The following is a special interview with Sean Cruz in his hometown, Galveston, Texas.
Narrator:For most people, today is just another day. The birds are chirping,bees are buzzing, and all is well on Galveston Island. But today is special for our subject, Sean Cruz. Today is his day off, and also his birthday weekend. For his 21st birthday, he's decided to record the events of the day and share it with his friends,family and most importantly, his fans. So, Sean, what do you have planned for today?
Sean: Tonight, I am going to get pissy drunk and do something stupid. But today, I want to spend my birthday with the people I love most, my sisters. We're going to dine at this lovely establishment by the water and chat, gossip and reminisce until they toss us out or close, haha. Then tonight, we hit up the clubs where the aforementioned pissy drunkeness will talk place
Narrator: You're fresh off of a match with Titus, WrestleZone's resident legend. How do you feel?
Sean: Honestly, I'm quite banged up. But I wouldn't have it any other way, because that man gave me the fight of my life. Even though we were battling in front of a sold out crowd, he still had a way of making it feel like we were in a small town gym in the middle of the night. Like he was there to train me personally and it was the highest honor I've received in my time as a WZCW superstar.
Narrator: You'll be delighted to know that the fans loved your match as much as you did. But that begs the question, what does the future have in store for Sean Cruz?
Sean: If I knew I would keep it to myself, but the fact that I don't know makes it exciting. Deep down, I'm hoping for my partner's safe return from his Paradyse Cruz(Sean winks at the camera) so we can reunite and take on the world!
Narrator: That's interesting because rumors are circulating that after your last match you planned on making a solo run to see where that goes.
Sean: That's the problem with rumors,guy. They're usually wrong. Today I turn 21. 21! I'm easily one of the youngest guys on the roster. That means I have all the time in the world for a solo run. Win or lose, I have a lot of fun with Armando, and I would like to team with him for as long as he's willing.
Narrator: That type of selflessness is hard to come by in a business like this. I believe most people would applaud you for that. But, if it's not for the prestige or wins or titles, then why do you do it?
Sean: Easy. I do it because when I'm in that ring, I'm free. I feel like I can fly, and with thousands of people cheering me on, it's to not jump off that top rope just to try it. Going through that curtain and hearing my music hit is a dream come true, and that's all I will ever need. Besides enough money to cover the costs of living. I call myself the billionaire playboy for a very good reason.It's been great to have you here, but I've gotta go get a pretty and catch up with the girls!
Narrator: Always a pleasure,don't hesitate to call us up for another entry.
The scene opens with a shot of a dark gym. Most of the gyms lights are off but in the corner, a light remains on. The occasional grunt of anger can be heard as the figure pauses in pounding the punching bag.
Click for Spoiler:
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! There's some brief panting before the pounding of the punching bag continues.
I gave it my all and it wasn't good enough. Now I train to break through my barriers. To break through my limitations. To break through my restrictions.
The camera pans round into the light and a figure with their back to the camera can be seen punching on the bag. The camera pauses for a moment before panning away again.
All to raise my the level of my best. To be something different. To be SOMEONE different.
Once again the camera pans the room and this time the figure is doing push ups. It soon pans away again.
Brawling got me nowhere. I had to refine my game. I had to retrain. Relearn. Re-perfect...
This time there are clips shown of two men fighting in the gym's ring. The clips show a man applying an armbar, hitting multiple arm drags and using a backbreaker/neckbreaker combo.
Now I'm nearly ready to make my return. Make my return to WZCW and this time I'll start from the ground up.
We see clips from the WZCW Divisions, going from Ty Burna to Sam Smith to StanTime to Blade and finally stopping at Alex Bowen.
I will work my way up the ladder. On the way to the top I'll settle old scores. I may even make a few new enemies.
Pictures of all the WZCW roster flash on the screen going through the roster one by one.
Most importantly though I'll win. Win my matches, the fans and WZCW Titles.
The pictures suddenly pick up pace and the final picture of Ty Burna can be seen just then the figure emerges into the light.
I am Bradley Bomb and I'm coming back to WZCW.
Brad Bomb's entrance music Becoming The Bull hits, his head is fully shaven and grins at the camera. He turns and puts his hand over the camera fading it to black. Then Meltdown 63/Ascension 38 burns across the screen before exploding to end the clip.
Darren Bull's music hits out of nowhere.
You see him with a huge smile in his face. While the crowd just boos him. He does his regular entrance and asks for a mic.
Now lets get down with it and why I am here tonight. But how cares cause all you people just wanted to see my handsome face.
Heavy boos start to come onto Darren's way.
All you can shut up cause some huge news.
Now the boos have grown louder.
You know what I don't care right now cause I hhave something big to say. I am here to announce that my debut will be in shortly of 3 weeks time.
The crowd is now shocked of the announcement.
That is right all of you ugly people. I will deput soon and will go down in history as the best debut ever. So, technical people cue my theme now.
Pumped Up Kicks plays while Darren leaves with a huge smile in his face.
The scene opens up with Alex Bowen standing on top of his long dinner table. It sets in the grand hall of his small but regal castle. The whole hall is a mess, weapons massed in corners. Paper and wood are strewn across the floor. Bowen is standing in his usual attire, but at his feet half a dozen gas cans stand filled to the brim. His crown and a white piece of paper are the only things next to the cans of liquid destruction. As Bowen looks across the room he nods.. Grabbing a can he hops down off the table and opens the top. Nonchalantly walking, he tips the can and a trail of gas starts to flow behind him. Stopping here and there he dumps more and more of the flammable liquid over the floor and items in the room. Repeating the process a few times the whole room is nothing more than a death trap. Bowen grabs his crown and the piece of paper and puts it in the pocket of his leather jacket. Looking around the room he smiles and grabs the final smallest gas can left on the large table.
Walking up the the large doors that protect the entrance of the halls, Bowen slowly opens them. Turning around he takes one last look at the scene he has set. He throws up and arm as he turns around and waves away the past. As we walk past the huge doors, we notice a long rope leading outside. Presumably dipped in more gas or another flammable liquid. Bowen slowly makes his way out to the end of the rope and stops. He drops the small gas can on the ground and on the way back up he looks to his castle. Looking back at it Bowen manages to crack a small smile.
Alex- The past is the past, I don't need a rematch. They can have it, I'll let Justin Cooper, Cruz and Armando ruin what I built up. Nothing matters anymore, I've become nothing more than a joke.
Putting his hand in his pocket the former champion takes out his crown. He tosses it to the ground, slowly looking at it he beings to shake. With one motion he drives his boot into the crown, it deforms and cracks. He spits on the former memory of himself.
Alex- I don't give a damn for anyone, and no one gives a damn for me. None of them will walk with me in hell.
Leaning down he grabs the can and unscrews the top of it. Holding the red canister about neck height, he tips it and a small amount of liquid flows out of the can on his shirt and down his pants. Slowly shaking Bowen tips the can back and tries to think. He drops the can and masses of liquid start to pool around his feet. Reaching in the pocket we can only start to think the worst.
Alex- This is my path to ruin...
Our thoughts can be put to rest, as Bowen pulls out a folded piece of paper he put in his pocket earlier. Unfolding it we can see a picture on the paper. A man, a man that has haunted Bowen since his very first match back in Wzcw.
Alex- I don't need people to further my life. I only need myself, I will show you all that I have mastered. Fear, pain, hatred, power. You laughed at me last year during the Roulette matches Holmes. Now I will laugh as I spit on your gave. I do have a purpose. You now have something that I want, up until now you weren’t worth the sweat to go after. Smith or whoever is up at the top of your division can stand in my way. If they want I will make their life a living hell to. Because for fifteen years I didn't just run hardcore matches. I learned a trade, a trade of pain. I will make you tap, or I will snap your spine. This is Alex Bowen, the Alex Bowen that everyone in the company should have prayed never came to light. You've all set back and watched the amount of pain I can take. Without weapons do you really think anyone in the company will be able to inflict anything to keep me down? I have a purpose now, I have something to keep me busy. I'm coming for you....
Bowen steps back away from the puddle of gas that has formed around his feet. As he balls up the paper he tries to light the lighter. Finally a flame flickers from the old silver zippo. Bowen puts the flame to the paper and it catches. Looking down at it as the flame engulfs the paper, and he finally throws it. The ball of flames makes almost direct contact with the rope that leads into the gas covered death trap. A evil snake of flame starts to slither to the castle. Bowen walks away from the blaze that is sure to start, as the scene closes out the flame from the rope reaches the open doors. A bright light can be seen from inside the castle doors and the cameras fade.
~ The scene begins with children running down a long stretch of street. They begin to chase each other around a little area but soon come to a stop. The sight that has frozen them with fear is the appearance of Justin Cooper. Slowly Cooper bends down to his knees and tells the children the run along home. The group of children run home on command just like dogs would do for their master. Cooper now heads toward his home with Vladimir following behind him. The two men enter a small house which looks like is in the beginning stages of renovation. They enter the house and make their way to the living room area. The inside isn’t in the best shape but the condition of the house seems to be the last thing on the mind of Cooper. Both men take a seat across from each other.
Justin Cooper: Thing aren’t going to plan Vladimir, it seems at every turn something else manages to ruin my plans. I haven’t worked this hard to have my plans ruined by some fool who pretends to be a ladies man. I… … we cannot afford to start again with this Vladimir; I need this to go perfectly.
Vladimir: I know sir but how were we supposed to know Armando Paradyse would beat Alex? We were certain that Bowen was going to win and you would face him once more.
Justin Cooper: It was all speculation Vladimir and that is where you went wrong. If people see us making mistakes we could have a revolt, our people could turn on us. We put up this front about being the best and being superior but if mistakes like this are made again then thirty years worth of work is out the window. The faith I have instilled into the men and women of The High Society is strong but defeat can weaken even the strongest of minds. We need to come up with a plan to regenerate the people. They need to know that we are still in control and just because Armando threw a spanner into the works doesn’t mean that we are ruined.
~ The two men sit in silence for a moment before Vladimir speaks up.
Vladimir: What about Leon Kensworth? The reporter for WZCW, why don’t we get him to do an interview with you?
Justin Cooper: You know how I feel about bringing outsiders into our society Vladimir. If we bring him into our stronghold then what does it say to our people? They will see this as a weakness and us needing to depend on the outside world. We can’t allow people to see that nor can we allow them to think of the outside world as helpers who can be used for the greater good. What we need to do is send a message to not only our people but to everyone on this planet. Even when the path changes The High Society always finds the end.
Vladimir: Sir I understand that but if we have Leon Kensworth come in here you can get a message across to millions. Soon enough more people will be preaching the word of Justin Cooper and The High Society. Believe me sir having Leon come in will achieve great things for us.
~ Cooper ponders the request from Vladimir, he questions the pros and the cons on having an outsider come into the bordered off society.
Justin Cooper: Fine but I want him restricted to this building and I mean that. He is not to roam around our society or to speak to anyone besides me. I want no cameras inside the area and I want him guarded on his way to this house. He is not to interact with anyone under any circumstance you hear?
Vladimir: Completely sir.
Justin Cooper: Good because I don’t care if the house is on fire, nobody talks to him.
Vladimir: I’ll make the call now boss.
~ The scene ends with Vladimir heading outside to make the phone call while Justin ponders his decision. For the first time ever Justin Cooper will have a sit down interview with WZCW reporter Leon Kensworth.
A dirty man sets in front of us. An old, worn combat green coat covers his chest. A name patch reading Bowen sets across his chest. His hair is mottled, a rough beard covers his face. It's obvious that Mr. Bowen hasn't been taking care of himself. The room is musty and old, a single string hangs down from a bare bulb. Even the light coming from the unknown wattage seems to dim.
Alex- I am Rechte Hand des Todes, mano destra della morte, la main droite de la mort. In any language it is all the same. I am death's right hand. They told me after I burnt all that was left of my old life that I needed to take time off. That I was to unstable to wrestle. Obviously Dr. Coons finally got to them. I thought I was done with him, I don't even know if it was him. Or if they just want to protect the locker room as a whole. But, what I do know is they what they told me. They said, I was suspended indefinitely. Rightfully so, because they wouldn't want to see what I would do to Armando, and then to Holmes.
Bowen reaches in his pants pocket, finding what he was looking for he pulls out a crumpled soft pack of cigarettes. He flips one up, putting it in his mouth. Reaching in his breast pocket, right below his name tag he pulls out a lighter. The smoke from the stick only makes the room more hazy. As if it needed anything like that in the first place.
Alex- They want to keep the locker room safe, but all they are doing is delaying me from taking everything that I want. I don't want the mayhem title, it was only holding me back. I've proved that I can do it all with weapons. I now need to prove that I can be a master of pain, and death's hand without them.
Bowen points to the camera, with his cigarette in hand. He is shaking as he points.
Alex- You are only buying yourself time Wzcw. Only time separates me from taking everything from everyone. When you let me back in, I will unleash hell. Ty Burna can have his cronies, and can have his board. But he has nothing that I do, I have a purpose. All you are doing is bottling up my hate, bottling up my ways. You know what happens to a bottle when you open it after you shake it? All the shit you don't want flows out.
Bowen stands up, he is just inches from hitting his head on the lone light bulb in the process. His whole body is shaking, talking at almost a growl.
Alex- You get me! You get what you didn't want in the first place!
Bowen pounds his smoking hand to his chest. The cherry explodes off in multiple directions, and the cigarette is now mashed against his fingers. Bits of the ember are now burning his hand. Bowen doesn’t seem to notice.
Alex- You get what I want to give you, I don't want ratings for you. I want retribution for all the hacks who are placed higher on the card than me. All the people who sat on their ass. and got a nice cushy spot on the docket. They got to set while I had to beat up rookies, robots, and QUITTERS! I will not stop until I mince everyone in your precious locker room to dust. I started with the mayhem division. My time there is over, but now I MOVE ON! Masses of men will fall in my wake, only the strongest will survive. I am the strongest, the toughest man in Wzcw. When I come back I will reclaim that spot. You all will be walking the path to extinction, you all can watch as your company burns to the ground. Wzcw will be reaping what it's sewn soon enough, until then you can spin your wheels endlessly. I will see you all soon.
Bowen flicks his hand, a bit of skin and the cigarette pulls away. He looks at the camera with wild eyes. An evil grin crosses his dirty face as he reaches up and pulls the string to the only light in the room.
Hey guys - thought you might be interested in my RP which was sent in private to creative for this Roulette round. Here it is! Enjoy.
The sound of distant sirens, of horns honking, of people shouting, of the life and vitality of a city can be heard pulsing all around, standing in stark contrast to this dead place in an unfashionable end of Cleveland, Ohio. Once, this was the most exciting place in the city, filled with the trendiest clubs, the hottest restaurants, and the finest in night-time entertainment. But the glory of this place is gone. The buildings are boarded up, there are no cars, no people laughing and waiting to get into the club, no music pounding. All that remains are faded signs, dust, and the bright, glaring sunlight, washing over the dead place and highlighting in vivid detail its degradation.
In the heart of this, in an abandoned lot in front of an old, run down building in even worse repair than its neighbors, an unfamiliar sound is heard. Tires on gravel, the low purr of an engine, the crack of a sharp turn. An old dog looks up, wondering at the noise. The car rounds a corner and comes into view, driving onto the empty lot. An expensive black sedan, pulling up in front of the building. It comes to a stop.
Becky Serra exits the passenger side, while two cameramen empty from the back seat. Becky leans back in briefly to thank the driver and ask him to wait for her before shutting the door. She surveys the situation briefly. She watches the cameramen scramble to assemble their equipment, takes a look at the old dog at the edge of the lot, wondering if it’s unfriendly. She shivers in the cold and squints her eyes against the sun, uncharacteristically bright on this clear, brisk day. She takes in the sight of the dilapidated old building across from her. There’s nothing recognizable on its outer facade to give an indication of what it is, making her even more nervous of the place. But she had a job to do here, and she had backup. Everything would be fine.
“We’re all ready to go, Miss Serra.”
Becky gives a quick glance to the cameraman, realizing she’d secretly been hoping they’d forgotten something, that they’d have to go back. There’s no avoiding it now, though. She pulls out the strange note that she’d received last week. Assembled in newspaper cutouts and magazine letters, it directed her, by name, to come to this place and bring a camera team. “Something you want to hear” it promised. “Worth your time.”
“It had better be,” she muttered, and gave a terse nod to the cameramen as she made for the building.
Surprisingly, the front door had yet to cave in entirely. She got it open without much effort and stepped into what looked to be some sort of entrance hall. The only exit that wasn’t caved in or otherwise impassable was a large opening to her right. She checked the note for any instructions about where to go in the building, but there were none. She looked back at her cameramen and shrugged, making for the opening.
She stepped into a large room with a gaping hole in the ceiling, letting the sunlight pour through. It illuminated the dusty remains of the massive room. Becky looked up to the ceiling and saw a multitude of birds roosting in the rafters. She gazed about the room and took stock of it. Much of the room looked to have been looted, but a few relics remained. Becky walked up to what looked to be an old slot machine. She gave the arm a pull, but the machine had long since broken. She spied an old craps table, tables for poker and blackjack, a few roulette wheels, all of it in various states of degradation.
“A casino,” one of her cameramen said uselessly.
Becky rubbed her temples. She felt a headache coming on. “Roulette week, and someone calls me to a casino in the middle of nowhere. How delightfully original.” She heaves a deep sigh.
“Sorry,” a voice ring out from the shadows.
Becky’s head snaps up, alert. She tried to place the voice. It seemed terribly familiar, but it felt like it had been ages since she heard it.
“What, you don’t recognize my voice? I thought we were friends, Becky.”
Becky whirls about as she hears footsteps. Emerging from a small side room she hadn’t noticed before, a room that was probably once used for chip exchanging, was a man of average height, average weight, wearing disheveled clothing. He had short black hair, a beard that seemed to be growing out of control, but she looked at his face, and suddenly, she remembered…
Drake Callahan gives a huge, crooked grin. “Did you miss me?”
Becky looks dumbfounded. “Drake, I can’t believe this! It’s been two years since you disappeared! Where have you been? None of us had any idea where you’d gone…”
Drake just keeps smiling and puts his hands on Becky’s shoulders.
“Becky, it’s one hell of a story. But first things first. Do you want a drink?”
Becky just keeps looking at Drake in amazement, jaw open and eyes wide.
“Two years since anyone has heard anything from you, and the first thing you have to say is to offer me a drink?!”
Drake looks puzzled. “Did…did you expect differently?”
Becky barks a short laugh. “No, I guess not. No, I can’t drink, I’m here on business.” She raises an eyebrow. “Am I here on business?”
Drake retreats to the small room and emerges lugging a cooler. He sets the cooler on the table and hops up alongside it, motioning for Becky to sit on a table across from him. He opens the cooler, which is, predictably, filled with beer. He grabs one, cracks it open, and starts drinking in one fluid, practiced motion. He drinks about half before sighing contentedly.
“You sure are, Becky. This is my official announcement.” He grins wider than ever, his eyes shining bright. “I’m coming back, Becky.”
Becky just shakes her head, still shocked. “Drake…that’s great, but where have you been? Two years without any contact. Half of WZCW has written you off for dead, figured you’d collapsed in a ditch drunk or something.”
Drake looks to the sky wistfully. “Ah, the finest death. If only. No, not yet, Becky, I still have work to do. I’ll tell you where I’ve been, Becky, but it’s a long story. Camera dudes, can you set up? You’re going to want to get this.”
The cameramen begin setting up. Drake holds his bottle in both hands, staring at it deeply. Becky runs a hand through her hair as she watches Drake.
“Are you alright, Drake? You seem…different.”
“The last two years have taken me to some pretty dark places, Becky. It’s not a pretty story.”
Becky swallows nervously. She looks at the cameramen, and they nod at her.
“We’re ready when you are, Miss Serra.”
“Right. Well…let’s begin.” She clears her throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am here in Cleveland, Ohio, with breaking news. I am joined at this time by former Mayhem and Eurasian Champion, Drake Callahan, who has just announced to me his intentions to return to WZCW at the upcoming roulette editions of television.” The cameras shift to Drake and he raises the bottle, giving a weak grin.
“Drake, the question on everybody’s mind is – where have you been?”
“Well, Becky…it all begins on Meltdown…”
A dark room in the back of the arena. Only a tiny sliver of moonlight comes through a skylight, dimly illuminating a casket. A muffled pounding is heard.
“Hey! Let me out of here!”
The pounding continues.
“Seriously, it is pretty uncomfortable in here!”
The pounding goes on, getting more aggressive.
The pounding stops for a moment.
“Maybe…maybe I’m dead? I mean, generally they only put dead people in caskets. And I am in a casket. So…it’d make sense, right? But I don’t remember dying. I think it’s usually pretty painful. Admittedly, Showtime ripping a hole in my forehead was pretty painful, but I don’t think I died. Then again, I’ve never been dead before, how would I know? But wait…maybe…maybe I’ve been dead all along! Like that guy, in that movie!”
Footsteps are heard and a light switch is turned on. A janitor enters the room with a mop and bucket. He looks at the casket.
The pounding resumes.
“Help! I’m Bruce Willis!”
The janitor jumps up wildly. “What?! Who’s there!”
“Me! I’m in this casket! It’s very dark, and I might be dead!”
“For the love of Pete…”
The janitor grudgingly walks over to the casket and opens the lid. Drake Callahan is inside, looking wild eyed. His head is also covered in blood from the events of the night.
“Jesus! Look at you. You need medical attention!”
Drake clambers out of the casket, unsteady on his feet.
“No, that’s quite alright, I’m dead.”
“You are not dead, you’re just daft as a piece of driftwood.”
“No, you’re thinking of Ricky.”
The janitor stares at him, befuddled.
Drake begins pinching himself. “Hm. Can dead people feel pinches? For that matter, can they walk?”
“Usually not, no…”
“Hmmm. I may just be a very exceptional dead person.”
“You can’t be dead, fool! They just put you in a casket! That wackjob wrestler did it to you. You’re fine.”
Drake looks at the janitor very critically. “Are you quite certain, in your professional medical opinion, that I’m not dead?”
“Are you loony? I am a janitor!”
Drake continues looking critically. The janitor just swallows a few times. He decides that he just wants to finish his work and get home.
“Alright, yes, in my professional medical opinion, you are not dead."
Drake beams. “Excellent! Then, can you direct me to the nearest hospital? I’ll be needing immediate medical atten-“
Drake promptly faints from blood loss. The janitor groans.
“I don’t get paid enough for this...”
“So, they took you to the hospital?”
“Yeah. I woke up in the emergency room the next evening. Stone sober, of course, which was the terrifying part. When I learned they wouldn’t give me any alcohol, I booked it out of that joint and went in search of the nearest liquor store…”
Cars zoom by on the streets of the city as Drake wanders the sidewalks. He appears to be in a bad part of town. Most of the buildings are boarded up, and the ones that aren’t have suspicious looking figures in front of them. Nearly all of them eye Drake suspiciously as he stumbles along, bandaged heavily, mumbling about booze.
“Gotta be beer around here…wine, even…I’ll drink mildly fermented apple juice at this point…gasoline…”
He rounds a corner in his sober haze, only to encounter a group of African-American gentlemen. He stumbles into the lead man and they both fall over.
“What the hell?! Watch where you’re going, foo’!”
Drake stumbles up to his feet as the group of men eye him angrily.
“Hey! You ain’t even gonna apologize? Who you think you are, cracka’?!”
Drake looks at the man, blearily. “I’m…not a saltine…”
“You think you funny, cracka?!”
“S’how I pay the bills…”
The group of men look at each other incredulously. The lead gentleman grabs Drake by the throat.
“Do you know who we are? Do you know who I am? This is Grove Street territory, sucka, and you in the wrong part of town.”
“Grove Street…is there a liquor store there?”
The man holding Drake by the throat looks incredulous, but suddenly, a booming laughter rings out from a nearby doorway.
“CJ, let him go. I like this boy.”
The man backs off Drake as a hulking figure emerges from a shadowy doorway.
“Yeah, sure thing, boss.”
The big man comes to stand in front of Drake.
“I think I know you, boy. From the TV.”
“I’ve…been known to make appearances.”
The man laughs deeply again.
“Come on back with me to my place, son. We got a party going on tonight. All the beer you can want.”
Drake has a look on his face of pure ecstasy.
“Surely…you are a god. Let me worship you.”
He promptly falls to his knees and passes out. The big man laughs again.
“CJ, carry this boy back to the party. He’s a celebrity, you know.”
CJ looks angry for a moment, but a harsh stare from the boss sets him straight. “Whatever you say, boss.”
It’s Becky’s turn to look incredulous.
“So, you passed out twice in a 24 hour span, and then fell in with a street gang?”
“You sound like you don’t believe me.”
“I’m more inclined to believe you got stone drunk and imagined half of this.”
Drake grins. “Well, this is only the beginning…”
Drake stirs groggily on a couch in a back room. “Beer…beer…for the love of all the Brewers in Milwaukee, beer…”
Suddenly, he finds a cold bottle thrust into his hand. He promptly chugs it down, half of it pouring down his chin and all over the couch. “Sweet nectar of the gods…” He finishes the beer and sits up, feeling stronger. He sees the big man from earlier, sitting at a table, playing poker with a few of the other gentlemen.
“I remember you…God?”
The whole table starts laughing.
“Flattered, but you can call me Hank. You want another one?”
“Sweet Jesus, yes.”
Hank hands Drake another beer, which he promptly downs half of, more orderly this time. He wipes his mouth. Feeling the alcohol flow through his veins, his head clears. He takes stock of the situation.
“That’s my name, son. And you are Drake Callahan.”
“Uhh…yes. You know me?”
“From the TV. You’re a wrestler, right? I saw you get beat up the other night. It was pretty bad.”
Drake grimaces and puts a hand to his head.
“You’re telling me.”
“Must have knocked you pretty damn silly, to have you go wandering in the wrong part of town looking for beer.”
Drake nods. “Apparently.”
“You know how much trouble you were in? If I hadn’t been there, you were in for a world of hurt, buddy.”
“Johnny Saint was going to beat me up?!”
The men at the table exchange glances. Hank shrugs.
“Anyway. I saved you because I like you, and I think you’re a funny guy. But you’re gonna pay it back to me.”
“Sure, sure…well…I haven’t got any money…and I don’t know any phone numbers…I’m not even certain what city I’m in. So, uh…I guess…I can, err, get back to you on that?”
Hank laughs again. “No, son, you gonna work this off. I need a guy to move some sugar. You down?”
Drake lights up. “Oh, man, yeah, I love sugar! I always dreamed of being Willy Wonka when I was a kid.”
Hank and the rest of the man have fits of laughter. “Yeah, you gonna be a regular Willy Wonka, moving all this sugar, kid. Let me fill you in…”
Becky has her head in her hands.
“Drake? I’ll take that drink now.”
He grabs a beer and opens it, handing it to her. She drinks deeply.
“You’re telling me you started selling crack?”
Drake looks defensive.
“Hey! I had no idea what crack was until the trial.”
“Look, I’m getting ahead of myself. I thought I was selling people sugar, alright?”
“What did you think a bunch of people on the streets needed sugar from you in a back alley for?”
“I thought it was really good sugar, and they needed it to win a pie making contest!”
Becky narrows her at him. He drinks and looks away sheepishly.
“It’s not unreasonable. Everybody likes pie. Even gangsters.”
“Just…just go on.”
A dark alley is only dimly illuminated by the light of a single streetlamp from the opposite side of the street. Drake Callahan is wearing sunglasses, a long dark overcoat, black gloves, and black boots. A man walks by the entrance to the alley. Drake tenses. The man walks back again, looks in. He nods four times and snaps his fingers, the agreed upon code.
Drake nods three times and claps his hands. The man looks relieved and enters the alley.
“You’re…the Lake Erie Monster?”
“That is what they call me. I have no need for such names,” he says, trying to sound tough and mysterious.
“And...you have the goods?”
“That depends. Do you have the money?”
The man goes into his coat and pulls out a stack of hundreds. Drake grabs it, flips through it idly, praying that it was the right amount because he had no idea how to count that high.
“This is acceptable. You are making a very large transaction, tonight. You must be baking a lot of cookies.”
The man raises an eyebrow. “Is that some kind of code?”
“I don’t know, you asked me.”
“I understand. You’re making brownies, not cookies.”
“Err…yes. Brownies. A lot of brownies.”
“Then you will be pleased to know this is the finest quality sugar that can be obtained from Colombia.”
“Good, good. Can I see it?”
Drake goes behind a dumpster and grabs a briefcase. He opens it. The briefcase is filled with bags of cocaine.
“You could bake a lot of pies with these. Make a lot of cakes. Even cupcakes, if that’s your thing.”
“Uh…yeah.” The man starts to look nervous, and glances over his shoulder.
“Is something wrong?”
Suddenly, a police car pulls up with sirens blaring. The man pulls a gun.
“You are under arrest!”
Drake looks up wildly. “What?! There’s nothing above me.”
“I am placing you under arrest!”
“I don’t see an arrest anywhere in the vicinity!”
“I’m not resisting anything!”
The officer, frustrated, grabs Drake and forces him to the ground. Drake now begins to thrash wildly.
“Help! Help! I need an adult!”
“Jesus, shut up! You’re selling cocaine! What’s wrong with you?!”
“I’m selling sugar!”
The cop handcuffs Drake and steps up. “Yeah, sure, you’re just baking pies all day. Tell it to the judge.”
“Okay! Where is he?”
Becky has finished her first beer and started in on another.
“So, you got arrested. For selling drugs.” She shakes her head.
“I didn’t know it was illegal! No one told me.”
“You didn’t think it was suspicious that you sold at night, using secret codes, dressed all in black?”
“I thought it was fun…I liked playing secret agent.”
Becky just keeps shaking her head.
“So, how’d they find you?”
“Turns out they’d busted the whole operation earlier in the evening. They’d been targeting us for a while.”
“So, they took you to court?”
“They sure did…”
The courtroom is filled with people buzzing about the huge gang bust. Today was the trial of the dreaded Lake Erie Monster, said to be the biggest cocaine dealer in the entire city…
“All rise for the Honorable Judge Edwards!”
Everyone in the court room rises, except for Drake, who is inexplicably fiddling with a toy dinosaur. His defense attorney nudges him. He looks about wildly, and rises.
The judge enters and commands everyone to be seated. Drake resumes his seat and keeps playing with the dinosaur. The judge looks at Drake with mild annoyance, but he’s heard about this sort of thing.
“We’ve heard the prosecution’s arguments already. Today, we’ll hear from the defense.”
Drake’s attorney rises.
“Your Honor, the prosecution contends that this man is a ruthless cocaine salesman who’s terrorized the streets and corrupted our city with drugs. But I say, your Honor, that this man is a simple, innocent victim, who had no idea of what he was doing, who didn’t even know cocaine was a drug, and who was taken advantage of by a street gang who used his kind nature, charm, and soft head to peddle their drugs. Your Honor, I would like to call to the stand Mr. Drake Callahan.”
Everyone in the court looks at Drake, who, oblivious, makes soft roaring noises as his dinosaur stomps on imaginary people. His attorney clears his throat and Drake looks up.
“Oh! Is this the part where I talk?”
“Yes, Drake. Please have a seat up here.”
Drake gets up.
“Leave the dinosaur.”
Drake looks crushed.
Drake sullenly puts down the dinosaur and takes a seat in the witness stand, shooting angry glances at his attorney. The bailiff brings the Bible before him and instructs him to place his hand on it and raise his other.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
Drake glances at his attorney. His attorney nods, and Drake winks back in a way that can be described as the exact opposite of subtle. “I do.”
Suddenly, he gasps and covers his mouth. His attorney looks perplexed.
“Drake, what is it?”
“I said ‘I do’…”
“You did. You did a very good job, Drake.”
“No, no, that means…that means we’re married!”
The courtroom erupts in laughter as the bailiff blushes red. The judge bangs his gavel.
“Mr. Callahan, I can assure you, as a judge of this great state, you are not legally wed to the bailiff.”
Drake looks immensely relieved. “Oh, thank you, sir.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that, sir.”
The courtroom erupts in laughter again as the judge bangs his gavel once more. Drake’s attorney winces.
“Drake, you’re supposed to address the judge as ‘Your Honor’.”
“Oh! Sorry, my Honor – I mean, your Honor.”
The judge rubs his eyes and waves for the attorney to carry on.
“Drake, can you please tell us what it was you’ve been doing for the last several months?”
“Sure! I was selling sugar.”
“What kind of sugar?”
“Good stuff. From Colombia. Makes the best pies in town, trust me, I’ve tried them.” He licks his lips.
“Drake, what if I told you that you were in fact selling crack cocaine?”
“Oh, I know that.”
The prosecution looks overjoyed as Drake’s attorney looks crestfallen.
“Drake, are you sure about that?”
“Sure! I was selling crack cocaine sugar. Cane sugar, from Craco,
Colombia. The very best!”
“What if I told you that you were, in fact, selling an illegal drug?”
Drake looks shocked. “But…sugar’s not illegal! I mean, sure, it rots your teeth out, I know that, but it’s not illegal…”
“Drake, what if I informed you that you were not selling sugar at all?”
Drake looks even more puzzled. “I…but why would everyone call it sugar?”
“Sugar is a common slang term for cocaine, Drake.”
“Maybe people should be more clear about their definitions!"
The courtroom erupts in laughter once again. The judge can only put his head in hands.
“Your Honor, I think I’ve made it apparent that Mr. Callahan had no idea what he was doing and does not deserve to be convicted of any criminal charges. I rest my case.”
Becky has knocked back two beers and waves away a third.
“So, what happened?”
“I was telling the truth, and they believed me. The judge let me off.”
“So what next? Did you fly to the moon? Become an international rock star? Have gender reassignment surgery?”
“I called Max!”
“See, I had a cell phone that had everyone’s numbers, but it got left behind that night at the arena. So I had no idea how to communicate with anyone, and I got caught up in the drugs and the trial for months...”
“How’d you find him, then?”
“He was on TV! He started up a full scale agency for athletes. He was on TV advertising for it, and I called him up."
Drake is in a phone booth. He deposits a few coins into the slot and dials a number.
“This is Max Powers Agency, the best in professional sports management, my name is Stacy, how can I help you?”
“Hi! I’m Drake, Drake Callahan, me and Max go way back, can you put him on?”
“Sir, I’m afraid Mr. Powers is quite busy…”
“Look, let him know I’m on the line, okay? He’ll want to talk to me, we’re best friends.”
“Please hold, sir.”
A few moments pass. Then, a voice on the other line.
“Who is this?!”
“Max! Drake, Drake Callahan, how are you?”
“You son of a bitch, how dare you?”
“You ran out on me a year and a half ago and left me with nothing! I had to rebuild my company from nothing because of you, and now that I’m finally on my way back to the top, you have the nerve to call me?!”
“Max, wait, you don’t understand, I’ve been on adventures…”
“I don’t give a damn about your adventures! You’re a useless bum and you’re never going anywhere in wrestling! I have bigger fish to fry than you. Never call me again.”
Drake lets the phone fall out of his hand as he looks utterly distraught. He exits the phone booth, looking lost.
Becky has sat up now, paying closer attention.
“Drake, I’m so sorry…”
“It’s okay, Becky. I just…I thought Max was my friend. I thought I could call him up, and we’d go back to WZCW together, and everything would be like it was…”
He drinks again, thinking.
“I got into a bad place for a while. I stopped thinking about anything. Just woke up, ate, drank, slept. For weeks. All I could think about was how Max told me I was useless, and I was never going anywhere.”
Becky only listens, not sure of what to say.
“I felt sorry for myself for so long, but then…I was walking down the street, one day, and there was a TV in the window, and it was showing WZCW. And I saw…I saw Ty with the world championship, I saw Showtime in the main event, and all I could think about was that I was with them, I was rising to the top with them, but I lost my way. But I could have done it, I could have been where they were, you know? And that inspired me. And I thought about Max, and I didn’t feel sorry anymore, I felt angry, because he was wrong. I could go somewhere in this business. I was going somewhere. I got sidetracked, but…I can get back. I knew that. So I hit the gym. I got back into shape. I did this by myself the first time, I didn’t need anyone else to get back. And then, last week…”
The office of Chuck Myles is posh and well ordered. Chuck himself is scrawling some note or another for business.
His secretary comes on the intercom.
“Sir? Your 2:30 is here.”
“Thanks, show him in.”
The door opens and Chuck looks up. He lets out a long whistle.
“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.”
“Hi, Chuck,” Drake says as he enters the room.
“You might have dressed for a business meeting. Or shown up sober.”
Drake looks down at his disheveled, informal clothing.
“I won a couple of championships drunk, you know. I figured I could handle a meeting with a few in me.”
Chuck barks a harsh laugh. “Yeah, I guess you can. So, what, you want back in the game?”
“Well, too bad. Your time’s past, kid. You were hot once, sure. Might have been world champ if you stuck around. But you’re old news now, just a washed up never was who thinks a Eurasian championship is a big deal. It ain’t.”
Drake smiles sadly. “Why did you hire me in the first place, Chuck?”
“You were funny. You were different. You looked like you had talent. It helped that that, uh, what’s his name, the Shockmaster, Shock and awe, whatever, he put in a good word. Christ, what did I ever see in that guy?”
“Did you think I would ever be a world champion then, Chuck?”
“No. And I was right.”
“But you just said it yourself. I was on my way.”
Chuck rubs his chin.
“Yeah. Yeah, you were. I guess I never saw that coming.”
“So hire me back, Chuck. Hire me because you were wrong once. Maybe you’ll be wrong again.”
Chuck narrows his eyes and stares harshly at Drake. “Don’t expect a big contract. Not after walking out on us last time.”
“You could pay in Trident layers. I don’t care.”
“Don’t give me ideas, I might just take you up on them. Fine. We got the roulette shows coming up. We’ll throw your name in. You show up, you impress me, you’re in. But it’s a long road back to the top, and the competition is ten times as fierce as it was when you were here.”
Drake gets up and smiles again.
“Thanks, Chuck. I’ll get by.”
He shakes Chuck’s hand and exits the room quietly. Chuck goes back to his papers, but looks up again a moment layer. He shakes his head.
“I’m going to regret this.”
Becky leans back on the table, stretching now that the story is over.
“So, you want us to keep this a secret until after the roulette?”
“I’d appreciate it, m’lady.”
Becky smiles at Drake, remembering the old times. She looks around the old, run down casino.
“So, why this place, Drake?”
“This old casino? Because…because it reminds me of me, I guess.”
He gets up and walks around the old run down casino as Becky watches him, silent.
“This place was filled with life, once. It had everything. Money. Friends. Lights. Power. The whole shebang, Becky, everything you could ever want. And me too, I had all that. I was on top of the world in my day, Becky. Eurasian champion, for all I knew I had a chance at the world championship coming down the line at me. My biggest match, look at it, me and Ty and Showtime, triple threat for the Mayhem and Eurasian titles. We were all going places. Ty got the world title, ran with it like crazy. Showtime, wins the Lethal Lottery, he’ll be a world champion any day. After that match, they went nowhere but up, and I went nowhere but down. I lost everything I had. And this place, it too. It lost its money. It lost its friends. The lights went out. The power was gone. Everyone stopped caring, and everyone stopped caring about me. Even I stopped caring about me. And this place gave up to the dust and the dirt and it fell apart. And I did too.”
He steps near a roulette wheel and gives it a weak spin. Surprisingly, it turns. He smiles.
“We both lived hard and fast, too close to the edge. It cost this place everything. When you live that way, all it takes is once mistake for everything to fall apart. It happened here, and it happened to me. But there’s one difference between me and this building. I still have something. I might be broken, but they haven’t taken everything from me. Not yet. I can rebuild. This place is dead. Me? I’m down, but I’m not out. Almost, but not quite. And that’s enough. Enough to rebuild on. Enough to seek redemption on.”
He fumbles underneath the roulette wheel and comes up with a small, dusty ball. He turns it over in his hand.
“These roulette shows…they’re a chance for me to step back to where I was. They’re perfect. I’m not patient, Becky, I want to be back on the top quick. Maybe I’ll get lucky, huh? Maybe I’ll get a Eurasian title match, step right back to where I was. Or more, even. By the time I’m done, Becky, maybe I’ll be a world champion. No matter what happens, Becky, these shows are the first step for me. The first step on the way back to the top. Maybe I’ll never get there. Maybe I’ll fail again. But maybe not. I could be the best, someday. I’m not a man for planning. I’ll figure it out on the way. And leave a little something to Lady Luck, too.”
Drake spins the wheel and tosses the ball in. He waits to see where it will land, but suddenly, it catches on some piece of debris in the wheel and flies out across the room.
“Yeah. That’s about right.”
He takes the last drink of his beer and sighs contentedly.
“I’ll see you next time, Becky. Maybe I’ll have gold the next time we talk, huh?”
He flashes her a quick smile as he slips out of the building, leaving Becky and the cameramen behind in the dusty old casino. They exit quickly too, leaving the casino behind, with nothing more than the memory of glory.
That's just the tail end of it that didn't fit (I have a 40,000 character max). Feedback appreciated.
The scene opens up in a well lit room. It appears to be a basement, but a rather nice one. It has wrestling mats placed on about half the room. The walls are padded down, and two training dummy are just laying out. A pair of training shorts and wrestling shoes are strewn out across from the training implements. A dull thudding can be heard, the camera man walks toward the noise, the pounding noise gets louder. We can now see a heavy bag swinging from a large timber beam. A smaller sweaty man weaves back and forth in front of the bag. He is hitting it with all his power. Sweat is pouring down the mans back, and we can see it mix with every measure and angle of scars. Alex Bowen turns his head and waves for the man behind the camera to come even closer. Bowen kicks his punches into overdrive for the camera. Every swing he punches harder, until the bag is swinging like a pendulum. With one final blow the former mayhem champion walks away from the still swinging bag. He stops, throwing a hand up to his mouth he rips off the Velcro strip on his glove. Only pausing for a few moments, just to catch his breath. Bowen moves on, dropping his gloves in the process. He walks over to a large standard weight bench. He lays down on the bench, and puts his arms up to match the length of the bar. Slowly closing the gap on the steel length, he raises the pre measured weight off the stops. He quickly pumps the weight up and down. Never stopping, and taking quick breaths as he brings the weight down close to his chest. He quickly pumps out ten, fifteen, and gets past twenty. Bowen is a man bent on getting his quota. We near thirty repetitions of his pre set weight, only then does he start to slow down. He cranks out thirty five, and slowly makes it to closer to forty. But Bowen’s face is turning purple, denying his fatigue he struggles on. Pushing past forty reps Bowen’s arms are shaking. You can count his forty-first rep, but as he drops down for what will be his last his arms go dead. Bowen struggles to put up the weight, but his arms will take no more punishment. Sweat creases his brow, and he lets out a loud guttural growl. But alas, his efforts are for nothing.
Alex- Hey, help!
The camera man quickly drops his camera and goes to aid the wrestler. But another pair of feet step into the scene. A monstrous pair of darkened tan work boots step in front of the bench. The camera man is pushed away, with the hand still in view. We can see that it is almost the size of a catchers mitt. With his back to his camera, the man reaches around and grabs it. Focusing in on the scene we can see a mountain of a man, at least seven feet tall. He grabs the bar as if it were no heavier than a basket of clothes. Alex slowly leans up, his arms are shot. He looks back at the monster standing behind him. The man with long black greasy hair, and a beard that would put a Russian to shame stops and shakes his head. Then cracks a wild smile. Bowen on the other hand starts to stand up, with a fierce look on his face he raises a hand.
Alex- I told you to leave, I never wanted to see you again. What are you doing here.
David- It looks like you needed me more than you think. Do you think that piss ant would of been able to lift that kind of weight off of you?
The larger of the Bowen brothers points a hand to the camera as he starts to laugh.
Alex- You think this is funny don't you?
David- No I told you years ago that I would never leave you, you told me to leave. But now I am back...
Alex- Your word's not worth its weight in shit. What could you possibly want from me David. I'm not afraid of you, just like that time long ago when when we beat Dead End in Apwc. Both seven foot tall sky scrapers, Ale, David. Do you know who he is? I beat him twice by any means necessary. Choked the life out of him, and then he left.
David laughs at Alex's last statement.
David- What? Like how you just lost? I saw that Alexander, don't think I haven't been watching you. I didn't come here to argue with you, I don't need to do that. I know who would win in a fight between us. You might of been older than me, but you and Cory were always afraid of me. Do you remember that time I threw dad through the new wall we put in the front room? You always talk about putting him in the hospital, and how you were the savior of the home. I put that man into a wall, and you brag about going to jail over it. Everyone was afraid of me at home, the whole town. It would of taken a swat team to take me down in school.
Alex seems to regain some of his feeling back in his arms, he pushes himself up and at his larger brother. Getting right in his face, pointing at the monsters nose.
Alex- What, you think a little weight and height scares me David. It's coming up on a month since I lost that match, they almost canned me the night after it. I'm setting back here, setting and training. I remember just steam rolling through everyone. I loved it, but now I have to get bigger. I have to be smarter, and all of Wzcw won't see me coming.
Alex puts up his arms, he flexes his biceps. A very impressive amount of muscle is showing, tone that was missing for years is now starting to show on the former man's arms.
Alex- I am doing everything right this time David, only time is separating me from getting back in the ring. I will be ready, and no one will stop me.
David puts his hand around his brothers shoulder. He turns him around and they start to walk.
David- No one will stop you? You don't have the great equalizer in weapons that you once had in the ring. What you need is something else, I see groups of wrestlers ganging up on people all the time Alex. Ty Burna has them, and even Blade is using a helper. So what do you need?
Alex- I don't need anything David, no one in Wzcw could help me right now.
David stops and turns to his brother, he puts his finger into his left shoulder. Prodding his smaller brother, trying to pick at him.
David- You always were kind of dull, you know that right? Who said anything about anyone in the company. Do you know how you get back in the company sooner? Let me talk to them, let me re assure them that I have you under control. You can't rely on weapons anymore. But you could rely on me, no one would beat us. Do you remember the last time we tried to get in the company together. They were afraid of us, they said no. They will not say no anymore, I'm not going to wrestle. But I will kick the shit out of anyone who tries to mess with your matches. Maybe I will help you along the way, I have no problem with that. We could be brothers in arms again, The Burning Legion could be one again. The brass will dig their own graves if they accept it. Ty Burna is in charge, and I know he isn't that fucking smart.
David Bowen puts his arms around his brother, hugging him as tight as he can. The camera pans to Alex's face, he is smiling. A small series of tears run down his face.
Alex- I never wanted to tell you to go David, I knew when I told you to leave it was the wrong way. I'm sorry
Bowen wipes the tears off his face, he stops and shakes his head at mountain of a brother. Only after putting on a tough face does he start to talk again.
Alex- It's time to trim the fat brother, a cancer needs to be cut out of the company. They are all just running their mouths. I can only do that for now, but my words are not just poison that I throw about. They are a razor to the jugular. An empty barrel always makes the most noise, and that is all I am right now. But the locker room will soon begin to feel my hands around their throats.
Alex- Before I left the company I was in between a black hole, and a super nova. My life was Imploding and expanding simultaneously. But, I am no longer blind. I had been running away for so long, when I finally caught myself there wasn't much left. I was living in a fog, but I am no longer in that cloudy place. I survived myself somehow, what I was before, dead and imprisoned. But now my script's last page is blank, and the medicine is gone. Nothing can cure A sick monster, a twister of dark matter. But I'm no longer a tornado trying to mend the life it shattered. The kings of this company will no longer harm me, they will no longer hold me back. The lights will fade, and this final war will start. The master of destruction, death's right hand will tear everything apart. Your favorites, they are dead. You will pray for your villains to stop me, but none will come raise a hand at me. The Bowen brothers will stop all, or I will stop your heart's beating forever.
The scene slowly fades out after Bowen's last statement.
Dr. Pierce A. Rhodes
The Heart Hospital
16-18 Westmoreland St
Februrary 12th, 2012
Dear Mr. Vance Bateman & Mr. Ty Burna
As I am sure you both are aware, on the 21st day of February 2010, Mac Colville, better known as the wrestler “Rush”, suffered a severe cardiac emergency while wrestling in the ring at the WZCW event “Kingdom Come II”. Immediately following his match, Rush was taken by EMS personnel to the local hospital and entered my care.
After conducting multiple test, it was my diagnoses that “Rush” had suffered a simultaneous anterior and inferior myocardial infarction due to an occlusion of the left anterior descending coronary artery. In layman’s term, the human heart consists of four main chambers on two sides. The right side of the heart works to deliver blood to the heart and lungs; while the left side works much harder to deliver blood to the remainder of the body such has kidneys, liver, etc. “Rush” had multiple blockages in the coronary artery, which prevented the blood from leaving the heart to the rest of the body, causing a buildup of blood in the heart, and in turn, forcing the right side of his heart to work harder.
Not only is this severe cardiac emergency career threatening, but it is also highly life threatening as well.
Once “Rush’s” vitals were stable, he remained in my care in the Cardiology Department at The Heart Hospital where we agreed on preforming a double coronary artery bypass surgery on the patient. The procedure for such a surgery is quite drastic: We remove arteries and veins from elsewhere on the patient’s body, in this case, they were removed from the patient’s leg. We then open up the patient’s chest cavity and stop the heart, in order to graft the former leg arteries & veins to the patient’s coronary arteries to bypass any atherosclerotic narrowing and improve the blood supply to the coronary circulation supplying the myocardium (heart muscle). The surgery, while a lengthy process, was ultimately very successful.
I remained as “Rush’s” primary physician during the course his recovery from the surgical procedure and current physical rehabilitation where various test have been conducted on a regular basis. Throughout the testing process, “Rush” has been preforming with extraordinary results. His cardiovascular system, agility, and muscle strength is not only well above any past patient that has experienced a similar cardiac trauma, but “Rush” has commented on multiple occasions that he is preforming quicker and stronger than he has in a number of years. Needless to say, the extended time away from a professional wrestling ring has been done wonders for allowing “Rush’s” body a much needed rest from the constant damage and pain it was suffering.
Along with the rigorous physical testing, “Rush” has also been subjected to constant mental testing where he continues to demonstrate intense focus, drive and determination. My chief complaint and only true concern during this mental testing lies in “Rush’s” new found state of aggression. While this aggression complements his intensity and furthers his drive and determination, his aggressive behavior often comes at the expense of other patients and my staff.
Despite the thirty plus years of the effects of wrestling to his body, the initial and severe cardiac emergency suffered in the ring, as well as the invasive procedure that took place, it is in my professional opinion that “Rush” is both physically and mentally prepared to once again compete in a professional wrestling ring on a regular schedule. I have no hesitations in medically clearing “Rush” to return to action as he has proven to no longer pose any risk to himself, I do however fear the wellbeing of all of those who oppose him in the ring and wish them all the luck.
If you have any questions, or wish to discuss this further, please do not hesitate to contact my office at (020) 3456 7898.
Dr. Pierce A. Rhodes
Senior Cardiac Physician & Chief Cardiac Surgeon
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