And so we open to a dark room, lit well but covered in black cloth from wall to wall and floor to ceiling with only an old black stool sitting in the center, maybe six feet from the camera lens.  Off screen can be heard Hack and the entourage thanking a man for allowing them to use the local cable channel set for their own purposes.

 

            The charming yet immature, or is it charmingly immature Killer Kobalski peeks at the camera from the left, his green eyes sparkling in the dark while his red hair floats with the will of a fan slowly working it’s nonstop job of pushing fresh air into the basement studio, blowing stale air out.  Just as soon as he appeared, he disappeared, like a little gopher testing the safety out of its own home.  Then again he appears, this time coming out a little further into view, a little closer to the camera, but he bolts back into hiding.

 

A moment passes as Hack and Ole speak to each other quiet enough not to be understood, before again Killer appears, this time on the right side and far away from the camera.  He steps into full view, his black shirt with yellow stitching and yellow “Sibley East High” text above a, once again, yellow logo of a wolverine.  His training pants black as the view with a yellow stripe on each side are barely made out in the dark as he tries to act natural in front of the camera.  He leans back against the sheet against the wall and pushes up his honey-colored lenses of his rimless shades, trying to act cool for the moment.  Suddenly the sheet gives way, falling to the ground as Kobalski looks confused and tries to dart away before getting tangled in the excess cloth on the ground and falling face first to the ground himself.  He struggles in the mess for a moment or two only managing to further ensnare himself before Hack and Ole run into view to pull him out.  Kobalski looks grateful and gives a confused shrug to Hack, looking for leniency, but the older brother only nods to Ole and Killer finds himself thrown over the great Pollock’s back and hauled out of view.

 

Hack tacks up the sheet once again, and then walks to the stool where he sits.  His black dreadlocks shine a little and are pulled back into a pony styled fountain, showing the white roots in the process.  His blue eyes are clear in the black as is the marred left cheek that Hack both proudly displays and hides denying no effort.  His black slacks are outlined well by a silver stripe on one side and the words “Hack Is Back” in gothic text falling down his right leg.  His chest is bared bar the army issue bulletproof vest riddled with as many pockets as bullet holes and on his right arm he bears a tribal barbed wire tattoo used to conceal the operating scar from his first big fall in the XEW.

 

He settles down and opens his mouth to talk but is interrupted by a commotion off screen, it’s apparent that Ole and Killer aren’t agreeing on Killer’s place in the studio.  Suddenly Ole yells and Killer bolts on screen, pausing long enough to look at the camera and allowing Hack the time to grab hold of his arm to which he applies a police style arm bar as he drags Killer back to the stool to sit him down as he motions off Ole.

 

So there the Kobalski brothers are, Killer sitting uncomfortably on most of the stool, fidgeting and turning red as a seventy below wind chill while Hack stands, resting a foot on the stool and his left arm on Killer’s shoulder more for control than for balance.  Hack begins as he checks himself, “Umm, I only see one of me…  Is that a bad sign for me or for you kid?  I might have your eyes checked if I were you because there’s only one of me,” he says holding up a finger, “and I’m still not trembling.  Sorry to ruin it for you.”

 

Hack shakes his head, “I’m sorry, which are you, man or beast?  I might try to focus on one or another seeing as right now you’re weak in both suits, I mean, you got this whole ‘Run, I’m a big bad man like twice the size of you’ thing going on, but you try to sound smart and end up making an ass of yourself,” he looks down and sighs, “Big.  Big, big, big.  I don’t get it!  ‘Oh, it’s a giant!  He’s coming to get little ol’ me!  Oh, what ever shall I do?’” The elder Kobalski feigns fear, but looses his composure for a second, laughing and holding his gut.

 

Killer knows an opportunity when he sees one and decides to try the taunting for himself, “Giganto, shit man,” he says exasperated, “you gotta look at the man’s record before you talk big.  You call yourself a titan, but, ah, Hack’s faced Titz and he’s not going to be concerned with a dumb shit like you.”  This is a bit much cursing for Hack, so he jumps back in.

 

“Gig, I’ve died, been buried alive, fallen from thirty feet into a ravenous mob, those things are scary.  You’re not.  In the end it comes to one fact and let me put this in your terms,” Hack begins his best caveman impression, scratching his head and rubbing his belly too, just for the hell of it, “Little man smarter than Giganto, Giganto gonna fall down and have a boo-boo cause Giganto not thinking everything over.”

 

“So, Gigato, I’m not concerned, but you should be.  Wrestling isn’t just in the squared circle, it’s in the mind, the fans, the life, and sometimes in the death.  And finally, before I turn it over to my bro: Giganto, choose one ‘cause you can’t send me through the canvas and then send me into it.  Now the camera’s yours my bro.”

 

Hack tags Killer on the shoulder and Killer begins to open his mouth, but closes it again, thinking of something to say.  He finally says, “I don’t have anything to say, I don’t know this Prince guy, but I’m sure he’s nice.”  To this Hack coughs and massages the bridge of his nose before giving him the okay with a little shake of Killer’s shoulder.

 

“Say, does anyone know a place to get flowers around here, cause I got a hot date at nine,” opens Killer.

 

Off screen Ole laughs and says, “Check the clock man, the night’s almost over!”

 

“Ah dammit,” says Killer looking very disappointed, “And I was going to get lucky too!”  He pulls out a cell phone and dials a number, waits several rings and finally says, “Hey girl… yeah, I know it’s late… look, I’m sorry I blew you off, it was an accident… No, ah come on!  But I’m not gay!”  He exasperates, “If I don’t prove it soon they’re going to really start ripping on me!  Come on!  But, I gotta… yeah; I gotta be in Philly in a couple hours… howsabout joining the hundred mile club?  That’s not it?  Oh come on!  I could make it…”

 

[Click, you don’t need to hear the rest of that.]