October 2011
Generic rural wilderness, Kentucky
Just outside of Backwards Hick-ville, Kentucky
The scene opens among the trees. From this vantage, an untouched, almost serene forest extends beyond the comprehension of the naked human eye. Although the day's light is having a difficult time penetrating the unfettered nature, this scene is clearly unfolding while the sun is up. A light breeze causes shuffling among many of the fallen, colourful leaves which have begun to litter the forest floor. Fall has undoubtedly arrived.
Disturbing the relative silence produced by the elements is a distant whistling. The off-tune shrieking seems to be coming from multiple sources. As the whistling grows louder, it begins to sound vaguely like a segment of the Russian ballet Swan Lake. More and more the volume of the “music” rises until three figures walk past a tree and into our view.
The tallest figure is the man standing at the far left of the group, dragging sled loaded with luggage behind him. The man has a relatively slender figure, overgrown black hair, and a meager, patchy beard. Most of his clothes appear to have been made of whatever discarded material he happened upon in his travels, sewn together by hands unpractised in such domestic matters. The only article of clothing which breaks from this form is an outer garment draped over his shoulders which is covered in an unidentifiable fur. Distinct, proud, and adorned in a lively grin, this man is recognizable to longtime WZCW fans as the Ugandan Wildman, Hunter Kravinoff.
Beside Kravinoff is a homely, stocky blonde woman in her mid-thirties. She is adorned in the tackiest outerwear your local urban outfitter has to offer, and is holding hands with a boy of around twelve years old. The boy is also blonde, his hair messy and unkempt, but in a more stylish, deliberate fashion than the mane of the man who used to be WZCW's greatest big game hunter. As the the woman keeps a watchful, almost longing eye on Kravinoff, the boy stares dejectedly into the distance. His whistling is markedly less enthusiastic than that of his travel companions. After a brief moment in our view, the boy stops dead in his tracks, holding the woman by the hand with stern determination and bringing her to a halt. The woman turns to the boy with clear disappointment in her eyes as Kravinoff plods on unaware for a few moments before noticing that he's continuing alone. He too stops, and turns to face the boy. But unlike the look on the woman's face, Kravinoff is wearing a guise of warmth and compassion.
Leaving the sled unattended for a moment, Kravinoff starts back and drops to a knee before the boy. The Ugandan places a hand on the shoulder of his youngest companion in order to establish a connection between them. The youthful blonde is unmoved by this gesture as he continues to stare into the vast wilderness before him.
Kravinoff: What's the matter, Jacob? Is your stomach at unease with the elk I slaughtered for dinner last night?
Jacob swallows uncomfortably as Kravinoff's warm stare defies all social form. It's an unabashed, shameless glare. The boy says nothing, instead exhibiting a sudden interest in glancing at his feet.
The Woman: You ought to answer when Mr Kravinoff asks you a question, Jacob!
The scorn of the woman puts colour in the cheeks of Jacob, who seems to be ashamed of the reaction he's drawn.
Jacob: Sorry, mom.
The boy seems to have shrunk under the weight of his mother's ire, his body language showing none of the determination he mustered to stop the group's trek into the forest. But still, Kravinoff maintains his warm, uncomfortable smile.
Kravinoff: That's quite alright, Dolores. The boy needs time to warm to me. That's wall.
Dolores: Well I think he ought to be warmed up to you as it is! The boy's never eaten meat as fresh and tender as that which you turned over that flame last night.
Kravinoff turns to meet the eyes of Dolores, who has let go of Jacob's hand in order to accommodate her animated style of speech. Kravinoff listens intently as Jacob continues to stare at the ground.
Dolores: I mean you got up at dawn to track that beast, you rode it into the ground like it's a bike and you're a stunt-driver, and you butcher it with care, all the while giving Jacob lessons on proper weapon maintenance, the best uses for an animal's bones, or how to use moss to figure out which direction you're walking in. You're the most unique, talented, hard-working man who's ever been in my life. You've given me perspective, love, respect, and the finest hand-crafted hunting spear a woman could ask for. And all the while Jake can't show you even the slightest bit of warmth and respect! It's shameful!
Dolores shrieks and begin to break down. Kravinoff moves swiftly to embrace her as Jacob finally looks up at the people in front of him, realizing the damage he's done.
Jacob: Mom, I... I didn't mean to... I... I'm sorry.
Kravinoff: There's no need to apologize, Jacob.
Hunter shoots another warm, affectionate glance at the boy before helping his distraught lady friend sit down on the ground. Kravinoff gestures for Jacob to sit with them. He meekly complies as Kravinoff turns back to Dolores.
Kravinoff: Look, there's no shame in Jacob taking a while to warm to me. I was the same way with my adoptive parents. Being raised by gorillas and learning the law of the jungle can be a huge challenge for a young man, especially with the softness of modern societies slowly destroying the evolutionary imperative to survive in the wild. But I grew accustomed to that way of life. And in time, so will Jacob. In time, he will know the pride that comes with gathering food and providing for his tribe. He will learn to be autonomous and capable in a way many of his generation can only dream of. In time, Jacob will see this family for what it is.
The least-assimilated immigrant in the history of the United States turns to Jacob once more.
Kravinoff: Isn't that right, boy?
Dolores ceases his weeping momentarily to join Kravinoff in staring expectantly at her son. Jacob wrings his hands uncomfortable for a brief instant.
Jacob: Yes, sir...
Kravinoff reaches out, bringing Jacob into his embrace with Dolores. His mouth curls upward in a look of pure glee.
Kravinoff: Thank you for saying so, Jacob. I need you committed to this family. It's everything to me. When I left WZCW, I had a rough go of it. I was adrift, purposeless. But when your mother found and comforted me that night in the alley behind the Pizza Hut where she worked, I knew everything was going to be alright. Because she'd given me someone to love. Someone to commit myself to. And I could use my skill-set in the name of that love.
Jacob, just as I swore to your mother that the I.R.S. and her creditors would never find her in the wilderness, so to do I make a pledge to you: I will raise you as my own. You will sleep in the comfort of a palatial tree house built of my own hand. I will fashion you the finest weapons with which to hunt your prey. And most importantly, I will fashion you yourself into a weapon of deadly purpose.
I know it's been a whirlwind five days since your mother and I first met, but I love you son.
Dolores and Hunter embrace their child with passionate fervour as the scene fades to black.
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Present Day
Unknown location
Through the floor-to-ceiling-windows in this massive luxury hotel suite, it's clear that night has fallen over whatever anonymous metropolis the room is perched atop. The furnishings and decor are modern and stylish. But the setting is unbecoming of the only man in it, wasted on a still-dishevelled Hunter Kravinoff. The Ugandan Wildman is sitting on a bar stool at an island in the kitchen, butchering a large piece of slightly overcooked meet with a crudely fashioned spear and a cleaver. Adorned in nothing but a loin cloth, Kravinoff is staring with intense contempt at a picture that has been magnetized to the fridge. The picture appears to be the work of a child drawing with charcoal. It depicts a large man with a spear, a woman swooning over the man, and a child chasing a dog while brandishing a large, bulky club.
His glare unwavering, Kravinoff uses the spear to deposit a piece of meat in his mouth. He chews in a violent, uncultured fashion, speaking to a utilitarian desire for sustenance rather than a desire to savour his meal. But beyond that utilitarianism, it seems Kravinoff's ravenous consumption of the meal speaks in some way to his feelings regarding the amateur artwork before him.
Turning Kravinoff's attention away from the fridge is the sound of the entrance to the suite opening and closing. Footsteps announce the movement of the new arrival toward the kitchen. Kravinoff positions himself near the corner the sound is emanating from and readies his spear for battle. Is he about to be faced with an intruder? Will he be confronted by friend or foe? The steps grow louder and louder when into the room emerges... WZCW Elite X Champion John Constantine! Dressed in one of his fine suits and with the Elite X Championship draped over his shoulder, Constantine is the very picture of a man who belongs in a suite of this calibre.
With Kravinoff's spear to Constantine's throat, the Ugandan has a look of intensity on his face the likes of which speaks to a destructive desire. Constantine meets Kravinoff's eyes, but is stoic and unfazed.
Constantine: Miss me?
Kravinoff maintains his battle-ready stance for a moment longer before breaking into a trickster grin. He casts his spear aside carelessly and opens his arms to invite embrace.
Kravinoff: Brother!
Constantine smirks ever so slightly, accepting a hug from the Uganda warrior. Kravinoff's grip is one of passion and overwhelming sincerity. Constantine seems to be doing the bare-minimum to reciprocate.
Once the embrace is broken, Constantine passes the fridge to retrieve a bottle of cognac from a cupboard on the opposite end of the room to Kravinoff. He deposits a generous portion of the fine brown liquor in the appropriate glass before turning back and joining a beaming Kravinoff at a bar stool on the island. Before speaking, Constantine gestures to the fridge with his glass.
Constantine: You haven't been staring at that thing all day, have you?
Kravinoff: Nah. Three hours, tops.
The Power Trip admires the contents of his glass intently as he swirls them with a gentle, circular wrist motion. He seems to care more about his drink than the man sitting next to him. This is untrue of Kravinoff however, as he seems genuinely thrilled to be in the company of WZCW's newest singles title holder. Carefully measuring his words, WZCW's Savior begins to speak.
Constantine: Hunter, I brought you back to civilization so you – I mean, WE – could move past that chapter in your life. Together. You were a wreck when she left you. Why do you torment yourself by letting the past dominate your thoughts?
Kravinoff looks unsettled by the the question, but nods in sombre agreement with everything that's been said.
Kravinoff: It's just... I've never been hurt in a way where I couldn't retaliate. When a rhinoceros gored me, I nursed my wounds and killed that beast by hurling a boulder at it. When and alligator bit me, I bit it right back. And I made it count, sinking my teeth in until it was fatally wounded. I was once the scourge of the jungle. I don't get over things. I get even. I balance out the natural order and move on with my existence, knowing one day something will hit me so hard that I won't get up. But until that day arrives, I take all the punishment beset on me and dish it right back.
But that was until her... I can't hurt her. I love her.
Discussing this matter clearly wounds the Ugandan. Constantine even looks up from his drink long enough to notice and (somewhat coolly) puts a hand on the shoulder of Kravinoff.
Constantine: There's only one thing you can do to get back at a woman, my friend. And that's achieve wild success while appearing to have moved on.
Kravinoff: But you know I can't do that!
The self-doubt in Kravinoff's eyes is obvious. Constantine observes him intently. He obviously sees it.
Kravinoff: I can't get over her. It's been weeks and still she's all I think about. And as for success, what hope of it do I have? In her loving arms, I grew soft. I aided men like Saboteur and Action Saxton just because I wanted to be nice. And when she left me, I was so distraught that I couldn't hunt. When you found me, I was surviving on a steady diet of Kentucky bluegrass! She made me the thing I most despise! A VEGETARIAN!
Kravinoff scurries from the island and runs to the counter, facing away from Constantine as the once-proud African export begins to shake his head.
Kravinoff: Heck, you had to buy me that piece of meat I'm eating now. I've become nothing but an abject failure. A lovesick puppy whose soul has been fatally wounded. I appreciate you nursing me back to form. You've been a true brother to me. But success isn't an option. I'm afraid you'll have to win the Lethal Lottery without my help.
Constantine is visibly upset by this, but composes himself before his furrowed brow can be noted by his conversation partner.
Constantine: All you really need to get back in your grove is to get back in the fight. Besides, we have the element of surprise on our side. What doubt is there that this is our match?
The man in the loin cloth lets out a cackle as he turns around. Constantine drinks deeply from his glass.
Kravinoff: John, I've been living in the wilderness without a television. If what you've been telling me these past weeks are true, I don't know the bulk of this roster. Most of these men will be as much of a surprise to me as I am to them. Face it, this probably isn't a good idea.
The Power Trip angrily throws his glass of cognac across the room. The sound startles Kravinoff.
Constantine: I don't accept that!
A look of embarrassment and shame fills the face of Kravinoff, reminiscent of that on Jacob's face when his mother yelled at him.
Kravinoff: Why are you shouting, John?
The Elite X Champion stands defiantly.
Constantine: Because you need a stern friend to get you out of your rut! And I'm that friend!
Kravinoff leans back against the counter as his look of shame turns into a tepid, hopeful smile. Intensity pours out of Constantine as he goes into full-on promo mode, setting out to motivate the man he claims to be his friend.
Constantine: You are Hunter Kravinoff! You may think that you're unprepared to face some of these new WZCW stars. But think about how they'll react when they see you: The Ugandan Wildman, risen from the dead! You're revered. You're a force of nature. Half of that locker room lives in fear of the day when you come out of seclusion to teach them about the laws of survival, the laws of attrition, the laws of the jungle.
And worse yet for those men, they're going to see the REAL Hunter Kravinoff for the first time ever. Not a man who's concerned about fighting them on society's terms. Not a man who's concerned about Sigmund Freud and subconscious desires. Not a man who's been defeated by the rejection of a woman. You're moving past all of that. You're going back to basics. Because the real Hunter Kravinoff doesn't fight people on their terms. He fights them on his terms. With no disqualifications in the Lethal Lottery, you're going to bring the jungle to them. You're going to thrive in chaos that swallows these great wrestlers alive. You're going to strike at the heart of the strongest roster in the history of WZCW. And you're going to do it with the zeal of the Hunter Kravinoff I know is in there, the Hunter Kravinoff who wants nothing more in life than to feel an unfamiliar man's blood on his hands!
...And then, when the smoke has cleared and you are I are the last men standing, you'll make headlines worldwide. You'll make professional wrestling history. You'll surrender the win to your new friend, the man who saved you from Kentucky bluegrass hell. And in doing so, the headlines will show Dolores that she gave up the wrong man. But she's out of luck because you've moved on to bigger and better things. You've moved onto a friendship which will sustain you until the day you die!
A single manly tear begins to well up in the right eye of Hunter Kravinoff. He's clearly moved.
Kravinoff: That was beautiful.
Constantine strains a smile.
Constantine: I meant every word of it.
Kravinoff: But... what if you're eliminated before I enter the match?
The Power Trip is putting forth a visible effort to maintain composure in the face of such an outrageous question. He smiles with what passes for warmth from a politician.
Constantine: Why of course you should still go on to win the match. Even without me, it's important that you show Dolores what she's missing.
Kravinoff throws a balled fist in the air in a fit of excitement.
Kravinoff: Huzzah!
Kravinoff begins to rummage through cupboards as Constantine returns to the cognac bottle. He finds a replacement glass and picks up right where he left off, gently stirring his drink. When the Power Trip turns he finds that, much to his surprise, Kravinoff has begun to rub extra creamy peanut butter all over his body.
Constantine: What... What are you doing?
Kravinoff has a look of pride on his face.
Kravinoff: You said there were no disqualifications and that the REAL Hunter Kravinoff could come out. Well the REAL Hunter Kravinoff wants to know which of WZCW's finest is allergic to peanuts.
Constantine stares in bewilderment at this moment of mad genius before downing the contents of his glass as the scene fades to black.