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House Show 11: Contract Battle Royale
- Thread starter Ty Burna
- Start date
- Status
Ale has just gotten eliminated from the battle royal, and is walking down the entrance way to the casual “you suck” and “na, na, na,na hey ,hey ,hey goodbye”, as you can see Ale look back in disgust when he reaches the beginning of the entrance way.
As he enters the backstage area an arena worker stops him for a minute. The worker is about 5’6 and looks to be in his early-mid twenties.
Ale, sorry about the loss, you looked great out there, want some water
Give
The arena worker gives him the water as Ale opens it and starts to drink out of it, after he takes a sip he taps the arena worker on the back to get his attention.
So, how long have you been working with this company?
The arena worker looks shock Ale just asked him that, as Ale takes another sip of the water.
About……
That’s all he can say as Ale spits the water at him, than tosses the ¾ full water bottle at the young man as he pushes him up against the wall, as Ale is about to charge at him, a familiar face appears down the hallway, and that man is none other than Chuck Myles.
Get your hands off of him, or I'll have my boys here escort from the premises and your WZCW dream is over.
Ale is now in a near psychotic state, as he approaches Myles with an angry face, veins popping out all over his face, and as he gets a couple feet away from the most powerful man in WZCW today, Myles just starts to laugh at him.
Come into my office, I have a preposition for you.
As Myles starts walking away, Ale just stands there, alone. After Myles walks about 10 feet, he looks back at Ale with a smirk, and motions him to come.
Ale says to himself “Should I, it’s my career, maybe he’ll come to his senses and give me a contract, or is he just going to laugh at me, or have me escorted away, whatever I lost already, I’ll go.”
Ale nods his head at Chuck.
As they get into Myles’ office, and they both have seats, they watch King Shaaba last eliminate Black Dragon in the battle royal Ale got eliminated in just minutes ago.
You see that that man has what it takes to win, and you should too.
At least that freak Black Dragon didn’t win.
Well, you better get used to seeing “that freak” Black Dragon, because at the next house show you will be facing him, and the rest of the guys you faced tonight in another Contract Battle Royale, with the exception of King Shaaba of course.
What? I deserve my shot sir. I was the most dominating force in that match, and you know it, I should have the contract not Shaaba. I should have a contract right now and you know it, and so does everyone else that saw that match.
Well if you were the most dominating force then why didn’t you win?
Ale starts to stare right into Chuck’s eyes.
Ale I know you have some odd belief were you think you’re always right, but please listen, just go home and rest, and then next week come back, and maybe you will win that contract.
Whatever, I'm going to win anyway, no one can or will stop me.
Ale gets up from his chair, and storms away from Chuck Myles’ office.
Ale thinks to himself, and decides for once to take Chuck’s words, as he leaves the arena (that is just getting ready for Ascension) to go home.
------------
It is now 2 days after the house show, and Ale is seen just getting out of bed to go eat breakfast, and watch the past Ascension from 2 days ago which he recorded. Before he goes into the kitchen he makes sure that all the curtains are shut tight in front of the bright and sunny day.
As Ale sits down with his breakfast to watch the show, he asks himself:
Why isn’t that me, I deserve more than every one of these chumps, especially the ones who actually care about what the fans say, that really makes me want to flip out.
Ale watches the show quietly, and shakes his head at the wrestlers who he know he's better than. As Ale reaches the Everest and Titus vs. The Brothers In Arms match, he watches really closely.
How have all of those four done so well in this company? Titus and Everest are friends, they trust each other, I would never do that with anyone, I mean look at Toyota, he already got betrayed by a former partner, but is still in the tag-team business. I just don’t understand how I only look out for myself, and have done nothing in my career yet, and all 4 of those guys have done so well, while actually having the trust of someone else who is going after the same prize as they are, unbelievable.
Before the Phoenix vs. Brad Bomb match comes on, Ale pauses the show, and retreats to his bedroom, and sits on his bed.
Dad I’m sorry, I’m failing you, but I’ll get better, I promise.
At that point Ale closes his eyes to reminisce the past.
-------------
Ale is 8 years old now, and his dad and mom are arguing about Ale’s dad getting fired from another job.
I can’t believe you, what did you do this time?
My boss told me to go help customers, who I didn’t want to help, so I said no, and we got into a huge fight, and it eventually ended in him saying you’re an embarrassment to this company, and you’ve only been here for 2 weeks. Good bye, I don’t want to see your selfish face around here again! Then I hit him, and police came, and escorted me here.
What the fuck is wrong with you!!!!!!!!?? You never listen to anyone do you? You think what you think is always right, and it’s not! What’s going to happen now? We have an 8 year old son we have to take care of, and……..
DON’T YOU EVER TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, YOU UNDERSTAND ME!!!!!!! Maybe if you grew a spine and asked your bitch of a boss for a higher salary than maybe all of the pressure wouldn’t be on me for once!
On you, the pressure’s on you? How many jobs have you lost in the past 6 months? That’s right 6, 6 jobs. Maybe if you would listen to anything any of your bosses or co-workers ever said than…….
Than that would show a weakness, I’m not anyone’s bitch Mary, and I never will be.
That’s it I’m done! I want a separation; I can’t deal with you anymore!
Fine, I could give a shit; you’ll realize that this will be the worst mistake of your entire life, bye-bye.
As Ale is peeking through the door from the kitchen to his parent’s bedroom, his mom storms out the door, and exits the house.
Daddy, what’s wrong? Is mommy leaving us?
Son, I’m sorry but yes, your mom and I are getting a divorce.
Why?
Because she has no spine. Son, when you grow up and go onto whatever it is that you want to do, you will never let anyone boss you around, and I mean anyone. Do you understand?
Yes, I think so.
No, I want you to know so. Now don’t let anyone, even if that certain person has "power over you", don’t let them treat you like their slave. You got that?
Yes dad.
Good, now I hear there’s a new wrestling tape that just came out, want to get it?
Yes, let’s go.
As Ale’s dad goes to get his keys, Ale thinks to himself:
No one will ever push me around, ever!!
--------------------
It is back to the present, and Ale just opened his eyes. He hears his cell phone start to ring, and checks the caller ID to see that it’s Chuck Myles.
I still haven’t forgotten dad.
Ale leaves the phone in the bedroom as he leaves his bedroom to go back into the living room.
As he enters the backstage area an arena worker stops him for a minute. The worker is about 5’6 and looks to be in his early-mid twenties.
Ale, sorry about the loss, you looked great out there, want some water
Give
The arena worker gives him the water as Ale opens it and starts to drink out of it, after he takes a sip he taps the arena worker on the back to get his attention.
So, how long have you been working with this company?
The arena worker looks shock Ale just asked him that, as Ale takes another sip of the water.
About……
That’s all he can say as Ale spits the water at him, than tosses the ¾ full water bottle at the young man as he pushes him up against the wall, as Ale is about to charge at him, a familiar face appears down the hallway, and that man is none other than Chuck Myles.
Get your hands off of him, or I'll have my boys here escort from the premises and your WZCW dream is over.
Ale is now in a near psychotic state, as he approaches Myles with an angry face, veins popping out all over his face, and as he gets a couple feet away from the most powerful man in WZCW today, Myles just starts to laugh at him.
Come into my office, I have a preposition for you.
As Myles starts walking away, Ale just stands there, alone. After Myles walks about 10 feet, he looks back at Ale with a smirk, and motions him to come.
Ale says to himself “Should I, it’s my career, maybe he’ll come to his senses and give me a contract, or is he just going to laugh at me, or have me escorted away, whatever I lost already, I’ll go.”
Ale nods his head at Chuck.
As they get into Myles’ office, and they both have seats, they watch King Shaaba last eliminate Black Dragon in the battle royal Ale got eliminated in just minutes ago.
You see that that man has what it takes to win, and you should too.
At least that freak Black Dragon didn’t win.
Well, you better get used to seeing “that freak” Black Dragon, because at the next house show you will be facing him, and the rest of the guys you faced tonight in another Contract Battle Royale, with the exception of King Shaaba of course.
What? I deserve my shot sir. I was the most dominating force in that match, and you know it, I should have the contract not Shaaba. I should have a contract right now and you know it, and so does everyone else that saw that match.
Well if you were the most dominating force then why didn’t you win?
Ale starts to stare right into Chuck’s eyes.
Ale I know you have some odd belief were you think you’re always right, but please listen, just go home and rest, and then next week come back, and maybe you will win that contract.
Whatever, I'm going to win anyway, no one can or will stop me.
Ale gets up from his chair, and storms away from Chuck Myles’ office.
Ale thinks to himself, and decides for once to take Chuck’s words, as he leaves the arena (that is just getting ready for Ascension) to go home.
------------
It is now 2 days after the house show, and Ale is seen just getting out of bed to go eat breakfast, and watch the past Ascension from 2 days ago which he recorded. Before he goes into the kitchen he makes sure that all the curtains are shut tight in front of the bright and sunny day.
As Ale sits down with his breakfast to watch the show, he asks himself:
Why isn’t that me, I deserve more than every one of these chumps, especially the ones who actually care about what the fans say, that really makes me want to flip out.
Ale watches the show quietly, and shakes his head at the wrestlers who he know he's better than. As Ale reaches the Everest and Titus vs. The Brothers In Arms match, he watches really closely.
How have all of those four done so well in this company? Titus and Everest are friends, they trust each other, I would never do that with anyone, I mean look at Toyota, he already got betrayed by a former partner, but is still in the tag-team business. I just don’t understand how I only look out for myself, and have done nothing in my career yet, and all 4 of those guys have done so well, while actually having the trust of someone else who is going after the same prize as they are, unbelievable.
Before the Phoenix vs. Brad Bomb match comes on, Ale pauses the show, and retreats to his bedroom, and sits on his bed.
Dad I’m sorry, I’m failing you, but I’ll get better, I promise.
At that point Ale closes his eyes to reminisce the past.
-------------
Ale is 8 years old now, and his dad and mom are arguing about Ale’s dad getting fired from another job.
I can’t believe you, what did you do this time?
My boss told me to go help customers, who I didn’t want to help, so I said no, and we got into a huge fight, and it eventually ended in him saying you’re an embarrassment to this company, and you’ve only been here for 2 weeks. Good bye, I don’t want to see your selfish face around here again! Then I hit him, and police came, and escorted me here.
What the fuck is wrong with you!!!!!!!!?? You never listen to anyone do you? You think what you think is always right, and it’s not! What’s going to happen now? We have an 8 year old son we have to take care of, and……..
DON’T YOU EVER TALK TO ME LIKE THAT, YOU UNDERSTAND ME!!!!!!! Maybe if you grew a spine and asked your bitch of a boss for a higher salary than maybe all of the pressure wouldn’t be on me for once!
On you, the pressure’s on you? How many jobs have you lost in the past 6 months? That’s right 6, 6 jobs. Maybe if you would listen to anything any of your bosses or co-workers ever said than…….
Than that would show a weakness, I’m not anyone’s bitch Mary, and I never will be.
That’s it I’m done! I want a separation; I can’t deal with you anymore!
Fine, I could give a shit; you’ll realize that this will be the worst mistake of your entire life, bye-bye.
As Ale is peeking through the door from the kitchen to his parent’s bedroom, his mom storms out the door, and exits the house.
Daddy, what’s wrong? Is mommy leaving us?
Son, I’m sorry but yes, your mom and I are getting a divorce.
Why?
Because she has no spine. Son, when you grow up and go onto whatever it is that you want to do, you will never let anyone boss you around, and I mean anyone. Do you understand?
Yes, I think so.
No, I want you to know so. Now don’t let anyone, even if that certain person has "power over you", don’t let them treat you like their slave. You got that?
Yes dad.
Good, now I hear there’s a new wrestling tape that just came out, want to get it?
Yes, let’s go.
As Ale’s dad goes to get his keys, Ale thinks to himself:
No one will ever push me around, ever!!
--------------------
It is back to the present, and Ale just opened his eyes. He hears his cell phone start to ring, and checks the caller ID to see that it’s Chuck Myles.
I still haven’t forgotten dad.
Ale leaves the phone in the bedroom as he leaves his bedroom to go back into the living room.
Book of the Dragon
Dedicated to the memory of RB My beautiful angel. You picked me up and brought me down. You gave my life meaning a million times. If anyone was going to save me it would have been you.
Chapter One On the nature of beginnings
Everything starts somewhere, but where is often hard to place. Something certainly began with a twelve your old boy being raped on the streets of Carson City. Something else began when a man betrayed his only love, took up the skull and bones and declared vengeance on the world. Our story has many beginnings: a moonlit kiss, the gift of a boot, a death inside a cage, a pearl earring, a mothers fragile touch, a prophet, a wife forgiving her husband or a line in the sand. Some of these beginnings havent happened yet. Some may never come to pass. Beginnings are hard.
Where then should we begin? A fight perhaps. Meltdown. Five men battle for a future. The wrong man wins. Wind forward and here we are. Here I sit, alone in the dark, nicotine princess my only solace from the nightmares beyond the veil. Tonight I fight the same battle again, looking to avenge the mistakes of the past. Looking to carve a different future.
Perhaps we should begin somewhere else. A dank office on a dreary night. Tomorrow twenty-thousand souls will pack this temple of vice to worship their fallen heroes, but tonight the place is quiet. A man enters. A two faced grass snake known as Bateman. We will learn more of his story another day, for now he is nothing more than a means to an end. A big night for Bateman approaches. The man doesnt care, he has never cared, but here he is working into the night, desperate to portray the passion he has never had. This world of television forces two faces onto everyone, and Bateman is a man who has forgotten which face is which. Still, he can be used.
Good evening Vance.
Were I face to face with a better man than Bateman I would feel some sympathy. Kingdom Come is staring over his shoulder, the end of the road approaches. A thousand final duties must be fulfilled in these twilight hours and here is a masked stranger in his office, in his chair, feet on his desk, smoking away. A better man than Bateman would be afraid. Not Vance.
You cant smoke in here.
Yes Vance, I can.
The man makes a show of sighing. Always one for the theatrics Bateman. Too long on television does that to a person, he forgets how to act when the cameras are down. To his credit the man takes a moment to assess the situation. Snakes have a talent for self preservation if nothing else. A few seconds later he has clearly come to the conclusion that I am a threat. Well done Vance. Smart.
What do you want?
Refreshing. No word on the mask, no word on the hour, no threats of security or pathetic bravado regarding his chair. Bateman: there may be hope for you after all. Keep this conversation to business and there will be less pain for all involved.
Work.
No.
Mistake number one Vance. This is not a challenge. Vance will give me what I want. The cess pit he employs tells me this. If I threaten or flatter him then I will get it faster, but for Bateman I have all night. I sit. I wait. I smoke. I watch the gears turn behind his mask. I will get everything I ask for and we both know this, but Bateman wouldnt be Bateman if he didnt try to salvage some dignity from the conversation.
Do you have any idea how busy I am at the moment?
No response. My cigarette is fresh, I can wait him out.
The biggest show of my life is tomorrow. Ive got twenty-thousand people to navigate, production crews to deal with, media to avoid and talent to manage. Were not hiring right now. Come back in a couple of months, book an appointment and well talk.
I booked an appointment. Thats why Im here
Its the middle of the night.
So?
I dont have appointments in the middle of the night.
Have you checked recently?
Its a cruel joke, sitting here, watching as the man fumble with his diary and knowing full well what he will find. April second. Eleven PM. Black Dragon. Bateman blinks, but the small neat handwriting (not mine of course) shows no signs of going away.
Who the fuck
Vance, sympathy overcomes me and I interrupt, deciding to take the snake out of his misery. I would like it very much if you would see your way to offering me some work.
Who wrote this in my diary?
Big picture Vance. The Sword of Damocles hangs over your head and you focus on your little book. Gain some perspective Vance and turn your eyes to history. You have committed great crimes, and where there is crime there must be punishment. Then again, where there is repentance there must be forgiveness. You owe me Vance; you owe me more than you have. The sword of judgement hangs above you by a single thread; perhaps it would do you good to taste the blade a little.
I reach down behind the grass snakes desk and withdraw Batemans present. A treasured relic of the past, tastefully wrapped in a leather-bound briefcase. In many ways its cheating, Bateman should not be confronted with his crimes until the moment of judgement. Then again, the man will fund my quest, and fund it well, so perhaps he gets a head start. If only I believed that he would take it. I gently slide the package across the desk.
Nine. Four. One. Three.
The mans fingers tremble as he plays with the combination lock. As he pops the locks and lifts the lid I wonder how Bateman is going to play it. Will he great his past with rage or flee in fear. Will he fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness or try to slither his way out of the situation. Once again Vance surprises me. He simply closes the lid.
I see. You wanted work?
Yes.
Paid work I imagine.
Yes.
That can be arranged.
You see Vance, painless. You give me what I need, and I hold back from giving you what you deserve. For a time.
Listen; we need something to put on our paperwork a name or Vance trails off. Its a sentence with a hook on the end, but Vance is not much of an angler.
Youll work it out.
And I keep this? He clutches the case to his chest as if cradling an infant.
Yes I have others.
And with that I leave him. Everything he needs to know is in that case. My phone, my numbers and the reason why he will give them to me. Bateman is my tool from this day forth. Hell fight it, but when he stares into the eyes of the mask he will always be the first to blink. For now he shall be left alone. I have everything I need.
And here I sit, alone in the dark, nicotine princess burnt down to a stub. Tonight approaches. Tonight I fight my battle once again, looking to avenge mistakes of the past and carve a new future. My nicotine princess has fled from me again.
Reader: story time is over.
Backstage
We see Xavier Creed has made it to the arena, ready for battle. Making his way from the parking lot, workout bag slung over one shoulder- he passes through a maze of production trucks and staff. His anticipation grows with each step closer toward the crowds. Noises fill the air as people race around preparing for the show.
A security guard approaches, tapping his flashlight in his palm. Smug sense of power about him, with a rent a cop moustache.
"You cant be just wandering around back here, autographs after the show only, bub."
"Do i look like i want an autograph? See the bag? How many guys my size, carrying a bag full of gear do you think are here for autographs? How bout making yourself useful & directing me to the locker room...."
Creed steps closer to the man, towering over him now.
"Um... sorry. Its... down the hall- to the left"
Creed steps by the guard, now nervously looking around hoping nobody saw him almost piss his pants. Creed chuckles to himself- and takes off for the locker room.
"This is it." Creed says silently to himself as he passes the interview area.
Constantine is being interviewed nearby & as Creed makes his way through the crowd, he notices other faces from Incarceration.
""Wow. Winters, Kravinoff, Constantine. Big names round here. Havent the slightest who most of the others backstage are but, at this point they dont matter. I'll deal with them at another time. First things first."
Creed has made his way to the locker room & pushes the door open, revealing the contestants for tonights event. As the door slams open, the small group turns to look at the giant of a man now standing in the doorway. For what seemed like minutes, the wrestlers stared silenly before returing to what they had previously been attending to. Creed makes his way into the room & picks a spot near the back. Nervous pre-show jitters have been replaced with a familliar feeling. Focus. The sights\sounds from the backstage area have brought back memories of past fights from Tokyo. A place where his blood & sweat have paved the way for this moment. Determined to make an impact here in WZCW, Creed is now focused on the task at hand. Winning the Battle Royal & signing that contract.
Creed places his bag on the floor next to the bench & begins to unpack his gear. While lacing up his boots, Creed studies the room- looking over each one of the wrestlers.
"Just a handfull here. Not a very intimidating bunch now are they. At this point- all of them are in my way. Just one match & im in. One match. "
Suddenly, a hand grasps Creeds shoulder. As he turns, a man is standing next to him, presumably one of the entrants in the match.
" Wow, your a big fella arent you. Dont think you stand much of a chance round here though, probably should just leave before i have to add you to my list of victims." says the man, with a slight chuckle.
Creed grabs the man by the wrist & begins to stand up.
"Dont.... touch me.... again."
"Whoa, no harm. Just a little friendly banter before the match. I'm..." Creed cuts him off as he lets go of them mans wrist & sits back down.
"I dont care who you are. I dont care what you want. At the end of the night, you will be sitting back in the hotel, putting ice on your face. All the plesantries aside, i dont like to be bothered before a match, so kindly fuck off to the otherside of the room." the unknown man then slinks across the room, clutching at his wrist.
The time is near. A member of the production staff scurries in through the door stating the amount of time left. One of the contestants is attempting to cut a promo during an interview. While others just seemed to be wondering around & nervously taping up & conversing with eachother.
"My god thats terrible." as Creed shakes his head in reference to the halfass attempt at a promo.
"I dont have time to waste on interviews or meaningless conversation. No one here really seems to be ready for this match. Dosent seem like anyone here is focused or prepared. Where is the fire, the hunger? This is the most important match they have been a part of to this day- a chance at a real WZCW contract. Most never get this chance & these freaks dont seem to care. Half of them just seem excited to wipe the snot from their nose & trade a seat in the crowd for a pass backstage.
All the years of training, all the fights in the cage at the bar. This is the moment. Incarceration was the tip of the iceberg. All of the past means nothing if you cannot carve out your path in the future. I am about to tear though these guys. I have come too far to let myself down. I will not lose to this handfull of jokers, this is my contract. Mine alone."
A few more minutes pass & Xavier Creed is now standing near the gorilla position, waiting for his turn through the curtian. The crowd is going crazy tonight. The energy & roar of the arena is top notch. They have paid to witness the best take aim & put on a show the likes of which only WZCW can produce. This is it. This is the top of the wrestling world.
" Here we are. The path has been long & bloody, but here we are. In one piece i now stand ready to take out the rest of the competition. The WZCW contract is almost in my grasp & then on to the Mayhem title. In a few short moments, i shall take my place among the greatest in WZCW. When that music hits-my path of dominance in this federation will begin. The number of bodies in my path will grow week after week & none of these fools are prepared for what is coming.
The nightmare is real."
We see Xavier Creed has made it to the arena, ready for battle. Making his way from the parking lot, workout bag slung over one shoulder- he passes through a maze of production trucks and staff. His anticipation grows with each step closer toward the crowds. Noises fill the air as people race around preparing for the show.
A security guard approaches, tapping his flashlight in his palm. Smug sense of power about him, with a rent a cop moustache.
"You cant be just wandering around back here, autographs after the show only, bub."
"Do i look like i want an autograph? See the bag? How many guys my size, carrying a bag full of gear do you think are here for autographs? How bout making yourself useful & directing me to the locker room...."
Creed steps closer to the man, towering over him now.
"Um... sorry. Its... down the hall- to the left"
Creed steps by the guard, now nervously looking around hoping nobody saw him almost piss his pants. Creed chuckles to himself- and takes off for the locker room.
"This is it." Creed says silently to himself as he passes the interview area.
Constantine is being interviewed nearby & as Creed makes his way through the crowd, he notices other faces from Incarceration.
""Wow. Winters, Kravinoff, Constantine. Big names round here. Havent the slightest who most of the others backstage are but, at this point they dont matter. I'll deal with them at another time. First things first."
Creed has made his way to the locker room & pushes the door open, revealing the contestants for tonights event. As the door slams open, the small group turns to look at the giant of a man now standing in the doorway. For what seemed like minutes, the wrestlers stared silenly before returing to what they had previously been attending to. Creed makes his way into the room & picks a spot near the back. Nervous pre-show jitters have been replaced with a familliar feeling. Focus. The sights\sounds from the backstage area have brought back memories of past fights from Tokyo. A place where his blood & sweat have paved the way for this moment. Determined to make an impact here in WZCW, Creed is now focused on the task at hand. Winning the Battle Royal & signing that contract.
Creed places his bag on the floor next to the bench & begins to unpack his gear. While lacing up his boots, Creed studies the room- looking over each one of the wrestlers.
"Just a handfull here. Not a very intimidating bunch now are they. At this point- all of them are in my way. Just one match & im in. One match. "
Suddenly, a hand grasps Creeds shoulder. As he turns, a man is standing next to him, presumably one of the entrants in the match.
" Wow, your a big fella arent you. Dont think you stand much of a chance round here though, probably should just leave before i have to add you to my list of victims." says the man, with a slight chuckle.
Creed grabs the man by the wrist & begins to stand up.
"Dont.... touch me.... again."
"Whoa, no harm. Just a little friendly banter before the match. I'm..." Creed cuts him off as he lets go of them mans wrist & sits back down.
"I dont care who you are. I dont care what you want. At the end of the night, you will be sitting back in the hotel, putting ice on your face. All the plesantries aside, i dont like to be bothered before a match, so kindly fuck off to the otherside of the room." the unknown man then slinks across the room, clutching at his wrist.
The time is near. A member of the production staff scurries in through the door stating the amount of time left. One of the contestants is attempting to cut a promo during an interview. While others just seemed to be wondering around & nervously taping up & conversing with eachother.
"My god thats terrible." as Creed shakes his head in reference to the halfass attempt at a promo.
"I dont have time to waste on interviews or meaningless conversation. No one here really seems to be ready for this match. Dosent seem like anyone here is focused or prepared. Where is the fire, the hunger? This is the most important match they have been a part of to this day- a chance at a real WZCW contract. Most never get this chance & these freaks dont seem to care. Half of them just seem excited to wipe the snot from their nose & trade a seat in the crowd for a pass backstage.
All the years of training, all the fights in the cage at the bar. This is the moment. Incarceration was the tip of the iceberg. All of the past means nothing if you cannot carve out your path in the future. I am about to tear though these guys. I have come too far to let myself down. I will not lose to this handfull of jokers, this is my contract. Mine alone."
A few more minutes pass & Xavier Creed is now standing near the gorilla position, waiting for his turn through the curtian. The crowd is going crazy tonight. The energy & roar of the arena is top notch. They have paid to witness the best take aim & put on a show the likes of which only WZCW can produce. This is it. This is the top of the wrestling world.
" Here we are. The path has been long & bloody, but here we are. In one piece i now stand ready to take out the rest of the competition. The WZCW contract is almost in my grasp & then on to the Mayhem title. In a few short moments, i shall take my place among the greatest in WZCW. When that music hits-my path of dominance in this federation will begin. The number of bodies in my path will grow week after week & none of these fools are prepared for what is coming.
The nightmare is real."
Kermit
the Frog
The scene begins with a shot of Sam Master sitting at a two-person table inside a small breakfast café. The café is filled with a culmination of smells and sights. The smell of sizzled bacon floats aloof through the air and invades the unsuspecting noses of numerous customers. Through the jet-streams of bacon smoke, waitresses can be seen scurrying from table to table. Each one of them performing circus tricks for an extra penny left with the tip. Sam watches them with much interest.
They are artists and the breakfast café is one giant canvas. It is a synchronized effort towards a masterpiece; a masterpiece that is unappreciated for its value and tossed in the dumpster each day. Sam begins to draw the parallel lines in relation to his own---
A man, in his late forties, takes the seat across the table from Sam. Sam smirks and looks down at an unlit cigarette that he is playing with in his own hand.
Damn Dad, I thought maybe you were gonna stand me up.
Well, then I guess you don’t have much faith in me. Do you Sam?
(grins) Don’t take it so personal dad; I don’t have much faith in anything these days.
Sam pulls the unlit cigarette to his mouth and lights it. He inhales a puff and then pulls it away as he exhales the smoke through an aperture in his lips.
So, how’ve you been? How’s the good ole’ oil business.
Tired mostly, and the oil business is always good in Oklahoma Son.
Scott, Sam's dad, examines the bruise on the right side of Sam’s forehead.
So you’d prefer to get head trauma rather than money Sam?
Dad, not this crap again. How the hell do you even know I got this from wrestling. I could of fell down or something for all you know. Damn!
You don’t think I read the paper Sam? “Local resident returns home after unsuccessful stint in professional wrestling.” Does that sound familiar? Huh?
They posted that in the paper? How the hell did they even know about that?
You live in Oklahoma Son; there ain’t much news to report on around here. That’s beside the point though. Do you like looking like a fool? Like a low-life? Like a loser?
Why do I give a damn about what people think of me Dad? Since when did I ever give a damn about what other people think? I sure as hell never cared about what you thought, or else I’d be in the oil rigs, wasting my life in sludge.
Wasting your life? If you call making a living a “waste of life,” then you have some screwed up beliefs Son.
A small silence occurs before an elderly-looking waitress walks up to the table.
Hey huns! What can I get for you?
I’m fine, thank you.
Same: I’m also good, thanks.
All right then! Enjoy your guy’s time.
The Waitress walks away from the table. Sam lifts the cigarette back up to his mouth and takes another puff. He pulls the cigarette away as he exhales the smoke, and he directs his sight towards his father’s concerned eyes.
Listen.. You went there, and you tried. But it did not happen Sam. It’s time to move on. I’ve put up with you chasing your dreams for too long. You’re not a kid anymore Sammy. You have to think about your future, your potential family, your potential wife!
Dad.. I can’t do that, I don’t want to rot away in oil. It’s not where I belong; you just have to face facts. I’m not like you.
You’re not? Then what are you “like” Sam? What makes you so much damn better than me? You lost! You want to know why you lost Sam? Huh?
Sam begins to feel uncomfortable as Scott progressively gets more stern.
Because Sam.. they don’t want you! They don’t give a damn about Sam Masters. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but they don’t care that you have a dream to become a wrestler. Look who won Sam; this King Shabba guy. You wanna know why he won? Because people care about the fact he is a king. He draws in publicity; he is a marketing tool for them. What are you? Some poor boy from Oklahoma who lives in a one-bedroom apartment and can barely provide for himself. Let’s be honest Sam, what do you have to offer? How are you special?
Sam fights back some tears as he takes a long drag of his cigarette, avoiding eye contact with his dad. Scott’s parental instincts kick in and he begins to feel bad for making Sam upset.
Listen.. The biggest thing that’s ever came out of Oklahoma is country music, and no one even likes Country Music. (fake laugh) Look.. You’re my son Sam.
Sam regains eye contact with Scott.
I want you to succeed in whatever you do, but I want you to be logical. I had dreams too Sam. But dreams are for kids. A kid becomes a man when he stops dreaming, and pursues reality.
Sam’s look changes when Scott says those final words. He gives a blank look as Scott reaches in his pocket and pulls out an envelope.
Here, this is the main reason I wanted to meet with you. It’s $500, for your birthday.
Scott places the envelope on the table and slides it to Sam.
I have to go now, call me when you can, alright?
Scott gets up with a worried smile on his face; he pats Sam on his shoulder as he exits the café. Sam, deep in thought, stares down the envelope for a few seconds, and then the scene changes.
The scene transitions to Sam Masters standing in the entrance of his apartment. He’s staring across the living room area with the envelope of money clenched in his right hand. The only thing illuminating the apartment is a blinking light on the answering machine, signaling one new message. The camera zooms in on Sam’s face, and then the scene transitions to a flashback.
The scene transitions back to the camera angle of Sam Masters staring blankly into his vacant apartment as he remains stagnant in the entryway. Sam, still clenching the envelope with money, finally moves and makes his way to the coffee table that is placed in the center of the living room. Sam looks down at a box of matches on the table, and he reaches down and picks up a match from the box. He strikes the match and it catches fire. Sam raises the envelope full of money and places the lit match underneath it. The envelope catches fire and Sam throws it on the ground. It continues to burn on the shaggy carpet.
Sam walks over to the answering machine and pushes play. The message plays as Sam is in the background, lighting other things on fire and packing a quick suitcase of a small assortment of things.
Hey, Sam. WZCW here. We just wanted to shoot you a call and tell you that we would like you to wrestle at the next Contract Battle Royal. Please give us a call back when you get this message. Okay, bye.
The message ends as Sam opens up the door to exit his apartment. He takes a single glance back at what he is leaving; the living room is in flames and black smoke is beginning to engulf the air completely. Sam turns away and closes the door behind him. He walk to the parking lot and sits on the curb on the other side of it. He is able to see his apartment window, and the tinted flames inside. Sam reaches in his pocket and digs out his cell phone. He dials a number and places the phone between his shoulder and his ear. The cell phone rings as he pulls out a cigarette and places it in his mouth.
911, what is your emergency?
Yeah, I’d like to report a fire at Maplebrook Apartments on 23rd Street. Apartment number C21.
Okay, please remain o---
Sam hangs up the phone and shoves it in his pocket. He lights the cigarette in his mouth and takes a drag. The smoke from mouth exhales, mimicking the smoke escaping from creases in his apartment window. A close up shows Sam’s lips after he exhales the smoke. His lips slowly curl into a smile, and the camera blacks out.
They are artists and the breakfast café is one giant canvas. It is a synchronized effort towards a masterpiece; a masterpiece that is unappreciated for its value and tossed in the dumpster each day. Sam begins to draw the parallel lines in relation to his own---
A man, in his late forties, takes the seat across the table from Sam. Sam smirks and looks down at an unlit cigarette that he is playing with in his own hand.
Damn Dad, I thought maybe you were gonna stand me up.
Well, then I guess you don’t have much faith in me. Do you Sam?
(grins) Don’t take it so personal dad; I don’t have much faith in anything these days.
Sam pulls the unlit cigarette to his mouth and lights it. He inhales a puff and then pulls it away as he exhales the smoke through an aperture in his lips.
So, how’ve you been? How’s the good ole’ oil business.
Tired mostly, and the oil business is always good in Oklahoma Son.
Scott, Sam's dad, examines the bruise on the right side of Sam’s forehead.
So you’d prefer to get head trauma rather than money Sam?
Dad, not this crap again. How the hell do you even know I got this from wrestling. I could of fell down or something for all you know. Damn!
You don’t think I read the paper Sam? “Local resident returns home after unsuccessful stint in professional wrestling.” Does that sound familiar? Huh?
They posted that in the paper? How the hell did they even know about that?
You live in Oklahoma Son; there ain’t much news to report on around here. That’s beside the point though. Do you like looking like a fool? Like a low-life? Like a loser?
Why do I give a damn about what people think of me Dad? Since when did I ever give a damn about what other people think? I sure as hell never cared about what you thought, or else I’d be in the oil rigs, wasting my life in sludge.
Wasting your life? If you call making a living a “waste of life,” then you have some screwed up beliefs Son.
A small silence occurs before an elderly-looking waitress walks up to the table.
Hey huns! What can I get for you?
I’m fine, thank you.
Same: I’m also good, thanks.
All right then! Enjoy your guy’s time.
The Waitress walks away from the table. Sam lifts the cigarette back up to his mouth and takes another puff. He pulls the cigarette away as he exhales the smoke, and he directs his sight towards his father’s concerned eyes.
Listen.. You went there, and you tried. But it did not happen Sam. It’s time to move on. I’ve put up with you chasing your dreams for too long. You’re not a kid anymore Sammy. You have to think about your future, your potential family, your potential wife!
Dad.. I can’t do that, I don’t want to rot away in oil. It’s not where I belong; you just have to face facts. I’m not like you.
You’re not? Then what are you “like” Sam? What makes you so much damn better than me? You lost! You want to know why you lost Sam? Huh?
Sam begins to feel uncomfortable as Scott progressively gets more stern.
Because Sam.. they don’t want you! They don’t give a damn about Sam Masters. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but they don’t care that you have a dream to become a wrestler. Look who won Sam; this King Shabba guy. You wanna know why he won? Because people care about the fact he is a king. He draws in publicity; he is a marketing tool for them. What are you? Some poor boy from Oklahoma who lives in a one-bedroom apartment and can barely provide for himself. Let’s be honest Sam, what do you have to offer? How are you special?
Sam fights back some tears as he takes a long drag of his cigarette, avoiding eye contact with his dad. Scott’s parental instincts kick in and he begins to feel bad for making Sam upset.
Listen.. The biggest thing that’s ever came out of Oklahoma is country music, and no one even likes Country Music. (fake laugh) Look.. You’re my son Sam.
Sam regains eye contact with Scott.
I want you to succeed in whatever you do, but I want you to be logical. I had dreams too Sam. But dreams are for kids. A kid becomes a man when he stops dreaming, and pursues reality.
Sam’s look changes when Scott says those final words. He gives a blank look as Scott reaches in his pocket and pulls out an envelope.
Here, this is the main reason I wanted to meet with you. It’s $500, for your birthday.
Scott places the envelope on the table and slides it to Sam.
I have to go now, call me when you can, alright?
Scott gets up with a worried smile on his face; he pats Sam on his shoulder as he exits the café. Sam, deep in thought, stares down the envelope for a few seconds, and then the scene changes.
The scene transitions to Sam Masters standing in the entrance of his apartment. He’s staring across the living room area with the envelope of money clenched in his right hand. The only thing illuminating the apartment is a blinking light on the answering machine, signaling one new message. The camera zooms in on Sam’s face, and then the scene transitions to a flashback.
The scene transitions back to the camera angle of Sam Masters staring blankly into his vacant apartment as he remains stagnant in the entryway. Sam, still clenching the envelope with money, finally moves and makes his way to the coffee table that is placed in the center of the living room. Sam looks down at a box of matches on the table, and he reaches down and picks up a match from the box. He strikes the match and it catches fire. Sam raises the envelope full of money and places the lit match underneath it. The envelope catches fire and Sam throws it on the ground. It continues to burn on the shaggy carpet.
Sam walks over to the answering machine and pushes play. The message plays as Sam is in the background, lighting other things on fire and packing a quick suitcase of a small assortment of things.
Hey, Sam. WZCW here. We just wanted to shoot you a call and tell you that we would like you to wrestle at the next Contract Battle Royal. Please give us a call back when you get this message. Okay, bye.
The message ends as Sam opens up the door to exit his apartment. He takes a single glance back at what he is leaving; the living room is in flames and black smoke is beginning to engulf the air completely. Sam turns away and closes the door behind him. He walk to the parking lot and sits on the curb on the other side of it. He is able to see his apartment window, and the tinted flames inside. Sam reaches in his pocket and digs out his cell phone. He dials a number and places the phone between his shoulder and his ear. The cell phone rings as he pulls out a cigarette and places it in his mouth.
911, what is your emergency?
Yeah, I’d like to report a fire at Maplebrook Apartments on 23rd Street. Apartment number C21.
Okay, please remain o---
Sam hangs up the phone and shoves it in his pocket. He lights the cigarette in his mouth and takes a drag. The smoke from mouth exhales, mimicking the smoke escaping from creases in his apartment window. A close up shows Sam’s lips after he exhales the smoke. His lips slowly curl into a smile, and the camera blacks out.
- Status