[DrakeGreen]

 A Story About Revenge: Part I


”Instead of a man of peace and love, I have become a man of violence and revenge.” –Hiawatha

November 3rd, 2015 – Drake Green’s Home – Bakersfield, CA – 1:30 PM

[The camera fades in inside of Drake’s forest hidden, concrete ridden home just outside of Bakersfield, California. The place is as dimly lit as a bar on Hollywood Boulevard at 2 AM and about as quiet as a library after it has closed. Small rays of light peak through the small slit windows near the top of the walls. The light is so bright to it’s surroundings that thousands of small speckles of dust can be seen gleaming in their wake. The place seems abandoned. And out of nowhere, as if it had just appeared out of thin air, loud thuds begin to fill the room.

THUD!

THUD!

THUD!

THUD!

After each loud pounding we can hear the faint jingling of a chain swaying through the air. In the corner of the room, we can see Drake. Pounding his fists repeatedly into a heavy bag, pouring sweat out of his naked chest. His muscles tighten with each thrust forward and his face cringes every time he pulls one of his noticeably larger than normal arms back to wind up his swing. His face fills with anger as his taped hands slam into the sand filled canvas bag. He begins to pick up the pace, slamming his knuckles over and over, and begins to scream a bit as he connects. He’s focused, in an overly aggressive kind of way, but his concentration is shattered when a woman’s scream catches his attention.]

Lyah: DRAKE!

[He turns his head slightly, noticing his beautiful but young blonde haired girlfriend standing just a few feet away from him with a concerned look on her face. Her eyes peer at him as he wipes some sweat off of his face. He pants a few times before finally acknowledging her.]

Drake: What?

[She continues to glare.]

Drake: Seriously…what’s up?

Lyah: What’s up? I’ve been standing here for like five minutes, dude. Are you starting to lose your hearing now too?

Drake: I told you I was gonna work out. What’s going on?

Lyah: Working out, yes. You’re not working out.

Drake: Oh, what am I doing then?

[He picks up a bottle of Poland Spring and downs a few gulps.]

Lyah: You’re beating the hell out of a punching bag. That’s not working out.

[He sets the bottle back down and turns back toward the bag.]

Drake: I didn’t realize I had to clear my work out schedule with you.

[She gets annoyed.]

Lyah: I don’t know what your problem is but the last few weeks you’ve been a total dick.

[He smirks.]

Drake: What did I do now?

Lyah: I don’t know, Drake. It’s like you’re a totally different person. All you do is talk about Mark Ward and how you wanna get even and get payback and all this ACW bullshit.

Drake: It’s not bullshit.

Lyah: Isn’t it? I mean…who cares.

[Now he gets annoyed.]

Drake: You said you understood. You told me you were with me on this.

Lyah: Yeah…with you on causing some shit and pissing my boss off. Not crazed revenge, man. You need to relax.

Drake: Relax? Do you think this is a game? What Mark Ward has done to me….

[He stops himself.]

Drake: What Mark Ward has done to us…all of us…he deserves what he’s going to get.

Lyah: And what’s that, Drake? What are you gonna do to him?

Drake: He has to pay.

Lyah: Why? Do you even remember why you hate him? Do you even know what started this all.

[He takes a long pause before turning back toward the heavy bag again.]

Drake: It doesn’t matter.

Lyah: That’s because you’re consumed by all this rage, Drake. You have to let it go.

Drake: I CAN’T LET IT GO!

[He screams at Lyah, startling her so much she steps back a half of a footstep. They stare at each other for a moment, as Drake pants a bit, and then he breaks the silence.]

Drake: I-

[She immediately cuts him off.]

Lyah: I don’t care. You need to figure this out or I’m outta here, dude.

[Before he can say anything else she turns around and heads back to the condo in the back where they live. He watches her walk away before again turning back to the heavy sand filled canvas bag. He stares at the word ‘EVERLAST’ written across the front of the punching bag before let his face fill with rage. He lets out a loud scream as he slams his taped fist into the center of the bag. The camera cuts out.]


August 24th, 2004 – Drake and Nick Green’s High-rise Apartment – Los Angeles, CA – 10:00 PM

[The scene fades in to a large penthouse apartment over looking downtown Los Angeles. A much younger Drake is sitting on a brown leather couch in the living room with his feet up on the coffee table reading a Sports Illustrated magazine. Behind him, out from a bedroom, walks his older brother Nick Green. He walks into the open kitchen and pulls open the black refrigerator door. He pulls out a Coor’s Light bottle and walks over to where Drake is sitting.]

Nick: Dickey, get your feet off my table.

Drake: It’s my table too, ass muncher…stop calling me Dickey.

Nick: I paid for it…Dickey.

[Drake lowers the magazine to reveal his boyish clean shaven face to Nick, who had just plopped down next to him on the couch.]

Drake: I don’t know how you drink that shit, man. Don’t you know what alcohol can do to your body?

Nick: Yeah, all you gotta do is take a look at Maxy and you get a whole life lesson.

Drake: So then why drink it?

Nick: Because it tastes good…and it’s fun. Here try some…

[Nick leans over and holds out his beer bottle toward Drake. The young future World Heavyweight Champion stares at the bottle for a moment with eyes filled with curiosity. He thinks for a long hard moment before turning up a sarcastic looking smile at his older brother.]

Drake: No way, dude. You’ll never see me drink that stuff. It’s poison.

Nick: Have it your way.

[Nick tilts his head back and slams the rest of the beer. He smiles at his younger brother.]

Nick: More for me.

[Drake smiles a bit and shakes his head at Nick who hops up to his feet. He goes to make his way to grab another beer as the phone rings.]

Nick: Can you get that?

Drake: You’re like two feet away…

Nick: Fine.

[Nick walks a few feet out of his way and picks up the phone which is mounted to the wall just outside of the kitchen.]

Nick: Heeello?

[The smile that was plastered across his faces falls away only moments after he answers the telephone. Drake turns to him and almost immediately picks up on something that must be terribly wrong. He hops over the couch and makes his way to the kitchen.]

Nick: Yes…yes…ok…I understand…we’ll be right there.

[Click. He hangs up the phone and turns to his younger brother with a near white look on his face.]

Drake: What the fuck, Nick. What’s up?

Nick: It’s Jenny…

[The two share a look that is almost identical as the camera cuts out.]


August 24th, 2004 – Dignity Health California Hospital Medical Center – Los Angeles, CA – 11:15 PM

[The camera fades back in inside of a hospital emergency room. Drake and Nick come rushing down the hallway toward the front desk. They frantically ask where their sister is, only to be asked to wait in the waiting room. They pace around for what seems like hours before a LAPD police officers comes out to talk to them.]

Officer: Is one of you, Nick?

[Nick hops up to his feet.]

Nick: Yeah, that’s me.

Officer: Jennifer has been asking for you. She’d like to see you now.

Nick: Come on, D. Lets-

[The officer interrupts him.]

Officer: Just you, sir.

Nick: But-

Officer: I’m sorry but Miss Green specifically asked for just you.

Drake: That’s some fuc-

[This time, it’s Nick’s turn to cut Drake off.]

Nick: Relax, Drake. Let me see what’s up with Jenny. I’ll be right back to get you.

[Drake reluctantly agrees with Nick. He continues his frantic pacing, wondering what is going on. He stares at the clock and watches the seconds tick by. The hands seem to move slower, although he knows that’s impossible. He continues to walk back and forth not knowing how long he’ll have to wait. After a few more moments, Nick walks back out to the waiting room.]

Drake: What’s going on?

Nick: It’s not good, Dickey.

Drake: What is it?

Nick: …she…

Drake: Spit it out!

Nick: She was raped....

[The words freeze Drake. He can’t react. He stands there with his mouth hung wide open and his eyes wide. He can’t speak. After a moment his eyes start to burn and his fists begin to close. He feels his fingernails dig into his palms as he clamps his hands into a tight ball. His chest begins to heave and his heart begins to pound. And rage consumes him as the camera cuts to black.]


”I’ve watched your career for a long time, Steve; a really long time. I remember your first match in ACW. That’s because it also happened to be my first match there. I’m not sure if you remember or not but it was a mutli-man match. I think it was a six-man elimination match to be honest. You and I are quite similar in many different ways, you know. We had pretty good careers before ACW and SCW. You had a little more success than I did before you got here, winning some major championships. You were a star and although I have never admitted it before…was impressed by you. You were a professional and incredibly talented. You had it all, man. And then some where, some how, along the way you fucked it all up.”

“I’m always interested to learn what drives people to do things. I always wonder what reasoning people have for making fucking dumb decisions. You, my fearless friend, are one fucking dumb decision after another. I know you had some rough patches here in SCW. I know losing sometimes hurts. But that doesn’t mean sell out all of the good that you have inside of you to grab an extra piece of the proverbial pie. I used to look up to you in a way Steve. We’ve done this dance before you and I. I’ve defended this very title, the greatest title in all of our business, against you before. And the last time we did this we had good, honest, and admirable things to say about one another. But this time, this time things are different, Steve. This time I’ve got a huge fucking chip on my shoulder. That chip is there because I am sick and tired of fake phonies running wild in SCW. I’m sick and tired of watching people like YOU take advantage of the good ones out there. I’m sick and tired of sitting back and doing nothing.”

“You may be fearless, Steve. You may be an incredible athlete. But you’re also a sell out. A fake. A fraud. You used to mean something to these people, Steve. You used to be a hero to some. But now you’re nothing but a shell of your former self and its pretty fucking sad. I’ve beaten you before, Steve. Between ACW and SCW I’ve done it a few times, and this time around won’t be any different. The outcome won’t change, only the feelings I get when I choke you out. I used to care, Steve. I used to think to myself that you were a good guy who just ended up on the wrong side of my Rated R Chokehold. But this time…this time I know better. This time I know that you’re just a two-faced, egotistical maniac who needs to get his ass kicked all over Jamaica. I came into this match thinking that I could turn you around and that I could show you the light. But now I know…I know you’re heart is too blackened. When I see you I just see an extension of Hot Stuff Mark Ward. I just see a douchebag. It’s time to put you down Steve. It’s time end that pathetic dream of yours to wear this belt. Because let’s be honest, it’s not that you’re not talented enough. It’s not that you’re not charismatic enough. It’s just because you don’t deserve it. You’re not worthy of a Championship like this. Don’t worry, few are. Hopefully one day you’ll see the light again but until then, stay the fuck out of my way or be prepared to get rocked.”