Outskirts of Waco, Texas; December 22nd, 1983
The cheers ring throughout the entire bar known as Earl's, as the final bell sounds. "Where Eagles Dare" by The Misfits blasts over the speakers as a much younger Erik Staggs stands up from over a fallen opponent, looking out into the crowd of bikers and their many fine women. The nineteen year old breathes heavily as the referee walks up to him, lifting his arm into the air. The dirty blonde catches his breath as his icy blue eyes flash in the lights as the bikini clad ring girls walk around, getting the crowd even more excited. Erik hunches over slightly, almost unable to believe this win had even happened. He doesn't have much time to celebrate when someone comes crashing into him from behind, knocking him down to the ground. Erik rolls over onto his back, eyes on fire as he gears up for a fight. However, he is met with laughter as he stares up at his dark haired, older brother, Robbie Staggs.
Robbie: Shit dude, you actually did it! You knocked that dipshit out after mouth raping his girlfriend. That's harsh!
Robbie reaches down and ruffles his brother's hair before leaning up, helping Erik back to his feet. Robbie raises his brother's hand into the air as he spins around, pointing to his brother as the more obnoxious Staggs brother shouts out to the fans.
Robbie: NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!
He looks down to the two men lying out on the ground, some generic cowboys with long brown hair, brown leather get ups with tassles and all, and mullets... God, how Erik hated that hair style with a thriving passion. Erik looks down, admiring his handiwork with his brother's approval to top it off. He smiles and nods his head, getting into the music, and the cheering of the audience. He even goes as far as to boot one of the generic cowboys from the ring as Robbie laughs and does the same to the other one.
Robbie: Get outta here, Double Mint Twins! Run and tell it to your mothers!
Erik: Here, go get better gimmicks while you're at it...
Erik grabs the cash from the promoter's hand, tossing it at them as they hold onto their heads, glaring back at them. The bills rain down as Robbie looks at Erik, stunned. He quickly drops to the outside, picking up a few of the bills from the ground as he shakes his head. He turns around, playing to the crowd as he leans back into them, letting them pat at his glistening chest and arms as they praise him. Erik comes to the outside with his brother, but he doesn't play it up nearly as much. Above the roar of the small, yet rowdy crowd, Robbie mutters to his brother.
Robbie: Do whatever you want with your money, but don't throw mine away. How else am I gonna buy my drinks for the night.
Erik: Drinks? Wait, but isn't...?
Robbie: Bro, chill out. I'll buy you one, they won't card you. We're in Cousin Fuck, Texas.
Robbie leans in, whispering that last one to Erik before going back to playing it up to the crowd as he walks to the barricade, leaping over it as he works his way through the crowd and up toward the bar. Erik follows through, a look of concern and confusion on his face as he goes.
Erik: Robbie? Wait a minute... Before you get drunk off your ass... won't you at least call home?
Robbie: Geez, why didn't you marry Lori? You're obviously more concerned with keeping up with her than I am.
Robbie winks at a woman in a denim mini skirt and a black crop top, boasting a white trash cowboy hat with boots to match. She blushes and turns away, but occasionally looks back to bat her eyelashes. Robbie rolls his eyes nonchalantly as he leans onto the bar, waiting for the bartender. With his brother's head turned, Erik narrows his eyes angrily as he shoves Robbie's shoulder a bit.
Erik: Screw around on her all you want, but you could at least call your son on his birthday.
Robbie: The little tit sucker won't remember that I didn't call him when he's older.
Erik: Yeah, right, because those therapy sessions he's bound to go through won't uncover that. Some freakin' parent you are, Robbie...
Robbie shakes his head as he signals to the bartender who nods before she heads off toward a small fridge at the center. She returns with two Budweiser bottle necks, popping the top off of them as Robbie slips a bill over her way.
Bartender: All entertainers drink free.
Robbie smirks as he reaches into his blue wrestling trunks to pull out a market. He jots something on the bill and then winks.
Robbie: Best tip you've gotten all night then. My hotel room number, right on the other side of the interstate.
Bartender: Gee, thanks...
With little to no enthusiasm, she picks the bill up, sliding it into her top. However, one look into the enchanting blue eyes against the dark hair, and she changes her tune just a little as a blush falls upon her face. Erik winks as he picks up one bottle, handing it over to Erik, before taking a sip off of the other one.
Robbie: It's like shooting fish in a barrel with a rocket launcher. Ridiculous, right?
Robbie slaps Erik's arm, just in time to point to a pair of twins staring from the other side of the bar. Two blondes with the body of Tanya Tucker, and the chest of Dolly Parton. The girls get up slowly and walk over toward the brothers... brushing past Robbie, and right up to Erik.
Twin 1: You were impressive out there.
Twin 2: Stella, why don'tcha just ask him to whip it out here and now. Though, I did always wonder if wrestlers were too tired to show a girl a good time after a match, or if the adrenaline makes them more vicious...
The girls lean in and share a giggle as they stare Erik up and down. Robbie doesn't seem to happy about being passed up for his little brother. He butts in next to his brother, but basically knocking him a few feet to the side. He covers up his jealousy with a laugh and a bright smile as he licks at his teeth.
Robbie: Only one way to find out. Why don't you ladies join us at the hotel for the after party. Got some party favors if you're interested?
The two country girls stare at the alternatively dressed brothers, and the contrast in style seems to intrigue them even more. They nod their heads as Erik groans, looking completely unsure of this. Robbie claps his hands, rubbing them together with an almost giddy laugh as he brushes Erik on.
Robbie: Awesome. Let us get changed and we'll head on over on our bikes.
Stella: Okay... We'll meet you outside then.
Robbie continues to walk on by, pushing Erik along as they walk toward a small locker room at the back of the bar. It is dimly lit, and a bit on the grimey side. Robbie rushes around, collecting his things, sliding his tattered blue jeans over his trunks before pulling his Ramone's t-shirt on. Erik stands there, glaring, and Robbie goes to question his brother, but Erik doesn't give him the chance before he lays into him.
Erik: You're an asshole, Robbie!
Robbie: Yeah, yeah... whatever bro. It's twins... TWINS! I wasn't expecting two tag matches in one night...
Erik: You actually expect me to participate in that? Nose candy and bar sluts is more your thing than mine. But if you think for one second I'm going to participate in this, you're insane. On your son's birthday on top of that? What's wrong with you?!
Robbie picks up his leather jacket, but he doesn't put it on. Instead, he turns around and stares right at his brother. Anger is burning in his eyes as he glares ahead.
Robbie: Then don't participate in this. Play along until we get to the hotel, and then disappear for a few hours. Just don't ruin this for me, or I'm gonna kick your ass. Are we clear?
Erik: You've got problems. You're disgusting, and one day, you're going to regret it. The day your wife finds out what you do on the road, she's going to leave your sorry ass.
Robbie: That's fine. I'll manage, but how's she gonna move on with a kid clinging to her saggy tits? Or, are you going to take over? You couldn't take care of a hamster, let alone a woman and her illegitimate child.
Erik looks completely disgusted by this as Robbie shakes his head. He picks up a wadded up outfit and tosses it at Erik, who barely catches it. Robbie stares for a minute as the two cowboys come walking into the room, glaring at the two of them. Robbie fakes out a lunge at them, causing them to jump a little before he looks over to Erik.
Robbie: Just get dressed and meet me by the bikes. It's going to be the second dick down we've given to twins tonight...
Robbie sneers as he turns and leaves the room. Erik shakes his head as he pulls on a pair of dark jeans with the knees blown out, and a black tank top with the Misfits logo on it. He puts on a studded leather jacket as he leaves the room, walking through the crowded bar and to the parking lot, all in a fog. Even as he gets on his bike, placing a black helmet over his head, he barely even feels the warm caress of the woman behind him as he starts his bike up. Robbie takes off first with Stella and Erik reluctantly follows. They leave the dusty parking lot and make their way to pavement, weaving around to go over the interstate before pulling into a seedy motel. They go down to the middle of the strip and get off the bike. Erik hangs his helmet on the right handle of his bike before looking down to where a watch should be on his wrist, sighing.
Erik: You know what, I forgot I need to go to the store for... Twizzlers. I can't sex without Twizzlers.
The girls laugh at this as Robbie shakes his head, mouthing something toward him in anger. Erik shrugs his shoulders as the girls turns back around. Robbie wipes the angry look from his face as he fumbles around for a room key.
Robbie: No worries, bro. We'll just get the party started, and you join in when ever...
Robbie looks to Erik and shakes his head in the negative, slowly. Erik rolls his eyes as he starts walking up the path toward a convenience store with large white, orange, and green signage. He looks back to see their room door close, and he lowers his eyes. He places his hands into his pocket as he kicks at a rock on the ground.
"Not that I never realized my brother was an asshole before, but by today's standards, he was a douche bag of the highest order. He was a terrible human being in every imaginable way, I think. We had been wrestling on the road in dive bars for a few years at this point; we had won some, and we lost more. But, this was the first time I got to shine. It was the first time I got to carry my weight on the team, and get recognition for all of my hard work instead of playing second fiddle to Robbie. And what happens? We don't celebrate it... he shirks his responsibilities as a parent, and he celebrates his own way. Big brothers are supposed to teach you valuable life lessons, and in his own way, he did just that. He showed me what I didn't want to become. Some demons are just too hard to overcome, but I never stooped to his level. I never would..."
Erik pulls some change out of his pocket as he walks over to a small phone booth. He drops a nickel into the coin slot and begins dialing a number on the rotary. He places the receiver to his ear as he closes the booth behind him. Taking a deep breath, he sinks down near the ground as he closes his eyes and sighs out his breath. Suddenly, his eyes shoot open as he rubs his free hand through his ruffled blonde hair.
Erik: Lori, hey... yeah, is Spike still awake? ... No, no, don't wake him. ... Yeah, Robbie fell asleep too. ... We won, and I got the pin this time. ... Yeah, I know. So, how are you and Spike holding up? ...
Erik's worries seem to almost disappear as he calms down drastically talking to Lori. They go on for a minute, as Erik even laughs a little. His eyes almost twinkle after a moment as he lets out a surprised, yet delighted, gasp.
Erik: Heyyy... what are you doing up, kiddo? No, not daddy. It's Uncle Erik... Hey, I wanna sing you a song while I got you, okay? *Ahem* Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday dear Spikey... Happy Birthday to you...
Happiness has found it's way to Erik tonight as his paternal instinct seems to kick in. Fulfillment possibly? He continues to chit chat with the three year old over the phone, humoring the youngster's babbling with responses as the scene fades out...
St. Louis, Missouri; March 31st, 2002
"Ohhhh... OHHHHH! Oh yeah, right there. There, there, there, oh yeah uh huh..."
Wet skin slapping against wet skin rapidly echoes through the room as the bed creaks loudly. The only source of light is the moon pouring in through the open balcony double doors, illuminating Erik Staggs' half naked figure as he rapidly and precisely thrusts. The end is fast approaching now as we pan in slightly, catching the primal glare on Erik's face as he practically growls like a rabid wolf. He grabs onto a leg as he picks up his pace, causing the female moaning to become more rapid, but broken up by the force until she can't contain it any longer. A curled up lip is a warning sign, and it isn't long before the show is over. Sweat pours down Erik's face as he breathes rapidly, playing it cool with a smirk and a stifled laugh before he rolls over onto his back and wipes the sweat from his face. He looks over to his nightstand and picks up a pack of cigarettes, flipping it open to pull one out. He lights it and takes an extended drag, holding it in before letting it out.
Woman: Honey, that's so disgusting...
Erik holds the cigarette between his fingers, fumbling it around a little as he doesn't even acknowledge her at first. He takes another drag, this time waiting only a few short seconds before exhaling, and then looking over to the surprisingly beautiful, young ebony goddess before him.
Erik: Believe it or not, I quit three years ago. Truly a filthy habit...
Erik presses the cigarette between his lips, letting it hang there for a second before the glowing ember finally intensifies. He puffs it out like a dragon before finally pulling it out from his lips, fumbling it around a little more.
Woman: It don't look like you quit, bear. Most people who quit don't leave packs layin' around they houses.
Erik: I guess I'm just stronger than most. You know, I only smoke after sex now. So, by my calculations, I'm down to a pack a day.
Woman: Erik, you play too damn much...
She gives him a playful shove as he smirks. However, something about the way his face twists, he's shamefully admitting a partial truth. Settling down wasn't his bag, and it never was. Having gone from a somewhat awkward punk kid to the Ladies Man, he never gave it much thought before, but he's about to. The woman curls up against Erik's bare chest, running her fingers along the light fur of his chest that had accumulated since his time in the ring.
Woman: It must be lonely having all these girls throwing their bodies at you, but keeping their hearts from you.
Erik looks off into the distance, trying to act as if he hadn't heard what she just said. However, she doesn't change the subject as he'd hoped she would. He painfully looks up to the ceiling, groaning a bit at this.
Erik: No, not really. It's sort of liberating to rely only on myself while still having my physical needs met.
Woman: What about your emotional needs?
Erik: You act as if I have emotions that need fulfilling. I'm perfectly fine raising my family and running my business. Plus, I'm too old to suddenly find love, not that I would even know what to do with it if I found it.
The woman nuzzles her head into his shoulder, finding comfort in his physical maturity, while trying to use her own emotional maturity to quell Erik's immaturity in this area. While her efforts are intended for good, Erik finds it a bit uncomfortable.
Woman: I've known you for years now, and if anyone could unlock that heart... she would be one lucky woman. It's never too late.
Erik: No... it is. Women like to call me daddy, and awkwardly grand daddy in a recent case, which just shattered my ego completely... It's never about a connection, and that feeling is mutual. I'm complicated, and I'm far too set in my ways to ever change for anyone.
Woman: Call it whatever makes you feel better about it, but you don't have to lie. If you don't want somethin' serious, I can't make you want it. But, I do, and if this will never turn into somethin', then it needs to turn into nothin'.
Her words have gotten much more firm as she leans off of his chest. He looks at her as she gives him an ultimatum. He stamps out his cigarette before replying with a simple shrug. She tilts her head to the side as if asking him if he's serious. When he doesn't budge, she scoffs and leans over the edge of the bed, picking up articles of clothing, sifting through them to separate her own from his. Erik rolls his eyes as he rolls onto his side, staring at her as she pulls her shirt on.
Erik: Portia, come on... You act like I wasn't honest about what this was from the very beginning.
Portia: No, you right. You did, and it's my bad for thinking that could change. I ain't mad at you. I'm mad at myself.
Pulling on her white lace panties, and her mini skirt, she stands up from the bed. She finds her jacket on a chair next to the door, and she picks it up. Erik crawls to the edge of the bed as he lies his head at the edge, looking up at her in an almost pleading manner.
Erik: You're being dramatic again, and I have to admit... it's turning me on.
Portia: It ain't cute, Erik. Not cute at all. I can't do this anymore, and I don't have to... I quit.
Erik's jaw hangs open slightly as he questions her. She doesn't give him much of a chance as she opens the door and walks out into the hallway, leaving the door wide open. Erik sighs and clicks on the lamp by his nightstand. As he does, he notices a late teen's Spike Staggs walking toward the room. He looks down the hallway at Portia as he lowers his eyes.
Spike: I assume this is a bad time. I can come back later, when you're not... naked...
Spike practically gags at the thought, though even the thought of his uncle with clothes is disgusting enough. He turns to walk away when Erik rolls his eyes and pulls the covers up higher onto his body as he reaches for a pair of pants. He slides them on, securing them as he looks to his nephew who is turning to leave.
Erik: No, it's okay. My assistant just quit on me... What do you need?
Spike turns to look to his uncle as he approaches the door frame once more. He lean into it, not wanting to come in any further.
Spike: Well, I hate to be the second one to quit on you today, but I'm going to have to give my notice to you as well.
Erik shakes his head in shame as he runs his hand through his now messy hair. He reaches to the nightstand and picks up a glass of water, taking a sip before letting it clank against the table.
Erik: Quitting already... I don't know why I expected anything more from the most fickle person I've ever met, but how do you plan to support your child with no job or high school diploma?
Spike: Wait, isn't that exactly what you've been trying to do since day one? Get me to quit? If not, then you have a really weird way of letting someone know you value them...
Erik: Why should I take it easy on a playboy such as yourself? You've been doing this for a few years now, but you're still so green, and you lack any real discipline to grow as a competitor.
Spike rolls his eyes now, trying his best not to show his boiling anger. He looks away from his uncle, and to the door frame itself.
Spike: I must be doing something right, because Global Championship Wrestling offered me a contract, and I'm taking it. Roxanne, Sebastian, and several others got accepted. It's the big leagues.
Erik: I can understand Sebastian, and even Roxanne. Some people just get handed opportunity after opportunity, unable to appreciate or utilize them. You are your father, and...
Spike: So what if I am? My dad was a good man, in and out of the ring. Just because he was always better than you, it's no excuse to treat me like a male Cinderella... Well, the shoe fit, unk, and now I'm going on to bigger and better things, something you never got to do.
Erik: You ungrateful sonuva...
Spike sneers, though his defensive stance lets us know he's anything but casual about this conversation. Erik grits his teeth, stopping himself where he is. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. Erik bites his tongue until the anger is choked back. Instead, he just clasps his hands together over the comforter as he calmly says...
Erik: Best of luck to you, Spike. It appears our business is officially over now.
Spike nods his head as he leans off of the door frame, turning to leave.
Spike: It is...
Before Erik can say anything, Spike takes a step away. Pain comes over Erik's face as his words seem to have registered fully. Residual words that were meant for Robbie has come out to his son, a true chip off the old block. He closes his eyes, feeling a bit of pain as he turns off the bedside lamp, bringing up back to the rays of the moon coming in through the opened doors before we fade out...
Gimnasio Nilson, Nelson, Brasilia, Brazil; April 28th, 2013... SCW Hostile Takeover
The laughter ringing through the gymnasium is almost deafening, matched only by the loud cheering for Nick Jones, Mark Ward, and Christian Underwood as they celebrate their massive win, vanquishing the remainder of the rebellion from Sin City Wrestling for good. The look on Erik Staggs' face says it all; embarrassment, anger, betrayal are at the forefront of emotions as he walks through the back, wearing his #TeamErik t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. As he walks backstage, no one says a single word, but their laughter rings through his ears as they begin throwing trash at him, and talking about him as if he isn't even there. He simply lowers his head, trying his best not to react. He even passes Pussy Willow and Ms Rocky Mountains, who barely even give him a second glance. He has to accept the fact that he's already old news, and that the cause he risked everything for was nothing more than a failure, and the butt end of a joke now. He makes his way to a locker room labeled "Team Erik", and without hesitation, he opens the door, entering it, and quickly closing it behind him. It was quite empty, considering how many people he had recruited to his cause. There is a solemn quietness amongst the three visible talents... Bombshell Champion, Misty, Roxanne, and Giani Di Luca. They simply look up at Erik, who finally lets his true feelings show, looking completely crushed. The Queen of the Damned almost sheepishly walks up to Erik, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Misty: This isn't over, Erik.
Erik slowly turns his head to his left to look at Misty. He is almost white as a ghost now as he slowly nods, unable to speak at first. He finally musters up the words, as they seem to roll painfully off of his tongue.
Erik: No... it kind of is. Not "kind of", it really is over.
Roxanne: No! We can still fight this, Erik! We...
Erik shoots a glare over at the redheaded amazon, gritting his teeth as he barks at her.
Erik: IT'S OVER! I'M... over.
Giani: We might'a seen people jump awf like rats from a sinkin' ship, but we're still floatin', Erik. It ain't over 'til Cookie S'Mores sings.
Erik looks around at the papers scattered amongst the floor, and the mess left behind by all of the non-loyalists of the cause and he can't help but lower his head once more. And, as if it were a sign from God himself, the faint sound of the hefty former Bombshell Tag Team Champion can be heard coming from the hallway. Giani turns his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as it sinks in.
Giani: That's irony right there... but it still ain't over. You can abandon this ship, captain, but we decided we're gonna keep fightin' for ya cause.
Misty: You're still got a determined rookie, an unstoppable, bloodthirsty Bombshell, and a champion on your...
Before Misty can continue, she is cut off by the sound of a door opening. Everyone turns to look at the person standing in the doorway, as their voice cuts through the air like a knife.
Necra: Make that two champions...
Necra Octavian Kane adjusts her Bombshell Roulette Championship on her shoulder as she walks back into the room with Ex following closely behind. She stands in front of Erik as her eyes flash red. Sshe nods to Misty in a sign of respect as Misty returns the gesture. Necra looks back to Erik, focusing all of her attention on him.
Necra: Don't you find it funny that we have won almost every battle, yet they win the war, but only because they played a dirty trick on us? They have so many more loyalists than we do, yet we still defeated them at almost every turn until Nick Jones turned on Tom Dudely tonight. The heart of this revolution is still beating strong, and it is right here in this room.
Erik: It is ridiculous to even consider the notion. Besides, after we return from the two week break, I'll be officially served my firing papers.
Misty: Then let us continue to fight in your honor.
Necra: Change is still needed around here, whether the heard of sheep known as the fans want to admit it or not. Whether you support this or not, we're going to change the face of Sin City Wrestling. Your vision will be realized.
Erik goes to protest this, but he isn't given the opportunity. Necra looks back to Giani, Misty, and Roxanne, and without her having to say a single word, they stand up and make their way to the open door, leaving the room along with Ex. Erik and Necra are left alone now as Necra slowly walks over toward the bench where she lies her Bombshell Roulette Championship down to rest.
Erik: I don't see a point in trying to convince me to give my blessing. We've done all we could, they tempted our members to leave us with title shots and other benefits, and those who weren't bought off like Amy Marshall and Kevin Carter, have left due to sheer embarrassment. You four are great talents who will go far around here if you just leave well enough alone. After tonight, I won't see your faces ever again.
Necra: I would not be so sure of that, Erik. Our paths will cross again one day, and who knows? I may need your help, just as you needed mine, to realize a dream.
Erik: My road in the wrestling world ends here. You and the others can do whatever you want, but it is going to be without me involved.
Necra tries to protest this, but Erik clearly will not hear any of it. He walks past her on the bench and goes to a locker. Twisting the combination pad of the lock, he quickly unlocks it and opens the door where he starts rapidly pulling articles of clothing out before setting his bag on the ground, tossing the clothes inside of it. He leans down to zip the bag closed, leaving several items sticking out sloppily from the zipper. Last but not least, he pulls out his favorite jacket, a studded leather bikers jacket that he quickly puts on. He leans down and picks up his bag as he walks over to the door. As he places his hand on the door knob, he turns back to Necra with a look of regret on his face.
Erik: Regardless of what happens, I want you to know that I appreciate your support. Not that it is likely, but if you ever need the favor returned, I will do my absolute best to be there for you.
Necra: It is more likely than you think.
As if Necra knows something, she flashes an almost wicked grin to Erik. However, Erik doesn't quite pick up on it, finding it more of a maneuver to try getting him to stick around. He gives an almost sheepish smile before opening the door and disappearing through it. Necra's eyes flash as she continues to sit in the locker room, completely alone.
Necra: I will see you a lot sooner than you think, Erik...
With that, the scene fades.
Unknown Location; Unknown Date
"I've seen the number of the beast, marked on the goat-like head. The clocks are stuck at 3:33am, and have been this way for hours. Every evil deed I have ever done has come back to haunt me. Is this a mere dream, or is this really happening?"
Like an overplayed metal song of yesteryear, Erik Staggs is seen lying in his bed, his eyes almost sunken in completely as sweat drips down his forehead. The flames dance down the walls as the smoke billows slowly, and in a manner that defies physics. He can't even react as he is paralyzed in a state of shock. His bed begins to rock back and forth slowly as it rises off of the ground, coming to the middle of the room where is slowly spins around. Everyone that he's ever hurt is there, standing by, shouting at him with painful reminders that blend together for us, but their sheer presence is enough for him to understand. It is too much for him so he brings his hand over his ears, but as he does, the sound of their voices only amplifies, torturing his ears as a light crimson stream begins to leak from them.
"I always knew I would be here, but I never imagined it would be so soon. I am not ready for this, mentally, physically, or spiritually. I am in Hell."
Erik's thoughts echo through the room despite his lips not moving. His last word bounces off of the wall, attacking him from all angles as his ears bleed painfully. His bed continues to spin around, stopping right in front of his brother, Robbie, whose skin is blistered from the heat.
Robbie: You never tried to save me little brother. You let me go on my path to self destruction, while you just watched and waited.
Erik: No. I tried to stop you many times, but you wouldn't listen to reason.
Robbie: It was all a cry for help, but you were too much of a chicken shit to try to save me. You let me fall apart, and then you took my family, and let it fall apart as well.
Erik: No, I...
Erik doesn't have time to protest this any further as the bed begins spinning around again. Like a twisted game of Wheel of Misfortune, it is all a gamble on who would get to rip into him next. Who should we land on now but Spike Staggs.
Spike: You let my father die, and you would have let me go down the exact same path had I not wised up. You never cared about anyone other than yourself, and you never will...
Erik: No! I sacrificed my career for you boys. I could have made something of myself, but I decided that you and your brothers deserved your best chance. I am not perfect, but I gave up everything to be what your father couldn't be!
Spike: Liar! We had no one left, and you were stuck with us, and you let us, especially me, know how much of a burden we were every day after that!
Erik: I'm not denying that I'm a selfish prick, but to say I never cared about you and your brothers is the most ignorant and crass thing you've ever said! I was more of a father to you than your own, even before he passed away. I might not have shown it, but you guys are my world, even today.
Spike shakes his head as he looks up at the ceiling. The horned beast wiggles his fingers in a stirring motion as the bed goes spinning once more. Still unable to move, Erik is forced to watch as the sea of faces seems to grow by the minute. He lands on a woman in her early thirties, dark brown hair, and the prettiest blue grey eyes one could ever behold. Erik's own lip quivers as he tries to address her first. However, she doesn't give him the chance as her seemingly angelic face twists into rage and anger.
Lori: You let me live the life of a blind fool, Erik! Your wickedness disgusts me. The only thing worse than what your brother did by cheating on me, and putting my own health at risk, was lying to me about it, and then... taking advantage of me in a vulnerable state when I found out... You're sick! You wanted what your brother had, and you let him self destruct so that you could take it for yourself!
Erik: Lori, I... I...
Lori: "I... I..." You're pathetic, Erik Staggs. You're a disgusting human being, a ratfink... And the sad part is that you're in denial. Embrace it...
Erik goes to respond, but his face twists into confusion at the last line. As if this hellish nightmare is ending, the flames and smoke are sucked back up the wall, leaving no trace that they were ever there. Every face in the crowd disappears except Lori's, who soon turns into that of Necra Octavian Kane. The smell of rotting meat soon takes the place of the smoke, and death has surrounded Erik.
Erik: I don't understand. Why are you here? What is this all about?
With the wave of her hand, the bed falls to the ground in the center of the room. Erik jolts back to life as he raises his hand, finding himself in full control of his body once more. She saunters across the room to the foot of his bed as Erik looks up at her in bewilderment and a tinge of fear.
Erik: Is it... my time? Are you taking me?
Necra laughs as she waves his comment off, dismissing it as ridiculous. She takes a seat on the very edge of the bed as she looks over at Erik, seeing if he gets it yet, but he clearly does not. She sighs as she runs her fingers over the pattern on his designer comforter.
Necra: Your soul is dark, and it screams in torment. You are quite arrogant for a coward, and I've always liked that about you. I can't wait to collect your soul, but now if not the time for that...
Necra raises her finger from his blanket as she brings it up to her long, black hair. She gently brushes it to the side, out of her face as she flashes her dark, dead eyes at him.
Necra: You've been terribly difficult to get a hold of as of late. You must be busy preparing for our match...
Erik: Oh... I am. Very busy preparing for it.
Necra: It's just a shame that you have been unable to find time to meet with me to discuss a strategy. You're a busy man, and I respect that, but I have your promise that you will do everything in your power to help me when I need it most.
Necra looks disappointed in Erik as she stands up from his bed. Her slender frame is almost appetizing to him, but he is too stricken with fear to even lead this on as he simply stares at her. She shakes her head with an exasperated sigh as she slowly begins to circle the bed.
Necra: You've never been a man to go back on your word, but I don't think you understand the magnitude of the situation.
Erik: No, I do. I have been in the gym every day since the card was announced, working away feverishly to be the best partner I can be to you.
Necra: That bitch somehow found her way past me at Inception, and just before that in the Nether Realm. I have to get back at her, and take what is rightfully mine. I won't rest until she's paid for what she did to me, and what she did to Sara.
Erik fidgets with his fingers nervously as Necra continues to circle him like a shark, sizing up her prey. Erik flashes his eyes quickly at her before bowing his head again.
Erik: I mean no disrespect, but she paid for it when you took her life. You're lucky she came back and didn't press charges.
Necra: You call that luck?! It is the furthest thing from luck. She still lives. I call that failure on my part. You made a promise to me almost two years ago that you would repay me for my loyalty to you. Nobody goes back on a deal with me.
Erik: I don't intend to, but you have to realize that I am taking this as serious as a heart attack.
Necra: You better, because that heart attack can easily be arranged...
Necra says this nonchalantly, but there is a slight hint of venom in her tone as she stops circling around him, staring down at him as he lies in bed.
Erik: I might be a changed man, but there are certain things that never change. Loyalty has come to mean a lot to me over the years, and I have a vested interest in our match, more than you even realize. I haven't been in a wrestling ring for almost twenty-five years now. I'm trying to clear my head and focus my training again, because I want this win more than any other in my entire career.
Necra: Now you're just trying to persuade me not to inflict harm on you, and it is pathetic.
Erik sits up in his bed, making sure to cover the lower half of his naked form as he looks into Necra's deep eyes, literally staring death in the face.
Erik: You're wrong about that. I appreciate the fact that you remained loyal to me, in your own way, ever since the rebellion. But, this runs deeper than that. I know I can't face Darknyss personally, but she showed her true colors to me the second the rebellion ended, and she walked off with Raynin and Gothika, as well as the Bombshell Tag Team Titles that they barely held on to thanks to you and Misty. I was used, and I am not one who likes being used...
Erik narrows his eyes in anger, causing Necra to soften her expression a bit. She can see the truth in his conviction, feeling it in his words. She takes a few steps back to let up some of the intimidation she'd been dishing out to him.
Necra: Then it seems we are on the same page... We both have our own agendas here, but they culminate this week, working to our respective benefit. This... now feels a little unneccessary.
Erik: Indeed... unless you really do want to give me a heart attack, rendering me useless, of course. Perhaps we could continue this conversation over the phone, or over lunch... but not over my dead body, please?
Necra: You take the fun out of everything, Mister Staggs. As you wish...
With the wave of a hand, Erik's dream switches over to something much more appealing as he is sitting on a beach lounge chair in a tropical climate, with a cool drink in his hand. The crystal blue waters of the ocean lap against the white sand as the breeze wafts through the palm trees. His tense body slowly loosens up as a tanned woman approaches him with a platter of fresh fruit, picking up a bunch of grapes and hanging it above his head. Wantonly, he looks up at her as she lowers the juicy red fruit down to his lips. He pinches one off with his pearly white teeth as a few more women approach, topless, and covering themselves.
Woman: Excuse me sir, but we seem to have lost our tops. Have you seen them anywhere?
Erik looks over off screen and an almost goofy smile comes over his face as he raises his eyebrows in a wiley manner as we soon fade out as the music of the island leaves a relaxing impression upon us.
SCW home office is a distant memory already as the Las Vegas based company travels across the world. Not that this is something new or different to SCW, but it is the first time that returning to Las Vegas wouldn't be happening for an entire year. Many were excited for this, getting a chance to see the world, all on SCW's dime. Others were nervous and showing signs of being home sick. There is one person who felt neither emotion, a man who is well traveled as it is, one who has seen almost every corner of the world. This was nothing new to Erik Staggs... well, mostly. As a promoter, he's traveled across the globe, but this was the first time that he would wrestle overseas. Any nerves that Erik Staggs was feeling had nothing to do with the location. Nearly a quarter of a century has passed since he last stepped inside of a wrestling ring as a serious competitor. Many of the SCW stars weren't even 25 years old, let alone imagining shaking off that much ring rust.
Though Erik Staggs has been diligently preparing for his match against Patient #078 and Darknyss, he finds himself handling his staffing obligations for the better part of this day. Sitting in his hotel room, he looks at his computer screen, wearing a red cigar jacket with matching pajama bottoms, and a white t-shirt underneath. His black horn rimmed glasses are perched on the edge of his nose as he types away at the laptop sitting before him on the table. He closes his eyes and reaches up to rub at his temples.
Erik: These demands are ridiculous... "Exactly 35 green and 27 red M&M's in a candy dish must be the centerpiece of my otherwise Vegan friendly spread"? Do the Irish even know what Vegan is? If you cut out meat and dairy, you're left eating potatoes and parsnips, Delia... Stupid bit... Oh, hello! I didn't see you there!
Erik looks up, acknowledging the camera as he removes his glasses from his face. He folds them together, tucking one earpiece into the collar of his white shirt. He gently lowers the screen of his laptop as he furls his brow in confusion.
Erik: You guys are awfully early, aren't you...?
Erik waves his right arm slightly as the sleeve of his jacket rolls up his arm, revealing a Rolex on his wrist. He looks at the time, and then a slight red shade of embarrassment befalls his face as he bites onto his upper lip, mouthing a slow "soooorrrrryyyy..." as he holds his hands up apologetically.
Erik: It appears that time has gotten away from me this morning, and I apologize to you for that. I didn't intend to do my first promotional video in my pajamas, but when you're as busy as I am... you make due.
Erik swivles around in his office chair to face the camera fully as he laces his fingers together. He tries to remain as professional as he can in the given situation, remaining as poised as he would in full dress suit. His hair is a bit of a mess as he gently runs his fingers through it to fix it.
Erik: It appears that Hell has officially frozen over as I've agreed to take place in the Blast From the Past Tournament this year. In the short time since it was announced, I've heard a variety of very funny jokes, including... "Aren't you worried about breaking a hip, Staggs?" or "I'm excited to see you wrestle. It was very nice of the retirement home to give you a pass for the day." But, I'd have to say that my favorite joke has to be... *ahem* "You suck, Staggs. You have penis "breathe" and "your" going to lose and have heart attack." Grammatical errors aside, I rather enjoyed this one. Does penis even have a smell that would resonate in the breath? I certainly wouldn't know, so it is a legitimate question.
Erik pauses as the cameraman says something we can't hear. Erik tilts his head to the side, furling his brow as his hand traces down his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his pajama bottoms. He looks down to his crotch and then back to the cameraman as if he doesn't quite understand.
Erik: That's just... I don't know how to feel about that. I would imagine if one had "penis breath" it would come from performing felatio on someone who was unclean, which can't be good for the health. So, this random Twitter handler not only thinks I'm a homosexual, but worse, he accuses me of having poor taste in sexual conquests? I think I'm most offended by the latter. And the death threat was just overkill. But, I enjoyed it nonetheless. It just seems that nobody has faith in my abilities.
Erik looks as if he is a little hurt by this as he places a hand on his chest, patting at his heart, however, he grins as he exaggerates this. He chuckles half-heartedly before shaking his head and lifting one leg over, resting his ankle atop his knee as he returns to his poised position.
Erik: The wrestling business has become filled with prima donnas and sensitive types. In homage to Bruce Campbell... Wrestlers, a bunch of bitchy little girls. It is a sad state of affairs when a stable formed on the bases of vanity, sisterhood of brainlessness, and egocentric ideals aren't the most insulting thing in a business that people such as myself helped to build. The Mean Girls aren't the worst thing about wrestling I've noticed, and that really bothers me. Some would ask why I've decided to have a short stint when things are in this sort of state, but the answer is quite simple. Sometimes, people need to see a legend do it so that they know how to do it right... and unfortunately there wasn't a legend available, so they asked the oldest fart that they knew to step up instead. I've got to learn how to say no sometimes...
Erik shakes his head as he takes in a deep breath.
Erik: Anyway, I've got a match coming up, and I've already stressed that it is the first one in nearly 25 years. That puts me at a great disadvantage. To make matters worse, I don't know who my male opponent is. From the sound of things, it looks like Mark or Christian went above my head and signed a couple of guys from the looney bin. I'm going to have to beat up a handicapped person, like I need that on my conscience... I could be facing someone with dementia who doesn't know his fist from his face. Or, I could be facing someone so hopped up on anti-psychotics that he doesn't even realize where he's at. Could I even face someone with post traumatic stress disorder from the war? He heards a loud boom, and then he goes into killer mode, snapping my neck because, in his mind, I'm Vietnamese in disguise. I'm starting to see some people's gripes that SCW operates loosely in the safety guidelines. This proves it.
Erik holds a finger up as he reaches across the table to pick up a notepad and a pen. He jots down a quick note for a possible agenda item for the next staff meeting before scratching the pen with one final stroke. He sets the pad down on the table and resumes his train of thought.
Erik: With my luck, I'm making a big deal out of this, and I wind up facing some cog in the machine who tried to hang himself with his tie because he couldn't stand how dull his life of working in a cubical really was. He probably decided that he needed to spice up his life by learning to wrestle. That's great, I would normally encourage this of anyone, but I didn't come here to perform community service. I signed up for this tournament because I want to win. I owe it to myself to have one last hoorah before I hang up the boots for good without exception. Whoever SCW's latest inmate is, he is in for a rude awakening at my hands. I might be considered past my prime, but I know this business inside and out, like the back of my hand. I know every inch of that ring, and I know every Suplex, Drop, Slam, Toss, and hold that has even been thought of. Am I an expert with them? No, but knowledge is key. I have the mind games down, and with someone as fragile as Patient #078, I won't even need to brush up on them.
Erik smirks, but he remains quiet as his point settles in. Curiosity settles in and he opens his computer back up. With a few keystrokes and a couple rapid clicks, he turns the laptop around to show the scwrestling.net home page. Once he's sure we've seen it, he runs the pointer to the Locker Room tab as he continues talking.
Erik: Many people have been asking me, "Erik, who are these Patients? You're the Head of Talent Relations, obviously you signed their contracts, and have some knowledge of them." One would think I'd be in the loop with such a matter, right? It makes sense. But, I'm not... I'm just as in the dark as you are, maybe even more so. The business is full of people who belong in a nut house, but who has recently been committed? I don't keep up with the no-namers affairs on Twitter. I'm not Liz Smalls or Delia Darling. Perhaps if I was, I'd have some sort of advantage here, but I don't. Mark and Christian have some inkling of who these guys are, but the person who is responsible for keeping the talent happy? The one who handles their paycheck delivery. The one who basically handles every aspect of ensuring that the talents show up for work every Sunday... he has no idea who these guys are. That is the part I have an issue with. Throw whoever you want in front of myself or Necra, and we'll knock them right back down. Stop me from doing my job properly, and ensuring the safety of our talent, and I do take exception to that.
Erik has a stern, almost father-like expression on his face that reads "I'm disappointed in you, Mark and Christian." He lets this resonate for a moment before tilting his head back to an upright position once more.
Erik: It takes a very special kind of pussy to hide in the shadows while you run around, collecting information on your opponents. Sitting back and watching your opponents trying to figure out who you are while you have their name, age, birthdate, height, weight, credit card number, the weight of their last bowel movement... And what do I know about you? Absolutely nothing. I have suspicions, but I haven't even a single certainty in this matter. I could be going up against a tiny twig weighing a buck fifty who flies around more than Equinox on acid. I could be facing a four hundred pound, seven foot tall, shit brick house who could snap my and the ring like a twig. I could be facing Mark Ward's mother, for all I know. Hell, stranger things have happened. But what is certain, is the fact that this person knows every little detail about me. And that's fine. As a matter of fact, allow me to tell you some things not found on my bio page, or on Wikipedia...
Erik uncrosses his legs, instead switching his right ankle to his left knee as he scrolls through the locker room page, showing no sign of his opponents names, not even a mention, then coming to his own biography. He opens it, scrolling down to allow people to get a quick glimpse of his information.
Erik: As you know, I am Erik Staggs, born in St. Louis, Missouri. I am six feet, three inches, and I weigh two hundred and thirty five pounds. I now reside in Las Vegas, Nevada. I am the patriarch of the Staggs Family, a family that has dominated this business over the last decade. However, I do enjoy long walks on the beach under the moonlight. I have an affinity for ginger women. I don't like foods that are phallic in nature. I am a firm believer that once you pop a can of Pringles, you can't stop until they are completely gone. I am a Virgo. My 8th grade English teacher, Mr. Odom, was the one who inspired me to be a better person, and I single-handedly led the class in standing on our desks to recite "O Captain, My Captain"...
Erik looks up from the camera slightly as he reminisces in the moment.
Erik: ... unfortunately there was a substitute teacher that day, and I got sent to the principal's office... My favorite color is orange, and it is also my favorite word because no other word in the English language rhymes with it... it is a rebel word. I've watched It's A Wonderful Life approximated 48 times in my life, every year on Christmas Day. Capricorn's steal my heart. I am a no-bullshit kind of guy, with nothing to hide, and I find it degrading to your own reputation that you have to hide behind a proverbial mask in order to gain an advantage over a nearly fifty year old man. The simple fact that you feel the need to do that lets me know I already have you beat. Your partner in pussiness might have his opponents shaking in their boots, going crazy trying to figure out who he is, but you've got no one fooled, son. No one is shaken on our side. Necra can handle herself, but it's down to you and me, man to man... and I use that term very loosely in your case.
Erik lowers his head again, narrowing his eyes as he looks directly into the camera with precision in his eyes.
Erik: Tell me, what are you going to do when you get your ass kicked by an old man, jacked up on Metamucil and Ostocal? Are you going to disappear into the shadows once again, waiting for the shame and embarrassment to die down before you find another, weaker opponent you can trick with your pathetic little mind games? Or will you even bother after that? If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't. All of that effort, all of that embrrassment that you're putting yourself through to get inside of my head, all for naught... and you still lose. Sucks to be you...
Erik gives an arrogant smirk. He chuckles as he stares at the camera before just waving it off, looking down at the ground for a second.
Erik: Whatever, there is no use beating a dead horse, which is exactly what their career is going to be when I'm done with them. Instead, lets talk about someone I am more familiar with... Darknyss. Hello hon, it has been so long. I hope you are well? The last time I saw you, you and your girls were pledging allegiance to me and my cause. My *air quotes* rebellion, if you will. Of course, we all know how that turned out, and there are no hard feelings on my movement going by the wayside, because I believe that I was able to accomplish great change within Sin City Wrestling. Since I've lended my expertise to the company, we've flourished. We've never been better or more exciting than we are now. No, I would even go as far as to call it a victory, with harmony achieved...
Erik's optimism almost seem misplaced upon his face. He traces his finger along the scar on his right cheek before a more sinister look crosses his face.
Erik: Many of the people I foolishly relied on to help bring about this change, they are the ones who deserve my wrath. The ones who abandoned the cause the second Mark Ward or Christian Underwood dangled an incentive in front of their faces, such as Amy Marshall and Kevin Carter. Even the ones who watched me take the fall for them, and didn't come to my aid, or stepped back and washed their hands of me once I failed. People such as... well, The Fallen. Since you are their guide in the world of wrestling, I blame you specifically Darknyss. Call it petty, but a part of me wants to watch Necra tear you limb from limb. Sure, it is bitter of me, but I've never once claimed to be a perfect person. It isn't even about the business aspect of things, for me at least. It is purely personal. I could care less about winning a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship. At my age, I'm not sure I could do it any justice anyway. No, this is about returning a favor to an old friend who was loyal to me. And an added bonus is that I get to watch a rat drown in the waters in which she fled to escape the *air quotes* sinking ship of a movement. That's not a win. It's not even a win-win. It's a win-win-win-win... Now, once I've seen your dreams crushed the way you stood idly by and watched mine become crushed... then we can work on reparation. An eye for an eye, lovely...
Erik winks his right eye for emphasis.
Erik: I've taken up far too much of your time by talking about two people who aren't going to matter after three more days. Allow me to wrap things up by wishing my partner the best of luck, though I don't think Necra will need it. She has all of the tools of a great competitor, despite the way the fans take to her. She has had a glorious wrestling career, and I only see things getting brighter for her whether we win this tournament or not. We have a mutual understanding about things. I think that alone will lead us to the finals. Unlike most of these teams, we have worked together in depth in the past. We have all of the tools to make it, if we apply focus. I'm relying on you, Necra, just as you are me. We're in this together, and we're not going to allow a coward and a deserter to knock us off of our path. I'll see you three on Sunday.
The seriousness in Erik's voice shines through as he places his laptop back on the table. He turns back to it and resumes business as usual as the camera slowly pans out. Erik feverishly types away at his computer, answering e-mails. Eventually the scene fades out completely... TO BLACK!
