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Climax Control Archives / The Dark Defender - Issue #4
« on: May 15, 2015, 11:42:35 PM »
 
\'user


I stood there over him, with my gun in my hand, pointed directly at his balding head. I wanted to kill him, and for a moment…I didn’t care if it was wrong. Just before I squeezed the trigger I heard him cry and at that moment I realized what I was doing. I released the hammer and holstered the gun. I took a step back and looked at him. “If you ever come near Sarah again…” I didn’t have to finish the sentence. He knew what I meant. I turned and headed for the door and I heard him one more time. “I’m never gonna stop…I’ll always come back.” I took a deep breath and turned back. He was laughing again. This time I couldn’t stop myself. I ran toward him and pulled out my 9mm side arm and lunged at him. He tried to get up but my knee crushed his nose on impact. I raised my hand, the gun clenched in between my fingers, and I hit him. I hit him again, and again. I hit him so hard with the butt of my gun that I watched his left eye pop. It was at that I second that I remembered who I was. I was that scared little kid from the edge of Hell Zone. I backed up but it was too late. He had slumped over, smacking his head on the wood floor. Gary now laid an inch deep in his own blood and teeth.

I didn’t know if he was breathing or not and I was too scared to stick around and find out. I wiped whatever I had remembered touching down, trying to hide the fact that I was ever there, and snuck out the door. The worst part of the whole thing was that I wasn’t appalled at myself. I wasn’t scared that I would get caught or what might have happened. As I walked down Broad Street, toward my home, with a bit of Gary’s blood unknowingly still on my face, I was at peace. I was almost happy. Not because of what I had done but because who I had done it to and because now I knew, no matter what, Sarah would always be safe. No matter how many Gary’s crept out of her closet, I would be there to DEFEND her. That day was the first day that I took a life. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the last.


”You’re pathetic. I’ve watched you, Travis. I know who you are. I know what you stand for and it makes me sick. I came to Sin City Wrestling on a mission; a mission to find someone and bring him or her to justice by any means necessary. And the longer I search for them the more I understand why I am really here. I will find him, or possibly her, but I will also seek out the cruel, and the indecent, and punish them as well. The true nature of my journey is now clear to me. First it was Thaddeus Stone, an insignificant failed actor with delusions of grandeur. I put him out of his misery and he has limped on ever since, finally laying his weak and beaten carcass down for you to finish off. Which, by the way, I’m sure is a victory that will no doubt be lauded by someone like you; another weak minded, delusional fool. At least Stone possessed some sort of ideology. He knew he was pandering to a crowd and clinging to some sort of hope that this stage, the world famous and world touring Sin City stage, would somehow elevate what he perceived as his fallen star. He was too stupid to know that his star was one that never had quite shined but at least he had purpose. He was driven and he knew where he really stood in our world. But you…”

“I don’t like you, Travis. I don’t need to know more about you to determine that either. Your brash and arrogant ways are indicative enough of who you really are. Your ways astound me more than anything because they are unwarranted. You are worse than Stone because, unlike my fallen comrade Thaddeus, you lack vision of who you really are. You are not some great competitor that comes from a long pedigree of Champions. You are the forgotten child of a family that once had high hopes for you. When I think of all you might have accomplished due to your lineage, it saddens me. There could’ve been great triumphs in your life, Travis, and no I do not mean the slew of worthless championships you may or may not have won in your career. I mean true greatness, the likeness of which only few will ever see. You had the bloodline, the opportunity, and even the charisma. You could have had it all. Instead you chose to squander it all away. You chose to alienate yourself from anyone good in your life and in doing so, you set yourself on a path that I can not allow you to continue on. It will bring me no joy to put an end to your journey on Sunday, Travis. You could have been special, but in the end, you’ll end up being nothing more than a footnote in history. I will break you, Travis, and then….and then I will forget you.”


As the night turned into day, he looked for shelter. The rain began to pick up again and his surgical was starting to soak through and his hooded sweatshirt was starting to get heavy as it became saturated with the heavy rainwater. He came across an old ice cream shop that he remembered from when he was younger. He had taken her their on their first anniversary and his daughter on her third birthday. The store, Sweet Cream, was now boarded up and closed down. He kicked through the back door and closed it behind him; he had found his shelter. He found some old boxes and set himself up a small bed in what was probably at one point an old office. He removed his boots and tended to his wounded foot. It was swollen and red, but it was healing. The doctor, Dr. Hung, had done nice work. The stitches were clean and the wound was already recovering. Across from his hung a broken mirror. Just fragments remained but it was enough for him to get a glimpse of himself. He didn’t like who he had become. He was a monster, a shadow of the man he once was, filled with rage and determination. He was afraid that the burning desire to hunt and punish that now lived inside of him would not return to dormancy after he found those partied responsible for what had happened to his family. He was scared to know what it would really feel like to exact revenge on the parties responsible and what it would be like to know what really happened.

He stared at the broken mirror pieces and saw, for the first time, who he really was. His scars were not a terrible reminder of a worse memory nor were they simply remaining wounds of a battle that was once fought. They were part of him, who he really was. He was the last chance for a city to have hope. He was a defender of that hope. He would stop at nothing to preserve that hope for the daughter he would never get to see grow up and have a family of her own. But more than that, he was a punisher of those who would threaten that hope. He knew that it wouldn’t stop with the Westies, if they even were responsible. He knew that his thirst for punishment and justice would never be quenched. This is who he was now. The man he was all those years ago, the husband and the father, the police officer, was gone. Ripped away layer by layer, year after year, by the city he once swore to protect. What remained was just rage and aggression and a deep desire to make those responsible pay. He knew what he had to do and he knew where he had to start. First, he needed to sleep. He took one harder look at the broken mirror before lying down on his cardboard bed. He shut his eyes and for the first time in over seven years, he dreamed of her. He saw her smile as he drifted away, awaiting the next sun down so his journey could continue.


I didn’t need to tell Sarah what I had done. When I busted through the front door of our apartment the look on my face had said it all. The look and the spots  of Gary’s blood that were also on my face. At first she didn’t know how to react. “He’s….dead?” she asked as I sat her down on the couch. “What….why…how?” she stammered as she tried to get her questions out. It was almost as if she were said he were gone. A notion that I didn’t quite understand at that time, but do now. After a few long and terrifying moments, she smiled. She laughed and then cried a bit and then pulled me in for tightest embrace I have ever felt. “I love you, ***BLEEP***!” Those were the greatest four words I had ever heard. She gripped me tighter and tighter. It felt as if she didn’t want to let go and I was perfectly content letting her hold me. That night was the first time we made love. Ever trying doing it with a woman who was nearly ten months? It was weird, uncomfortable, and difficult and I loved every second of it. It was one of the greatest nights of my life. We talked for hours and it felt like for the first time since we were children that Sarah was completely opening up to me and I ate it up. I had only slept for a few hours when there was a knock on the door.

I opened the front door to our apartment to see my partner, Eddie Raymond, standing in front of me with a smirk on his face. He was in full uniform, although we were off that day. “Get your pants on, kid,” He always called me kid and I hated it. To be honest, I loved everything else about the guy. Eddie was one of those guys you could really trust. He came from a good hard working family of cops and we shared an almost unhealthy love of our city and the law. He was a bit shorter than me but wider than I was at the time. He had dark curly hair that he wore like he was a 1930’s gangster, full of gel and hair spray and desperately all pushed over to one side. His one real distinguishing feature was his lazy left eye. When Eddie was still in high school he tried to break up a fight between a few older kids and an undersized boy. The group of older hooligans thanked him by shoving a pointed rock into his eye socket at high speed. He was luck he didn’t lose any of his vision but he looked like Colombo with that eye. “Come on, ***BLEEP***, get your shirt on!” he said again. “Why? I thought we were off today.” I was confused as to what he was getting at. “We were, but now we’re not. We got some over time.” He replied. He knew I had been trying to pick up some overtime with the baby coming in so I’m sure he felt like he was doing me a favor, which he was. “Sure thing, Eddie. Where are we headed?” I wondered He responded quickly; “A murder scene.” He smiled at me like he had just scored big at the raceway but I all of a sudden had terrible feeling in the deep pit of my stomach. “Where at?” I asked nervously. “On the other side of Hellzone. That old roach motel on Broad Street. Apparently some guy got his face smashed in.” He smiled again. It was as if that moment froze for me. I was about to go work my first murder scene…which also happened to be the scene of my first murder.”


” It sickens me how much potential you could have had, Travis, how far you could have gone. I watch you desperately try to grab the spotlight and try to push anyone else out of it and it is just sad to watch such a great pedigree go to waste. I wonder if that’s how your sister felt when she could no longer gobble up the crap that is your persona. I wonder if your father looks back on your life and feels as if you are his greatest disappointment. I’m curious to know if your mother can even look herself in the mirror anymore, knowing what she allowed her son to become and grow up to be. And no, Travis, I don’t mean an arrogant, brash, asshole. I mean can your family, your GREAT wrestling family really stomach the fact that you’re just insignificant? For all of the spotlight that you so frantically try to cling to, has it even registered in your under developed brain that the light isn’t even being shined in your direction? I know how that must feel. To have a deep, painful, desire for something and to not be able to extinguish that burning fire inside. I share that with you, Travis, and it is for this reason and this reason alone that I will have just a small ounce of compassion for you when I put you out on Sunday and ERADICATE all of the things that you have done wrong. Our world will be a better place for it, Travis, and your family will thank me.”

“I wonder if you’ll even read this message that I have left for you. I wonder, if you do, if you will even let the words sink in. You strike me as the type of man who is dense and impenetrable. A man, that no matter how fool hearty his ways are, could never be persuaded to change his course. Are you as thick headed as I believe you to be, Travis? Are you that far gone? Will you care enough to even read this or will you just go about your business as usual, oblivious to your surroundings? There comes a time when all men must meet their maker. A time when all men must look at themselves in the mirror and know exactly who they are. I know who I am, Travis. On Sunday I will show you who you are. I will show the whole world how the last son of the Andrews family is nothing more than a pretender and a failure. A forgotten son and a loser. I will show all of this to you, Travis, and hopefully, when you’re standing in front of your maker, you will finally be able to be honest with yourself. I hope you’ll be able to look at yourself in the mirror and know who you are and then, only then, when you’re finally at your lowest point….that is when I will break you. You will get no second chances, Travis. There will be no white angel in your corner on Sunday and no one in your famous wrestling family will be able to help you. Not mommy, not daddy, and certainly not grand pappy. Even Ralph Lorenzo won’t be able to help you. And at that last moment, when you’re finally ERADICATED…I hope your sister Victoria is there to see it. I hope it gives her some peace knowing that you were finally and mercilessly put out of your misery.”


He awoke just after dusk. He waited for the streets to quiet down before he left his new home, the Sweet Cream. He pulled the hood of his dark gray sweatshirt over his head and as tight as he could. He knew once someone noticed his scars, it could be all over too soon. The news of his escape had no doubt must have made headlines by now and he was probably on the front of every cop’s mind. As the night grew darker, he paced through the streets of Hell Zone, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might look in his direction. He wandered until he found a small sporting goods store. He lurked around to make sure no one was in the area before smashing in the back window. The alarm was loud and instantaneous. He knew he only had a few minutes, so he scoured for anything he could find. He found his way into the hunting and paintball section and it was as if he had hit the jack pot. A smile formed through his scars as he started to rifle through the items on the shelf. He picked up a black duffel bag and began to stuff as much as he could into it. Black face paint was first, followed by a slew of emergency kits. He picked up a black tactical paintball vest and shoved it into the bag. He looked around the shelves nervously, trying to move as fast he could, and that is when his eyes caught it. At first he couldn’t make out what it was but when he picked it up off of the shelf, it was clear. It was a black tactical paint ball mask with a white skull painted on the front. It was as if this mask was left here just for him. The only one of its kind in the store, he had to have it. He picked it up and that’s when he was interrupted. “Stop right there and put your hands up!”

He knew that voice. He turned his head slightly and out of the corner of his eye he confirmed what he already knew. The broad shoulders, the dark curly and gel ridden hair, the lazy left eye. It was his old partner, gun drawn and pointed in his direction, Eddie Raymond. He turned some more and stepped a bit into the light. “Don’t make one more move or I’ll shoot! Drop the bag and put your hands behind your head.” Eddie insisted. As he spoke the words he took notice of the man. His dark features, his bright eyes. He quickly moved to the deep red scars on the bottom half of his face but something caught his attention. Through his scars he saw the man smile. Eddie’s eyes widened…

“***BLEEP***?”

To be continued…

2
Supercard Archives / DARK DEFENDER vs STEVE RAMONE
« on: May 01, 2015, 11:39:08 PM »
 
\'user


He stood there, with his fist clenched, growling at the drug dealer. He gripped the man’s collar and he could hear the thug’s heart beating louder and faster. After a moment, he came to his senses. He slowly unclenched his fist and loosened his grip. He backed up a few paces and then turned around, still breathing heavy through his surgical mask. He started walking out of the alley as he heard the drug dealer mumbling under his breath. “You’re fucking dead man. You walk back in this neighborhood and I’ll cut you down, mother fucker. Either I will or the Westies will.” He stopped in his tracks and turned back toward the drug dealer who was still leaning up against the wall, although now he was smiling with a slight chuckle slipping through his lips. “They’re gonna kill you man…” He lost it. He moved in face, grabbing the dealer by the throat and shoving his head back against the brick wall. He leaned in close, and growled out his words. “I’m already dead.” As soon as the words slipped off his tongue he stomped down on the thug’s shin, breaking it into two pieces. The dealer cried out but it didn’t stop him. He lifted up the dealer’s arm and then cracked it in half. As the thug hunkered down screaming in pain, he leaned down close to him. “You tell them I’m coming for them…you tell them I’m coming and hell is coming with him. He stood back and then stomped one more time, this time on his face.


It was Christmas Eve when I first told her. My partner, Eddie, and his wife came over for dinner. Sarah was enormously pregnant, her due date was January 3rd, and she never looked as beautiful. She had a glow to her that was just mesmerizing to me. Her blonde hair had turned a bit golden and her smile was bright and beautiful as ever. We shared a nice evening, and as Eddie and his wife told us the story about how they had met, I saw the look in her eye. She stared at me with different gleam than I had ever noticed before. She was finally ready for me to tell her. As we cleaned up dessert, after Eddie had left, I grabbed her hand. I turned her toward me and smiled. “I love you, Sarah.” Before she could respond I kept talking, afraid of what she might say. “These past few months have been the best months of my life. I want to spend the rest of my life with and I want to help raise this child. I want to the father it needs and the husband you need.” I did not expect what happened next. At first she smiled, staring at me with that gleam again, but it quickly turned to tears. “I saw him…” she cried out. “Who?” I asked. “Gary. I saw Gary.”

Gary was the wonderful woman beating douchebag that Sarah married that winter after high school graduation. Hearing this made me angry to say the least. He had used Sarah for sex and money, convincing her to pay for their motel and their drugs with the money her family saved up for her to go to college with. After the money was gone, he pimped Sarah out. When she couldn’t find a score, or come home with some crack, he would beat her and then sound her out again. It wasn’t until he finally accidentally impregnated her that he kicked her to the curb. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in nearly nine months until the day they walked into each other outside of a grocery store. He saw her all cleaned up and had assumed she’d met someone with money who was now taking care of her. He had told her that he wanted rights to see his child or he wanted money to go away. He was serious and threatening and it scared the living hell out of her. I could see the fear in her eyes. Not only for her, but for me, and more importantly her unborn child. I held her as she cried and then promised her that everything would be ok. I promised her no one, especially Gary, would hurt her or the baby. I was going to pay a visit to Gary.


“Steve…you really don’t understand my situation do you. I don’t care how long you’ve been wrestling. I don’t care what titles you won and I don’t care who you’ve beaten. None of that matters and none of it is significant to me. To make sure that all of our cards are on the table, let me be clear. I am not walking into this match on Sunday to win. I don’t care about three counts or submission victories. I don’t care about disqualifications or count outs. I’m walking in to Casablanca with one goal. To hurt you. I am going to beat you down and make you pay for her. I am going to make you, and your cronies if I have to, bleed in Africa, Steve. I don’t care if they have to rip me off of you. You will pay.

I know it’s hard for you to digest. I know that ego of yours puts serious limitations on your ability to process thoughts and facts but let me elaborate for you. There is no winner here. There is nothing you can do to put me down. It will take a lot more than you and two guns for hire to stop me. I’m not Old Skool Steve. I’m nothing like anything you’ve seen before. I’m not out for a victory or a notch on my belt. The only notch I crave is vengeance and on Sunday I get to taste it again, if only for a moment. You will fall to me, Steve. There is nothing you can do to change the outcome of this match. No amount of self-adulation and heavy metal music can save you from what I plan to do to you. I will make you bleed, Steve. I will hurt and when the moment finally comes that you realize that there is nothing you can do about it…it’ll be too late. You will have been eradicated.”


I convinced Sarah to tell me where Gary was staying. It was a shoddy motel just on the edge of Hellzone. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say, or do, and I wasn’t sure how Gary would react to me showing up out of nowhere. I brought my gun with me because back then I was still on the smaller side. I hadn’t been afforded the years of endless weight lifting that you get in prison yet. My hair was short and cropped and my face was clean shaven and baby smooth. I intimidated no one and I knew it. When I knocked on the door I was so scared I was shaking. It’s funny when I look back at the person I was then. I wish I could be that kid again. Gary opened the door almost immediately, as if he was expecting someone. His head was shaven but starting to grow back, showing off his receding hairline, and his face unshaven with a beard starting to fill in. He was slightly older than I imagined. His face was aged quite a bit, probably from heavy drug use, but there was still a bit of youth in his eyes. He looked me up and down and then spoke up with arrogance and a bit of agitation. “Who the fuck are you?”

I tried to contain my burning hatred for this pathetic man as much as I could but I’m sure he must’ve sensed that I was at least a bit hostile. “Well?” He was waiting for my response but for some reason I was frozen. Finally I found the words. “I’m here for Sarah.” He stares at me for a moment and then flashes what can only be construed as the world’s fakest smile. “Come in.” He lets me in and I look around to see piles of condom wrappers, burger joint trash, and some needles on the dresser. I took a deep breath and decided that I was going to do this quick and leave. I turned him and made my voice sound as stern as I could. “I’m only going to say this once. Sarah doesn’t owe you anything. She doesn’t owe you money and she sure as hell doesn’t owe you a chance at being in that child’s life. Are we clear?” I tried my best to sound threatening but he laughed at me. He walked up close to me and shoved me on the shoulder. “I don’t know who you are kid.” He quipped. “But I own that girl. I know, she knows, and obviously you know because you came running down here.” He pushed me again. “Now why don’t you get the fuck out of here and send that bitch down here with what she owes me…I could use a good blowjob.” I lost it. I punched him square in the nose but it didn’t have the effect I thought it would. He grabbed me and threw me into the dresser and began to wail on me. He thumped me pretty good that I dropped to one knee. I tried to fend him off but I couldn’t so I did the only think I could think of. I punched him in the nuts.

He backed off for a moment, just long enough for me to jump up and swing on him. I hit him with a hard right that knocked him down and he scooted up against the wall, but I didn’t stop there. Something came over me. It was as if a demon was unleashed. I hit him maybe a dozen times before I realized the blood was coming out of every hole on his face. I couldn’t control myself. I kept looking at him and imagining all the torture he put Sarah through. I pulled out my gun. I pointed it at his head and pulled the hammer back. Just before I squeezed the trigger I heard him cry and at that moment I realized what I was doing. I released the hammer and holstered the gun. I took a step back and looked at him. “If you ever come near Sarah again…” I didn’t have to finish the sentence. He knew what I meant. I turned and headed for the door and I heard him one more time. “I’m never gonna stop…I’ll always come back.” I took a deep breath and turned back. He was laughing again…

To be continued…

3
Supercard Archives / DARK DEFENDER vs STEVE RAMONE
« on: April 25, 2015, 11:28:54 PM »
 
\'user


I sat across from her in the booth and watched her shovel the eggs and toast into her mouth like she hadn’t had a decent meal in a week. I held my policeman’s hat in my hands, gripping it tight, because I couldn’t think of any words to say. She would occasionally look up at me and smile as she poured the food into her mouth and I would just barely manage to crack a small smile in return. Finally I had to ask. “Sarah, what the hell?” It just slipped out. I knew it sounded harsh but my levels of concern and shock were at all time highs. “What?” she responded, with a load of scrambled eggs still in her mouth. I just stared at her with a burning sensation in the back of my eyes. I felt slighted and deceived. All these years I had thought she was gone living this wonderful life when she was still stuck in this city living what looked like  miserable life. She was wearing tight black sweatpants, white sneakers, and a City College sweatshirt. Her skin was dirty and her makeup was basically non-existent. I couldn’t control my anger anymore. “What are you doing with yourself?” I demanded. She set her fork down and looked at me with a scowl. She cleared her throat before responding. “ Look, ***BLEEP***, I don’t owe you an explanation. I haven’t seen or heard from you in five years. I know we were friends and everything but this is my life, ok? Thanks for the eggs.” She threw her fork down and stood up, sneaking out of the booth. As she went to leave, I snapped, grabbing her by the wrist. “Oww!” she cried out but I didn’t care. I pulled on her arm and forced her back down into her seat.

“First off, if you try to walk out of here again before I say it’s ok I will haul your ass into jail. Do you understand me?” I scolded her but it had little effect. She cracked a smile and remarked, “Don’t fool yourself…” I had enough. I stood up, put my hat on, and grabbed her. She screamed for me to let go of her but I ignored her. I didn’t care that the patrons in the diner gawked at us as I dragged her out by her arm and as soon as we got outside I through her up against the wall. “You have a choice, Sarah.” I exclaimed to her. “You can change. You can have this baby and be a mother and clean up your life…or I can take you to jail right now. The choice is yours.” I sat there and waited for her to respond. I watched over her tired yet still angelic face waiting for a response and after a moment, it finally came. A small tear streamed down her face as she nearly cried out her next words. “***BLEEP***, I don’t know how. There’s no one here to help me…I’m scared and this is all I know.” I watched the lone tear stream off the side of her face and I nearly cried myself. “Who is…where is the father?” I asked, not knowing what to expect, but she couldn’t answer. She only slightly shook her head. I wasn’t sure at that moment if that meant that she wasn’t sure WHO or WHERE he was but it didn’t matter. In that moment, when I looked into her eyes, I finally knew why I felt that connection to her all those years ago. I finally knew what I was supposed to do. I stared at her and a small smile cracked through my lips. “I will…I’ll take care of you, Sarah.” The scared look on her face suddenly turned warm and she began to smile the she used to.


The night began turn. The sun was peaking through the dark sky as he came across his old city. Just hours removed from escaped its tall yet decrepit towers he has returned. A new man…with a new purpose. His foot bothered him when it stung every time he stepped down upon it. He knew he must change the dressing but he couldn’t waste any more time. He already wasted hours at the hospital…time he never had to begin with. He came across his old beat, the ‘Hell Zone’ and he knew he had finally arrived. He paced back and forth, going from alley to alley, looking…searching. He knew somewhere on third street he would find it. He kept looking, for nearly an hour, until finally it was there. It looked just as he remembered it, covered in filth and graffiti, packed with prostitutes and drug dealers. The alley was dark thin…perfect for what he was going to do. He pressed his back up against the building just outside of the alleyway and took a deep breath. He lifted his hand up to his mouth, feeling his deep scars that covered the bottom of his face. He took one more breath before pulling it out from his pocket. He secured the surgical mask around his face so he knew no one would see his scars and so no one could identify him. Another deep breath and he turned into the alley.


”I travelled far to get here, Steve. I’ve chased through insurmountable odds just to land where I am today. The bigger picture is much larger than you will ever be to me. I do not care for your simple words or idle threats. Your henchmen do not scare me. I have but one goal here in Sin City Wrestling and it has nothing to do with Steve Ramone…or so I think. The problem….your problem…is that I really don’t know where the missing piece of my puzzle lies. I’ve come here because I was informed that a man here, in Sin City Wrestling, has information that I am looking for. I am, I am told, is fearless and cunning. And while I do not believe you to be a cunning man, Steve, I do hear the moniker that you have self-absorbedly so placed upon yourself…”The Fearless One.” So that, not some petty insignificant twitter ramblings of a moron, are why I came to see you that night, Steve. Because if you truly are…’FEARLESS’…then we may have a much deeper issue to resolve. While I do not truly believe you to be of any significance at all whatsoever, I must take every clue I have seriously and I must take every possible suspect that I have…and eliminate them.

Your henchmen can not always protect you, Steve. You will not always be able to run and hide like you’ve shown you are very capable and willing to do. I will hunt you and I will find you, much like I’ve done many so far, and I will make you pay. You will pay, whether you are responsible or not, because there is no other possibility. There is no other option. All of Sin City Wrestling is under my own, vigilant, investigation and unfortunately for you, as of May the third, you are suspect number one. You can throw your henchmen at me and they may slow me down but they will not stop me. I will find you and I will make you pay.”


Over the next few weeks I helped Sarah get back on her feet. I found her a small one bedroom apartment, in the same building I had lived in, so she could have a place to call her own. I helped her stock the fridge and clean up the place too. She was very grateful to have her friend back. I accompanied her to her doctor’s appointments, which were very expensive because she didn’t have health care, and I drove her to outpatient drug rehab sessions in the evening. I even switched my schedule, and my beat, to be there for her. It was like nothing had ever changed. I had my best friend back. It was me who first brought up getting married. She had decided to cook for my birthday, although it was the night before the actual day, and we had gotten to talking about her medical bills. They were starting to pile up because she wasn’t able to find health care that could cover her because of her drug problems. I mentioned it so casually it first that I don’t think she had taken me seriously about it, but I was completely serious.

We were married just two months later, she was five months pregnant with her…our daughter. Her medical bills were taken care of and we were still, at that moment, just best friends. We had decided we would live together and once the baby was born she would figure out how to get insurance on her own and we would amicably divorce. It was kind of a joke to us at first. My love for her was only beginning to blossom at that moment and I don’t think either of us had quite caught on yet. We went through the motions and built up the façade well. She was a pregnant housewife and I was supportive policeman husband. It was a picture perfect family to everyone outside and to us, it worked. I’m not sure how long it took for her to fall in love with me…but by moth eight…I was hooked.


He darted into the alley, with his disguise firmly in place, and headed for the first person he saw. It was a tall thin, dark skinned, man, with a black bandana wrapped around his head. He saw the tall masked man walking toward him and cocked his head. “Man what the fuck…” The dark figure in the mask grabbed him my his brown leather jacket and through him up against the wall. He pinned him against the wall and held him there and stared into his eyes. It was now or never. If he wanted answers…he had to get them. “Seven years ago…” he spoke in a low grumbly, almost terrifying voice. “…there was a murder here in Hell Zone. A woman and a young girl. They pinned it on a cop.” His voice had become so broken after years of being quiet that it almost sounded as if it hurt him to speak. The drug dealer quivered. “I don’t know man. What the fuck man? Seven years ago I don’t know shit!.

THUMP!

Holding the dealer with his right arm he struck him with his left.

THUMP!

He struck him again. The man still cried out defending his ignorance when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw three men surround him. One to his left, one to his right, and the last one behind him. The man to his left was carrying something that looked like a lead pipe. He took another deep breath.

THUD!

He released the drug dealer and inserted his right elbow into the nose of the man standing behind him. He quickly turned to the right and grabbed the man standing there, hurling head over heels and planting him hard on the cement. He quickly turned to his left.

SMACK!

He felt dizzy. His eyes flickered.

SMACK!

He felt a second hard crack across his head and he fell down to his knee. He started to feel the blood drip down his ear and his neck and he had to make a decision. One more blow to his head with that pipe would surely leave him unconscious, if not dead, so there wasn’t more than a split moment to decide. He used the time wisely. As the lead pipe came swinging again, he grabbed the man’s wrist with his left hand and then punched as hard as he could with his right hand into the man’s groin. As his attacker hunched over in pain, he grabbed the lead pipe from his grip and, with incredible force moving upward, bludgeoned the man in the face, shoving his nose into his face in the process. He turned around quickly to see his second attacker and he immediately swung the pipe, cracking it across his face and rendering him unconscious. He dropped the pipe as the third and final attacker lunged toward him. He grabbed him by the back of the head, and rammed his face straight into the brick wall of one of the buildings that made up the drug infested alley.

After the damage was done he turned to the drug dealer in the black bandana and brown leather jacket, who was staring in shock to what he had just witnessed, and again through him up against the wall, holding him by his throat. “Seven years ago…” The drug dealer wet himself as he screamed out. “Please…I don’t- He got frustrated and cut the drug dealer off. “Lie to me one more time and I swear this will be your last night on this earth.” He couldn’t believe what he had said. Not just because he had said it…but because he had meant it. The drug dealer cried out. “The Westies man…it was the Westies. The girl owned them some money…the husband was a junkie cop and he was easy to frame….that’s all I know man please. Please don’t kill me!” He stood there for a moment staring at the drug dealer…he balled his fist up and tightened his grip on his throat.

To be continued…

4
Climax Control Archives / The Dark Defender - Issue #2
« on: April 09, 2015, 11:43:36 PM »
 

\'user


My story is different. My story is real. As I write this letter to you I hope you understand why I have to do what I am going to do and why I’ve done some things in my life that I am not proud of. The past year of my life, since my escape, has been a blur. As I’m about to tell you, all of you, you’ll see why. My name is ***BLEEP***. I was normal once, even if that seems like a lifetime ago. I had a beautiful wife and an equally gorgeous young daughter. I had a family that I loved more than anything. I graduated from the police academy with honors and at the top of my class. I was the first person in my class to receive his detective’s shield and I was the youngest detective in the department’s history. In hindsight, I probably pissed a lot of people off in my wake, and knowing what I do now…I should’ve just joined the fire department. Behind all of these wonderful things that one would think would make up a storybook life, there was darkness. There were demons. For years I battled an addiction, hiding it from everyone I knew. I would double dip as a cop and as a junkie and I walked a line that shouldn’t have existed. I put my family through hell and failed them when it was time to bring them back. I tried to live that double life as best I could, and I’ll get more into that in due time, but eventually it caught up to me. Eventually I was ousted for who I really was.

At first there was a mass decree of understanding. Everyone wanted to help, including my co-workers. They believed in me, or so they said, and they wanted to be there to help me pick my life up off of the ground. They told me they would stand by me forever, as long as it took, and they did, until that night. When it came down to it, when I needed them most, no one was there for me. No one came to me and stood by my side. No one asked if I did it. They all believed I had. I spent the next seven years of my life coming to terms with that and what had happened that night and what I realized is that I never will. This last year and all of the things I have done, good, bad or indifferent, will never fill that whole that I feel in my chest. All I can do now is hope that what I’ve done, and what I am going to do next, will help me sleep at night since it has been a long time since I have.


It was cold and wet. As he lay down underneath the surface, in a truck load of household garbage, he felt the dampness soak into his orange jumpsuit. He heard the truck come to a complete stop, the loud brakes tightening, and the roar of the engine cutting out. He could hear the driver swing the door open and hop out, shutting the heavy steel door behind him as he trudged through what sounded like a muddy terrain. He shut his eyes and began to count. He told himself he would need to wait fifteen minutes before he could begin his arduous climb out of the sea of garbage. He counted to twenty just in case.

He swam through the sea of garbage as quickly but as quietly as he could. When he got to the wall of the trailer he began to pull himself out of the days old pile of half eaten sandwiches, banana peels, and empty milk cartons. His long, muscular arms reached the edge of the trailer and he slowly pulled himself out, exposing his now fully soiled orange jumpsuit. The rain was still pouring and had now moved on to a steady stream of prickling drops that bounced off his shoulders. He peered over the edge of the trailer and looked for the workers although no one was in sight. He quickly hopped up and pushed himself off of the trailer and down to the muddy ground below.

ZING!

His body tightened as his feet hit the wet dirt. He could feel whatever the foreign object was that he had just landed on, burying itself into his foot. He flinched as he crept, walking slowly toward the trailer-like office just a few hundred yards in front of him. As he moved he could feel the pain emanating from his left heel. He lifted up his leg to see a half broken beer bottle hanging out of his foot. He clenched his teeth as, with one swift motion, he ripped the bottle from his leg. Trying to protect the wound, he ripped a piece of his soiled orange jumpsuit off and wrapped it around his foot. He then set his sights back on the office and moved forward. As he got closer he could hear the voices coming from inside. He quickly ducked behind an old red pickup truck that was parked about one hundred feet away. He noticed a set of dirty, oil-stained coveralls inside. He quickly opened the door and ripped off his soaking wet orange jumpsuit and quietly slipped on the grease covered dark grey jumpsuit that had sat on the front seat. As he got dressed he picked up a ‘Realtree’ baseball cap and slid it on, covering his knotted long hair and then he saw them. Sitting in the ignition were the keys. He slipped into the truck and got behind the wheel. He hesitated for a moment, about to break the law for the first real time in his life, and then turned the engine over, flung the gear-shift into drive, and slammed on the accelerator. The tires spun and kicked up an enormous amount of mud before taking off toward the entrance to the dump. As he hit dry payment he looked into the rear view mirror and saw two men chasing after him. After a moment they disappeared from his sight and sigh of relief had come over him. He looked down to see his bare foot dripping blood all over the floor of the truck and, against his better judgment, followed the sign on the side of the road that said ‘H’.


There are certain aspects of my life that I’ll never share with you as I don’t believe it is necessary to do so. What I will share with you in this memoir is what I’ve done to bear the burden that I feel today. I’m not a Catholic but my soul feels like it needs to confess its sins. These sins, while justified as they may be to me, will no doubt spurn me in your eyes. You will not feel pity for my story or me when I am done, nor am I asking you to, but this story must be told. The things that I have done, in their names, must be known. But to understand the hateful burden that is now mine to carry, you must understand who I am and why I do the things that I do. For this purpose, we will call her Sarah.

Sarah and I grew up next door to each other. We were childhood friends, the best you could imagine. Although she was a girl and I was a boy, we did everything together. I would sit in on her tea parties and she would be my kung fu master. She was the best friend I ever had, even at that moment. As years came and went, we remained close. Gone were the tea parties and kung fu sessions, replaced by poetry readings and paintball expeditions. I excelled in sports and in academics while Sarah struggled. She would daydream for hours about moving far away from the city she felt a deep disdain for. No matter how much I tried to make her smile, my positive effects eventually faded away. We remained by each other’s side until our high school graduation, when I went away to State University and Sarah…well she got left behind. She went to the City Community College and when I came back home for my first summer vacation she was gone. Without a word to me she had met a man, gotten married, and left the city we grew up in, the urban jungle she hated. As much as I was devastated and alone, I was happy for her. She had found her way out.

After just four years I had returned home, degree in hand, looking to make my mark on our city. I was shocked when I saw Sarah’s house, just next-door, boarded up and in disarray. When I had inquired about it my mother had informed me that Sarah’s father had passed away and that her mother had moved out west to live with sister. When I asked about Sarah my mother didn’t have an answer. No one knew where she was. I felt sad for her and wondered where she might have been, imagining her as a happy housewife in some far away rural county. I moved on and I applied for Law School at the City University and enrolled myself into the police academy. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to one day be police captain, district attorney, and maybe even mayor. I was a ‘golden boy’ as my mother would refer to me, and a useless dreamer as my father would say. Nevertheless I completed the academy with honors and got my first city beat. I was as happy as I could’ve been without her.


When he finally pulled up to the small country hospital, about two hours north of the city he knew, he felt as if half of the blood from his body had been drained on to the floor of that old red pickup truck. He slowly shifted the old truck’s transmission into park and sat back in the seat, letting out a long sigh. He knew that he was risking everything by coming here but he knew if he died in the street all of this would’ve been for nothing. He took another long gasp of air before opening the driver’s side door. He cautiously swung his legs around and stepped out on to his right foot. Trying to put as little pressure on his left foot as possible, he dragged his left leg behind his right as headed toward the Emergency Room entrance. As the doors electronically opened, glass panes moving on their own, he felt his eyes roll to the back of his head. To prevent himself from falling down he grabbed a nearby nurse who screamed when he touched her. His legs buckled and he hit the floor and everything went black.

When he came to he was resting on a cot in a quiet, secluded room. Covered in white subway style tiles, the room was a bit antiquated. The fluorescent light on the ceiling flickered and buzzed as he finally came to. The initial shock of waking up caused him to jump up in the gurney. Gone were his dirty coveralls, replaced by a checkered hospital gown and a wristlet that had the stereotypical ‘JOHN DOE’ printed on it. Thoughts raced through his mind as he frantically searched around the room. How long would it take to figure out who he was? Did they call the police? He remembered his foot and wondered how much blood he had lost. He looked down to see his heel neatly bandaged up with tape and wrap. He spotted his coveralls on the chair across from the bed and thought to himself that this was his only chance. He had to get dressed and slip out of the hospital before anyone called the police. As he went to slide out of the cot the door opened, causing him to freeze in the bed. An attractive young Asian woman dressed in light blue hospital scrubs and a long white lab coat walked in. She carried a clipboard with a hot pink pen attached to it and had a bright brown stethoscope hanging around her neck. Her hair was short, cropped just above her ears, and she wore thick round rimmed glasses that covered her tired eyes. She glanced over her clipboard for a few moments before looking up to make eye contact with him. When she did, she was taken back by the scars on his face and by his tense nature. The two stood frozen in eye contact, neither one saying a word, until the female doctor finally broke the silence.

“You gave us a pretty good scare there.” Her voice was soft, much softer than he was used to, and he tried to loosen up. “You cut yourself pretty bad. We were able to remove any broken glass and close the wound but it looks like you may have lost a lot of blood. Do you have anyone you can call? You probably shouldn’t drive for the next 48 hours or so.” He stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head just a bit, indicating a negative response. “Well I can probably let you stay here tonight if you like, on the count that you passed out on Nurse Williams and all. But I can’t in good faith let you drive out of here.” She was kind. She had a genuine look in her eye and for the first time in years he felt as if someone had even an ounce of interest in him. She walked around the bed and went to go sit down next him, which made him flinch when she got close. “I didn’t mean to…I’m sorry. I just wanted to get a closer look at those scars. May I?” He didn’t stop her as she reached her hand towards his face. She gently grazed her fingertips across the deep scars on the lower half of his face. “Do they hurt?” He nodded. “It looks like there may have been some nerve damage. Who was your doctor?” He lowered his eyes down when she asked him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” she let her sentence trail off as they caught eye contact again. “What’s your name?” He stared for a long hard moment. He wanted to tell her but he knew he couldn’t he searched his mind for a response and let the first pseudonym he thought of slip off of his tongue. “Damian.” He didn’t expect her to believe him, and she probably didn’t, but she never showed it. She just smiled at him. “Well, Damian, I’m Dr. Hung. It’s a pleasure to meet you. A nurse will be in here shortly with some food and to change that dressing on your foot. If you need anything you let me know, ok?” She smiled again as she stood up and left the room, this time leaving the door cracked just a bit.

He felt comfortable with her. He didn’t know why but he felt a connection with her for some reason. He waited a few moments before breaking his new found trust with his new doctor. He slipped out of the room and headed down the hall. As he turned the corner there were two policemen, which immediately forced him to turn back. He stood with his back up against the wall, breathing heavily, waiting for the police officers to walk down the hall. When they did he turned the corner, ducking into a staff locker room, which was a complete accident. The room was empty save for a row of tall green lockers against the far wall. He darted toward them and began trying to open them one at a time. The first four were locked shut with combination padlocks and the fifth was unlocked, but for good reason as it was empty. The sixth however was unlocked and full of clothes. He ripped off his hospital gown before taking out the black cargo pants and slipping them on. The black boots were a perfect fit. The grey hooded sweatshirt was a bit tight but it did the trick. He politely left behind the owner’s wallet, save for some cash, and other personal belongings. He quietly slipped out of the locker room and headed down the hallway toward the exit. His foot hurt but it was manageable. No pain was worse than whatever he had already endured and this was nothing compared to what had lied ahead of him. As he reached the end of the hallway he peered into the main lobby to make sure there wasn’t an army of police waiting for him. Much to his disbelief, there wasn’t. As he was about to step into the lobby something caught his right eye. He turned his head and took notice of a supply cart that had been temporarily abandoned. He quickly rifled through it, grabbing new bandages for his foot and medical tape. As he picked through the cart one final time drew his attention. He looked down and saw a surgical mask. He picked it up and gently pressed his fingers to the front of it, contemplating on whether or not he should take it. He held it up and as he looked at it, something in his brain clicked. He had an epiphany. He shoved the mask into his pocket and walked through the lobby and out the front door. As he walked out side there were two police officers looking over the red pickup truck. Standing there with them was Dr. Hung. They were looking for the scarred patient Damian that had just mysteriously walked out of his room, not ***BLEEP*** the escaped felon. Still, the truck was stolen, and he wasn’t medically cleared to leave. He turned the other way and headed down the state highway and back toward the city. He was coming home…and hell was coming with him.


”My journey has led me here. My blood war has brought me to Sin City Wrestling. Someone here knows who I am and someone here knows why I’ve come. It certainly isn’t to fight some C plus midnight Cinemax action movie bit player like Thaddeus Stone. I understand the contract that I’ve signed. I understand what it is I have to do here, both in Milan and the rest of the world, but make no mistake…I am here to find you….and you know who you are.”

“So I will go along with this charade, just as you have, and I will fight everyone I have to just to get to you in the end. The problem for Stone is that he just doesn’t get it. He mocks my name, a name I didn’t give myself, and likens me to some comic book character. He tries to attack my creativity when nothing about what I am doing is creative. Nothing here is fantasy. So when he tweets to the world and to his eleven fans, he thinks he’s insulting me. He thinks his childish insults, calling me ‘Batboy’, actually resonate with me. Unlike Stone, I don’t need SCW to validate who I am. I’m not some failed movie star who pretends he’s an award winning ‘star’. He’s nothing. He’s a failure, and quite frankly he’s a waste of my time.”

“Just because Thaddeus Stone gives himself a laundry list of generic nick names doesn’t mean he’s made himself important. In actuality he’s probably done the opposite. His gimmick is tired, bland, and it’s ordinary; so ordinary that he’s actually a second rate copy of someone who’s already here, even going as far as stealing someone else’s taglines. But again, ‘Batboy’? I’m going to take a moment and talk directly to you Thaddeus so your laymen brain might have a better shot of understanding what I am trying to say. Try looking in the mirror, Stone. Try taking a hard look at yourself before walking into a situation you know nothing about and waving your finger around as if you are above anyone. The cold hard truth about your story is that you’re going to fail here. Just as you’ve failed in your dream of becoming a star, you’re going to stick that tail between your legs and march straight back to England where you came from. Returning home a failure and a forgotten son. You’re destined to be a nobody in this life and coming to Sin City Wrestling will only prove that. Luckily for you, we’re touring in Europe so you won’t have to pay for a trans-Atlantic flight.”

“I won’t torture you here, Stone. I won’t keep reminding you about how useless your life really is. I won’t keep talking about how much you’ve failed in your life. Not just in your pathetic straight to DVD action movies but also wrestling in the independent scene. After being trained by such a great group of teachers and doing nothing with it, you must be their biggest regret. They must look at you as their biggest disappointment in life. How someone who should have such natural athletic ability could be such a loser must be hard for them to swallow, let alone you. I won’t keep touting your ridiculous attempt at being an alpha male. Trying to run in on your first week and be a ‘top dog’ by running your mouth at me and everyone else. Trying to tell everyone who would listen how much better than them you are and coming off as if it were a pleasure that you have ‘arrived’ in Sin City Wrestling. All the while pretending to be the second coming of the biggest fan favorite in this company. The cold hard truth is you have no fans. There are no supporters, and there is no ‘Stone Nation’. There is just a sad six foot tall man who has lived on this planet nearly twenty seven years and has nothing but a collection of terrible direct to DVD films as his legacy. I pity you Thaddeus. Not because you really are talentless. But because you’re pretending to be something you’re not. Because all of this energy you spend trying to prove to the world that you are in fact the ‘King of Cinema’ is causing you to waste away. Take a piece of advice from this ‘Batboy’. The sooner you embrace who you really are the sooner you will thrive. The quicker you come to terms with the person that actually lives inside of you the quicker you will be able to shed that loser label. The longer you pretend to be a fan loving movie star…the longer the list of your failures will grow. It’s time, Thaddeus. It’s time to stop lying to yourself and everyone else. It’s time to be the real Stone.”


That first city beat was brutal. It was in the heart of the ‘Hell Zone’, which was the name us cops had given the northern neighborhood of Westfield. It was a dirty place, filled with dealers, pimps, gang bangers, and prostitutes. I would walk Third Street up and down from six in the evening until about two in the morning, five nights per week. It was usually the same business every shift. A drunken homeless person screaming over something, a young dealer caught selling some dope. After about a year on the force, the days started to blend together. I would punch in and out for my shift and feel like I hadn’t accomplished much of anything. I was a young cop working in the most dangerous neighborhood in the city and I was bored. Imagine that? I was making arrests twice, sometimes three times per night and I still felt as though something was missing. I was yearning for something, anything, to happen to me. There was a whole inside of me and I didn’t know how to fill it, at least not at that point anyway. Nothing ever changed and nothing was ever different. Nothing before that night anyway.

I had been working a particular alley the past couple of weeks. It seemed to have been a hot bed for crack addicts and hookers. It usually meant an easy arrest if there was someone in there when I walked in. It was a cool March night. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I had already made one arrest from the alley that night and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. I stopped for dinner at the burger joint on the corner of Third Street and American Ave and had their “Bazooka Burger”. A half-pound of deliciously greasy ground beef, topped with pepper jack cheese, jalapeno peppers, thick-cut bacon, and some sort of spicy mayonnaise. All of which was shoved on to the most delicious bun. I remember this only because for some reason I ordered a Sprite with it. I was a religious Coca-Cola drinker but for some reason, on that March night, I craved a Sprite. After finishing my burger I headed east on Third Street toward the alleyway. I stopped along the way to check on another site I knew but there was no activity there. Sometimes I look back and wish there was. How different my life might have been. By the time I got to the alleyway it was about eight-thirty and darkness had fully set in. I heard some noises coming from the shadows so I quickly drew my flashlight and shined it as far as I could, just in time to watch a young girl buy some crack. As soon as the light flashed the dealer was gone. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. This left me all alone with his customer. She tried to take off as well but I was too fast for her. I grabbed her and threw her down on a pile of garbage bags. She tried to kick me off of her so she could run again so I was forced to use some of my strength to hold her down. She struggled for a bit before she screamed out at me.

“Stop it! Please get off of me…I’m pregnant!”

As soon as she spoke I knew who she was. I would know that voice anywhere. Sarah wasn’t a housewife in a far away rural county. She was a pregnant junkie and she was right here, in the city, in my alley.

To be continued…


 

5
Character Building Roleplays / The Dark Defender - Issue #1
« on: April 01, 2015, 11:16:42 PM »
 

\'user



The night was dark. He stared out over the rooftops, glaring through the rain, looking over the city that was crumbling beneath him. He reached his hand out with his palm facing upward and let the raindrops bounce off of his dirty hand. He closed his fist, catching the rain, as if it were the first time in years he had felt the dampness of a good rain shower. His hair was both wet and greasy. His long, knotted, dark hair clung to the top of his face as he let out a long sigh. He took a step closer, trying not to step on anything that could pierce his bare feet, to get a glimpse of the town he once knew as home. His torn, tattered, and stained orange jumpsuit was getting soaked. He could feel his body start to tremble as the rain began to harden and smack off his course skin. He reached up to his lips, rubbing his callous fingertips over the thick scars that covered the lower portion of his face. He remembered why he was on that rooftop. He took another step closer to the edge and then jumped.


It was seven years ago. He was a young, charismatic, man in love with an equally lovely woman. She was a natural beauty, with shoulder length strawberry hair and bright green eyes. She was a receptionist at a local law office during the day and a law student at night. Her daughter, just five years old, was a miniature version of her. Her personality would light up any room she walked into. She wasn’t his daughter, but he loved her just the same. He took care of her, walked her to school, and gave her a kiss goodnight every night. Every night except that night. He worked a double shift because his wife, her mother, was having trouble paying her tuition. He did everything for them. They were his life.

It was seven years ago today that he came home and found them. At first he couldn’t believe it. At first he didn’t want to. He cried out in fear and anger but no one heard him. He picked them both up and held them as he wailed. When the police came it didn’t matter that he was one of them. It didn’t matter that he swore up and down that he wasn’t home. No one believed him. His recent issues with substance abuse didn’t help his case. Someone knew he would be home shortly afterward. Someone had framed him. The jury took less than two hours to convict him and it seemed like the judge took even less time to sentence him to life in prison.


The first year was the hardest. He still held on to hope that they would see he was innocent. He still cried at night, hoping someone would believe him. No one ever did. The worst part came in his eight month. They came after him on his way from the laundry to the cafeteria. Four men, one with a make shift blade, all converged on him. He managed to fight back, remembering his training from the academy, but not before the blade slashed his face. He fell down, and the man slashed him over twenty times. The blade was half dull and short so none of the wounds were deep or life threatening. The worst of it came on his face. He spent three weeks in the infirmary. Two months later three of the men tried to finish the job…only one walked again.


In year three he began to give up his hope. His life became routine and he started to settle in. Long gone were the visits from friends and family. He was forgotten and excommunicated from his once perfect life. His mother disowned him and his lawyer stopped returning his calls. This was it. This was his life. He took up in the library and read everything he could get his hands on. All the while, fantasizing about her, about them. Living the life in his head he thought he was meant to have. He became a model citizen, keeping to himself. He grew his hair long and his beard thick in an attempt to hide his face. He settled and gave up hope.


In year five things changed. His hope and sadness were gone. Rushed in to replace them were anger and hatred and a burning question…why? Why them? What happened? Why him? He began to channel his frustration into his workout, gaining mass and speed as he carried around an intensity that burned a whole in his chest. He began to plot and to plan. He knew what he had to do. He knew what had to be done. He had to leave that place and he need to find the answers to those questions. He wanted vengeance for the woman and daughter that he loved. He needed to punish those responsible, although he was stuck behind a concrete wall and steel bars. But not for long…


Year six flew by, as his hair grew longer. He mapped out his every move. His plan was meticulous. It was perfect. He just needed to build up the nerve to execute it. He studied everyone around him, watching intently for months as he perfected it. Now all he had to do was wait. He had picked the date; the seventh anniversary. That was the day. She would’ve twelve he thought to himself. Maybe she would’ve had a brother right now. Maybe they could’ve moved out of this damned city and made a life for themselves. He imagined how wonderful it could’ve been before being brought back down to reality when he heard the steel doors close. It was just a waiting game now, just a bit longer.


When the day came he couldn’t eat. Midway through the afternoon it began to rain, something he had been hoping for. He froze in his tracks when he first wanted to begin so he took a deep breath and tried again, slipping his shoes off to remain quiet. Fourteen steps while hugging the left wall and when got to the corner he switched to the right wall as planned. Sixty-three more steps before he came to the custodial closet. He snuck in. He picked up the loose tiles that he had spent months carving out with his fingernails and began to lift up the sub floor, which he broke through last month. He jumped down to the concrete crawl space and began to lunge himself forward. For three hundred yards he inched forward like a slug before getting to the outside wall. He turned left and then entered the airshaft. As planned, there was a guard just outside of the shaft. He incapacitated him quickly, taking his keys in the process.

Now he was in the yard. He made his way to the tool shed where grabbed the axe. Just as he expected a guard came around the corner when he exited the shed. A quick blow to the head the guard was out. Now the only thing that was left was the chained and padlock side exit, where they got deliveries on Tuesdays. He knew he would have a few minutes until the guard came around the corner so he acted quickly. He used the axe to break open the padlock. He hit the chain so hard that the head of the axe fell off of the handle. Just as he was about to push the door open he heard the guard behind him. Without thinking he spun around, connecting with the axe handle on the guards cheek. He pushed open the door and ran through. As planned, he ran to the building directly across the street. He dug his hands into the brick façade and climbed. The heavy rain provided cover as the guards ran down the street; not seeing him clung to the side of the building right in front of them. As he heard the sirens and alarms sound he reached the roof. He knew he only had a few seconds for the garbage trailer to drive by so he stepped closer to the edge of the building that over looked the dying city.


To be continued...

6
Climax Control Archives / The Hero Returns: Chapter Two
« on: May 08, 2014, 06:47:48 PM »
 
”You cannot be a hero without being a coward.” –George Bernard Shaw



[The scene sets in on a grassy knoll in the English countryside. The wind blows through the air, which send a slight ruffle through the light colored leaves of the Poplar trees. The hill is overgrown a bit with knee high blades of grass that seem to dance a bit as the gusts of wind roll through. Across the hill we see two people, one man and one woman, run by laughing and shouting. The man is familiar albeit a bit younger than we’re accustomed to seeing. Thomas Knight is dressed in light khakis and a long sleeved thermal white shirt. His eyes are brighter than we are used to and his face is clean-shaven. He chases after a beautiful young woman with dark hair. She too is wearing light colored khakis but her shirt is baby blue with a small color. He chases her up to the top of the hill at the base of a large poplar tree and tackles her two the ground. She out-wrestles him a bit and gets on top of him, wrenching his arm.]

Knight: Ok! Ok, Sadie! I give up.

[Sadie Beckham, a beautiful twenty-three year old with a pearl smile looks into his eyes.]

Sadie: Wank.

[She laughs as she let’s go of his arm and sits. Thomas sits up as well, still smiling as he wipes the broken bits of grass off of his shirt.]

Knight: Would you look at that.

[Thomas points off to the distance over the hill, looking down at the sea. He points to a large cruise ship on the horizon.]

Sadie: The boat?

Knight: Aye. How nice would it be to just get on there and sail away? Leave all this behind us and just start fresh somewhere.

Sadie: Oh yeah. That’s sounds like a great idea, Thomas Knight. Leave me job, me family, and all me friends just to go somewhere with you. You’re not that good looking, ya know.

[Thomas smiles.]

Knight: Wouldn’t it be nice though…to just get away. Do something different.

Sadie: Ya just got back from the navy, Tom. Now ya want to sail away again?

Knight: Aye, with you.

[Thomas leans in and gives her a small kiss on her right cheek. She smiles a bit but you can tell the display of affection from Knight makes her a bit nervous and uncomfortable.]

Sadie: Tom, we’ve been through this. It’s complicated for me.

Knight: Yeah I know. Complicated.

[Thomas swings himself around and plants himself firmly in front of the young woman. He cocks his head and stares in her eyes a bit before running his hand through her silky, dark hair. She shies away at first but after a short moment she leans in to his hand, which is now firmly pressed on the back of her neck. He leans in a bit and smiles before taking his hand back. He grabs her hand and presses it on his chest, just above his heart.]

Knight: You know what’s complicated? Waking up every day and knowing that the love of me life is right here. Knowing that the greatest thing I could ever do in me life is make her happy. To know that the rest of me life starts right here…with you. And I can’t figure out a way to get ya to see that, to get you to look past whatever it is that holds ya back. That’s complicated.

[Sadie smiles at Thomas.]

Sadie: I wish it was that easy, Tom. I do.

Knight: What is it then? There’s something you’re not telling me, Sadie.

Sadie: You really want to know?

Knight: Aye, I do.

Sadie: I-

[The scene cuts out.]


05.05.2014 – Grand Hotel; Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo – 10:15 AM

[The scene fades back in on the light hazel eye of Thomas Knight, frantically opening. It zooms out a bit to see him, present day, laying shirtless on a small cot of a bed in a run down hotel room in Kinshasa, the day after his SCW debut. He sits up but as he does, he groans a bit. He stretches his a bit and rubs the back of his stiff neck. He stands up, wearing nothing but a pair of army green slacks, and heads over to the mirror. He looks over his face and the nice shiner he has sitting beneath his left eye, courtesy of Jericho Hill. He smiles at the bruise on his right shoulder left there from the hard-hitting helmet of Horace Jackson. His right knuckles are bruised over a bit and he reaches for the now melted ice bucket and dumps his hand in there for a bit of relief. He lets out a swift sigh as he hears a pounding on the door.]

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Knight: One minute.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Knight: Aye! I’ll be right there.

[He turns around and peers over the swanky hotel room. He spots his white t-shirt, draped over a bright pink armchair nestled in the corner of the room. He makes his way over to it and snatches it up. He starts to throw it on over his arms as he walks over toward the front door of his room.]

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Knight: Alright!

[Knight swings open the door to his hotel room, ready to verbally rip apart whoever has been knocking on his door but he’s taken back when he sees SCW Production Assistant Allie Anderson standing in front of him. Her soft brown hair glistens in the light from the hallway as she smiles up at Thomas.]

Allie: I didn’t wake you did I?

Knight: No, not really.

Allie: Good! I’m your ride.

Knight: Where to?

Allie: To the airport, silly.

[Allie gives him a soft, playful poke his arm.]

Allie: We leave in at noon, off to Madagascar.

Knight: Aye.

[Thomas turns around and heads back toward his bed wear he plops down and begins to put on his slightly worn socks. Allie jumps up on to the dresser and kicks her legs a bit as she waits for Thomas to get ready.]

Allie: That was great match last night. Some of the guys in the back said you looked pretty rusty but I didn’t think so. I thought you were great.

Knight: Is that so?

Allie: Yup! Even though that Brock Whitworth guy showed up and dropped you on your head. I didn’t think you looked like a washed up Brit like some of the others guys said.

[Thomas stops and looks up at her.]

Knight: And who said that?

Allie: Oh you know, just pretty much all the guys that were back there watching your match.

Knight: You know it ain’t easy to open a show when you haven’t been in the ring for a few years.

Allie: I know, tell me about it. And to think they’re making you do it again this week against Whitworth…

Knight: Bloody hell. Are you serious? That’s a marquee match up. The berk signed a one match deal for this. That’s a crying shame being the opener.

Allie: Well at least you’ll have the chance to steal the show early on.

Knight: Right.

[Thomas throws on his sneakers a bit angrily. He stands up, grabs his pack and throws it over his shoulder as Allie hops off the dresser, and steps toward the door. Allie cuts him off and stops him in his tracks. She stares up at him with her big, sky blue eyes and smiles.]

Allie: I really did think you were great, you know.

Knight: Aye. Thanks.

[Allie steps in closer and it makes Thomas noticeably uncomfortable.]

Knight: The plane…we catch…have to….Mada…..gascar..

[Thomas pushes past Allie and walks out the hotel room door. She smiles as she watches him hustle down the hallway and the scene fades out.


”Twitter is still pretty brand new to me. It was part of me deal with Goldstein. He told me I had to be accessible to the fans and that I had to build me brand. Fuck that. All it’s done for me is a have a monster Aussie drop me on me head in front a few thousand people. I say that’s building a good brand, huh mate?

Truth is I have no idea why we is having this match in the first place. Seems it started as a virtual pissing contest and has now escalated to you flying out to Africa just to fight me. Should I feel honored? Hell it makes me smile as wide as the sky to put a dent in ya face so I’m glad you made the trip. I’m excited to see what ya really got. I wanna know if ya can live up to all the hype or if you’re like that Jericho berk. Either way we gonna tangle in Madagascar and I think it should be loads of fun.

Just remember when they ring that bell that you asked for all of this. You signed that one-match contract and you got on that plane. NO one forced you and no one begged you. Ya made that stupid mistake all on your own. I ain’t some slop in PWX and sure as hell ain’t no hack from EWC. This is the real show, berk. I hope you know what you got yourself into. I hate to be the one to tell ya but the only thing that they’ll be proud about in Brisbane after Sunday is the fact that ya at least had the stones to get in the ring with the Extreme Hero.”


[The scene fades back in to Thomas and Sadie sitting at the foot of the poplar tree, some time ago.]

Knight: What is it then? There’s something you’re not telling me, Sadie.

Sadie: You really want to know?

Knight: Aye, I do.

Sadie: I’m pregnant, Tom.

[Thomas sits back a bit confused.]

Knight: How-

[She cuts him off.]

Sadie: I thought I was careful but…

[She breaks down and cries out, leaning forward and falling into Thomas’ arms.]

Knight: Hey…It’s all right. Ya got nothing to worry about, Sadie. I’m here…I ain’t running away.

Sadie: But you want to. You want to travel the world and see places and I’m ruining everything.

Knight: You’re not ruining anything, Sadie. I don’t need to go anywhere. Everything I need is right here.

[He puts his hand over Sadie’s heart. She lifts her head up and wipes away a tear before cracking a smile.]

Sadie: How are we gonna make any money. Ya make life four quid an hour at the caff.

Knight: Yeah good story.

[He smiles.]

Knight: You know Bill, right? The hack from the gym?

Sadie: The one with the comb-over?

Knight: Aye. He had a line on some fighting.

Sadie: Bare knuckling? Ya got ya face smashed good in the service, Tom.

Knight: Not knuckling, wrestling. He said there’s some good money in it. Maybe a hundred pounds a match. That would pay for some stuff.

Sadie: Tom…I don’t want to-

[He cuts her off by putting his hand on her cheek.]

Knight: You’re my responsibility now…the both of yas. Yeah?

[Sadie nods her head.]

Knight: Good.

[He leans in to kiss her as the scene cuts out again.]


08.05.2014 – Hotel Les Trois Metis; Antananarivo, Madagascar – 1:00 PM

[The scene fades back in to a hotel lobby. Thomas is standing in blue jeans, sandals, and a black v-neck t-shirt. He is waiting impatiently next to the pay phone in the lobby, pacing back and forth.]

RING! RING!

[He snatches the phone up as soon as it rings.]

Knight: New York! I’ve been waiting here for two bloody hours.

[The voice on the other end is that of his agent, Barry Goldstein.]

Barry: Yeah well with the time difference I was busy sleeping between two of the most gorgeous titties I had ever seen. There was no way I was moving to call your hairy British ass.

Knight: Right. So I’m just sitting here waiting like a wank then?

Barry: Relax I’m here now aren’t I? Look you gotta relax man. You’re in Madagascar now. Not some third world crap hold like before. Have a drink and a smoke. Maybe find a prosti-

[Thomas cuts him off.]

Knight: Look what was so bloody important ya had to keep me waiting by this damn telephone?

Barry: I’ll tell you what was so damn important you ungrateful prick, I just got you a bonus if you pin that son of a koala bear, Whitworth. Knick him the fuck out and you get 20 percent more squids or whatever the fuck you guys call it over there.

Knight: Quid.

Barry: Yeah, I don’t really care. Look are that girl Allie’s boobies as perky as they look?

Knight: Goodbye, Barry.

Barry: Wait-

[Thomas hangs up the phone and turns around. He unfolds his aviator sunglasses and slides them onto his face before taking a walk out of the hotel lobby. He takes off down the main road along the beach. In the distance he can see the SCW crew setting up the makeshift beach arena for Sunday’s festivities. He heads that way as he looks around, taking in the scenery. He passes by groups of people, and relaxes a bit in the more calming environment that he is now in compared to past few weeks. He gets on to the beach, walks past a few palm trees, and stops as the sun hits his skin. He slides his bare feet out of his sandals and digs his toes in to the sand and smiles. He lets out a deep sigh and starts to think about his upcoming task…]

“I didn’t come up with the name Hero. I didn’t ask for the nickname. It was something that was given to me because a promoter thought I was too bland. He thought I was too much of the common man to stand out at all. Unless of course, he made it a point to tell everyone how I was a commoner, that I was one of them. That I was the same as every man or woman in the stands and that it might as well have been them in the ring. Fucking prick was smart ‘cause it worked.

I’m no hero more than you are a hero, Brock. I’m just a man willing to get the shit kicked out of him for money. Some times I win, and sometimes I lose. Plain as Jane. But the thing that makes me better than you, berk…the one trait I have that convinces me I will walk out victorious on Sunday…I’m scared. I’ve never gotten in to the ring without fearing what might happen. Whether it be a generic hack like you or a maniacal freak like Jericho Hill. You all scare me the same. I never know when it might be the last time I step through those ropes and scares the living shit out of me.

I don’t do this for glory like you Brock. I’m no one’s ‘PRIDE’. I’m simply a father who needs to do this to put food on the table for his son. So you can go ahead and beat me right on Sunday. You can slam me head in the mat all you want. It doesn’t bother me ‘cause there is one truth here. I’m gonna win. I have to win. I need to win. You’re just a rung in the ladder this time, mate. Nothing more, nothing less.”

7
Climax Control Archives / The Hero Returns: Chapter One
« on: May 02, 2014, 09:41:42 PM »
 
”A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer…” -Ralph Waldo Emerson


20.04.2014 - Runyan’s Pub; Blackpool, Lancashire, England – 3:15 PM

[The scene sets in inside of a small pub on the boardwalk in the historic city of Blackpool. The place is nearly empty, save for two men sitting at opposite ends of the bar, one at the end and the other in the corner by the wall, and the middle aged man tending it. The one man at the far end of the bar is older, probably in his seventies, and is wearing a denim jacket that looks nearly as old as him. His thick horn rimmed glasses cover most of his face and the small bit of white hair on top of his head stops the light from reflecting off the rest of his balding scalp. The man opposite him, hunched over in the corner, is wearing a dark blue rain coat with a hood pulled over his black baseball cap. You can’t make out his face as he appears to be napping at the bar. The bartender himself has salt and pepper hair and a look about him like he spent a good part of his life punching people in the face.

The waves of the Irish Sea can be heard crashing against the boardwalk just outside of the open door. The bartender stands gazing out the front door as he polishes beer glasses one after another. His dark eyes narrow in on a rather flamboyant man walking toward the bar. The man is dressed in a bright pink shirt that sits under a tan suit. His blonde hair is slicked back and tucked behind his ears in an almost slimy looking way. In one hand he holds a cigar and the other a tan leather attaché case fitting of a businessman. He walks in through the open door and sets his case down at the foot of the antique looking bar as he sits down and rather obnoxiously sits his cigar right on the top of the bar. His smile familiar, he is the agent to the stars, Barry Goldstein. He raises his hand as if sitting at a crowded bar and speaks up in his out of place New York accent.]

Barry: Can I get a drink in this place, or what?

[The bartender sets down his rag and the glass he was polishing it with and walks over with an annoyed look on his face.]

Bartender: Yeah? Go on with it.

Barry: I’ll take a Ketel One Cosmo with a lemon, not a lime. And don’t put one of them little straws in it. I don’t know what shits been sitting on them for the last twenty years.

[The bartender cracks a small smile.]

Bartender: I think yer in the wrong place, mate. We got beer, lager, and whiskey. Take yer pick.

[Barry’s smile quickly fades.]

Barry: How about vodka? Do you have vodka?

Bartender: Sure we got vodka.

Barry: Just give me some vodka. Make sure you put ice in it too. I don’t know what it is with you people and warm booze.

[The bartender drops the small glass of vodka in front of Barry as he narrows his eyes at the rude patron.]

Bartender: Six quid.

[Barry chuckles.]

Barry: I have no idea what you just said. This should be enough.

[Goldstein drops a few bills on the counter and takes a long sip of his vodka. He lets out a deep sigh and smiles as he tastes the alcohol that he seems to have been craving. He takes a long look around the tavern and then turns back to the bartender who is now picking up the money that he set down.]

Barry: Let me ask you ask you a question. I’m looking for somebody.

Old man: Aren’t we all, lad?

[The old man sitting at the far end of the bar chimes in.]

Old man: I’ve been looking for someone all me life.

[The bartender and the old man share a quick laugh at Barry’s expense.]

Barry: Fascinating. I’m looking for a guy named Knight. I was told this is his favorite place to spend an afternoon.

[The bartender and old man share another look.]

Bartender: Who’s asking?

Barry: Goldstein. Barry Goldstein.

[He proudly hands a business card to the bartender.]

Barry: Go ahead, feel the card stock and the raised lettering. Here you too.

[He hands one to the old man.]

Bartender: Talent management?

Barry: Technically I’m an agent. Look you guys know this guy? I’ve been tracking him down for two days now and my patience is wearing thin. I’m desperate for a cheeseburger and some cocaine so if you could help me out trying to find this kid I’d really appreciate it.

[The look on the bartender’s face drops as he lets the business card fall on the bar top.]

Bartender: Sorry. Don’t know him.

Old man: Me neither.

[Barry looks at both men with the knowledge that they are being less than truthful with him. He grabs his glass of vodka and downs the rest of it. He sets the glass down hard on the bar before wiping off the side of his mouth and picks up his brief case.]

Barry: Thank you for being as helpful as the rest of this miserable city. If you see Thomas Knight tell him I want to make him a shit ton of money. He can find me back in New York where I can get a medium rare steak, a cold beer, and a prostitute with straight teeth. Have a good day gentlemen.

[Barry turns to walk out of the door but before he gets back to the boardwalk the other man, still hunched over and leaning up against the wall in the corner calls out to him.]

Man: Wait.

[Barry stops in his tracks and turns around to see the man now with his head lifted. He sports a dark, thick beard and his eyes are narrow but bright. He stands up and appears to be a small giant squeezed in to the tiny hole-in-the-wall pub. He cracks a small smile before addressing the New Yorker.]

Man: Tell me about this shit ton of money.

Barry: It’s a shit ton. Look you know this fucking guy or not?

Man: Aye.

Barry: Can you tell me where he is?

Man: Aye.

Barry: Can you say anything else besides ‘Aye’?

Man: Aye.

[The bartender, the old man, and the man in the blue raincoat share a chuckle.]

Barry: I don’t have time for this-

[The man interrupts Barry as he goes to leave again.]

Man: I’m Knight.

[Barry turns back.]

Barry: You’re Thomas Knight?

Man: Aye.

Barry: The Extreme Hero Thomas Knight is you?

Man: I thought you didn’t like it when I said ‘Aye’?

[Goldstein lets out a small laugh.]

Barry: I’m sorry. I expected someone a bit more-

[The man, who we now know is Thomas Knight, interrupts him.]

Knight: Handsome?

Barry: Intimidating.

Knight: Well this is what ya got. Just me, me pop George, and me granddad Jack.

[Barry nods to the two other men in the room.]

Knight: Now ya got one minute to tell me about all this fucking money.

Barry: Right.

[Barry drops his brief case on the bar and unsnaps it open. He pulls out a thick stack of paper with the letters ‘SCW’ on the front and a set of two plane tickets and drops them both on the bar in front of Knight.]

Barry: Boom!

Knight: What am I supposed to do with this?

Barry: That right there is a guaranteed contract from Sin City Wrestling and two first class tickets to the Ivory Coast to meet them on tour. One of them is for me for don’t get any ideas about bringing Grandpappy Jack over there.

[The old man, who we now know is Jack Knight, rolls his eyes.]

Knight: Guaranteed contract for what? I don’t know if ya know this but I retired. I’m a family man now.

Barry: A divorced family man. Look this is a great opportunity for a guy like you. I don’t just walk around saying ‘Hey want a wrestling contract?’ ok pal? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Knight: How much money we talking about here?

Barry: Shitloads.

[Barry flips open the contract and points down on the paper.]

Barry: You making that kind of money now, kid?

Knight: And I work for you?

Barry: Are you listening to anything that I’m saying? I’m an agent. I work for you, for a small fee of course. I’m the best in the business kid, and I picked you. I used to rep Drake fucking Green for Christ’s sake.

[Knight stares at the contract for a moment. The bartender, who we now know is George Knight, chimes in.]

George: He’s right Tom, that’s a lot of money.

Knight: I haven’t been in the ring in nearly five years, pop.

[Barry cuts in.]

Barry: You were the Great Britain Heavyweight Champion and an Extreme World Champion. You are the Extreme Hero. I didn’t fly out to this shit hole…

[Barry nods to Jack and George.]

…for just anyone. I came out here because I believe the best professional wrestler left in the world was wasting away at some day job in Blackpool fucking England. Now are you with me or not because if not, I gotta go find a guy named Hangman.

[Knight looks around at his father and grandfather and then back down at the contract. He picks his head up and looks at Barry before smiling.]

Knight: Aye. When do we leave?

Barry: Right now.

[Barry stretches out his hand. Knight takes a moment and then grabs his hand and shakes it.]

Knight: I hope ya know what you’re doing, New York.

Barry: I always do.

[The two shake hands as the scene fades out.]


21.04.2014 – Yamoussoukro Airport; Yamoussoukro, Ivory Coast – 6:00 PM

[The scene fades back in inside of Yamoussoukro Airport. Barry Goldstein, wearing a his pink shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looks a bit disheveled as he rolls his Burberry plaid suitcase around the crowded, third world airport. Thomas Knight, in a green polo shirt and khaki colored cargo shorts follows closely behind wheeling a suitcase of his own, although his is a bit rattier looking. The seem to be walking in a circle when Barry finally gets annoyed enough to speak up.]

Barry: What the fuck?! Why can’t they print these signs in English?

Knight: Because we ain’t in England anymore, boss.

Barry: In America they print everything in two languages. God bless America.

[Knight chuckles to himself.]

Knight: I think we should go this way.

Barry: I’m sure you do. But unlike you who’s never walked fifteen feet out of Blackpool…I…am a world traveler. I know what I’m doing. We go this way.

Knight: But-

[Goldstein interrupts him.]

Barry: I know what I’m doing.

Knight: I’m just trying to-

[Goldstein interrupts him again, this time getting annoyed.]

Barry: What? What are you trying to do?

Knight: To tell you to look over there.

[Knight points down the corridor to a young woman holding a sign that reads: GOLDSTEIN/KNIGHT.]

Barry: I know. Come on stop slowing me down.

[Thomas chuckles to himself as he follows behind Barry down the corridor toward the young woman. As they get closer Thomas can’t help himself but to stare at the young woman, as if drawn to her in some way. She looks sort of cliché for an African tourist, wearing khaki shorts and a tight grey t-shirt. Tacked on to her shirt is a nametag that reads ‘SCW-TV: ALLIE’. He looks her up and down a bit and notices her bright smile and her dark hair. She is beautiful, at least to him. As they get closer she recognizes them and greets them with a ton of energy.]

Allie: Hi! You must be Mr. Goldstein. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s a real pleasure to meet you sir.

[She grabs Barry’s hand and shakes it feverishly as if overjoyed.]

Allie: And you must be Thomas Knight. I’m Allie Anderson.

[She shakes his hand in near identical fashion.]

Allie: There’s a lot of buzz about you sir. We’re all excited for your debut against Horace Jackson. Mr. Staggs told me to get you back to the hotel as soon as possible.

Knight: Is that so?

Allie: Oh yes sir. I got the taxi right out front with the engine running. Can I help you with your bags?

Knight: No I think we’re ok-

Barry: Yeah sure. Here you go.

[Barry interrupts Thomas by handing over his luggage to Allie.]

Allie: Right this way.

[Allie takes off toward the exit and as she walks away, both men watch her. Barry leans in to Thomas and makes a remark about her.]

Barry: She wants me.

[Thomas chuckles to himself as the two walk out of the airport and the scene fades out.]


”I haven’t set foot in a wrestling ring in nearly five years and the last time I did I got me head kicked in pretty good. I was a bit of a fool back then and thought I was a ton better than I was. It was a shame when you look back on it, considering how far I came without really putting the effort in.

I don’t believe in a higher being or some almighty powerful force controlling every move we make. I don’t know anything about stuff like that. I live me life like I’d be getting kicked in me arse if I stop moving. I’m not saying it’s the right way but it’s the only way I know how. It was the only way I was taught. I was a military man just like you Horace. Can’t say I did anything that impressive in me time there. I cooked the slop in the mess and carried on as a bare knuckler in me spare time. Was a ton of fun ‘til some wank knocked the piss out of me and I decided to stay in the kitchen for the rest of me military career.

I haven’t won the titles you’ve won Horace. I’m no thirteen time World Champion. I haven’t had me a hall of fame career like ya seem to have had. Not yet anyway. I’ve won two titles and between you, the wall, and me they were pretty short reigns. Don’t tell Goldstein though, I don’t wanna burst his bubble. That’s the only hope one can have in this business of ours; to be legendary. I’ve never been one to care about having his hand raised at the end. To me, it was about beating the piss out of the man in front of me and knowing I hurt the man. If he hurt me too than so be it. That’s the nature of our beast and the life we chose…so be it.

You seem to live your life by a code that I don’t understand.  It is a way of life that lives vicariously through something that doesn’t exist. It is a fantasy that wasn’t even yours to begin with. You’ve borrowed the mask of one of fiction’s greatest villains yet ya are a good man Horace Jackson. There ain’t an evil bone in ya body. I wonder how much ya have left in that black caped tank of yours. I wonder if ya got what it takes to swing with the Hero. I gotta be honest, I can’t wait to find out. Good luck me new friend…I’ll see you next Sunday.”


21.04.2014 – Hotel President; Yamoussoukro, Ivory Coast – 7:15 PM

[The scene fades in to a small meeting room at the Hotel President. The room itself is quite dated, looking like something out of a 1970s period piece. Gold and flower inlays line the wallpaper and a thick green carpet fills the floor. Sitting at the head of a long oak table is SCW Director of Talent Operations Erik Staggs. He is flipping through paperwork when Allie Anderson, Barry Goldstein, and Thomas Knight interrupt him. Excited to see his newest free agent acquisition Knight, Staggs jumps up from his seat eager to welcome the men.]

Erik: Gentlemen, welcome to Yamoussoukro.

Barry: More like Yamma get the fuck outta here.

Erik: Always looking at the bright side of things, Barry.

Barry: Always.

Erik: And you must be Thomas Knight.

Knight: Aye.

[Thomas sticks out his hand and Erik accepts.]

Knight: Mr. Staggs it’s a real pleasure to be here. I just wanted to say thank you for the opportunity.

Erik: Please, the pleasure is all mine. Please have a seat.

[The three men take their seats.]

Erik: That will be all, Allie. Thank you.

Allie: Of course. It was a pleasure meeting you gentlemen.

Barry: The pleasure was all mine sweet cheeks.

[Barry lets out an obnoxious laugh after Allie leaves the room.]

Barry: Jesus Erik, what are you doing to me? You’re gonna make me get a fifth ex wife sending her to pick me up.

Erik: Oh I didn’t send her. She volunteered. She’s a big fan of you, Knight.

Knight: Yeah?

Erik: Yeah hasn’t shut up about you since she heard you were coming down.

[As Thomas has a small blushed smile come over his face, Barry shoots him a bit of a dirty look.]

Erik: I’m sure you boys are tired so I’ll jump right to it. Here’s the contract, which you’ve already seen a copy but I’ll lay out the particulars one more time.

Barry: Sure.

Erik: Appearance fee is as stated and will require appearances at Sin City Wrestling events regardless of card status, including but not limited to Climax Control and all Super Cards unless otherwise informed. As stated in the client’s request two thirds of all appearance fees and merchandise royalties will be deposited in to a Barclays account in the name of Sadie Murphy in trust of Thomas Knight Jr. Is that correct?

Knight: Yes sir.

Erik: Great, if you can just sign here, here, and here.

[Erik slides the contract over to Thomas who signs it three times.]

Erik: Congratulations, you’re a member of Sin City Wrestling. Here’s your first check.

[Erik slides over an envelope across the table and Thomas scoops it up. He opens it and peers inside and wide smile comes across his face.]

Knight: Pleasure to be here, sir.

[Both men shake hands again.]

Erik: The pleasure is ours, Thomas. We have you set up to do some promotional work this weekend but for the most part you’re on vacation this week.

Knight: I can enjoy that.

Erik: Good. Make sure you rest up a bit. You’ll be making your debut in just under two weeks in a triple threat match.
Knight: I thought it was just against this Horace Jackson.

Erik: It’s gonna be Jackson and the returning Jericho Hill.

Barry: Hill? He’s back?

Erik: Yeah, just renewed his contract this morning.

[Barry cracks a smile.]

Barry: He was Drake’s debut too, that fucking guy. He’s a real twisted fuck that Hill. You make sure you watch your back, Tom.

Knight: I’m sure I can handle it.

Barry: Just trust me on this one. That sick bastard would roll his mama over if he had to.

[Erik changes the subject.]

Erik: How is Drake doing?

Barry: He’s living it up somewhere in South America.

Erik: God bless him. Thomas, Allie is waiting outside for you. We’ve got you set up at the Hotel Residence Aho where some of the other talent is staying.

[He turns to Barry.]

Erik: Would you like to have a cocktail before you head back to the States?

[Knight interrupts.]

Knight: Whoa, ya leaving me already?

Barry: Hey man I’ve done my job. I gotta back to work and make sure this money train keeps rolling. Plus I gotta find you a place in Vegas, get all your visa stuff straightened out. You just make sure you knock Jericho Hill’s fucking teeth in for me, ok?

Knight: Fair enough. See you soon. Erik…it was a pleasure to finally meet you.

Erik: The pleasure was all mine.

[The three men stand up and shake hands and Thomas leaves the two old friends chatting in the hotel boardroom. He enters the hallway and starts to make his way toward the lobby. As he walks he pays attention to the almost sad look in the eyes of the hotel employees and the look of discomfort that most of them seem to share. He takes in his surroundings as if it were the first time he was looking around today. He pays attention to the young boy mopping the hallway floor or the elderly woman pushing the maid’s cart. He feels a bit of sadness in his own eyes for these hard working yet unfortunate Ivory Coast natives. He enters the lobby to see the dark haired and beautiful Allie again, who beams with sunshine when she notices him coming toward her.]

Allie: Thomas! Over here!

[He smiles at her enthusiasm.]

Knight: Please, call me Tom.

Allie: Would it be ok if I called you Thomas?

Knight: If you prefer, love. You can call me anything ya like.

[Allie hides a quick blush before snapping out of it.]

Allie: Ok we have a tight schedule to keep today; at least I do, so I’ll have to take you over to the hotel now if that’s ok.

Knight: Smashing. Is it as dreary as this place?

Allie: More.

Knight: Again, smashing. Shall we?

Allie: We shall.

[Thomas follows Allie out of the front lobby door and out into the sun filled, busy street. As they walk down the front steps of the hotel toward the taxi still waiting for them, a small fight breaks out between a few local men. Thomas quickly grabs Allie and sticks her behind his frame to shield her from any harm. The group of men continues to scuffle for a few moments before local police run over to break up the skirmish. In their efforts, one policeman knocks down an elderly woman who spills her grocery bag all over the street. Seeing this, Thomas runs down the last few steps and grabs her by the arm. He helps her pull herself up off of the ground. He makes sure she is stable and then quickly turns his attention to the spilled groceries all over the street. One by one he picks them up and re packs the old woman’s bag. He hands it to her and wipes a bit of dirt off of her cheek.]

Knight: Are you ok?

[The woman smiles but mumbles something in French under her breath.]

Knight: Can I help you somewhere? We have a taxi…we can drive you.

[The woman smiles again at Thomas before grabbing his wrist tight. She pulls him in a bit and speaks to him in a very soft voice.]

Woman: Vous avez le visage du héros qui est venu pour nous sauver. Pour nous sauver tous.

[She releases her grip and smiles one more time. She pats him on the shoulder and then keeps moving. Knight backs up a bit to their taxi and turns to Allie.]

Knight: Any idea what she said?

Allie: I have no idea. Was that French?

[Just then the taxi driver cuts in.]

Driver: Oui. She said he has the face of the hero who has come to save us all.

Knight: Is this normal?

Driver: Oui. This is Africa.

[Thomas takes in the busy street setting for a long moment. He glares at the small mob engulfing the street and a strong somber look covers his face. He shakes his head a bit and turns toward the cab as the scene fades out again.]


”The Hero, the Beast, and the Face-painted Fool. A trio of men primed and set to steal the show in the Congo, three superstars returning to the ring and two of them for the first time in years. Horace Jackson is a fine man and good grappler. I am eager to do battle with him and show Africa what we got. The wild card here is the schizophrenic freak that carries the name Jericho.

I’m not intimidated by your threats to attack people for money, to go in to business for yourself in Sin City Wrestling and to play a game in your own mind. To threaten the well being of the masses is all in good fun for us since you’re rather harmless to begin with. You claim to be a mercenary yet you also claim to be God among men. To me you’re just a confused little boy playing dress up. Like a school boy playing pretend you claim to be the boogey man for hire.

I agree with ya on one thing Hill, ya got more than a few screws loose behind that 1990’s face paint of yours. But not the kind of loose screw that’s gonna make me bar me windows and nail down me doors. Not the kind of loose marbles that keep me up at night or run toward a light switch in a dark room. You me sorry little friend are the kind of crazy that ya laugh at in the train car. The type of insanity that makes you laugh more than shiver. The kind of nuts that ya post on your friend’s Facebook wall so we could all have a laugh. You’re not creepy at all Jericho, ya just a bit sad.

I feel for you a bit. I too was an outsider growing up. I too was a lost soul along the outside lines of popular living. The difference between the two of us is that I didn’t dream up a fantasy life to get me out of the one I was given. I simply toughed it out and became a man. You just never grew up. You still play dress up. Ya still the evil cowboy looking for his Indian in the land of make believe. You never found ya way out of that make believe land you created and now you live on the fringe of reality; a place where you’re relevant. A fantasy island where people fear you like they fear death himself. The truth is Jericho, ya sooner to find a straight jacket than a paying customer. You’re more likely to be carted off in the padded wagon than for anyone to take you seriously.

You may beat me on Sunday, Jericho. It wouldn’t be the first nor the last time I lost me match. It won’t be a crowning moment for either one of us, my man Horace included, to pick up a win on Sunday. So I say this…let’s just beat the living shite out of each other. May the best man…or in your case boy…win.”


21.04.2014 – Hotel Residence Aho; Yamoussoukro, Ivory Coast – 10:00 PM

[The scene fades back in to a dimly lit, somewhat dirty, hotel room. Pink carpet covers the floors and the walls are matching rose color. Sitting on the worn out full sized bed is Thomas Knight. Dripping wet, he sits half naked covered only by the towel wrapped around his waist. He holds the receiver to the phone next to his head and stares a bit impatiently at the bottle of rum sitting next to the phone. He cups his face in his free hand as the phone rings.]

RING…RING…RING…

[A voice answers.]

”Hello?”

[He sits up with a bit of energy when he hears the woman’s voice.]

Knight: Sadie? It’s Tom.

”What do you want, Tom? It’s nearly eleven o’clock."

Knight: Aye. I just wanted to say hi to Tommy.

”No, Tom. We’re not gonna do this again.”

Knight: He’s my boy too ya know, Sadie. I have a right-

[She interrupts him.]

”Ya had a right, Tom. Ya drank that right away just like ya did yer career. Now don’t call here this late again. If ya want to see Tommy ya can come by like we discussed but I need two days notice. Ya can come over this Friday if ya like.”

Knight: No, no. Not this week. I’m…er…I went back ya know…to wrestling. It was good money in the offer and I set up some money for you and Tommy.

”Tom…I thought you were done?”

Knight: Yeah well things don’t always work out like ya think. You taught me that one, Sadie.

”Are you ok, Tom? Do you need anything?”

Knight: No, no. All is well. I’ll call when I get back to Blackpool and come take Tommy for some pie. Tell him I love him, will ya?

”Ok. Be careful.”

Knight: I always am.

[He hangs up the phone and drops his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes. He looks up again and stares at the bottle of rum. He thinks about the last time he was on tour with a wrestling company. He thinks about all the mistakes he had made along the way. A scowl comes over the face as he stands up in a fury and grabs the bottle of rum. He walks feverishly over to the bathroom and in a swift motion uncorks the bottle and dumps the contents in to the stained porcelain bowl. He drops the empty bottle in the garbage pale to the left of the toilet and then flushes the rum away. He lets out a long and thunderous sigh as if he is shedding an enormous amount of weight off of his shoulders. His eyes move over to the mirror and he stands there for a moment, staring into his own hazel eyes. He looks over the worn out scars on his arms and his chest. He looks over the small missing part of his left ear and the small, almost unnoticeable, sag of his right eye. He looks over all of the imperfections that his profession has left imprinted on to his body and he smiles. He was home.]

[Fade to black.]

8
Climax Control Archives / Headed For New Heights
« on: September 13, 2013, 11:01:13 PM »
 <span style="color:#F4F808">
“I'm gonna be a rock and roll star
Gotta groove from night to day
Gotta blow my crummy job
Gonna blow my blues away”


{The scene fades in to a small bedroom. The floor is littered with empty and half crushed beer cans. There is no furniture in the room save for a small cot style bed, covered with dirty and what looks like they used to be white sheets. Passed out on the bed is a young man, lean but strong and defined, laying passed out in a sea of empty beer cans wearing nothing but a small, tight, pair of tighty-whities. He has a tattoo of a skull on his left shoulder and  a bald eagle with it’s wings spread wide on the outside of his left forearm. He moves around a bit, still a sleep, when he is awoken by loud door slam.

As he opens eyes he can see the legs of a man wearing tight blue jeans and bright white high tops, unlaced, walking toward him. He opens his eyes a bit more and looks up to see the red flannel shirt on the man and then he finally sees his face. A young man, stocky in build, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair that matches his own. They are brothers. They are Jeremy and Jason. They are the Flying Jetts.}

Jeremy: Wake up!

Jason: What? Why?

Jeremy: Haven’t you heard big bro?

Jason: Heard what?

Jeremy: We got two first class plane tickets to St. Thomas!

Jason: For real baby bro?

Jeremy: For real!

Jason: I always wanted to go to Minnesota!

Jeremy: Minnesota? St. Thomas ain’t in Minnesota!

Jason: No? Well where is it then?

Jeremy: Mother effin’ Hawaii, bro.

Jason: Oh, no way baby bro!

Jeremy: Legit!

Jason: Too legit! Where’d you get the tickets?

Jeremy: Hot Stuff Mark Ward invited us personally, kid. He said he’s ready to make us the SCW Tag Team Champions.

Jason: He saw the skills.

Jeremy: And the thrills.

Jason: From Beverly Hills.

Jeremy: You know it. Come on get dressed. We gotta go meet Uncle Marvin. He’s got the tickets waiting for us.

Jason: Word.

{Jason jumps up out of bed and grabs a pair of tight dark jeans and slips them on. He shoves on his white high tops and grabs a V-neck white Haynes t-shirt and slips it on over his head. As the two walk out of the dirty, tiny apartment, Jason grabs an acid-wash jean jacket and puts it on, popping the color as they walk out of the apartment.}

“Gonna make a million
Gonna make it with you
I'm gonna be wild my friend
I gotta push it through”


{We fade into a dark musty office. A man is sitting behind a desk wearing a turquoise Hawaiian shirt over a black tank top under shirt. Across his nose sits dark Ray-ban sunglasses and sitting on top of his head is a black fedora that has seen better days. He has a phone pressed up against his ear as he smokes his cigarette. In walk Jeremy and Jason, eager to see their uncle who they now refer to as their manager.}

Jason: Hey Uncle Ma-

{Marvin holds his hand up, stopping Jason’s words in their tracks.}

Marvin: Yes, JJ. I understand. Yes. I know but…yes. Of course. We’ll see you there. Uh huh. Take care.

{Marvin pulls the phone off of his ear and hits the ‘end’ button.}

Marvin: Prick.

Jeremy: Was that Mr. Dixon?

Jason: What did he want?

Marvin: Nothing, boys. Nothing at all. How’s my favorite nephew duo doin’?

Jeremy: Good Uncle Marvin.

Marvin: Yeah?

Jason: Totes!

Marvin: You boys ready for some fun in the sun?

Jason: So baby bro wasn’t messing with me after all huh?

Marvin: Nope. Three first class tickets to St. Thomas!

Jeremy: Three tickets? You’re going with us Uncle Marvin?

Marvin: Of course I’m going with you, you knucklehead. The head of a major wrestling promotion invites you boys out to meet him on his company’s tour? Of course I gotta go. That’s got contract offer written all over it.

Jeremy: But what about Mr. Dixon?

Jason: Yeah. Mr. Dixon has been so nice to us.

Marvin: Well you two may be the only people in the whole damn universe that he’s nice to then. Anyway, I did the right thing and gave old Dixon a call to let him know about all of this and he already knew.

Jason: He did?!

Marvin: Yeah. Said he’d meet us down there.

Jeremy: Something fishy must be going on down there, Uncle Marvin.

Jason: Yeah dude totally. It’s a beach, dummy.

{Marvin and Jeremy stare at Jason for a second and shake their heads.}

Marvin: Something is going on indeed, boys. And that’s exactly why old Marv is heading down to St. Thomas. That and to see Odette Ryder in a bikini. Who’s with me?

Jason: You know it, Uncle Marvin.

Jeremy: Let’s do this.

Marvin: Good. Let’s make sure we make an impression on this Hot Stuff Mark Ward fella. He could hold the key to the future of the Flying Jetts. Opportunities like this don’t always come up and knocks on our faces like this, boys. We have the chance to really be something down there.

Jeremy: This is my dream, Uncle Marvin. To hold those Tag Titles high up in the air.

Jason: Yeah, baby bro. And to nail as many hot chicks as possible.

{Again, Marvin and Jeremy stare at Jason for a second before slowly shaking their heads from side to side.}</>

Jason: What?

Marvin: Look, you boys go on ahead. I’m gonna finish up some stuff here and then meet you at the airport. Don’t be late.

Jeremy: Oh you’ve got nothing to worry about, Uncle Marvin. We’ll be there.

{The Jett brothers leave Marvin’s office. They walk down the old staircase and head to the street. They walk onto the street. They turn up to head north to try and catch a cab but something out of the corner of Jason’s eye catches his attention.}

Jason: Baby bro. Look.

Jeremy: What’s that?

Jason: Check it out, duder. Fifty-cent brewskies!

{Jason points to a sign above a bar.}

Jeremy: I don’t know, Big Bro. We’re supposed to meet Uncle Marvin at the airport.

Jason: Come on, Baby Bro. Don’t be such a drag. We’ll just have a few. It’ll be a nice send off. After all, we are about to embark on a life long journey toward greatness.

Jeremy: You do have a point there. Let’s do it! But just one round.

Jason: Of course!

{The two brothers jump up a few feet in to the air and high five each other before they disappear into the bar.}

“I stop on red and I leave on amber
Danger paves my way
I'm gonna make it my friend
Gonna make it today”


{The scene fades back in to the Hollywood Boulevard bar. The place has seen better days, with the exposed brick that lines the far war starting to decay a bit. The bar itself is metal as opposed to wood, no doubt for easy clean up. The place is pretty packed for the middle of the afternoon. In the corner of the bar, by the jukebox, Jason and Jeremy Jett are talking to two young women. One is tall with bright blue hair and matching blue eye make-up. She is wearing ripped jeans and a “Poison” t-shirt. The other girl is a much shorter blonde with crimped hair and a sparkling Converse sneakers.}

Jeremy: So I can’t believe that you’re a Sammy fan!

Brunette: The music totally grew after he joined the band.

Jason: No way. David Lee Roth WAS Van Halen. The band totally changed after he left.

Blonde: I don’t know. ‘This Could Be Love’, ‘Right Now’? Those are classics.

Jeremy: No way.

Jason: ‘Panama’? ‘Jump’?

Jeremy: Those are classics. Those other songs are just glorified pop tunes.

Jason: Yeah and-

{Mid-sentence, Jason is interrupted when Marvin grabs him and his brother Jeremy by theirs and turns them around.}

Jason: Oww! What the hell!?

Marvin: You two nincompoops! You guys have the opportunity of a lifetime and here you are wasting it away in a seedy Hollywood bar! Are you freakin’ kidding me?

Jeremy: We’re sorry.

Marvin: I bet you’ll both be sorry when you miss the whole damn chance in SCW won’t you?

Jason: No sir.

Marvin: Yeah well you boys better put your priorities in order. Fifty-cent drafts and a couple of half hookers-

Blonde & Brunette: HEY!

Marvin: Sorry ladies. Where was I?

Jeremy: A couple of half hookers.

Marvin: That’s right. If you guys wanna waste your time with these two streetwalkers then so be it.

{The girls get angry and walk away.}

Marvin: This could be the chance of a lifetime and if you wanna throw it away, then you tell me right now.

Jeremy: No sir. We’re with you.

Marvin: I can’t hear you Jason.

Jason: I’m with ya.

Marvin: Good. Now we got a plane to catch. Let’s get outta here.

{The three men walk out as the scene fades.}

“Gonna kick this dust from my heels
Down the highway I go
Gonna get the stars from my route
Make it in a rock and roll show”


{The camera fades in to a small backstage room where the Flying Jetts are sitting with Marvin. Jason and Jeremy are sitting at a small wooden table and Marvin is pacing back and forth in front of them. Jason is staring into space as Jeremy is playing around on an iPad.}

Marvin: How could Dixon be so stupid? He could he be so careless? We were one match away from being the next ACW Tag Team champions! And now what? We have to come here full time and start at the bottom of the ladder again? That doesn’t make any sense! How could he do this to us?

Jeremy: I’m actually ok with it.

Marvin: What?! How can you possibly be ok with it?

Jason: Yeah for real, Baby Bro? We were gonna be champions in ACW.

Jeremy: What? I’m just saying. Beach tours, Vegas? Does this not appeal to anyone else here? It’s a hell of a lot closer to home too.

Jason: Vegas…

Marvin: My point is we were gaining some serious steam in Canada. Now we’re gonna be on a much larger roster, fighting for screen time, fighting for ring time. Sure you’ll get to some more ass than you would in Canada. I know that’s important to Jason, but what’s important to me us putting those tag team titles around your waists and that is going to be a bit more difficult in Sin City Wrestling.

Jeremy: Maybe not.

{Jeremy holds up his iPad.}

Marvin: What am I looking at?

Jason: Yeah, what is it, Baby Bro?

Marvin: Let me see that.

{Marvin grabs the iPad out of his Jeremy’s hands. He pulls it close to his face, as if he is having trouble reading off of the screen, and then a large smile goes over his face.}

Marvin: Oh this is gonna be great. Can you imagine all of the publicity this is going to bring us? Television interviews and website articles. This is going to be huge. And in our debut match?!

Jason: Will someone please tell me what is going on here?

Jeremy: We got a match next week in Tortola.

Jason: I got that. But with who?

Marvin: Gabriel and that freak Despayre.

Jason: Sinful Obsession?

Marvin: Yup. Their first match back and our first match here. This is so huge, it’s like Toronto all over again.

Jeremy: I can’t wait for this now, Big Bro.

Jason: Can you believe this? Former NWA tag champs. This is our biggest match yet.

Marvin: I’m gonna set you guys up right. TV promos, the whole works. You just sit tight. Uncle Marvin is gonna handle this.

{Marvin jumps on his cell phone as Jason and Jeremy give themselves a self-approving high five.}

“I'm gonna be a rock and roll star
Gotta groove from night to day
Gotta blow my crummy job
Gonna blow my blues away”


{We fade back in to Jason and Jeremy, standing in front of a white sign with the spray painted words “The Flying Jetts” on it. In front of them are two large cameras. They are both wearing their multi-colored long tights. Jason has a headband on that says “JASON” on it. He is also wearing a t-shirt that says “Sovereigns of Beverly Hills” on the front with cutoff sleeves. Jeremy is not wearing a shirt or a headband but is wearing bands tied tight around his biceps, accentuating his muscles. They both stretch out a bit as Marvin walks over.}

Marvin: Ok boys, this is your first real promo ok? You gotta knock this one out of the park. Remember the old videos we watched of Hulk Hogan and Rick Flair ok?

Jason: Sure thing, Uncle Marvin.

Jeremy: We got this.

Marvin: Ok, good. I’ll be standing right over there in the corner if you need me. Knock It out of the park boys!

{Marvin runs out of the shot and Jason and Jeremy wait for the signal from the camera crew that the tape is running. They get this signal and Jason chimes in first.}

Jason: Tortola, you haven’t even the slightest idea of what you are in for Sunday night. SCW wrestling fans have never seen the likes of what my brother Jeremy and I can bring to the ring. It’s gonna be so insane. It’s gonna be like a lighting storm on Can Garden Bay. Wooo!

Jeremy: Not just any lightning storm, Big Bro. It’s gonna me a lightning storm of epic proportions. You think you know what pro wrestling is. You think you know what tag team wrestling is. Wait until you set your eyes on the greatest tandem of high flying, big hitting, d**k swinging, boys from the West Coast of the good old US of A.

Jason: Sinful Obsession, I know you are the one greatest tag teams of recent memory. You’re highly decorated, highly touted, and one of you talks to a teddy bear, but you ain’t got nothin’ The Jett Brothers. Wooo!

Jeremy: Whether it’s the Flying J or the WMD or J-Bomb or the Overload, we possess an arsenal like no one here has ever seen. You better eat your vitamins and say your prayers because you’re gonna need all the energy you can to keep up with our high impact style. You won’t be able to slow us down in the ring and you won’t be able to ground us from the air.

Jason: Time and time again people have gotten in the ring with the me and my Baby Bro Jeremy and time and time again they’ve witnessed first hand what the Flying J is all about. Wooo!

Jeremy: So don’t fear, Gabriel. Don’t fret, Despayre. You will not be let down on Sunday night. You will not roll by us on your way to your title match against Giani di Luca and the little wimpy boy James Hawkes. For we are the Masters of the Skills!

Jason: The Seekers of the Thrills!

Jeremy: The Sovereigns…

Jason: …of Beverly Hills!

Jeremy: I am Jeremy!

Jason: And I am Jason!

Jeremy: And together, we are…

Both: THE FLYING JETTS!

{The two brothers jump in the air and chest bump and then high five and then finally hug before the camera finally fades out.}

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