Anniversary Show: Alhazred and Frank Mortlock vs. Gordito + Saboteur w/ Action Saxton
Hold on Suckah's Action Saxton will not be wrestling but he's heading to the ring with the legend that is Saboteur. A name many will know in WZCW and he'll be teaming with Gordito!
Their opponent is the good Doctor... Alhazred who will up the ante. Teaming with him is Mortlock who may have had a short run in WZCW but was someone who always entertained.
Deadline Monday 14th August 11:59pm Central Time. No extensions available.
Last edited by Da Prophet : 08-05-2017 at 01:15 AM.
The flashing crimson eye fails to illuminate the dark office.
Hell, even destiny…
These are every senior copper’s thoughts when he looks through old case files. Pristine cabinets filled with cosy folders and virginal white pages that somehow belie the amount of human life poured into each one. All the coffee grounds, smoke and gunpowder neatly processed in black and white…
But they don’t tell the full story.
This isn’t just some beat cop’s life’s work.
What I do matters.
I’ve put away serious threats to society. Countless hours spent collecting evidence, the endless paperwork, the red tape and going under cover as some lowlife all add up to seeing the right guy on the wrong side of the bars. Nothing in life gives a police detective the same satisfaction as closing a case.
And yet… some mysteries leave the chill of uncertainly nagging at your subconscious. That’s how I see cold cases. Unable to conquer and too vital to forget, they are the demons of this line of work.
Usually these inexplicable riddles are the result of one little bastard of a contrivance that make it that much harder to tie all the loose end together. Usually it’s a contaminated crime scene or a lack of manpower that mires an investigation. Usually the unsolvable is just another cop’s term for “lack of skill and effort”. But only usually… The only cold case Frank Mortlock has after twenty years on the force isn’t a case at all, but a person.
His name is Alhazred.
Alone at his desk, Mortlock thumbs through a couple of ledgers. The display from his answering machine casts a red hue on the dimly lit room. Suddenly he stops.
Here you are.
He folds one of the pages into his trench coat and locks away an empty hip flask in one of the drawers. He stops at the entrance, presses the switch next to the telephone and walks away.
No need to hear that one again.
What the hell, Frank! Why won’t you pick up? He’s missing and we have no idea where he is! Now we’re starting to have my doubts about you as well. Call me, dammit!
The car’s pitch black hood reflects the distant moon. Gravel crunches underfoot.
Not a bad set-up Vinnie’s got here. Flourishing garden, kid’s trike tossed on the lawn, even the white picket fence. He has achieved the American Dream. Or at least the Sicilian-American Dream…
The door creaks open, innocent and unaware. The short, swarthy little snitch in front of me looks like he’d seen a ghost. And with Vincent Rossi having been pronounced dead years ago, he might actually just have.
Heyyy! Mister… Kelly, wasn’t it? Yeah… Alex Kelly. How is my esteemed Irish friend doing on this lovely evening?
Mortlock! I never thought I’d see you again. How did you even get this address?
Come now, Vin… is that any way to greet an old friend?
Frank can just about make out the shrill enquiry of a woman’s voice.
It’s nobody, Honey. Go back to bed!
He knows the deal. His eyes narrow and his voice becomes a hushed whisper.
I’m here for a favour, Vin.
Yeah, I figured as much. I should have you arrested over here.
Witness protection has changed you, Vinnie. Because the way I remember you is as a two-bit greaser who was scared shitless when he was caught out helping the fuzz track down his boss... a don named Luca Domingo who currently resides in Hope Springs Correctional Facility in cell B205… a boss who, even in the big house, has loyal goons… and they’re only a cab-ride away.
Okay, okay. What do you need?
I show him Alhazred’s picture. Counterintuitively, I hope this worthless little rat-shyster might actually be worth something.
This is Doctor Alhazred. He also goes by the handle "Diabolos". He might not look it, but this son of a bitch is the most dangerous man you can imagine. I tracked him to this city, but I can’t pinpoint him. Now, I need to know if you’ve heard of electrical outages, strange light sightings or any unusual health and hygiene complaints folks might have had in the last week.
What are you playing at, Mortlock?
Believe me, you don’t know the half of it.
Vinnie furrows his brow.
Look, I don’t have all night. Judging by the way you keep looking towards the door, I’m guessing you don’t, either.
It might be nothing, but I’ve heard rumours about some strange goings-on down near the docks.
A few of my colleagues have heard whispers through the criminal grapevine. They say there’s this cave, see…
People go in, but they don’t come out.
He writes down the address in my notepad with a shaky hand. To be honest, I’m not feeling all that great myself. If Alhazred is at the bottom of this, this is going to be one long August night.
Promise me, Mortlock, that you’ll leave me alone. Promise me.
Sure. You won’t be seeing any more of me.
One way, or another…
I drive closer and closer to the docks. I’m getting nearer to the seedy part of a piss poor imitation of a real town. The apartments have turned into vast slums. Where I drove past hospitals and clinics, I’m now passing liquor stores. Looking at the graffiti on the weathered buildings, I wonder if this part of the city was always like this, or if it was all connected to whatever’s happening in the abandoned cave.
With midnight approaching and the streets now clear, I turn off the car’s headlights about a block before the docks. It still shouldn’t be this quiet out here.
I step onwards, armed with my nightstick, my instinct and a pack of smokes. The harbour’s stench makes me wonder what the stone walls would say if they could talk. How many men had met their maker in the murky darkness?
And am I going to be one of them tonight?
I found the tunnel that Vinnie mentioned. The mountainside lies prone with its gaping maw, eagerly awaiting new prey. Cautiously – and perhaps foolishly – I venture into the abyss.
Making my way underground is an exercise in exasperation. The bruises on my shins will be fine, but I still have no idea where I’m going. A chilling thought crosses my mind once or twice – what if my contact pulled a fast one on me? I try to keep the notion at arm’s length. After all, Vinnie didn’t exhibit any of his usual tells and I probably can’t make it back even if I wanted to. I have to push on.
I try to move silently, but in the gloom it is virtually impossible. I sense the darkness repelling me. It’s me against it. One of us is going to blink first and it’s not going to be me.
I turn a corner and begin to make out small, luminous pockets. In the distance, I can bits of light – greens and yellows. The bioluminous fungi are my first indication that I haven’t indeed been walking in circles all these hours.
At least now I can see where I’m going, even if I don’t know where to.
Out of breath, I sit down and plan to fire up a cigarette. It’s not the best idea I’ve ever had, but neither was walking into an unknown area in search of the world’s most brilliant criminal lunatic. I should savour the breather, not the hubris.
I flick back the lighter’s cap and feel the roller’s coarse edges, unaware of the chaos I was about to unleash.
My little spark suddenly seems like an army flare. I close my eyes, giving them time to adjust. When they open, I see a world of red. Each fungus pulsating and screeching in a chorus of billions… I have to get out of here!
I ditch my coat and I haul ass out of there. I sprint for what feels like an eternity, until I feel my body slowing down. The last thing I remember is reaching out to the concrete floor to protect my head.
Remove the manacles!
Why the hell did you lock me up?
Force of habit, I guess… Welcome to my lovely home.
Pretty sure this is a lair...
Welll, one man’s lair is another man’s home. Or in this case, it was another man’s home before it became my lair. I found some doomsday preppers living here and forcibly evicted them… by way of ray gun. How did you like my Frankenstein Fungi? I designed them myself. You see, they emit an anaesthetic gas in the presence of fire. That way, when peasants with pitchforks and burning torches arrive, the monster or bear in question can simply eat them for their bigotry and intolerance. A just punishment, don’t you think?
It was nice to have a few good hours’ sleep for once. It is good to know I didn’t almost die in vain. Hell, it was great to just kick back and not have anything to do for once. But back in the real world my head feels like an egg shot through a gun barrel.
It took some getting used to, but the florescent lights and the non-skid steel floors give me a sense of normalcy, which is a rare commodity when dealing with Alhazred. Exhibit A: The oversized bear coat; Exhibit B: The buzzing mechanical power glove; Exhibits C through Z: Hundreds of radiating test tubes, unprotected circuit boards and droning, robotic minions…
At the beating heart of this living, neon fever dream was Alhazred.
I tried to call you, you know, but the reception is just terrible down here.
Ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag…
You were a hard man to find, Doc. You know why I tailed you here, I take it?
Oh, but of course! That is the very reason I am here.
The reason you are here is the reason I am here?
Your deduction is most correct, Detective!
Do you even know we have a match?
Didn’t I just say so?
Apologies. Let me enlighten you, as I have been enlightened. This place is part of my marvellous plan to dispose of the Dirty One and the Breaker of Walls. I needed a plan so fiendish of forethought, so dastardly in deed to seek victory against such legendary opposition. You see, Detective, this site is a place of magnificent magical magnitude. The currents of space and time converge right here in this mountain hall.
On the ten year anniversary of WZCW, the planetary alignments will merge with the currents and we will be transported ten years in the past.
My plan is thus: We travel back in time and we beat those two so badly that they will take more than a decade to recover. With your determination and my nefariousness-ness, surely we will be the superior tag team.
I’m going to stop you right there, Doc. What if we just go to the event as we are scheduled and we beat them there?
Hmm… I never really thought of that! It’s just crazy enough to work! LET'S DO THIS!
[?]: "Spoiler alert: I haven't cut a promo in years."
A familiar voice over a black, blank screen.
[?]: "I wouldn't even know where to start. Where to end. What even would the people want to hear from The Dirty One? Would you want to hear about success? About conquest?"
We cut to a succession of exterior shots of The Sludge Pit, only each is of a different location. San Francisco. Los Angeles. Chicago. New York. Dallas. Miami. Each is designed to mirror the original, except for new little touches like valet parking and spotlights. All are lively and packed to capacity.
[Gordito - voice over]: "About how I turned one dive bar into an empire, serving overpriced burgers and corporate beer? The American Dream, baby...carving out a place for myself among the elite. Ready to live out life in comfort and luxury..."
The screen cuts to black again.
[Gordito - voice over]: "...HA! Not likely. What about failure?"
We see an old tenement building, tan paint over brick. As the sunset sets, we move in slowly towards a lit window on the fourth story.
[Gordito - voice over]: "Gordito abandoned wrestling, lost his business ventures, drove away everyone he who ever loved him until all he had was a dingy apartment and hardcore drugs."
As we approach the window, we find Gordito a broken man. He is dressed in filthy denim jeans and a black t-shirt, barefoot. His hair is fully grown, greasy and unkempt. His eyes are open, staring vacantly up at a ceiling fan wobbling haphazardly above him. His arms lay wide aside of him; in one hand is a large, deflated balloon. Dozens of spent nitrous oxide are strewn about the floor. There is an empty smile across his face as he mutters to himself.
[Gordito]: "Wah wah wah wah wah wah wah wah wah wah wah wah wah..."
Cut to black again.
[Gordito - voice over]: "Ahh! No! Devil Whippits! Whew...alright. What about a romantic ending? Can I have one of those?"
Hundreds of people sitting in the shade of dozens of pine trees in a semi-circle on lawn chairs while Gordito stands in an black tux with an orange vest, Zimbo and Ruined aside him as his bridal party. His orange mohawk is parted to the side. The camera cuts to behind the bride as she approaches the aisle. The guests all rise and turn to face her while we see Gordito down the aisle awestruck and happy.
[Gordito - voice over]: "The Dirty One settles down and ties the knot, buys a home on a cul-de-sac, paints it black, and starts a family. Soon he'll be raising the next generation, baby, teaching 'em how to give the world hell."
Black screen once again.
[Gordito - voice over]: "Alright, I got it. The best ending possible. Here it is, baby, the one you've been waiting for..."
We cut to a still photo of Gordito grinning while shaking a hand extended from off-screen. His other hand is giving a hearty thumbs up. He's wearing his wrestling gear: a black wrestling singlet with orange trim. His mohawk is styled up. Music begins playing.
[Gordito - voice over]: "A generous one-time Legends contract, baby! Wooo!"
Another photo, this one of Gordito is holding up a piece of paper in one hand with the word 'contract' spelled out in large bold print at the top of the page. His other hand is still giving a hearty thumbs up.
[Gordito - voice over]: "Oh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about. WZCW Anniversary super-awesome extravaganza wouldn't miss it for the god damn world baby, yes! I get a sweet pay off and the chance to bust some ass for the glory of WZCW again."
Gordito stands atop the one and only Sludge Pit, looking out to the horizon with a smile on his face. He's wearing an old WZCW shirt and jeans. The music stops playing as the camera rotates slowly around him.
[Gordito - voice over]: "Profitability aside, this is bigger than The Dirty One. I am just part of the bigger picture here. A decade of WZCW, a decade of the greatest stories ever to be told. WZCW is, was, and shall remain, somewhere that brings out the best in all of us. WZCW's endurance is a testament to the effort and sacrifice of the everyone who has worked to make it possible. It stands, so much greater than any individual who built it, and it is for that exact reason why each individual who did so should feel proud of themselves. Ten years feels like a lifetime to many, but there's so much more left to come."
We cut to a close up on a car: Gordito is driving an old Buick Regal whose color seems to be a mixture of green and decades of rust. The lush black velvet interior is in remarkable shape in comparison the car's exterior. The camera follows along the driver side.
[Gordito - voice over]: "My part in that bigger picture, of course, is to show up, have fun, go crazy, and kick some ass along the way. It doesn't matter how it ends, what matters is how we got there. What matters is leaving it all, every damn ounce of it, out in that ring and in front of you people. What matters is..."
Gordito's smart phone rest in a holder on his dash board. The screen lights up with a message that distracts him - "Text Message: Saboteur: SOS Need evac @ Chuck E Cheese."
[Gordito: "...the homies need help. The Dirty One is on it!"
The camera pans to a view of the car from behind, watching it drive away, make a sudden u-turn, and disappear from view at the bottom of the screen as all the while the camera lifts into the sky, focusing on the horizon the city. The music begins playing again from the beginning.
[Gordito - voice over]: "Here's to ten years of WrestleZone Championship Wrestling! Here's to ten years of blood, sweat, tears, and probably a few other bodily fluids, all offered in the name of making the single greatest place to compete in the world. Here's to many more years of demanding the very best of us."
We can hear the slightly squeaky brakes of Gordito's car, followed shortly by two doors opening and then closing shortly afterward.
[Gordito]: "What happened?"
[Saboteur]: "They kicked me out of the ball pit is what happened, can you believe this place?!"
[Action Saxton]: "They just mad 'cuz I dominated every game they had in there. I let 'em know, they won't ever forget my name."
[Saboteur]: "Yeah, you put ASS in every single one."
[Action]: "Action Saxton, Sucka."
Last edited by DirtyJosé : 08-14-2017 at 09:04 PM. Reason: Oof, I booched the youtube link.
Action Saxton: And that’s how I beat the entire roster of the Russian national team at laser hockey with dull ice skates and a left handed hockey stick. Thank you.
Rapturous applause fills the auditorium where Action Saxton just finished his one-man play: Diary of a Bad Ass Black Man. As the stage fills with flower bouquets and ladies undergarments, Saxton takes a bow. He looks through the crowd, taking note of the faces of children he’s inspired, men he’s made envious, and women he’s made wet. He walks off stage and is greeted by his stage manager.
Stage Manager: Great show tonight Mr. Saxton! That bachelorette party in the front row got soaked during the wrestling match with Jaws Jr.!
Action Saxton: Those suckas should have stopped in the lobby before the show and gotten an official Action Saxton poncho, only $20 a pop.
Action Saxton opens the door to his dressing room and sees a familiar face waiting for him.
Action Saxton: Well, hello beautiful!
The tuxedo clad Action Saxton walks up to the wall-to-wall mirror that makes up a quarter of his dressing room. He sits down in front of it and takes an afro pick to his signature curls.
Saboteur: There’s no time for that! We gotta go!
Saboteur, who was apparently in the dressing room the whole time, grabs Saxton by the arm and yanks him out of his seat.
Action Saxton: HOLY $*%#! Where did you come from? I was just looking in the mirror and you weren’t in here!
Saboteur: Yeah I was, it’s this new reflection-proof suit I’m wearing.
Action Saxton: It looks exactly like your regular suit to me.
Saboteur: It is my regular suit, I just sprayed it with reflection proof… y’know what, there’s no time to explain that! We gotta go!
Action Saxton: Now wait just one finger lickin’ minute! I haven’t seen you in years! Nobody has!
Saboteur: Not in canon anyway.
Action Saxton: And you just expect me to follow you somewhere? Probably on another one of those crazy adventures we so famously cooked up all those years ago?
Saboteur: Yes, that’s exactly right.
Action Saxton shrugs his sholders.
Action Saxton: Well I ain’t got nothing better to do, let’s go.
Signal Panic Inc. Presents
Action Saxton & Saboteur
Action Saxton follows Saboteur out the back door of the theater and the two begin walking down a crowded city block. Fans of Action Saxton crowd him after his performance, for which he’s been nominated for 3 Tonys, 2 Stage Actor Guild Awards, 7 Armando Paradyse Choice Trophies, and 32 NAACP Blacktor Badges. Saboteur and Saxton push through the crowd with purpose.
Action Saxton: So what’s the play here? What are you getting us into?
Saboteur: We need to incept the guy who runs WZCW. I don’t know his name or what he looks like, but I know he’s staying at the Fancy Plaza Hotel down the street.
Action Saxton: Now far be it from me to question your insane, half-baked, and often not-even-remotely-thought-out plans, but if you don’t know what this turkey looks like or what his name is, how do you know he’s at the Fancy Plaza Hotel?
Saboteur: There’s no time to explain! Sometimes a fella just has to know stuff so the story can progress.
Action Saxton: Alright, fair enough. But the question still remains, how are we gonna incept this fool?
Saboteur and Saxton enter the lobby of the Fancy Plaza Hotel. With the theater district just letting out, the lobby is abuzz with fancy tourists in fancy dress moving through the fancy lobby as they head to the bar or back to their rooms for the evening.
Saboteur: Alien technology, duh.
Action Saxton: Alien technology? Oh no, please don’t tell me…
Krypto: FRIENDS! IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG!
Krypto, a tiny green alien with the IQ, hand size, and attention span of Donald Trump, pushes through the crowd. In his hands is a small but eye-catching box with alien figures on it. He walks up to our two heroes and looks up at them with glee.
Krypto: I knew that some day we would all be together again! The three amigos! The three musketeers! The three gloobleflorps! So what are we doing? Parodying Footloose? Star Wars? Something we haven’t done yet?
Saboteur: Well we’re incepting the guy who runs WZCW. You’re going to be the guy that wakes us up.
Krypto: Oh joy! I knew I would be an important part of this assignment! What do I do? Inject you with an adrenaline shot? Dump a bucket of ice water on your head? Kick you in the balls, thus fulfilling a fantasy I’ve had ever since you were made my mentors?
Action Saxton: What is it with this sucka and the rule of threes?
Saboteur: No, you’re just going to put these ear buds in our ears and hit play on these Walkmen.
Action Saxton: Damn, look at you and your technological progress, Sab! Last time we hung out, you played the Saturday Night Fever 8-track for me.
Saboteur leads Saxton and Krypto to the elevator and takes it to the penthouse. The doors open and the trio make their way to room 1812, the room where the guy who runs WZCW is staying.
Saboteur: Alright Saxton, time to use your expert lockpicking ability.
Saxton gives Saboteur a silent nod, knowing exactly what is required of him. He takes a small step back before throwing all of his weight into a foot thrust that kicks the door right off his hinges, sending it slamming to the floor. The guy who runs WZCW, who was previously sleeping soundly, jumps to his feet, only half awake.
Guy Who Runs WZCW: You’re late for our appointment Mr. Senator!
Saboteur: Quick, give me the box before he realizes we’re not senators!
Saboteur snatches the alien box from Krypto and motions for Saxton to follow him. He runs full speed and spears the guy who runs WZCW, and Saxton splashes on top of them in a dog pile. Saboteur opens the box and takes out a device that looks like life alert fob. He pushes the button and a bright flash illuminates the room. By the time it dissipates, the three humans are sleeping peacefully, leaving Krypto as the sole conscious being in the room.
Krypto: Well, might as well watch some TV!
Krypto steps on the pile of sleeping humans to get onto the bed where he grabs the remote and turns the TV on. The TV picks up where the guy who runs WZCW left it: in the midst of a very saucy scene between two naïve young ladies.
Krypto: I love the cooking channel! Look at those two chefs make pasta!
Saxton and Saboteur stand back to back in the middle of a spotlight, seemingly stranded in limbo.
Saxton: Aw hell no, if this alien inception machine Krypto used stranded us in some sort of infinite nothingness for eternity, I’m gonna kill him!
Saboteur: Wait, look!
Sabotuer points at the only other visible thing in existence: the guy who runs WZCW sitting behind a desk with a grim smile on his face.
Guy Who Runs WZCW: Well well well, Saxton and Saboteur, looks like you’ve fallen right into my trap. After years of trying to unravel your unbreakable bond of friendship, I finally have you where I want you!
More lights come on and it’s revealed that Saxton and Saboteur are standing in the middle of a wrestling ring. Surrounding the ring are dozens of faces that have passed through WZCW over the years, and they all have fire in their eyes as they stare upon the greatest WZCW Tag Team Champions that the world has ever seen.
Guy Who Runs WZCW: Get ‘em boys!
Saboteur: Wait! We’ll agree to fight all of these wrestlers here, live on Meltdown for the millions and millions of fans in this arena…
Suddenly, the arena is filled with millions of fans, every one of them wearing Saxton and Saboteur t-shirts and screaming wildly for their favorite team.
Saboteur: If you agree to let us appear on the 10 year anniversary episode of WZCW TV!
The guy who runs WZCW cackles.
Guy Who Runs WZCW: You fools, you have no choice! You’re surrounded! There’s no escape!
Saboteur: There is if we use our jetpacks!
Saxton: How the hell do you keep making this crap appear out of thin air?
Saboteur: It’s a dream, remember? You can make anything you want happen!
Saxton: I don’t get down like that. All I need is reality and these two fist and three legs!
Saxton rips off the tuxedo he was wearing to perform his play to reveal his old wrestling attire and assumes the position: ready to fight several dozen WZCW wrestlers.
Guy Who Runs WZCW: Drats, you may have won this argument, Saxton and Saboteur, but you won’t win this fight! I agree to your terms but only because I have the utmost faith that you two will lose!
The guy who runs WZCW cackles again as he signals to the time keeper to ring the bell. Two dings later, and the mob of former WZCW performers rush the ring.
Doug Crashin is the first man with the bravery, or perhaps the stupidity, to attack the dynamic duo, but his heroics are brought to an abrupt end when Saboteur hits him over the head with a strong karate chop. Alex Bowen is the next man to attempt some offense of his own, but Saxton easily side steps a big boot and throws a punching combo to Bowen’s ribs and head. Saboteur hits Johnny Scumm with a knee to the gut, spins around and throws an elbow into the face of The Internet Warrior. Meanwhile, Action Saxton is serving up the Irish whips to the corner, and Michael Winters, Baez, and Mr. Baller all crash into the turnbuckle one after the other. Action Saxton whistles and catches Saboteur’s attention as the latter drops a charging Grand Mystique with a snap slam. Saboteur runs at Saxton and Saxton grabs his partner by the tights and flings Saboteur into the three-stack in the corner.
Action Saxton: Shoot, this is easier than arm wrestling a toddler.
Saboteur: You sent a lot of kids to the pediatric orthopedist.
Guy Who Runs WZCW: You think this over? It’s only just begun!
The guy who runs WZCW pulls a lever and a large box wrapped as a present falls into the middle of the ring, squishing the dorks that Saxton and Saboteur just finished whoopin’.
Saboteur: Ooooh, a present!
Action Saxton: Saboteur, no! It’s clearly a trap!
Saboteur jumps on top of the box and furiously starts tearing at the wrapping paper: a fool’s errand if there ever was one as the box stands ten feet tall and takes up nearly the entire ring.
Action Saxton: Sucka, it’ll take you longer to unwrap that package than it will for Armando Paradyse to find the clitoris.
Saboteur: Yeah, but unlike Armando Paradyse ever learning how to pleasure a woman, I’ll eventually unwrap this present.
Saboteur continues to shred the wrapping paper as fast as he can, but suddenly the box starts to shiver. With every second the shaking grows more and more violent until it explodes open, sending Saboteur flying out of the ring and crashing into the third row.
Left standing where the present once sat? Every single wrestler that every performed for WZCW ever. Standing across from them all? Action. Fucking. Saxton.
Action Saxton: Is this all you got, guy that runs WZCW?
Action Saxton assumes his fighting stance, but just as every WZCW wrestler in history steps towards him, the entire arena begins to shake.
Action Saxton: Was this entire building built on a fault line or something? Damn!
The formerly confident faces of the WZCW wrestlers turn to shock and horror as they see what’s causing the tremors. Action Saxton turns around slowly and sees the source.
A 100 foot tall Saboteur breaking through the stadium. Saboteur’s booming voices shakes the ring as the wrestlers cover their ears.
Saboteur: I am giant Saboteur, and I am going to crush you like a kitty!
Saxton: What the hell? You crush cats?
Saboteur: Um… no.
Giant Saboteur makes a fist and raises it above the ring.
Mary Sue #23: No, you can’t do this!
Saboteur: I can do whatever I want, I beat Ty Burna!
Saboteur brings his fist crashing down on the WZCW wrestlers as Action Saxton does a double backflip out of the ring. He lifts his fist up, sticky with blood, organs, but mostly Armando Paradyse’s hair gel.
Saboteur: Great, now I smell like the men’s room at a Miami gay bar with no air conditioning and unisex bathrooms and is also located above a ball sweat depository.
Saboteur begins shrinking and within mere seconds he is back to his normal size. Action Saxton runs up and hi-5s his former tag team partner.
Action Saxton: I gotta say, I always enjoyed working with regular size Saboteur, but I think I could have won more matches if I was wrestling with Giant Saboteur!
Saboteur: Yeah, but think of all the money we’d have to spend raising the ceilings in Saboteur Tower?
Action Saxton: You mean Saxton Tower?
Saboteur: An argument for another time! For now, we have a show to get to.
Action Saxton: What? What show? The WZCW 10th Anniversary Show? We weren’t invited! They said the building couldn’t handle how awesome it would be to have us under the same roof!
Saboteur: Not if this plan worked, which it clearly did!
Action Saxton: How do you know that?
Saboteur: Because Act II is over. Epilogue time!
Light busts through a panting Action Saxton’s eyes as Staying Alive by the Beegees rings in his ears.. He looks around and sees that he’s in a hotel room, Saboteur is gradually rising to his feet, and Krypto is on the bed watching something terrible on TV. Action Saxton takes his earbuds out.
Action Saxton: Krypto, turn that shit off, nobody should have to watch that nasty shit.
Krypto sadly but nonchalantly raises the remote and turns off the HBO presentation of Collateral Beauty.
Action Saxton: Did that… did that just happen?
Saboteur, chipper as ever, is quick to answer.
Saboteur: It sure did buddy! The guys that runs WZCW is going to wake up in five minutes, which means we better hurry to the arena!
Action Saxton: But the arena is on the other side of the city, we don’t have a car, and cabs won’t pick me up I’m a black belt in 20 different kinds of karate.
Saboteur: Is that a thing? Cab drivers don’t pick up black belts?
Action Saxton: Well it’s the only thing that makes sense to me, they always stop to pick up my friends that are white belts!
Saboteur: Makes sense. Nevertheless! I wouldn’t worry about how we’re getting across town, I have just the guy…
Action Saxton and Saboteur sit in silence for like, a full minute.
Saboteur: I miss this. There’s not much I miss about being a professional wrestler instead of a professional intergalactic assassin for the totalitarian shadow space government like I am now....
Action Saxton: Huh?
Saboteur: But I do miss our adventures sometimes.
Action Saxton: Me too buddy, me too.
Last edited by Lee : 08-14-2017 at 09:59 PM.
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