Lethal Lottery V: Bearded Gents (c) vs. Saxoteur vs. Technosa - Tag Team Title Match

[Kermit]

The most mutable division in the company looks to gain some stability as they pit the three strongest teams in a triple threat match at the Lethal Lottery. In one corner, the champions, The Bearded Gentlemen, have fallen to each one of their competitors leading up to the event. Can they turn the tables on the biggest night of their young careers? In another, we have the former champions, Saboteur and Action Saxton. Faith was shaken in the epic heroes as they lost the belts to the current champions at All or Nothing. Now, they have evened the score with a win this past week and look to capitalize in their toughest test yet. Finally, we have the alliance of the deadly machine and schizophrenic madman, S.H.I.T. and Barbosa. The two men have bulldozed over every obstacle on their path to a tag title shot, even eliminating The Empire from the division. Now, they look to cement their groundwork and walk out of the event with gold. All three of these elements collide at the upcoming Pay-Per-View; don't miss it!


Deadline is Thursday, May 9, 2013 at 11:59 P.M. (Central Time). Soft Extensions Only.​

 

[Theo Mays]

A shadow of a man is seen writing and as he writes his words, he speaks them aloud with a deep, seductive voice. Drawing the listening in ever so slightly as the voice is feint that it could pass for that of a whisper.

Losers. When defeated only the weak bow their heads. But what comes to life when you expect nothing from it. What if…what if losing is the only option? Maybe that is the path that has been paved. A rocky road to failure and heartbreak. A life full of regrets and disappointments. Sometimes you have to accept that losing is more part of you than you would like to think. Maybe losing is truly life’s only answer.

Babe are you sure you are ok?

We finally focus in on The Beard, who is surrounding by empty bottles of wine as he cracks open a six pack of beer as Emily looks on concerned.

Am I ok? I don’t know. You tell me. Do I look ok to you?

Lets start by putting the beer down.

Emily attempts to swipe the beer, but in a childish matter Beard rolls away on his office chair and shouts out at his expecting wife.

NO! It is mine and I have no more wine or scotch or whiskey. All I have is this pissy American beer and it makes me sad and depressed and I miss my mom and my dad and my Uncle Louie. Yeah he was touchy feely, but he was really a nice guy. Why’d they have to take him away?

Alright lets calm down.

Emily caresses her husband before realizing what he had just said.

Were you…ya know…by your Uncle Louie?

Beard is puzzled at Emily’s question as he sniffles and blows a wad of snot straight into his beard. Emily, queasy, grabs a tissue and attempts to clean the massive boogie. As he smiles and wipes away the tears he pats Emily on the head.

You thought I was? Oh that’s funny. Uncle Louie really loved animals. Really loved them.

Oh. That’s…

Yeah. Between him and my cousin Ronnie, they battle it out for the family embarrassment.

Do I even want to know?

Ronnie’s a good kid. He just liked doing his business a little too much in the public eye.

Like playing with himself?

Bingo. We finally had him put down after he was caught at a nursing facility in the geriatric section.

That’s enough of this. Can we please talk about something else? Anything?

Emily storms out of the room, a bit shaken up. Still a bit tipsy, Beard decides to roll after his bride.

How’s Gent? I haven’t seen him in awhile. Is all well?

Don’t know. Haven’t heard from him since our match. Damn SaboSax. Rumor has it that he went off the deep end and has removed his mask and is actually a zombie roaming around the streets of Paris attacking innocent bystanders.

Emily looks at Beard with a “seriously you expect me to buy that story” look as Beard shrugs his shoulder.

What? That’s what this tweet says from @ThisAintSaboSaxSucka.

A pause in the conversation as something is heard rustling in the front corridor. Beard gets a nice push off as his chair tackles the intruder.

That was quite the power roll my friend. 10 points.

The intruder is revealed to be none other than Le Gentleman Masque. Gent hopes to his feet and brushes the dirt off his clothes before addressing his teammate.

Beard we got quite the match coming up. It is make or break time. Barbosa and SHIT,

Speaking of which I gotta show ya something.

Beard grabs the arm of Gent and the two wheel back into Beard’s office, where Beard leads his partner into the bathroom.

Dear heavens, is there a dead body in here?

Nope. Just SHIT.

Beard lifts the seat to the toilet as Gent is nearly gagging as he holds his hand over his face and is startled at the Beard’s doing.

I love you and all Beard, but I do not want…

Oh my that is…remarkable?

The camera pans to the toilet where we see an exact replica of SHIT courtesy of the Beard’s most recent bowel movement.

Don’t thank me. Thank the wine, scotch, whiskey, pizza licorice, and the good ole US of A.

Beard salutes as Gent is frozen still by the site of the toilet. Gent shakes his head and immediately attempts to pull The Beard out of the bathroom. Without much luck Gent storms off and Beard follows him back to the office.

Clearly you’re still a little inebriated.

Yeah I am. High five!

Beard throws up his hand as Gent just looks at him like he’s crazy.

Not after what I seen.

It was hella awesome though am I right?

Anywho. Our fatal four way at Lethal Lottery.

Against SaboSax and Technosa?

Yes, we really need to show WZCW that we are worthy of the title belts. We want to make ourselves a name in the tag team division and not be one of those flash in the pan teams of the past.

Oh I’m not worried Gentareeno. We’re gonna win.

You are exuding confidence my friend, what’s your theory?

It’s a secret.

Gent gives his partner a stern stare as Beard cracks a smile and does a little shh symbol with his finger before waving Gent in for a whisper.

A little birdie told me so. You see him Gent, he’s sitting right there.

Gent rolls his eyes before turning his head and out the window sits this majestic bird featuring bright glowing colors of yellows, oranges, and reds. Gent is in awe as he stares at the creature.

See what I mean, we can’t lose.

Ubba babba baba.

You sound just like me bud.

Beard slaps his partner across the back, knocking him out of his trance as he looks back at Beard, still dumbfounded. Gent can’t speak as Emily walks into the room with a fresh pitcher of water and strawberry slices.

What are you guys staring at?

The two men turn around in awe and look at Emily before they speak in sync.

The bird.

Emily looks up at the window and sees nothing but an empty tree. She pats her two men on the shoulders before walking out shaking her head.

We can’t just take that birds word Beard.

But birds the word.

Yeah, what the hell. Birds the word.

Gent puts his arm around Beard, but that doesn’t last as Beard rolls away. Gent takes a tumble as Beard sticks his head in the nearest garbage bin and lets loose all of last night’s gatherings as Gent nearly loses his lunch following the Beard’s expense. Beard’s head appears from the garbage bin as he wipes away a slimy glob of vomit from his mustache. Beard shakes his head before his eyes go wide and he wags his finger at Gent.

Wait, wait! Beards the word.

You’re something el-

Gent is interrupted as Beard has begun to sing a song.

Well everybody's heard about the beard!
Beard, beard, beard, the beard is the word!

Don't you know about the beard?
Well everybody's heard about the beard!

Beard. beard, beard, the beard is the word!
Beard, beard, beard, the beard is the word! Yeah!

Well everybody's heard, about the beard!
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na

Beard, that doesn’t even rhyme.

Are you crazy? It sure does. Just listen.

Well everybody's heard about the beard!
Beard, beard, beard, the beard is the word!

Don't you know about the beard?
Well everybody's heard about the beard!


Gent just shakes his head and shrugs his shoulder as Beard looks on, with a look of a child that would change the mind of a disapproving mother. Gent smacks Beard on the back before taking the Beard by surprise.

Don't you know about the beard?
Well everybody's heard about the beard!

Soon the two men start dancing around the room singing the Beard’s parody as Emily walks in the room and smiles at the tag team champions as the pressure of being champs has seemingly been lifted from their shoulders as Emily recites a poem of her own as the champs prance around the hall.

When a wedge drives your mind
And frustration beats you down
Look into the sky for a gleaming sign
And make a smile out of that frown
Take your pride and hold it tight
Hide your weaknesses and fears
And give it all in life’s greatest fight
Cause when it’s all said and done you’ll be showered in cheers
Always stay positive, remain upbeat
Never be bothered by the past
When life gets you down, just get back on your feet
Cause all life is, is just one giant task.

 

[Miko]

That was revenge?

Asked S.H.I.T as he and Barbosa stalked to the locker room minutes after their beatdown of the Empire.

Yes, they hurt us so we hurt them, a lot. Said the one that was definitely the smoker with a smirk.

Would revenge not have been more fitting if we had tied them up in barb wire, set C4 next to them but left a hunting jacket within arms reach?

We have seen that before!

Affirmative! It would seem the punishment we dealt out did not match the crime commited!

You are talking about justice, which ordinarily wouldn’t involve an extreme amount of violence in this day and age.

The punishment certainly did match the crime, said the smirking smoker again. Who quickly becomes hunched over again.

Also, you are not supposed to enjoy justice. The smirk and upright posture returns.

Revenge on the other hand. We had waited so long for that.

Revenge is a dish best served cold!

Revenge is edible?

That is merely a saying, the point is to allow your opponents to think they are safe before extracting your revenge.

They walk in silence for a while.

Was it good for you as well?

Oh god!

Empire were a threat! They needed to be eliminated. Good or bad is unimportant, it was necessary!

We certainly liked it. How could you not have enjoyed getting back at two people that tried to ki. . . destroy you?

S.H.I.T’s survival paramount, threats must be eliminated.

Now at least we can concentrate on those tag team titles without having to worry about those two dogging our every move.

Shiny belts!

Shiny belts indeed! S.H.I.T now understood why Barbosa had told it to focus solely on Empire instead of worrying about the title shot, with their concerted efforts they had managed to rid themselves of one of the biggest threats to those titles. All that remained was to best two teams that they had bested before. Perhaps then if they won the titles the Manic Barbosa would watch “Cash it Dolph” with S.H.I.T again.

Winning the tag titles is necessary!

Shiny belts!

Barbosa and S.H.I.T continue their discussion about their destruction of the Empire and the addition of Action Saboteur to their tag team title match at Lethal Lottery. However, as they approach their dressing room, they can hear noise emanating from inside the usually empty space.

Intruder alert! Defensive posture initiated! Preparing counter-measures!

Barbosa also takes up a defensive stance and nods to S.H.I.T to open the door. However, when the mandroid does so, it and its partner are confronted with not one intruder or even two. Inside their usually empty space are crowded various members of WZCW - wrestlers, interviewers, referees and other officials - all either eating and drinking from a catering table set up in the middle of the room, chatting amongst themselves or a combination of the two.

Multiple targets detected! Probability of success exceeds acceptable limits. Standing down counter-measures!

The sound of S.H.I.T announcing its standing down catches the attention of some of the intruding crowd who turn towards the entrants and shout somewhat in unison.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Barbosa hangs his head...

Oh for frak's sake…

S.H.I.T scans the room for threats, noticing Barbosa doing the same, any of its opponents at Lethal Lottery or indeed a possibly already recovered Empire. None are present and S.H.I.T returns its attention to Barbosa, who is jumping up and down in some kind of excitement.

You remembered! You remembered!

Barbosa breaks his defensive stance and grabs the automaton in a big, jumping hug.

However, S.H.I.T does not look away from the party or partake in the jumping hug. Instead, it queries Barbosa's excitement.

S.H.I.T is confused.

You got all these people to surprise us!

S.H.I.T knows nothing of this gathering of intruders nor of what it may have remembered.

Don't be silly, Poo! You remembered our birthday! And threw us a surprise party in order to celebrate!

Surprise? That would indicate spontaneity, something which despite Barbosa's prodding the Machine had yet to truly master.

Birth. . . Day?

Input error! Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology understands 'party' but what is 'birthday'?

Poo does not know 'birthday'? You really are silly! It is the anniversary of the day you were born, when your friends and family get you presents and have a party.

S.H.I.T remembered a certain variation of Barbosa's words about "friends and family" which had been preceded by "people you hate the most."

S.H.I.T understands why parts of Barbosa would not wish to partake in such an tradition.

Do you not enjoy your birthday, Poo?

So many questions, why would S.H.I.T enjoy something it has never had? Why does the Manic Barbosa keep referring to it as fecal matter? It had thought the Manic had liked it. . . Was it possible that their friendship was a charade? Was it being made fun of?

Negative! It must answer the question. Barbosa is trying to help S.H.I.T.

This one was not 'born.' It was activated.

Then when is your Activation Day?

S.H.I.T suddenly phases out, Barbosa waves his hand in front of the Machine’s face, to no reaction.

Spoiler

It is cold, that is the first thing the newly awakened Machine notices, the next thing it notices is that it is dark, the next thing after that it notices is that it is strapped down, even with its robotic power it is unable to break free of the shackles, but the overriding factor is that it is cold. Should it be able to feel the temperature? Perhaps that was a necessary requirement, even S.H.I.T would probably shut down at extreme temperatures.

A face appears in front of the machine, looking with cold calculation down at the automaton, eyes possibly as soulless as S.H.I.T’s own. A black void behind the head of the other.

“Speak.” A voice, or sound commanded, like the humming of machinery from a mouth as dark and empty as a void in space and time, or something along those lines.

Speak what? Thought the Machine.

“Primary function!” The voice replied instantly, almost as if hearing the internal thoughts of the Android.

S.H.I.T did not like this man. It also had no answer, no, it had one answer, a reply forming in its head, although forming is wrong because it had always been there, S.H.I.T turned its own unrelenting gaze on the dark empty man before him.

S.H.I.T exists only to destroy!

The two lock gazes, the man almost as unrelenting as the Machine, but a Machines patience is infinite, and something told S.H.I.T it must not back down now. Eventually the other looks away.

What other?

Now he is gone and S.H.I.T is alone, there are no shackles, but it is not alone now, it is in a crowded room surrounded by scientists in long white lab coats, which is how we can tell they’re scientists. One approaches the apparently active machine, beaming from ear to ear.

“Speak, what is your primary function?” He said warmly.

S.H.I.T exists only to destroy! Came the reply, instantly.

“Yes,” he said.

No, thought the Machine. There must be more.

It is cold.

S.H.I.T comes back to reality, perhaps aided there by Barbosa’s frantic patting on the back.

Well?

Had that been a flashback? Did Machine’s have them? Was it a warning? A warning of what it could become? What it was?

It did not like that man with the soulless eyes.

Activation day was. . . Cold!

--------- ------------- ---------

The party is over, the guests are gone, seemingly due to the actions of S.H.I.T. Were those actions truly its own however? Was it done under its own control? Or was it manipulated by some other person? Or persons?

 

[Барбоса]

*Barbosa and SHIT continue their discussion about their destruction of the Empire and the addition of Action Saboteur to their tag team title match at Lethal Lottery. However, as they approach their dressing room, they can hear noise emanating from inside the usually empty space.*

SHIT: Intruder alert! Defensive posture initiated! Preparing counter-measures!

*Barbosa also takes up a defensive stance and nods to SHIT to open the door. However, when the mandroid does so, it and its partner are confronted with not one intruder or even two. Inside their usually empty space are crowded various members of WZCW - wrestlers, interviewers, referees and other officials - all either eating and drinking from a catering table set up in the middle of the room, chatting amongst themselves or a combination of the two.*

SHIT: Multiple targets detected! Probability of success exceeds acceptable limits. Standing down counter-measures!

*The sound of SHIT announcing its standing down catches the attention of some of the intruding crowd who turn towards the entrants and shout somewhat in unison.*

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

*Barbosa hangs his head...*

Barbosa: Oh for frak's sake…

*…before then scanning the room quickly for any potential threats - a recovered Empire, the tag team champions or those two lummox, Saxton and Saboteur. However, upon not spying any of them, Barbosa suddenly starts jumping up and down in celebration.*

Barbosa: You remembered! You remembered!

*Barbosa breaks his defensive stance and grabs the automaton in a big, jumping hug.

However, SHIT does not look away from the party or partake in the jumping hug. Instead, it queries Barbosa's excitement.*

SHIT: This one is confused.

Barbosa: You got all these people to surprise us!

SHIT: This one knows nothing of this gathering of intruders nor of what it may have remembered.

Barbosa: Don't be silly, Poo! You remembered our birthday! And threw us a surprise party in order to celebrate!

SHIT: Input error! Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology understands 'party' but what is 'birthday'?

Barbosa: Poo does not know 'birthday'? You really are silly! It is the anniversary of the day you were born, when your friends and family get you presents and have a party.

SHIT: This one understands why parts of Barbosa would not wish to partake in such an tradition.

Barbosa: Do you not enjoy your birthday, Poo?

SHIT: This one was not 'born.' It was activated.

Barbosa: Then when is your Activation Day?

*Rather than the instant reply that usually characterises SHIT's response to such queries, the robot seems to zone out - a very human reaction. Almost like it is remembering something…

However, the giddy Barbosa fails to recognise this, too caught up in his surprise party to truly notice the importance of what is happening with SHIT. Instead, he puts his hand on SHIT's shoulder, trying to coax an answer from it.*

Barbosa: Well?

*After another few seconds of silence and obliviousness, SHIT snaps back to 'reality' and gives an answer, although it is not an answer to the asked question - not that Barbosa comprehends that.*

SHIT: Activation Day was… cold!

Barbosa: Don't worry, Poo. We'll throw you a party for your next Activiation Day…Now, where are the presents?!?

*The gathered crowd cheers at Barbosa's giddiness but after a few seconds of revelling in the Barbosa's demeanour changes significantly from one of giddy surprise to one of hunched suspicion.*

Barbosa: But if Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology did not plan this party then who did?

*His posture changes again to one of alert anger.*

Barbosa: Oh gods, please, do not let it be Kravinoff…

*The giddy surprise returns.*

Barbosa: Ooooh! Is Hunt here?

*Before either Barbosa or SHIT can inquire further about the orchestrator of this event, a familiar voice emerges from the crowd.*

???: There he is! My greatest achievement!

*Both Barbosa and SHIT look over towards the origin of that voice - both seemingly worried about whose achievement they could be… it is Barbosa who is disappointed.*

Barbosa: Oh shit…

SHIT: Yes, Barbosa?

Barbosa: Not you, Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology. We were expressing our displeasure at the presence of this individual.

SHIT: Who is 'this individual? Is he is threat? Should this one launch counter-measures?

*Barbosa clearly wrestles with himself internally about the final answer to SHIT's assault offer.*

Barbosa: No, he is our long term psychiatric physician, Dr Rivers. The last time we saw him, he was convinced thought he had cured us.

SHIT: Cured you of which ailment? Bipolar disorder? Schizophrenia? That broken lacriminal duct?

Barbosa: Everything. So miraculous was our 'progress' that he wanted to publish his findings in an academic journal.

SHIT: Scaled Humanoid expects that Barbosa did not comply.

Barbosa: We did not. But we suspected that that would not have stopped the good Dr Rivers from publishing it anyway.

SHIT: This doctor may be in for a shock if he has a prolonged conversation with the entity known as Barbosa.

Barbosa: On top of that, he cannot even say our name properly.

*SHIT crooks its head to the side in confusion.*

SHIT: How does one pronounce Барбоса? It is a rather simple mixture of Cyrillic, Ancient Greek and Anglo-Saxon alphabets and proncounciations.

Barbosa: Give it a second…

Dr Rivers: Mr Fapsixoca!

SHIT: Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology has heard this name shouted at Barbosa before. However, it had misfiled it under 'Nicknames' rather than 'Mispronunciations.' Error corrected.

*In the intervening seconds of this conversation, Dr Rivers has finally managed to push his way past the throng of interviewers, wrestlers, officials and staff who are surrounding what they assume are the free food and drink.*

Dr Rivers: Mr Fapsixoca, it is so good to see you again and might I add my own personal congratulations on your birthday.

*Barbosa takes a deep breath before responding, clearly ensuring that he is under control.*

Barbosa: Dr Rivers! What a pleasure to see you again and thank you very much for the birthday wishes. Are we… ahem… am I to assume that you are the reason behind this surprise party?

Rivers: I am indeed, Fapsixoca. I was in town to give a symposium on my treatment of your good self and I heard that WZCW was in town so I thought that the least I could do was to drop in.

Barbosa: You really shouldn't have…

Rivers: And who is your peculiarly attired friend? Is he not going to get out of his robot costume?

*A ripple of scheming quickly spreads across Barbosa's face.*

Barbosa: Dr Rivers, this is SHIT.

Dr Rivers: Well, I am sorry. It is the best party I could throw together in such a short time. I tried to get Hunter Kravinoff to come as well as I know how close you two are but he was impossible to contact.

Barbosa: No, no. Not 'shit' as in bad…

*Exasperated by the continued problem of SHIT's acronym, Barbosa turns to SHIT.*

Barbosa: Remind us to have a chat with you about your nomenclature.

SHIT: Affirmative.

*The birthboy turns back to Dr Rivers.*

Barbosa: …'shit' as in S.H.I.T., which stands for Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology.

Rivers: That is a rather unfortunate acronym.

Barbosa: Tell us me about it…

*After another brief second of exasperation, Barbosa then proceeds with the introductions.*

Barbosa: Dr Rivers, this is our current tag team partner, Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology. Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology, meet Dr Rivers.

*The doctor extends his hand, which the manbot eventually shakes. However, as an over-extended period of shaking, the former starts to look increasingly uncomfortable. A smirk crawls across Barbosa's face as he realises that the origin of that discomfort is the increasing pressure of SHIT's handshake. This discomfort then turns to an outright struggle to free his hand from the clamp of SHIT's hand as Barbosa continues to look on in amusment. Eventually, Rivers manages to wrench his hand free from the robot's grasp, shaking it profusely to try to get the blood flowing through it once more.*

Rivers: That is quite a grip you have there, Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology…

SHIT: Industrial Strength Vise has won SHIT many matches!

Rivers: Yes, well. It is nice to meet you…

*The doctor takes a few seconds to gather himself.*

Rivers: Mr Fapsixoca, I must say that I am very pleased to see you being able to but enough trust in an individual to call them your tag team partner. Now, my knowledge of wrestling is admittedly limited but what I do know suggests that such tag teams usually have a name of some sort. What might yours be?

Barbosa: We have had a couple of discussions about this and have even had some input from other sources but they are just the increasingly regular and ultimately garbage portmanteaux that dominate the world at the moment so we have yet to decide on a name.

Rivers: Let's hear a few.

Barbosa: If we must… names like Technosa and Barbed Wires have been bandied about. As has the Four Faces.

Rivers: Hmmm, I understand the 'Tech' and 'Wires' parts of the first two but where do the 'Barbed' or 'osa' sound come from?

SHIT: It is our partner's name.

Rivers: How does the 'Barbed' or 'osa' sound like they came from Fapsixoca?

SHIT: Not from 'Fapsixoca.' It comes from Barbosa.

*Barbosa merely shrugs his shoulders and Dr Rivers clearly takes this as a cue to just agree with the robot rather than question him over what he believes he is incorrect about.*

Rivers: Ah I see… but what about this 'Four Faces' name. Who came up with that?

SHIT: This one did.

Rivers: Interesting. Care to explain it?

SHIT: It is simple enough for even the most human of brains to understand - it comes from the fact that there are four faces to this team.

*Dr Rivers continues to look perplexed.*

Rivers: There are others in this team besides you and Fapsixoca?

SHIT: Negative. There is just Barbosa and Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology.

*To enlighten the clearly befuddled doctor, Barbosa leans in close.*

Barbosa: Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology knows about the reasons behind our past meetings, Dr Rivers.

*This does nothing to immediately quell the look of confusion on the doctor's face but after a few moments, it dawns on him what Barbosa is talking about.*

Rivers: Ah I see… the others. I…I thought so.

*SHIT looks to Barbosa who gives nothing a slight shake of the head regarding the doctor's disingenuousness.*

Rivers: So Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology, how would you describe these three 'Barbosas' as you call them?

*SHIT again looks to Barbosa as if seeking permission to answer. Barbosa gestures for it to do so.*

SHIT: Barbosa is friendly and foolish, antagonistic and reactionary, cunning and manipulative.

Rivers: All at the same time?

SHIT: Negative. Intermitently.

Rivers: He definitely seems to know you well, Fapsixoca. Or at least, what you used to be like.

*SHIT goes to comment further, likely about the incorrect idea that that is what Barbosa 'used' to be like. However, Barbosa puts his hand on SHIT's arm to stop it from doing so. The doctor does not seem to notice.*

Rivers: So as Scaled Humanoid seems to know you very well, Fapsixoca, how well have 'The Four Faces' been doing as a team?

Barbosa: Well, we started off as adversaries.

Rivers: This is even better than I could have imagined. You were adversaries who managed to work through your differences and come to such an understanding that you became a successful tag team and maybe even friends?

Barbosa: If by "worked things out" you mean "beat each other to a bloody pulp in a match that included barbed wire and C4 only to then find a common enemy in a team that attempted to kill us" then yes, we worked things out.

*Needless to say, Dr Rivers is once again shocked by the level of violence that seems to surround Barbosa.*

Rivers: Well… err… what did you do with this common enemy? Did you call the police and give a statement?

Barbosa: No, we defeated them in a match.

Rivers: Well, that was very grown up of you, Fapsixoca. Burying the hatchet with your opponents through victory. I am proud.

Barbosa: Then we threw them off the stage into a vast array of electrical equipment.

Rivers: Oh my goodness! When?

Barbosa: About 15 minutes ago.

Rivers: That was the reason for the flickering of the lights? How could you do such a thing?

Barbosa: It was quite simple really. They started it so we finished it. It is the way of things in the dog eat dog world of professional wrestling.

Rivers: I am not liking what I am hearing at all, Fapsixoca. I am starting to think that WZCW is not the place for someone of your traumatic mental past.

Barbosa: We will have to agree to disagree on that one, Dr Rivers. We… I tend to think that being in WZCW has allowed… me to focus on numerous different things and give life a new meaning and purpose such as scouting out upcoming opponents like we did in our recent victorious outings against the tag team champions and our co-#1 contenders.

Such victories have not only propelled us into a WZCW tag team championship match but they have also provided direction and clear emotional parameters where there was once nothing but a directionless mass of twisted emotions.

We can now even look ahead to the Lethal Lottery match itself where any of us could win the opportunity to go to the biggest show in our industry and compete for the WZCW World Heavyweight Title.

It has even allowed us to reach out to another lost soul and attempt to help him.

*Barbosa gestures towards his mechanical partner, who has stood in sentry mode since dropping out of the conversation. Clearly impressed and convinced by the arguments of Barbosa, Rivers leans in close and whispers in his ear.*

Rivers: He does know he's a man in a box, right?

Barbosa: No, he thinks he is actually a robot.

*Being talked about brings the robotic sentry to life.*

SHIT: Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology has an amplified auditory capacity beyond that of humans!

Rivers: Okay then, Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology. If you have advanced hearing, then what did I say?

SHIT: The doctor asked Barbosa if Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology was capable of boxing.

*Barbosa and Rivers share a quick look.*

Rivers: And is Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology capable of boxing?

SHIT: Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology is the Ultimate Fighting Machine complete with sophisticated indestructible exoskeletal armour!

*Part of Barbosa clearly has to hold himself back from commenting on how he had not only beaten SHIT in a match but also proven with a box cutter than SHIT's armour was far from indestructible. However, he remains quiet and continues to watch the strange conversation unfold.*

Rivers: I see.

*Rivers grabs Barbosa by the arm and drags him a few steps further away from SHIT.*

Rivers: So what is his story? Bump on the head? Incredibly devout method actor?

Barbosa: From what we can tell, he has been the victim of some sort of mind conditioning by sources I… we… I have yet to identify, which seems to have removed most of its emotions. Perhaps you could have a chat with it… him, doctor. You might have more luck with your expert training. We have had only middling success with him so far.

*Rivers' eyes light up at the possibility of another peculiar patient on whom to publish and so caught up in that potential is he that he fails to recognise the increasing regularlity of Barbosa' referring to himself in the plural.*

Rivers: What have you managed to get out of him so far so I can see what base we would be starting from?

Barbosa: We have got it to recognise simultaneous but conflicting emotions by taking it to a wedding. We have introduced to him to the idea that individuals can be smart but peer pressure can make them appear stupid and we have gotten it to start asking why rather than relying solely on its 'programming.'

Rivers: That is a very good start.

*Barbosa smirk once more, knowing full well where this conversation is going.*

Barbosa: We even managed to get SHIT to show spontaneity on a couple of occasions. Not just verbally but physically too. Didn't we, Poo?

Rivers: I would be most interested in seeing that…

*The doctor needn't have asked for as if Barbosa has flicked a switch, the statuesque SHIT comes alive in an instant.*

SHIT: Sentry mode de-activated! Spontaneous Action Initiated! Target acquired!

*With that, SHIT nails Rivers with an overhand chop! Rivers staggers away from his mechanical assailant, trying to put distance and bodies between him and SHIT. As he reaches the centre of the dressing room and the catering table, he leans against it to regain his bearings. Turning around, he calls out to SHIT.*

Rivers: Why did you do…

*However, as he turns, Rivers realises too late that the crowd of people he had managed to stagger through has parted like the Red Sea to reveal his position.*

SHIT: Spontaneous Action Initiated! Target reaquired!

*The poor doctor is engulfed by a Scaled Humanoid spear that takes them both over through the catering table, sending cups, plates, food, drink and birthday cake flying everywhere!

Watching this chaos from his position close to the door, Barbosa wanders over to the remains of the table and grabs one of the bottles of alcohol before walking off out of the room.*

Barbosa: See ya, doc! Maybe you can publish that in a journal. Boring conversation anyway.

 

[TBK]

"Gent? Gent, y'there? Earth to Gent?"

"HMMM? What? What happens to be the disturbance."

"Gent, it's your turn."

We see as WZCW's Le Gentleman Masque stares down at his arms, right above the table in The Beard's kitchen, with the expression not unlike that of a zombie on his face. In the hands of The Gent, his specialty, playing cards. He stares intently at his cards, still in an incredible daze before looking back up at his partner, The Beard. We see The Gent place his hand on his chin, staring intently at the deck of cards in the middle.

"I take it that we're not playing Go Fish?" The Gent asked in a slurred voice.

With a look of worry, we see The Beard lay down his cards, staring at his tag team partner.

"...We're playing Go Fish. You tired?" Beard asked.

We see as The Gent gives a huge yawn before responding to his partner.

"...Maybe." The Gent responded. "I haven't been sleeping much of late. Worries, and all that."

"About the tag team titles? I know we've had rough luck, but it's going to come to an end at Lethal Lottery." The Beard exclaimed, with a smile. "I guarantee it. Remember? Beard Beard Beard, Beard Beard's the w--"

"That's one of it." The Gent sighed.

Putting his cards down, The Beard shoves aside the cards to talk to his tag team partner.

"Tell me all about." Beard smiled.

"Am I truly giving back, Beard? Do you realize what today is?" The Gent asked.

Beard stared in confusion at The Gent's question.

"...Europe Day? Homesick and want to go back to France?" Beard asked.

"THAT...happens to be completely true, but unrelated to the subject matter." The Gent replied. "One year ago to this day I promised to take down the undignified brutal ungentlemanly people in WZCW, or turn them into kind souls. Guess what I haven't done any of?"

We see as The Gent pushes his cards off to the side, giving a deep sigh as he scoots in closer to the table.

"To fight for what's right in this world, and to set an example. Have I done it? No." The Gent groaned.

We see as The Gent removes his mask.

"For a damned year I've been thinking myself as a man who could make the example and stop people from being like I. For a year I've seen myself as a knight, one who was willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause. Now? I've reached a point in which I've reflected upon everything I've done and asked myself, was I truly fighting for the right, or was it I misjudged and was lead askew?" The Gent asked while raising his voice.

"You've done many things" Beard replied in a calm tone.

"Name one that truly mattered, dare I say. Name one that managed to change but one soul and I shall concede, but you must know that nobody has ever said the words 'I want to be more like The Gent', because I can't even manage to do what I've wanted to do all along. Sure, the man who killed one hundred deer is something to be celebrated, but when that man only killed the deer by accident because he meant to kill moose and had trouble telling the difference, he's a loser, like I." yelled The Gent.

The Beard gives out an agitated grunt towards, his partner, but nonetheless takes a deep breath to calm himself down.

"Gent. Calm down. Everything will be just fine and you'll get what you wish one day, okay?" Beard replied, this time starting to raise his voice as well.

"I wish I could believe that, but every man and woman I've encountered went the opposite direction. Tell me, do you know how many men were on a path of wrong that was changed right here in WZCW?" asked The Gent. "Zero. Absolutely none. Worse yet, many have either left or joined the side I was trying so desperately hard to change what I had attempted to get them not to join? I have all the use of a trumpet that can't play music."

"Shut up." Beard grumbled.

The Gent stood up in a fit of anger towards his partner.

"What was that?" asked The Gent.

The Beard looks up at his partner before standing up to stare at him face-to-face.

"You want to know a life you effected Gent? Mine. It's thanks to you I even came back to WZCW. It's thanks to you that we have these championships, and y'know what? I can't thank you enough for that. You say that you want to inspire, but how often is it that you end up complaining about that? If you were really passionate about 'changing the world', you wouldn't complain about it, you'd try harder. The world doesn't get any better when you quit. It just gets worse." Beard growled.

We see as The Gent stares down at the floor.

"You're right. I suppose that I'm simply not sure how, I guess." The Gent sighed.

"Then why don't we figure that out as a team, Gent?" asked The Beard.

The Gent smiled as he looked up at his partner.

"Thank you." The Gent responded. "I think this reaches not the end of The Gent, but rather the climax."

Jumping onto the table, The Gent looks down at his co-champion.

"I find it hard to believe I've gotten this far as a wrestler, but my mission is not done yet. For, in my hands, the tag team championship can be a symbol of hope. As long as I hold this championship, I am but a part of WZCW history, and I wish nothing more than to make that history matter. This is the turning point for which I must be weary. The fate of this title lies in two teams that are just as likely, if not more to walk out of Lethal Lottery with this Championship. However, while I appreciate what Saxton and Saboteur manage to accomplish, I simply can't let my opportunity walk away, not while I've yet to even think about what I may do with these championships."

Grabbing his mask from off the table, he puts it back on with a triumphant expression.

"I've spent so long thinking if I've accomplished my mission, I realized I could have simply just tried even harder. Maybe the reason I was mad at myself is due to the fact I was not portraying these belts the way they should be treated, as a treasure like the Holy Grails and Golden Fleeces that came before it. To hold a belt such as this means you must have done something right, as there's only two WZCW Tag Team Champions, and to hold, nay, be privileged to hold this championship is but a treasure, and with it, I want people to take in what I've learned in order to hold this title as well as realize that setting an example and fighting 'til the end no matter the cost as long as it's for a reason worth fighting is...satisfying. Especially when compared to it, my wrongs earned me a spot in jail."

Stepping down from the table, The Beard begins to chuckle.

"Well, you've woken up." laughed The Beard.

"Because I feel so brand new." exclaimed the Gent. "I have a new goal, and it's to hold onto these titles and set an example, and I do not even give a single care as to who objects. May it be selfish to cling to titles and proclaim my actions as best? Indeed, however I'm doing things as how I've always done things. I've tried my damn near hardest, I've fought for what I think is right, and I believe that perhaps, just perhaps I might manage to change the world from it. Take note world and all who may listen, whether your name be Action Saxton, the Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology or are simply just an every day man. I stand before you with an iron will and a goal in life. I may be but mortal, but I'll try my hardest not to be. When you throw a punch, I shall ask you for another. When you've broken every bone in my body, I shall still find some way to stand up; and when you destroy everything I love and care about, I'll ask you 'Is that all you've got?' I fight until the bitter end and I fight because it's the only thing I know, and I want to give it a good cause."

Pulling his partner down, The Gent places his hand around his tag team partner's neck, The Gent points to the door.

"Beard. Please, come with me. I'm ready to train and give the best match of my life. I'm ready to walk out of Lethal Lottery with the Tag Team Championships still around my waist, even way past when I should have held them....I'm ready to be an inspiration."

The Beard lifts The Gent's hand off of his neck.

"Then what are we waiting for?" asked The Beard. "Let's go."

 

[JGlass]

The scene opens with Saboteur wheeling a wheelbarrow overflowing with a glowing, purple, coal-like substance. The untrained eye might think that Saboteur is carting around a wheelbarrow of irradiated toy poodle brains, but it is in fact a device of Saboteur’s own scientific creation: Fluxtonium.

Saboteur continues to push his wheelbarrow of Fluxtonium towards the workshop of Saxton/Saboteur tower where his time traveling machine constructed of heavy duty cardboard boxes sits idle, having not been used since Saxton and Saboteur’s trip to the Jurassic era.

Saboteur opens the fuel box of the time machine and begins to dump Fluxtonium in by the shovelful, whistling while he works.

“And what the hell does your foolish ass think it’s doin?”

Though Saxton’s presence in the workshop is surprising considering science is not really in the twenty-four-time Blackademy Award Winner’s wheelhouse, Saboteur seems unfazed by his presence.

Saboteur: It doesn’t think, because my butt doesn’t have a brain… anymore. But my head-brain thinks it’s going back in time again!

Saxton: Come on now! The last time we used this crazy contraption of yours we wound up hoofing it in Dino-times! The last thing we can afford to do right now is have you turn into Dino-chow a week before our big title match at Lethal Lottery.

Saboteur: That’s where you’re wrong; this is for our Lethal Lottery match! My plan is to go back in time and prevent ourselves from ever losing the title belts in the first place.

Saxton: Didn’t our last adventure prove to us that we’re better off facing our problems head-on as opposed to coming up with crazy schemes to get around them?

Saboteur: Yes, but that was before we were put in a match with both the Bearded Gentlemen AND Technosa! We’ve had enough trouble beating Masqué and Beard, but we’ve never been able to win against the combined forces of Barbosa and S.H.I.T.! With the odds stacked against us like this, well… I just don’t like our chances.

Saxton: Odds stacked against us? Sucka, we’re the baddest brothas in the borough, the meanest mothas in the mansion, and the hardest humpers in the house!

Saboteur: Humpers?

Saxton: Whatever! What I’m tryna’ say is that all those clowns we’re facing at Lethal Lottery should be worried about matching up with us not vice versa!

Saboteur sighs before he resumes the banter.

Saboteur: Saxton, you know usually you’re able to break me from any bad mood with an inspirational speech full of alliteration, but my heart is already set on time travel.

Saxton: Earth to stupid, but did you forget the last time we tried time travelling? We wound up going a couple million years further then we intended! How are you going to get to where you want to?

Saboteur: I figure if I dump even more Fluxtonium in the fuel box I’ll be able to control where I go even better.

Saxton: Did you run any tests? Do any equations?

Saboteur: Well, I was about to test it by going back in time before you started asking all these inane questions. Now are you going to come back in time with me or not?

Saxton: Not. I’ve got better things to do than wind up wrestling a Wooly Mammoth, though I suppose that would be good practice for wrestling The Beard this Sunday. No, I’m going to excerwrite.

Saboteur: Excerwrite?

Saxton: Fanta yeah, sucka! It’s the hot new craze that I invented where I do manly exercises like pushups and speedbag punching while I make Garrett write my memoirs for me. Today I think I’m going to talk about when I was discovered. The year was 1977, and I was one bad cat just hanging out one night when the famed producer Ronnie Rosenwasser…

Saboteur: Nope, no time for stories, gotta go, bye now!

Saboteur opens the flap to the box that resembles the cabin of his time machine and climbs in. He sits on the box that most closely resembles the pilot’s seat, and he starts flipping switches and pushing buttons like crazy. He sets the date to December 22nd, 2012: the night of Unscripted.

Saxton: Whatever, you’ll read about it in my memoir, “Action Saxton: A Tale of Love, Triumph, and a Whole Lot of Ass Kickings.”

Saboteur flips Saxton a cool guy thumbs up before he presses the big red button that starts the time machine’s time traveling sequence.

The machine makes a few ugly, clunky noises before its engine starts to purr like a kitten, which is exactly the type of noise it’s supposed to make. It doesn’t take long after that for the fluxtonium to do its work, and within a blink of the eye Saboteur is sent hurdling backwards through time with nothing but a bright flash to announce his departure.

Saxton: I hope that sucka doesn’t cause any paradoxes.

-----​

Saboteur’s time machine hurdles through time and space at impossible speeds. Within mere moments, the time machine slows down before it reaches its destination. The machine drops from the void of the timeflow and hits the pavement in a cloud of blue smoke.

Saboteur opens the door to the time machine and steps out, putting his foot on pavement. He appears to be on a dark city street, and his time machine seems to be parked perfectly on the side of the road.

Saboteur: Ha! I knew adding more Fluxtonium to the fuel box would help me get to where I wanted to be! Now, which way is it to the Unscripted arena…

“Help! I’m dying!” calls a weak voice from somewhere below Saboteur. Saboteur turns his head around wildly before he locates the source of the noise: a man that has been crushed by the time machine.

Saboteur: Hey, you’re getting your blood on my time machine! Who the heck do you think you are?

Ronnie Rosenwasser: I’m famed producer, Ronnie Rossenwasser! I was just busy marveling at my next star across the street there when suddenly I was crushed by this giant contraption! Please help me.

Ronnie Rosenwasser extends his hands to Saboteur and Saboteur attempts to pull him out from underneath the time machine, but it is to no avail as Ronnie is thoroughly crushed.

Ronnie Rosenwasser: It’s no use, I am not long for this world! But with my dying breath, I implore you to make sure that that young black man across the street is taken to my Hollywood Studio and he stars in my next Kung Fu movie! A black movie star starring in Kung Fu movies… is… my… dying… wish. And now, I leave this world to join the likes of Elvis Presley and Joan Crawford: celebrities that died in 1977.

Saboteur: Hate to rain on your parade, pal, but if you were a celebrity I’d have heard about you, and… wait, it’s 1977?

Ronnie Rosenwasser doesn’t answer. He’s dead.

Saboteur: Crap! I’m 35 years early! I suppose I could just find Mikey Stormrage and James Howard’s parents and then convince them not to have children, but if Stormrage never existed then who would stop New Church? No, it’s too risky. Oh well, maybe I’ll just wait around the 35 years until it’s time for Unscripted, I wouldn’t mind living through the 80s again.

Saboteur pulls a picture out of his spandex and looks down at it. The picture is of him and Action Saxton holding the tag team championship belts shortly before the Unscripted PPV, and he brought it to make sure the future hasn’t been changed too much. Saboteur squints at the picture and notices something is amiss. While Saboteur is presented perfectly in the picture, Saxton has faded.

Saboteur: Hmmm, that’s not good. Maybe my time machine crushing this Ron guy to death has something to do with Saxton fading from existence?

Saboteur looks around to see if he can locate the man Ronnie Rosenwasser was looking for. Saboteur doesn’t have to look for very long as his eye is caught by a man with the presence of an alpha-male silverback gorilla and the hair of an African god. He stands 6’5”, muscles bulging from places muscles don’t usually bulge from, and has the sex appeal of an African god. He walks the walk, talks the talk, and has the action hero stature of an African god. His name is…

“Demetrius Smith is gonna be a star one day, baby! And don’t you forget it!”

Demetrius flexes his arms and strikes an action pose as a plethora of ladies are wooed by the confident Bladonis (black-Adonis).

Saboteur: Is that… who I think it is?

Saboteur holds up his picture and positions it so that Demetrius is directly next to Action Saxton. The similarities are unmistakable.”

Saboteur: I understand now! The producer that discovered Action Saxton was killed in a horrible yet unavoidable time machine accident, so he never became a movie star, which means he never became a professional wrestler! It is clear what I must do… make Demetrius Smith into the greatest black movie star this side of Denzel Washington!

Saboteur confidently walks over to Demetrius, and his presence does not go unnoticed.

Demetrius: And who the hell are you, whitey?

Saboteur: How do you know if I’m white or not? I’m covered head to toe in spandex!

Demetrius: I know whitey when I see ‘em, always tryna’ keep a brotha down and what not. It’s like Malcolm said…

Saboteur: Look, now isn’t the time to be quoting Malcolm in the Middle, not when the future is at stake!

Demetrius: The future of what, exactly?

Saboteur: The future of me! And you! And entertainment! You see this picture?

Saboteur shows Demetrius of the duo in the distant future.

Demetrius: So what? It’s you and some blurry sucka.

Saboteur: What? Let me see that!

Saboteur looks closely at the picture and is alarmed to see that Saxton is nothing but a colorful smudge on the page.

Saboteur: Yikes! We have to act fast! Say kid, you ever thought about being in the movies?

Demetrius: The movies? Man, I’m all about relaxin’ with the honeys and practicing my righteous kung fu moves, I ain’t got no interest in playing some crackerjack henchman in, “Whitey Plays the Hero while Keepin’ the Black Man Down Part II.”

Saboteur: What if I told that in my movie, you’d be the hero?

Demetrius: Me as the hero, huh? Now you’ve got me interested. Who would the bad guy be?

Saboteur: I’m thinking maybe… a masked, bearded robot that suffers from multiple personality disorder?

Demetrius: Sucka, that’s brilliant! It’s the perfect metaphor for Jimmy Carter’s handling of the energy crisis!

Saboteur: Yeah, sure, let’s go with that.

Demetrius: Okay, okay, I like the sound of this joint… but hold on, if I’m going to be an action hero, I’m going to need an action hero name!

Saboteur: Ah crud, I’m no good at thinking up names. Let’s see… maybe Snufflepagus?

Demetrius: What the what? Hell no, I was thinking more along the lines of... Action Jackson!

Saboteur: Nah, Michael Jackson is getting big and we don’t want him stealing any of your thunder. Maybe something like, Action Sexton?

Demetrius: Sexton? What am I, a British bank manager? No no no, it needs to have more power to it, something like… like…

Demetrius takes a deep breath and proudly exclaims…

Demetrius: ACTION SAXTON!

The crowd of young women that surrounds Action Saxton immediately start screaming with approval as Saboteur nods happily.

Saboteur: That’s perfect, just like my friend from the future!

Demetrius: Say what now?

Saboteur: Nothing, never mind. Look, I want you to meet me at the movie studio tomorrow and we’ll start shooting the movie right away!

Demetrius: But I don’t have any acting experience. The only thing I’ve ever been in was a school play. Then again, Mrs. Wallace said I was the best tree she ever did see.

Saboteur: Trust me kid, you’ll be a natural. All you gotta do is be the action hero you have buried deep inside of you, and one day you’ll be known around the world! Presidents of nations will want to meet you, you’ll have steamy one-night affairs with hotel heiresses that want to piss off their parents, and the NAACP and Academy Awards will work together to create a brand new award just for you!

Demetrius: A lot of that stuff seemed oddly specific. Which hotel heiress will I be sleeping with, and how big is her booty?

Saboteur: Forget about that, the important thing is that you show up tomorrow, ready to deliver a performance that will change your life!

Demetrius: You have yourself a deal, Mr.… say, what is your name anyway?

Saboteur is caught off guard by the question.

Saboteur: Hmm, if I tell him my real name it could mess up the future because Saxton and I will have met decades before we’re supposed to…

Demetrius: What was that?

Saboteur: Um! My name is… Fakename. Fakename McGillicutty!

Demetrius: Well then Fakename, you have yourself a deal! I’ll see you bright and early at the movie studio!

Two of the women surrounding Saxton wrap their arms around his massive biceps.

Demetrius: Well, maybe not too early.

Demetrius and his entourage of admirers laugh as they walk away, unaware of the incredible future that lays in front of the man that will be known around the world of Action Saxton.

Saboteur is left behind and takes a moment to reflect.

Saboteur: Seeing Demetrius walk away like that is strange. Right now he has no idea what the future holds in store for him. Fame, fortune, victories… defeats, heartbreak, fights that will scar him in ways he can’t even comprehend. His future as Action Saxton is so bright, but the road there is riddled with dangers.

There is a lesson about my own future here. I was so concerned with changing the past that I didn’t realize the dichotomy between past and future. The past is order: it is set in stone, and it cannot be changed. To change it is to remove its status as past, and it becomes the present. The future is chaos: nothing is certain, anything is possible, even if we don’t know it. The presen is neither order nor chaos, it simply exists.

So this whole journey was pointless. By coming to the past I have erased the future! This picture I’m holding will vanish by tomorrow, and I will never have been tag team champions, which means I’ll never have built Saboteur Tower, which means I’ll never have had enough money to build this time machine, which means… I shouldn’t be here.

But I am here… so that means that my future is still possible! The future may be chaos, but my destiny is mine, and I control it! I don’t have to tamper with history to win those belts back, I can make them mine by beating Beard and Masqué and Technosa! If I have the power to change the past, I definitely have the power to beat those four jerks!

The future may be chaotic, and I may not be able to control it, but I certainly can push myself in the direction I want to travel, and that direction is right into the ring where me and Saxton will become the second team to ever be two-time WZCW Tag Team Champions!

Rest up, Demetrius, you have a big future ahead of you… and so do we!

Saboteur pauses for a moment, and then he coughs a slight cough.

Saboteur: Did I just say the word dichotomy?

The screen fades to black as part one of this time traveling adventure comes to an end.

 

[The Doctor]

Stoplight Shock, Inc. presents
Demetrius Smith & Fakename McGillicutty
in
"Humble Beginnings!"
A Film by Stephan Spillbeerg​

"Cut, cut, cut!" roared acclaimed director Stephan Spillbeerg. "Smith, the line is 'Jive-turkey', not 'Herky-jerky!'"

Poor 16-year-old Demetrius Smith was at it again. As he stuttered and apologized to the acclaimed director, Fakename McGillicutty stared at his picture of himself and his blurry black friend, who only seemed to be getting blurrier by the minute.

"All right, kid," Spillbeerg groaned. "One more time, from the top."

The manly mountain Demetrius Smith nodded, and cleared his throat. He turned towards the dying woman on the bed.

"Oh, Rayquandeletreya," he said, squinting, "I am 18-year-old Action Saxton, and you are my ex-girlfriend-slash-marine-corps-lieutenant who has been mortally wounded in a fight with the bearded, masked robot with a personality disorder. This is a real shame."

"Cut!" Spillbeerg's voice interrupted Smith's touching speech. The director strolled over to Smith and waved a clipboard in his face. "Kid, you need to have passion! You need to have soul!"

"I'm sorry, Stephan," Demetrius replied, "but I just ain't gettin' it."

"Try harder!" barked Spillbeerg. "Do you want to be a movie star or not?"

Demetrius grumbled under his breath.

"Okay, take 57, action!"

"Oh, Rayquandeletreya," he said, rolling his eyes, "I am 18-year-old Action Saxton, and you are my ex-girlfriend-slash-marine-corps-lieutenant who has been mortally wounded in a fight with the bearded, masked robot with a personality disorder. Last time this happened, we had some damn amazing post-brush-with-death sex, but now you are dying."

"Cut!" screamed Spillbeerg. "Kid, where the hell did that come from?"

"I was ad-libbing," Demetrius explained. Spillbeerg's clipboard rattled as his hands shook.

"Kid, you don't ad-lib in a Spillbeerg masterpiece!" the director barked. "Just- Just go to the next scene, okay?"

The crew wheeled around the props and set, leaving Demetrius Smith standing face-to-face with the bearded, masked robot with a personality disorder. In the corner, Fakename McGillicutty cradled his spandex-clad head in his hands, staring at the blurry picture.

"Okay, in this scene, Action Saxton stands face to face with the bearded, masked robot with a personality disorder and shows no fear!" Spillbeerg called through a megaphone. "Action!"

"Yes?" Demetrius asked.

"No, not-" Spillbeerg sighed. "Just...from the top, please."

Demetrius assumed a kung-fu stance. He pointed at the bearded, masked robot with a personality disorder, and beckoned it forward.

"Come on, you mechanical muppet," he said. "I know that you have bearded bombs, masked missiles, and schizophrenic shooters, but you ain't got the kung-fu skills ready to k-kill m-m-m-"

He stumbled. Fakename stared at his photo in a panic. Demetrius tried again.

"Th- The kung-fu skills to k-kill Action-"

"CUT!" Spillbeerg roared, causing young Demetrius to leap a foot in the air. The director stomped up to the black kung-fu master and waved his clipboard around. "What part of show no fear do you not understand?"

Demetrius crossed his arms. "Listen up, cream cracka, how the hell am I supposed to show no fear when bearded, masked robots with personality disorders are at the top of my Demetrius Smith Phobia List?"

From his corner, Fakename screamed like a little girl. The photo that was once of him and his formerly unblurry black friend was now just of him. His friend was gone, and the man calling himself Fakename was by himself. Single. Alone.

He looked up to see Demetrius and Spillbeerg staring at him. He rubbed the back of his head cleared his throat.

"My apologies, gentlemen," he said in a convincingly deep voice. "Spillbeerg, I'm going to have to speak to my client alone."

Stephan growled. He pointed at Demetrius.

"Kid, if you don't get this right soon, you're going to be fired."

"Now, that's not happening!" Fakename squeaked, his voice going up two octaves. His heart started racing at the prospect of the potential future fading fast. He clutched it with one hand and pulled Demetrius to the side with the other. He leaned in close, speaking in hushed tones.

"Listen, Saxton," he said, "do you want to be a choke artist, or a star?"

"Of course I want to be a star, Fakename," Demetrius replied, "but man, maybe movies ain't for me."

"Sure they are!" Fakename said. "Look, if you don't get over your fear of bearded, masked robots with personality disorders, you're never going to get anywhere!"

"What do you even mean by that?" Demetrius asked.

"Look, uh," Fakename looked around the set wildly. "Look, there are always going to be bearded, masked robots with personality disorders in your life. Everywhere. All the time."

Demetrius's eyes grew very, very wide. Fakename continued.

"All over the place. But what you need to do is to follow my simple steps. First, imagine them in their underwear."

"Fakename, I don't think robots wear underwear."

"Sure they do!" Fakename insisted. "They wear, uh, ro-boxers. Trust me on this, I'm a robot expert."

"What if this one doesn't wear underwear?"

"Well, then you just..." Fakename looked around wildly again, his gaze falling on Spillbeerg. "Imagine that guy in his underwear!"

"What is it with you and underwear?"

"Has underwear ever lied to you?"

"Well, no, I-"

"Exactly." Fakename nudged Demetrius with an elbow. "Second thing you need to remember is that you are Action Saxton. You are a kung-fu guy, you got it? Action Saxton wouldn't be afraid of bearded, masked robots with personality disorders, right?"

"Would Action Saxton see their ro-boxers?"

Fakename shrugged. "The point is, you have to stop thinking like Demetrius Smith and start thinking like Action Saxton! Action Saxton isn't afraid of bearded, mask wearing robots with multiple personality disorders, and he's not afraid of anything else either! He's a manly man with a manly moustache, a strong man with strong hands, a kung-fu killer and lover of ladies, and he's the type of cat that is ready to win the tag team titles back! I mean, nail this role!"

A smile slowly formed on Demetrius Smith's face. He turned away from Fakename McGillicutty and walked slowly towards the dying woman on the bed.

"Hey, director!" he called. "Let's do the scenes again."

Spillbeerg stopped chatting with a blonde bombshell and stood up from his director's chair. He signaled the crew to get the scenes ready.

"Remember, kid," he said. "One more time, and you're fired."

"Sucka, you talk to Action Saxton like that and my fists will be fired right into your face."

"Okay. Action!"

The woman lay in the bed, bleeding profusely. Action Saxton kneeled down and took her hand.

"Oh, Rayquandeletreya," Action Saxton said, manly tears welling up in his eyes. "I know you and I only knew each other for so long, but it was an honor to serve with you in the Marine Corps. That damn bearded, masked robot with a personality disorder is goin' to rue the day he messed with Action Saxton!"

He turned towards the sky.

"You messed with the wrong man, sucka!" he screamed, "so prepare - because when Action Saxton comes to your town, you know we gonna be throwin' down!"

Suddenly, a large explosion rips through the wall. As the smoke cleared, the looming silhouette of the bearded, masked robot with a personality disorder came into view. Action Saxton assumed a kung-fu stance.

"You listen up, sucka," he said to the masked, bearded robot with a personality disorder. "You listen up good. You took somethin' from me. And now I'm takin' somethin' from you. You think you bad, sucka? You think you a big bad bearded masked robot with a personality disorder? Well I am the Badass Brother, Action Saxton, and I'm about to beep, boop, and bop your ass!"

With a kung-fu scream, Action Saxton leaped forward, driving his fist into the bearded, masked robot with a personality disorder's face. With a tearing and crunching sound, the robot's head flew backwards as it separated from the body. With another scream, Action Saxton delivered a deadly kick that sent the robot through several brick walls.

"And cut!" Spillbeerg said. He ran up to Action Saxton and started shaking his hand violently. "Amazing work, kid! That's a wrap! You did great!"

Fakename presumably smiled underneath his mask as he stared at his non-blurry picture of the future WZCW Tag Team Champions, Action Saxton and Saboteur. He slid it into his spandex.

"Aw, hell, sucka," Saxton replied, "of course I did great! I'm the big boss, the kung-fu king, the heat-packin', cracka-lackin' Action Saxton! And thanks to my friend Fakename McGillicutty, I got a new calling in life. I'm gonna be a star, sucka!"

"You're damn right, kid, you're damn right!" exclaimed Spillbeerg, still shaking Saxton's hand.

Saxton looked around, allowing the director to manhandle his hand.

"Hey, sucka, have you seen Fakename anywhere?"

----

"...So that, sucka, is how I got my first gig," Action Saxton said, finishing his nine-thousandth pushup as Garrett wrote diligently. "Thanks to my boy Fakename McGillicutty, I know how to get through any challenge. you see, sucka, Fakename was not just a man with excellent advice."

Action Saxton nimbly flipped onto his backs and started doing situps.

"Fakename McGillicutty was in fact the personification of confidence, and that is why whenever I am in a jam, I always remember that robots wear underwear, and I know that everything is gonna be all right."

With a flash of light, Saboteur's time machine reappears in the middle of the room inside Saxton/Saboteur Tower. Sabotuer stumbles out of the box and starts looking around the room, feeling the windows, the walls, and staring at his photo.

"Sucka, what the hell are you doing?" Saxton asked.

"I did it!" Saboteur replied.

"Did what?" Saxton asked. "I don't see no tag team championships!"

"Not that," Saboteur said, "I meant- Oh, never mind. I couldn't get the tag team championships."

Saxton smiled. "Sucka, that is perfectly okay," he said. "You see, during my excerwriting session, I realized that not only are we the coolest cats, the titanic two, and the deadliest duo in WZCW, we also got plenty of experience with everyone involved. We have kicked ass with them and against them, and we have kicked plenty of ass without them. You and I, we got one damn fine record as a team and alone, and if there's one thing I know how to do, it is deal with bearded, masked robots with personality disorders."

Action Saxton started doing rounds on a speedbag as he continued.

"Sucka, we are the best damn tag team in the wrestling world, and the odds are always in our favor. After all, sucka, if you know what you're doin', you know that you should always, always bet on black."

With a final punch the speedbag flew off its pole and buried itself in the wall. Action Saxton's muscles rippled as he turned to Saboteur.

"So don't worry about not getting the titles back at Unscripted, sucka," he said. "Because come Lethal Lottery, those belts will be ours again."

"Yeah!" Saboteur exclaimed. "You know, back in time, I learned a valuable lesson."

"What was that, sucka?"

"It was that we can't control the future, and we can't change the past. What's really important is-"

"Now wait a damn minute," Saxton interrupted. "I been doin' a lot of thinking, and you look a hell of a lot like my old friend Fakename McGillicutty!"

Saboteur rubbed the back of his head. "Well, uh, you see, there are only a set amount of faces in this world, so you're bound to- Wait a minute, if you were discovered in 1977, wouldn't that make you in your fifties now?"

"Sucka," Action Saxton said, slowly, "sometimes this world makes no damn sense."

Action Saxton and Saboteur look directly into the camera.