MD 143 - War Zone versus Ace Stevens versus Anthony Mancini
RP Deadline Monday 11th September 23:59 (Central).
Extensions available upon request.
The Camera turns on and we see Tony Mancini sitting in the locker room of the SAP Center immediately following the #1 Contenders Battle Royal for the Eurasian Championship. He's got a towel around his neck and a smile on his face as both Gino & Xaitlyn are congratulating him on his big win.
Gino: Hell yeah Ton' I knew you could beat those guys. We need to go out and show San Jose how we have fun in New York City.
Xaitlyn: I'm proud of you Anthony but you got lucky out there. If you had not landed on the ring steps you would have lost the match and Obi Okafor would be going on to face Titus and you would be watching on a monitor in the back.
Gino: Who cares about that? All that matters is that he won and in a couple of weeks on Meltdown he's going to beat Titus to become Eurasian Champion. Let's go out and have some fun before we head back to the hotel.
Xaitlyn glares at Gino but before she can say anything in response Backstage Bob comes in to the locker room and hands Xaitlyn a piece of paper. She reads it then puts it in her back pocket.
Xaitlyn: You have a match this week on Meltdown against both War Zone and Ace Stevens. Neither of those men are to be taken lightly. We need to train and get ready for this match as well as your title match after that.
Tony and Gino look at each other and Gino bursts out laughing while Tony smiles and shakes his head.
Gino (still laughing): Is...is that it?
Tony: Xaitlyn everything will be fine. I've beaten War Zone twice now. The man looks intimidating but he's nothing but a walking slab of meat and about as smart. As for Ace Stevens he just lost his return match on top of being stuck in a North Korean prison for a few years. There's no way he's at the top of his game.
Gino: You know who is at the top of his game though? This guy right here.
Gino claps Tony on the shoulders as Xaitlyn shakes her head.
Xaitlyn: If this is your attitude Anthony then why am I here? As your manager it's my job to make sure you're at peak physical and mental condition for every match.
Tony looks at Xaitlyn and sees that she's deadly serious. He sighs and starts getting his stuff together as Gino looks on in disbelief.
Gino: What the fuck Ton'?! You can't be serious.
Tony (slightly depressed): Go back to your hotel Gino, I'll catch up with you before we head to Keystone City.
Gino shakes his head and storms out of the locker room, slamming the door behind him as he leaves.
Xaitlyn: This is for the best Anthony, I hope you realize that.
Tony: Don't Xaitlyn, not right now.
Without saying another word Tony grabs his stuff and walks out of the locker room, not even checking to see if Xaitlyn is following him. As Xaitlyn stands there with a sad look on her face the camera slowly fades to black.
The Narrator presents
“The Phone Call”
It has been a number of days since WZCW held its 10th Anniversary show. Right now, Tony Mancini is likely somewhere in New York City, training to be the best professional wrestler he can be. Possibly using his infant child as a dumbbell. Who knows? We cannot be sure of this particular fact. War Zone, meanwhile, is probably in his hometown, learning to tie his shoelaces. Yet another noble pursuit for the cognitively-challenged super soldier.
Meanwhile, Ace Stevens is drunk. Surprises come thick and fast in the world of The American Zealot. But alas, this isn't one of them. Considering the fact that he is in a bar he actually owns, this piece of information is perhaps less of a surprise and more of a formality.
He is stumbling around the empty chairs and tables of The Jester’s Hole (yes, reader, he really did name his bar that). One could be forgiven for believing that the lack of patrons is because the bar closes during the day. But it is currently 9pm - prime drinking hours across New York City. The reason for the desertion has a slightly more obtuse explanation.
The phone begins to ring as he drunkenly puts it to his ear. This is it. There’s no turning back now.
"Hello, Mr. Ban-"
"Okay, now listen up Mr. Banks. If that is your real name. My name is Ace Stevens. Yeah, that's right, Ace motherhumpin' Stevens. And I’m definitely not drunk right now.
I wanted to talk to you ‘cause I got attacked by Vis Imperium at the anniversary show and I am furious. In fact, I would go as far as to say that I am deeply unhappy. Now, I was preparing to go find Cooper, LeBelle and Adonis after the show and dish out a bit of the old New York street justice that I am now renowned for. But as I was about to get my trusty old baseball bat with a nail in it - her name is Angela and she is very handy in road rage situations - that hot weightlifter chick, Yemrez, said "lõpetage minuga flirtimine, loll” to me. Thankfully, I did some street theatre in Tartu one summer so I know my way around Estonian all right. And what she said is that you're running things, Banksy boy. You're the reason I lost to Justin Cooper. You're the reason I'm mad as all hell. But on the bright side, you’re also the reason Coops and the rest of your boys ain’t full of holes right now.
I'm a problem for you now, Mr. Binks. You ever hear that phrase "mess with the bull, get the horns"? Well mess with Ace Stevens and I'll beat you so bad your balls will actually go back up inside your body due to fear. It's a real saying. Look it up. Wikipedia that shit. Laters."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Banks is currently unavailable. I am one of his assistants. Can I take a message?"
"Yeah, you can tell him what I just said."
"I apologise, Mr. Stevens, but you lost me around "motherhumping". Perhaps you could send an e-mail?"
"What? And let you use it against me in a court of law? I’m not letting that happen again, Alvin.”
"Anyway, I also need to talk to Mr. Bonks about the main event of Meltdown."
"Ah yes" says 'Alvin', checking his files. "That would be the tag team match of Vis Imperium versus Constantine, Titus and Tyrone Blades."
"Wait, what? No I'm talking about the actual main event. You know, the match that goes on last? The match that everybody pays to see? War Zone versus Anthony Mancini versus me! The American… uh… guy!"
"I'm afraid the six-man tag team match is the main event, Mr. Stevens."
"Really? Those guys? Who have they ever beat? Oh well. It don't matter where on the card you put us."
"I've got nothing to do with it..."
"We're gonna tear the roof off the place! Think about it! You got Anthony Mancini - the number one contender to the Eurasian Championship. Could he be the one to end Titus' historic reign? I mean, probably not. But stranger things have happened. Things which... I can't think of right now. But I'm sure they have. I mean, he’s got so much going for him! Even for someone from Yonkers. He’s got a baby and a, um… god. That’s always good. He’s gonna need faith when he wrestles me.
Then you've got War Zone. Who's... tall. And strong. I guess. And have you seen how lean that guy is? All veiny and stuff. It’s like he’s covered in dick skin. That’s always a plus.
And then there's me! Your guy! The ace in the hole. The first pick of the draft. A two-time Mayhem champion. And, if it wasn’t for Vis Imperium, a two-time Justin Cooper champion. Now tell me that triple threat ain't a main event. Obviously, the outcome is a foregone conclusion. I get that. Me winning is as obvious as Mancini’s crush on the serpent chick. But the journey? Oh boy the journey to that conclusion will knock your socks off. Mancini will probably swear. Mr. Zone will probably throw me around a bit. But I will emerge victorious! The new number one contender to the Eurasian Championship!”
“Mr. Stevens, Anthony Mancini’s number one contendership is not on the line. I believe this was made clear to you the other day.”
“What? Are you kidding me? This company, bro. It don’t matter, I guess. I’ll still win the match. And yet it’ll still only be the second most successful three-way I've done this week. Yeah. That’s right. Later, bro.”
And with a smile on his face, Ace Stevens hangs up the phone. After all, he's never really cared about committing professional suicide.
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