the big feuds, big victories... there isn’t a lot to be assshamed of.
WITH ONE NOTED EXCEPTION! Our mutual friend Mike Waldrop – one of the many world champion’s I’ve defeated – decided to rob a liquor store in one of the most ill advised promos in the history of our sport. Ssstand up guy that he isss, Luke Kinsssey was there. ...and I was there too... yes... under heavy make-up, _I_ WAS THAT LIQUOR SSSTORE CLERK!!! <dramatic music cue> ...Blood feuds don’t get much bloodier than that. The lowest point of my career has been seen more often than anything else I’ve ever done, thanks to a very special guessst ssstar... I guess what I’m trying to say is <double take> you’re a dead man motherfucker!
Jack Sharp: Marduk The Magnificent...
Vile Vince Viper: My lousssy, essstranged, half-brother. I ruin his career, marriage, life... I’m a little shocked he’s still wressstling today. Outssside of that, I don’t think we have much back ssstory. Ssscrew him.
Jack Sharp: ...Marissa Monet...
Vile Vince Viper: My biggessst fan. ...This rumble is about the only time we’ll both be in the ring. Outside of the rumble, I will make it my business to NEVER appear at the same time as her. Ssshe knows this. If she ever wanted to get “revenge” on me for no good reason, or “prove herself” against my vastly superior person... well, this is her ONLY ssshot. ...I don’t know why she’s lusting after my blood... as a funny side note, this happens every time I have a fan.
Jack Sharp: ...Owen Cage...
Vile Vince Viper: One of our wacky tag team championsss... finally breaking out of the shadow of a few dozen lacklustre partners to take the world by ssstorm. A few shows back, I made my debut in an eight man tag match... and Cage was one of the men bumping like crazy for my AMAZING offenssse. Just when it looked like he was breaking through that glasssss ceiling, not just a tag sssuperssstar, but a real star in his own right – he was brought back down to earth by the V-man. The world is his oyster... but he’s been introduced to a wall. The future looks grim for Team EGO... all Cage can look forwards to is ANOTHER winning tag team... with a different partner. He’s in a vicious circle, and the only way out is breaking through THIS wall. <chuckle> On a more personal note, Cage, why don’t you leave us sssinglesss ssstarsss in peace? Do I tell you how to do your job? Do I go out to the tag matches and slap the dick out of your mouth?
Jack Sharp: ...Sam Derringer...
Vile Vince Viper: Why should I come up with an interesssting putdown? Sssam couldn’t even come up with an interesssting name. ...He does have the unique distinction of being the first person thrown out.
Jack Sharp: ...Scott Starring...
Vile Vince Viper: Honessstly... I never had a big problem with Wild and Ssstarring. Even Ssshootfire’sss Mossst Wanted was amusssing for the headaches they caused management. ...Then he started chumming it up with Sssteve Greedy. Ssscott decided to take time away from my program with Davis... MY program. At the end of the day, Starring became little more than one of the Power Structure guys that don’t like me for whatever reason. The big difference between Scott and the others... well... he’s the sole active wrestler in a stable of mouthpieces. And while he might put up a little more fight than Chris Wheeling, at the end of the day Greedy has put all his eggs in one basket. ...And Ssstarring is one egg I look forwards to cracking.
Jack Sharp: ...Shane Diamond...
Vile Vince Viper: Will Diamond actually lassst long enough to pair up with his life-partner, Cage? I mean, these tag stars aren’t good for much else. Rinssse and repeat the entire glasssss ceiling I represssent to his sssinglesss career, but throw in the added motivation that I’ve known Missssss Jasssmine in the BIBLICAL sssenssse.
[Because he’s GOD, get it?]
Jack Sharp: ...and...
Vile Vince Viper: Like a wizard’sss sssleeve...
Jack Sharp: ...Moving on, Spooky Doom...
Vile Vince Viper: ...who?
Jack Sharp: Oh, I’m sorry... Spooky DOOOOOOOM.
Vile Vince Viper: No matter how many Junior tournaments he winsss, Ssspooky Doom will never be in my league. Most of my friends... scratch that... most of the wrestling world hates his guts. As a result, something very sssad happened. I had a face turn. I didn’t MEAN to be face... but I became face. We take you back to the beginning of the half-cycle, when I came in as a surprise guest replacing Spooky DOOM. THE CROWD LOVED ME! Because I’m Vile Vince Viper?! Because I’m a LEGEND!?! ...Because I’m a REAL sssurprissse? ...Because I’m beating the SSSHIT out of Andrew Davisss and Team EGO? NOOOOOOOO! I got a rather sssleazy good guy reaction, just because I’m _NOT_ Ssspooky FUCKING DooooooM. ...The fact got under Ssspooksss ssskin SSSO BADLY that he rethought his whole “quitting like a cowardly bitch” thing, just to come back, and dissssappoint EVERYONE. ...Well, I’m bored with you already Doom. Will you leave it at that? Will you leave it at driving the viewers to sssuicide? OR will you take it one step further and go after Big Daddy V? ...God you sssuck.
Jack Sharp: “Sugar” Shayne Grissom...
Vile Vince Viper: ...Did someone say rookie of the year? Who doesn’t like Sssugar Ssshayne? Well... he is kind of a loud mouthed douche, whose matter-of-fact-ssseat-of-hisss-pantsss interview ssstyle is better left on the farm; with the sows he calls parentsss. I remember first running into Grissssssom over in the ICWF. Now I’m sure I made appearances in other federations with him, but for our purposes, I couldn’t be bothered to know the kid was alive until around the time I started up in INTENSSSE. He was making waves. <grimace> He’s always making wavesss. ...Finalsss of the big VING tournament... taking on fellow SSSPW black sssheep alumni CK Walker... the kid was on fire. ...Then a few weeks later he was let go as part of ICWF’s wellnesssss policy.
Now, to listen to the internet, my urine sssample somehow got mixed up with his BUT I DIDN’T RUIN YOUR FUCKING CAREER! What Career? HA! Sssince getting CUT from the ICWF... Ssshayne has had a spotty career at best in dives like Arizona’s PVW. He’s lost his ssspark... he lost his drive... he wanders aimlessly, making a few ssshort appearancessss but never lasting long enough to do anything memorable. He probably won’t be in Ssshootfire after the dust has cleared the ring on this match. So the only question is, will he try to knock the pisssss out of me? <wink> You can always borrow some urine, pal.
Jack Sharp: “Sychosis” Joe Petrow...
Vile Vince Viper: When I first started rock’n’rasslin here in the USSSS of A... the IIWF was the place to be. Ssserge Annisss... Sssteve Kowalssski... and perhaps the character that left the strongest mark on me... Joe Petrow. I’d study tapes of his, trying to adapt to your American ssstyle. Joe is up there with Sssuper Ssscott Hibbsss as being most influential on my Vile persona. I think the absolute world of him... and he is the ONLY man who dessservesss to ssshare time in the ring with me.
...Funny. While the rest of your pathetic motivations are trying to eliminate GOD to further your careers, my motivation is to eliminate Joe, to jussstify mine. Ssshow them that I could have been a star if I’d just been given half a chance! I always wondered how I would stack up to the greatsss. How a man who’s been told his whole life that his gimmick was ssshit, and he was an embarrasssssment, would DEAL with a legit SSSUPERSSSTAR. Now in my thirteenth year in these Americasss... I finally get my chance.
Many people are writing Petrow off... not giving the legend the proper respect. Oh... he’s old. Where have I heard that before? HE’s russsty.
...russsty. <shakes head in bemused disgust> RUSSSTY. When a RUSSSTY blade ssslicesss through your fat underside, leaving your guts to fall out across the cold canvas... does it hurt MORE or less, because it’s russsssssssty? It’s still a knife. It still jagged. It’s still a FUCKING instrument for pain, torture, and death. Make no missstakesss... the chumps in this little contest, aren’t equipped to deal with that knife. None of you losssersss are. ...I might not be either... but I’ve spent a lifetime preparing... and besides, <chuckle> I might actually enjoy being gutted.
Jack Sharp: Rich Patterson...
Vile Vince Viper: One of the ICWF faithful that got pushed down the card so fast they got whiplash, when the mass of Ssshootfire talent went over there. Patterssson is desperate to shut up his critics, hungry to win the fan’s disapproval, and generally looking for an easy break. When we invaded his hometown, we got pushed to the main event... why shouldn’t the reverssse be true? Crazy assssssshole. Rich Patterson no doubt harbours ill-will towards me for running that little federation he worked at into the ground. He should be thanking me. If I hadn’t run them out of busssinessss, Rich never would have wound up in a REAL fed. ...Alssso something about my protégé CK Walker making his life missserable for the last few months there. You want me Rich? You’d better bring a ssshotgun with you.
Jack Sharp: Marcus Davis...
Vile Vince Viper: Talks a big game... can he back it up? I always resssented the HELL out of him for getting more massive hype than me, when we first kicked it around in INTENSSSE. Even now he’s knee-deep in a feud with Greedy that was just HANDED to him, while I’m forced to fight hand over fist to get the same. Davisss is one of those bland good guys... who basically enjoys fluffing themselves until the fans turn against them, and then demands the tech crew drown them out. I don’t think highly of him, and if Davisss gets between me and the Power Sssstructure, I’ll shove the moveset he’s WAY TO PROUD OF right up his ssself-absssorbed asssssssssss.
Jack Sharp: The Spectre...
Vile Vince Viper: When the Devilsss You Know left Ssshootfire before the MASSSSSSS EXODUS last year, Sssabbath talked me into joining a little federation that ran shows out of a bar and grill. We weren’t the first big names to enter the HUGE... they already had Ssspectre, a down on his luck star of yesteryear, desperately trying to make his way back into PVW. Ssspectre didn’t take too kindly to how much MORE popular I was than him... but the bar burnt down – or something – before we had a chance to mix things up. Ssspectre is one of those out of place REAL GUEST SSSTARSSS that are littered throughout this match... except he’s not getting the pomp and circumstance that Kinsey or Petrow are. ...That should tell him something. Ssspectre, you hopelessly embittered loser, if you want a piece of this WRESSSTLER OF THE YEAR, you’d best start refurnishing the bar for HUGE. ...Because if you come after me when I have a weapon, you’ll take your ssstupid ghost gimmick to a more LITERAL level you undead ssson of a bitch.
Jack Sharp: “Violent” Victor Frost...
Vile Vince Viper: Massstersss of the Ring VII. The first show I was allowed to have a “super fight” at... I was a headline draw for a major industry event. It meant a lot to me. The tournament at the same show saw everyone’s favourite plucky German, Victor Frossst pick up the victory. No one wanted Victor to win it... no more than they wanted me in a prominent position, but we did it anyway. The guys with multiple Vssssssssssss in their monikers had come out on top. Fuck everyone elssse. ...I have a soft spot for Victor Frossst.
This passst year, I received a call from AJ Black asking me to add some star power to a little stable he was whipping up. The Black Massssss. I was absolutely THRILLED when I learned I’d be managing Vic to a world title run. One of us “V guys” was going to finally dethrone long time champ, Sssammy Knight. Even as a manger, this would be my finessst hour... <infamous sneer> Ssso imagine how FUCKING disappointed I was when Frossst couldn’t pull it off! God damn. What a missserable disssappointment. I was vicariously living through you... what the hell was I thinking!?!?! I’d heard the sight of you made children cry Vic, but I didn’t know it was mind-numbing depresssssion! I broke Knight’s mind for you... I made it so easssy... a CHILD could have put him away... but not you. Did you do it on purpose Vic? Did you mean to crush my dreamssssssssssssss?
<contorting sneer into smile> ...Just when I thought you couldn’t let me down any more... I come back to find you’re running a new Black Masssss. Far better than the lassst Black Masssss, the audience actually CARE about this one. Before I could figure out how you pulled off that amazing trick... I noticed the roster. Yeah... SSSTEVE FUCKING LIERMANN. How could you Vic? I told you about the ssswassstika... you knew what that monster did to me. As a German shouldn’t you avoid associating with trash like that? ...Even if we weren’t together long... even if my managerial run was mostly based on trying to screw you over, where was the loyalty? I mean... I’m not asking for you to give me a kidney... just don’t HIRE THE MAN WHO BRANDED ME WITH A FUCKING HATE SSIGN! <furrowed brow> Isss that so wrong?
...A lot of people have you pegged to win this, Vic.
...You’re the odds on fucking favourite. <chuckle> Can you believe it? Sssee you got rid of the Fusssion title... they couldn’t beat you, and you can move onto the world ssscene. Another world title program... oh, and Knight’sss about ready to reclaim the belt... maybe you could lossse to him again? Yeah... everyone thinks you have it in the bank, Vic...
...Over my dead body.
[...In the distance you hear a flatline. Collective unconscious don’t fail me now. Even the hallucination of Jack Sharp seems a little taken aback by the loud beeping sound echoing through the hospital room to our fictitious studio.]
Jack Sharp: Wow... there you have it fans, for the first time ever, all the participants actually have a reason to be in the match. Except for Sam Dillinger... but they can’t all be winners. So pick up the phone and order now...
Vile Vince Viper: They can’t all be winnersss. No. We have twenty nine losssersss... united by the fact that each of them wants a piece of God. All roads have led to this match. They will all fail. The only question then becomes, will I use my title shot before the night is out? Ssstranger things have happened.
Jack Sharp: With all those personal vendettas, and murderous intentions, do you mind telling us what weapon you plan on bringing in?
BOOMING VOICE: The food’s a real killer.
[Jack Sharp looks confused.]
Orderly: Haven't seen this one around.
Nurse: New. The food hasn't had a chance to kill him yet.
[Snapping back to reality, our horribly scared protagonist finds two nurses changing his bandages; while a third pours the shit that passes for hospital food into an intravenous. The putrid brown mush slowly oozing down a tube, menacingly falling towards him. The food will kill you. Food. Attention shifts to the closest nurse... ripping dressings off his burnt flesh, one after another, is she aware of how seductive this is? What a goddess. Vile must have done something good in a previous life, the painkillers kicking in before that foul slush makes its way into his mouth. The picture fades in and out, each time the beautiful nurse seems to wear less and less clothing... until she's completely nude, lying back in a green valley. Vile hasn't had a wet dream this vivid in ages so... WHATTHEFUCK.]
[A nude man enters the frame. He's young. He's muscular. He has normal pigments.]
[That's not Vile.]
[What kind of evil headgame is this? Vile doesn't need an eyeful of this guy! If this is the effect of those painkillers, he'd rather be lucid, chowing down on that disgusting brown liquid. Where is this... in the throes of Old Testament religion, the drug addled mind of Viper immediately recognizes the scene.]
[The Garden of Eden.]
[We’re in the Garden of Eden. ...So that's Eve... and asshole must be Adam. This is HIS fantasy. Why couldn't Vile be Adam? Why couldn't he live in a world without pain, dedicated to ravaging the lovely Eve? That's a story he wants to tell. That's what he deserves. A real retirement package. Doesn't he deserve to be happy? Wait. Eve... Adam... no wonder he's not in the scene. He’s everywhere... he's all seeing... all knowing... the perfect voyeur. Vile almost forgot, he's GOD!]
BOOMING VOICE: I've seen you run promos out of the Garden of Eden for over a decade... and you've never been God.
[I'm as close to God as these sheep will ever get!]
...But you're not God.
[I'm not?]
You’ll never be God.
[Who was I?]
[A cobra hangs down from a branch, an apple clutched in its venomous maw.]
[An apple.]
[The food will kill you.]
[The snake? The fucking snake? What does that mean? What does that represent? Is Vile just around fucking up paradise for everyone else? Is that it? The sum total of his being is ruining everyone's good time? During the original sin, he's just hanging around in a stupid tree? A spectator in the big picture? No malice. No real evil. Just a third wheel, who might make a suggestion... but is little more than an ANNOYING voice in the back of someone's head? Vile wanted to be a player. Not a supporting character... not an extra. The fucking serpent?]
[In the blink of an eye, one goes from all powerful to a garden pest.]
[...All Vile wanted was to be God.]
[...But no one believed in him.]
[Where was the faith!?]
[...where was the love?]
[But if he can’t be God...]
[...Now Vile will be the Devil.]
[Vile IS the Devil.]
[May God have mercy on your souls.]
Are you there God?
[Back in the burn ward, the camera angle shifts from Viper’s bed upright, no longer taking on the old man’s perspective. In the bed opposite our protagonists, a middle aged woman kneels at the foot of her bed, praying up to the heavens. A rosary is clutched in her heavily bandaged hands, as tear filled eyes look up to the ceiling for an answer.]
#CRUNCH#
[Turning her head, the woman stares at the opposite bed... the camera pans with her reaction to find Vile Vince Viper sitting up against the wall. TripleV has ripped some bandages from his burnt face. Singed hair compliments a case of severe bed head, creating upturned parts that resemble devil horns. Yellow eyes give way to madden red pupils, a side effect from the bruising? The crunching sound comes from the demonic looking creature’s plunging of his razor sharp fangs into a rotting apple. CRUNCH. Turning the blood (?) covered apple towards the women, Vile flashes a fanged smile...]
Vile Vince Viper: ...There isss no GOD here...
[The woman faints. Flames still dancing in his eyes, the unbalanced king of snakes turns the apple towards the lens... it seems almost menacing.]
[He’s no longer the Devil You Know...]
[He’s the Devil you deserve.]
[Vile is going to take an apple to a gun fight.]
[Vile is going to win.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ SPOOKY DOOM / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Fade in to a SPOOKY room of death and horrors. One might even call it a
chamber of DOOM, carefully wrapped in darkness and illuminated only by the
soft glow of dying candles. Our camera pans to the right, showing bleached
skeletons, giant spiders crawling upon musty webs, piles of skulls,
cauldrons of bubbling blood, shining golden trophies... Trophies? Multiple
awards? Replica of belts all won in previous wrestling federations? Pictures
of the man surrounded by a sea of fans???]
[For this man is no ordinary man but the Grim Avenger of Lucha Libre, the
SPOOKY DOOM!!! That's right, camera keeps panning only to stop upon the
Spooky One; big spotlight shining on him now, arms crossed over his chest
and a smug look across his face. He nods his head a bit, looking right and
left at the *many* accomplishments surrounding him, then smiles as he
speaks.]
Doom: You know I love these great big wrestling get-togethers. Whether
they're called battle royals, royal rumbles or bunkhouse brawls; it doesn't
matter because the Spooky Doom just loves the opportunity to get a decent
quantity of discount souls to bring home for his uncle to enjoy!
[Spooky's... different. Maybe it's just the costume, but he's got a
cockiness like that of a man certain he's about to win his big match. Oh,
he's got cool new threads alright: sleek white bodysuit, practically
skin-tight with a black Pac-Man ghost across the chest, new lime-green
flames around the edges of his mask... He's built too. Spooky was always a
buff little luchador but the sleeveless bodysuit reveals veiny muscular
arms obviously able to rip a man's head off from his neck.]
Doom: See, with all those big names coming back to SPW (and make no mistake:
Spooky Doom is the biggest name of them all), this lil' Grim Reaper thingy
is gonna tell you how we seperate the wheat from the... not-good wheat.
What's it called, the chaff? Is that it? Look, they don't teach you
agriculture in wrestling school. What I am going to teach you however; is
how we tell the sure-fire superstars rocking your world from the rotting
corpses management brought forth for the token appearence- such as Luke
Kinsey.
[A stage hand (in full SPW gear) runs into the set, whispers something into
Spooky's ear and scutters off in a hurry.]
Doom: Waddya mean Luke Kinsey isn't a corpse? Look I saw the dude, and Luke
Kinsey is clearly a dead body SPW officials got to boost the numbers for
their BYOW rumble. Someone they move about through an extensive series of
pullies hidden up in the rafters, talking through a speaker phone stuffed
inside the head casing- EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT!!! Same deal as with Joe
Petrow. Now if you'll please let me finish-
[You can distinctly hear a *FACEPALM* from off-camera.]
Doom: Spooky Doom wasn't just brought back for the half-a-season long
nostalgia factor. He's here to show you what it's like to DOMINATE the
opposition! You can't imagine how much I laughed as I listened to poor Team
EEEEEEE-Mo whine about not getting recognized as the true wrestling talents
of this company despite all their non-effort! Word from the wise: when
you're truly great, you don't need to appeal towards the fans. They already
know. They're standing up and chanting your name as you make your way
towards the ring. It sounds like this: Spooky Doom. Spooky Doom. Spooky
Doom. But louder, magnified a million-fold; with maybe your names instead of
mine. I don't know: I couldn't ever imagine people shouting "OWEN CAGE"
without "YOU EFFIN' LOSER" afterwards.
But this kinda brings me back to why the Grim Avenger of Lucha Libre is back
in SPW. I say "back", because I had to leave the place after a negotiation's
failure led me down a no-win situation and a dismissal from the company.
Luckily, Grim Reapers don't exactly twiddle their fingers: I've kept active
partipating across inter-fed tournaments; showing off my skills and
generally trying to impress a maximum of viewers- You guys should try that.
I suppose this BYOW rumble qualifies as some sort of inter-fed event, so I
guess it's time to show you what you've been missing when you released what
is now the hottest free-agent wrestling talent running about these days.
[He does a quick demonstrative spin so as to show off his impressive body,
but what he achieves in doing is show off his BYOW weapon strapped across
his back. A ninja blade? There's a scabbard slung over his shoulders, with a
BAD-ASS metal skull acting as a guard for the blade in question!]
Doom: And I'd like to emphasize what it means to be the hottest free-agent
wrestling talent just now. See, I do not slink back into obscurity once the
rumble is over. I will not be waiting for others to grant me any Hall of
Fame nominations. I am forever active, plainly showing off the mistake of
your actions as I wrestle across every ring of this world and DOMINATE. Not
"winning because nobody wants to participate in your division", but "going
where the action is, THEN winning!"
[Speaking of which, Spooky Doom pulls out a long list supposed to represent
the names of everyone entered in the BYOW rumble.]
Doom: They've given me the list: I see guys that haven't wrestled in YEARS,
I count two clowns and maybe a backyard wrestler or two, I see... James
O'Connor? Seriously? Oh that's a heart breaker: I was expecting the guy to
end up being something in Shootfire Pro, fighting for a title on the main
card instead of just being a name amongst countless others... but that's
just it, I guess. You're not gonna break out, James. You're not the type
*TO* break out. See you five years from now, same position in the company,
maybe with a guest spot on Sesame Street where you teach kiddies on the
value of doing what's right while Sammy Knight remains SPW's World
Champion... Don't worry James, I'm kidding. You won't be under Sammy Knight
for much longer.
Because Spooky Doom is winning the BYOW rumble at Charity Carnage, finally
giving Shootfire Pro the champion it rightfully deserves!!! I mean it: I'm
sick of the current situation and so should you all! Sammy - Davis - Sammy
again? Victor Frost throwing away his Fusion title, really? You're a
disgrace to our sport, Frost. Nobody cares about you or your Black Mass of
useless hangers-on, so you have to hunt down people actually care about:
you're not a Fusion champion and much less a World champion!! And nobody
interested in the tag titles? Big surprise there! But even when Spooky Doom
isn't in SPW competition, he still manages to DOMINATE the wrestling world
in whichever circle he crosses; the mark of a TRUE wrestling champion!
At Charity Carnage, everyone will be swinging whatever "toys" they brought
to the fray; but you can't bring the soul of a warrior with you. At Charity
Carnage, the Reaper's sword will cull the unworthy, cutting each of them one
by one...
[He pulls something from his scabbard: it's a great big ***BONE SWORD***!
Thick bone blade, embossed metal skull guard, concentrated souls of the
damned all locked within and metal as all Hell!!! Like a ninja from beyond
the grave, Spooky Doom seems to threaten the camera with his blade, pointing
it straight towards the lens... before sheathing his sword back into it's
scabbard.]
Doom: At Charity Carnage, I'm bringing my warrior's soul and taking all of
yours, leaving a ring of Death behind me! Spooky Doom; back in SPW action,
kicking ass and reclaiming his title of Grim Avenger of all Lucha Libre!
Heaven protect anyone who get's in my way, for only Hell awaits them!
[A snort, a cackle, a mad laughter!!! Spooky Doom pulls out the bone sword
and smashes the camera lens to pieces, cutting the promo brutally off! Fade
to... ?]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ DEATHKNELL / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
#DOOM#
FAILURE.
#DOOM#
MINE... YOURS.
#DOOM#
I CAME TO YOUR DYING EMBERS, INTENT ON STOMPING OUT THE LAST SPARKS OF HOPE... OF LIFE. YOU THRIVED ON MY HATE... YOU FORGED AHEAD. I WAS FORCED INTO A POSITION WHERE EVEN I CAME TO YOUR AID... I WAS TAKEN OUT OF THE EQUATION. YOU FLOURISHED. THE SURFS MULTIPLIED. SHOOTFIRE HAS DEFEATED ITS OWN FATE...
THE END IS NO LONGER IN SIGHT FOR YOU.
#DOOM#
THE BELL CALLS FOR BLOOD... BUT YOU HAVE NO FURTHER USE FOR ME. THE VULTURES NO LONGER CIRCLE. DEATH HAS GROWN BORED OF THE WAIT, AND MOVES ON TO A FRESH KILL. I MUST STALK AFTER HIM... ALWAYS TEN FEET BEHIND. AS I CATCH UP... I MUST LEAVE YOU TO YOUR OWN DEVICES...
THIS IS THE END OF ME.
...BUT I WILL NOT GO ALONE.
#DOOM#
COLT MONTANA. OWEN CAGE. SPOOKY DOOM. REY FUTURO... HUMAN DARTS THROWN AROUND FOR MY AMUSEMENT. IN MY WAKE YOU’VE BEEN ALLOWED TO GROW. AS THE REST OF THE KINGDOM MOVES FORWARDS, YOU NO LONGER LIVE IN FEAR. I WANT TO FEEL HAPPY FOR YOU. I CANNOT. THE ONE TIME VICTIMS OF MY RAMPAGE MUST CONTINUE TO KNOW FEAR... ANYTHING LESS IS AN INSULT TO MY MEMORY.
#DOOM#
THE CHILDREN OF HARDCORE...
#DOOM#
YOU BIT YOUR MASTERS HAND... NOW CONTINUE TO WAG YOUR TAILS LIKE DOGS? LOSE THE LAST PRECIOUS OUNCE OF HUMANITY YOU HAD LEFT? WHILE THE REST MOVE FORWARDS, YOU CONTINUE TO DEVOLVE... THIS CANNOT GO UNCHECKED. AS I TAKE MY FINAL HARVEST, YOU WILL BE AMONGST THE CASULATIES... YOU HAVE NO ONE TO BLAME BUT YOURSELVES...
#DOOM#
SCOTT STARRING...
#DOOM#
SCOTT STARRING. I PUT MY BODY ON THE LINE, TRIED TO MOLD YOU INTO A NEW DESTROYER. I DID EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO HELP YOU ACHEIVE YOUR POTENTIAL. WHAT DID YOU DO WITH IT? RATHER THAN MOVE IN FOR THE KILL, YOU WALLOWED AROUND IN SELF-GRATIFICATION... YOU TAKE WHAT IS OWED TO YOU, ONLY NOW, IN THIS LATE HOUR! AT THIS RATE, YOU’RE NOT THE SCOURGE OF THIS CONTEMPTIBLE ESTABLISHMENT, BUT A POTENTIAL BOOM TO ITS GROWTH. I CANNOT ALLOW A MOCKERY OF THIS CALIBRE TO WANDER AROUND, INSULTING MY MEMORY. I MUST BE ALLOWED TO DECAY... YOU WILL NOT MARCH FORWARDS... YOU WILL NOT REMIND THEM OF BETTER DAYS. OUR EPIC ENCOUNTER MUST BECOME DUST TO THE WIND... AND THE ONLY WAY FOR ME TO ENSURE THAT IS TO TAKE YOU WITH ME.
#DOOM!#
JAMES O’CONNOR...
#DOOM!#
JAMES O’CONNOR... WHEN THE INVADERS STRUCK, YOU WERE THERE. THEY THREATENED TO TAKE MY KILL. TO BREATH NEW LIFE IN THE ROTTING HUSK! I WAS FORCED TO DEFEND THE CORPSE, AND OUT OF DESPERATION, YOU JOINED ME ON THAT FRONTLINE. YOU WERE THERE. YOU WERE THERE FOR MY FINAL MOMENTS. YOU WERE THERE FOR MY LAST BREATHES. WILL BILL --- JEAN PIERRE --- THEY WERE JUST TRYING TO TAKE ME OUT. THEY SUCCEEDED IN THEIR GOAL. YOU WERE JUST THERE TO WATCH MY BACK... TO STAY OUT OF MY WAY. YOU FAILED. YOUR FAILURE COST ME DEARLY. SO NOW, WITH CELINE A BROKEN CHARACTER, MORE LADY THAN MAN, AND BILL LONG GONE... THIS FINAL CHANCE AT VENGEANCE, IT COMES DOWN TO YOU! JUDAS! JAMES O’CONNOR... WAS TOO MUCH ASKED OF A GREEN YOUNG MAN? THE GREEN IS ROT! ...THE BURNING FLAMES OF YOUR PASSION FOR OUR SPORT, YOUR HOPES FOR THE FUTURE, ALL WILL BE SNUFFED OUT. YOU DID IT TO ME... SO NOW... IN THE SPIRIT OF GIVING, I WILL RETURN THE FAVOR. YOU SHALL KNOW ETHROPY.
#DOOM#
WHO DOES THE BELL TOLL FOR?
#DOOM#
...THE BELL TOLLS FOR ME.
#DOOM#
...BUT I’M NOT GOING ALONE.
[OUT.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ SHAYNE GRISSOM / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[The screen fades up to a wide shot of an interview area. The camera is probably 15 feet
away or so from the area, which is complete with cameras and sound equipment. The
backdrop is a tan background with the familiar red and yellow balloon logo of the
Children's Miracle Network Hospital. Standing in front of the background, decked out in
his leather jacket, blue silk shirt and black jeans, is newly-minted SPW Superstar
"Sugar" Shayne Grissom. As the camera zooms in, we can hear what he is saying.]
Grissom: As my career has gotten off the ground this past two years, I've been the
recipient of support from my fans out there. That support has helped me win some big
matches and helped me feel better after grueling losses. However, none of my matches are
nearly as difficult as the fight these courageous kids are taking on every day.
[A young child with crutches moves up near Shayne as he continues.]
Grissom: Kids like Billy here need your support. Your tax-deductible gift to Children's
Miracle Network Hospital can help give these guys the support they need to win their big
match. Call the number on the screen and join me in the fight against children's cancer.
[Grissom flashes a broad smile.]
Grissom: Call right now to help....and thank you for your support.
[Shayne pauses for a second and then the lights go out on the production area. Shayne
walks next to little Billy and chats as the SPW camera crew slides closer to not be
noticed.]
Billy: I'm glad your league let you come do the commercial with me Mr. Grissom. It was a
lot of fun.
Grissom: Well the league didn't approve it as much as I agreed to it myself. It's an
important issue and the hospital needs all the help it can get to be effective.
Billy: Yeah, I've been going there for a year now. The people are really nice.
Grissom: What did they take you there for?
[Billy squirms a little.]
Billy: Well it started when I hurt my foot playing soccer at our church and it never got
better. After I couldn't seem to walk right, my Mom and Dad took me to the Doctor and
they found out I had a form of leukemia and started giving me stuff for it at the
hospital.
[Shayne squats down to chat at eye level with his companion.]
Grissom: What do they say now?
Billy: They said it was mostly in remist....uh....rem.....
Grissom: Remission?
Billy: Yeah! But they said I had to keep going through the trips to the doctor because I
still get hurt really easy. They want to get me strong before they stop giving me all the
medicines. The stuff makes me get sick, too....so I'll be glad when it's over.
Grissom: Well I can understand that. I'll be praying for the best for you and all the
kids at MCNH. It isn't easy going through what you go through.
[A couple of adults are heard calling for Billy, obviously his parents.]
Grissom: Well champ, you better get to your Mom and Dad. It was great meeting you.
Billy: You too, Mr. Grissom.
[Billy leaves and Grissom, who had already noticed the SPW camera crew, just smiles
toward them and begins speaking.]
Grissom: This is one of the few things "celebrity" can afford you. Doing something to
help raise money for a good cause is the least I can do for those who have so generously
cheered me on over the past several years. So many wrestlers today tend to forget about
the important role the fans have in our business. Without them, there is no SPW.
[Shayne tops and raises an eyebrow.]
Grissom: Simple enough, huh?
[He emits a slight chuckle before grinning and continuing his walk and talk.]
Grissom: That was why I came out and wanted to set the standard for the rest of the
league. I felt it was time that the fans get more for their money than cheap parlor
tricks and one-trick wonders. They deserve a product that follows through on what they
claim they will do. When that product falls short, then the boys should own it and admit
it.
[Shayne stops walking again, the grin disappeared from his face, as with a somber look he
continues speaking.]
Grissom: It is in that spirit that I apologize for the performance on the last Episode
of Over The Chain. Most of you tuned in to watch the man who claims to be the standard
bearer fight to victory and prove his words in the ring...and while I did win the match,
the match itself...
[Grissom slightly shakes his head in disapproval.]
Grissom: ...fell short of what I expect out of myself. I didn't perform nearly as well
as I said I would, and for that I am apologizing. I avail myself of your mercy and hope
that you continue cheering me from this point forward.
[Shayne stops shaking his head and continues walking and talking with a very straight
face.]
Grissom: Rich Patterson fought a great battle and showed why he has become much more
than I expected of him when we first met in ICWF last year. I'd be happy to give "The Bad
Seed" another shot in the ring anytime because he has a future in this sport and it would
be a great time for the fans to enjoy.
[Shayne rounds the corner and walks through the large green door to the outside parking
area. There is a cold breeze flowing through the area as Grissom's breath is quickly
visible as he speaks.]
Grissom: Now I'm focused on proving myself. SPW is a different kind of company because
sometimes guys get fast rises in the ranks, while others toil for years. My goal is to
make the fans happy and when I entered into the battle royal at Charity Carnage, that was
the only goal. I plan on doing my best to make the fans cheer and get hyped up for the
match and that is a promise.
[Shayne winks.]
Grissom: Usually you enter matches like this and you want to know everything about your
opponents. I'll admit I do know of many of them. Men like Vile Viper, Joe Petrow, The
Spectre and even Patterson are men I know well enough to know how they'll attack. But
this rumble has a little something extra and I'm not sure how to wrap my head around it
yet.
[Shayne begins walking between rows of cars to get to his vehicle.]
Grissom: It is a "bring your own weapon" battle royal. Now the problem becomes how I can
justify taking a weapon into the ring. I pride myself on not being like others who don't
mind taking a chair to someone's head to get a win. I'm not like that. I have enough
pride to want to do it the way it was originally intended...the way I was always taught
to do it.
[Shayne pulls out a piece of paper form his leather jacket and stops to look at it a
second.]
Grissom: The list of possible weapons are staggering. I mean we have everything from
chairs and chains to ... cannons? I mean, seriously... CANNONS?!?! I even heard rumors
Petrow is thinking of bringing a cow to the ring, but isn't it illegal since Marissa
Monet is already scheduled to be a wrestler in the match?
No folks, fear not. I won't strike MOnet because it isn't my desire to ever strike a
woman...even if she is a tad "queen kong-ish" in her looks. To me, this is either a major
advantage to her or a major disadvantage to her. She'll either get utterly destroyed by
the twenty-nine men with weapons or she wins because nobody can really bring themselves
to hit her with anything.
It's a real problem.....and it is a problem because you are taking thirty strong
competitors and giving them WEAPONS!
[Shayne places the paper back in his jacket pocket.]
Grissom: This is a murders' row of sorts. A ring full of legitimate contenders and men
who could vie for the top belt in almost any federation stuck inside a ring and told to
throw each other out over the top rope while using weapons they choose for themselves! It
is close combat with no room for error. Every single one of them with a desire to prove
themselves ready to contend for the biggest gold we have in the company.
[Shayne winks again.]
Grissom: And I'm one of them.
[Shayne begins walking again as he keeps chatting.]
Grissom: It really doesn't matter to me anymore. I don't walk into that ring with any
kind of goggles that show me as a favorite to win. I have top flight competition and
weapons in every one of their hands. I do plan on giving it my best shot and I plan on
doing it the right way no matter what the rules say.
What does that mean?
[A smile escapes his lips.]
Grissom: I'm not taking a weapon with me.
[He takes a quick left around a red Toyota and the camera stays with him.]
Grissom: I refuse to cheat even if it is sanctioned. Don't get me wrong, if I get
attacked with a weapon I will have no problem taking that weapon away form them and
returning fire. But the idea of going out there and attacking first in an illegal way
just goes against everything I have ever been taught. I refuse to work that way and I
won't work that way. I don't care if it keeps me from winning because even if I lose, I
want to be proud of how it happened...not ashamed that I won by bashing people
relentlessly with objects.
There is no purity in it and I will have no part of it.
[Shayne stops at a large, blue Cadillac Escalade. He turns as he stands next to it and
continues.]
Grissom: No matter what happens in that ring, what number I get drawn and how long I
have to fight. I guarantee that when this battle royal is over, I'm going to be who you
are talking about. People will be talking about so and so won the SPW World Title, but
did you see that Shayne Grissom in the battle royal! The guy did that well and didn't
even take a weapon with him.
The fans are going to scream and cheer because they know this man is doing things the
right way....the old-school way.
SPW, get ready because the time has come for the future to rightfully be served and that
future is now....
[Shayne clicks the button on his key and the Escalade beeps to unlock.]
Grissom: ...and it's sweeter than sugar! I look forward to seeing you all at Carnage
where I'm going to shock the world! Until then, my friends.
[Shayne gets into the Escalade and shuts the door as the screen fades to black.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ LUKE KINSEY / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Open to the picture of class and style. A leather backed chair, with a grinning, mug figure slouching in it, one leg crossed over the other. This bastion of class and good taste wears the clothes of person of his superior upbringing: ripped up jeans, Chuck Taylors (red) and a black t-shirt bearing the head of Mister Marshall Mathers.]
LK: Ahem... Obie Trice. Real name, no gimmicks.
[Luke Kinsey. Back again.]
LK: You know man... snap decisions are funny. Few years ago, I get a phone call from someone whose name escapes me. He says he'll give my boy a job if I sign a contract that says I'll show up in SPW once or twice a year for a few years. I says yeah, sure, why not? I didn't think anyone would actually hold me to it.
[Kinsey steeples his fingers, and taps them together, Mr. Smithers like.]
LK: Wrong again.
Turns out I gotta show up in this shithole once more, to appear in some kind of Rumble where I can bring my own weapon. If I win, I get a shot at a title of my choosing. I don't even know what the fucking titles are called around here. World title... Crystal... Fusion... Platinum, maybe? Any time you have a title named after a razor, you've got a problem. I almost called off because of my shot at the Gillete Mach 5 title in WECFWTUFF, but it turns out they didn't like the negative press I brought them.
SPW _likes_ the negative press I bring them.
[Shrug.]
LK: I've been on a bit of an extended absence, because there used to be this void in me. There was a time when I would drive cross country to make every booking, never missed a match, never held out for more money. and here I was, champion of the world, best in the business, legend in my own time and I couldn't even be bothered to show up for title defenses. And a promo to build interest?
Fuck, I was busy. Ugly Betty was on, and I've got a thing for chunky Puerto Ricans.
So I took a break, and let "the love" build back up. Stopped being involved in business, didn't even watch it on TV. Changed my cell, didn't go anywhere near my trophy room. No more Yahoo Chess with Juan Vasquez.
That lasted for, eh... a month. Maybe too. I had to watch, I had to follow, and you know what I found out?
It wasn't me that was empty. I was fine. Having to recharge the batteries is natural. But when I was at home watching TV instead of starring on it, one thing was perfectly clear. There's always gonna be people saying naughty words, there's always gonna be people pulling schemes on everyone else, there's always gonna be people pointing to their cock on free tv. But no matter how many fish in the sea...
....it just seems so empty without me.
[Kinsey pounds his chest twice and points to the sky.]
LK: I wasn't missing the wrestling world, the wrestling world was missing me. But daddy's home baby, and it's gonna be all better. There's lots of things to fix, lots of problems to solve, but when you've got a pure heart and truly believe, wondrous things can occur.
Hey, SPW got me to show up to one of their fucking shows _twice_ now. Miracles happen every day. And when I win this Rumble, win the Women's title and take it right to UWF to unify the straps and become the finest women's wrestler not named Rick Styles, it's all gonna make sense. For anyone else, it's impossible. For Luke Kinsey?
Just another day at the office.
[Out.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ BEELZEBOZO / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[A figure, his back to the camera, hunched over in a seat, almost completely
off camera. We see strands of hair, brown hair, streaked with green, red,
and what is either dirt or dried blood. The man is sitting in front of a
desk, which is cluttered with a wide variety of objects we can’t quite make
out. There is a large mirror in the front of the desk. In the background, we
hear the faint sounds of the famous tenor aria from Leoncavallo’s most
famous opera, Pagliacci.]
#Recitar! Mentre preso dal delirio,
non so più quel che dico,
e quel che
faccio!#
{To act! While out of my mind,
I no longer know what I say,
or what I do!}
Man: Just when you think you’re gone, they find you in an alley somewhere
and pull you back in.
[An arm comes into the frame, picking up an item from the desk. In the
reflection of the mirror we can barely make out a very old scar on the
forearm: a horrible burn mark that could only have been made by the end of a
lit cigar. The hand picks up a Zippo lighter, the words “FUCK COMMUNISM”
engraved on the side. There is some fumbling before the lighter is lit and
brought up to the man’s mouth off-screen. A few seconds and ten there is the
sound of air being sucked in and then a long exhale. Smoke fills the mirror,
it’s reflected nature dancing eerily in the dimly lit room.]
#Eppur è d'uopo, sforzati!
Bah! sei tu forse un uom?
Tu se' Pagliaccio!#
{And yet it's necessary... make an effort!
Bah! Are you not a man?
You are
Pagliaccio!}
Man: I’ve been kind of lost for a while now. When I got out of the hospital,
they patted me on the back, they gave me a bus ticket, and they sent me back
to what passes to my home in west Virginia. The plastic surgeons did what
they could with the scars on my face. But the scars on the inside? They
didn’t even pretend to try to fix those.
[More fumbling, and the hand picks up a bottle of Jack Daniels, He clumsily
undoes the top of the bottle and takes a long swig of the sweet whiskey.]
#Vesti la giubba,
e la faccia infarina.#
{Put on your costume,
powder your face.}
Man: Like I said, I was lost. I thought maybe I would be a bit of a cliché
and find God. The only problem is, I couldn’t find the bastard. They say the
two best places to look are in church and the bottle. Well, he sure as hell
ain’t in any Church I went to. So I’m checking every bottle I can find, one
by one.
[The bottle falls to the ground, it’s contents leaking onto the stained
floor. If our man in the mirror cares at all, he makes no mention of it.]
Man: If I meet God, I have no idea what I would say to Him. Maybe I’d beg
for forgiveness. Or maybe I’d demand a damn apology of my own. I don’t
really know. I don’t know about much anymore.
#La gente paga, e rider vuole qua.#
{The people pay to be here, and they want to laugh.}
[The arm again comes into frame, picking up a small container. We can’t
quite make out what it is, but the man is taking whatever is inside of it
and applying it to his face.]
Man: I’ve been thinking a lot about what I can say to people. I’m being
forced to reintegrate myself with other people. So what do you say to people
these days? What do I say to the people I may come across in this upcoming
Battle Royal I somehow got thrown into?
#E se Arlecchin t'invola Colombina,
ridi, Pagliaccio, e ognun applaudirà!#
{And if Harlequin shall steal your Columbine,
laugh, Pagliaccio, so the
crowd will cheer!}
Man: I may see a familiar face or too. Marcus Davis? Remember that battery
of tests you had to get when I bled all over you? You actually sent me the
bill. Like I have the money to pay for your AIDS test? I don’t even have the
money to buy a condom when I’m screwing the crack whore he gave me all my
diseases.
[The small container falls to the ground. A black grease pencil is picked
up, and the man is doing more drawing on his face, which is slowly coming
into frame.]
Man: Gabrial Van Zahn? What do I say to you? To the man who I caused so much
heartbreak and anguish to? Remember when I broke into your home and
destroyed your childhood memories? Thos irreplaceable mementos of happier
times? Pictures of your dead father that can never be replaced? Remember how
the stress killed your wife and unborn child? What do I say to that
except…..I thought it was funny at the time?
#Tramuta in lazzi lo spasmo ed il pianto
in una smorfia il singhiozzo e 'l
dolor, Ah!#
{Turn your distress and tears into jest,
your pain and sobbing into a funny
face - Ah!}
Man: but then again, you had the last laugh, didn’t you?
[[Half of the man’s face comes into frame. He has applied white clown
make-up to his face and drawn a smiley face on his lips with the black
pencil. His face has been horribly scarred almost beyond recognition by a
sharp object. The scars are not fresh, but they are deep and they are
disturbing…..a reflection of the man inside.]
Man: And what do I say to the men I have never actually met yet? As I’m
taking the shattered glass of the bottle that shattered my dreams and
drowned my hopes, and I’m carving the pound of flesh that is demanded as
payment for the sin of getting in my way, what do I say? I don’t know. I was
never one to bother coming up with a cool catch phrase.
#Ridi, Pagliaccio,
sul tuo amore infranto!#
{Laugh, Pagliaccio,
at your broken love!}
Man: I guess I could say something like “Welcome to the Funhouse” but that’s
not very original. That’s something Johnny pain would come up with for me.
Man: but more importantly than that, what do I say
Man: to……
[The hand again comes out and takes a tube of bright red lipstick and smears
it over his face.]
Man: …….you The man in the mirror. What kind of excuse to I have for this? I
looked you in the eye and I made you a promise. I said that I wouldn’t do
this anymore. All that this world of professional ever caused you was
heartache and pain. I said I was done. But now, for one night, one more
night, I am back. And as I’m laying in that ring, and I’m feeling the pain
being inflicted on me, pain that I know in my drunken heart of hearts I
deserve……as I’m enduring the punishment that is nowhere near intense enough
to grant me absolution for my sins…as I’m laying in that ring, blows being
rained down on my battered, broken body, I’m going to be thinking about
you…..
#Ridi del duol, che t'avvelena il cor!#
{Laugh at the grief that poisons your heart!}
Man: thinking about you…….
Man: And All I’m going to say is….
[The man is now totally in view in the reflection of the mirror. The
twisted, deformed, mutilated face of Buster friendly, better known as
Beelzebozo, the Clown From hell.]
Beelzebozo: Welcome…..home……
[FTB]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ IAN & DEVILYN / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[The camera came on outside the old Gothic cathedral that Devilyn and Ian
called home while in the states. Above the arched doorway illuminated by
festive red and green chaser lights was a placard that read "Abandon Hope
All Ye Who Enter Here", and the grotesques on either side of the door wore
Santa hats, red trimmed with black fur rather than white.]
Voice: Er.. um, is this the place?
New voice: Yeah.. AJ said to come here.
[Before the cameraman's hand could reach the massive cast iron door
knocker, the left side door began to creak open and an ancient looking old man
who closely resembled the cryptkeeper came into view. Not a word spoken, he
glared at the camera for long moments before stepping aside and waving him
in. The sound of the door creaking closed was soon replaced by the metal
strains of the Gothic Christmas album, Oh Come All Ye Faithful sounded as if
it was being sung from the depths of Hell.]
[The sound of Devilyn's voice carried out to the nave that was separated
from the rest of the cathedral by filmy black curtains, lights flickered on
the opposite sides of the curtains and there were sounds, soft voices,
movement as if there were a large, if quiet, gathering.]
"Come in, come in we're putting the finishing touches on the tree..."
Voice: Holy.. wow, look at that...
[The curtain leading into the Apse, where the altar should have been, was
swept aside to allow him to enter, and get a look at the "tree". The tree
itself was a wrought iron cone shaped frame that stood some ten feet tall,
and at the top was a small platform with a black satin pillow resting on it.
Bound to the frame were five red haired beauties clad in nothing but the
decorations, garland, ornaments hung from farious piercings on their
bodies, and here and there strategically placed draped slings that held edible
decorations of honied fruits, candy and nuts. Each of the flame haired
beauties had a ball gag in her mouth with a little flashing light, each in a
different color, that looked like little stars. Devilyn turned to face the
camera, smoothing her hands down the sides of her corset bustier, rich
crimson laced with pine green and a barely thigh length mini skirt of matching
red leather trimmed in green dyed fur. That signature wickedly sensual
smile curled equally crimson lips.]
"Oh, isn't that so sweet.. look Ian, and we thought our dears in SPW had
forgotten ALL about we here in Sinistry." A devilish little laugh. "We were
about to put the angel on the tree, please, have a seat.."
[The music grew louder, and the curtains fell, the cathedral was full of
people, most in black, but enough in shades of red or green to make it
clear, that yes, even in Hell they celebrate Christmas. Bodies were writhing to
the music, undulating together as if as one they formed the body of some
enormous serpent coiled around the inside of the cathedral. The camera got
a 360 degree view of the "merry making" before turning back on Devilyn,
just at that moment Gehenna loomed up behind her, wearing a Santa hat like
those worn by the grotesques at the entrance, but the ball on top of his was a
gleaming white fanged skull, the eyes were green, the fangs tipped in
red.]
"Oh yes darling.." Devilyn's voice purred. "I see you have found our
perfect little angel..." Her eyes traced right, towards Ian where he sat on his
macabre throne, watching. He smirked. "Ah yes, a lovely.. American Barbie..
how fitting."
[Perched on his left arm was a beautiful waifish blonde clad all in sheer
silver trimmed white with angel wings attached, on her head a silver crown
resembling a halo, her ankles were bound together and her wrists were bound
behind her back by white leather black fur lined cuffs, and the light in
her silver ball gag was white. Devilyn turned around, pressing her palm to
the girl's cheek.]
"It's time my lovely angel." Then tracing the backs of her fingers
against Gehenna's cheek. "Go on pet, place our angel"
[Gehenna started up the spiral stepladder, careful to place her on the
center of the platform, her dainty feet in white lace stockings were curled to
rest on a smaller platform for just that purpose. Howls and applause
echoed throughout the church, the party had officially begun with the placing
of the "angel". That finished, Devilyn turned and smiled wider.]
"Happy Holidays.. to all you naughty boys and girls.. " She gave a sexy
little wink to the camera. "Santa who?" She laughed sweetly. "Being a good
girl has never gotten me anything I ever wanted.." She coiled her way back
towards Ian side. "And Ian just simply cannot behave for long. Fuck the Nice
list.. Ian owns all that is Naughty.. Dec 27th, will insure someone has a
very, very.. Unhappy New Year.." Her seductively sinister laugh echo's off
the wall as it fades.
[Fade to Black]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ LIL' TOMMY & MARDUK THE MAGNIFICENT / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[The last time we saw Lil’ Timmy or Tommy... I honestly can’t remember which name we go with. Let’s go with Timmy this time. The last time we saw Lil’ Tommy the TSWF orphan, he was getting kicked around by JDM Superstar and Steve Greedy. Cheap heat is the only thing those assholes are seeing. You’ll be happy to know that thanks to Vile “Vince” Viper’s wonderful book “No Selling Made Easy” available at finer retailers everywhere, Lil’ Tommy didn’t have to spend the holidays in an intensive ward. The child couldn’t look happier, giggling away, as he sits atop My Man Marduk’s shoulders, waiting in line to see Santa Claus.]
Marduk the Magnificent: I hope you all know what you’re going to ask Santa for...
Kids: Parents!
[...A pained look crosses My Man Marduk’s horrifically scared face. The one thing he can’t give them. Besides Lil’ Timmy, the Magnificent One has a dozen other orphans standing around him, anxious to get their picture taken with Santa. My Man Marduk was dropping off some toys to the orphanage, when he thought it would be a nice treat to get the kids some pictures. Besides, if he cuts a promo with all of their sad faces surrounding him, he can draw attention to the plight of American orphans. Don’t just adopt Samoan babies because they make better wrestlers. What kind of fucked up wrestling fans are you? It’s a long line to get to see jolly old Saint Nick, but the kids seem to be enjoying themselves. That’s the important thing.]
Marduk the Magnificent: Hi there Shootfire Pro Wrestling... it’s nice to finally be in this legendary league, if for only a one shot. <double checking headcount to make sure he hasn’t lost any orphans> I’m really quite ecstatic. <turns back to camera with a smile> When I was first invited to participate, I was a little apprehensive... I don’t like appearing in federations with my brother. It looks like I’m riding his coat tails... and the last thing I want to do is cramp his style.
[Pulling open his Coat, Marduk reveals his SWAT Backyard Heavyweight title, drawing “ooos” and “aaahs” from the kids. They’re patronizing him, but he appreciates the gesture.]
Marduk the Magnificent: Kieran Rae – an absolutely delightful lady – has recently been in touch with certain parties trying to buy my stomping grounds, SWAT Backyard. Backyard was recently put out of business, and a lot of my fellow stars are looking for work. It’s a bad time to be out of a job, and a lot of the young kids that called Backyard their home are pretty hard pressed to find another federation. I know I couldn’t possibly win this rumble... up against amazing talents like Johnny Pain, Gabriel Van Zahn, and Marissa Monet... a LEGEND in Luke Kinsey... or even my brother. <pained smile> It’ll be nice seeing him around the holidays. I’m not going to win the rumble... but I’m hoping if I do well, I can show the lovely miss Rae what talents we have... had... over in Backyard. Maybe encourage the sale... help my friends find employment. I know my expectations are high... but... well... I believe in Christmas Miracles.
[The large group shuffles a few feet closer to Chris Cringle... getting out of the shadow of a kiosk, Marduk can see the mall’s large Christmas tree. ...Wouldn’t that be a great weapon? A twenty foot tree covered in breakable decorations... wouldn’t that leave an impression?]
Marduk the Magnificent <looking down at the ground>: ...Bring Your Own Weapons... I’m not a hardcore fighter. Oh, I’ve had my share of scrapes <points at his burnt face>; I’ve been in a few wars. ...But when I got into this business, I wanted to be the good guy. The real good guy... the one kids could look up to because he did the right thing, not because a booker checked off a box that said FACE next to his name. ...And as a good guy, I always associated weapons with cheating. It’s wrestling... win with athletic merit... don’t win with a steel chair. I don’t use weapons. ...Bring your own weapons... even when it’s in the rules... it doesn’t seem right. It betrays my character. So what are my options... do I bring a dove to a gun fight?
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!”
[The last time we saw Frank Wilkes, he was being taken into questioning by police for something Jean Pierre Celine had done. Things didn’t look to festive for Frank, with prison rape being the only thing he could hope for in the future. Things have apparently turned around, as you recognize the former SPW star’s eyes from behind a big, fake, bushy beard. Seated on a throne in the centre of the mall, Frank Wilkes smiles with a child on his lap for another picture. Patting the kid on the head, Wilkes sends the delighted child to their parents. Before the next brat can come up for some holiday cheer, the mall manager approaches Wilkes with a smile.]
Store Manager: Why Frank, I can honestly say that you’re the best mall Santa I’ve ever seen.
Frank Wilkes: Thanks Mister B. It’s all about the kids.
Store Manager: Your PASSION and ENTHUSIASM shows! You’re well loved by all the staff; we’ve never gotten so many compliments from the customers. Sales are up... and well... we just think the world of you. In fact, I’ve been speaking to the owners... and even though we really only need a Santa for the month of December, and its unheard of for department stores to have them any longer... we’d REALLY like to hire you FULL TIME!
Frank Wilkes <to camera>: A Christmas Miracle!
Store Manager: We’ll double your current salary, and give you full medical and dental!
Everyone: YAY!
Frank Wilkes: I don’t know what to say...
Store Manager <pulling out contract>: Say you’ll take it! Do it for me... we love having you around here.
Frank Wilkes <holding pen>: Well... I’d really like to... the thing is... before you hire, I should let you know... I mean... no BIG deal or anything... I don’t think it’ll affect anything... I’m still the same guy... you’ll probably laugh about it... and I’m only telling you this, because I’m required to by law... but...
...I _am_ a registered sex offender.
[!]
[...a hush falls over the crowd.]
Frank Wilkes <gesturing to the next child>: And what’s your name little boy?
[The store manager rips up the contract, as Frank Wilkes sinks. It was almost a Christmas miracle.]
Store Manager: ...Security is on their way. I think you’d better leave.
[Hanging his head in shame, Frank Wilkes rises out of his Santa thrown, and starts to strip off the holly jolly apparel, until he’s down to his Marissa Monet boxing shorts. Not boxers with Marissa’s face on them mind you, but rather a pair of allegedly her Boxers that were purchased off of e-bay. Complete with cucumber to overcompensate for penis envy. This enormous bulge does not help Wilkes case, as the former SWAT Ultimate champion finds himself being chased by a mob of angry parents. As a side note, that was my favourite exchange ever and I think SPW management would be hard pressed not to give Frank Wilkes the rumble win, even if he’s not an entrant.]
Lil’ Timmy: Where’s Santa goin?
[...The orphans look ready to cry.]
Marduk the Magnificent: Oh... that was just one of his helpers. I’ll see what’s keeping him.
[Putting Lil’ Timmy down, Marduk walks over to the Store Manager, the two exchange a few words. The manager looks around, and then starts to push the Santa costume back to the workshop, while Marduk tiptoes to a dressing room. Rather than jump cut, or wait around for him to change, I’ll distract you with one of the elves who comes running into the foreground.]
Elf: ROAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[...wait... that’s not an elf. It’s Marissa Monet!]
Marissa Monet dressed as an Elf: ROAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[...it might be Ben the Wrestling Bear dressed as Marissa Monet, dressed as an elf.]
Ben the Wrestling Bear IS Marissa Monet: ROAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[...shit. To listen to the Bear, Marissa is going to win the rumble. That doesn’t help me. Fuck off Ben the wrestling bear. Those of you shopping for Monet might want to get her a lady shave... wait, that was a Bear, right? Ben stomps over to a Quizno, looking for a job making sandwiches. All I know about Bear behaviour I learned from Yogi’s first Christmas. Santa Claus has returned! A flash pan takes us back to “Santa’s village,” where one of the female orphans sits on Santa’s lap.]
Cindy the Orphan: An i wan a easy bake oven... an a pony... an som parants...
Santa Claus: Hohoho... we’ll see what we can wipe up Cindy.
[Patting the girl on the head, the fully costumed Marduk smiles for a picture, before sending Cindy along. Lil’ Timmy runs over, and jumps on Marduk’s left leg... enflaming an old injury. Marduk looks pained.]
Santa Claus: Merry Christmas!
Lil’ Timmy: Santa... what happened to u’r face?
[Flinch. The beard obscures most of his face, but you’d have to be blind to miss all the heavily scared flesh on the right side of Marduk’s face. He was a pretty boy once.]
Santa Claus: ...A man named Flaming Bob Muretic was a very naughty boy. <turning to camera> The sick monster thought it would be funny to use a blow torch on my head... set me off like a candle, and laughed it up. Not a day goes by that I don’t go back to the day... wondering if I was asking for it, knowing that nothing could justify it. I know the good lord says to forgive my fellow man... but Bob makes it so hard... <back to boy> HOHOHO... and what do you want for Christmas, Timmy?
Lil’ Timmy: Oh... I guess u can’t really do Parents... but I’d like...um... peace on earth. For all men to treat each other as brothers. An end to world hunger. An easy bake oven. That would end world hunger. A tickle me elmo. A hug. A copy of Amazing Fantasy issue number 15. A puppy. A hula hoop. A Tonka truck. A robot dog. A box of Mr. T cereal. The complete Transformers on the DVD. A Nintendo Wii...
[Reaching into his pocket, Timmy pulls out a massive list. Realizing the child is in his own little world, Marduk turns to the camera, hoping to continue this interview while humouring Timmy...]
Lil’ Timmy: A rocket sled. A loving family. A Joe Petrow action figure...
Santa Claus <back to camera>: ...Flaming Bob Muretic has cost me a lot, and set my career back by years. I don’t like giving into to negative emotions, feelings of hate... but I intensely dislike Bob. You could consider him my arch enemy. We spent a number of years feuding with each other, trading wins, always at a stalemate as to who was better. ...But if you ask the average wrestling fan which he remembers better... chances are you’ll get a response of Flaming Bob, rather than yours truly. That’s okay... I don’t have a big ego, and Bob is a great wrestler, even if he’s a questionable human being. So why is retired, living off royalty cheques, while I struggle to make a living in federations like NOTORIOUS and SWAT? ...SPW.
Lil’ Timmy: ...An iphone, a blueray player...
Santa Clause <cringe>: ...Flaming Bob Muretic and I were in the same places, at the same times... then he joined SHootfire Pro Wrestling... and the next thing you know he’s the WORLD CHAMPION. He’s the FIRST world champion. He started a line of champions in one of the longest lasting federations in our sport. ...And I wonder... could that have been me? Could I have been a world champion? Could I be part of this legacy? ...So I’m finally doing something about it. A decade after the malevolent Bob set his mark on this charming federation, I’m aiming to do the same. The annual Charity Carnage Rumble... can I really become a part of your history... can I win... can I prove that I’m just as good as Flaming Bob?
Lil’ Timmy: A month long orgasm slowly brought on by Iris Galiver an’ Ericka Toughill, fin... finishing with Tiffany Lane and Nik-------------!
Santa Claus: ...Wait, what was that last one?
Lil’ Timmy: A mo... month long... organism... slow-ly brought on by Iris...
Santa Claus: Did you write this list?
Lil’ Timmy: I can barely read. ...What’s an horjasm?
Santa Claus: Don’t worry Timmy... you’ve been nice all your life. You haven’t gotten all the breaks other kids have... but you’ve never complained, and it’ll pay off. We might not get everything you want, but I PROMISE... <eyes narrow> we’ll get everything we DESERVE.
Lil’ Timmy: Thanks Santa.
[The child hugs Marduk as the picture is taken. Marduk turns those narrowed eyes to the camera, promises of an unlikely victory dancing through his vision. You know how I said that the Frank Wilkes exchange was the best thing ever, and Frank needed to be rewarded? I changed my mind. ...Ben the Wrestling Bear is your unofficial rumble winner!]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ "THE BAD SEED" RICH PATTERSON / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Patterson sits within a remarkably trashed motel room, smoking a Lucky Strike whilst sitting on the wreckage of the room’s furniture, taking a moment to stare into the embers at the end of his cancer stick]
Shayne Grissom, you are as ignorant as you are expendable.
[Patterson flicks the cigarette across the room]
You think you can spread so many lies about another man and get away with it clean as OJ Simpson, but you are so goddamn wrong you may as well spend the rest of your life wearing a sign reading “LOBOTOMISED”, and people might think more highly of you than I ever will.
Are you so deluded with your own crapulence that you actually believe what you said about me, and hoped nobody would ever check the facts to see what a misguided sack of bullshit you are? What was it you said again? That I never amounted to much in the ICWF?
Let me tell you something, Grissom: if being a dominant TV Champion doesn’t amount to “anything”, can you inform everyone watching what you achieved there? Or was I right when you were being so wrong – you didn’t have the balls to hang around long enough to be found out as the fake that you so clearly are?
You’re probably gloating that you somehow beat me, yet once again that is a lie that you hide behind: if the referee could do their job and see a foot on the ropes, you wouldn’t be laughing right now. The fact is, you couldn’t even get the job done with that move of yours, so what you proved was that you have NOTHING, Grissom. If your arsenal is ineffective, you cannot beat someone – and words have never won a battle, let alone a war.
[Patterson pauses, to pick another Lucky Strike out of the packet, and places it behind his ear]
The funny thing is, for a moment I bet you thought you’d gotten away with it, and were preparing to run across the border under the impression you were a free man. And once more, Grissom, you were wrong – instead, you find yourself being delivered to me, and this time I can do anything I want to make you choke on your words, you actions, and your inflated sense of worth. You see, Grissom, you were always short-sighted, unable to see past your reflection, and didn’t see the Bring Your Own Weapons Battle Royal was on the horizon, and I knew it was there all along. Or were you assuming that you wouldn’t be in it, thinking it was below “your” level of…whatever you actually bring to the table.
Next time you step into the arena, I will be waiting – and I have some very, very nasty surprises in store for you. And you will learn why you shouldn’t run your mouth to create this image that you are somehow better than me, as fate has a nasty habit of kicking you hard in the nuts, and standing on your throat when you’re down. And that’s just one of many ideas I’ve got for when you’re retarded enough to come within five feet of me.
As for everyone else in the match, don’t for one second think I’ll be focusing all my energies on the soon-to-be Blood Red Sugar that was Shayne Grissom, oh no. That’s the kind of thinking that makes sure that accidents happen.
Grissom may have to be made an example of, to become a Crime Scene Investigation all on his lonesome, but he’s just the cherry on top of the dessert. Each and every person entered into this match wants to prove they’re the baddest of the bad, and with it claim a shot at the title of their choice, which means there are plenty of hopes and dreams of IN ONE NIGHT. So many will talk themselves up, so many will be thinking of which title to go for and when they’ll be cashing in their chips, and by taking that away I will ruin their Christmas to such a degree, there will be two reasons they won’t want to look at themselves in the mirror the following morning.
This won’t be a match to any purist, and probably not even to the dictionary definition. What it will be, more than anything else, is chaos. Chaos brings disorder, disorder brings anarchy, and anarchy sees control fall from the hands of those in power to those who shout the loudest or hit the hardest. And because it is impossible to control somebody as everything comes crashing down, I have faith in chaos – I live for chaos, I pray for chaos, and when something is worth praying for, when it comes I make sure I breathe it in and savour the atmosphere.
For those who fear chaos, you lock their doors and pray for a swift resolution, I have to say one thing: too bad. The abyss is staring back into you, and he’s right here waiting for the moment where everything comes crashing down, so he can stand amidst the wreckage, laughing at those who weren’t evolved enough to survive what was to come. And when that happens, I will turn my sights onto a prize that befits my achievement, and then I will ask Shayne Grissom’s next of kin a simple question: Was his sacrifice worth it, if he achieved less than nothing?
[Fade.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ JAYDEN PRINCE & CHANCE FORTUNA / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Paparazzi photogs began snapping pictures immediately as the long
stretched purple limo pulled up to the venue. As the limo door swung open, a pair
of picture perfect ZZ Top inspired legs swung out followed by amazing
Jade. Standing there to pose for the photos for a moment, Jet crawled out from
the limo and on the ground between Jade's legs! Jade dancing over top of
Jet who began suggestively gyrating her hips underneath her, letting her
hands slide up and along the legs of Jade. Lastly, and certainly not least the
former IGA World Champion, Jayden Prince, stepped out behind Jade wearing a
purple Zoot Suit. His hand moving to the back of her head and pushing
forward. Jade bending at the waist sticking her ass in Jayden Prince's crotch!
Jayden putting his hands behind his head and begins gyrating behind Jade,
the threesome putting on an over indulgent show for the cameras before
Jayden snapped his fingers, Jet and Jade popping back up to their feet and
joining alongside of Jayden, each of them wrapping onto one of his arms. Jayden
looking up and off into the sky without making eye contact to the cameras
as he began to speak.]
Jayden: So this is the infamous SPW? So much history, so many storied
rivalries and champions. So many other things...to say...about it...here...[not
sounding too enthused.] But nothing...is more historic then today, December
27...2009 of the year of our lord as history is being made! The GREATEST
IGA World Champion EVER has come to take SPW to the next level. After
tonight, I will leave New York City as the #1 contender to the SPW World Title
and either Andrew Davis or Sammy Knight will find their World Title reign
in immediate jeopardy from the most talented entity in this business today!
[Snapping his fingers Jade and Jet break off from him, Jayden motioning
them forward past the Paparazzi.]
Jayden: I have bags and things that need to be brought in, find someone to
take care of it.
[The 2 dance and slink their way past the photographers heading off. Jayden
standing to the side posing for more photo opportunities.]
Jayden: You have a group of former IGA has beens, even more SPW never
weres, and several little girls that would be better off at home barefoot and
pregnant then trying to play with the big boys. For the last two weeks since
I agreed to enter this event, the Internet dirt sheets on every wrestling
fan site from here to West Guam has been lit up talking about the greatest
return since Jesus Christ. But people have questioned my heart, if I've got
what it takes to come into enemy territory with an obvious bullseye on my
head. Because if there's anyone in this Rumble who can eliminate me, they'll
obviously sky rocket to the top of the World. However, looking over the
names who are in this event...Vile "Vince" Viper, Owen Cage, Scott Starring,
[laughs] Johnny Pain...Spooky Doom, Victory Frost, Colt Montana...they're
not even close to my level. It's almost laughable...[obviously fake over
dramatic laugh.] Hahaha!
[Turning around and facing the other direction, giving the photogs a
different profile and pose for their photo opportunities.]
Jayden: Not only have I come to SPW to upset the status quo, I plan on
being the Grinch who stole the show. I completely understand that overnight I
will become the most hated many in this organization, there are men in this
event that have put their blood and broken bones into SPW, week in and week
out year after year to get where they are. To acquire this chance for
greatness, but for normal people...that's what you'd expect. I am anything but
normal, and that's why I've been given the pass, to the head of line.
Honestly, the other 29 men in this event...belong exactly where they
are...behind me.
[The photographers are moved out of the way by Chance Fortuna with Jet and
Jade standing alongside of him.]
Chance: What the hell? [looking around and looking irritated before seeing
Jayden giving his impromptu press conference.] Jesus Christ...
Jayden: We've already addressed that fact...[grins.] Chance! I'm glad
you're still here, I have bags in the trunk you need to carry in.
[Chance looks taken aback by Jayden's request, looking to Jet and Jade and
then to Jayden.]
Chance: Well, I'd like to say it's good to see you again...but that's a lie
so...go fuck your self...
[Jet, Jade and Jayden in unison gasp in shock at the show of disrespect.]
Jayden: You can't talk to me like that!
Chance: [smirks.] Just did, do somethin' about it.
Jayden: [shakes his finger at Chance in rage.] Last time we met in the
ring, you were looking up at the lights and I was leaving the arena with my arm
raised in the air, or did you forget!
Chance: Well, you did jump me from behind...so if you're happy with that
kinda win, I can live with that..Whoopie Goldberg!
Jayden: What!?
Jet: What did you call him!
Jade: Oh no he didn't!
Jet: You need to take it back!
Jade: That's not even funny!
Jet: You're ugly!
Jade: You're ugly!
Jayden: You're ugly!
Jet: Uh huh!
Chance: Listen! Color Purple [motioning to Jayden] and En Vouge
[motioning to Jade and Jet.] you may have gotten into this Rumble as a special
guest...but this is SPW...this is MY organization, this is MY
inheritance....this is MY future. I'll be damned if you or anyone else robs me of this, and if I need to run you over in the parking lot to maintain what's mine...you
better believe there are no boundaries I won't cross!
Jayden: I understand...you're feeling threatened now that I'm here. Which
is understandable...there's 29 other SPW Superstars that feel exactly the
same way you do. But you need to understand something, there are some things
in life...you just can't change and you need to accept. This, is one of
those times...the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can get on with your
life. And maybe you should be nice to me, cause once I win the rumble and
then move onto the World Title...I'll be looking for people to work for
me...we'll consider this your try out...get my bags out of the trunk...and make
yourself quick about it!
[Clapping his hands together, Jayden walks forward, Jet and Jade latching
onto his arms as he passed by them. Chance standing here seething, as the
trio headed inside Chance looked to the limo and back over his shoulder,
something devious going on in the back of his head before the thought was soon
pushed out with all the camera men now shooting him. Falling back into his
natural state Chance looked away and turned back around flashing THE BLUE
STEEL!]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ TEAM EGO / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Shane Diamond, Miss Jasmine, and Owen Cage are riding in the moving conveyor belts of JFK International Airport during the holiday season. Leaning to the left so passers by can return to their families. Owen has no family and thus, doesn't really care (aside from the millions.... of Team EGO fans!) Oh and his Brotha from another Motha in Shane Diamond and Miss Jasmine too.
The camera closes in to show that Miss Jasmine wears a pair of tight dark wash jeans with a black leather jacket and a light red sequin top under the jacket. Shane Diamond is clad in a pair of khaki pants with a black button DKNY shirt (very GQ!). Wearing an Eighty Eight shirt with white stenciled lines, a giant black cross with blue outlines and golden sparks all across the back in angel's wings, Cage is leaning on the side, a small booklet open as he is reading "Enoch" through the tint of his rose colored Vendi glasses. His blonde hair casually hanging at a ninety degree angle over the side of the left frame. He smirks, grinning out.]
Owen: So you religious at all there Shane?
Shane: Religious? Man, I'm not sure what I am. I think that I'm a free spirit that just gets by in this world. Well, wait, maybe I worship Santa. Yeah, that's right... I go to church on Christmas when Christmas is on Sundays.
Owen: Nah man, Christmas ain't really religion, it's like the Church just moved Christ's birthday to cover up the Pagan Solstice, I think his real birthday was in March.
Shane: AHHH!! My brains!
Owen: ...What you didn't know that?
Shane: No, my parents lied!
Owen: Jesus Christ, grow up. Ohh and I bet you believe that Santa Exists!
[A woman is pulling her kid by its mitten past them and the girl stares up with big eyes-]
Owen: Um, because he does!
[The child smiles as Owen cringes, and smacks his book into Shane's arm. Shane, oblivious to the world around him, thinks it was the child who smacks him. He rears back his fist.]]
Shane: HEY! Watch it, you little...
[Shane looks at the kid and realizes he wearing a TEAAAMM EGGOOOOO! jacket. Miss Jasmine points this out.]
Jasmine: You might want to watch your back hand, Shane.
Shane: [shaking his head] Oh yeah, smart little kid. Smartest kid I have ever seen actually! So, Owen, as you were.
Owen: I'm reading this cool ass book here, one of these biblical books that the church didn't officially approve, or recognize, but oh for some reason you won't hear them at Sunday Mornings, yet they're all about God and these new stories man that I never heard.
Shane: That... that's blasphemy, Owen. That's... wrong.
Owen: Blah you. Listen to this, k, apparently before the flood there were these Angels of Darkness who came down to earth, banged a bunch of historical hos, and had these pervert giant creatures running around, eating on people and teachin em astronomy and shit. And that's why God got mad and had to flood everyone out and start over.
Shane: Yes God, does get mad, I am sure. And no, I don't mean Vince Viper. I mean the REAL God. God can do what he wants to do and there is nothing we can do about it. I think God is a smart woman.
[Owen looks at Shane.]
Shane: That's right. A beautiful black woman like Jazzy here.
[Jasmine laughs as Shane grins like a fool.]
Owen: Quit trying to get laid right here, man.
Shane: What? I never. If I wanted to get laid I'd just find me a ho. You know, God put hos on Earth, too. They also serve a purpose.
Owen: World's been full of hos man, since the Garden of Eden. But I can see why the Church doesn't want to talk about these books man, I mean it doesn't really fit into 'God created the earth in seven days and now we have internet cable' type cookie cutter sermons. I mean think about it, apocrypha, pseudographigapia, or whatever, who decided what and who? Who says who gets what?
Shane: Well, I used to think I was the one who controlled everything and decided I was the one who got what I wanted, until I joined up here in Shootfire Pro and realized there are many... thousands!... of people who control who gets what! That's right. I realized there were those creeps the Power Structure, and Kieran Rae and her ho train. Man, it's just a wild world here in the SPW.
Owen: Well it's like Charity Carnage. You gotcher stories about the Disciples and the Jesus and the Abrahamas and the Mozi, which is like the Legends in this thing and the High rollers. Old Testament, New Testament. Kinsey, Petrow, Viper, everyone knows them hell Viper's about as old as Adam anyways. And I'm pretty sure they took down Jericho by swinging a cow. But then there's the New Testatments. Jesus aka "Violent" Victor Frost all hailed as the new messiah and next World Champ title contender in a never ending cycle of blah. Scott Starring, Marissa Monet, Spooky Doom all given their own books, acts, whatnot and so forth. Spectre, Chance McKenzie, Jayden Prince, all these mythical sounding books who are famous.
Shane: Jayden Prince, eh? What kind of name is that anyway? Who are these freak shows and why have I never, ever heard of them, my man? The SPW has got to realize that we, Team EGO, are the best damn thing going in this business right now! We are THE tag team champions and that does not seem to mean a thing around these parts! We could probably crown Jesus Christ Almighty himself as an honorary member of TEAM... EGO... and no one would care! No one! Not Steve Greedy! Not Kieran Rae! Not that old fossil who THINKS he is God, Vince Viper! NO ONE!
Owen: I think that what WE are- we are the unrecognized, just as good, even more interesting books that aren't included, aren't considered, are written off. Where's the Book of EGO!? Where's the Book of Owen! I want my Psalm of Shane!
Shane: And yea, he saw that Pussy Control, Was Good.
Owen: But no. We don't even get tacked on to someone's biblical index. We're not even the back page you rip out so you can roll a joint to smoke. NEGLECTED!
[A passing Security guard husks by, eyeing him just in case.... Owen smiles.]
Owen: Neglected. Forgotten. Uncanonized bitches.
Shane: Uncanonized, bitches.
Owen: IF I have to stand here and hear about GOD ONE MORE- one more time this season I'm gonna scream. God God God. He has his own books, his own stories, his own myths, his own creation. Hell every single thing you read of that guy is longer than a freakin gospel anyways. And apparently, he's Romanian.
Shane: He is? Wow, I didn't know that. I thought he was from Brooklyn.
Owen: But hold the phone.
[The conveyor belt stops. The extras on the set walk off as a Director yells 'Cut' and the yellow arm lowers as the airport scenario in the background comes to a screeching halt. Shane pauses, as makeup comes rushing up to pad his nose for gleam. Owen drops his back, cracking his neck from side to side. Miss Jasmine throws up her arms and walks off scene. Neither Shane nor Owen notice she is gone.]
Owen: Is it be, can it be, does it is, that what if, what if the uncanonized bitches, in Team EGO actually won the B-YOW... what would change?
[Shane is looking off as they pad his forehead under the light.]
Owen: What if our books actually were canonized? What if ours was the one true gospel- oh thank you.
[A techie rushes up, and Cage takes off his blonde wig revealing dark hair combed back, and they attach a new highlighted brown and blonde trendy haircut, and new golden chains to wrap around his neck. A leather satchel replaces the gym bag as the camera pulls back to show Shane now sporting a 400$ goatee, and a thousand dollar shirt. They both lean against the railing as the camera pulls back and a horn blows as the airport comes to life again, the conveyor once again moving.]
Owen: I mean Shane, Team EGO with that magical title shot? Actual power to use it like those self-absorbed idiots who've been running around all season long outruling each other to inanity.
Shane: This place is full of bias bastards, Owen. If Team EGO won this diabolical they'd have no other choice but to let us run the show. Let us be in the spotlight. They'd have _no_ other choice because we'd be "it." Oh wait... we already are "it." [a pause] Hey, have you ever thought who "they" were?
[Owen looks at him, confused.]
Shane: Ya know, when "they" say this and that. Who are "they?"
[Owen continues to look at Diamond with the same look still plastered on his face. Shane scratches his expensive goatee.]
Shane: Ok, nevermind. Whatever dude. We'd be the shit.
Owen: We all of a sudden ...we'd be in charge. And not just one token main event to shut us up so we'd be happy. We'd actually like, run this place. Man that would suck!!
Shane: Suck? What! What are you talking about! That would rock. Everyone would be wearing Team EGO snuggies! I'd make the commentators be hot strippers! Then I'd bitch slap--
Owen: Dude! Do you think that the fans would buy us? Do you think I mean oh sure they love us in what we do, our Team EGO Snuggies done sold out, but Shane Diamond, Owen Cage, main eventing Wrestlebowl?!
Shane: Rick Styles would turn over in his grave!
Owen: All of sudden it'd be, Sammy Knight who? Andrew Davis what? Vile Vince THAT GUY? From 13 years ago!?? Luke Kinsey? He'd be in the Hall of Fame! Man can you see it now! Team EGO, main eventing Shootfire Pro Wrestling, carrying the best federation in the world on the very top of the game! We'd be selling out ALL The T-Shirts, we'd have the million nicknames, we'd have the private dressing rooms and stables built around us!
Young plucky athletes like James O'Connor would be crawling over barbed wire to save us! Jive Talking Born Champions like Eddie Christian would be carrying our gym bags to leech off our names!! Scott Starrings would be blowing their own faces off to try and take US OUT!
Shane: Oh yeah! And Serena Black would be shining our boots! And, and... "Sensuous" Samantha would be between our legs with Tiffany Lane between her legs!
Owen: Yeah Marissa Monet would still be trying to get over the men.
Shane: Yeah.
Owen: Sad.
Shane: Hmmm.
Owen: So did her Dad try to rape her or something? Anyhow, I don't know if I'm ready.
[Shane waits a beat, and the camera focuses in on him -he smacks Owen as hard as he can across the face!!!]
**SSSSSSSSSSMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!*
[Fade back as Owen is there, his stunt double wobbling around in the background, crashing into the set. The conveyor belt turns as they reach a limo's interior, and they quickly move to step inside as the camera turns in a huge circle to see Team EGO relaxing in the lap of luxury, each with a glass of champagne in hand. Shane is wearing a full length fur coat, Owen in a leather duster jacket with golden rings. Shane is smiling out the window, pointing at adoring fans and camera flashing paparazzi boom and pop outside like torrential downfall of reverent adulation.]
Owen: Shane, SHANE!!
Shane: [ignoring Owen, he sips his champagne] I love all the little people.
Owen: Are you ready!? Can we handle it! Can we do this! I mean I'm barely even 30! I'm too old to start a Coke habit!
Shane: I don't really want 16 mistresses....
Owen: 17!! And what about my product endorsement deals!
Shane: Oh! I love that, too! That makes me want to go insane with insanity! Yeah! That makes me want to make Team EGO dildos for all the lonely house wives at home watching us! Team EGO pocket puss- you get the idea!
Owen: Not to mention Make a Wish appearances dude we'll never even see our families again. We'll never have a normal life. We'll be show ponies, we'll be fictionalized spokespersons, we'll be cartoon caricatures of what real pro wrestlers are all about!!
[Shane and Owen turn, and look at YOU.]
[Aaaaand then right back.]
Shane: 17?
Owen: Shane! I don't think I can do it man, I don't think I can.
Shane: You can do it, Owen. We can do it. We will reign supreme. YOU CAN DO IT!!!
Owen: I CAN'T DO IT MAN! I CAN'T BE WORLD CHAMP! I'M CRACKIN UP!!
Shane: WHY ARE YOU CRACKIN' UP!!! WHY AM I SCREAMING LIKE THIS!!
Owen: NOOO!! I GOTTA GOOD THING GOING! I'M A COMEDY ACT!! I CAN'T DO SERIOUS! I CAN'T QUOTE WILLIAM BUTLER YEATES! I HATE B - MOVIES!! I DON'T WANT TO BE IN STRAIGHT TO VIDEO DVD!!!!
[The limousine stops and the camera spins in a full circle to see Owen and Shane standing there, as dressers come pull their jackets off to rush away, leaving Cage and Diamond standing in clown pants with "JTTS" written on their blue T-Shirts as they look down at their clothes, standing there in the dark as a stagehand pushes a cardboard lemonade stand looking frame in front of them that reads "WRASSLIN! $5 or Basic Human Decency" (with the $ backwards) and Cue Colt Montana to come in and lean against the shop in his silver mask and over-tanned self. Owen and Shane look relieved, as they grip the framework set.]
[They inhale.... ah yes, mediocrity! .....and exhale. Good.]
Owen: Ah yes. Now this feels like home. A bunch of comedy characters who can just be show filler and curtain jerk for the main event, maybe face the Champ at OTC and are good to move some merchandise. Right Colt!
Colt: ...
Owen: ...
Shane: ....
Colt: ....Line?
(off camera)
Colt: DIOS MIO!!!!
Owen: Ahhhhhhh. And forever banned to the annals of biblical obscurity. In an EPIC scale.
Shane: Praise Enoch.
Owen: Uh Un Un!! Praise JESUS.
Shane: Praise GOD. Thank you God.
Owen: Thank you wrestling Gods, for making our content small and likeable, happy in our irrelevance, and not really ever putting over tag team wrestling in North America. Shane, it's great that you and I can forever be grateful to know our place, and appreciate what little respect it will ever bring us.
Shane: ....Amen.
Owen: Amen. After all, it's not like it's reality or anything.
[Shane raises his eyebrow.]
Director: CUTTT!!!
[And as the horn blows we fade out on "WRASSLIN!"....]
[Open back up as Colt is leaning against the post, arms folded.]
Colt: Man... I was the first in my famiy to have an MBA.
Owen: Yeah well, it's job security in this economy.
Shane: Guys I gotta run update the website, and close up the polls. They're gaying up the Shoutbox again.
Owen: Yeah me too, booker's freakin AWOL again. Thanks for producing.
Colt: And I minored in sports nutrition....
Shane: Least I can do. Feeling better? See ya at the pay per view.
Owen: Thank you, Hey all the best to your mother. Man there ain't gonna be any RP budget after the high rollers finish up, this is the longest OTC anyways.
Colt: ...First in my class at Juliard.....
Shane: Who authorized booking Jay-Z?
Owen: Oh God, probably the same assholes who used Kanye at Iconoclasm. Main eventers.
Shane: Talent. Who needs 'em.
[Team EGO split off to walk away as Colt is just staring there, shaking his silver mask as he nods with lips scrunched up.]
Colt: Meh, it's a living. BYOW, BYOW... ahem...
BEEEEEEEEEEEYOW! LUCHA LUCHA!!!
BEEEEYO!! BEEEEEYO!!! VIVA LA RRRRRRUMMBLE!
[Colt walks off chanting as we fade to black.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ "SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[A "Charity Carnage" logo is seen in the background, as "Sychosys" Joe
Petrow is shuttled onto the set. He looks offscreen to someone and
says "so I can just say anything I want?", appears to get some sort of
confirmation, and then addresses the camera.]
Petrow: So, I guess the thing that I learned this month, is that it's
better to be a star in this business, than to *have been* a star in
this business at one time.
The problem is, you can't *be* a star forever. The lucky one's have
their priorities change, and they can just give this shit up. Some of
the one's that don't die are so crippled that they can't ever set foot
in a ring again. They ain't lucky, but at least God makes that
decision for them. The rest of us...well, we just stop getting the
phone calls to wherever we live.
But we all get addicted to the fame and the rush. So for those
people, there's two options. One has already been outlined well
enough by Mickey Rourke in "The Wrestler". The other is to whore
yourself out as a "special attraction", so you can be on the big shows
that everyone was dying to have you on before. So you book your own
flights now, you drive yourself to the building; that limo ain't
waiting there for you anymore. Any past promises to get you to the
show are long forgotten. You get stuffed into a cramped community
dressing room, where you try to make idle chitchat with dozens of guys
that you don't know, but who all assume that you are an asshole
through past rumors. Then a director that's younger than you tells
you to make a couple of skits that make you look like a fool, and "oh,
could you put Marissa over as your intellectual superior too?" Then
you get herded like cattle into a line to cut your promo, "not too
long", before I'm expected to go out and perform in the ring. Again,
"not too long, the stars don't like to be upstaged you know."
And they keep chipping away at your self esteem, until you start going
the Randy "The Ram" Robinson route. So maybe there is only one option
after all.
So to all [Petrow looks offscreen again] YEAH, I'M WRAPPING IT UP NOW!
[back to the camera] So to all of you in the back who might be taking
delight in seeing the stars of your past humbled, I've got something
to say. One day, you're gonna get old too. So you better get
yourself a wife, a family, or something else that replaces the burning
passion in your heart. Because if you don't...one day, you're going
to make the same desperate, shameful grab for that main event that
used to be yours.
[Petrow turns to walk off the set, but stops to look back once more.]
Petrow: The only difference is...*I'll* be successful. Because unlike
you...*I*...am [screams at the top of his lungs] JOE PETROW!!!!!!
[An uncomfortable second of heavy breathing follows before he is
finally coaxed off the set.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ JOHNNY PAIN / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
Requiem for Mercy..
[A song begins to play quietly, and it gradually grows louder and louder,
'Requiem for a Dream' begins playing in the background. The camera comes to
life on a mount of dirt and a shovel that was left standing inside the
mound. A gloved hand quickly reaches down and pulls it out of the dirt and the
shovel comes slamming back into the mound grabbing a pile of dirt as the
shovel is lifted and turned towards a grave. The shovel is halted as the
camera fades to black.]
V/O: I came back for a reason..
[We now see a stand decorated with wrestling belts, trophies and other
memorabilia. The scene fades and was replaced by a picture of a little kid with
a cut out of cardboard wrestling belt that simply read 'World Champion'.]
V/O: My destiny awaits me.
[We come now to see a clip of a young man running back into the ropes of a
very run down and crappy wrestling ring and the teen comes flying off the
ropes and leaps high into the air nailing a drop kick into the chest of
another young man which takes him off his feet and he lands hard against the
canvas of the ring.]
V/O: I've paid my due's over and over again.
[The music really starts to get intense, the camera comes back to the
shovel full of dirt and it's thrown into the grave before another shovel full of
dirt is grabbed.]
V/O: It's time to bury the past and unlock the future that awaits me.
[Another load of dirt is throw into the grave, then the scene switches to
the grave stone itself, it reads, "International Grappling Association"
2000 - 2009
another pile of dirt is thrown into the grave, which is now full of dirt.
The man takes the shovel and slams it into the loose dirt that now houses
the grave of the IGA. A bolt of lightning comes down and strikes the grave
stone, and it explodes into a million tiny pieces.]
V/O: It's time.
[Now we see the image of an SPW wrestling ring and a man standing in a
hoodie as strobe lights illuminate parts of the ring here and there. The man
lifts his head but his face can't be made out just yet, and he pulls the
hoodie back from over his head shedding the jacket to the canvas below. The
lights all move to the center of the ring illuminating the individual who's
just standing there with a scowl on his face.]
I have returned to claim my rightful place as SPW World Champion. Cause I
am Johnny Pain, and
[Johnny raises both arms into the air.]
I
[With each word his voice raises and becomes more intense.]
AM
[As the final word is released, it's almost in a guttural roar to go along
with the end of an epic song.]
WRESTLINGGGGGGGGGGGG!!
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ DIRT DOG ALLAH / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
(Fade in:
It's clear he's seen better days. It's clear that time isn't always kind to wrestlers who do not stay in the spotlight. He was Dirt Dog Unique Allah, a hero to millions in the IIWF, a champion, a tag-team champion ... the man who revolutionised the term hardcore with the Seven Tables of Fear match in 1998. And here he is face down on the ground, a bottle by his right hand. Mooselips beer pours out in a widening circle around the mouth of the bottle. He's lying in the backstage area by the trash. He doesn't look out of place. He's dressed in jeans shorts and a grubby suede leather jacket. Half his hair is unbraided and we wouldn't have the cameras get too close up. There might be something crawling through the naps. Mandy Appleton is perhaps the best example of the complete opposite of the Dirt Dog's life. It's clear she's done the right things, attended the right schools and managed to hold and maintain a job. This is not where she wants to be. This is not what she wants to do, but she's a professional and this is how she is forced to make her cheque. She toes the semi-conscious body sprawled out before her, shaking her head. She'll later burn those shoes. As she toes him again she wonders if there is any point in this. Suddenly the Dog jumps to his feet with a yelp. Mandy recoils from the stench of his breath.)
DDUA: Officer, I was just passing by. I didn't know it belonged to aqnybody.
(His eyes dart wildly as he realises that Mandy Appleton doesn't look like any police officer he's ever seen)
DDUA: You ain't my P.O.
Mandy: No, I'm not.
(This crucial bit of information seems to bring a slow awareness to Dirt Dog's bloodshot eyes.)
DDUA: So this has nothing to do with last night at First and Ninth?
(Mandy shakes her head no. Dirt Dog begins blinking owlishly as he rubs his face and tries to run a hand through his hair. He winces with every tangled knot.)
DDUA: You're a pretty little snowflake, ain'tcha?
(DDUA sidles masterfully towards Appleton.)
DDUA: Yeah, the Dirt Dog has definitely been nice this year.
(He drops to his knees behind Appleton and starts snifffing.)
DDUA: Thai for lunch?
(Mandy recoils in horror as Dirt Dog begins rolling on the ground and chasing his own non-existant tail.)
DDUA: Yeah, muhfuhs, the Dirt Dog's like that! I'm just playing with you, Snowflake. I know who you is! Yo, tell that muhfuh, Petrow that I haven't forgotten. He owes me a table, that muhfuh! He owes me my recongition, my credit! I was the muhfuh who made seven tables of Fear! Bitch, I got his history! I made Joe Petrow! I made that muhfuh and he wanna try to go be successful without me? Naw, muhfuh, you don't just forget a muhfuh like me. Go tell 'im that. See, see, see I'm Unique Allah. And I'm an alcoholic. I got that muhfuhing firewater in my system! Yeah, I do muhfuh, and I'm gonna bring a bad attitude into the Battle Rumble. I should be the new SPW champ forever and no muhfuhinè pink walrus gonna stop me.
Mandy: Pink walrus?
(DDUA points over her shoulder to a fuzzy pink walrus dancing on top of trash bags. Mandy does a double take.)
DDUA: So you see it, too, right?
(Mandy blinks and rubs her eyes)
Mandy: I do..
(Dirt Dog looks haunted as he passes Mandy the half empty 40 ouncer of Mooselips)
DDUA: (slowly stepping away) You might want to take a hit of this.
(And with that he runs. Mandy Appleton looks at the Walrus then the bottle of Mooselips. She shakes her head and takes a healthy swig, pulling a face as the disgusting beer hits her.)
Mandy: This damn sure isn't Wonderland.
(Fade out)
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ "THE GODDESS" NINA LARUE / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Darkness.]
Voice: Someone’s been a bad girl.
[We find ourselves faced with “The Goddess” Nina Larue. But she’s not quite herself today. And we’re not just talking about the bruises and cuts, thanks to her recent kidnapping. But there’s a strange smile on her lips, one that doesn’t quite reach her violet eyes.]
[The young woman is sitting on a bench, her legs folded beneath her, clad in simply a tank top and sweat pants. Her feet and hands are taped, the tape sprinkled with fresh blood. Sweat glistens off of her body, her usually lustrous hair matted and falling past her shoulders.]
Nina: Haven’t you, Iris? You’ve broken my husband’s heart, and taken me into the dark.
[She shakes her head and wags her finger.]
Nina: Naughty. Naughty. I suppose it won’t surprise you to know that you will have to be punished now, does it? I will have to take your pretty, pretty belt. But that won’t be all I take.
[She laughs.]
Nina: There will be more, Iris. There _has_ to be more. Because a bad, bad girl needs a special type of treatment. Just like Sakura.
[Now, the smile has faded, her expression dark.]
Nina: It was years ago and we were at the dojo. She called me a coward and said that I was too weak, in front of the other girls. They laughed at me, mocking the foreigner who did not catch on as easily as they did.
[She scoffs.]
Nina: But I knew that I would prove them and Sakura wrong. So, she and I eventually had a match. And I had been training with others that she did not know about, nor did she approve of. So, it was a surprise when I beat her. And an even bigger one when I broke her back.
She never laughed again, nor did the others.
[Nina smirks, licking her lips.]
Nina: Sakura attacked my pride and ultimately had to paid the price. While you, Iris, have endangered my life and broken my dear husband.
However shall I payback a girl like you?
[Fade.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ ERICA TOUGHILL / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Mid-afternoon. Erica Toughill looks out the window overlooking Times Square. Her hoodie covers her ring gear; seemingly she's eager to go.]
ERICA: Tonights the night. This is Times Square. This is Broadway. This has to be the most important night of my career.
[She sighs and looks at the skyline.]
ERICA: I finally made it back to New York City. I grew up just hours away in Rochester, see, and this is always where I wanted to wrestle. Wrestling here is what I gave it all up for. And the last time I was here, I was wrestling back when the DCWL was a major player, not a farm league. But I didn't make it here on my own. I got to wrestle here by virtue of being friends with someone, some ignorant ASS who just reared his ugly head back in the DCWL. But I'm not going in to that.
[She grits her teeth and counts to ten before continuing nonetheless.]
ERICA: I'm here because of what I was able to accomplish on my own. I'm here because I made it with my own two fists.
[She rubs her eyes.]
ERICA: I couldn't sleep last night. These thoughts just kept creeping into my head. We've all had those nights. Everyone has doubts whether they'd like them or not. The old I'm $200 short for my rent this month and I just maxed out my credit card getting my cheap car fixed kind of thoughts. Last night, what was going through my head was whether I even belonged in Shootfire Pro. When SPW did Halloween Scream, and they asked us to wear, ugh, sexy Halloween costumes, I was so glad Angst gave me an excuse to duck out. Because I'm absolutely terrified of what people would say behind my back. I got a news flash for you. I ain't no "Goddess." I don't rely on stage blood or special effects like some. And I don't do sex appeal like others. I dont appeal to the crowd like others. I go out there, wait for the bell to ring, and get the job done. Like a plumber. Like a mercenary. Like a machine.
[She starts nervously twirling her black hair again.]
ERICA: But is that what SPW wants from its female roster? And I got up this morning and I went for a walk through Central Park and I saw these kids pushing around this other kid on the ice. But before I could do anything, this girl, who looked like this kid's sister, stomps up. She turns her pudgy hand into a big meathook and WALLOPS the ringleader and they all scatter. And I stand there thinking, girl with the mean right hand, I'm doing this for you. Maybe Shootfire wants Pretty Princesses, or Living Dead Girls, or Goddesses. But there's one thing that all three of those have to take a back seat too, and that's RESULTS.
[She shakes her head.]
ERICA: I'm not under any delusions: I'm not main-eventing tonight. Nor will I ever main event an SPW Pay-Per-View. Not in a world where women's wrestling is the sideshow attraction it is thanks to Iris Galliver. And not in a world where the only women's wrestler who can main event has to be six-and-a-half feet tall and have one-in-ten-billion genetics. But what matters to me is that I'm HERE. I'm in Times Square. I'm here because I had to earn my here. I'm here because I want to say thank you to that girl on Central Park for making me believe that hell hath no fury like a woman.
[She takes a deep breath and looks out at the city again.]
ERICA: My whole life Ive been told I can't do this. I'm too fat. I'm too plain. I'm too clumsy and awkward. Im neurotic. But the real motivator for me, is getting Angst and Iris Galliver in the ring and beating them at their own game. Ladies and gentlemen, buy the PPV for the Ironman match, the Monsters Ball, or the NYC Streetfight. But I promise, if you watch the Women's Hardcore match, you will see me scrape, you will see me crawl, you will see me fight like a dying animal. Angst, Iris, you will NOT embarrass me. Not in New York. Hail to the Queen. Well-behaved women rarely make history.
[A-a-a-a-a-nd SCENE!
Fade to Tara and Vik.]
Tara: Wow, Nina Larue sure sounds like she is going to show Iris Galiver, whom we will hear from later in the show, a lesson. Add Erica Toughill into the mix and Angst and what a wild match that is going to be.
Vik: I can hardly wait to see the blood! And the Bring Your Own Battle Royal is going to be even more insane. I can't wait to see what weapons everyone brings and who walks out the winner. I've got my money on a few of the participants!
Tara: You, gambling? Never, Vik, never.
Vik: What does that mean, Tara?
Tara: Anyway! Next up we're going to hear from Tiffany Lane and Nikki James. This has been a feud that has been boiling for months. The winner is going to shave the loser's head.
Vik: Another I can't wait for. Although- bald chicks don't exactly do it for me.
Tara: What about the Street Fight for the vacant Fusion Title? That one is going to be a great match, too, with no love lost between the competitors. Let's get to it.
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ "BLONDE BOMBSHELL" TIFFANY LANE / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Fade in.]
[The scene opens to Peacock Alley at the Waldorf-Astoria hotel in New York. It’s here that we find SPW’s Blonde Bombshell, Tiffany Lane, seated at a table. She’s wearing a violet, Anne Klein dress, fishnet stockings, and heels, her hair falling down her back in curls. She leans forward, elbows resting on the table, chin resting on her hands. There’s a solemn, almost wistful, expression on the young woman’s face as she gazes at the candles, situated on the table, their flame burning bright.]
Tiffany: This thing started out as a flicker, small but noticeable. But, before anyone knew, it had grown into an inferno.
[Suddenly, she turns to face the camera with a sigh, leaning back in her seat. She crosses her shapely legs.]
Tiffany: And really, I have myself to blame, because I should have checked Nikki and her annoying manager the first time I caught them trying to talk smack about me. But I let it slide and then, when I did react, it was far too late. And now, we’re where we are now, with Nikki taking things too damned far.
See, she had no right to stick her nose in my business during that tag match. I had enough things on my plate, without having to deal with this crap going on between us or her hurt feelings, like saving my best friend from a group of maniacs. But Nikki couldn’t just let things be. She, once again, had to try to one-up me, to try again to twist the knife just a little bit more. But this time, her stupid antics almost led to Nina being seriously injured.
[Tiffany frowns and shakes her head.]
Tiffany: After that little display, I knew that it was time to settle this thing once and for all. And I didn’t give a damn about the stipulations. To make that sad bitch pay I would give up practically anything. My house. Car. Wardrobe.
[A beat.]
Or, in this case, even my hair.
[She runs a hand slowly through her mane before absently twirling a strand around her fingers.]
Tiffany: You know, my hair has been my trademark for as long as I can remember. Ask around. Everyone will tell you the same thing. Even more so than the boobs and the color pink, blonde hair and I go together like Sammy and Compton.
[There’s a small smile, quickly replaced by a cold glare as she folds her arms across her chest.]
Tiffany: But, when I heard I would have to put it on the line for another shot at Nikki, I didn’t hesitate. Because attacking me is one thing, but dragging my friends into this is crossing the line, especially when that friend is the closest thing to a sister that I’ve got. Iris Galiver is witness enough of what I will do, when you put those I love in jeopardy. I took the so-called hardcore legend and beat her at her own game, a game where I was an admitted rookie.
So yeah. I don’t give a damn about the hair, if it means _finally_ putting Nikki down for good. Because this thing between us has dragged on long enough.
[She sneers, a flash of anger in her green eyes.]
Tiffany: I’m sick of her, that slut bag Samantha, and their petty jealousies. And I’m tired of having to constantly look over my shoulder, wondering what stupid move they’re going to try to pull next or who else they’re going to drag into this mess.
I tried to beat some sense into Nikki, and show her that this crusade of hers wasn’t going to work. Honestly, bigger and better than her have tried to run me out of this profession. Hell, out of Shootfire Pro even.
And I’m still here.
But she wouldn’t listen, even when the proof was staring her right in the face. She kept digging, and digging, and digging. And now? She’s dug herself into a trap that she can’t get herself out of.
At Charity Carnage it won’t just be about defeating her. After all, been there, done that. This time, it’s going to be about humiliating her as well. Because I’m not just walking out with my arm raised, I’m taking that straggly mop, that Nikki calls hair, with me too. And unlike her and her little scissors stunt, I've got the balls and ability to actually do it too. And when it's all said and done, I will finally have made a believer out of her. One way or another.
[Fade to blonde.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ "NEW YORK'S FINEST" NIKKI JAMES / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Fade up on Nikki James in a non-descript room. We see her from the
chest up as she's wearing a white smock with her hair tied back in a
ponytail.]
Nikki: So it's me and Tiffany Lane in a hair versus hair match at
Charity Carnage. And I'm sure Tiff is all up in arms about the fact
that she is a three count away from losing her beautiful blonde hair.
[She reaches over to a table next to her and grabs an electric
razor. Turning it on, you can hear the hum of the motor.]
Nikki: But what Tiffany fails to understand is that I'm doing her a
big favor. She's grown stale and boring. Hell, she hasn't changed
her tired old theme music since the day she walked through the doors
of SPW five years ago.
[She brings the razor down on something below the camera frame and
golden hair begins to fly through the air.]
Nikki: With one quick movement of a razor, I'm going to cut away all
the glitz and glamour that she's relied on her entire life. I'm
going to _finally_ open her eyes to the real world around her. A
world where there is more to life than expensive cars, daily tanning
sessions, and AMEX Black cards.
[Once again, the razor goes down and more hair flies.]
Nikki: A world where the hot topic is health care, not "how many
diseases did Tiger Woods contract this week?"
[A third time, the razor goes down and you just hear the buzzing of
hair being cut.]
Nikki: A world where girls like me are meant to be on the front page
while girls like her are meant to grace Page Six.
[She raises the razor and shuts off the motor before putting it down
on the table.]
Nikki: Tiffany, sweetheart...you're too focused on your looks and
fame in your constant quest to stay on top. Anyone with a fully
functioning brain can see you've never taken me seriously and that
in itself is why you will end up with a bleach blond mohawk come
Charity Carnage.
[pause]
Tiff...this thing between you and I has gone long enough. I've got
my shot at the SPW Women's title in the new year and wasting further
time on you would not be healthy for my future reign. So on December
27th... at Charity Carnage... it will all come to an end and after
I'm done with you, you'll be thanking me for giving you some real
appeal and decent fan interest.
[The camera zooms out and we see in front of Nikki is a completely
hairless dog sitting in a pile of what used to be it's luscious
golden curls. Around the dog's neck is a collar that has "Tiffany"
emblazoned in diamonds.]
Nikki: Or just like this bitch, you'll bound to go from latest craze
to just another phase.
See you on the Twenty-Seventh.
[Fade out]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ BARRY BALDWIN / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[It's night time as Barry Baldwin is seen standing in middle of Times Square. All around him are the bright lights and big advertisements that it's synonymous for. And behind him you can see the wrestling ring being constructed for the Charity Carnage pay per view event in a few hours. Baldwin is wearing a pair of jeans with black boots, a grey sweatshirt and a brown jacket on top of it. He looks around before looking straight into the camera.]
Baldwin: December Twenty-Seventh, Two Thousand and Nine.
[pause]
The _single_ most important date for my career.
[pause]
I've _FINALLY_ made it to New York City.
[He rubs his face with his hand before continuing to speak.]
Surprising as it may sound, I grew up in here and yet in my on again, off again career, I never _performed_ here. Everyone here is sure to be amped up - and I probably should be too. But I couldn't sleep so I decided to come down here and check out the preparations up close and personal.
[He stops to look around at the construction and preparation]
And I was on the train into the city this evening; on my way to this very spot and I had so much doubt in my mind-- I started thinking "Why am I here? Why did I come back to wrestling?" And you know something...maybe some of those fans who think I'm too old or too washed up -- maybe they're right; maybe I _don't_ belong here.
[He stops to think for a moment before continuing to speak.]
Anyways... so I'm sitting on the subway and I look over; I see a mother and a father and a couple of kids sitting there. And it reminded me of when I was younger and would go watch wrestling matches at Madison Square Garden; riding along those same train tracks. And I remember saying to myself "One day, that's going to be me. One day I'm going to wrestle in New York City."
[He smirks]
Now I may not have much to show for in my career but the one thing I can go to my grave and say truthfully is that I made it to New York City.
[pause]
See I'm not just here at Charity Carnage for myself. Hell, it's not even about the Fusion title for me.
I'm here for the mothers and fathers and all those kids that are gonna be riding the train into the city later today to watch me wrestle.
I'm here for all of the underdogs who get beat up every single day and are told they can't do it; told they're too fat or too old or they "don't play the game right."
[He pauses as he takes another moment to soak in the ambiance of Times Square at 4 AM]
Later today, Quinn Scott -- I can say I made it. But what's going to be the icing on the cake is the fact that I get to beat YOU all over New York City.
For SPW...
For the fans...
And most of all for myself.
[He points his finger all around him]
I get to beat you HERE in the center of it all. And when it's all said and done, I'll probably get a little emotional as they raise my hand in victory but it's to be understood because beating you in New York City will be the _GREATEST_ accomplishment of my entire career.
[He pounds his fist into his hand]
I _REFUSE_ to allow you to embarrass me; there's no way in hell I'm _NOT_ going to have my hand raised in victory and subsequently the Fusion title slung over my shoulder _HERE_ in New York.
[Points a finger to his chest]
_MY_ hometown.
[pause]
This match will be dedicated to all the underdogs...
To my mother, god rest her soul...
And to everyone who stood by me when I decided to return to professional wrestling.
Today, I finally made it.
_You_ may not care, Quinn Scott but _I_ do.
[Fade to black]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ EDDIE CHRISTIAN / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[She's a middle aged white woman, and by looking at her through the window,
she seems happy as she preps the dinner table. She puts all the dipping
spoons in the various serving dishes, before wiping her hands on the apron
and scurrying back into the kitchen and coming back with a ham completely the
meal she spent hours making. Smiling to herself she makes an inaudible
call, but you can tell that she told her loved ones that dinner is ready and
two little boys run from the other room and hop into their chairs at the
table. They are followed by a man, as he looks at the table before giving his
wife a hug and a kiss. He sits at the table as she takes off her apron and
joins them. They all hold hands and bow their heads in prayer.]
"It's the holiday season..Christmas just past and we're in the eve of a new
year. Everyone's cuddled up in their warm homes with their loving families
enjoying this special time and taking it for what it's worth. After all,
it's the most wonderful time of the year."
[Eddie Christian stands across the street looking into the window at the
family of four as he shakes his head.]
"..or atleast to them.."
[He's attired in a black coat and a black skully cap. He has the hoody of
his jacket pulled over his head and pulled tight. After all, being from
Florida, he's not used to this much colder weather that comes with living in
NYC.]
Christian: "For others it's a cold time, a time when you're at an all time
low because you spend every moment of this time wishing that you were those
people with the happy families. You wish that you had someone to spend
this time with. It's a horrible thing, but you never look at that side of
things.. until it happens to you."
[Christian's brown eyes dart towards the ground as he brings his hands up
and briefly covers his face.]
Christian: "I lost both my parents to a car crash in October of 2005, and
every time this season come around, I feel empty inside. I sit alone down in
Jacksonville, Florida and I use this reflect. Because as we keep going
with our lives that's all we have left."
[Deep breath]
"Memories.."
[He looks back towards us, his face filled with emotion as he begins to
walk down the sidewalk.]
Christian: "Memories and what ifs ... My father was the one who supported
me the most in my decision to pursue a professional wrestling career, my
mother eventually came around but ultimately she wanted me to work in the
family business. But nevertheless, they were there for my first wrestling
match. They were there when I won my first championship. My parents was the
force that turn Darion Christian Edwards into the "Born Champion" Eddie
Christian."
[Eddie sits on a bench and throws his head back looking up towards the
heavens.]
"I despise that neither one of them was there to watch me when I ascended
to the top of the ranks when I obtained my first World title. And I despise
that they won't be here tonight when I fight for the vacant Fusion
championship to once again try to complete my name."
[Deep breath.]
Christian: "Since coming back to SPW, other than Sammy, I haven't had much
as far as the same support until I met up with the other members of the
Shootfire Army. With all the love and support that each one has shown me
since returning shakes the ice off my heart. But as of lately, it seems that
throughout the thick and thin, they are the ones that still have my back and I
have theirs...no matter what fate throws our way. Last week me and my
brother Sammy Knight tore it up in the desert in what many are already calling
an epic match. It was then and there in that 100 plus degree weather, many
people saw Eddie Christian for who he really is."
"A competitor.."
"..a damn good competitor."
"Which is why Bonecrusher - brother - that tonight in this cold weather we
will brawl against each other and Quinn Scott for the vacant Fusion
championship that Victor Frost vacated. Baldwin, I want that championship, and I'm
coming for it tonight...and I hope you don't let the friendship that we've
built since September get in the way and blind you from the task that we
are both trying to achieve, because I'm not. I'm hungry for a championship
Barry, so I'm bringing my all to Central Park and I'm going to fight the
both of you with all my body, heart, and spirit to try to leave Times Square
SPW Fusion champion."
[Christian's face is marked with an all new seriousness.]
Christian: "It's odd because I've never been so unsure about a match in my
entire career as I am about this one. Anything can happen at anytime. Last
week the fans thought I gave 100 percent against Knight, tonight I'm going
to give more. I need victory tonight, not only that, but I want that Fusion
championship. So I'm coming as an exposed Eddie Christian, no male
bravado, no arrogance, no claims at being the best. I'm going to lay it all out
there in the Big Apple."
[Dedication resonates in his voice.]
Christian: "I hope you're as dedicated as I am about this Baldwin, I know
Quinn isn't. But I cannot let either of you stop me from obtaining the goal
that I've set for myself all season. And Baldwin honestly..you've been
doing the same two step with Angel Martinez all season before Scott broke his
arm. But with that same token, I know that this you winning this Fusion
title would make your career worth something. So it really comes down to who
wants it more. Scott has already said he was only after Victor Frost, and
rumor has it, he probably won't show up tonight. But we both know how rumors
are around this place."
"I want this guys."
"I need this."
"I hope you're ready."
"Tonight, I hope my parents are watching from the heavens above, because
their son is going to make them proud."
"I am ready."
[Fade.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ QUINN SCOTT / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[The Plaza Hotel... one of the most well-known hotels in New York, along with being one of the most fancy and the most expensive. We immediately cut to a hallway on one of the higher floors, and we see, just as immediately, Serena Black, adorned in a rather lush fur coat, is walking down at a hurried pace. The look on her face is one of concern... and fear. Right behind her is a personal assistant, almost winded at having to keep up with Serena.]
Assistant: I've made sure he had everything he needed, Ms. Black, but he wouldn't talk to me. All he'd do was just point at something, and all he's really pointed at was a pack of cigarettes and a few things on the room service menu.
Serena Black: Did you get them?
Assistant: Of course, Ms. Black, but he hasn't come out from the balcony since we got here. The most other interaction we had was when I left out a blanket and he simply took it.
Serena: And he's said nothing else?
Assistant: Not a word. He's just been smoking outside for the most part.
[The finally come to the door of the penthouse, and Serena looks almost afraid to open the door... which is, oddly enough, slightly ajar.]
Serena: Oh... oh, god.
Assistant: Yeah...
[Serena shoots her assistant a nasty look, and as she starts to chew her out, you can hear the franticness in her voice.]
Serena: Don't fucking 'yeah' me! You know who's behind this door, right? RIGHT? In case you didn't know, IT'S QUINN SCOTT! All I asked him to do was make an example out of Angel Martinez, and he'd get a chance at Victor Frost! Well, he did that... and then he broke his FUCKING ARM! Not as part of our deal, your stupid bitch, HE DID IT BECAUSE HE COULD! Now, I have to go in there and talk to him about Victor Frost leaving the Street Fight!
[Serena grabs onto the lapels of her assistant's coat and pulls her close.]
Serena: I have to tell HIM that he can't have Frost anymore! Somehow, I have to convince him that what happened was out of my hands, it's for the better, and now all he has to deal with is Eddie Christian and Barry Baldwin, who he seems to hate anyway... and I have no idea how he's going to take it... or what he's gonna do.
[The assistant now looks just as scared as Serena sounds, but not because of the prospect of Quinn Scott... just because she's being roughed around. Serena lets go of her assistant, stares down the door, and opens it and walks in... slamming it behind her before the assistant can even think about entering it.]
[Inside the lush penthouse suite, most of the inside amenities haven't been touched. Only a single dufflebag sits on the bed, and even it hasn't been disturbed. However, the doors leading to the balcony are wide open, and we see someone sitting on one of the chairs there, lightly wrapped in a blanket, with a cigarette resting between his lips...
Quinn Scott.
Serena slowly takes off her jacket and places it on the bed, the dread she's feeling palatable in every move she makes, as she slowly walks towards the door, dressed in a fashionable sweater and slacks, the pixie-faced Serena stops about halfway.]
Serena: Quinn?
[Slowly, Quinn turns his head, and his dull grey eyes look at Serena. Lifeless would almost be too good a word to desribe his gaze, as he pulls on his cigarette and exhales the smoke through his nose and then turns back to simply looking out at the balcony. Serena slowly keeps moving.]
Serena: It's kinda cool, this whole penthouse. I had no idea you had an account here already set up. I didn't have any idea your family was that well-off, but you're just full of surprises, aren't you? One big... mysterious... unpredictable surprise.
[Quinn doesn't respond, he just takes another puff from his cigarette. Closer and closer, Serena gets.]
Serena: Sooooo... um... looks like you won't have that much of a problem getting that Fusion Championship now, huh? I mean, you can easily blow through Baldwin, and Eddie Christian is nowhere near your level of ferocity. Think about it... you'll become a champion in so many months, while others are still scraping the bottom of the barrel. Everyone will respect you... fear you... *with added emphasis* _everyone!!!_
[But still, Quinn says nothing. His silence is unnerving as he simply continues to smoke, not visibly paying any attention to Serena or her banter. This is obviously getting to Serena, as she gets closer and closer to Scott.]
Serena: Quinn? ...Quinn, aren't you gonna say anythi-AAAAH!
[Quinn's sudden movement startles Serena, and she jumps back and away from Scott, the fear of him now apparent. She falls down to her knees, scared, and just started to ramble.]
Serena: Oh, Quinn, I'm so sorry! I tried! I know I promised you Frost, but... but even I didn't expect this! I-I-I... I know you want him! I know that's all you care about right now, but please, Quinn, try to look at this way! You can still hurt him! You... you can take the title that was his! And then you can rub it in his stupid face when he loses that stupid weapons rumble. So you see... you still have a chance to hurt him. Just please... please don't hu-... huh?
[Serena finally looks up to see Quinn only got up to reach for another cigarette and his lighter, calming sparking himself back up. Rooted to the spot, she can only watch as the smoke is expelled from his lungs. After a few moments, she finally hears something...]
Quinn Scott: It's not your fault, Serena.
[Shocked a second time, only a quick, sharp breath escapes Serena's lips before she can manage out a single word.]
Serena: ...what?
Quinn: It's not your fault, Serena.
[Regaining some of her composure, Serena sits up a little.]
Serena: What do you mean?
Quinn: You did what you promised from the beginning. You got me a chance to get back at Victor Frost, but he went and denied me that himself. I clamped him in a pain locker for a bit, but that's not enough for me to think we're square... and then you arranged this whole street fight for his belt, and then he just dropped it and started running after a bigger piece of tin and leather. So, unless you planted that idea in his head...
Serena: *Quickly* NO! No, I didn't do that! It was probably that Italian bitch of his!
Quinn: ...then I don't know why you're apologizing.
[After that, Quinn goes back to his cigarette. Serena simply takes all that in, breathing heavily all the while, before slowly getting up to her feet and walking closer to Scott, a little more confident that he's not about to do anything she'd disagree with.]
Quinn: All I can do, Serena, is see his face. His sneering face, and his arrogant, condescending tone. His head full of his ideals that everything is beneath him, and that something aren't even worth mentioning. He thinks he can escape everything that's coming. He thinks he can just walk away from it, and think that it won't follow him through the threshhold... but he's about to be mistaken, Serena.
[Quinn takes another long drag, and the smoke bellows from his mouth like a chimney. His dull grey eyes simply focus on whatever's ahead of him, and he doesn't even turn his head again to acknowledge Serena's presence right next to him.]
Quinn: He thinks he can escape me. He's running, Serena. He may not want to acknowledge it, but he's running away. He may not be scared, but he's still running away. He may believe me to be beneath him, but that doesn't mean I'm beneath scarring a lesson into his flesh. I'm not beneath ruining a man's dreams, Serena.
That pathetic belt that he dropped? That bait might work for someone like Eddie Christian or Barry Baldwin... but not me.
Eddie Christian and Barry Baldwin might be satisfied with Frost's championship... but I won't be satisfied until I have Frost's blood, painted upon my skin like a deathmask, and everyone bearing witness to the one singular truth that this world holds...
[Quinn takes in another drag of his cigarette, and as he speaks again, the smoke leaves his mouth... and a glint of anger and hate become visible in Quinn's eyes.]
Quinn: You... do not... fuck... with what... I... do.
[Violently, Quinn spits the cigarette out of his lips and over the balcony, and stands up. The blanket wrapped around him flutters as it falls to the ground. Serena approaches him cautiously, and places a hand on his shoulder.]
Serena: So... you're going to go through with the street fight?
Quinn: I'm going to hurt Victor Frost, Serena... until I'm satisfied I've hurt him enough. I'm going to rend his flesh and destroy his dreams. I will do it however I can, whenever I can... if that means ripping Christian and Baldwin apart, then I will. If that means bleeding myself near death to do that, then so be it.
[Quinn steps closer to the balcony, and grips it tightly. He leans over, and when he speaks... it's with the tone of a lion's roar... and can very nearly be heard by the people below.]
Quinn: *shouting* YOU WILL NEVER BE RID OF ME, VICTOR FROST! I INTEND TO DOG YOUR STEPS UNTIL I GET THE SATISFACTION THAT IS DUE ME! THERE IS NOWHERE YOU CAN'T RUN, NOT SO LONG AS YOU ARE HERE AND SEARCHING FOR YOUR GOALS!
[He lowers his voice, and the hatred drips from his mouth like a viscous poison.]
Quinn: ...and I will see to it that you never accomplish or revisit them.
You can't hide in Shootfire, Frost.
You can't hide from me.
[Finally, Quinn turns around and seems to acknowledge Serena for the second time since he arrival. Looking at her, he seems to calm down a little, but you can still tell he's aggrivated, but his gaze has softened... as much as his dull gaze can. This doesn't go beyond Serena's notice, as she approachs him again.]
Serena: I didn't want this to happen, Quinn. When I found out... I was afraid you'd hurt me.
[Quinn's head tilts to the side a little, almost quizzically.]
Quinn: ...what makes you think I'd hurt you?
[As the words come out of his lips, Serena is shocked for the third time today, as Quinn walks back into the penthouse. He opens up his dufflebag and pulls out a coat, slipping it on. Serena, however, is still in a slight state of shock.]
Quinn: I feel like a walk... you want to come?
[Serena turns around and only nods, walking back inside and grabbing her coat before walking out with Quinn.
Return to Vik and Tara, the crowd going absolutely insane behind them!]
Vik: Eddie Christian, Quinn Scott & Barry Baldwin all going for a win. Too bad they're going to have to kill one another to get ahold of that belt.
Tara: And I think they're determined to. Anything to become the Fusion champion. How about the world women's championship? A four-way match to determine the champion between champion Poet Wright, JPC, Heather Owens and Orchid.
Vik: Not going to be a pretty one.
Tara: Let's hear from the competitors of that match followed by the SOW Champion James O'Connor and the one and the only Marissa Monet!!!
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ HEATHER OWENS / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[We cut backstage to find “The Prodigy” Heather Owens in her dressing room
with her advisor and translator “Canadian Gold” Tina Davis. Tina is wearing
her traditional all-black business suit with a white shirt and red tie while
the woman that some refer to as “Miss Quebec”, Heather Owens, is wearing her
robe with the symbol of Quebec on it and on the back reading “The Prodigy”.
The girls are sitting there waiting for match time when there is a knock at
the door and neither girl is too pleased!]
Tina Davis – Who is it?
[Without replying(he's kind of dumb like that) Toxic Shock opens the door
and walks over to the two young ladies with one of the biggest shit eating
grins on his face ever and Tina holds her head in her hands before
addressing the reporter...]
Tina Davis – OK humor me. What brings YOU of all people in here at this
crucial moment?
Toxic Shock – I'm a reporter Tina. Its my single job to find out what is
going on in the minds of the wrestlers before their match.
Tina Davis – Oh really? Last I checked Ms. Owens here told you off in front
of the “HBIC” here named Samantha Bevins!
Heather Owens - Le fait de parler de Mme Bevins ... vous a-t-il entendu
n'importe quoi de sa Tina ?
(Speaking of Ms. Bevins...have you heard anything from her Tina?)
Tina Davis - Non je n'ai la Bruyère et il m'inquiète. Je blâme cette chienne
qu'ils appellent la romaine de Nikki James elle était un bon mentor pour
vous. Oh bien ... vous m'avez reçu maintenant le chéri.
(No I haven't Heather and it worries me. I blame that bitch they call Nikki
James cos she was a good mentor for you. Oh well...you got me now sweetie.)
[Toxic Shock ,looking confused as ever, decides to intervene...]
Toxic Shock – Umm...excuse me ladies but is there any chance I can get this
interview done in English?
Tina Davis – That's why I'm here Shock. You see...Heather has grown quite
tired of America and has refused to speak in English in anymore interviews
that she does here or anywhere in the US.
Toxic Shock - so you're job is to...translate I guess?
Tina Davis – Boy you certainly graduated from Harvard now didn't you?!
Toxic Shock – Very Well...let's get it done!
[As Toxic gestures for the cameraman to come on in Tina makes sure to stand
in between Heather and Toxic so that she can translate what she says to him.
As the red light comes on and Shock is given the signal he begins to
speak....]
Toxic Shock – Ladies and gentlemen I'm standing here with “The Prodigy”
Heather Owens and as I just found out a few minutes ago her translator and
former SPW wrestler “Canadian Gold” Tina Davis. Tina its a pleasure to see
you back in the SPW spotlight and I'm sure there are still those fans out
there that are glad to see you back.
Tina Davis – The pleasure is all yours believe me Shock. I had 0 interest in
returning to the company that turned its back on me a while ago but you see
my dear friend her whom we call “Miss Quebec” ,or as you Americans call
,”The Prodigy” Heather Owens asked me to come here and help convey her
message to the public!
Toxic Shock – And that brings us to tonight Heather as you get set to
compete for the Women's World Title against Jean Pierre Celine ,Orchid and
the Women's Champion Poet Wright
Heather Owens - Que vous avez manqué aussi de mentionner est que
l'administration a semblé utile m'enfoncer là de la pitié et de la rancune
mais je ne m'attends à rien moins d'eux. Vous avez aussi manqué de dire en
passant qu'un des participants à ce match de titre est vraiment un gars!
Tina Davis – She said “What you failed also to mention is that management
saw fit to stick me in there out of pity and spite but I expect nothing less
from them. You also failed to mention that one of the participants in this
title match is actually a guy!”
Toxic Shock – Fair enough. What do you think your chances are in this match
forthcoming against the likes Orchid and Poet Wright at least.
Heather Owens - Mes chances ? Mes chances sont aussi bonnes que quelqu'un
dans le match et vraiment probablement mieux.
Toxic Shock – Miss Davis?
Tina Davis – She said “My chances? My chances are as good as anyone in the
match and actually probably better.”
Toxic Shock – Do you agree with your client Tina?
Tina Davis – Why wouldn't I? When you look at who she's facing in about
10-15 minutes from now or thereabouts we got a wrestler who's too busy
trying to get into the pants of one of the higher ups and a woman that has
pissed off management it seems to stick three people in the match.
Toxic Shock – Alright. Heather how do you see this match playing out?
Heather Owens - Le vois-je être périmé ? Bien voyons que nous avons reçu une
femme qui n'a pas été capable de se concentrer sur son emploi dans
l'Orchidée et quelqu'un j'avais mis un Franc français sur lequel elle s'est
frottée quelqu'un la façon fausse d'être pris dans ce match. Nous avons reçu
un gars dans ce match que s'il croit vraiment qu'il va entrer là et gagner
la ceinture aussi longtemps que j'ai monté des bottes il se trompe, un
poussin que les prostituées elle-même dehors à quelqu'un pour faire des
progrès de chacun ... oh et un champion que si vous regardez ses vidéos
publicitaires vous avez besoin de café pour le faire par eux ou vous
distribuez!
Je répondrai à votre question suivante pendant que je suis à cela : Dont SPW
a besoin est quelqu'un avec la CLASSE pour tenir ce titre avec l'honneur et
le prestige. L'orchidée ne pouvait pas tenir mes bottes pour plus long que 5
minutes avant qu'elle a commencé bitching, Celine est un type qui est entré
dans le match que je ne sais pas comment. Must've été quelque chose qui ne
vas pas avec les gens dans le bâtiment ce jour-là ... ce ou eux étaient
hauts. Finalement nous avons reçu le Maître de Poète!
Tina Davis - “How do I see it playing out? Well let's see we got a woman
that hasn't been able to focus on her job in Orchid and someone I'd put a
French Franc on that she rubbed someone the wrong way to get stuck in this
match. We got a guy in this match that if he's actually thinking he's going
to go in there and win the belt as long as I got boots on he's mistaken ,a
chick that whores herself out to someone to keep ahead of everyone...oh and
a champion that if you watch her promos you need coffee to make it through
them or you pass out!
I'll answer your next question while I'm at it: What SPW needs is someone
with CLASS to hold that title with honor and prestige. Orchid couldn't hold
my boots for longer than 5 minutes before she started bitching ,Celine is
some dude that got into the match I don't know how. Must've been something
wrong with people in the building that day...either that or they were high.
Finally we got Poet Wright!”
Heather Owens - Le poète vous pouvez vous amuser comme le champion avec
toute la pompe et la circonstance, tout le glitz et la séduction d'être le
champion Féministe de SPW ... la question de fait ils pourraient vous
appeler une de leurs "Déesses", mais je suis un Prodige. J'étais celui qu'a
passé par la faible facilité d'entraînement de TRUIE et c'était si faible en
fait que j'ai dû aller reçoivent même plus d'entraînement de mon petit ami,
"l'Ange Sombre" Joshua Curtis pour se préparer au fait de moudre d'être
parmi tous skanks ignorants, miteux et complètement horrifiques dans SPW. De
la seule personne pour m'accueillir nécessaire avec les bras ouverts était
une femme appelée Samantha "Sensuel" Bevins et elle m'a vraiment aidé. Plus
qu'un autre pourrait jamais dans la compagnie qu'elle a faite.
Le poète ce soir toute la fin de livres de contes et le vôtre n'est pas
différent. Je ne me soucie pas que je dois faire je ne marche pas de cette
arène ce soir sans cette courroie autour de mon mince, sexy et oh ainsi la
taille élégante. Vous mon cher avec Celine et l'Orchidée avez raté ce cours!
CLASSE... EST ÉCARTÉ!
TS – OK I'm going to take a stab at this last bit...
Tina Davis – Back off!
TS – Fair enough
Tina Davis - She said “Poet you may be having fun as the champion with all
the pomp and circumstance ,all the glitz and the glamour of being SPW's
Women's champion...matter of fact they might call you one of their
"Goddesses" but I'm a Prodigy. I was the one whom went through SOW's weak
training facility and it was so weak in fact that I had to go get even more
training from my boyfriend ,"Dark Angel" Joshua Curtis to prepare for the
grind of being amongst all of the ignorant ,sleazy and downright horrific
skanks in SPW. About the only person to welcome me proper with open arms was
a woman named "Sensuous" Samantha Bevins and she did help me. More than
anyone else ever could in the company she did.
Poet tonight all storybooks end and yours is no different. I don't care what
I have to do I am not walking out of this arena tonight without that strap
around my slim ,sexy and oh so smart waist. You my dear along with Celine
and Orchid have failed this course!
CLASS...IS DISMISSED!”
[FADE OUT!!!!]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ ORCHID / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
(I never understood the whole concept of every promo I've ever seen being done at an
arena. Or at a gym. Or backstage. Maybe it was the fact that denoted next to my title of
professional wrestler, I was also a vivid artist and I believed that to get the point
across, to give a sole essence of the honesty behind a situation sometimes a ring, a
hallway, a gym, just didn't suit. Perhaps it was just me. After all I walked out on the
"invaders" to pursue my own career, manipulation and expectation free. So there I was.
Sitting on a park bench. My digital camcorder posed on a tripod. Hey I said I didn't
understand the concept, but I also didn't say that I was poetic. I preferred solitude and
simplicity.)
Orchid: I know the deck is stacked against me. After all, I committed a grave sin that
cannot be forgiven. I turned my back on a bunch of men who were, in essence, just like
those who they were aiming to destroy. I decided to make my own way. I decided to earn it
right and true instead of having my future in this business handed to me like so many
others.
(I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. This match was the true test of my
career.)
Orchid: That wasn't the least of my sins. No. I went and called out Miss Poet herself.
After she thought she had me licked, I came back biting. It makes me wonder if perhaps I
shocked the champ? Did I champ? Did I do the unthinkable? I defied you. You see you think
of me like everyone else does. That I'm never going to make it. Jean and that little
strumpet they threw into this match of ours has me pegged as the under dog. I don't have
the numbers game, and I don't have a ridiculas mask that I run around with to scare
people.
(My eyes rolled as I thought about how retarded the whole schtick was. Then again, maybe
it was just me.)
Orchid: The truth is Poet that, I'm not afraid of you. Your mask doesn't intimidate me.
Behind the whole facade, whether you like it or not, you're human and you break and bleed
just like the rest of us. The problem is, and what accounts for you being so high on
yourself, is that up until now, everyone that's challenged you has fallen short because
they just didn't have the will power to go all the way. Well I do. And you know I do. You
saw how far I took things with Jasy. I ended it. You think I won't go there with you? I
have NO problem pushing the limits and risking life and limb. After all, you have
everything to lose my dear, I don't. I don't have the stigma that comes with loss like
you do. Imagine. To be knocked off your high horse by some newb. Some nobody that waltzed
in on a whim and a prayer. Who has an entire collective vying for her ruin. If I lose?
Big deal. If you lose? Well, you get the picture don't you Poet?
(I leaned back and stretched my arms out on the bench. Twilight was near. Snow was
abound. And everyone was home with their families, and their loved ones enjoying the
mushy wushy of the holiday season. Bleh.)
Orchid: So how bout it JPC? Are you on a mission? Are the marching orders in place? Here
I am. Come and get me. Do you think you can get through me? Am I standing in the way of
your....wait a minute....why are you in this division again? I mean, I think I remember
but, what is to be proven by you even being in this division? Is there some parable about
how the womens division is just as tough as the titles you boys fight for? Or how about
that we ladies are amazon warriors that can work a match just as good as your main
events. Am I reaching? Maybe? Possibly?
(I honestly didn't know what any of us were supposed to get out of the malarky of JPC
being in this match let alone the division and nor did I really care. While the situation
was hilarious to me, it was also, disappointing. Because in truth, JPC couldn't even get
over in the womens division. Now that's truly pathetic. Laughable. But pathetic. I sat in
the crisp winter air looking at the vast expanse of absolute solitude and nothingness and
smiled and chuckled to myself. Because once again, knowing JPC couldn't even get over in
the womens division was just hilarious.)
Orchid: I dunno. What I do know is that there is someone who doesn't belong in this
match. Heather. You know you haven't earned this. You have no right in this match but
here you are, riding in on the coat tails of your "issues" with the Power Structure. I
have about as much respect for you as I do JPC and his constant staring at my shapely
sexy backside. Yeah JPC, I know you like what you see, it's alright, just don't touch me.
You're creepy. You weasled your way into this match. You didn't earn it. You don't
deserve it. But it's okay. I know how the chain of command goes. No skin off my back, I'm
not the one who has to worry. Poet is. One person? Yeah she could handle that. But three?
Odds don't look good for her. Three very hungry wolves are at the door and she's got a
nice fancy steak necklace that we all want. Albeit for different reasons. Owens wants to
impress the collective. JPC wants to become a somebody and finally get over. Even if it
is with the, ahem, glitter inclined. And me? Well, I want redemption. I have a shadow
that I need to break out from beyond. I have a dynasty that I need to uphold. The blood
of greatness and determination runs through my veins. I want to end the tyranny of a
mask, and the politics of a collective that deserves nothing and pursues a war that is
fruitless and pointless, as is all war. You fight for greed, you strive for dominance,
you maintain the status through threats, fear and intimidation, the time for a savior
from the politics and the manipulation has come. I want to be that savior. Till my legs
give out, till my blood runs dry, till my life fades, I will give all I've got and all I
ask, is respect.
++FTB++
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ POET WRIGHT / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Fade in:
New York City is beautiful when the snow has just fallen. The skyscrapers glisten, the rivers are swollen, the Park looks so beautiful and pristine. But then comes the crush of tens of millions of people. The pristine snow turns to slush. It gets trampled and churned and shoveled and scraped. Now it is muddy and wet and grey with pollutants. The beauty has been destroyed and now it is just inconvenient. This slushy, inconvenient mess is the backdrop for Poet Wright as she is seated in a throne made out of ice set against the dirty snow. If the cold bothers her it isn't apparent. In fact, one my wonder whether the cold radiates from her rather than against her. The SPW Women's champion is dressed in a black velvet, fur-trimmed dress and Santa hat. The SPW's Women championship is draped across her shoulder. There is no joy in her expression. She doesn't wear the mask and she's not wearing any tribal greasepaint except for two black smears around her eyes. The sinister champion's scarification is blatantly evident. They are thick and ropy, the self-expression of Poet's emotional drive and hunger.]
Poet: Today is Christmas Eve. That means something special to me. For two hundred days I have been the Women's SPW champion. I now have the longest single reign on record.
[She looks directly at the camera.]
Poet: Sorry Tiffany. Once more you are irrelevant. Maybe you'll do something in your match with Nikki James. Although I doubt it.
(beat)
But back to _my_ story. 200 hundred days. For over half a year I have held this championship belt. I have made it the most significant belt in the SPW because mine is the title that challengers still believe they can win. They don't fret and run away like they did against Sammy Knight. They didn't simply accept their fate stepping into the ring like they did against him. They wanted my title. They didn't find it meaningless like they do the tag-team titles and they don't view it as a stepping stone title like the Fusion title is. No, the women of SPW know that they wish to step up against Poet Wright that they have a chance. They try, but for 200 days they haven't been good enough. _I_ am the greatest champion of all time in the SPW. Nobody else has been able to dominate the competition like I have. Not Tiffany Lane. Not Jasy O'Neil. When I decided I wanted the title, I took it. And nobody has been able to take it from me. And until I decide that somebody is worthy, nobody will take it from me.
[Poet Wright strokes the silver buckle of the Women's title.]
Poet: _I_ define this title. The most beautiful bad and dangerous woman in the SPW. This title is my right. And yet the Power Structure seeks to threaten me. This was supposed to be a match between me and Orchid who dared to challenge me. But the Power Structure couldn't leave well enough be. No, they had to insert Celine and Heather Owens into this match.
How many times has it been that the SPW Women's champion has lost their title without being pinned? More often than not. Tommy Jackson was awarded a title reign while I was injured. Marissa Monet lost the belt without being pinned. Tiffany Lane lost the title without being pinned. It is a dangerous match when the match is more than one-on-one. Let's speak the truth, the Power Structure wants my title belt because of the prestige that accompanies it. But they don't have the personnel to take it from me. I will make history. I will not fall victim to it.
[Poet starts to tug and scratch at the angry scars around her mouth.]
Poet: Jean Pierre Celine, I told you you were a joke that nobody found funny. I don't find you funny. The other women of the SPW don't find you funny and neither do the audience. They may appreciate you in France but they thought Lewis was a genius. Their tastes are perhaps a little more towards the buffoon than the comedian.
The only advantage you may have in this match is your size and strength. You have no mental advantages. Your personality as a "lady killer" is as vapid and empty as your quest to become the next Viper. You are a visitor here who thinks he is just slumming and therefore you are no threat because you don't value this belt. And therefore you will not die for it like I have, literally. There's a reason we fought on Off the Chain instead of on the main show. You simply do not draw the interest and nobody believed you a worthy challenger and you weren't. I abused you at will like those cheap streetwalkers you contract whore's rot with.
Then there's the dilletante, Heather Owens. Heather, do you honestly think you're ready for this? You should have stayed behind the microphone. You have nothing for me. I am Poet Wright. I am the greatest wrestler in the world. You, you're merely a rookie. Tyro, I'm going to kick your head off. I'm going to decapitate you just because I can and because there is nothing you can do to stop me.
[Poet's eyes narrow and flatten like cat's eyes.]
Poet: And that will leave you and me, Orchid. The way it should have been. Mademoiselle Ruisseaux, the Power Structure has decided to interfere with you because you left them and that interferes with my aspirations. I intend to make the Women's World championship the championship. I am the greatest and longest tenured champion on record in SPW. I should be in the main event. I should be the headliner of shows. And at Charity Carnage I will make sure that I take that step towards destiny. I will make the Women's Championship the most prestigious title in the world. That is my Christmas gift to the people and my resolution for the New Year. See you all at Times Square.
[Fade out.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ JAMES O'CONNOR / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Fade in to the white brick wall of Danny Barnes's gym. There, in his black "Do You Have the Cunning" t-shirt, is the Spirit of Wrestling Champion himself, "Cunning" James O'Connor. He stands, empty handed, waiting to address the world.]
JOC: Ever since I entered myself into the Bring Your Own Weapon Battle Royal, people have asked me one of two questions.
[He holds up one finger.]
JOC: "What number did you draw?" Well, I do know my number, but you all can wait to find out what it is. Whether I come in first or last or anywhere in between, my purpose is clear - stay in the ring, and keep eliminating everyone else until I am the only one left. There's no style points here, no extra credit for eliminating the most or having the most memorable moment. My mission is to simply survive.
[He puts up a second.]
JOC: The other, though, I do intend to answer. "What are you bringing with you?"
[A wry half-smile.]
JOC: You hear a lot of the other competitors talking about how the weapon you bring defines who you are. To them, you have to bring something outlandish or somehow dress up an object to really make it special, to make it stand out from the rest in a way that will leave no doubt why you are unique and interesting.
[He shakes his head.]
JOC: In that light, my choice would be obvious. Nothing would make me stand out, nothing would say more about who I think I am than showing up with no weapon at all. See, you can have your spiked bats and barbed wire chairs, but I believe that no one can match me, one on one, in any straight up fight. I spend my life training to make my fists, my feet, my arms, my legs, and my mind into the most dangerous weapons I could ever utilize. Why waste that training relying upon some unweildy monstrosity when I can use my God given talent to accomplish the same task? Certainly I'd call that unique.
[A chuckle from the SOW champion.]
JOC: Of course, my trainer had another name for it - suicide. 29 other talented wrestlers, each with their own weapon of choice, just waiting to use it to take my head off. Plus, I'm essentially throwing away free help, which isn't wise given the likes of Victor Frost, Deathknell and Marissa Monet. So in spite of my distaste for the weapons game, I was eventually convinced to bring something along "just in case I change my mind." Knowing I didn't want some cartoony thing dragging behind me, I sought something with meaning to me.
[JOC pats his championship belt.]
JOC: This would do, of course, but it would be a desecration of the title to use it in this manner. Plenty of personal meaning, sure, but too much meaning to others as well. Not worth the trouble it would cause.
[He shrugs.]
JOC: Instead, I thought about my career so far in SPW, and what I most want to accomplish in this match. Yes, the title shot, but it's also about the idea that I'm some punk kid, someone who needs to learn his place at the bottom of the food chain. I've thought about those that have tried, unsuccessfully, to send me back to where they think I belong.
[He holds out his hand.]
JOC: Once I thought of it in those terms, I came up with the perfect symbol.
[He grabs something from off camera, displaying it to the audience. It's a simple cane, unadorned with anything special.]
JOC: No, this isn't the same one used to rip up my back at Halloween Scream. I made sure, though, that it was similar in every way. A cane just like this was used to beat me senseless, to punish me for having the gall to stand for something greater than myself. This cane represents every time I've been attacked from behind because someone didn't have the guts to do so head on, every attempt to show me as weak and beneath the Andrew Davises and Scott Starrings of the world.
[James brushes his hair out of his face.]
JOC: So I will use this cane to show that I am not weak, that I am not the victim. I will use it to level those who would stand in my way. And while I don't really care if I go through twenty eight other people with the cane or without it, you can be sure that Scott Starring will feel the sting of this cane, just as I did.
[The half smile fades.]
JOC: Scott, ever since you lit your face on fire at Iconoclasm, you've taken to calling yourself the "face of SPW." You believe that the twisted look you now sport represents the ugliness of an organization that's done you wrong, rather than simply admit your own fault for your mistakes.
[He hands the cane and his belt off to someone out of camera range.]
JOC: Then again, if you believe you are now the face of SPW because of your disfigurations, then what does that say about me?
[JOC turns and removes his shirt. We can still see marks from the brutal cane lashing from Scott Starring. James speaks while facing away from the camera.]
JOC: Do these cane marks make me the backbone of SPW? Ready to stand and fight not because of some personal vendetta, but because it's the right thing to do?
[He turns, bringing attention to the barbed wire scars that will forever zig-zag across his abdomen.]
JOC: Do these scars, self inflicted at Iconoclasm, make me the guts of SPW? Representing those who would climb over barbed wire and shred their own skin for a chance to accomplish my goal?
[His icy blue eyes stare through the camera as it zooms in on his face.]
JOC: I do not claim to be either of these things. To whatever extent I do exhibit backbone or guts, the scars are merely symbols, and empty without the action to back them up. It is my actions that define who I am. Not my scars. Not my weapon. Not my entry number. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something. Come Charity Carnage, I will ensure that by the time I am done everyone in that ring will know what I am all about. They will know I have arrived not because of a fluke or because of my friends. At the Bring Your Own Weapon Battle Royal you will know why they call me "Cunning" James O'Connor.
[With this, we fade out.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ MARISSA MONET / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
#Ooohh New York
Ooohh New York#
[With those repeated lines, Alicia Keys' haunting a capella vocals waft
across the screen as the opening montage of New York starts with the
helicopter shot of the Sheepshead bay area. We see the Bronx in the
distance, the new and old Yankee stadiums standing side by side. The
shot travels over Central Park and the Manhattan skyline. There's the
Empire State Building. There's Madison Square Gardens. There's the
bright lights of Broadway and Times Square.]
#Grew up in a town that is famous as the place of movie scenes
Noise is always loud, there are sirens all around and the streets are
mean
If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere, that's what they say
Seeing my face in lights or my name in marquees found down on Broadway#
[There are the remains of the World Trade Centre, the scar in the New
York landscape still a fresh reminder to everybody that freedom is a
liberty that must be defended and never taken for granted. The shot
moves further south to Wall Street and the shops on Canal Street.
There's Battery Park and the Statue of Liberty.]
Even if it ain't all it seems, I got a pocketful of dreams
Baby, I'm from New York
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of
There's nothing you can't do
Now you're in New York
These streets will make you feel brand new
Big lights will inspire you
Let's hear it for New York, New York, New Yoooork!
[The shot travels across Brooklyn to its famous island. There's the
snow-covered boardwalk. There's the Cyclone roller coaster. There's
the Surf Avenue housing projects and there's the Gardens, the outdoor
court where Marissa Monet, leaned up against the fence in a fuchsia
winter coat, looks out at the water with dreams in her eyes.]
#On the avenue, there ain't never a curfew, ladies work so hard
Such a melting pot, on the corner selling rock, preachers pray to God
Hail a gypsy cab, takes me down from Harlem to the Brooklyn Bridge
Some will sleep tonight with a hunger for more than an empty fridge#
Marissa: (singing in a surprisingly strong contralto)
#I'm gonna make it by any means, I got a pocketful of dreams
Baby, I'm from New York
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of
There's nothing you can't do
Now you're in New York
These street will make you feel brand new
Big lights will inspire you
Let's hear it for New York, New York, New Yoooork!#
[Marissa looks towards the camera as she detaches herself from the chain
link fence.]
Marissa: Finally, I'm home. Merry Christmas, New York. It's been a
hell of a ride, hasn't it? Goddammit, it's been a hell of a ride.
These streets will make you feel brand new. Let's hear it for New York.
That's our theme, isn't it, New York. 2009 has been a weird year for
me. I've never made more progress towards my dreams but I've never felt
so far away. I think I've got a concussion from hitting my head against
that glass ceiling. The little boys club at the top doesn't want to let
me in. Well, the problem is I don't think they understand what it means
to me to come home to wrestle. I _am_ New York. I was born with the
desire, the hustle, the attitude and the smarts to just get things done.
It doesn't matter how many people try to hold me down it won't work.
Look at your girl. I went from quitting SPW to being invited back with
open arms, to outsmarting Victor Frost to winning the Deathwish
Challenge. And now I have some chances at championship gold for 2010.
But that doesn't matter as much as what is going on in 2010. Individual
success doesn't matter as much if the whole world falls apart.
#One hand in the air for the big city,
Street lights, big dreams all looking pretty
No place in the world that can compare
Put your lighters in the air, everybody say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah#
Marissa: The SPW is under attack. The Power Structure has decided that
it's going to be the Grinch that stole Christmas and is trying to steal
all the championship gold. They want to run the show and once again,
now that the Invaders are exposed, it's time for the Shootfire Army to
raise up and take a stand again.
[beat]
It's just going to be so much tougher this time. I mean, the Shootfire
Army isn't the same any more, is it. It isn't united. Sammy Knight is
focused on beating Andrew Davis. Victor Frost gave up his Fusion title
to run away from the Power Structure's clutches. Eddie Christian and
Barry Baldwin are fighting each other and this time the Power Structure
holds sway over everybody in SPW.
[beat]
Everybody except me.
[Marissa looks hard into the camera. There is a resolution etched in
her face that wasn't seen before. There has always been Marissa Monet.
There has always been the Great Black Shark. But we can see someone new
emerging from Monet's miraculous body.]
Marissa: Everybody else has to worry about the Power Structure's
retaliation. I don't. I'm the one person who can meet them on their
own terms. I can protect the championships from them. I can be the
conscience balancing their tyranny. The SPW needs a hero and I will
answer that call. One thing SPW's locker room has shown me is that they
never stand up right away. But I will stand up. The Power Structure
shall not pass. They shall not be allowed to be control SPW's
championships. And I will be the gatekeeper. In New York I declare war
on the Power Structure. New York, we know what it's like to be the
victims of terror. And it is nothing pretty. Our world changed on
September 11, 2001 and we've never been the same since. And you know
what, we forgot and got lazy. They tried to blow up the World Trade
Centre in 1993 with a car bomb. I'll never forget what one witness
said.
"It felt like an airplane hit the building."
[Marissa drops her head and hugs herself against the cold.]
Marissa: And that's just what they did in 2001. We just forgot. Got
soft, complacent. Well, at Iconoclasm we went to war in the Deathwish
cage match and we walked out with a win. Just like in 1993 we thought
we were invincible despite the fact that we got hit. And we got
complacent again and they hit us with a plane in 2001. I've spent my
time since Iconoclasm relaxing, exhaling. I've wasted my time with past
their prime egotistical wrestlers. And I let the Power Structure
takeover because I was personally satisfied. I forgot what it felt like
to be violated. I was in New York both times they attacked the World
Trade. I was there when the car bomb blew and I was here at home when
the planes hit. I've felt the insecurity, the violation that comes
along with a terrorist attack. The fear. The realisation that nothing
will ever be the same again. I ran and hid then just like I did when I
sat on the sidelines for a while after Iconoclasm. I should have known
the minute Scott Starring wished Greedy to be the General Manager that
couldn't help but be called back to war with the Invaders.
[She balls up a fist and smacks it into her fist.]
Marissa: So I'm pulling double duty tonight, people. I'm adding myself
to the Street fight for the Fusion title and I'm going to go to the
Bring Your Own Weapons Battle Royal to make sure that the next Fusion
champ and the next number one contender come from the right stuff. If I
can't win it myself I'm going to make damn sure somebody worthy holds
the belt. That's my vow, New York, because the Power Structure is the
biggest threat ever to the SPW Universe's way of life and it's time for
everybody to pick a side and dig in. Well, I'm dug in. I've picked a
side. I've picked SPW.
#In New York
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of
There's nothing you can't do
Now you're in New York
These streets will make you feel brand new
Big lights will inspire you
Let's hear it for New York, New York, New Yoooork!#
Marissa: JDM Superstar, Scott Starring, Steve Greedy, Taylor, Celine
... all of you in the Power Structure, listen, there's a right way to do
things and then there's your way. See, there are those of us who rose
to prominence in Shootfire by doing things the right way. You compete
in matches. You win. You bust your ass in the ring to make the fans
care. You work your way up the ladder rung by rung by rung until you
make it to the top. That's how you do it. And you all know because the
first time you were in SPW that's what you did. But this time you want
to take the easy way. You'll get the money, you're trying to grasp the
power, but acting like this ... you'll never get the respect and
therefore nothing you do in this business will mean a damn because
nobody will care. You like to talk about ratings, JDM. Nobody watches
to see you. They watch to see who will stand up to you. They watch to
see who is really real and who's scared.
#I'm gonna make it by any means, I got a pocketful of dreams
Baby, I'm from New York
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of
There's nothing you can't do
Now you're in New York
These street will make you feel brand new
Big lights will inspire you
Let's hear it for New York, New York, New Yoooork!#
Marissa: At Charity Carnage I make the vow to you, New York ... to you
out there in the world ... your favourite daughter accepts her mantle as
the Goddess and the Conscience of the SPW. I swear to you the Power
Structure will fail. At the Bring Your Own Weapon Rumble I am going to
go through 30 other competitors to earn myself the number one
contendership. I am going there to throw 29 competitors over the top
rope and then I'm going to go out into the people and celebrate with New
York in style. Why? Because we always do it big in New York. And I am
New York. I got big dreams that I have to make come true because I have
to do it for the SPW Universe. And after that I'm going to jump in a
cab and join the NYC street fight and become the new Fusion champion and
then head into Conquest January 2010 and become the tag-team champions
with Eddie Christian and I'm going to become the ultimate power in the
SPW and I'm going to foil the Power Structure's plans. I am the Goddess
of SPW and I will make my dreams come true. I am New York.
#One hand in the air for the big city,
Street lights, big dreams all looking pretty
No place in the world that can compare
Put your lighters in the air, everybody say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah#
[Fade out. Tara's voice cuts in as we show the skyline of New York City.]
Tara: This night has just begun!! We're coming to you from Times Square with Charity Carnage. Coming up now is The Family; Entropy, Anarchy, Iris Galiver and "Jester" Chad Allen, followed by Dave Pietka. All have huge matches tonight- including the Monster's Ball contest, as voted by SPW fans, for Allen and Pietka! Stand by for an eerie Family Christmas... and Dave Pietka!
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ THE FAMILY / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[The following scrolls across the screen in blood drip writing.]
"The Family presents... a very scary Christmas! In other words, a very fucked up Christmas is on its way."
[The text fades as the camera closes into a cold, desolate basement where a Christmas tree is set up. A good shot of the tree is shown and it's quite the demented massacre... the tree is raggedy and half dead looking, adorned with razor wire as the use of garland and demonic baby doll heads as ornaments. The clear lights are strung onto the tree sloppily.]
V: Hehehe!
[After a shot of the Christmas tree is shown it switches to a view of the "Pretty, Pretty Princess" Iris Galiver jumping up and down insanely. Iris wears a Christmas dress that is ripped and torn and adorned in dried blood. She has her bright red hair in pig tails with red and green ribbon tied around them. Iris whines.]
IRIS: I wanna open presents now! NOW, NOW, NOW!
[The scene turns to the "Father" "Jester" Chad Allen, he sits in a pair of blue pajama pants and a HIDEOUS looking Christmas sweater, done in a garish green and red print with a snowman killing a reindeer on the front. On top of all of this, he is painted in his typical face paint. He smiles and pats Iris on the head.]
JCA: Now Honey, we have to wait for the Children to get up...
ANARCHY: YAY CHRISTMAS!!
ENTROPY: MERRY CHRISTMAS, MOTHER AND FATHER!!
[The Children sit on the floor in front of the tree, looking over all the presents that Santa brought them. Iris giggles loudly. She jumps up and down again.]
IRIS: MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS! MERRY CHRISTMAS, MR. PEABODY!!!
[Iris turns to her imaginary friend who is obviously standing beside her. She laughs and begins running around the Christmas tree chasing Mr. Peabody. The camera closes in on JCA.]
JCA: Now let's see, who has a present under the tree....
[Jester looks around a bit, pulling a box from underneath.]
JCA: This one says FROM SANTA, TO ANARCHY....
[Looking a bit more, finding a similar sized box...]
JCA: And this one says FROM SANTA, TO ENTROPY.
[Both CoH quickly grabs the gifts that Santa has brought, and eagerly rip open the packaging. They race to get to the inside to bring out two large black leather forearm bracers, which are COVERED in steel spikes of all different sizes!]
ANARCHY: WOW!
ENTROPY: It is better than I could have IMAGINED!!
[Jester smiles and pats them on the shoulders.]
JCA: Now I want you two to use them well, you DO have a Bring Your Own Weapons Battle Royale coming up, so I want you to use them to play nice will ALL of your new friends.
ANARCHY: We SURE WILL, Father...
ENTROPY: They are going to SO JEALOUS of us...after they stop screaming of course.
[Jester goes under the tree again...]
JCA: Oh, look what we have here! It seems a certain "Pretty Pretty Princess" got a gift from SANTA!
[Upon hearing her the word "princess" Iris quits running around the tree. She laughs loudly and runs to sit between Jester's legs. She looks up to him before taking the gift ever so politely from his hands.]
IRIS: My evil Jester, did you happen to catch Nina Larue for me and cut her up into tiny pieces and put her into this box? Hehehe! I sure hope so!
[Iris shakes the box.]
IRIS: Oh yay! It sounds like dismantled body parts! Yum! I sure hope there is some fluid left on them! Did you find, Nina, huh, huh? Did you, did you?
[Jester smiles and kisses Iris on the cheek.]
JCA: I'm sorry, my sweet, I didn't get Nina to chop up, but I figured you would have all sorts of fun doing that yourself at Charity Carnage. But I do have something I am SURE you will be able to use that night to help chop and shred her up...
[Iris rips off the bow and the wrapping. She opens the box up and pulls out her very own barbed wire Teddy bear! Iris squeals and grabs the bear where she won't be exposed to the wire.]
IRIS: I love him! I love him! He is my own special friend. I will call him Ruben and we will be the bestest friends ever. He will help me murder Erica Toughill and Nina Larue very, very soon! And you know what my evil Jester? You know what?
[Iris nods excitedly.]
IRIS: I will bring home that pretty, pretty belt just for us! Just for you. Just for the Children.
[Jester smiles as he looks over his happy Family.]
JCA: That is what I like to hear, from all of you...I want to know that Iris is going to be the first ever SPW Womens Hardcore Champion, and that the Children of Hardcore are going to bloody everyone in their path to win the Battle Royale and go after the SPW Tag Gold...and me?
[The warm smile turns to his trademark evil grin...]
JCA: I am going to bring home Dave Pietka's head to put on our tree for a topper next year. I will leave his headless, twitching body in the middle of the ring. His blood will spill over the mat and down to the floor as it quickly drains out.
[Iris looks back and nods to Jester. She sits her Teddy to the side and stares down at him for a second or two. After a pause Iris raises her head to the camera, her presence is sweet with her pigtails, but also quite eerie with her pale skin and the psychosis beaming in her eyes.]
IRIS: I love blood. I love watching their bodies twitch in agony as the gasp for their last breath. As their eyes roll into the back of their heads and they wonder what is coming next... oh, how I love it! And Ruben and I, we will destroy Erica Toughill and Nina Larue. My friend Angst will be there to help us. We will dominate this match and in the end... I will walk out champion. It will be mine forever. Erica and Nina... they will succumb to be because in the end, the Pretty, Pretty Princess will soon become Queenie of the SPW!!!
[The Children of Hardcore are now looking under the tree, seperating the gifts out between the two of them. Suddenly Anarchy looks at a long box that is under the tree...]
ANARCHY: Father, it looks like Santa has brought you a present as well!
[Jester looks surprised for a moment, but takes the gift and begins to unwrap it. After he gets to the bottom of the box, he brings out his prize... it is a normal kendo stick for the most part, but inbetween the bamboo, it is laced with razor blades, which gleam an evil silver in the lights of the Christmas tree.]
JCA: It is indescribably beautiful...a work of art. I hope that Dave will appreciate it when it rips his flesh from his body...
IRIS: And what a glorious Christmas it will be and a happy, happy new year! I think we should thank Santa. I love Santa, he has been so nice to me and my family!
[The scene switches to show Santa Claus. He is in his red suit and if it wasn't red, you'd be able to see the blood all over it! Santa is tied to a steel chair, his hands behind his back. He's gagged with a white cloth. He has a black eye and some dried blood on his face.]
IRIS: Oh, Santa, you look so pretty!
[Jester lets out a "Ho Ho Ho" that quickly turns into his evil laugh.]
JCA: Come my Family, let us show Santa how well all of our new toys work...
[The entire Family grabs the "toys" they have just received and slowly start towards Santa, whose eyes get large and white, his face showing signs of dread as he struggles against his restraints. As our scene slowly fades to black, we hear the screams of Good Ol' St. Nick, and in the same bloody font our scene opened with comes the following words...]
"A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT! FROM THE FAMILY"
[Out.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ DAVE PIETKA / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[A short distance away from Times Square, a simple shed has been erected. There are no windows, vents, or any other visible openings apart from a single door with three deadbolts on it. There is, however, a satellite dish on top, along with a portable generator. Many of the New Yorkers who pass it simply view at it quizzically for a few moments, and then pass on. It's only when a van approaches it that bears the SPW logo on it that some people start to take notice.]
[After the van stops, a trio of men exit, approach the shed, and unlock the door. Two of the men walk in, turning on flashlights as they enter, while the third one waits outside. Two more people come out of the van, overly-bundled up in winter clothing on purpose, and also approach the shed.]
Overly-Bundled Up Man: Is everything set up?
Man #1: Yes, sir. The other techs are making sure the camera feed is up and running, and giving the best possible shot.
Overly-Bundled Up Man: And the night-vision lens? Is it working?
Man #1: As far as we know, yes. It should be suitable until you have to come out.
[The Overly-Bundled Up Man walks back to the van and yanks out a duffel bag, and then throws it at the guy he was just talking to.]
Overly-Bundled Up Man: Go through it. Make sure there's no food or water or flashlights or whatever in there. The higher-ups need to know I'm playing this by their rules, but that doesn't mean I won't add my little twists to it.
[The guy starts rifling through the duffle bag as the two Overly-Bundled Up people walk into the shed. Right now, there's a small lantern in the middle, and two technicians are working on a camera that's set up near the ceiling.]
Overly-Bundled Up Man: Christ... it's actually hot in here.
[He starts shedding his layers of clothes; Gloves, Scarf, Overcoat, Hat, Sweater... until he's just in a pair of jeans and a T-Shirt, and we see the shadowed outline of his face, along with the permanent shadow on it, as well.
It's "Heavy Mental" Dave Pietka, kiddies.
The other bundled up person simply loosens up their scarf and removes their hat, revealing themselves to be Devin Demasters, who can't help show a concerned look on her face as her man simply watches the technicians do their work.]
Dave Pietka: Are we good? We have to be rolling in fifteen minutes, and I really wouldn't mind starting this early.
Man #2: Yeah, we're all set up. Camera's live, and we'll be out of here soon, Mr. Pietka.
Devin DeMasters: Dave... baby... do you really have to go through with this?
[Pietka looks over at DeMasters and smiles, but says nothing. This does nothing to ease Devin's concern as she starts to fidgit around. The guy from outside walks back in with the duffle bag, placing it down on the floor.]
Man #1: You're all clear, Mr. Pietka. There's nothing in here that the guys upstairs will get mad about.
Dave Pietka: Alright, guys... douse these lights, get the banner up outside, and then get going. And make sure that someone checks on that generator every now and again, making sure it's got enough juice... and don't forget to signal me before you shut it off!
Man #1: Got it.
[Pietka turns over to Devin, looking deep into her eyes while there's still light to use. He leans over and plants his lips firmly on hers... one last kiss... before he pulls back and...]
Dave Pietka: Go home.
Devin DeMasters: What?
Dave Pietka: Go back to Florida. I'll come by when everything here is done.
Devin DeMasters: But what if you...
Dave Pietka: My brother-in-law will be standing by. Believe me, he knows I'm coming.
[Again, Pietka smiles.]
Dave Pietka: Don't worry, baby. To me, this is just another match. I really don't have anything to lose.
[He leans in and kisses her again, before he takes a step back towards the wall. One of the technicians finally grabs the lantern and walks out, and Devin slowly leaves the shed, never taking her eyes off of Pietka. In what little light there is left, she can see Pietka smiling the whole while... as the door closes, and the technicians lock the door from the outside. DeMasters starts to walk back to the van, visibly holding back the tears, as the technicians have one more thing to do before they go.]
Man #3: Alright, let's get this up.
[The technicians open up the van's backdoor and pull out a rolled-up banner. Quickly, they unroll it and attach it to several hooks on the shed. Once it's secure, they take a quick moment to admire their handiwork.]
SPW PRESENTS...
CHARITY CARNAGE 2009!
WANT TO KNOW WHAT'S INSIDE THE SHED?
GO TO WWW.SHOOTFIREWORLD.COM/WHATSINTHESHED TO FIND OUT!
[And the eyes of the technicians look downward to a hand-scrawled addition in black sharpie.]
...BUT ONE DUMB CLOWN'S NOT GONNA LIKE IT!
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec. 26th, 12:00 PM - 24 HOURS UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[The scene blinks into existance. The night vision lens gives the shot an eerie grin tone to it, but that's nothing. We can see Dave Pietka standing in the same spot he was standing in when they closed the door, and he seems to be very still. The duffle bag that he brought is in the left corner just ahead of him, the exact opposite corner of where the camera is.]
Dave Pietka: Well... here I am. Twenty-four hours of this. It'll probably end up being more like twenty-five and a half, but who cares. It's all for the people, after all. All for you guys. So, listen, why don't you guys go grab some lunch, come back in about an hour, yeah? I'm just gonna be getting used to my new surroundings for a bit.
[Pietka simply continues to stand, doing absolutely nothing.]
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 26th, 1:45 PM - 22 HOURS AND 15 MINUTES UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[Pietka is sitting in the middle of the shed, his legs tucked in close to his body and his arms wrapped around them. He's actually facing the camera, though some people don't know if that's out of luck, or if he knows where the camera is.]
Dave Pietka: This shed is eight feet by eight feet. I have circled it at least twenty or thirty times in the last hour... I kinda lost count after sixteen, to be fair. I'm dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, and there's no real heat coming in here save for the hot patch on one of the walls where the generator's sittin'. I have a blanket in my duffle bag, but I'm gonna try not to use it.
You know, Chad Allen really has a fucked up way of starting a fight.
I started calling myself The Hardcore Godsend long before I even came across Chad Allen in I-Slash, and somehow I'm the false idol?
Aren't we all false idols, though? Aren't there a lot of folks out there who worship and idolize us? Sit in the seats, watch us fight, buy our shirts, watch our videos? Yet I'm singled out, and I know why.
But I'll get to that later.
[And then he shuts up for a while.]
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 26th, 3:27 PM - 20 HOURS AND 33 MINUTES UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[Pietka is leaning up against one of the walls. If he really reached out to his left, he'd reach his bag, but he's just casually leaned up against the wall.]
Dave Pietka: Was anyone else really surprised by the ending of that scaffold match? I mean, not only did I keep both Marissa Monet AND Spooky Doom on my shoulders for that long... not only did I drop them BOTH with a Double Evil Voodoo Driver, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around that one... not only did I shatter the whole damn scaffold and send the two of them, along with myself, to the ground below... somehow, Chad Allen manages to stay up there because of a length of chain.
...I'll bet the bastard thinks he won that fight.
Honestly, when they told me that he dropped some elbow or a leg or whatever part of his painted body on me, I really didn't remember it. At that point, I was already as lifeless as an anatomically-correct ragdoll.
...I'll bet the bastard thinks he actually hurt me. Well, he probably did, but it ain't as if I felt it or remember it.
To be honest with all of you, I'm more surprised that I was able to get Monet and Doom on my shoulders. I really don't know what I was thinking then, but it happened.
...ain't it cool?
[Pietka's arms stretch out and start feeling around, until his left hand reaches his bag and he lies his head down on it.]
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 26th, 5:14 PM - 18 HOURS AND 46 MINUTES UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
Dave Pietka: Fuck, I'm hungry.
[Sitting against one of the walls again, Pietka is slightly startled when a faint rapping is heard on the door.]
Dave Pietka: Huh... camera's going out for a bit.]
[And it does...]
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 26th, 5:44 PM - 18 HOURS AND 16 MINUTES UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[The camera comes back up, and we see Pietka walking around the shed again, with his hand outstretched and brushing up against the wall as he does it. I guess it's to keep himself from tripping over his bag.]
Dave Pietka: I'm happy to do anything for my fans, kiddies. Sheeple and Ever-Faithful Alike. I think I've shown that in the numerous displays of fantastical violence I've put on for everyone since my career started, both here in Shootfire and everywhere else I've worked.
I don't mind sharing the limelight from time to time. It's probably why, for the briefest of moments, I kind of forgot my desire to grind Chad Allen's face into the mat.
I mean, I technically shared the limelight with those D-List rejects he calls "Children." It would have seemed a little pointless if I just attached some shackles to the cage and then lifted it up off the ground.
I share the limelight whenever I step into the ring. I intend to share it with Chad.
But join him? Remember when his precious little children 'enticed' me to join? Kinda smacked of my first arrival here, didn't it? When Fabian Cruz said, "Join the Aristocracy or I'll kick your ass?" You all remember that, don't you? You all remember what happened to each of their sad attempts at kicking my ass, right? Fabian Cruz, Jake Evans, Dante Madison... they all ended up humiliated in the end.
I found it cute that Chad would think I'd do that, especially since he didn't have the balls to ask me himself.
...oh, but he was off playing "God."
[He stops speaking, but he keeps walking.]
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 26th, 8:30 PM - 15 HOURS AND 30 MINUTES UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[Pietka sitting next to his bag, rifling through its contents, and taking out a few small containers of different shapes and putting them next to him.]
Dave Pietka: FUCK, MAN! God DAMN, it's cold! The hell is that blan-... SHIT! Those fucking bastard techs took my damn blanket!
...or did I just forget to pack it!
[He groans audibly, and bangs his head against the shed wall.]
Dave Pietka: I did forget to pack it.
[He starts fumbling around the walls, trying to feel for that hot spot he mentioned before, from the generator. Once he reaches it, he huddles up against it.]
Dave Pietka: The shit I do for the people, huh? The shit I do for you guys. Ain't enough to see me go through tables and panes of glass, ain't enough to see me hit with steel chairs and singapore canes and ladders and dead farm animals, you gotta see me suffer before the damn match.
Do you think Chad's reveling in his suffering? Oh yeah, the fuckin' nutjob. Putting on a show of his own, like people haven't seen a psychopathic clown before.
FUCK THAT!
I haven't been afraid of clowns! There's nothing to be afraid of when it comes to clowns! WHY? Because clowns by their very nature are deceitful... liars... FRAUDS! I WATCHED "IT," MOTHERFUCKER! I WATCHED "HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CORPSES" AND "DEVIL'S REJECTS," TOO! CAPTAIN SPAULDING'S HARDER THAN YOU'LL EVER BE, YOU FUCKING HACK CLOWNIE DARK CARNIVAL REJECT!
Fuck that... you ain't even harder than Bozo!
What do you do? You wear clown paint and do the SAME FUCKING THING I DO!
The same... fucking... thing...
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 26th, 9:30 PM - 14 HOURS AND 30 MINUTES UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[Pietka hasn't moved from the warm spot, and in fact looks like he's sleeping. The noise and hustle of the city somehow echos in the shed, but he's able to sleep through it.]
[A subtle rapping comes at the door, and the camera goes out.]
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 26th, 10:00 PM - 14 HOURS UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[The camera comes back on, and Pietka still hasn't moved.]
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 27th, 2:13 AM - 9 HOURS AND 47 MINUTES UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[Still, Pietka's in the same spot.]
Dave Pietka: I want a cheeseburger... no, I want a Pitts-Burger! I want a Pitts-Burger, and I want an Iron City beer! I want a Pitts-Burger, and Iron City beer, and I want the Iron City beer to be served to me from Chad's empty skull! I want a Skull City beer! I want Beer-Out-Of-Chad-Allen's-Skull City Beer! And hell, let's throw in a little cannibalism, I'm sure Chad'll appreciate that. I want the burger in that Pitts-Burger to be made outta Chad's abdominal muscles, if there are any there. Bulky fucker, he looks like he could feed a family of Ethopians for a week!
I'll devour that fucker in three hours, if they cook him right! Slices of him between two massive hunks of Italian bread? With provolone cheese, french fries, and Primante's panted coleslaw?
*In a musical tone* Yum-yummmm.
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 27th, 4:00 AM - 8 HOURS UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[Pietka has finally moved from the warm spot, and is simply walking around the shed... mostly pacing back and forth, giggling at odd times.]
Dave Pietka: *in a sing-song voice* One, Two... Here comes Voodoo... Three, Four... They'll open that door... Five, Six... They'll get their fix... Seven, Eight... I'll lay him out straight... Nine, Ten... I'll... I'll... I'LL EAT HIM LIKE A CHRISTMAS GOOSE!
[Pietka starts cackling hysterically.]
Dave Pietka: A God? A GOD? GODS DON'T BLEED! GODS DON'T GET INJURED! GODS DON'T WORK IN MYSTERIOUS FUCKIN' WAYS!
You bleed, Chad. You bend. You break.
You're a fucking mortal, Chad.
Just... like... me.
And this match will prove nothing more than that.
...because I don't have anything to lose here. I am, and will always be, the Hardcore Godsend! No beating you give will ever take that away from me. I'll always be a thorn in your side, a challenge to your self-imposed "divinity."
I'll always be proof of your true humanitas.
[Pietka starts cackling again, and keeps going for some time.]
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 27th, 4:35 AM - 7 HOURS AND 25 MINUTES UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[Pietka is passed out on the floor, and has been there for the last ten minutes. Every so often, he lets out an audible enough sound... a loud sigh, a brief spurt of laughter... or he twitches like a wounded animal.]
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 27th, 8:45 AM - 3 HOURS AND 15 MINUTES UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[At this point, Pietka is struggling to get to his feet... we don't know if this is genuine or if he's faking it, but either way, it's a convincing performance. His boisterous laughter has been replaced with a cross between a weakened laughter and a stifled sob.]
Dave Pietka: Have you been entertained, kiddies? Heh heh.... uuuuhhhhg... heh... Watching my mind warp and twist... out of the light, no food, no water... if I was lucky, none of you saw me using the bucket... so you can just imagine what it smells like in here!
I'd imagine the New York City Sewer System smells better than this shed.
But we have to be getting close...
...I have to put my face on.
...face.
[He starts to feel around the shed, hoping to get a hold of his bag... and finds it, along with the canisters beside it. He props himself up against the wall, and simply sits there blankly for a few minutes, before grasping at the canisters and feeling them... one is square shaped, one is circular, and the other is rectangular. He waits until he's certain he has the circular one in his hand, unscrews it, and dips his fingers in... and then runs it across his face.]
-----------------------------------------------------
[Dec 27th, 11:00 AM - 1 HOUR UNTIL CHARITY CARNAGE]
[The sounds of people filing into the area can be heard. Charity Carnage is only one hour from starting. Pietka's face is a horrid mash of grease paint. A white base has been smeared all over his face, and there appears to be plenty of it in his hair and on his shirt as well. But there's more to the pattern... Some on his eyes, and some on his lips... and whatever colors he used there also seems to be matted into his hair and drug all over his shirt, too. He looks drained, almost as if he would be unable to actually fight in this match... but again, who knows if it's real.]
Dave Pietka: I said I'd come back to why Chad singled me out, and I guess I'll get to it.
It's almost the same thing with Sammy Knight when he went after the SPW Championship. It's almost the same thing about whatever Shane Destiny and I have with each other.
...this is about validation.
Chad Allen decided to thrust the title of Hardcore God on himself, and I couldn't give a fuck either way. He could just call himself "God" and he'd still be a second-rate twat that takes bumps in my book. But he comes here and he calls himself that, and he has to be fully aware of all the memorable shit I've done here.
...and no, I'm actually not going to list them this time.
Add that in with the fact that in all of our previous encounters, Chad Allen has never been able to best me... there's no question why I'm his favorite target.
He wants to beat me so his little nickname can be validated. So he can actually look himself in that shattered mirror of his and be convinced that he IS a Hardcore God, and that he's beaten one of the most legendary, most brutal, and most immortally insane people who knows how to swing a chair.
Chad Allen wants to prove to everyone that he's superior... but it'll never fly.
This is just another match to me, Chad. Me, The Evil Voodoo Army, and nearly everyone on the Shootfire payroll knows that, and they all know that I am the greatest Hardcore motherfucker here. I said it before, and I'll say it again... I won't take full credit for it. Your Ol' Pal Voodoo didn't build the House Of Hardcore within the halls of Shootfire... but I sure as hell expanded on it.
YOU, on the other hand, can't just waltz in here with a private army and usurp that. You can't simply lay claim and think that one match will change it.
You're no God, Chad Allen... you never were. I was able to prove that long before you were aware of your own divinity, I was able to prove it when the seeds were first planted in that useless brain of yours, and I'll prove it again... when you're at your peak of madness.
I am the Ringmaster of the Modern-Day Circus Maximus...
...the Main-Fuckin'-Attraction...
...the SPW's Destroyer of Worlds...
...THE HARDCORE GODSEND...
...I'M EVIL VOODOO DAVE, BITCH...
...and I will not... CAN NOT... be toppled by YOU!
[Pietka's head rolls to the side, and that's how he remains for the next hour when Charity Carnage officially starts, and the camera goes dead and then fades to Vik and Tara once again.]
Vik: What a match the Monster's Ball is going to be. I'm not sure who is going to win... but it makes me think they're neither one going to have a good New Year because of the hell they're going to put one another through.
Tara: It is going to be an INSANE night here at Charity Carnage. Dave Pietka and Chad Allen battle it out while many other titles are on the line! We have some footage that took place earlier at our Fan Fest and some other interesting footage of "Sensuous" Samantha Bevins, returning from Fiji a few days ago, apparently after spending the Holidays there with one AJ Black.
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ BARRY BALDWIN & MARISSA MONET / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[It's the day after Christmas and all through the city, not a creature was stirring except for the thousands of SPW fans that crowded the Jacob Javits Center where the "Faithful Fan Fest" was being held. All around, you see tons of SPW merchandise for sale as well as all sorts of SPW personalities mingling with the fans; posing for photographs and signing autographs.
The camera pans the room and in the corner we see "The General" Barry Baldwin talking with some little kids. He poses for a Polaroid and then signs the bottom of it before shaking their hands. He raises a hand to say "goodbye" and begins to walk in the direction of the camera man. As he gets closer, he turns his head as if he notices someone and heads camera-right.
The camera pans again and we see he is approaching the table that Marissa Monet is set up at to greet her fans. With a jiggle of the camera, the operator runs over to catch the exchange between Baldwin and Monet.]
Baldwin: Marissa...it's so good to see you. Must feel good to be back home again.
Monet: (singing) I'm on top of the world. Baldwin, I'm home and I'm getting ready to walk out of Charity Carnage the number one contender and the Fusion champion. There's nothing I can't do and baby, I feel like I'm on top of the world.
Baldwin: Well that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I just found out that you're being considered as ANOTHER participant in the New York City Street Fight for the Fusion title and I wanted to make sure we were on the same page about the match.
Monet: (eyebrow arching) Same page? What's there to be on the same page about. I'm walking into the match. We're going to fight. I'm going to win. You know what I can do. I can't imagine you'd have a problem with me, General.
Baldwin: That's very true. I know what you are capable of; after all I made sure you represented this company proud back at Iconoclasm. But I ALSO know what it would be like win the title here in New York City of all places so I think it's only right that I warn you that woman or not, I _WILL_ not refrain from putting you down tomorrow night if it means walking into Two Thousand and Ten as the SPW Fusion champion.
Monet: General, I'm not just doing this for myself. The Power Structure needs to know that they aren't just going to take over and run the show. Not the show that we built. So even though I'm fighting down the streets of Manhattan instead of Brooklyn, I'm right at home. And I'm coming to win. So you try to put me down, if you can, General. Just understand that I'll be ready, willing and more than able to do the same.
Baldwin: Well then I guess it will come down to who knows this city more -- you or me.
[He extends his hand to The Great Black Shark... Marissa looks at the hand for a moment before she slaps it five.]
Marissa: Just so long as that autistic freak doesn't win, right?
[Baldwin chuckles]
Baldwiin: Leave Quinn to me. He's still got some answerin' to do. His antics back in Qatar were disrespectful to me and my boys in the brown and green.
[He looks around]
Baldwin: Now I just need to have a word with Eddie Christian.
[OUT]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ "SENSUOUS" SAMANTHA BEVINS / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[The camera shows "Sensuous" Samantha Bevins at LaGuardia Airport. She is walking outside into the cold air, fans and followers taking pictures and asking for autographs. SSB, dressed in a long, gray coat with her blonde hair in a low pony tail, ignores the onlookers. She is too engrossed in a conversation on her cell phone. The camera closes in.]
SSB: I'm back in New York City. Oh, how I missed it here.
[She sighs, grinning.]
SSB: How I missed you, too. Yes, you know I did. I've been thinking about you the entire time. For hours now.
[Samantha is ushered into a black stretch limo. She still completely ignores everyone around her as she climbs in.]
SSB: You know I came back to take care of our business at Charity Carnage. I'm glad we were able to become such good friends in such a short amount of time. It's no surprise we had so much in common. [she laughs] No, we're not manipulative people, contrary to what people think. We just know what we want. We know how to get it. We know how to bring in the ratings.
[She pauses and leans back in the seat.]
SSB: Ratings, huh? Yes, I'm sure we'll bring them in at Carnage. I'll make sure to make the announcement you and I spoke about before I left. And yes, I'll make sure that no one knows where you are. No one but me that is.
[Another grin, this time more mischievous.]
SSB: Yes, I know that's the way you want it. Bye, AJ.
[SSB turns her cell phone off.]
SSB: Almost showtime! [a smile] Driver, take me to the Marriott Marquee in Times Square. I have lots of business to deal with tonight. Time to get ahold of Marcus and let him know I'm back in town.
[Samantha begins dialing on her cell phone again as we fade out and return to Tara and Vik.]
Tara: Ladies and gentleman that's it for us this evening!! We're leaving you with comments from Sammy Knight and reigning champion, Andrew Davis. These two men will face off in an iron man match for the World Championship. It's going to be one of the greatest matches EVER in SPW. Good luck to both men!
Vik: Yeah, good luck to everyone tonight because this is going to be a wild night!!
Tara: Thanks for joining us.
Vik: You're welcome, people, you enjoyed my prescence, I am sure.
Tara: Dear lord, do you ever quit? SAMMY KNIGHT AND ANDREW DAVIS!!! CHARITY CARNAGE COMING UP!!! Have a great one!!!
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ SAMMY KNIGHT / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[Begin transmission.]
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[A typewritten series of white letters appear against the naked black screen. Silence
surrounds you; except for the clicking of computer keys which gently flick against your
eardrums. With each click, another letter appears on the screen, forming the following
sentences:
“H E W H O C O N T R O L S T H E P R E S E N T, C O N T R O L S T H E P A S T.
H E W H O C O N T R O L S T H E P A S T, C O N T R O L S T H E F U T U R E.”
The Orwellian quote lingers momentarily before a bright flash erupts in front of your
eyes. Complete silence follows.
Your eyes try to adjust to the screen but they’re unable to identify anything.
Nothing.
As your eyes continue to adjust and attempt to focus on the screen in front of you, the
sights of the season dance in front of you with the exact splendor that only the Big
Apple can bring. The bright and busy lights of the famous ROCKEFELLER CENTER; complete
with the larger-than-life Christmas Tree and crowded ice skating rink are shown. The
scene quickly changes and you find yourself looking at the historic MADISON SQUARE
GARDEN; apparently on the eve of a New York Knicks game. Many fans are adorned not only
in the team’s orange and blue attire, but also cheerfully in red Santa hats with white
fuzzy balls at the end.
The fans soon fade as your eyes focus on another New York City must-see, the STATUE OF
LIBERTY. So beautifully lit, the lady with the torch lights up the harbor for all to
see. You can almost imagine seeing the countless tourists, hot chocolate in hand,
stepping off the ferry to see this amazing and timeless landmark for the first – or even
the hundredth time.
The light of the torch soon dissolves to what can only be described as one of the more
iconic images of the American nation: THE MANHATTAN SKYLINE. Even with the missing
towers, the sight is truly of breathtaking magnitude. Buildings; adorned with thousands
of lights from windows, illuminate the city of dreams.
As the camera moves closer it focuses on the EMPIRE STATE BUILDING, the “who’s who” of
sky scrapers, with thousands of Christmas lights – red and green, covering the upper
quarter of it. As the image seemingly stands still, there’s another flash as the image
is wiped away.
All of it.
And instead of what we all know New York to be, you find yourself somewhere different.
Somewhere that we don’t see during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, or on New Year’s Eve
programs, or even on the countless postcards of the city’s street vendors. Somewhere
that demonstrates what New York once was.]
[On this beautifully crisp December day, the camera finds itself at the corner of Duane
Street and the street previously known as Elk Street in Lower Manhattan. Today the
street is called African Burial Ground Way. Quietly tucked between the bustle and
buildings of the living New York Streets is the AFRICAN BURIAL GROUND NATIONAL MONUMENT;
a site that when discovered was called by one archaeologist as, “the most important
historic urban archaeological project in the United States.”
But we are not alone at this beautiful circular monument. Standing against the railing
of the granite design is Shootfire’s own Sammy Knight. Standing in solitude, the
challenger at the upcoming Charity Carnage Pay-Per-View is wearing a black hooded
down-jacket, a pair of blue jeans and a white pair of sneakers. Black gloves cover his
hands as a black beanie adorns his head. A backpack of sorts clings tightly to the
former champion’s shoulders. His back is to the camera. Without turning around, Knight
softly begins to speak.]
KNIGHT: This is the part of New York that I like to visit.
[He pauses.]
KNIGHT: The hidden. The atypical. The different. The re-built.
[Another short pause.]
KNIGHT: This is the African Burial Ground. In 1991, the remains of 400 colonial niggas
were found right here. Both enslaved and free, the 200 year old remnants of Black men,
women and children were discovered.
Long after these New Yorkers had been forgotten.
Yet that doesn’t even tell the entire story. Underneath these surrounding blocks you’d
find over 15,000 additional graves. You see in the 18th and early-19th centuries, _THIS_
was where you were buried if you were Black.
[Knight, still not facing the camera, raises his right arm and points down with his
gloved index finger.]
KNIGHT: And chances were that you weren’t buried with much. These early Africans
weren’t necessarily the top of the food chain here in NY. Slaves and indentured servants
alike, the little items they took with them mattered. Mattered immensely for that matter.
Like the Sankofa.
[Knight turns around for the first time. Determination and desire mask the previous
month’s frustration in his face. His brown eyes seemingly burn a hole in the camera as
the proud father is obviously moved by the meaning of this particular monument.]
KNIGHT: One of the things that archaeologists found was an intricate design on some of
the coffins. Made from 93 nails on a coffin lid, it’s a heart-shaped Ashanti symbol;
found in the areas of Ghana and the Ivory Coast.
[Knight reaches into his pocket and holds up a picture of the symbol, which appears to be
a heart with some sort of stem or roots at the bottom. He puts it away.]
KNIGHT: To these Africans buried here, it encompassed their spirit and will. Its
meaning is simple and strong. It means, ‘Return to the past to build the future.’
And _THAT_ is exactly why I’m here.
[Knight pauses.]
KNIGHT: Why I’m at _THIS_ monument.
Why I’m _IN_ New York.
Why I’m facing Andrew Davis _AT_ Charity Carnage.
Because I need to be free. And I have shackles that I must destroy. Bondage from my
previous failure.
[With every breath Knight takes, it’s obvious that his words are deliberate, chosen and
distinct. He extends both arms as if to say, ‘Look at this.’]
KNIGHT: You see, _THIS_ is the ‘Door of No Return.’
[Obviously referring to the 25 foot structure behind him, the memorial is named after the
various slave ports from the West African portion of the Triangular Trade and the Middle
Passage.]
KNIGHT: And that is exactly where I find myself at this juncture of my career.
A point of no return.
[Knight looks in the camera. It’s hard not to believe every word he’s saying.]
KNIGHT: Four months ago, my world was shattered.
[He pauses.]
KNIGHT: Seemingly everything that I had worked towards professionally was erased. You
defeated me Andrew.
Cleanly.
In the middle of the ring for the whole God-damned world to see.
One. Two. Three.
[With each number, Knight slowly brings his hands together, symbolic of the official’s
fateful count that night..]
KNIGHT: That night erased everything that I had worked so hard for. I was no longer the
longest reigning World Champion in this company’s history.
I was a loser. I was shit.
Just another roster member who aspired to be _THAT_ champion.
And not only that, but it allowed you Andrew to justify the countless claims that you
made against me.
[Knight holds up his hand, raising his fingers to represent the following examples.]
KNIGHT: That I was a paper champion.
Protected by management.
Overrated.
Inferior to you.
A liar.
[He closes his open hand to form a fist.]
KNIGHT: Over the past 4 months, your name has rolled off my tongue a mere six times.
_SIX FUCKING TIMES_. However, you have spoken _MY_ name directly 50 times. _AND_ you have
referred to me another 66 times. So in the 100-plus times that you Andrew have referenced
Sammy Knight, one fact has become blatantly obvious:
_YOU_ have an obsession with _ME_.
[He pauses, a dreadfully honest visage looks into the camera.]
KNIGHT: And _THAT_ obsession with me is rooted in fear.
[Another pause.]
KNIGHT: And it is the heart of _THAT_weak man that I will rip out in the streets of New
York.
[Knight pauses, the desire flaming in his eyes.]
KNIGHT: So while you’ve put on your horse and pony show, prancing around the world and
singing the same old bullshit week in and week out, I’ve focused on myself.
I’ve focused on reloading the weapon that you were fortunate enough to disarm that night
when I lost.
[Knight lets out sort of a forced huff of a laugh. Knight begins to slide the backpack
off of his shoulders.]
KNIGHT: A weapon that was previously focused on two-targets.
[As he slides it off, he sets the black bag in front of him, slowly unzipping the main
pouch. Knight continues to speak, still fiddling around with the zipper on his backpack.]
KNIGHT: Because I am no longer the same man that you defeated in September.
[Knight reaches into the now open backpack, pulling out a plain, paisley patterned red
bandana.]
KNIGHT: _THAT_ Sammy Knight is dead.
[Knight holds it up to the camera.]
KNIGHT: The Gangsta.
[He then holds it in front of his face, looking at it intensely.]
KNIGHT: The young Sanguine nigga who climbed the SPW ladder rung by rung with nothing
but his own selfish-determination. Andrew, he is dead.
[Knight balls up the bandana and throws it to his side. It falls near the base of the
memorial. Knight reaches into the bag and pulls out a beanie with the words “Red Devils”
across the front. He looks at it momentarily before throwing it behind him as well.]
KNIGHT: The Red Devil.
[Pause.]
KNIGHT: The young wrestler tutored by a veteran. The tag team champion. The Icon. The
hungry upstart who learned what it meant to be professional. Andrew, and like the mentor
whom I saw for the last time almost a year to this exact date, he too is gone forever.
[Knight reaches deep into his bag and pulls out a Sammy Knight ‘World Champion’ Action
Figure; limited edition at that. He glances at it before slamming it into the ground,
shattering the plastic figure into a variety of pieces.]
KNIGHT: The unbeatable champion? Dead.
[Knight holds up the bag, shaking it upside down to see if anything else falls out.
Something falls out and lands with a small ‘ding’ on the pavement, Knight reaches down
and picks up a sheriff’s star. He takes a look at it before flinging it out towards the
monument behind him.]
KNIGHT: The defender of everything SPW? Done. Finished. This isn’t about a greater
cause. _THIS_ is about my own damn dignity and self-worth.
[Knight takes a moment to look at the four items representative of his career in SPW:
The Gangsta, The Icon, The Champion, and The Sheriff.]
KNIGHT: And it is _HERE_, in _THIS_ memorial behind me, next to my fellow forgotten
brethren, where I shall bury them. _ALL_ of them.
For good.
[He takes a moment before glaring into the camera and addressing Andrew Davis one final
time.]
KNIGHT: And it is for _THAT_ reason that at Charity Carnage Andrew, you will fail.
[Pause.]
KNIGHT: And not because you’re untalented.
Or because you’re inferior.
Or because I’m necessarily ‘better’ than you.
[Pause.]
KNIGHT: It’s because _THIS_ match, is the only reason why God is waking me up on
December 27th.
[He’s not lying.]
KNIGHT: You will lose this match because you have _NO FUCKING_ idea of who I am anymore.
[An almost emotionless Knight shakes his head into the camera.]
KNIGHT: Andrew, you successfully politicked and wrestled to be the Shootfire Champion.
Over nine months, you set your sight on a goal and you accomplished it. You told the
world that you would dethrone Sammy Knight; and you did.
Your dream came true. At my expense.
But in doing that, you opened my eyes.
[An expression of enlightenment pops up.]
KNIGHT: I realized the fallacy in who I had become. And you see, _THAT_ is why I began
to dig my _OWN_ grave this season. But I wanted _YOU_ to finish the job. And that is
why I gave you the motherfuckin’ shovel. Andrew, I gave _YOU_ the opportunity each and
every week to prevent this very night from happening. And I gave you the damn shovel and
my Deathwish because I knew _EXACTLY_ what’d you do.
[He smirks slightly.]
KNIGHT: And you did it.
[The smile fades away.]
KNIGHT: You shit the bed.
You struck the fuck out.
You failed. Because you’re not a killer.
[The seriousness in his voice can be heard.]
KNIGHT: You _COULD’VE_ killed my career Andrew. You _COULD’VE_ ended my career.
Shit. After what happens at Charity Carnage, you will realize that you _SHOULD HAVE_.
[An absolutely focused Knight stares into the camera.]
KNIGHT: You fed me the Black Mass. James O’Connor. And ultimately even my own nigga
Eddie Christian. You handpicked opponents that you _THOUGHT_ would defeat me. But they
didn’t. And the reason is simple.
[Knight takes a few steps forward.]
KNIGHT: I am different. And _THIS_ match is different. Because this match is about
survival. About surviving the most intense hour of pain either one of us has _EVER_
faced.
[Knight begins to speak through a somewhat clenched jaw.]
KNIGHT: But I’mma survivor Andrew.
[His pace picks up.]
KNIGHT: Of birth to crack addiction. Of child abuse. Of the gang life. Of prison. Of
the unspoken jealousy of the locker room.
[The truth of his words pierce your conscience.]
KNIGHT: And much like the legacy of these 15,000 Black New Yorkers behind me and beneath
me have survived, I have survived my loss to you at Iconoclasm.
[Knight looks back over his shoulder for a moment.]
KNIGHT: Your words and constant mentions of my name show fear and weakness. But your
obsession is predicated upon a false identity.
An identity that is no longer my own.
So while you speak your lies and fallacies upon our past, I have moved on. I have
adapted. I have broken free from the shackles that you defined me with and I’m focused
on the present.
On defeating you.
And upon building my _NEW_ legacy. And the _NEW_ reality.
[Knight pauses.]
KNIGHT: So why is _THIS_ match and _THIS_ title important to me?
[Knight, without skipping a beat answers.]
KNIGHT: Because _I_ need this.
[The camera quickly zooms to Knight’s face.]
KNIGHT: For me. _FUCK_ anyone else.
[And back out.]
KNIGHT: I’m no longer doing this for my son. Or mentor. Or Shootfire. I’m doing this
for my _DAMNED_ self. You see Andrew, I challenged myself to be better. To be stronger.
To change.
You didn’t.
I succeeded on my part.
You didn’t.
And that’s why your second home of Manhattan will soon take a new meaning for you. As
the city where your entire worth was lost in a matter of 60 minutes.
[Beat.]
KNIGHT: As the city where your age was ended by the nigga who slaughtered your sanity.
[Knight turns around to look once more at the memorial behind him.]
KNIGHT: Burial #26. Burial #301. Burial #17.
[Referencing the graves of the unnamed individuals buried behind him.]
KNIGHT: Gone but not forgotten.
[He turns around towards the camera.]
KNIGHT: You broke my reign. You can break my arm. Hell, you can break every single
bone in my body.
It won’t fucking matter.
Because you will _NEVER_ break my spirit.
[The menacing grill stares right at you.]
KNIGHT: And come Charity Carnage, Sammy Knight and New York will _FORVER_ be linked
together.
[Beat.]
KNIGHT: Both left for dead…
[A split second montage of other New York scenes: THE PLANES HITTING THE TOWERS, THE
INFAMOUS 9/11 SMOKE STACKS, THE COLLAPSE flash on the screen. But ultimately pictures of
BRAVE FIREMEN, AMERICAN FLAGS, and ultimately the plans for the NEW TOWERS – true
resilience of this city and nation fill the screen.]
KNIGHT: …but survived instead.
[Fade to black.]
____________________________________________________________
/ /\
/ / /
/ ANDREW DAVIS / /
/ O T C / /
/___________________________________________________________/ /
\_________< >___________________________________< >_________\/
[The camera starts recording. The image jostles around, unable to focus on anything, but Andrew Davis’ voice can be heard as the camera stabilizes.]
Davis: December 27th, Times Square, come and see Andrew Davis defend the Shootfire Pro World Title against Sammy Knight. Are you going to be there, Jimmy? It’s a couple of football fields from here…
[The camera straightens out and focuses on Jimmy Fallon, sitting at the desk of “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon,” interviewing Andrew Davis. Andrew is dressed in an immaculate D&G suit, pinstriped and accompanied by a stylish golden tie. The cameraman is obviously backstage, not recording a feed from one of the main cameras, as production assistants cross in front of the image and teamsters drink coffee, making sure that the walls of the studio stay standing.]
Jimmy: Absolutely I will. Now, if I was a betting man, and I’m not saying that I’m a betting man, would I place money on the champ or the challenger?
[Andrew smiles and starts to stroke his chin, pantomiming thought. It’s at this moment that the viewer realizes that Andrew can be immensely charming and personable, when he makes an effort.]
Davis: What are the odds?
Jimmy: Like I said, I’m not a betting man.
[Andrew turns his head, deep in thought, and the viewer sees just how handsome he is. If this were the Andrew that the Shootfire faithful knew, he would undeniably be their greatest hero.]
Davis: I’ll give you some inside information.
Jimmy: I appreciate that.
Davis: The last two Charity Carnages that I competed in, I lost, and I dropped the title I was holding at the time. Also, most people don’t think that I can beat a focused, pissed off Sammy Knight. On the other hand, I’m AD3, and this is the Age of Andrew Davis. So, there’s that.
Jimmy: You didn’t help me at all.
Davis: I’ll tell you where the smart money is.
[Andrew smiles and points at himself. Jimmy laughs and turns to the audience.]
Jimmy: You heard the man, December 27th, get to Times Square or watch Charity Carnage on PPV! This is Andrew Davis!
[Andrew shakes hands with Jimmy Fallon and waves to the cheering masses as he stands up. Once out of the spotlight, he walks towards the camera. Upon recognizing the camera operator, he motions towards a side exit. The camera pushes through the door and appears in a long hallway. A production assistant approaches Andrew and hands him a bottle of water. Andrew takes a sip.]
PA: Great interview, Mr. Davis. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you back to your dressing room.
[Andrew reaches into his suit’s pocket and removes a pair of D&G sunglasses, a staple of his wardrobe, and puts them on. With the sunglasses, the Andrew of the interview turns into the Andrew that the viewer knows and loves.]
Davis: Not yet. I’d like to go to the Top of the Rock.
[The production assistant is caught completely off guard, and is unaware of how to respond to such an unusual request.]
PA: Um…it’s not open right now…
Davis: So there’s plenty of room, let’s go.
[Defeat flashes across the PA’s face, a realization of their respective places in the grand scheme of things.]
PA: Sure, it’s this way. Follow me.
[The PA circles around the camera, and Andrew looks straight into the lens, walking towards the quickly retreating image.]
Davis: Charity Carnage and I have had a long and unhappy time together. I don’t like it, and it apparently doesn’t like me. Two times I’ve walked in a champion, two times I’ve walked out a loser. But maybe, just maybe things are starting to change my way.
You’ve already seen some of the changes. Sammy Knight, the #1 contender, the Superhero of a few months back, was pushed to the limit by Edward Christian, a second tier competitor and human being, at best. Gideon Cain, the man who one year ago denied me my richly deserved position within Shootfire’s Hall of Fame, appeared last show to beg forgiveness, like Punxsutawney Phil apologizing for getting last year’s weather prediction incorrect. Too little, too late.
Notice the Hall of Fame induction ceremony that is not taking place this year. Is it because there is no one worthy? Other than myself, that is the case. No one in this federation has the resume, the career, and quite frankly the potential that I possess. But the reality of the situation is that Gideon Cain, a billionaire, is terrified of me, terrified that I would become a Shootfire Hall of Famer, terrified of the power that I would wield as the face of his federation’s past and future. As he should be.
[…]
As he should be.
[The camera turns the corner, and Andrew disappears for a moment before reappearing, another long corridor behind him.]
Davis: At Charity Carnage, in the battle between Sammy Knight and I in an iron man match, the determining factor isn’t who’s the better wrestler. That was determined at Iconoclasm. I am the better wrestler. One on one, I defeated Sammy, fair and square. There is nothing he can complain about, no excuses he can reveal that would obscure the revelation that I am the pinnacle of Shootfire, the greatest wrestler in the world.
[There is a “ding” noise and the camera backs into an elevator. Next to the camera is the production assistant, who presses a button embossed with “Top of the Rock,” and the doors shut. The camera pans over to Andrew.]
Davis: The question is motivation. Who has the will to power through one hour in the elements to fortify their claim as unmatched in the universe?
[Andrew takes off his sunglasses and places them in his pocket.]
Davis: It’s Christmastime again. It’s time to celebrate childhood and the people who inspire them. Politicians, athletes, Santa Claus. Children latch onto someone they can relate to, someone that they look up to, and that person’s success becomes their own. These icons are larger than life, becoming role models and bringing hope to a generation of children.
Some become disappointments. For example, the crusading of Elliot Spitzer, governor of New York, a proponent of the people, of doing the right thing, to see his fast rising political star come crashing to the ground as a result of a prostitution scandal, that damages hope, the naivety that we identify as childlike.
[...]
When Tiger Woods, Sports Illustrated’s Sportsmen of the Decade, reveals that he has cheated on his wife, the mother of his children, how does a child rectify that? If this icon is only normal, only human, then what chance do they, the children, have? What chance do any of us have?
[...]
Davis: Have you looked into the eyes of a child that has reached the age that he no longer believes in Santa Claus? It is heartbreaking. That innocence is gone forever, never to return. The child looks at the parent with distrust; if they were lying about this jolly old elf, then what other secrets could they be keeping?
That is what makes a child an adult. The realization that life is not fair. That there is no magic, no kindness, no superheroes.
[Andrew looks to the camera, the light from above catching his eye at just the right angle. The viewer shivers, knowing that he can see them, see straight through their souls, regardless of the truth of the situation.]
Davis: Sammy, I’ve lost my share of titles. World, Platinum, Diamond, Tag Team; you name it, I’ve lost it. And the anger that you’ve unveiled recently, this desire to recapture the belt, it isn’t normal. I understand that you have inner demons and a criminal record, but that doesn’t explain your recent actions. Since Iconoclasm, you’re a different man. Barely a man.
[…]
Davis: And I know why. You’d like us to believe that it’s because of the title. I believe this: that you left Iconoclasm, damaged, bruised, battered, and beaten, you drove home and you went upstairs to kiss your son goodnight. You leaned down over his bed, listened to his gentle breathing, and you whispered, “I love you.” His eyes opened, if only for a second, and you saw the disappointment. You saw that the lie you had been telling your son for all these years had been revealed.
That night, your son learned that Daddy wasn’t a superhero. That he was only human. That Daddy won’t always be there. That Daddy can and will fail. That life is hard. That Santa is a figment of his imagination. That the Tooth Fairy is just Daddy slipping a dollar under his pillow at night. That life isn’t rainbows and unicorns, that dreams don’t come true, that Daddy will one day die and your son will have to be alone. Forever.
You stepped into the ring with me, and your child became a man. You didn’t just fail Shootfire, you didn’t just fail Gideon Cain, you didn’t just fail yourself, you failed your son. And that is a hard pill to swallow.
[...]
Davis: I would apologize, except it was your failing, not mine, that caused the friction within your family. I did not create unrealistic expectations then fail to meet them.
[The elevator stops moving and the doors open. Andrew steps through the opened sliding doors and is at the “Top of the Rock,” the top of Rockefeller Center. He walks to the railing, revealing a captivating view: New York City, shining brightly, the greatest city in the world. He smiles, ignoring the freezing temperatures and the gusting wind. The view has entranced Andrew, as it has entranced millions before him.]
Davis: At Charity Carnage, I am not interested in the feelings of the weeping child, of trying to recapture a moment in time that is gone forever. I am interested in the future. This city was built by powerful men like John D. Rockefeller, men who shaped the world. For as long as New York exists, Rockefeller Center will stand, a monument to a man, a titan, a god.
[...]
Davis: I am a man such as that. My goal is not to be the World Champion of Shootfire Pro Wrestling. I am uninterested in such miniscule goals. I am interested in building my name, my brand, my legacy. Shootfire is the perfect starting point to launch a full-scale assault on the world, to build my very own monument to my greatness.
[Andrew turns to the camera, placing his sunglasses back on, the bright lights of the city reflecting back at the viewer.]
Davis: This is a city of empires, and at Charity Carnage, I begin to build mine. Sammy Knight, you are the first man to fall. A mere mortal, a man who dreams of a championship that means nothing unless the holder of the belt is Andrew Davis. In Times Square, the center of the universe, I will stand tall after one hour, and I will reveal to the world a new idol, a new role model, a new hero, a new being worthy of their worship. I am beyond you, Sammy Knight.
Your son will have a new hero, a new man to look up to in his life.
AD3.
The Lightweight Legend.
Andrew Davis.
And he will rejoice. The world will rejoice the Age of Andrew Davis.
[Andrew smiles at the camera, removes his sunglasses, and tosses them over the edge of the building, sending them hurtling to the sidewalk below. Davis turns to the city, reveling in the opportunity that rests at his fingertips. The camera pans to the lights, then fades to black.]
