Rayne #1
Brian
Rentfro:
NIGHTMARE!!!! IT WAS A TRICK!!
Loud
screams of disappoint rain out from the crowd as the Monstrous Nightmare
steps from the Tomb, his hand still gripping the defenseless Daemon by
her neck. From the entrance ramp, the Priest speaks out standing
alongside Synthasia, whom has her hands curiously behind her back.
Priest:
I must offer my deepest gratitude to you Mrs. Stone…after all,
you’ve now given me everything I need. I have Kotori…and I still
have your Brother…I told you this from the beginning…NEVER AGAIN
WOULD THAT MAN WALK THIS EARTH!!! …and now, only fitting that his
reason for breath be removed alongside him…Only fitting that those
two---WHAT?!? What the hell do you---“
The
Priest is interrupted by Synthasia, who kept tapping him on the shoulder
as he spoke. As he spins around to address her, Syn pulls her hands from
behind her and places a heavy coil of chains and locks into his hands, a
devious smile pasted upon her face. The Priest merely stares down at the
chains…a mixture of disbelief and fear quickly overtaking him as the
DRA-VEN!! Chants build up to a deafening level…the loudest of the
night thus far. Meanwhile, back in the ring, Nightmare hoists Nina up
into the air, preparing to drop her with a massive Choke slam to Hell
but is stopped by a hard chair shot to his back, courtesy of Synthasia.
The shot has little to no effect as Nightmare swings around without even
dropping Daemon, and grips Synthasia by the throat, lifting her into the
air as well…
Brian
Rentfro:
SOMEBODY STOP THIS!!!
Jon
McDaniel:
Tough guy, bulling around two women lik---
Brian
Rentfro:
What the--?!
A
loud crashing type sound echoes out…a sound similar to that of sliding
sandpaper across the pickup of a microphone. The sound brings the arena
down into a complete darkness. The crowd erupts, growing even louder
than before. A drum-roll rings out, bringing up an eerie red glow at the
entrance. The crowd again, gets louder. Seeing this, the Priest runs for
it, swan diving off the stage and quickly crawling to the back.
Jon
McDaniel:
(barely distinguishable over the crowd) Here we go!!
Brian
Rentfro:
Huh??? You say something?!
A
pick slide (guitars) marks the beginning of
“Lords of Salem” by Rob Zombie as a shadowy figure
slowly emerges from the back…
Erik
stalks his way to the ring, not hesitating in the least bit, his
clothing still ripped and bloodstained from Genesis Seven, and a deeper
hatred and rage burning within his eyes…one not seen for ages it
seemed. The fans scream in deafening unison as he walks straight up the
ramp. Nightmare drops the girls and moves in, apparently expecting Erik
to engage him in some sort of stare off. Instead, he’s met with a
vicious hard right from Vespillo, one which surprisingly sends the
monstrosity backpedaling. He moves in, swinging wildly, knocking
Nightmare all around the ring, moving with a shocking quickness unseen
from him before, not allowing Nightmare the
chance to return fire.
Brian Rentfro: (again, barely distinguishable) He’s on fire!!! Draven’s…he’s---aw to hell with it…I’m just gonna watch…
Finally,
Nightmare manages to swing a hard left, which Draven catches and tosses
aside and wraps his own hand around the monster’s neck. Suddenly, the
eight cloaked figures remerge, charging down to the ring with bats in
hand. They attack, causing Erik to release his grip on Nightmare, who
quickly makes his exit through the fans as Erik lays waste to the
cloaks, their shots with the bats seeming to have no effect. With the
last of them standing, he hoists him into the arm and spins him, nailing
an Ahkharu Death Driver that shakes the ring down to it’s
foundations. He stands, breathing heavily as he takes in his carnage
scattered about the ring. With little hesitation, he moves over to check
on his sister, who apparently mentions Kotori and the fact that the
Priest has her. He looks up towards the entrance, an even darker rage
emanating from him, as a solitary funeral bell sounds out, as if to make
things very official…
Jon
McDaniel:
I think Erik just realized the Priest has Kotori!
Brian
Rentfro:
Man…if I was that Priest, I’d be getting my ass the hell
outta Dodge right about now…
He
helps Daemon to her feet and the two
exit as the commentators continue with the show. Walking through the
back, he glances down at her slightly, but remains, for the most part,
focused straight ahead. He speaks...
Rayne:
You know what? When I die...cremate me. Remember that...because if you
put me anywhere near a box or tomb of any sort...I swear...You'll never
sleep again.
Daemon
grins and puts a reassuring hand on her brother's shoulder. The two walk
past all of the PWA staff, and into the garage, where they meet Gonji
and one of his nephews, who help them both into a limousine. Once their
both situation, Daemon checks her make-up and hair in a hand mirror, and
speaks as Erik grabs up a towel and begins wiping his face, removing his
costume paint.
Daemon:
If
you ever happen to expire before I do, Rayne, I'll sprinkle your ashes
in my garden. I'm sure it will encourage the roses.
Rayne:
Oh yeah...to hell me with me. I'm just fertilizer for your damn roses...
Daemon
grins.
Daemon: Would you prefer I left you on the mantle in a commemorative jar?
There
is a phone ring. Daemon reaches into her pocket, and takes out a cell
phone. She looks a little confused by the number.
Daemon:
...moshi
moshi?
There
is silence as she listens to the other end, before giving it to her
brother.
Daemon:
...it's
for you.
Rayne:
Huh? For
me?
He
looks at her, confused, before
finally taking up the phone.
Rayne:
Yeah?
The
voice on the other end was feminine, although that was all could be
told…for the most part we only hear mumbling and muffled words,
followed by ‘RIGHT NOW’ spoken with loud urgency.
Rayne: ...
He
looks over to his sister a look of concern crossing his face.
Rayne:
(Speaking into
the phone) Why
do I get the feeling there's something everyone’s been neglecting to
tell me?
He
removes the phone slightly from his ear.
Rayne:
(To
his Sister) Please
tell me that Kotori being abducted was part of the plan??
Daemon:
I'd like to say that it was, but truth be
told, it wasn't. Not at the time, anyway...
Seeing
the look of urgency on her brother's face, Daemon clears her throat and
continues.
Daemon:
It isn't anything we can't handle, Erik. However, time may be an issue,
given her... condition. I'm sure that's what Sandra wanted to tell you?
She being Kotori's aunt, I'm sure she knows about... oh.
She
actually looks surprised.
Daemon:
You don't know? She never told you?
He
looks over at her, blankly, before replacing the phone to his ear, and
speaking into it's receiver, his tone of
voice having gone dry, and his face actually turning a little pale.
Rayne:
Tell me. Now. Why the urgency?
Again,
everything was muffled.
His
face grew even paler as he hung up the phone, and slowly turned towards
his sister.
Rayne:
…No...but
I know now. That Priest...Nightmare...
He
turns, looking straight ahead, his expression that of a void...a rather
familiar void.
Rayne:
There's gonna be a bloodbath.
Daemon
raises a hand, in an effort to calm him.
Daemon:
Yes, yes, and they will suffer the ultimate price for their
transgressions. You can do with them what you will, but I must ask you
not to murder anyone. Appearances must be kept, for publicity's sake.
She
thinks for a moment.
Daemon:
However, I would definitely suggest making a move as quickly as
possible. I don't know how long she can last without her chemotherapy,
and up until this point, she'd been doing rather well.
Rayne:
Who's idea was it to use her as bait, anyway?
Daemon:
The blonde whore who worked with the priest came to me, imploring that I
help her by allowing Kotori to be brought. I didn't think it was a good
idea, myself... but she seemed adamant. I
suppose at this point it was my fault for allowing her to have her way.
Rayne:
Synthasia? Well, then perhaps I'd better pay her a visit first. She'd
know where Kotori is being held...
Daemon: I'd suggest covering your mouth, before entering any room she's been inhabiting for too long. She looks like the sort to transmit STDs via airborne pathogens.
Close
to a month in solitude…a month in complete
silence…total Hell. Through it all, he’d emerged a changed
man. Clawing back from the abyss, and rising from the ashes of death had
brought him closer to himself, but in the end, had cost him the one
thing in this world that he cared most about…
Kotori.
Fade
In.
A
darkened room, probably somewhere in the outskirts of his sister’s
estate, Stone Manor. He
sat, sprawled out on a black canvas sheet. He was shirtless, wearing
nothing but a pair of loose fitting leather pants, boots and a black
guitar strung out over his lap.
With
his head slightly bowed and eyes closed, he speaks…a new found rage
returning in his voice.
RAYNE:
Seems
that everywhere I step, I am accused. Anytime someone falters, teeters
on edge, ready to fall, they point their finger at me, perhaps hoping
that a culprit to their problems could solve it all.
As
if I’ve never suffered loss before.
He
looks up, opens his eyes slowly, revealing a deepened hate, over a month
grown stronger.
Raizzor.
You won, pal. Congratulations. You won the Seven Gates of Hell and all
the bragging rights that come along with it. I could retaliate. I could
come back, and put you down so quickly…so fast…you wouldn’t know
what hit you. I could rip your family apart all over again…
But
I’m not.
Why?
Because you nor your family were ever targets
of my choosing. I see things you’ve yet to see, dark one…but in
time, you’ll see them. So I leave you with your victory and vengeance.
After all, it seems I have more pressing matters to attend to…I’ve
got a Nightmare to bring to an end and a Priest to Crucify.
He
removes the guitar, setting it to the side before moving to his feet. He
stands over us, towering in the most intimidating of worm’s eye views.
Reality
slays the Dream. Now you’ve both got something that belongs to me. By
taking that which I cherish most in this lifetime, you have forced my
hand. Forget about God. Forget about heaven…
Now,
all that awaits the two of you…
Is
Hell….
He
reaches down, picking the camera up and bringing it in close to his
face.
See
you at the Gates.
He flips the switch, leaving us shrouded in blackness.
Sirus Moran #1
We are NOT in Sirus’ basement. We’re not even in the
PWA building at the training facilities. Not in the dusty old ‘gym’
that Sirus and Grifter go to occasionally. No sirs and mams, we are inside
Mack’s big cabin out by the Lake of the Woods. It’s a huge place, but
not for himself really but because the Morans do have a tendency to
gather. Sitting at the dining room table we find Sirus just smiling. A
large smile actually. One of those smiles where you can see all of his
teeth and you wonder when the last time he took a breath was. He’s
sitting up pretty straight, almost looks as if he’s tied to a board or
something. His eyes are wide open. Above his eyes is the ever present L7.
Above the L7 is a party hat.
Hunh.
Oh wait, he seems to be sort of nodding at something, seeing as he’s
trying to do that behind him, it looks a little painful. Behind him is a
calendar with the date August 5th circled in red. Sirus looks back at us
and kind of giggles.
“Oh sure guys, Rampage just happened to be pushed back to August 5th
right? No other reason? Hmm? Hmm? Hunh?”
Grifter comes into the picture holding ‘Al’. He places him down next
to Sirus and takes a seat on the other side so the bear is in the middle.
“And you guys are here to keep me out of the way hunh?”
Grifter rolls his eyes, (and we swear ‘Al’ did too) and points to the
camera. He then does a few chops to the air and mimics a neck breaker.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah .. the match [Sirus uses air-quotes when he says
match]. Do you really think that would ---- ok, fine. As the FRIDAY night
Rampage is on a SATURDAY, sheesh, we have a match. Is it a normal match?
No, of course it isn’t. Is it even a three way tag team match? No sirs.
What we have is a match that just so happens to involve 10 people
directly. And that doesn’t even include people like the Sommers’ who
will be there. Uncle Mack. ‘Al’. All of these people have the
potential to be around the ring on August … the 5th.”
Grifter stands up and pulls out a piece of paper from his back pocket. He
unfolds it and lays it down in front of Sirus and points to it. We can see
that it’s a billet for the upcoming event.
“I see, I see. Who ever heard of a match like this? 5 champions against
5 challengers? Sure, but this whole pinning thing for the titles? Come on
Grifter, it’s like we’re being grifted.
Alex Wilkie, world champ. IC champ? Cody Galle. Gregory Littlebear is the
Grizzly Beer champ and we’re the tag team champs. And on the other side
we have … Littlebear is the Grizzly Beer champ?
Bwahahahahahhahahahahahahahaha ….”
Sirus falls off his chair and hits the floor. After a minute or so he gets
back up and wipes the tears from his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m not sure why I found that so funny.
Sniff.
And on the other side we have Krazy White Boy who defeated Randall to get
to the Who’s the Man? Final. He did very well against him and almost
pulled off the win against Wilkie. Brymstone is a very intense individual
and always seems to have a lot going on. I’m not sure what his match
with Raizzor left him, but an injured animal is the most dangerous kind. I
hope he healed well. Sandra, well .. it seems weird for her not to have
the title around her waist. I wonder if she’ll still do commercials?”
Sirus looks at ‘Al’, gets a shocked look on his face then looks back.
“Apparently it wasn’t what was around her waist that got her the
contract but her waist and what is around back of her. No wait, that
sounds … ‘Al’! For shame!”
Sirus waggles a finger in ‘Al’s face.
“Anyway, Sandra is a proud person and I can see her going after
Littlebear. And the Red Army Warriors? What can I say about you guys? Out
of all of the other tag teams, you’re the only ones. No really. I’m
sorry, but we still haven’t really gotten to know each other very well
even though we’ve faced off a few times now.
I wish all of you luck in our .. heh .. match on Saturday. Maybe we can
all have our cake and eat it too eh?”
Sirus starts to laugh again and falls off his chair.
Fade out …
Psycho Sandra #1
The scene opens inside of Sandra's living room. She looks
very worried, as she paces back and fourth. For once, there's no Grizzly
Beer merchandise in view. She is wearing, instead, a Red Monkey Beer
t-shirt, and a pair of gym shorts. She seems to be wringing her hands.
After a few seconds, the phone rings, and she rushes to pick it up.
"Hello?? Finally! Where have you been? ... Uh huh. Right, well, did
you see what happened?? ... No! ... Yes! She's been taken by that priest
guy, and they're not giving her back! ... Yes, but--, ... Well, I--, ...
Of course I did!! I already talked to him. Do you believe he didn't know??
Her own hu--, ... Yeah yeah, I'll do that. ... Well, I could always ask--,
... Okay. Okay, I will. Bye."
Sandra falls back on to the couch, and looks up at the cieling. She still
looks very worried. Eventually, she turns towards us.
"Alright. Here's the deal. I lost the Grizzly Beer title. It happens,
y'know? Sometimes you gotta lose, in order to win. It's a blessing in
disguise. No belt means I can work my way to the top.
"Again.
"That means you, Wilkie. Congrats. You won the world title. Do you
know what that means? Sure you do. It means you'll be the first person to
lose it. Now, I'm not trying to jynx you. I'm actually kinda happy that
you won! You're going to be an example for the rest of the fed, as to what
happens to the World Title holder. Things don't get easier. They get
harder.
"Much harder.
"People are going to come after you, Wilkie. People are going to
start coming for blood. They want that belt. They want it more than
anything. Thing is... I'm one of those people. The only difference is,
I've got no need to play crazy mind games, or threaten to kill your wife,
or blow up your house. All you have to fear from me is one thing; me. I'm
telling you right now. I'm going to win that title. I deserve to win it,
I'm good enough to win it, all I need is the chance to do it.
"There's plenty of others who feel the same way, but lemme ask you,
how many of them do you think will actually stand up to the pressure? How
many of them are working, AS WE SPEAK, to get to the top? How many of them
are around when things aren't as rosy as they should be, hm? Well... we'll
see when we get the chance. We will most definately see.
"So congratulations on the win, Wilkie. I'm happy for you. Not
everyone gets to show that they're the best, but lucky for you, you got to
taste gold. Heck, you didn't even have to fight everyone in the fed! You
got lucky. Very very lucky. Lets see how long that luck holds out."
The phone rings again.
"Hello? Baby! ... Yeah, I do. ... No. ... Well, sort of. ... You
remember, don't you? She's my niece! I just talked to my sister, her
mother, and--, ... Yes, it does. ... There's no need for me to be afraid
of him, I had to tell him--, ... Sort of means you're almost his uncle,
huh? ... It was a joke. ... Sorry. Look, just, try to remember. He isn't
as bad as you think he is. ... No. ... Yes, but--, ... Alright. Isn't he
calling himself Rayne now? ... Could mean he's trying to change. ... Ha!
Well, we'll see,"
Sandra catches a glimpse of the time on a clock against the wall.
"Hey, I have to go. I'm gonna be late for my physical training. ...
Could you? ... H'yeah, you know it! ... Well, I don't need favoritism,
here. I'm gonna earn it fair and square. ... Love you, too."
Sandra hangs up, and grabs her gym bag. She steals one last look from the
camera.
"Get ready, Wilkie. These are gonna be the hardest few days of your
life."
She winks before we fade to black.
Alex Wilkie #1
The scene opens up to a bottle of Champagne being opened
up. theres cheers and claps in the background as the camera slowly pulls
out and shows the World Champion, Alex Wilkie, the fans around him clapped
and cheered, as Alex began pour Champagne into other peoples glasses, more
people came by and congratulated him on his big win.
Jimbo: Congrats, man, you really deserve this win.
Alex: Thank, I must say that this is actually a really big surprise to me.
Thank you.
After a few hours the after party for Whos The Man began to die down to a
dull roar and only Alex and Cindy were left in the room.
Alex: Woo, I don’t know about you Cindy but am I damn tired.
Cindy: Yeah me too.
Alex stood up taking Cindys hand to help her out of the chair and as they
were about to leave, a familiar face walked into the room.
Alex: Well, Well, Well, If it isnt The Legend, Anthony Johns. How nice of
use to grace us with your presence.
The Legend: Oh, Please, I’m not that important…Okay well maybe just
alittle bit.
Alex: Well, We were about to leave.
The Legend: I just stopped by the have alittle chat, if you don’t mind
of course.
Alex shrugged his shoulders and adjusted the world title on his shoulder.
Alex: I guess we could, Cindy, you don’t have to stay if you don’t
want to.
Cindy: Alright, I’m way to tired anyway. Night fellas.
Alex and The Legend sat down, Alex sat in a large Laz-e-boy chair and the
legend sat on the couch next to him.
The Legend: So how does it feel, your finally holding Title gold, it
reminds me of how when Christian went over to TNA. You think maybe Mark
Sommers just wants to keep you there?
Alex chuckled a bit and slipped the belt of his shoulders and into his
lap.
Alex: And what do you mean by that.
The Legend: Oh well, the fact that, you, out of all people, won the Whos
the Man Tournement, and you won the World title. I’d say it’s the fact
he doesn’t want you to leave.
Alex: Actually, its because of the fact that I’m a damn good wrestler.
And its about time that someone actualy saw that in me.
The Legend: Oh come on, your not at all a good wrestler, but if you left,
PWA would have a hard time in finding a transitional champion.
Alex: What…Did you say?
The Legend: Oh You know, this week, is the High Stakes Elimination 5 on 5
match, and your going to lose your title in that match, and you know it.
Alex: Over my dead fucking body.
The Legend: Hey, All I’m saying is, if you came over LWA, you could
bring the PWA title and we could Unify them on Havok. And all would be
said and done, you could win, and you’d be a champion.
The Legend grinned showing all of his pearly white teeth.
The Legend: and you’d be on a much better show for that matter.
Alex: I know what your trying to do, Anthony. And my Answer is go fuck
yourself. I’m not leaving PWA and I’m not losing this title, I think
you know where the door is.
The Legend’s smile faded as he stoop up brushing off his pants.
The Legend: Think about my offer, Grade A, and give me a call. Or stop by
my office, I’m always there on Mondays.
Alex flipped him off and watched him leave, Before cussing under his
breath.
Alex walked in a sperate direction to where The Legend exited, and walked
into the Kitchen. He opened up a cupboard and brought down a bottle of
rum, he then went to the fridge and opened it up, retrieving a two liter
bottle of Dr.pepper.
Alex: Goddamnit, when will people learn that I am no longer part of The
BWF…or LWA or RXW or whatever the hell it is now.
Alex placed both bottles on the counter and then reached up and grabed a
clear tall class, and began to mix the two liquids inside of it.
Alex: I’ve got my own troubles as it is, 5 challengers, who all want a
taste of my gold. Or any gold they can get they’re hands on. I’ve got
no problem with that, I’m a fighting champion, I’ll do what I can to
pit myself against anyone who wants a fight. But damn…Krazy Whyte Boy,
Brymstone, Psycho Sandra and The Red Army Warriors. I’ll have to have a
talk with RAW. I mean. Neither of them would wanna pin someone with
singles gold, that would just kill them.
Alex took a sip and smacked his lips together.
Alex: Hmm…but Brymstone, a man that’s only been defeated…what twice
in 2006? And is also a Whos The Man winner, a World Champion, a Hardcore
Champion, a TV Champion, this guy has had it all and more. But he has yet
to taste title gold THIS year. Which is where were at now. In this match,
it really doesn’t matter what you’ve done or what your doing to do, it
matters what your doing now. Brymstone, you may be one of the biggest guys
in PWA, your going up against 5 other guys, and trust me, being a big guy,
you’re a big target. As they say…
He took a quick sip.
Alex: Ahh… the bigger they are… the harder they fall. When you fall,
its going to be one hell of a crash.
Alex picked up his glass and walked over to his office and logged onto his
computer, he sat down and took another quick sip from his glass.
Alex: Which brings me to my next oppenent. KWB, the Krazy Whyte Boy, the
man who I beat in the finals, but also a man who also got so Angry that he
flipped out and beat me down with a baseball bat. After I had won the
match fair and square.
Alex opened up MSN and just as he logged on 5 people poped up telling him
congrats and such.
Alex: What’s a matter KWB, thought you could wrestle circles around me?
Thought you were better? Well I told you, I had my doubts, but I wasn’t
just going to lie down and let you Pin me 1, 2, 3. Oh No, in fact I was
going to give it my all and beat your ass down and… heh look what he got
he.
He flashed his world title to the camera for a few seconds.
Alex: I won this, I am the man of PWA, and you, well after your little fit
last night, you will never, ever, touch this title with your grubby little
cry baby hands, not while I’m holding it. You can go complain to Mark
Sommers all you want, but that won’t change a thing, I will still beat
your ass down and show you No Mercy.
Alex typed alittle bit and took another sip of his drink, he then placed
it down.
Alex: Hmm, by the way, now that I think about it, thank you Sandra for the
wonderful congratulations in your Promo earlier today, and yes I do
realise that, now carrying this wonderful world title around my waist,
I’ve just made myself the biggest Target I can become in PWA.
Alex grinned and took another quick sip from his glass and clicked a few
windows to close off his computer.
Alex: I also realise that I’m not afraid of the Bosses wife, mind games
or not. I don’t fear you, and nor will I let you win, your just like KWB,
you think you can beat me with pure strenght alone and no real stratagey,
You’ll be the first to go, and I’ll make sure of that, I can promise
you, Sandra, you will not leave this match with any of this gold.
He pointed to his title and gave a slight grin.
Alex: I’ll take my chances in this match.
Alex sighed a bit and looked at his watch. It was already 1 am.
Alex: Well I have to make this quick, RAW, boys, you know neither of you
want this title, what you really want is the tag team titles. Go for
those, and everyone will be happy. Alright?
Alex stood up and stretched out wide.
Alex: I can tell that in this match, everyone. Will be going for my title.
and I know, I know for a fact that they will. And me, well.. I’ll be
prepared.
Alex picked up the title and put it onto his shoulder.
Alex: This is the Era of Grade A, and no one will stop it.
The scene faded.
Gregory Littlebear #1
Fade in.
Gregory is sitting in a nicely furnished living room, with a can of
Grizzly Beer in his hand. Around his waist is the Grizzly Beer title. He
rubs it's shiny face affectionately. In one of the chairs is his manager,
Brian. Brian is reading a newspaper, looking very sad.
"The Serial Shooter killed someone else, today," Brian says with
dread in his voice. "The people of Phoenix must be scared out of
their minds."
Gregory takes a sip from his beer, and looks over. "Sorry,
what?"
"The Serial Shooter," Brian says, annoyed. "He's been
killing people in Phoenix! And there's another guy, too. The Baseline
Killer. They've both been on some sort of rampage. Killing and wounding
and--"
"Wait a second," Gregory says, confused. "You haven't
mentioned my winning the belt. Isn't that in there?"
Brian sighs. "No, sir. The New York Times doesn't really report
wrestling events."
"Why the hell not??"
"I guess... they don't consider it important enough?"
Gregory looks shocked. "But... but that's crazy! We're big! We're
huge! We deserve at least a spot in the sports section!"
"A lot of people don't consider pro-wrestling a real sport,
sir," Brian says timidly. "It's more like... a bloody soap
opera. You all pummel eachother, and then you make promos. Not exactly
like the NFL."
Gregory makes a "pshaw" noise, and shakes his head. "The
NFL... what do they know? If I had it -my- way, I'd make my own football
federation!"
"Sir?"
"One with great mascots! One where the cheerleaders look like total
hookers! One where the tickets are cheaper!!" He grins. "I'd put
cameras in the locker rooms, and they'd all make promos, just like us! And
the commentators would be better! And the food would be better! It would
be like... like... an extreme football league!"
Brian shakes his head. "Sir, that would never work."
Gregory looks let-down. "Yeah, you're right... only an idiot would
try to create competition with the NFL. Heh. Can you imagine? I mean, what
would I call the teams? The 'Demons' or something?"
Brian chuckles. "Right... well, you know, as Grizzly Beer champion,
you could do some advertising with the NFL. They still primarilly use
Bud------." Brian's voice is cut off before he can finish this last
word, and scrambled.
"Yeah, but Bud------ tastes like crap!" Gregory says, with the
same scrambling effect. "It can't compare to the uhm... bold... uh...
awesome... um... what's that word say?"
A voice from behind the camera says "full bodied!", and Gregory
grins and nods.
"Right right! The full bodied taste of Grizzly Beer!"
"Well, maybe I can contact some of the sponsors from the NFL..."
"You do that," Gregory replies, standing up. "Right now, I
gotta do my earthly duty and give back what has been given."
Brian frowns, and goes back to his newspaper. "You know, you could
just say you're going to the bathroom."
"Nah, " Gregory replies. "It adds to the mystique!"
Fade.
Cody Galle #1
Being a fighter.
What the hell does that mean, these days, anyways? There’s plenty of
ways to describe someone…why use fighter? You could use
aggressive…insane…physical…technically gifted…there are plenty of
more appropriate adjectives you could use to describe a ‘fighter’.
In it’s own right, though, being called a fighter can mean the world to
someone, if it’s used in a certain way.
Y’see, in my opinion, there’s certain things in this world that set
people like me aside from the rest. My good luck sets me far and away
apart from all those near-homeless gamblers you consistently see at
casinos. My good looks set me apart from nearly half the damn planet –
the other half either respect me or want me. It’s a good life.
My good technical skills…now those set me apart into a group of just a
select group of people, possibly limited to a hundred, maybe two. Out of
billions, mind you.
The respect I gain from others? Well, I’m working on it right now, give
me some time. Needless to say, I think I earned a bit of it when I won the
PWA Intercontinental Championship…but to me, it’s a hollow victory, at
best. Not only am I honoured and excited to be the Intercontinental champ,
I’m also angry.
Angry…because the man I beat about a week and a half ago is now parading
around with the world championship…but I’ll save that for later.
Where was I?
…oh, right. Things that set me apart from the rest of
society…there’s quite a lot, but I can’t daydream all day, so I’ll
keep it short. Last point is…
…the thing that sets me apart the most is the fact that I’m a fighter.
Sure, I’ve disrespected a lot of people in that ring, that squared
circle, that gladiators pit that I call home. I’ve also beaten many
people…and lost to many as well. The thing is…I don’t quit. I might
whine…who doesn’t? I complain a lot…if you were me, getting screwed
every week by management, you would too. I cheat? It’s only cheating if
you get caught, baby, I learned that from the casinos. No matter what,
though, I won’t go down without a fight…and if it means I have to
sacrifice my body in front of all the worthless PWA fans to get an ounce
of respect from my peers…not that I, y’know, care or anything…then
I’ll do it.
I’ll do it for myself, not them. I’m in this for me and me
only.
This coming Rampage, my ‘only look out for number one mentality’ is
going to be put to the test, for sure.
I’ve also got to look out for number two, three, four and five.
The camera faded in to what looked like a small house party. The room had
several luxurious pieces of leather furniture, ranging from sofas to
chairs, and was decorated nicely with paintings from various art styles
and artists. The walls were light yellow in colour – enough that you
could make out that yes, the walls were indeed sort of yellow-ish, but
that was as far as the vibrancy in the colour went. The room was large and
thus had lamps in every corner of the room. They were fancy lamps, the
kind you come across in a furniture store and marvel at, until you see the
price tag, whereupon the lamps are simply ‘alright, but for that
price?’. Also, one lamp was suspiciously missing a lampshade.
Various people in fancy, expensive suits and dresses were scattered around
the room, some sitting on furniture while others were crowded around a
table with a fine linen cloth over top of it, chatting and drinking
copious amounts of the punch that was in, well, the punch bowl,
surprisingly.
The room itself was, as stated earlier, quite large and there were only
two windows, one on the north side of the room and the other on the east.
Sliding glass doors on the west side of the room led outside to a balcony,
where other guests were currently mingling. It was altogether a nice,
quaint and tasteful get-together, one any socialite would be proud of.
The problem there was, however, that Cody Galle was certainly not a
socialite.
The camera cut to a rather uncomfortable looking Cody Galle, who was
sporting a suit himself, complete with a bright blue tie. The suit itself
was white (Galle clearly had no idea how to dress for such occasions) and
had a frilly shirt underneath it. Galle was situated away from the large
crowd – he wasn’t one to attend stuck-up parties, but this one was
being thrown for him, by him, so he was actually sort of obligated to be
there, as hosts usually do attend their own parties. Galle was in it for
the money and gifts – unfortunately for him, he’d forgotten to mention
that gifts were acceptable and actually mandatory, and as such he had only
made twenty-five dollars and received a teddy bear, complete with his own
trademark sunglasses and trench coat.
I hate this. They don’t even care that I won the title…they just
want to expand their social lives, meet a rich wrestler and maybe get into
the biz themselves. Bunch of leeches, they are.
Galle slipped quietly away from the crowd and the noise, slinking upstairs
as the camera followed him. Galle slowly snuck across the upper floor and
motioned for the cameraman to follow him onto the balcony that east, away
from the balcony that currently had guests on it. After the camera
approached him and took it’s place on the balcony, Galle shut the doors
slowly and drew the curtains, making sure he was alone at last.
“God, I hate these things. I don’t suppose the lowbrow fans in PWA
would mind if I took of my suit.”
Galle struggled with his tie and finally managed to rip the material and
take it off – hell, he wasn’t going to wear it again. Next, he took
the suit jacket off and threw it off the balcony. Finally, he took his
frilly shirt off and actually took the time to spit on it and curse it
before he tossed it too over the balcony, revealing that Galle had been
wearing the Intercontinental Championship under his suit the entire time.
Galle now stood before the camera, only in white dress pants and shoes,
along with his title belt.
“That’s better. I swear, I’ll never get used to fancy
parties…not my type of thing…which oddly enough, leads us into the
topic of this ‘discussion’ tonight quite beautifully. You see, another
thing I really don’t enjoy is having to look out for anyone else but me
– and unfortunately, I’ve got four other people to look out for this
Rampage. I know for a fact Littlebear can carry his own weight – I’ve
fought him twice and teamed with him once. I’m undecided about the Moran
clan…they really haven’t had any competition in their stay here in PWA…and
I’m most concerned about our own World Champ, Wilkie…a man I defeated
only a week or so ago. If he can’t beat me, what makes him think he can
beat wrestlers who have been in this game longer than I have?
Doesn’t matter…biggest concern is that I keep my own title.
Galle patted the Intercontinental title before continuing.
“The biggest concern, besides my less than ideal teammates, is that I
have to retain my title throughout at least five other eliminations –
because if I’m pinned, I can kiss my title goodbye, and I don’t even
have a chance to win it back, because I’ll be eliminated. The whole
point of this match, in my eyes, at least, is to be the last man standing
and prove to all you idiots in the crowd that my victory over Wilkie and
my victory at Who’s The Man? 2006 weren’t flukes. They were just the
start of a conquest…where the gambling man takes over PWA, despite the
odds being stacked against him, and rules over his own dynasty of sorts.
Hell, maybe I’ll even become so influential I can have my own
pay-per-view…’Gamblers Run’ sounds good to me. The point I’m
getting at, though, is that in this ‘High Stakes Elimination
Match’…sounds almost like it should be my speciality…I’m going to
be victorious over any and all comers for my title. That’s a fact, and
if you don’t like it…
…wanna make a bet?”
Galle smiled and rubbed the Intercontinental championship before glancing
over the balcony, only to see a car pull up in the driveway. He began to
scale the roof from the balcony, a ladder already strategically placed
beside the chimney, leading down to a car with an open door parked close
to the ladder.
Stuck up snobs…wait ‘till they find out this isn’t my house.