~The picture slowly opens up on what appears to be a long, grassy plain. Of course, the buildings seen a short distance away changes this opinion of yours rather quickly, as obviously, this is closer to being a city park of some sort. And for now, in a way, you'd be right. But once upon a time, this was where a rather abandoned warehouse once stood, a warehouse that was used for many a promo from one Peter Vaughn. That building has been demolished, though, with Vaughn working to apparently retake the land afterwards, digging up the soil and laying out new layers of grass across the area. But that's not all Vaughn has been doing. The camera turns, showing Vaughn lifting with his knees, bringing a small tree out of the back of his pick-up truck, affectionately known as Gabriella. He turns towards the cameraman, walking his way.~
Peter Vaughn: Hey there, friend. Haven't seen you in a few weeks. What do you think so far? Think we're making some good progress?
~The cameraman seems to shrug, not really knowing what Vaughn is fully going for. But Vaughn takes his response as a positive one, even as he steps to the side, where a hole has already been dug. An industrial-strength auger sits to the side, likely modified in Vaughn's typical style. It certainly dug a deep enough hole, as Vaughn easily gets the tree inside.~
Peter Vaughn: Just you wait, camera dude. This place? It's going to be magnificent once we're done.
~It's clear Vaughn has other help in this project, as he's been travelling around the world a lot lately. But right now, there are no signs of the rest of the crew.~
Peter Vaughn: So let's talk about a few weeks ago. You got to watch as I once again fulfilled my promise. I took down Bill Barnhart for a second time, this time beating him one on one, and the beautiful Roulette Championship stayed around my waist. I certainly earned a new appreciation for the usage of duct tape. It really does fix anything. All-in-all, it was a hell of a victory, making me extremely proud to continue my reign. I've got a ways to go to add up the days like some people here, but the count is still going up.
~Vaughn dusts off his hands, looking off into the distance for a second, considering things.~
Peter Vaughn: And thank goodness it worked out that way. How embarrassing would it have been to come to the next show, where the almighty Goth is making his return, and not have my championship with me? I'm glad I didn't let the Saviors down. And now, we're one step closer to taking over the reins here in Sin City once again.
~Vaughn nods to himself, and then heads back to the truck, apparently to get another seedling of a tree. The cameraman turns to the right, showing the strategically dug holes cutting a path through the grassy field. It's not a completely straight path. In fact, it seems to curve around, an interesting formation once all of the trees are in. The cameraman turns back to Vaughn, who's lugging in another one.~
Peter Vaughn: Of course, I'd be remiss if I left out the other significant event at the last Climate Control. And no, it wasn't the short returns of Mac or Ken, although those were pretty memorable. No, the biggest moment was the fact that a fellow Savior member, The Troll, got a victory. He got an amazing sunset flip, perfectly improvised, to get the 1-2-3. It was a hell of a moment, one that admittedly many of us weren't expecting. And who'd he get it on? Why, it was my opponent for this next week... "The Outlaw" Max Steele.
~Vaughn shakes his head, laughing to himself, before plopping the tree into its desired position. He kicks some dirt on top of it, making sure it's settled, before turning back, with the cameraman following him.~
Peter Vaughn: When I heard I'd be competing in a Non-Title match, frankly, I was not a happy camper. I want to put as many defenses as I can with this championship, making everyone have to accept that my reign has truly been a great one. But when I saw who my booked opponent was, well, I couldn't really say anything. After all, Maxie Pad fell to the Troll. That's not exactly a ringing endorsement for a title shot.
~As Vaughn reaches the truck again, he pulls out the next tree, shifting it towards the edge of the pick-up. He stops, though, opting to turn back to the camera.*
Peter Vaughn: The funny thing is, in my last two matches, I've had to tell myself, don't underestimate the competition. Sure, I felt I was better than Milo & The Troll, and I was extremely confident about ol' Barnhart, but I forced myself to fight them hard, and it paid off. But now, man, it's going to be difficult not to come into this one with too much confidence. After all, Maxie's looking more like an invalid than an outlaw at this point. But I have to wonder: can he use this as motivation?
~Vaughn leans an arm on his beloved truck, clearly thinking backwards in time to some of his accomplishments in the sport.~
Peter Vaughn: I remember well how an embarrassing loss or two could find a way to inspire me to greatness. After all, once you've taken that fall from grace, you only have two options: sit there on your ass and cry about it, or start climbing back up to where you were. So which one will it be for Maxwell? We'll just have to find out, won't we? And hey, if I beat him in record time, we'll know what the answer was, won't we?
~Vaughn nods, basically agreeing with himself, as the cameraman doesn't appear to be doing anything. There's a honk from behind, and Vaughn turns, taking in several trucks coming in.~
Peter Vaughn: About time my army got here. I was thinking I was going to have to do everything myself.
~As the trucks start to park, the cameraman turns towards them, intent on getting a shot of some of the drivers. But Vaughn stops him, waving him back over.~
Peter Vaughn: No need to film them, boyo. The star's right here. And the star's going to keep rising when he pounds some Steele into submission at Climate Control. Now feel free to take off, my man. These guys and I have some work to do.
~Vaughn gets the third tree up and walks off, even as the cameraman turns to see him go. We can hear doors slamming close by, as people get out of their trucks. The temptation to turn and film must be incredibly powerful. But this cameraman knows better than to go against Vaughn, considering Vaughn almost buried him in a collapsing building without even having any animosity towards him. Instead. the footage cuts out.~
~As the shot shifts into a different location, we see a beautiful view off the side of a mountain. It's a view of Machu Picchu, a majestic sight as the ancient structures rise up before us. The shot moves forward, defying gravity, proving to us that this is a drone, as it begins zooming over the different walls and blocks, taking in the mysterious history of this place. The drone has a destination in mind, though, and it heads there, flying towards where we can see a man holding the reins of two horses, standing off to the side. He is unknown to us, a local, most likely. He glances to his left, and the drone follows, heading that way. We can now see another man standing nearby, staring off into the distance with a decent drop just a few feet away from him. Peter Vaughn is genuinely smiling, perhaps feeling something deep in his ancestral genes for being in a wonderous place like this. Or maybe he just ate a Snickers bar. You never know. Unfortunately, the moment of tranquility is broken up as Vaughn's satellite phone rings, wiping the smile from his face.~
Peter Vaughn: Knew I should have turned that off.
~Vaughn reluctantly pops out the phone, basically answering it just to stop it from disturbing the stillness around him.~
Peter Vaughn: Go for Vaughn.
Sadie Anderson: Peter? Look, it's Sadie.
Peter Vaughn: Sadie who?
Sadie Anderson: ... Are you serious?
Peter Vaughn: Of course not. What's going on, Sadie? How's the ranch doing?
~There's a distorted sound that comes from the phone, possibly grumbling or cursing, but it's done with the receiver covered, so we can't make it out. After a second, Sadie's voice returns.~
Sadie Anderson: The ranch is... still standing. But I really need to discuss something with you.
Peter Vaughn: I'm listening.
Sadie Anderson: Your new animals were delivered here last week, and we've been taking the best care of them that we can. But it's taking a lot to maintain all of this livestock with the crew you've currently got.
Peter Vaughn: How are the donkeys doing? I'm hoping they didn't get too airsick...
Sadie Anderson: Seriously, Peter, please listen to me. We... we need help here.
Peter Vaughn: Help? Really? I'm sorry, Sadie, I truly am, but I've got several wrestling events coming up, including this weekend. I'm afraid I'll be unavailable for some time.
Sadie Anderson: I know that, Peter, and I'm not talking about just you. With Thomas still recovering, and you out of the country, we're really short-handed. And we were never prepared to have the cattle come in along with all of the donkeys & mules you arranged for. Throw in the pigs and chickens and this place has become a regular farmstead with the crew the size of a ranch much smaller.
~Vaughn scratches at his chin, thinking it over. As much as he hates to admit it, Sadie's making sense. His ranch has been expanding dramatically as of late, and he hasn't hired anyone new in a month or two.~
Peter Vaughn: Okay, then, why don't you go out and hire some more hands? You probably know the talent out there better than I do.
Sadie Anderson: It doesn't work like that, Peter. You have to be the one who talks to them and hires them. It's the way of the rancher. I can offer suggestions, but...
Peter Vaughn: Wait, how am I supposed to seek out people for you, all the way over here? Can't you just talk to some and I'll rubber stamp them or something?
Sadie Anderson: If we have to do that, you won't get the best respect from those you're hiring. They'll likely do sloppy work, and will leave us in a lurch in a moment's notice if they get something better. They need to trust the owner of the ranch, and that's not me.
~Vaughn sighs, looking around for a few seconds.~
Peter Vaughn: It's pretty barren of people out there, Sadie. I can ask a few who do some work in these hills, but I don't think many of them speak English.
Sadie Anderson: No, Peter, that's not what we need...
Peter Vaughn: I mean, I DID see a guy herding some sheep and goats earlier. They caught my attention, because I thought, what could we do with the wool and the goat's milk, as well as the...
Sadie Anderson: NO MORE ANIMALS!!
~The scream catches Vaughn off-guard, and he almost drops the satellite phone. Thankfully, his reaction speed is still up to the task, as he gathers it back in before it falls too far.~
Peter Vaughn: Geez, Sadie...
Sadie Anderson: I... I'm sorry, Peter. But we really need to take care of the personnel issue first, before anything else is added. Your ranch hands are getting overworked... including me.
Peter Vaughn: Alright, look... I'll see what I can do from here. If I can arrange something, I'll let you know. Okay?
Sadie Anderson: Thank you, Peter. And good luck at your match this weekend. I'll be cheering for you.
Peter Vaughn: Luck won't be required. But thanks. Goodbye.
~Vaughn hangs up the satellite phone, putting it back on his belt. He turns and walks over to where his guide is waiting, having brought Vaughn up to this spot. Vaughn considers the guide for a moment.~
Peter Vaughn: You don't speak English, right?
~The guide doesn't respond. He just stares at Vaughn, waiting, with Vaughn sighing and nodding to the horses.~
Peter Vaughn: Yeah. She didn't want me to import anything else to the ranch, anyway. Let's get going. I've got an impossible mission to take care of.
~Vaughn gets on the horse, with the guide saddling up as well. They ride off, as the picture cuts out.~
The things you have to do to keep moving forward, am I right, Max? Or should I call you Mad? I don't know for sure, you might be changing your name due to that whole "HBO Max" thing, and I guess I can't blame you. Besides, you probably want a new name after getting yourself pinned by The Troll.
That's one that's going to be extremely hard to live down, isn't it?
Really, if I were you, I'd only see two courses readily available for me. Either I'd leave Sin City with my tail between my legs, never to be seen again, or I'd rile myself up to an enraged state and put everything I have into my next contest. Boy, it's really a shame for you that you got booked against me next, because you certainly should have the motivation to be competitive... just not the skills or talent, apparently.
But I could be wrong. Maybe there's greatness somewhere under that skin of yours, waiting to find its way out. I suppose anything is possible.
I know from what I've seen of you is that you're not any bigger than I am, which is kind of a relief, actually, considering all the powerhouses I seem to get booked against lately. It'll be nice to match speed vs. speed with someone, seeing which one of us is the most agile (spoiler: it's me). I don't really know what makes you an Outlaw, though. Is it just because you don't call any place home? Or is it because you robbed a bank at some point and are hoping that you're never caught by the authorities?
Nah. You don't have the luck or skill to rob a bank and get away with it. Never mind.
Honestly, there's a lot I don't know about you, Maxine, and the fact is, it's not like I really need to know anything at this point. After all, they don't usually introduce the jobber to the fans, do they? And that's what you are right now, Max: the jobber. It's an unenviable position to be in, I know. But that's what happens when you lose to the guy who had been on a monumental losing streak. You immediately get planted at the bottom of the ladder, in the muck and mud below it, where it's hard to get back out again.
I plan to stomp you down even further, my friend.
Because my momentum is taking me all the way to the top, and there's no way I'm letting a man like you take that away from me. Your career is already in ruins, needing a miracle to find a restoration. And I'm not in the habit of granting miracles, at least not to people like you.
Those kids at the hospital that keep calling? Maybe I'll give them one or two miracle visits. Maybe. But not you, Maxey.
Ultimately, Max, I'm going to have to do something a little distasteful at Climate Control. I'm going to have to get in that ring and fight you when you're at your lowest, and do my best to basically end your career in Sin City Wrestling. You'd think I'd relish something like that, but you'd be wrong. Because it's wasteful, Max. It's trashing something without recycling it. But if that's what happens, then so be it.
It's all part of being in the business, after all. And you know I'm all about taking care of business.
~The picture comes back further down the mountainside, where the encampment has been set up for the SCW wrestlers and crew to live at for a few days. At least, the ones who didn't want to travel too far from the action, and who didn't mind roughing it a little. Just outside one of the well-made tents, we see Vaughn adjusting what appears to be a Starlink set-up. Once it appears to be working, Vaughn heads inside, sitting down on a cot and bringing out a laptop. He types in a few commands, fixes a few settings, and then finally seems satisfied with what he sees.~
Peter Vaughn: Internet out in Machu Picchu. What wild times we live in.
~He types in a few more commands, waiting, as a Zoom call can be heard beginning to ring. Our vantage point changes to over his shoulder, as Vaughn stares at the screen. After a few seconds, the image fades into view, showing us Mr. Wyatt Bailey, the ornery old cattleman that Vaughn recently worked out a deal with, getting himself some prized Texas cattle on his land.~
Wyatt Bailey: Vaughn? That you? Why you calling me on this infernal thing? I was just about to head out!
Peter Vaughn: Sorry, Mr. Bailey, but I had a question for you. I'm looking to hire some new hands for my ranch, and I wanted to check with you for some ideas.
~For a second, it almost looks like Bailey's connection freezes, but it's just because his expression of annoyance/confusion stays stuck on his face for a few seconds.~
Wyatt Bailey: ... Vaughn, you know good and well that I recently had to hire several new hands to replace the rats you helped point out to me. I really don't have anyone you could poach from me, and I wouldn't tell you their names even if I DID have them!
Peter Vaughn: Hold on, Mr. Bailey, don't get the wrong idea. I was actually wondering where you got your replacements from. Is there, like, an online site or something?
Wyatt Bailey: You serious? I went out and found them, Vaughn, and then I hired them! They'll be all around the Dallas area, looking for work. It's not that damn hard.
Peter Vaughn: *sigh* It is when you're halfway around the world...
Wyatt Bailey: Yeah, I guess that WOULD make it a pain in the butt. Well, you'll have to figure out something, Vaughn, because I don't want my cattle I gave you starving over there. They deserve to be well taken care of. They need to be kept clean, watered, and fed. Don't make me regret my investment.
~Vaughn's eyes suddenly widen slightly, as an idea seems to come to him.
Peter Vaughn: Kept... clean. Hmmm.
Wyatt Bailey: You don't want them to get sick, right?
Peter Vaughn: No, Mr. Bailey, of course not. And don't worry, the cattle are my ranch's number one priority. Thank you for your time. I'll let you get back to... whatever you were about to do, wearing that outfit.
Wyatt Bailey: What's wrong with this? The ladies love this look!
~Mr. Bailey readjusts the collar of the western-style outfit he's wearing. It's... not the greatest of looks.~
Peter Vaughn: Hope you have a good time, sir. I'll let you go.
Wyatt Bailey: Alright, son. I'm sorry I wasn't more helpful.
Peter Vaughn: Oh, trust me, you were, Mr. Bailey. I'll talk to you later.
~Vaughn then disconnects the call, sending a confused Mr. Bailey to head out onto the town, painting it in whatever color he wants. In the meantime, Vaughn sets up another Zoom call, dialing it in. It rings for a minute before connecting.~
Bill Sykes: Hello?
Peter Vaughn: Bill? Peter Vaughn here.
Bill Sykes: ... Hello, Mr. Vaughn. What can I do for you?
Peter Vaughn: I'm needing some help with the work on my ranch...
Bill Sykes: ... What, like plumbing or janitorial help?
Peter Vaughn: No, basically all-around help... and I think the Custodial Coalition is just the way I should go. After all... who's more dependable than custodians?
~A very puzzled Bill Sykes keeps talking to Vaughn, having no other option. That's because Vaughn is still the head of the Custodial Coalition, a position he inherited from the former Head Custodian last year. It's a union of janitorial server workers all around the United States (and also in a few other countries), working as an underground unit to better the lives of custodians all over. While Bill sounds skeptical, Vaughn is already pushing ahead, his idea seemingly too perfect to fail, as we slowly fade out.~
Sometimes my own brilliance amazes even me. Of course custodians would be amazing working on a ranch! After all, look at me and my background! It's going to work out flawlessly, I'm sure of it.
Just as I'm completely certain that I'll be dominating you at Climate Control, Steal. The only real question in my mind is if you'll even show up. It wouldn't shock me if I walk out to the ring, raising up my Roulette Championship above my head, and I end up all alone out there, listening to "Evil Ways" playing without anyone showing up. That spotlight, just highlighted on the entryway, with no sign of movement behind the curtains.
But again, maybe you'll take the other road and come to fight, and hey, I'll take that, too. It won't change the outcome, but it will make things more entertaining, for sure. In the end, though, that referee WILL be raising my hand at the end of the contest, whether it's due to pinfall, submission, countout, or a forfeit. I'll take any of them, really, to record another victory in Sin City.
You see, I'm still treading water here in the company, because Goth's return is imminent. He'll rocket to the top of the federation, and I plan to travel along in his wake, as I take my place near the most dominant competitors in the main event. I've already taken the Roulette Title to new heights, and I'll continue to bring glory to myself and the Saviors in the months to come.
And at some point, whether Goth gets there or not... that World Title will still be on my mind sooner rather than later.
But none of that matters to you, Maxie. All that matters is how quickly you go down.
Just show up. Take the beating. Take the paycheck and whatever exit fee they're willing to give you as they kick you out the door. Use the money to find life somewhere else, in some other part of the world.
Or prove you belong here. It's up to you.
Prepare yourself for the Plunge, boyo.
