So this RP is one of my top 3-4 favorites. It was right before I had joined SCW.

It has Drake as full on Mr Showtime and in love with wrestling and being a star, but this is the first time we get a real peak into his second loves....women and extreme excess.

It also has the second or third appearance of Barry Goldstein, who at the time was a brand new character for me. For those of you that aren't familiar with Drake or my writings, Barry may be my all time favorite to write for next to Drake. It also marks the first time I ever eclipsed the 6k mark (Yikes, never again!)

So without further ado, here is my RP for Drake in ACW for his only (sadly) battle against ACW legend Ben Jordan.

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Private Connections

May 2nd, 2013

[The camera fades in to a New York City street in the middle of the day. The roads are crowded with numerous cars and trucks rumbling by at a speed which seems much faster than what ought to be on a crowded city street. The sidewalks, just as packed as the road, are littered with people of all different race, age, and size. All keeping to themselves as they make their hurried way to whatever their destination may be. The camera sweeps throughout the crowd of walking pedestrians. It passes and elderly gentleman walking with a wooden cane and young Middle-Eastern girl with white and red ‘Beats’ headphones strapped onto her head. The camera finally comes up behind two men walking. On the right is a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, wearing dark blue jeans, black shoes, and a black button down shirt tucked into his jeans. The man on the left is much younger, also wearing blue jeans although his are a much lighter shade. He is wearing white ‘Puma’ sneakers, a white button down shirt also tucked in which has platinum cufflinks fastened on the cuffs, and a navy blue with sport coat with a white pocket square tucked into the breast pocket on the front left side of the jacket. Just as blinding as his big platinum watch on his left wrist are his bright green eyes that sparkle in the Manhattan sunlight, which show a great contrast to his dark hair. The two men are ‘Mr. Showtime’ Drake Green and his best friend and trainer Max.]

Max: I just don’t see why we have to take him with us.

Drake: Why? He set this whole thing up. He’s my agent.

Max: I know, D. The idea of touring Nova Scotia with him for 10 days though really makes me want to vomit.

Drake: Ha! I think you’ll survive. He’s doing a very good job. He set this whole press tour up. He arranged all the transportation, the hotels, food, everything. All we have to do is show up.

Max: But you’re forgetting one thing.

Drake: What’s that?

Max: When are we gonna set aside some time for training?

Drake: Here we go again…

Max: You know, you always say the same thing but do you really think it’s a coincidence that you keep winning? No. It’s all the hard we have been putting in. The countless hours watching tape and the reps in the gym. We haven’t watched any tape of Ben Jordan.

Drake: I don’t think it’s a coincidence, Max. I know how hard we work and how much it pays off but I am trying my best to balance all of it. To be successful in this business, and I mean long term and not just on a local level, we have to market ourselves. We have to put the time in to meet people, make contacts, and make sure they tune in whenever I’m on TV. That’s how you get recognized on the national and global markets and that’s where the real money comes from.

Max: What’s with the sudden obsession with all of the money, D? When I came to get you and bring you back into this thing it was so we both could regain balance in our lives. Not so worthless snakes like Super-Agent Barry Goldstein could turn you into a money making machine.

Drake: I get what you’re saying, Max, but this is my opportunity to really make it. To do something no one my family ever did. To be a World Heavyweight Champion. That’s why it’s so important to me. It’s not just the money. I mean, all the scratch is nice but in order to get a shot at Staggs or whoever else has that title I have to be known and Barry Goldstein can help.

Max: Ok, I’m with you. But that guy is still a douchebag.

Drake: Ha! I kind of agree.

[The two men chuckle as they come up to large building with glass walls all along the street level. Inside the glass walls there are several cars lined up on the main floor of the building.]

Drake: I think this is it.

[As they get up to the front of the building there is a large sign on the front that reads ‘Mercedes-Benz of Manhattan’. They open the front door and walk in to the large and beautiful showroom. Directly in front of them are two young and attractive women dressed in black, one blonde and the other brunette, sitting behind an expensive and posh looking wooden desk. The blonde on the right side greets the two men almost immediately with a large, bright smile.]

Receptionist: Good afternoon gentlemen and welcome to Mercedes-Benz of Manhattan. How can I help you today?

Drake: Yes. We are looking for a someone named Marko.

Receptionist: Sure may I ask your last name sir?

Drake: Yes, it’s Green.

[The receptionist picks up the phone and dials a few numbers.]

Receptionist: Yes, I have a Mr. Green here for you….Of course….Yes.

[She hangs up the phone.]

Receptionist: Marko will be right up. May I interest either of you gentleman in a coffee, tea, or water?

Drake: No, I’m ok. Thank you.

Max: I would love a diet cream soda.

[She has a puzzled look on her face.]

Receptionist: Umm, I’ll see if I can find one.

[She walks off toward a door on the side of the showroom and Drake shoots Max a look.]

Max: What?

Drake: Diet cream soda?

Max: I had a craving.

Drake: Ha! You’re ridiculous.  

[The two men start to look around a the showroom. They stop at bright red 2-door coupe. Max starts to read a sign next to the vehicle and Drake looks into the car.]

Drake: This one is nice.

[As they continue to look over the car a tall, brooding, man with a buzz cut walks over to them. He is wearing a sleek, black designer suit, a white shirt, and a bright blue tie. Pinned onto his left lapel is a Mercedes logo. Sitting just beneath the logo is a bright silver nametag that reads Marko Wolfensheiner.  He walks right over to Drake and stretches out his arm and hand and then introduces himself in thick German accent.]

Marko: Mr. Green I presume?

Drake: Yes. You must be Marko.

Marko: I am.

Drake: This is my friend, Max.

[Marko turns to Max and stretches out his hand again.]

Marko: Of course. The great Maximus the Magnificent. I am a great fan.

Max: It’s a pleasure.

Marko: Please. The pleasure is all mine. Mr. Goldstein had telephoned me the other day and informed me you may be stopping by. How can I help?

Drake: You know, Marko. I’m not really sure. I was told I should be driving a Mercedes-Benz so I came here.

Marko: As you should be.

Max: What’s this one here.

Marko: This is the C350 Coupe.

Drake: Is this a nice one? I don’t know anything about these cars.

Marko: Well please allow me to educate you Mr. Green.

Drake: Ok…

Marko: The C-Class is our entry-level vehicle. This coupe here is a nice addition to anyone’s fleet. It is agile, quick, and handles very nicely. And at this price point, it is a very nice second or third car.

Max: The sticker says $53,000!

Marko: Precisely.

Max: Drake you can’t-

Drake: Marko, with all due respect, I’m not looking for a second or third car. I’m looking for the car.

Marko: I understand. Please follow me.

[Marko starts to walk toward the back of the showroom and Max tries to whisper to Drake.]

Max: You’re not actually entertaining spending $50,000 on a car are you, D?

Drake: You heard Barry. Fast and flash.

Max: You can’t be serious.

Drake: And for the record, it’s going to be a hell of a lot more than $50,000 so if you’re going to complain about it than you can just go on ahead and I’ll meet you at the airport.

Max: It’s your money, D. It’s your money.

[Marko walks them over to a large four-door sedan.]

Marko: Gentleman. The S-550 sedan. This is the flagship of all automobiles. A 4.7-liter V-8 engine, 20’’ rims, the finest leather interior in the automotive world and an $8,000 Bang & Olufsen sound system. This Mr. Green, is the car. Your friend Mr. Goldstein has owned three of them.

[Drake and Max walk around the car.]

Max: And how much is this one?

Marko: The sticker price on this one is $110,000.

Max: Jesus Christmas.

Drake: It’s nice Marko. But I kind of get the Grandpa feeling from this thing, you know.

Max: What are you kidding me? It’s beautiful.

Drake: See what I mean?

[Drake and Marko chuckle.]

Max: Dick.

Drake: I’m looking for something with a little more pop to it. You know?

Marko: I think I do Mr. Green. Please, follow me.

[Marko takes them even further back into the showroom and they stop at white four-door car that has a unique slope to it.]

Marko: This, gentleman, is the CLS-63 Four-Door Coupe. It seats four. Has full LED headlamps, a 6.3 liter Bi-Turbo engine that outputs over 500 horsepower and over 450 pounds of torque per foot.

Max: This is awesome, D.
Drake: And the price?

Marko: $119,000.

[The two men walk around the vehicle and check it out. Max opens the front door and sits in the driver’s seat. He puts his hands on the steering wheel and a large smile comes over his face.]

Max: I think I love this car, D.

Drake: I don’t know, Max. It is nice.

[As Drake looks over the car he notices something in the very back of the showroom. A long 2-door coupe with an almost race-car look to it that has velvet ropes surrounding it.]

Drake: What’s that?

[He points to the car in the back.]

Marko: Ah yes. Mr. Goldstein did say you had a good eye. Please, follow me.

[Max jumps out of the car and he and Drake walk behind Marko to the coupe in the back. As they get there both of their eyes widen as they look at the car. The coupe, a two-seater, has a long front nose. It is silver in color that has almost a liquid metal look to it and the interior is a bright red.]

Marko: Gentlemen. I present to you the SLS AMG Coupe.

Drake: How do you get in it?

Marko: Let me demonstrate for you.

[Marko un-clasps one of the velvet ropes and walks over to the car. As he gets close a small handle pops out of one of the doors. He grabs it pulls up and the door opens vertically in a Gull-Wing style.]

Max: Oh my god.

Drake: I have to have this Max.

Max: Oh my god.

Marko: It is the most impressive piece of machinery in all of our fleet, Mr. Green.

Drake: And the price?
Marko: $225,000.

Max: Oh my god.

Drake: I’ll take it.

[Max turns to Drake.]

Max: Are you fucking nuts?

Drake: I don’t care. I have to have this.

Marko: I will draw up the paper work then yes?

Max: Drake-

Drake: Yes. Thank you Marko.

Marko: Very well.

[Marko turns and walks away.]

Max: D, this is insane. $225,000?!

Drake: Between my match against Ben Jordan and all this promotional work Barry has me doing. I have the cash.

Max: It’s your money, D.

Drake: Yes. Thank you for reminding me.

[Marko walks back over.]

Marko: Mr. Green, when will you be taking delivery of the vehicle?

Drake: I have to fly to Nova Scotia today and I won’t be back until the end of the month. Let’s say the first weekend in June?

Marko: Very well. Please sign here.

[Marko holds up a clipboard and hands a pen to Drake who signs on the piece of paper.]

Marko: Thank you Mr. Green. I shall be in touch.

[The two shake hands.]

Marko: And Maximus…

Max: Max is just fine, thanks.

[Max and Marko shake hands.]

Drake: Thanks again, Marko. I’ll see you soon.

Marko: Auf wiedersehen.

[Drake and Max turn to walk back to the other end of the showroom to leave.]

Max: You might as well just bent over for him?

Drake: Please, you don’t try to haggle on cars like this, Max. This isn’t a Chevy dealership.

Max: I hope you know what you’re doing.

[A noise comes from Drake’s pocket and he pulls out his phone.]

Drake: It’s Barry.

Max: Of course it is.

Drake: Change of plans. We’re flying out of Westchester County.

Max: What? Why?

Drake: I don’t know but he’s sending a car for us. Going to pick us up at the apartment in an hour.

Max: Rosie still not coming with us?

Drake: No. She’s going to her mother’s in Pennsylvania again.

[Just as they reach the end of the showroom and are about to walk out of the building, the blonde receptionist comes running over. She is breathing heavy, has some dirt on her face, her hair is now a mess, and she has a small rip on the shoulder of black blouse.]

Drake: Holy shit. What happened to you?

Receptionist: Sorry…it…took…so…long.

[She holds out her hand and she is holding a can of ‘Dr. Brown’s Diet Cream Soda’. Drake starts to chuckle.]

Max: Thanks… I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble.

[Max takes the can from her.]

Receptionist: It’s no problem. Anything for a friend of Mr. Showtime.

[She smiles at Drake.]

Drake: That’s very nice of you.

[She then holds out a piece of paper to Drake.]

Receptionist: And this is for you.

[Drake takes the piece of paper.]

Drake: What’s this?

Receptionist: It’s my number.

[She smiles again.]

Receptionist: Good luck against Ben Jordan.

Drake: Thanks.

[Max starts to pull Drake away.]

Max: Come on, we got a plane to catch.

Receptionist: Call me!

Drake: Bye!

Max: Have a nice day miss.

[As they get outside Max takes the piece of paper from Drake.]

Drake: What are you doing?

Max: What if Rosie sees this?

Drake: Oh it’s harmless.
[He goes to snatch it back from Max but he moves it away too quickly.]

Max: Why do you want this back so bad?

[Drake goes to grab it again.]

Drake: I don’t.

Max: You’re gonna call her.

Drake: No I’m not.

Max: Yes you are.

Drake: Just forget it. We got a plane to catch.

Max: Everything ok with you, D? Is there something you want to tell me.

Drake: Everything’s fine. Come on. We gotta get our bags.

[The camera fades to black…

…The camera fades back in to a private airfield later that day. There is  small white jet with red markings  parked with a few members of the crew standing around outside. A black Lincoln pulls in through gate at the far end of the airfield. It drives up near the plane and the shuts the engine off. The back doors open and out step Drake and Max. Still dressed in the same clothing they were wearing at the Mercedes dealership. A chauffeur steps out from the driver’s door and walks around to the trunk. He opens the lift-gate and pulls out two suitcases and a large black duffel bag. He starts to walk toward the plane as Max turns to Drake.]

Max: You’ve got to be kidding me.

Drake: Now I know why he wanted us to come all the way up here to fly.

[As they look over at the plane the side door on the jet opens. The steps come down and out steps Barry Goldstein. He is wearing a shiny grey suit, a blue shirt, and a yellow tie. His dirty blonde, ear length hair flaps around in the wind as he walks down the steps toward Drake and Max.]

Barry: Showtime! You made it! And you brought your butler.

Max: Hello, Barry.

Barry: Max, always a pleasure.

Drake: Nice plane.

Barry: What? This old thing? Come on, only best for Mr. Showtime. You know that.

Drake: Is it yours?

Barry: My company’s. I saw it was available so I signed it out for us. Come on let’s get on board. We’re a little behind schedule and the pilot was getting a little annoyed. I told him to relax and have drink but the he got even more annoyed.

[The three men walk toward the plane. As they get to the steps Barry moves out of the way to let Drake board first. He then quickly cuts in front of Max and walks up behind Drake. Max rolls his eyes as he walks up the steps behind both men and on to the plane.]

Barry: Gentleman, welcome to paradise in the sky.

[The cabin of the plane is beautiful. Lined with Egyptian wood and trimmed with chrome. The seats are a tan, very soft leather with built in ottomans. Across the back wall are a large flat-panel television and a built-in bar. There are two flight attendants in the cabin, both young and attractive females, wearing navy blue uniforms.]

Barry: Drake, Max, this is Tanya and this is Lori. Lori, Tanya, meet Drake and Max.

Drake: Ladies.

Max: How do you do?

Barry: Take a seat, boys. We’ll be in Halifax in no time.

[All three men sit down in empty seats and buckle themselves in. Lori, the flight attendant comes over.]

Lori: Good afternoon, Drake. Would you like a drink while we take off?

Drake: Sure. Scotch on the rocks.

Lori: Any particular scotch?

Drake: Johnny is fine, thanks.

Lori: The black or the blue sir?

[Drake smiles.]

Drake: The blue would be great.

[Lori turns to Max.]

Lori: Anything for you sir?

Max: Just some water would be great.

Lori: Sparkling or flat?

Max: Flat, thanks.

Lori: Poland Spring, Fiji, Vox, or Aqua Panna, sir?

[Max chuckles.]

Max: Poland Spring is fine.

Lori: Coming right up.

Barry: So what do you think?

Drake: I could get used to this.

Barry: You keep winning Champ and we’ll get you one of your own. Speaking of which, I got a phone call from my friend Marko this afternoon. Very nice purchase.

[Lori comes back over and hands out the drinks. She give the water to Max, the scotch to Drake, and a cosmopolitan to Barry.]

Barry: Cheers!

[Barry holds out his drink to cheers Drake but pulls it back quickly when Max comes in for the cheers.]

Barry: Sorry buddy. Bad luck to cheers water.

Max: You’re such an asshole.

Barry: Hey, 40,000 feet I don’t need any bad luck.

Drake: Relax you two.

[The other flight attendant, Tanya, walks over.]

Tanya: Gentlemen, we will be taking off momentarily. Please make sure your seat belts are on.

Max: Even on a private plane I hate flying.

Barry: Oh relax. We’re fine.

[Drake looks out the window as the plane takes off. He peers at the ground as it gets smaller and smaller. He notices little cars driving on little highways and little houses that are getting tinier and tinier until soon enough all Drake can see are clouds. He gets interrupted out of his trance as Lori walks over.]

Lori: The captain has given permission to unfasten your seatbelts gentlemen.

Barry: Thanks.

[The three men unbuckle and Max stands up, stretches, and then walks over to the bathroom. Drake takes a long gulp of his scotch and then turns to Barry.]

Drake: So tell me about this press tour.

Barry: Not much to say. Pretty standard stuff. We land in Halifax. Do a quick press junket there. We head over to Amherst do a couple days there. That’s the big one. Then we head over to Antigonish and then Prince Edward Island and we head home. Easy peasy Japanese-y.

Drake: Seems easy enough.

Barry: It is. Let me ask you something. You ever think about doing commercials?

Drake: No.

Barry: Well how would you like to be to spokesperson for Wally’s Wings?

Drake: You’re joking right?

Barry: Not at all. $20,000 for three hours of work.

Drake: I’ll think about.

Barry: Good, good, yeah, think about it. Thank about all that money you’re gonna make.

[Barry smiles and raises his glass before taking a sip. Max walks back over and sits back down.]

Barry: Hey Max. What do you think about our boy here doing some commercial work?

Max: He’s gonna have to figure out some way to pay for that car he just bought.

Barry: Well lucky for you knuckleheads that you’ve got a guy like me on your side. You see, after my pal Marko gave me a call I put in a call to my friend Peter. Peter happens to own that dealership over there. And, in exchange for two appearances at his charity events and a plug on the television spot we do in two days in Amherst, your little hot rod is free of charge.

Drake: You’re kidding me!

Barry: You can thank me later. Just make sure you beat Ben Jordan. Let’s keep this gravy train on the right track.

Max: Wow, Barry. That’s really something. Thank you.

Barry: Yeah, yeah. Don’t suck up to me now old man. I know you don’t like me.

Max: I don’t. But it’s a start.

Barry: Ha! Now tell me. How are we on this DCP situation.

Drake: Haven’t heard from him in a while.

Barry: Good. Let it sleep.

Drake: I am.

Max: I don’t like it though. He’s been a little too quiet. Makes me a little nervous.

Drake: Not me. Nothing to worry about.

Barry: Ok good. Now on to more important business. ACW. This Ben Jordan guy. Old man what are our chances?

Max: Well, he’s good. Personally I think he’s the best out there right now. And I’m not just talking about ACW. The whole NWA.

Barry: Best other than Drake here right?

Max: Of course.

[Drake chuckles.]

Barry: What do you think Drake?

Drake: I think he’s good. He’s had that title for over a year. But every man can be beaten.

[Drake pours back some more scotch.]

Drake: He’s got weaknesses. I’ll find them and I’ll exploit them.

Barry: He seems to love you.

Drake: What’s not to love?

Barry: Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna go find that Tanya girl and see if I can get her to join the mile high club with me. Hasta la Canada.

[Barry gets up and walks behind the curtain to where Tanya had disappeared behind of.]

Drake: Free car, Max.

Max: Nothing’s free, D. But it’s still pretty cool. So what’s the plan? Where do we fit the training in during all of this traveling?

Drake: Oh yes. The training.

Max: I’m serious man. We gotta hit the gym. You got a little bit of a size advantage on this guy and we need to exploit that. He’s a little quicker than you so we’re gonna need to be able to grab him and take a hold of him and not let go.

Drake: Don’t worry, Maxy. I had Barry rent out a local gym in every town we stop in. Every day.

[Max smiles.]

Max: Really? I feel so proud.

[Drake chuckles.]

Drake: Don’t get all misty eyed on me. I want this one, Max. More than any other one before it. I have to beat this guy. It’s not personal. I like him. But he’s gotta go down and he’s gotta go down hard. And I need your help.

Max: You know I’m here for you.

Drake: If I win this match the road only goes up. No matter what happens after it. Even if I drop the title back to him a month later. To be the first one to clip his wings would cement me in ACW forever. And that would mean the forefront of any title picture going forward. Whether it’s the Maritime title or the Atlantic. I’m in that discussion forever. As long I stick around. Do you have any idea how important that is to me?

Max: I do. And I’m right there with you.

[Max holds his glass of water out to cheers. Drake thinks for a second before hitting his glass against Max’s. He remembers what Barry had said about it being bad luck. He then realizes that he doesn’t need luck to beat Ben Jordan. He already has the skill. He raises his glass and smacks it against Max’s and smiles.]

Drake: Cheers.

[The Camera fades to black.]


May 4th, 2013

[The camera fades in to a small dressing room. The walls are painted a pale white with a two-cushion black leather couch on one wall. Opposite the couch is tall, stand up mirror. The wall opposite the door has a small vanity and a mirror with a chair in front of it. The room has almost a prison-like feel to it. It’s as if someone took a solitary confinement cell and converted it into a dressing room. The door swings open and its short, skinny woman wearing blue jeans, a black polo t-shirt with the logo ‘Slam Magazine’ on it and a matching black visor. She’s wearing a headset to communicate with others and is holding a clipboard in in her hand. As she walks in, Drake and Max follow her in. Drake is wearing a white button shirt with his sleeves folded up, very light khaki suit pants, and brown dress shoes. Max is wearing a blue suit with a black button down shirt with an open color. Drake has suit bag over his shoulder, which he sets down on the black leather couch. The young girl, a production assistant, asks him to sign her clipboard. He does so and then she leaves, closing the door behind her. Drake walks over and plops down on the chair in front of the vanity.]

Drake: Nice place huh?

[Max smiles.]

Max: I   guess space is limited.

Drake: What are we supposed to be doing here anyway? Where’s Barry? Didn’t he say he was going to meet us here?

Max: I have no idea. Might as well get ready though.

[Max opens up the suit bag and pulls out Drake’s light khaki jacket. Drake gets up off the chair and rolls his sleeves down. He fastens the buttons and then Max helps him with his jacket. He walks over to the tall mirror and checks him self out and realizes he’s missing something. He walks over to the suit bag pulls out a bright green handkerchief and puts it into his left front breast pocket. He turns around to face Max and smiles.]

Drake: So how do I look?

Max: Like a champion.

[Drake smiles again but is interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Assuming it is Barry, Drake walks over and opens the door.]

Drake: Where the fuck-

[He abruptly stops talking when he sees Elise Leblanc standing at the door.]

Drake: Oh. I’m sorry I thought you were some one else.

[Elise smiles back at Drake. Her bright red lips contrast her pale skin quite beautifully, especially when you take in to account her flowing, dark, raven-colored hair. She is wearing a dark blue blazer over a white dress and matching white heels. Drake can’t help but smile back at her.]

Elise: Hi Drake. It’s good to see you again.

[Drake can’t help but smile as he hears Elise speak in her faint French accent.]

Drake: Hi. I didn’t know you were going to be here today.

Elise: Yeah, its part of the job. I’ll be the one interviewing you today.

Drake: That’s great. I’m looking forward to it.

Elise: Me too. I-

[Elise is cut off as Barry pushes his way passed her and into the room. He is wearing a dark grey suit with chalk-line pinstripes, a white shirt, and a solid grey tie. His hair is combed over to the side and he is smoking a cigar.]

Barry: Showtime! Sorry I’m late, Champ. Can’t get a fucking cab in this place.

Drake: Hey Barry.
[Drake turns back to Elise.]

Drake: I guess I’ll see you out there.

[A big smile comes over her face.]

Elise: I can’t wait.

[She turns away and walks back down the hall.]

Barry: Holy bananas did you see the melons on that one?

Max: Always a pleasure, Barry.

Barry: Maxy…

Drake: So what’s the deal for today?

Barry: You’re gonna show up on stage, answer some questions, charm the audience like you do. Then we get a catered lunch and a chance to bang some local ass. Sound good.

Drake: Sure.

Max: We ready?

Barry: Yup. Let’s do this.

[Max opens the door and all three men walk out. They head down the hallway and pass by several production assistants with the same black polo shirts on. They come to a more open room that has several tables with food placed out on them. Standing by the largest table is JJ Dixon.]

JJ: Hey Drake. Thanks for coming out today.

Drake: No problem, JJ. Slamfest set up a nice spread here.

JJ: Yeah they did. I just did my spot out there so give ‘em hell.

Drake: Will do.

[Barry walks over.]

Barry: Well hello there, Mr. Dixon.

JJ: Goldstein. Always a pleasure.
Barry: I’m glad someone thinks so.

JJ: I was being nice. Hey Drake…

Drake: What’s up?

JJ: When you get a chance I wanted to talk to you about this Lord of the Ring event.

Drake: You can talk to Barry about that one, JJ. I gotta run up there now.

[JJ turns to Barry as Drake and Max walk toward the other end of the room.]

JJ: Well?

Barry: Pass.

JJ: Pass?

Barry: You heard me. Showtime is got enough going on right now with this Maritime championship match. After that we’ll talk.

JJ: Suit yourself, Goldstein. Could be a good payday for your boy.

Barry: Oh don’t worry. He’s gonna make plenty of money on the 26th. See you around JJ.

[Barry walks over to where Drake and Max are standing. They can see out the door. There is an outdoor stage and about a hundred or so fans in the crowd. Many of whom are where ‘SHOWTIME’ t-shirts. There are two women on stage, one of which is Elise. The other, is a tall woman with short-cropped blonde hair. She is also wearing a black ‘Slamfest Magazine’ polo shirt. She holds a microphone as she addressed the crowd.]

Woman: Ok, Amherst. Are you ready for our next guest. He is the number one contender for Ben Jordan’s Maritime Junior Heavyweight championship. They call him ‘Mr. Showtime’. Put your hands together for Drake Green!

[Drake walks out the door and up the steps onto the stage to a thunderous applause. On the back of the stage there is a ‘Slamfest Magazine’ banner alongside a smaller ACW banner and a Global Maritimes banner. The woman hands Drake her microphone and the crowd quiets down waiting for the superstar to speak. Drake brings the microphone up to his lips and a wide smile comes across his face.

Drake: Hello, Amherst!

Crowd: Hello, Drake!

Drake: It really does feel good to be back here in my home away from home in the Atlantic!

Crowd: POP!

Drake: Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages....welcome to the show!

Crowd: Louder POP!

Drake: Are you ready for the most magical, the most fantastical showstopper of all time?! I am your Soldier, I am your Savior, I am your next Maritime Junior Heavyweight Champion, and I have just one question for you. What time is it?

Crowd: Showtime!

Drake: No, no, no. Come on, Amherst. I said what time is it?

Crowd: Showtime!

Drake: People of Nova Scotia, MY PEOPLE! I know you that isn't your best. I'm only gonna ask you one more time. WHAT TIME IS IT!?

Crowd: SHOWTIME!

[Drake smiles as the crowd cheers.]

Crowd: Drake! Drake! Drake!

Drake: I just wanted to say a special thank you to Slamfest Magazine for hosting this event here today. And thanks to Global Maritimes for all of their continued support for Atlantic Championship Wrestling.

Crowd: POP!

Drake: And now if you could please give your attention to the lovely Miss Elise Leblanc. I believe she’s prepared some questions for me to answer.

Elise: Thank you, Drake. You have a very important match coming up later this month against Ben Jordan. What are your feelings going into it?

Drake: Hmm. Ben’s a great competitor and I consider him a friend. I know that the crowd is going to get their money’s worth on the 26th that’s for sure.

Elise: Ben Jordan is not only ACW’s but also the entire NWA’s longest reigning champion. What’s your strategy for an opponent like that?

Drake: Well for one, you have to be prepared. Ben’s certainly gonna bring it so you have to make sure you bring it as well. You have to find his weaknesses, if there are any, and try to exploit them early and often to have a chance.

Elise: What are his weaknesses?

[Drake smiles.]

Drake: I guess we’ll find out in Halifax.

[Elise smiles back.]

Elise: Will he be your toughest opponent?

Drake: I guess time will tell, Elise. There is certainly a magic around the idea of this match. It’s something Benny boy and I joked about a few months back and then all of a sudden it came to fruition. It’s as if someone up there wanted this to happen. To say he’s the toughest opponent may be too much of a generalization. But I will tell you this. To be a champion for over a year in this day and age is a very difficult feat to accomplish. And on top of that winning the Super J Cup, it’s just a really impressive resume.

Elise: Many people, Slamfest Magazine included, have already dubbed this one match of the year. How do you think it will end up ranking against the other big bouts of 2013?

[Drake laughs.]

Drake: I’m pretty sure Ben started that one. I can see why people are using that adjective to describe this match. On one hand you have the most decorated guy in the history of ACW so to speak. And on the other hand you have the greatest showstopper of all time. You can guarantee that it will be the highest rated program on Global Maritimes in May, possibly even in the Spring.

Elise: I don’t want to keep you too long Drake but I just have to ask this one. How confident are you going into the match?

Drake: I was waiting for that question, Elise. I will say this. Ben Jordan has undoubtedly been the most talented and dominant superstar in ACW over the passed year. But that’s just it. The past is the past. The time is now and the present belongs to Mr. Showtime. I have all the respect in the world for Ben Jordan, I really do. But the fact that I’ve been around ACW for two months and JJ Dixon is practically begging me to take his title means only one thing.
Elise: And what’s that?

Drake: It’s Showtime.

Elise: There you have it Amherst, Drake Green!

[The crowd gives Drake a standing ovation as he bows for them.]

Crowd: Drake! Drake! Drake!

[Drake walks over and gives Elise a kiss on the cheek and whispers in her ear.]

Drake: You did great. Thanks.

Elise: No thank you. They love you up here.

Drake: I think its just some residual love from you.

Elise: Hey there’s a pub across the street. Can I buy you a beer?

[Drake thinks for a moment.]

Drake: How much time do you need?

Elise: 15 minutes.

Drake: I’ll see you then.

[Drake bows again for the crowd and as he walks off the stage he gives the microphone back to the lady from Slamfest Magazine. He steps back down and inside the door where Max and Barry are waiting for him.]

Barry: Great job, champ! These people fucking love you.

Drake: Yeah?

Max: You did good kid.

Drake: Thanks.

Barry: I’m gonna run on back to the hotel boys. We head out at 6:oo sharp so don’t be late.

Drake: Sounds good.

[Drake starts walking back toward the dressing room but Max stops him.]
Max: Hey I think I’m gonna head back too. Get a couple hours of sleep before we hit the road. You wanna come with?

Drake: No I think I’ll stick around for a bit.

Max: You sure?

Drake: Yeah. Maybe I’ll walk around for a little while and grab something to eat.

Max: Ok. If you need me call me.

Drake: Do you think you could just grab my stuff from the dressing room for me?

Max: Sure no problem kid. I bet Rosie’s sad she missed this. She would’ve loved watching you up there.

Drake: Yeah, I bet.

Max: Ok. See you a little while.

Drake: Bye.

[Drake stops to think for a moment. He wonders if he should just go back to the hotel with Max. Walking across the street to meet Elise could be a very bad idea. It could not only cause trouble for him in Halifax, but also at home with Rose as well. He had already one indiscretion in New York that he was able to keep a secret but another? Especially a colleague? Clearly this was a bad decision. Just as Drake thinks he should blow Elise off he starts think about her red lips again. He starts to think about her dark hair and how good she looked up there on stage with him. And then, with all the confidence in the world, Drake says to himself…]

Drake: Fuck it.

[The camera fades to black…

It fades back in just as Drake opens the door to the pub across the street that Elise had mentioned. The place looks like your everyday pub. With neon beer signshanging in the windows and posters of local bands hanging around on the walls. A large billiard table sits off to the right where two men are playing. Passed the men, Drake can see Elise sitting at the bar. She has taken her blazer off, exposing her shoulder-less dress. She looks beautiful sitting over there. Drake takes his jacket off and throws it over his shoulder as he walks over to meet Elise and then throws on the back of the stool next to her.]

Drake: Hey there.

Elise: Hi. I was starting to think you weren’t going to make it.

Drake: Nope. I’m here.

[The bartender walks over and asks Drake what he would like to drink.]

Drake: Johnny on the rocks, please.

Elise: I said I would buy you a beer. That is a scotch.

Drake: I know. I’ll pay for my scotch. And then you can buy me a beer.

Elise: You assume I’m gonna sit here for more than one drink.

[The bartender comes over and drops off his scotch. Drake picks it up and takes a long first sip.]

Drake: Well, I guess we’ll have to find out.

Elise: Let me ask you something, Drake.

Drake: Sure.

Elise: What do you really think about Ben Jordan?

Drake: What do you mean?

Elise: I mean what’s your real opinion? Not the one you give the fans so you look good on television. What do you feel in here?

[Elise moves in closer to Drake and puts her hand over his heart.]

Drake: You really want to know? You may not like it.

[She moves in even closer.]

Elise: Try me.

Drake: I hate him.

Elise: Hate is a strong word.

Drake: It is. I have to hate him.

Elise: Why do you have to hate him?

Drake: Because the only way to want to hurt someone is to hate them. Ben Jordan is a great talent. There is no denying that but he doesn’t have that ability. He doesn’t have the one talent he really needs. He can’t hate. And because of that he will lose.

[Elise moves in closer again.]

Elise: And you? You have this talent?

Drake: More than you know.

[Drake leans in and kisses Elise in a long, hot embrace. After a moment she pushes him off and stares into his green eyes. She gets up and walks slowly to the back hallway that leads toward a back exit. Drake follows her around the corner. They walk outside and as soon they get there they begin to kiss again. Drake pushes her up against the back of the building and while they are still kissing, the camera fades to black.]

 
The End is Nigh

---

“In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.” –Abraham Lincoln

---

March 13th, 2017 – Somewhere Over the Midwest – 1:00 PM

The scene fades in into the firs class cabin of a Boeing 767 jet. Sitting in the center row are Drake Green and his agent, Barry Goldstein. Drake is wearing a black Adidas track jacket with white stripes going down his arms, blue jeans, and black Nike tennis shoes. Barry, drinking scotch, is wearing a wide pinstriped Navy suit with a bright blue shirt and a gold tie. He’s talking on an airplane phone loudly, spilling his scotch all over the place.

Barry: I don’t give a fuck if Denzel doesn’t want to do it, you tell him it pays ten million dollars and he’s gonna fucking do it! Fuck!

He slams the phone into the receiver, screaming loudly as he does.

Barry: Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

He finally gets the phone on the receiver, and he screams one last time.

Barry: Fuck!

He turns his head to see Drake, who is staring at him.

Barry: What?

Drake: I don’t think the people back in coach heard you.

Barry: Fuck them! I can’t believe we’re flying on a place that even has a coach. Commercial? I haven’t flown commercial since 1999, Champ. This is bullshit.

Drake: It’s one flight.

Barry: Oh, just one flight, you say?

Barry leans in and whispers to Drake.

Barry: I can’t bring my weed onto a commercial jet. What the fuck am I going to do when the claustrophobia kicks in?

Drake looks at him, he looks at the scotch, and then back up to Barry.

Drake: I’m pretty sure you can figure something out.

Barry rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his scotch.

Barry: Hey what was the name of that French Canadian girl you used to fool around with that worked for ACW? Elsa…Alicia?

Drake: Elise.

Barry: Elise! Man she was hot. Wasn’t she like a psycho or something?

Drake: Something.

Barry: Ahhh….bitches. I wonder what ever happened to her.

Drake: Last I heard she was working as an interviewer for some racing company or something.

Barry: Like Nascar?

Drake: Yeah, something like that.

Barry: What about that other little hussie you used to drag around with you when I first met you. What was her name? The stripper?

Drake: Rosie?

Barry: Rosie! Man she was hot too. If I looked like you for one day…

Drake: She was a dancer.

Barry Yeah, yeah, whatever you wanna tell yourself, pal. I just figured the last time you did this show with two idiots you had her with you, right?

Drake thinks for a moment.

Drake: Yeah, you’re right. I did.

Barry: I wonder what she’s doing now.

Drake: She’s a waitress.

Barry: How do you know all this shit?

Drake: Facebook.

Barry: You don’t have facebook.

Drake: Sure I do. My name on there is Dario Drenton. I have no profile pic.

Barry: So you’re like catfish stalking your ex girlfriends?

Drake: No…well maybe.

Barry: How does the Mrs feel about that?

Drake: Not funny.

Barry: One lie begets another lie.

Drake: I don’t need a lecture from the guy that’s been divorced four times.

Barry: Three times! The last one was an annulment. Doesn’t count.

Drake: You know what I mean.

Barry: All I’m saying is when you lie it becomes a slippery slope and after a while you’re lying so much that you can’t remember what the truth is anymore and then all of a sudden you’ve got a $10,000 alimony payment and you can’t see your dog anymore because the fucking bitch won’t let you in your goddamn house any more. Fuck!

Drake: You ok?

Barry: Yeah I’m fine. I just hate my ex-wives. Don’t get divorced. And really don’t get divorced four times.

Drake: Three times. The last one was an annulment.

Barry: Go fuck yourself, Drake. You know what I mean. Save your money for Christ’s sake. I still can’t believe you don’t have pre-nup.

Drake: Pre-nup for what? Mikah has more money than me.

Barry: Shhhh. Don’t say that too loud. It’s emasculating.

Drake: Whatever, Barry, you done?

Barry: Yeah, just remember I’ve got to head back to Vegas by tomorrow morning so don’t make any plans while we’re on the east coast. Hopefully my plane is fixed so we don’t have to sit through this debacle again. Fucking commercial jets.

Barry stands up and goes to bother the one of the flight attendants for more scotch when Drake pulls out his wireless Bose noise cancelling head phones and slides them onto his head and over his ears. He listens to music and closes his eyes as he starts to remember Rosie. He feels bad as he remembers how things ended. He remembers her face and her eyes and all of the faith that she had in him. He smiles to himself as he shuts his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

March 13th, 2017 – ESPN Studios; Bristol, CT – 9:15 PM

The scene fades to the set of ‘Wrestle Talk Live’, a live television talk show. The two hosts, Mark Krenfeld and David Moorhook, are sitting in chairs on a small stage. There is a crowd of about 200 people in the audience. Mark is a tall, skinny man with long black hair and big bushy black beard. David is a shorter, stockier fellow with a thin goatee and a buzz cut. We can see Barry off to the side in the green room, patiently waiting for Drake. There is a big ‘LIVE’ sign above the set that is lit up in red.

David: Welcome back to Wrestle Talk Live. I’m David Moorhook along with Mark Krenfeld.

Mark: Hi folks!

David: I know you all have been patiently waiting for our next guest. He hails from Chicago, IL. He is, as he likes to say, the Original Showstopper…he is a three-time SCW World Heavyweight Champion, please welcome back to Wrestle Talk Live after a long absence…our friend, “Mr. Showtime” Drake Green.

Drake walks out from the backstage area to loud applause. He’s wearing a brown suit and pale blue shirt. He walks up to the front row of the crowd and begins to shake the hands of the men, give high fives to the kids, and receive quick pecks on the cheeks from the ladies sitting down. He makes his way onto the small red-carpeted stage and then gives a final wave to the cheering crowd before he takes a seat next to Mark and David.

David: Welcome to Wrestle Talk, Drake.

Drake: Thanks, Dave. Thanks for having me back. It’s been a long time.

David: Please. It’s our pleasure.

Drake: I insist. The pleasure is all on this side of the stage.

They chuckle.

Mark: So Drake, I have to ask. What is it like getting back in the ring after so much time off?

Drake: You know, Mark. I’ve always had a passion for performing in the ring so I don’t think that ever really went away. But I ‘ve got to be honest, two weeks ago, in the ring with Rage, was probably the first time ever really thought…’Damn I’m old.’ It’s not that I think I can’t go anymore or that I don’t think I’d be successful. Because if I did, I wouldn’t be about to get back into the ring, it’s just that it’s apparent that this is a young man’s game. This might very well be my last go at it so I want to make the best of it.

David: I have to tell you, that match with Rage was a breath of fresh air. It was nice to see you back in an SCW six-sided ring. How did you feel about that performance?

Drake: Rage is a phenomenal competitor. I know I like to get on him and everything about his natural ability to put everyone to sleep when he opens his mouth but when it comes to being in the ring, he’s a true gladiator. We’ve had some pretty intense battles in their…I actually still have a scar from our Tables Ladders, and Chairs match a few years ago. He’s a multi-time Champion in this business for a reason, that’s no accident. So if you’re asking me how I feel about beating him…again…well it feels pretty damn good.

Drake smiles.

Mark: Let’s switch gears for a minute…SCW, ACW, BACW…it’s been a good run for the past half decade…what’s your favorite moment.

Drake: That’s easy. Being inducted into the SCW Hall of Fame was special and certainly meeting my wife, Mikah, but I don’t think anything can compare to winning that first SCW World Heavyweight Championship. The guy I beat, well I wasn’t a huge fan of him, but he gave me a serious run for my money in a lot of different ways and if it weren’t for him, I’m not sure I would’ve pushed myself enough to be able to beat him. That night…in this business…so far has been the best and I can’t see it getting topped.

David: You know, a lot of people think you would’ve never lost that belt if you didn’t get injured last year.

Drake: I’m not in the business of dealing with what-if’s David. I certainly would’ve loved to have been able to have a nice long run with the belt, but it wasn’t in the cards back then. Say what you want about James Huntington Hawkes, and believe me when I say I’ve got a lot of words to get out about him, he’s been a dominant Champion. He won that vacant belt, pretty much out of nowhere, and he’s really gone on a tear. Unfortunately for him all good things must come to an end, right?

Mark: Well you’ve definitely had some battles the last couple of years. But let’s take everyone back a bit. Tell us about your inaugural match in SCW, if you remember all the way back then.

Drake laughs a bit.

Drake: How can I forget Jericho Hill? I used to get myself into trouble back then with my mouth and looking back on it, I definitely started it with Jericho. He just had this way of getting under my skin and even though he didn’t last long in SCW he was probably top 5 in my book of opponents in Sin City Wrestling. He really knew how to attack you and how to hurt you.

David: So which show was that on, if, of course, you remember?

Drake: Oh of course I remember. I made my debut on a supercard. It was Into The Void 2. The one where Mark Ward and Christian Underwood wrestled Nick Jones and Tom Dudely for control of SCW. During the whole Erik Staggs thing…
David: That’s right, I remember that.

Mark: How do you feel about getting in the ring with some of the new talent in SCW? Assuming you win tomorrow night, you’ll certainly have to defend the title.

Drake: There is a ton of new blood in SCW and that’s really exciting. I think Calvin Harris and Zander Bishop are very exciting to watch. There are also guys like Dax Becket and Ryan Keys that I think are just waiting for their breakout moment.

Mark: What about your former stablemate, Travis Nathaniel Andrews, who just won his first singles title just a few weeks ago.

Green lets out a bellowing, almost obnoxious, laugh.

Drake: TNA is a joke and he’s outclassed in his title defense. I would pick any of his opponents to win before I picked him, and that’s not personal. It’s just a fact. He’s a prime example of what wasted potential looks like. It’s pretty sad when you think about it.

David: But enough about TNA and the new guys. Let’s talk about what everyone wants to talk about. J2H and your World Heavyweight Title Match that takes place this Sunday night.

He smiles before commenting.

Drake: I’m certainly looking forward to it. When I did what I did two months ago, it had nothing to do with the World Heavyweight Championship. That’s just an added bonus for me. This was all about a little bitch running his mouth. For like a year straight he bitched and moaned about me. Mentioning my name whenever he could, hoping it would gain him some kind of relevance in the mainstream. He was jealous his girl was in a movie with me. That’s it. Pure insecurity and jealousy started all this. I really believe the movie was just a seed of hate that was planted deep inside of him and it sprouted into this unbridled hatred of this idea of me. So he took that and just let it out, spewing bullshit about me over and over. I warned him months ago and he didn’t listen. So do I think I’m going to win? Fuck…I don’t know. Am I going to beat his little baby ass all over the Spanos Center….you better believe it.

Mark: I’m loving the confidence, Drake.

Drake: Thanks, Mark. When you’ve been doing it this long, it’s hard not to notice the pretenders. He’s had it easy for a year. Play time is over.

Mark: When you talked about the young stars on the rise, you didn’t mention Ben Jordan.

Drake smiles at the mention of his friend’s name.

Drake: Ben is the best. I don’t think I ever saw him in a bad mood. The guy can really put you in a good mood.

David: From what we understand up here, the respect is quite mutual.

Drake: I hope it is. He was the best man at my wedding and he’s one of my best friends.

Mark: But would that stop you from defending the World Heavyweight Championship against him Would that be too personal for you?

Drake: There’s one thing you learn very early on in this business. It’s only personal if you make it that way. Ben is a hugely underrated and overlooked talent. I’d line up to defend any title against him. He deserves it.

David: Drake, we’ve heard you say before openly that you are done with wrestling and that you no longer wish to regularly compete. Does that still hold true, even though you are about to compete for the company’s top prize?

Drake: I feel like that’s a loaded question David.

All three men chuckle.

Drake: Is it true that I consider myself to be in the twilight of my career? Absolutely. I’ve accomplished a lot over the years across the world and I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything. But…father time is real. I’m fortunate enough to have other avenues now to be able to provide for my family so wrestling is no longer a job, it’s a hobby and a passion. Will I keep doing it as long as I can? Definitely. Do I know how long that is? Absolutely not. One of my biggest fears is becoming one of those punch drunk boxer types. I still have my health, well most of it anyway, so I would imagine that my career is nearing it’s end. But does that mean I am done forever? I don’t think that ever really happens.

David: Ok, Drake I appreciate the candor.

Drake: My pleasure

David: We like to play a little game here, if you remember..

It’s like a word association game.

Drake: Oh how could I forget guys.

David: We’re gonna spout off some names of stars around SCW.

Mark: And you say the first thing that comes to mind.

Drake smiles.

Drake: Oh boy, can I pass on any?

David: We’ll consider it.

Drake: Ok, shoot.

Mark: I’ll start easy. Steve Ramone.

Drake: Fun to watch.

David: Ryan Keys…

Drake: Needs to put more clothes on.

Mark: Xander Bishop…

Drake: Too much.

David: Crystal Millar…

Drake: Annoying…but very talented.

Mark: Joshua Acquin…

Drake: Waste of time.

David: TNA…

Drake: Ugh…I really hate that guy. Waste of talent.

Mark: Rage…

Drake: Douche bag.

David: James Huntington Hawkes…

Drake: Bigger douche bag.

Mark: Mikah Green…

Drake: Yeah, I’m not going there.

All three men laugh.

David: Drake thanks for joining us today. We really appreciate having you back here. Good luck on Sunday.

The three men get up and shake hands.

Drake: I mean it, the pleasure was all mine.

Mark: Ladies and gentlemen, Drake Green!

The crowd stands up and cheers for Drake as he waves and walks off of the stage and into the green room. The two hosts follow him in.

David: Great show, Drake. Thanks for making it out.

Mark: We really appreciate it.

Drake: Hey no problem. I’m glad to see you guys got pocked up by ESPN.

David: Yeah, it’s been a great ride. Well anyways, I’m glad Mikah let you out for a couple days.

Drake smiles.

Drake: I snuck out.

Mark: Hey whatever happened to that nice girl you used to bring here. Rosie, right?

Drake smiles when he hears her name again.

Drake: Rosie? Yeah, she is a uh, she lives in Jersey.

Mark: Well if you ever talk to her tell her I say hi. She was always really nice.

The two men walk away as Drake starts to think about Rosie again and the scene fades out.

March 15th, 2017 – Manny’s Cafe; Newark, NJ – 9:45 PM

The scene fades in to a small dirty looking coffee house in Newark, New Jersey. The place, despite it’s obvious grimy appearance, is packed. A bell can be heard over the loud crowd as the front door opens. In walks Drake, wearing a black leather jacket and dark jeans. He’s wearing a black ‘KANGOL’ baseball cap and sunglasses that, when matched with his overgrown beard and longer hair, seem to help hide his appearance from the crowd. He grabs the only empty table in the place and picks up a dirty, grease covered, plastic laminated menu. His phone rings and he looks at the Caller ID. “MIKAH”. He ends the call and shoves the phone into his pocket. After a few minutes a waitress walks over. She has a bright auburn and red hair. Her blue eyes seem to pierce the room and although she doesn’t look up from her pad, we can clearly read the nametag pinned to her shirt…”ROSIE”.

Rosie: Welcome to Manny’s. What can I start you with?

Drake: How about some peanuts?

She stops dead in her tracks and slowly raises her head to see who is sitting in front of her, although she already knew. Her ice blue eyes meet his bright green eyes and both of them simultaneously smile.

Rosie: Drake? Oh my ….how are you?

She immediately leans down and hugs Drake, who welcomes the warm embrace. She then plops down in to the seat next to him.

Rosie: What are you doing here? Don’t you have some big movie to make or something?

Drake: I came here to see you actually.

She seems confused.

Rosie: Really?

Drake: Yeah I did that Wrestle Talk Live show and it just reminded me of you.

She laughs.

Rosie: The show with those two dorks?

Drake: Well those two dorks have a weekly talk show on ESPN now.

Rosie: OMGee get out! That’s crazy.

Drake: So I had some time thought I’d check out Manny’s café.

She just stares at him.

Rosie: You had some time?

Drake: What?

Rosie: I know you too well, Drake. You never just have some time. Hey I was really sad when I heard about Max. I tried to call but the number I had didn’t work anymore and I tried that agent of yours but he never returned my calls.

Drake: Thanks I appreciate that. I’m sorry you didn’t have my number.

Rosie: Well it’s probably for the better. I’d probably call you every time I saw a billboard with your face on it anyway.

She stops herself.

Rosie: You know what I mean.

He smiles.

Drake: Yeah, I do.

She smiles.

Rosie: So really, what are you here?

Drake: Well, to be honest, I think I’m finally done with wrestling. I mean for good. I’ve got this little match but, I don’t think I’m gonna win. And even if I do, I think it’s over.

Rosie seems confused again.

Rosie: And you came to Newark to tell me this?

Drake: Well, yeah. You told me to look you up when I was done with it. So…here I am.

Rosie’s eyes widen.

Rosie: Drake…that was years ago. You’re married!

Her face turns beat red.

Drake: I know…I just…I don’t know.

Rosie: I’m not really sure what to think….I mean…

Drake: That’s not what I meant. I am married…and actually ok with that.

He smiles and she returns the look.

Drake: But I am man of my word and I told you I would find you when it was over.

Rosie looks at him with a smile. She scribbles something down on her pad and then rips a piece of paper off, folds it, and puts it on the table.

Drake: What’s that?

Rosie: That’s for you. I want you to wait until you get home or get wherever it is that you’re going and I want you to open it. And when you read it, I want you to know that I know you better than probably anyone else….

He smiles again.

Drake: What does it say?

Rosie: You have to promise you won’t open it until you get where you are going.

Drake Ok, fine. I promise.

Rosie: Good. I’ve got to get back to work.

She leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

Rosie: I’d say stick around and we could…

He interrupts her.

Drake: I know.

They exchange smiles again.

Drake: It was great seeing you.

Rosie: It was.

And just like that she walks away. Drake shoves the peace of paper into his jacket pocket. He lets out a loud sigh before smiling and shaking his head a bit. He gets up and leaves the diner. The bell chimes once more as the he opens the door to leave.

March 16th, 2017 – Double Tree Hotel; Modesto, CA – 11:00 AM

Mikah is in the living area of her hotel suite sitting on the couch with her right leg crossed over her left with her hair pulled back in a messy bun on the top of her head, flipping through her phone.  It was almost 11 a.m. and even though she had things she had to do that day, she chose to sit on the couch looking through her phone.

Mikah:  Stupid, stupid.  Annoying, attention whore.

She was muttering to herself as she thumbed through her Twitter feed.  She glances over at the door, hearing some noise from the outside of the door.  She raises an eyebrow before looking back down at the phone before sighing and pressing the back button on her phone, exiting the app before setting the phone down on the arm of the couch before getting up and walking over to the door and opening it.

Mikah:  For fucks sake, be quiet!

She didn’t even look up before she spoke and she finally glances up to see her husband, Drake standing there.

Mikah:  Oh.

Drake’s eyes widen as he stares at her.

Drake: That’s a nice hello.

His hair is messy a bit greasy and his clothes ruffled from his long flight. He is noticably tired. He walks past her and head rights to the bar, grabbing a warm bottle of Poland Spring water. He twists it open and lets the soft moist water into his mouth, as if he hadn’t had a drink in days. He lets out a long sigh before turning back to his wife.  She looks at him, watching him for a moment or two before she shuts the hotel door herself.

Mikah:  Probably the best that you’re going to get.

She thinks about giving him a half smile, the motion pulling at the corner of her mouth.  She adjusts her simple pair of shorts and her tank top before going back over and sitting on the couch, recrossing her legs and grabbing her phone.  She thumbs through her contacts before finding Leighton’s name and hovers over it before she presses it and sends her daughter a text message, leaving silence between them.

Drake: I see you’re phone is still attached to your hand.

He walks to the other side of the room with his bag and tosses it from the bedroom doorway onto the king-sized bed. He turns back to her, rubbing his thick salt and pepper beard.

Drake: I think you should go a week without that thing...I think you need to.

She shoots him a dirty look before placing it on the arm of the couch.

Mikah:  And I think you shouldn’t get to choose what I do with my phone, Drake.  You don’t pay for it; I do.

She gives him another look before getting up and walking over to her suitcase, squatting down and digging through it before grabbing her dress that she was going to wear to her meet and greet later on in the day.

Mikah:  And I think maybe you should know where your phone is more of the time.  But whatever.

She rolls her eyes as she grabs the dress and places it on the bed, moving Drake’s bag out of the way. He walks up behind her and puts his hands on her shoulders before gently starting to rub them and she rolls her eyes a bit as he does.

Drake: It’s been a tough week.

She shrugs her shoulders, pushing his hands away.

Mikah: Have you showered?

She moves away from him, moving back to her suitcase, digging around and pushing clothes around before grabbing the bra she’d need for the dress and setting that by the dress as well.  She was trying to avoid eye contact with him.

Mikah:  Because you kind of stink.  And not in the good way, either.

She makes a face before glancing at him quickly then back down at the dress, running her fingers over the detail that went down the middle a bit.

Mikah:  And even though you seem to think I have my phone constantly in my hand, at least I shower daily.  Sometimes multiple times.

She smirks a bit before grabbing a hanger from the closet and hanging her dress up. He backs away from her and walks over to the wall, leaning his back up against it. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket and pulls out a small note.

It’s never over…..
-R

He smiles before quickly shoving the note back into his pocket.
Drake: Yeah the flight was really early so...I just didn’t have time.

He shoves his hands into the pockets again, protecting the note.

Drake: Was thinking about maybe going for a run first.  

She just gives him a look before pushing the strands of her blonde locks that weren’t pulled back in her messy bun out of her face.

Mikah:  Already been on one this morning.  And I fucking hate California and all its….

She looks at him, frowning a bit before walking over to the bed and sitting down on the edge of it.

Mikah:  Memories.  

She looks at him before moving to sit criss-cross style on the bed, her eyes on him before she lets out an irritated sigh.

Mikah:  So you’re not going to say why you haven’t been answering your phone?  Because if I hadn’t been answering my phone, I’m sure it would have been World War III or some stupid fucking bullshit.

She rolls her eyes again.

Drake: I thought I did. It was a tough week.

He slips off his leather jacket, carefully holding the right pocket so nothing falls out, and lays it on the other side of the bed.

Drake: And I forgot my charger.

He lied.  

Drake: Did you need me for something?

She resists the urge to roll her eyes as she lets off a laugh before she gets off the bed and walks back into the living suite of the hotel room.

Mikah: Nope.

She pop’s the ‘p’ sound of the word as she grabs her phone and for show, places it on the charger.  She looks at him before sitting back down on the couch.

Mikah:  Other than the fact that you’re my husband, nope.  I’m an adult, Drake.  I do things by myself all the time; I’ve been doing them by myself for let’s see...12 years now?

She frowns, thinking a bit.

Mikah: Yep, 12 years now.

Drake can’t help but to roll his eyes.

Drake: I forgot how independent you are.

He walks back into the living room, unbuttoning his flannel shirt as he does.

Drake: Do you ever try not being a total bitch about everything?

She moves so she’s lying on the couch with her legs over the arm of the couch and her back on the cushions.  She looks at him.

Mikah:  I do try. If I’m not irritated.  But forgive me for assuming that you would understand why I would be irritated.

She gives him a pointed look.

Mikah:  And don’t even go there, Drake.  You’re the only person other than one person in my life that has seen me when I’m not a bitch.

Drake maybe I’d like to see that less often...maybe I’d answer the phone a bit more if you were generally a happier person….

He takes off his shirt, showing his scarred and tattooed body, and tosses it onto the couch.

Drake: Maybe.

He flashes a smile at her.  She wrinkles her nose before grabbing the shirt and pushing it onto the floor and away from her head.

Mikah:  Well, then maybe you shouldn’t irritate me anymore.

She flashes him a smile of her own before tugging the hair tie out of her hair and then running her fingertips through her hair, massaging her scalp a bit.

Mikah:  And I am a happier person when I’m not in fucking California.  I’ve been here a week by myself so excuse me if I’m not over the fucking moon about it.

She rolls her eyes before looking up at the ceiling as her fingers fiddle with the end of her tank top, her mind drifting elsewhere for a moment.  She grabs her phone as it chimes with a text.  She reads the quick message before shoving her phone underneath her lower back. He smiles again, before kneeling down in front of her, placing his hands on hers.

Drake: I’m sorry I didn’t call you back...and I’m sorry I had to go to Jersey...just had to take care of something. But….I promise….as soon as this SCW thing is over...we can go somewhere really fun,

He smiles at her again, before scratching his bare shoulder.

Drake I think I do need a shower.

She just looks at him and nods her head.

Mikah:  You do.

She looks at him again before looking back up at the ceiling for a moment.

Mikah:  And it’s whatever.

She shrugs shoulders.

Drake: Whatever?

Mikah:  What do you want me to say, Drake?  That it’s okay?  I mean, it’s great that you said sorry but sorry doesn’t always fix everything.  Weren’t you taught that in preschool?  I mean, I love that you apologized and whatever but it doesn’t fix everything.

She takes a deep breath before propping herself up on her elbows and looking at him.

Mikah:  Do you even know how hard it was not to drink every single night until it was all a blur?  And don’t think it’s only because you weren’t answering your phone, it’s deeper than that.  Sorry doesn’t always fix things.  It’s a word, Drake.

She looks at him before letting her upper body collapse back down on the couch as she looks back up to the ceiling. Drake rolls his eyes a bit before getting up and walking over toward the bar where his Poland Spring bottle is sitting. He picks it up and takes another swig.

Drake: I thought maybe we could save the dramatics this weekend? Guess I was wrong?

He takes another sip before setting it down and unzipping his pants.  She looks over at him and takes a deep breath.

Mikah:  Do you want me to bottle up my feelings?  Would that be better for you, Drake?

She sits up, fixing herself as she turns to face her husband.

Drake: Do you want me to answer that honestly?

He smiles as he slides down his jeans and kicks off his Nike sneakers so he’s standing there in hit tight boxer briefs and his bright blue socks.

Drake: Or should I tell you what you want to hear?

She rolls her eyes.

Mikah:  Honestly.  I’m not a child.

She continues to watch him as she props her head up with her hand.

Mikah:  But be careful.

She gives him a steely look.

He smiles as he kneels down in front of her again, this time placing his cool hands on her thighs.

Drake: What am I being careful of?

He leans in and gives her a quick peck on her lips and she can’t help herself but to lean ever so slightly forward and peck him back.

Mikah:  Do you really want me to tell you why?  You won’t like it.

She looks into his eyes, making eye contact with him for the first time since he got to the hotel room.

He leans forward and kisses her neck, sliding his hands a bit further up her thighs.

Drake: Yes, please.

She squirms a bit.

Mikah:  If you want me to bottle up my feelings, it’d be just like my last marriage.  Well, other than the fact that I slept with you while still married to him….But you weren’t the only catalyst.

She tries her best to resist the urge to smile but the smile eventually wins.

Mikah:  So tell me, now.

Drake leans back and looks into her eyes.

Drake: I want you to tell me everything.

He says this to her knowing he’s hiding something huge from her.

Drake: Everything.

She looks at him, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Mikah: It goes for you too, you know.

She just looks at him and without a moment’s notice, he smiles and responds.

Drake: Of course.

He leans in and kisses her, sliding his hands up to her waist.  She just looks at him as he slides his hands onto her waist, rubbing her lips together a bit.

Mikah:  Anything.  Seriously.

She glances up for a moment before back at him.

Drake: I know….

He leans back for a minute.

Drake: Whatever else is going on...and even I don’t answer the phone sometimes…. You’re my girl.

He smiles at her.

Drake: I know I’m not perfect, and, I can’t always help that. But I’m trying.

She gives him a look before shrugging her shoulders.

Mikah: Mmm..kay.

She tries to understand and offers him a smile before crossing her legs slowly.

Mikah:  Okay.

Drake smiles and leans in for another kiss, this time more passionately. He pushes her back onto the couch and leans forward as the scene fades out.

March 18th, 2017 – Double Tree Hotel; Modesto, CA – 9:45 PM

Drake is staring into the bathroom mirror, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waste. He stares at his big bushy beard and his near shoulder length hair.

Drake: I’m sick of people. I mean all people. Every last one of them. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to pick up the microphone and do my little song and dance anymore in front of the people. I thought I was done with all of this. I legitimately gave up on trying to come back again. With injuries and other Mark Ward bullshit, I was just done. But you see, some times you just can’t stay away.

He rubs his beard.

Drake: I look at myself now and I think…this isn’t me. This isn’t who I am or who I was meant to be. I’ve become a caricature of the man I once was, and for what reason? To be a mainstream superstar? That isn’t me. This isn’t who I am. I’m Drake mother fuckin’ Green. I am the best damn WRESTLER that ever lived. Who the fuck is J2H? He’s nobody. He’s a second rate replacement version of the guy I used to be. This is my game and this is my house. It’s time again to be who I’m supposed to be. It’s time again to be who I used to be. It’s time again to be who I am.

Drake picks up a pair of scissors off of the bathroom countertop and begins to hack away at his beard as the camera fades out.

 The Finale

---

” The final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands.” –Anne Frank

---

July 29th, 2016 – Sun Princess Cruise Liner – 1:30 PM

[The scene sets in inside of Drake Green’s dressing room, shortly before his wedding ceremony. He stands staring at the mirror, looking himself over in the large floor to ceiling glass. His black tuxedo is pointed by his silk bowtie. He takes a deep breath full of nervous air before exhaling. Just as he does, Ben Jordan busts through the door.]

Ben: Oi, you ready, son?

[Ben, wearing a matching tuxedo, has a large smile across his face as his friend turns to look at him. Under his arm is a bottle of Chivas Regal scotch and two glasses.]

Drake: I am for that.

[Drake smiles at the sight of the scotch.]

Drake: I could use the relaxation a bit.

[Ben walks in and pours two glasses. He hands one to Drake and holds the other one up in his hand.]

Ben: To life after death…

[He smiles.]

Drake: That’s an interesting way to put it.

Ben: Is there any other way?

[Drake smiles and as they are about to take a drink, the door swings open again. They both turn their heads to see Barry Goldstein, Drake’s friend and agent, burst into the small cabin. He’s wearing a blue velvet jacket and a big oversized black bowtie. His dirty blonde hair is slicked back and his sunglasses seem to cover about half his face.]

Barry: Champ! I found you…

Drake: I’ve been here for hours….

[Barry brushes past Ben and steps in front of Drake. He notices, the glass in Ben’s hand, and steals it. He quickly downs the glass.]

Barry: Thanks, Ben.

Ben: Well hello.

Drake: What are you doing, Barry?

Barry: Look, we haven’t got much time.

Drake: Time for what?

Barry: I’ve got a boat….

[Ben rolls his eyes.]

Ben: Jesus….

Barry: I tipped the driver. Everything is all set. All you have to do is come with me right now. It’s not too late.

Drake: Barry….you crazy mother fucker….I’m not going anywhere.

[Barry lets out a disappointing sigh.]

Barry: I’m disappointed in you, D.

[Green smiles.]

Drake: Oh yeah, why’s that?

Barry: Haven’t you learned anything from my three marriages? Haven’t I taught you anything?

Drake: Yeah, don’t marry chick half my age with fake boobs and Botox in their lips?

[Ben laughs]

Barry: Fine…but don’t come running to me when Mikah’s taking half your shit.

Drake: I’m pretty sure she’s got more money than me so…

Barry: She’ll do it on principle…trust me. And then she’ll take your dog…

[Barry looks down at the floor.]

Barry: I loved that dog.

[Drake puts his hand on Barry’s blue velvet colored shoulder.]

Drake: Hey….fuck her. And I appreciate you…

[Barry looks up at Drake.]

Drake: Shit man, I appreciate both of you. You’re the only friends I’ve got. This ride is coming to an end, boys. I’m sure there’s another adventure that is awaiting but I can’t thank you enough for taking this journey with me. I love you guys.

[Drake hands his glass to Ben. He picks up the bottle of Chivas and pours Barry another glass before raising the bottle to both of them.]

Drake: To the best guys I know…and the three best lookin’ dudes on this boat.

Ben: Cheers.

Barry: I’ll drink to that.

[All three take a drink.]

Ben: Now I’m pretty sure you gotta get ya ass out there and get yaself married.

Drake: Yeah, I guess.

[Drake looks at them.]

Drake: Thank you, guys.

[Drake smiles at both as all three men head out of the room and close the door as they walk out.] The camera pans on the empty room before focusing on the closed door and fading out.

---

November 9th, 2003 – Hammerstein Ballroom; New York, NY – 9:30 PM

It fades back in to a small dressing room. There are large, dark gray bricks that make up the walls, a small ripped up couch, and a stool sitting a cross from a stand up mirror. The room is lit up by a dim overhead light the swings ever so slightly back and forth, indicating a small breeze is coming from somewhere. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, the large metal door swings open and in comes Nick and Drake. Nick is wearing black tape on his wrists and hands, long green wrestling tights that read “ACTION PACKED” going down the right leg, and black wrestling boots. His dark hair is tall and spiked and his front blades are bleached blonde. Drake is sporting a ponytail and similar long green tights. Each man is holding a tag team championship belt. As they get to the center of the small dressing room, they stare at each other and then embrace in a giant hug.]

Nick: Oh man, Dickey. I can’t believe we did it.

Drake: I know. This is such an awesome feeling.

Nick: The ‘Main Event’ baby!

Drake: ‘Action Packed’ Nick Green!

Nick: And “Mr. Showtime” Drake Green!

Drake: The Tag Team Champions of the world!

[The two laugh and smile.]

Drake: Oh man, I don’t ever want this feeling to end.

Nick: I know what you mean.

Drake: You think this is what it felt like for Dad and Uncle Max?

Nick: I’m sure they were just as happy when they won these titles, little bro. How could they not be?

Drake: I don’t ever want this team to break up, Nick. I just want to be Tag Team Champions forever.

Nick: Well, not forever.

Drake: What do you mean?

Nick: Don’t you have any other aspirations?

Drake: Like what?

Nick: You know, like singles titles or something.

Drake: Why would I want to win a title without you?

Nick: I don’t know. I guess the real question is why wouldn’t you?

Drake: Because you’re my brother. We’re a team. This is what we always talked about, Nick. To be World Tag Team Champions together. This is what it’s all about.

Nick: Look, Dickey.

Drake: Drake.

Nick: What?

Drake: My name is Drake.

Nick: Ok. Look, Drake. I’m not saying I don’t wanna be World Tag Team Champions with you. I’m just saying, eventually, I wanna go on my own.

Drake: I don’t get it.

Nick: You know Dad was a 2-time Television Champion before he and Uncle Max got together. And hell, Max is what…a three time North American Champion?

Drake: Yeah, but-

[Nick cuts him off.]

Nick: Drake, it’s not like I’m saying I wanna quit the team. We just won these belts, man! I’m just eventually I wanna break out on my own. I wanna do something that Dad and Uncle Max couldn’t do. I wanna be the Heavyweight Champion.

[Drake laughs.]

Nick: What’s so funny?

Drake: Come on, Nick. The Heavyweight Champion?

Nick: Yeah. What’s so funny?

Drake: Guys like us don’t win the Heavyweight Championship. We’re not meant for that. Ok, maybe you can win a Cruiserweight Championship or even a Television Championship, but the Heavyweight Championship? You’re dreaming.

[Nick gets a bit angry and moves in close to his younger brother.]

Nick: Do I look like I’m asleep, Drake? All my life people told me I’m too small to make it. That I’m not good enough to make it. Well you know what I have to say to them? Fuck you. This here is proof.

[Nick holds up his Tag Team Championship belt.]

Nick: This is where it starts. And it’s not gonna stop until I reach the top. You can either sit here and watch me climb or you can join me, little bro. But I’m touching the stars one way or another. No one is gonna stop me. I’m gonna be the first Green to wear that Heavyweight title belt, even if it kills me.

[Drake stares at him for a moment.  After a few seconds, Nick breaks the silence.]

Nick: Look, I want you to know something.

Drake: What?

Nick: I want to be first, because I know you’ll be last.

Drake: What does that mean?

Nick: It means you’re destined for greatness, man.

Drake: Yeah, ok….

[Drake rolls his eyes.]

Nick: Don’t roll your eyes. Ask everyone man, they don’t even look at me some times. You’re the one they all cheer for.

Drake: They cheer for both of us, man.

Nick: No, Drake. They cheer for you. You have something special. You’re gonna set the world on fire. I just hope I’m able to hang on for the ride.

[Drake stares at him for a moment. He smiles, holding up his World Tag Team Championship Belt.]

Drake: For right now…this is what matters. Brothers…..forever.

Nick: Forever.

[The two smile as the scene fades out.]

 The End: Part I

---

“Injuries may be forgiven, but not forgotten.” –Aesop

---

April 11th, 2016 – St. Joseph’s Hospital - Phoenix, AZ – 2:30 AM

[The camera fades in to a small, square hospital room. The walls are covered white tiles and the ground is as shiny as a diamond in the sun. Sitting on a gurney, with his head hung in his hands is former three time SCW World Heavyweight Champion Drake Green. His face is bruised and bandaged and his arm in his a heavy black canvas sling. In walks a scruffy looking emergency room doctor, wearing dark blue scrubs and a pair of black crocs. His face is buried in his chart.]

Doc: Um…Mr. Green?

[Drake slowly lifts up his head and stares up at the doctor. The practitioner, who is probably just a few years removed from medical school has a sudden realization about who is sitting just a few feet in front of him and a giant smile runs across his face.]

Doc: I didn’t….I mean….you’re Drake Green….

[Drake rolls his eyes, which causes him some obvious discomfort.]

Drake: Yeah…that’s me.

Doc: My kid is just like…the biggest fan. Can I get a quick pic?

[Before Drake can answer, the doctor leans in and snaps a selfie with his cell phone. The flash hurts Drake’s eyes but the doctor doesn’t seem to notice or care.]

Doc: So…what brings you in Drake?

[Drake stares at him with a look that screams ‘Are you kidding me?’.]

Doc: Oh…right.

Drake: Just tell me if I’m gonna need more pain killers….I’d really like some more pain killers.

Doc: Well I can definitely get you some more of those. I’d recommend seeing your surgeon as soon as you can…as he’s more familiar with your history.

Drake: I need fucking surgery again?

Doc: No, no. That’s not what I’m saying. I mean…you might…I really don’t know.

Drake: Ok…well what do you know?

Doc: Umm…

[He stares at his clipboard.]

Doc: Your eye socket is fractured.

[Drake stands up.]

Drake: Are you fucking kidding me?

[The doctor jumps back.]

Drake: Fractured?

Doc: Well…it’s a small one. And should heal on it’s own.

Drake: This night is just getting worse.

[Drake hears a commotion coming from the hallway. Both men turn around to see a well-dressed man pushing through a nurse and an orderly. He’s wearing a black pin stripe suite, white shirt, and bright pink tie. His dirty blonde hair is slack back and he’s wearing a pair of Gucci sunglasses.]

Drake: Barry?

[His agent Barry Goldstein gets stuck behind an old lady in wheel chair.]

Barry: Oh for fuck’s sake…move it Bea Arthur.

[Drake can’t help but laugh as the woman is horrified. Barry shoves his way into Drake’s small, curtained off room. He dusts off his shoulders and then slips off his Gucci sunglasses. He takes a look at Drake’s face and then gets a look of disgust on his.]

Barry: What the fuck? I leave you alone for one night and you get yourself all busted up?

Drake: It’s ok.

Barry: Ok? I just sold Warner Brothers that everything is “A” ok. How are we gonna pass this one off?

Drake: Ummm...pretend it never happened?

Barry: It was just on live television…on the biggest show of the year. I’m pretty sure the whole fucking world was watching.

Drake: Well don’t worry. Doc over here says I don’t need surgery on my arm.

Doc: Well technically I said-

[Drake interrupts him with a nasty look.]

Doc: That’s right. No surgery…just a fractured eye socket.

Barry: A what?

Doc: A fractured-

[Drake interrupts him again.]

Drake: Can you just leave?

Doc: Sure thing.

[The doctor humbly leaves the room, closing the curtain behind him. Barry patiently waits for him to leave before turning back to Drake.]

Barry: This has to end here, D. You cannot retaliate.

Drake: Retaliate? I’m gonna fucking bury that spineless piece of shit. Him and fucking Mark Ward…once and for all.

Barry: No, Showtime. You’re gonna heal up and we’re gonna parade you in front of the studio and make tons of monies. Look at what this shit is doing to you, Champ.

Drake: No..you don’t understand…he’s fucking dead, Barry.

Barry: Fine. But you better fucking wait until after we get this thing signed with the studio. Just hold off until June.

Drake: No fucking way, Barry. I’m sorry…but I just don’t give a shit about Jack fucking Hammer right now.

Barry: Well thank god one of us does. Look…just give me until June.

Drake: You have until June 5th…because no matter what you, Warner Brothers, or a doctor says…I’m getting into the ring and kicking the fucking shit out of Travis Nathaniel Andrews all over Tokyo…and I’m not gonna stop until I have his blood.

---

You fucked up, Travis. I mean you really fucked up. You had everything going for you. We were a team. You and I, once this arm was healed, could’ve taken this whole fucking place by storm. But instead you took the easy way out. I can’t say that I blame you. I made that decision…once. And look where it got me? I should’ve seen what Mark Ward was up to. I should’ve known I was just a pawn in his little game. Now I’m left to pick up the pieces of my career and my life. But unlucky for you, those pieces lead me right to your door step.”

“I had such high hopes for you Travis. I saw a young cocky version of myself in you. I saw a kid that had a ton of fucking talent and a head bigger than any room he was in. An untapped amount of ability and an ego even bigger. That was me ten years ago, kid. I was you. It’s like looking in a fucking mirror, man. But the truth is, the truth is that none of that matters any more. Now it’s just me and some piece of shit that tried to end my career. No rules…no one to stop the utter beating I’m about to give you. I tip my hat to your tactics. You’re very good about attacking me from behind. Shame on me for falling for it…twice. But this time you won’t have that advantage. You want have the chance to attack me from behind. You’ll have to stand in front of me, face to face, and show me what you really got. I may not be one hundred percent kid. I may not be the performer I was a year ago…but now I’ve got something that I’ve been missing for a while. Fire. Anger. Rage. You’ve poked a sleeping giant, kid, and now it’s time to suck it up and face the music.”

 A Story About Revenge: Part IV

---

”While seeking revenge, dig two graves – one for yourself.”–Douglas Horton

---

December 7th, 2015 – The Gold Standard Agency – Las Vegas, NV – 10:00 AM

[The camera fades back into a large office. Beautiful wood with gold inlay lines covers the walls all the way to the built in bar along the back wall. The far wall has a large desk with papers shuffled around and three different computer screens on the top. Sitting behind the desk in a red leather chair is Barry Goldstein. His feet are up on the desk and he's smoking a big fat cigar. He's wearing a brown suit with a red shirt and a yellow tie. He's talking on the phone rather loudly as the front door to the office opens and in walks Drake Green. Drake is wearing faded jeans, a black and white flannel shirt, Converse sneakers, and a light gray zip up hooded sweatshirt. Barry sees him and waves him to come in as he wraps up his phone call.]

Barry: Marv, I gotta go. I'll see you at Temple this weekend. No I can't introduce you to Katy Perry. No, Scarlett Jo isn't single. Yes, Marv. Yes. Ok, Marv. Gotta run. Ok, you too.

[Barry hangs up the phone and then stands up, dropping his cigar in the ash tray on his desk as he walks around the desk.]

Barry: Some times people don't shut the fuck up, you know? Geez, you look like shit, Champ.

[Drake smiles as the two shake hands.]

Drake: It's good to see you too, Barry. Even though I thought you were firing me like five days ago.

Barry: Firing? Who said that?

Drake: Umm, you did? When you said quit SCW and make Jack Hammer 3? Remember 'Take this envelope'?

Barry: What, that? That was a joke, Showtime. Don't you know by now when I'm fucking with you?

[Drake just stares at him with a blank look. Barry moves around him and takes a seat in the leather chair in the center of the room. He motions for Drake to sit on the couch across from him.]

Barry: So...

Drake: So...why I am here?

Barry: Why? Because it's the State of the Union, baby. That's why?

Drake: What the hell are you talking about?

Barry: You know the meeting when we review all of that we have accomplished over the past 12 months? We do it every year, D. You know this.

[Drake thinks for a moment before smiling at him.]

Drake: You mean when we go to Crazy Girls and you tell me all the money I made you during the year? That was something official?

Barry: Well we can't go to Crazy Girls this year. You ruined it by going sober and getting a girlfriend. Now we have to have actual fucking meetings in this place.

[Drake laughs.]

Drake: That damn sobriety.

Barry: So...

[Barry claps his hands and then furiously rubs them together with a large, wide smile on his face.]

Barry: ...where do we start?

Drake: How about we start with how you fired me the other day?

Barry: I already told you, that was a joke.

Drake: It looked pretty serious to me. And to be completely honest I am not really all that happy with you right now. I only came here because I thought you were going to apologize.

Barry: Apologize...apologize for what?

Drake: I don't know...not being my friend here on this one. Not standing by my side when I needed you the most? Ben bailed on me with this whole thing. You're all I got left, man. And now because it doesn't make enough money for you, you fucking bail on me too?

Barry: That's not what it was, D.

Drake: Oh really? Then what was it?

Barry: It's just....it's not important.

Drake: It's important to me. Try me.

[Barry stares at him for a long pause before smiling again.]

Barry: Can we talk about this stuff, please?

[Drake stares back at him, his eyes piercing Barry, and lets out a deep breath. He stands up and talks around the couch, heading for the bar.]

Barry: What are you doing?

Drake: Listening.

[Drake grabs a bottle of Scotch and two glasses and heads back over to the couch. He plops the bottle and glasses down on the table and sits back down. He notices Barry just staring at him.]

Drake: Go on...

Barry: Right.

[Barry nods as he starts shuffling through papers.]

Barry: So it looks like with the Armani deal from 2014 we were able to bring in...

[He trails off as Drake pours two glasses of scotch, and then picks one glass up and downs in it. He notices Barry just staring at him.]

Drake: Go on...

Barry: Right...

[He looks back down on to the papers on the table.]

Barry: ...we were able to bring in about $1.4 million pre tax and revenue. After deductions it netted you roughly  $800,000 before we decided not to renew. I was thinking with the money not coming in so much now from the movies that we could maybe revisit...

Drake: No. What's next?

Barry: Umm...Jack Hammer. Jack Hammer 2 so far has netted $7.8 million. This was of course not including any royalties as we forfeited those when we went into Breach of Contract when we told them we would not be returning for the third movie. Against advisement, we then turned down their additional offer just this past week.

Drake: Yeah...I was there.

[Barry watches as he takes another drink of scotch.]

Barry: What is this, D? You're sober...you're not sober....I can't keep up with you.

Drake: Who said I wasn't sober?

Barry: Sorry. I must have gotten thrown off by you downing my $300 bottle of scotch.

Drake: What? Now you have a problem with me drinking? Two minutes ago you were complaining we couldn't go to Crazy Girls.  

Barry: I'm just...I'm worried about you, kid.

Drake: Since when do you worry?

Barry: I...

[Barry groans a bit as he gets up. He walks around the table and sits on the opposite side of the couch, next to Drake. He grabs the now empty first glass and pours himself some scotch. He takes a sip, and then looks up at Drake.]

Drake: You getting soft in your old age, man?

Barry: Look. There is something we need to talk about.

Drake: What else is new?

[Drake pours himself some more scotch.]

Barry: Max...

[The mention of Max's name forces Drake to remove the smile from his face.]

Drake: What about Max?

Barry: He came to see me about a month or so before...

[Barry nods his head.]

Barry: ...about a month before he passed.

Drake: Ok...

[A look of confusion comes over Drake's face as he's uncertain where Barry is about to with this.]

Barry: He knew he was sick.

Drake: What do you mean? It was a sudden heart attack. How could he know he was going to have a sudden, spontaneous heart attack?

Barry: Well...

[Barry leans back in the chair.]

Barry: ...what if I were to say that it wasn't exactly a spontaneous heart attack.

Drake: What?

Barry: Oy vey...look, this isn't easy for me.

Drake: Well make it easy. What the fuck is going on?

Barry: Max was sick, D. He had Congestive Heart Failure and...

Drake: I don't understand. Why didn't he do something if he knew?

Barry: Because of his...problem...the alcohol...with the years abuse even though he had been sober...

Drake: What?

Barry: He wasn't a candidate for surgery. There was nothing they could do.

[Barry gets real quiet as he lets Drake soak in what he had just heard. Drake takes another long gulp of scotch before setting the empty glass down on the table. He leans back on the couch and lets out a long sigh.]

Drake: I don't understand. Why didn't he tell me? Why didn't you tell me?

Barry: I don't know. All I know is he came to see me about a month before and he told me all about it. He told me that he didn't want you to know because he wanted you to beat Gene Banton Jr. and he wanted you to keep focused on you. He knew you were struggling with...

[Barry points to the booze.]

Barry: ...and he didn't want you to have to deal with that. To deal with knowing. He knew you had someone strong in Misty to be there for you when it happened. He...he was only thinking about you.

Drake: But why did he tell you?

Barry: He wanted me to know so that when it happened I could be there and be prepared to help you.

Drake: Help me?

Barry: Yeah, you know. Help you grieve.

Drake: Help me grieve? You didn't even go to the fucking funeral?!

[Drake stands up.]

Barry: It wasn't like that. We were in the middle of negotiating Jack Hammer. You had the title defense...I had to stay here and do damage control and keep the press off of you.

Drake: Fuck you!

Barry: Drake, don't be-

[He cuts Barry off.]

Drake: You knew the only person in my life that ever really gave a fuck about me was dying and you didn't tell me? You let him hide it from me? I could've been there. I could've fucking been there with him, man.

[Drake starts to cry.]

Drake: You selfish prick.

Barry: It's what he wanted, D.

Drake: What about what I wanted? How come nobody ever asks what I want? We have a movie, we have a photo shoot, we have a match here, a promo there...FUCK!

[Drake screams.]

Drake: Well I'm fucking sick of it, Barry. I'm sick of what.

Barry: Sick of what?

Drake: I'm sick of doing what everyone else wants. It's time I went back to taking care of me.

Barry: Ok, how can I help?

Drake: You can go fuck yourself, Barry. You're fired.

[Drake picks up the bottle of scotch and turns around to storm out the door. Barry stares at him in shock as he opens the door. Barry tries to say something but it's too late. Drake slams the door behind him as he hurries out, leaving Barry staring blankly at the door.]

Barry: He took my scotch.

[Barry gets up and turns to walk back to his desk as the scene fades out.]

---

”I'll be back. Words that will resonate in history forever. An iconic phrase so ingrained in American pop culture that simply uttering it forces the brain to click in such a way that we know what it means. It means that the devil isn't leaving. It means the death machine will keep coming no matter what. It will never stop. It will continue to hunt until either it's prey or itself is dead. So when you likened me to this machine of death I have to admit at first I was offended. I was confused. I didn't understand what you really meant or what you were really trying to say. And then, Goth, and then it hit me. I am iconic. I am ingrained in American pop culture. But you really lost me when you started rambling about pregnancy and future robots and some other nonsense about the stupidity of mankind. Let's get something straight boy, I'm not a fucking movie. This isn't a story, it's not a fairy tale, and it's not a joke. I don't know why for some reason you feel that dismissing me is right choice here. And to be even more honest, I really don't care. You can go on and on and on about likening me to a 1980's classic movie, a comparison that has no fucking basis in reality whatsoever, and that's fine with me. ACW isn't a defunct federation to me. It isn't the army of rebels fighting the evil robot empire. I'm sure you probably just saw Terminator Genisys I thought it would be a really cool and edgy comparison but I'm afraid whoever gave you that advice was just another idiot, just like you and your homeboy Raab. It was terrible. I want to clue you in on a few things here. You seem to like to repeat my lines over and over again as if by some way saying them will help make you sound profound. But, because you love them so much, let me break them down for you. What does soldier mean? Not the definition of the word but what does it mean when I say it. It's the first word prominent word I use when I address my people. It doesn't mean that I'm literally wearing camouflage and carrying a M16 so your army reference is sort of out of place here. It means I've got them. I'll throw them up on my back if I need to and carry them to greatness. Something I've done time in and time out, bringing them with me on my journey to the promised land a record three times. I'm not a soldier jackass...I'm their soldier. Savior. What does this word mean to you. I'm not liberating anyone and no I don't think I'm Jesus Christ so stop right there.  It means I give them something to believe in, something to hope for. Week in and week out they have to punch a clock and eat shit from the man who keeps them down. Over and over and over again I've gotten letters from my people, pleading with me to keep fighting the fight. To keep bringing that very same fight to Mark Ward's door step every day. I'm not saving them from the devil and ushering them toward enlightenment...I'm saving them from Mark Ward and his lackeys like you.

You got one thing right though, Goth. Every time Mark Ward did come after me I did come back even stronger. Do you know why? It's not because of luck or because of anything else other than the fact that those people, the people so easily dismiss, support me. They stand behind me as I wage this war, even when others don't It's not about ACW, Goth. It's about telling Mark Ward that he's not going to win this one. Out of all of the people out there Goth I was almost disappointed in you the most. You let me down, kid. You are a warrior, you are a true SOLDIER. There is no denying that. I thought there was some good in you. I thought that deep down that good would shine through and you would fight the good fight. But I was wrong. You, like your counterpart in Raab, are just to chickenshit to do what is right. You can stand behind your fighting champion mantra all you want, but I already debunked that shit. You're no different than me, Goth, you're just fighting for the wrong team. You're fighting for the losing team. I didn't come back for this belt Goth. I came back to give the people the GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH. I came back to get in the ring and deliver classics with all of the people who are worth it. The Ben Jordans, the Despayres, the Simon Jones', and of course...you. You were on the top of my list when I came back here, man. You, in my eyes, are one of the greatest SCW wrestlers of all time. Underrated, sure, but legend...definitely. You are the man I've always wanted to beat. But not like this, bro. It was supposed to be two greats duking it out in the ring for no other reason than wrestling. Not for a belt. A piece of leather and metal. But for glory and for the people. You let me down, man. I came back for a legend and just found a shallow, sniveling, pathetic, corporate stooge. A stooge that only now debunks the notion that he's a Mark Ward guy now that he has the title shot that he wanted and the Roulette title reign that he's yearned for. Who's the phony here, really?”

“I'm used to people calling me a phony. I've heard it for years. It's because guys like you can't understand why I have that connection. Why I nurture and love that connection with my people. You really think I do all of this for a title? Look, we're all competitors here. We all want accolades and no one is denying that. But you couldn't be further from the truth. I don't mislead anyone. I am who I am and I wear it proudly. I'm an alcoholic. I'm a drug addict who's addicted to pain killers. An addict who can't go two hours without swallowing a vicodin or blowing some Oxy Cotton up his nose to get some sort of relief. As hard as I try and as much as I want to believe that I really am a good person at heart, I struggle with the simplest of personal relationships. I don't have any friends or even many acquaintances. You were right about my girl. I fucked that up pretty good too. I'm a lot of things Goth. But I'm not a liar. So you can sit there all you want and talk about how I don't tell the truth and how I lie to my fans for whatever new reason you can come up with everyone else hasn't said already. But listen to this right here. I'm no hero but neither are you. I don't fancy myself a super hero any more than I fancy you a decent human being. You're no man of steel, bro. You're not even a Lex Luthor. You're more like King Tut. A third tier villain on a terrible 1960's TV show that is more remembered for camp and ridiculousness than anything else. You can hold that Roulette belt as high as you like but you can't touch me bro. I know you beat Raab but so did I. No one has beat me since I cam back either Goth. We're in the same boat. So it's time you stop touting yourself as some one man wrecking crew. It's to get real. You beat me once Goth. I've admitted it and I am not ashamed of it. But let's get something straight. You are not worth losing sleep over. You are not some nightmare that you think you are. I've lost before and I'll lose again and none of it is worth losing sleep over. I did say that I thought it was a wrong I needed to right. I said that because I believe I am better than you, man. I believe that on that November night two years ago that I lost to someone who shouldn't have beaten me. I believe that I under performed and lost to an inferior opponent. That;s the wrong that I have to right. That's the mistake I have to fix. It has nothing to do with you, kid. Sorry to burst that bubble.I don't need hope to beat you, Goth. I don't need luck either. I just need to show up. I have no vendetta against you. My quarrel is with Hot Stuff Mark Ward. My problems are with the owner of this company, not some ass kissing corporate stooge who does his bidding. I challenged you Goth because I know you're Ward's pet. I challenged you because you're the Roulette Champion. I know that when I walk into Climax Control with two of Mark Ward's belts it will drive him insane. He'll be incensed with me carrying around two of his three titles. All of my words were to get to him kid, sorry. But you're really just not that significant in what I'm trying to do here.”

---

December 7th, 2015 – Turnberry Towers – Las Vegas, NV – 9:30 PM

[The scene fades back in inside of an elevator. Drake is leaning up against the wall of the elevator with his half way shut. He's still wearing his black and white flannel shirt although his hair is quite messy and all over the place. The loud ding from the elevator acts like a jolt of electricity through his body as it stands him straight up. He waits for a moment, his eyes still barely open, as the door finally opens. He stumbles forward and out into a large foyer. He looks around for a moment at each door and reads the numbers on the doors out loud.]

Drake: 2301...2302...2303...2304.

[He looks at four identical white doors all around him as if he's confused about where he originally intended on going. He walks in a circle only to stop and point at one of the specific doors.]

Drake: 2302. Yup...

[He stumbles forward and nearly falls right into the heavy, over sized white door. He goes to take keys out of his pocket but as he does, he drops them on the floor. He rolls his eyes and sighs before bending down and picking them up. He tries to jam his keys into the keyhole one after another with no success.]

Drake: What the fuckin' fuck?!

[After another minute or two of failed drunken attempts to unlock the door, Drake gets startled when the door unlocks without a key in it.]

Drake: So that's how you do it...

[The door slowly opens and we see Misty Waters, standing in a long silk purple and white rober. Her hair is a bit wavy and its slightly covering her face. She's completely surprised to see him standing out there in the foyer and Drake is equally surprised to see her standing in the doorway.]

Misty: Drake! What the hell are you doing??

Drake: What?

[He stumbles a bit.]

Drake: What are you doing in my condo?

Misty: What are you talking about? Drake...

[She stares into his eyes.]

Misty: ...are you drunk?

Drake: What? Noooo....

[He drags on the word no and smiles, waving his hand toward her in a dismissive manner.]

Drake: Hey...what happened to my place?

[He brushes past her walking into the main living room in the condo. He spins around with awkard looking smile on his face.]

Drake: Oh right...

[He remembers he sold the condo to Misty last year.]

Misty: Yeah...there it is. How much have you had to drink?

[He ignores her.]

Drake: I like what you've done with the place, though. Looks....homey-er.

[Misty rolls her eyes.]

Misty: What are you doing here? Should I call Lyah?

[He waves his hands in front of himself.]

Drake: No, no, no. Definitely not.

[She lets out a long sigh as she stares at him. She tries really hard not to smile at him, although he makes it impossible. She feels her cheeks widen and he can't help but smile back at her.]

Misty: I'm fucking pissed at you, you know?

Drake: What? Why?

Misty: You don't remember?

[Drake stands there for just a moment. He looks in to her eyes and all of a sudden he feels his eyes begin to well up with tears again. He thinks about Max, he thinks about Barry, he thinks about Misty and how much he still cares for her. He takes a step closer toward Misty. There eyes lock and for a moment, Drake feels like he's home. He leans in to kiss her.]

Misty: What are you doing!?

[Her eyes were eyes widen with anger as Drake just stands there, confused by her reaction. He sways a bit as he tries to focus on her and what she is saying.]

Misty: You can't be here. You can't just show up like this. What if Owen were here?

Drake: He's not here?

[Misty's eyes grow narrower as she fills with emotion.]

Misty: I'm not doing this again, Drake. You need to leave. Get out of here before I call Lyah.

[She goes to grab him by the arm and walk him towards the door when all of a sudden he breaks down in tears. Misty, shocked and almost in complete disbelief, doesn't know what to do with him. She  just pulls him in and holds him. He lets it all out. All of his anger and sadness come pouring out of him in each sob. Misty, the caring person that she is, just rubs his back and holds him tight.]

Misty: It's ok...

Drake: I'm so sorry.

[Through the tears he speaks.]

Drake: I don't know what I'm doing here. I can't...

Misty: It's ok. Take a deep breath, calm down.

[He listens to her He takes deep slow breaths and her voice slowly calms him down. He shuts his eyes and thinks of all the terrible things he's done to this women. How he's toyed with her emotions. How he's publicly humiliated her. He also thinks about all of the wonderful memories he has shared with her and all of the great times they have had. He collects himself and then pulls his head. They stare at each other, just inches away from each other's faces, and after what feels like minutes Drake speaks again.]

Drake: Why don't you hate me.

[He sniffs, trying to pull back his tears.]

Misty: I don't hate you...I could never hate you.

Drake: But I'm such a fucking dick.

[Misty bursts out with a quick spurt of laughter.]

Drake:It's true.

[She nods her head and smiles at him, still holding him. Her hand is wrapped around his neck and her fingers play with the bottom of his hair.]

Misty: Mmmhmm. You kinda are. But...I know it's not really you. I know...I know you have a tough time in that head of yours.

Drake: No, I'm just a dick.

[She laughs again.]

Misty: Well you certainly make a good case, that's for sure.

Drake: I'm sorry. I mean, for everything. I really am.

Misty: I know you are, Drake. But sometimes being sorry isn't enough. Sometimes you need to really take responsibility for your actions.

Drake: I know. I just...you deserved better. You still deserve better.

Misty: You're right, I do.

Drake: I meant it, you know?

Misty: Meant what?

[He pulls away from her and their eyes lock again.]

Drake: I love you.

[She gasps just a bit as she was not expecting to hear those words from him ever again. She shakes her head.]

Misty: Please, don't. I can't take it. I can't go down this road with you again. I don't think I could handle it.

Drake: I wasn't looking for a response. I just wanted you to know that I wasn't lying. That I did and I do love you. Why else would I sell you a four million dollar condo for two hundred grand.

[They both laugh as Misty drops her jaw and playfully smacks him on the arm.]

Misty: You told me you were only losing a little bit of money!

[Drake laughs even more.]

Drake: You needed it more than I did. Your boy needed it.

Misty: You have no idea how much I appreciate it...now I feel like I owe you something.

Drake: Stop it. You don't owe me anything.

Misty: Oh my god, yes I clearly do.

Drake: Misty...

[He grabs her hands in his.]

Drake: ...you have given me more than I could ever ask for and I have continually fuck it up...over and over again. I have never loved someone the way I love you. You are the most caring, sensitive, beautiful woman I have ever known. You absolutely melt me. I know I can never make up for what I did but you are-

[She interrupts him.]

Misty: Just shut up.

[She pulls him in and their lips crash into one another. They share a passionate embrace for a long moment. Drake slowly moves his lips over to her neck and she lets out a soft moan as she ever sos lightly smiles. After a few moments she pushes him off.]

Misty: We can't.

Drake: We can't?

Misty: What about Lyah?

Drake: Oh...we can't.

[They stare at each other for a few seconds, both out of breath. They looks over each other's faces as Drake just barely licks his lips. He pulls her in again, this time just hugging her. He begins to rub her hands all over her body as she lets out another soft moan. Finally, she gives in. They kiss passionately as Drake unties her robe. He moves her back and presses her up against the wall as he bites her neck. She unbuttons his flannel shirt and pulls it off of his tattooed shoulders. They stare into each other's eyes again as as she unclasps the buckle on his belt. She looks up at him and her blue eyes meet his bright green eyes. He smiles and moves closer to her as we fade to black.]

---

December 10th, 2015 – American Airlines Flight No. 716 – Somewhere Over the Mid West, USA – 11:00 AM

[We fade back in to Drake Green and Lyah Lindberg sitting in the First Class cabin on their flight to Ottawa for December 2 Dismember 3, SCW's annual end of the year super show. Lyah, who is sitting in the aisle seat, is wearing black yoga pants, sneakers, and a yellow hooded sweatshirt. Sitting in the window seat with his head resting on the side of the plan is Drake, wearing a dark blue blazer with the collar turned up. His beard is over grown again and his eyes look shot and tired. He looks up and adjusts the air vent above his head and groans about it being too cold. Lyah lowers the copy of People magazine that she is reading and looks over at him.]

Lyah: What is with you? You've been all angry since you got back from Vegas the other day.

[Drake just shrugs his shoulders.]

Drake: I don't know.

[She rolls her eyes behind his back.]

Lyah: Are you like nervous or something?

Drake: What? No.

Lyah: It's ok if you are. I mean...I would be. Goth is like a scary dude.

Drake: I'm not nervous.

Lyah: Ok, I believe you. I'm just saying that like...no one would blame you or anything. I wouldn't. You could tell me those things, you know.

[He gets annoyed.]

Drake: I'm not scared, Lyah. I'm just...I'm tired.

Lyah: Well go to sleep then, old dude.

Drake: I'm trying but someone keeps talking.

Lyah: Well then tell them to shut up.

[Drake just stares at her.]

Lyah: Oh, right.

Drake: Thanks.

[He turns around before she can respond and puts his head up against the wall of the plane again and closes he closes his eyes. He tries hard to clear his mind and fall asleep. He replays the events of the other day in his head over and over again. His argument with Barry, the insane day of binge drinking that he doesn't remember most of, and his indiscretion with Misty. Finally, after a few minutes, he feels himself drifting off to sleep.]

Lyah: Is there something you're not telling me?

[Drake sighs as Lyah interrupts him again.]

Lyah: You've just been acting really weird the past couple of days and I...I'm getting bad vibes dude.

[Drake stares at her with a blank look on his face.]

Lyah: Seriously, whatever it is. You can tell me. We can work through it. I mean that.

[He keeps staring at her. She smiles back at him and as soon as she flashes her bright white teeth he immediately feels like a total scumbag, hating himself for what he did to her. He gets a terrible feeling in his gut. A knot that feels so tight he almost vomits in his mouth. Seeing the expression on his face, Lyah knows it's something awful.]

Lyah: Drake...just tell me...

[He stares up into her bright blue eyes and knows he has no choice. He has to come clean even though he knows she will never forgive him. At least he thinks ti himself that if he does it on the plane there will be less of a chance for her to make a scene.]

Drake: Ok...the other night I...

[He takes a deep breath.]

Drake: This isn't easy for me.

Lyah: It's ok, baby.

[She rubs his shoulder as he takes another deep breath.]

Drake: I got really drunk. I mean, like totally shit fucked black out drunk. I did something really terrible.

[She stops rubbing.]

Drake: I slept with someone.

[He stares at her for a long time and she just turns to face the seat in front of her. She doesn't say a word.]

Drake: I'm really sorry. I just-

Lyah: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?!?!

[She made a scene anyway.]

Drake: I-

Lyah: You mother fucker....

[Drake goes to put his hand on her shoulder to calm her down a bit but she slaps his hand away. She gets an incredibly mean look across her face and she lifts her finger up. She wags it and points it at him in a scolding fashion.]

Lyah: Don't you touch me. You don't get to touch me ever again.

Drake: Lyah...

Lyah: I think I'm gonna be sick.

[She quickly unbuckles her seat belt, stands up, and makes a bee line right for the bathroom. Drake looks around and he notices that everyone in the first class, including the flight attendants, is staring at him. The nice old lady, who was sitting across the aisle from Lyah, just shakes her head. He widens and then rolls his eyes before unbuckling his belt as well. He slides out of the seat and makes his way toward the first class bathroom. As he gets there he knocks on the door softly and then presses his face up against the door.]

Drake: Babe...

Lyah: Go away!

[She fires out at him. Her tone is straight forward, almost a matter of fact, yet he can hear the faint sounds of disappointment and sadness coming through the harsh sounds. He knocks again.]

Drake: You've gotta come out, babe. We're gonna start to descend soon.

Lyah: Don't call me that.

Drake: Ok, fine, Lyah. You've gotta come sit down now.

[He stands and waits by the door. Nothing. A minute or so goes by and then the door slides open. Lyah's look on her face has gone from anger to now a stoic blank expression. Her eyes are a bit red and puffy but she's trying really hard not to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was just crying.]

Lyah: Go sit down.

[He fights the urge to talk and then just goes and sits in his seat. They both buckle themselves in and after a few more moments of nothingness, Lyah breaks the silence.]

Lyah: When this plane lands I'm getting off and I don't want you to follow me. I want you to sit there until I'm off this plane.

Drake: Lyah...

Lyah: I'm serious, dude. I need to digest this and all I want to do is punch you in the flipping face right now.

Drake: Ok.

[For the last thirty minutes of the flight the two of them sit facing forward, staring into the backs of the seats right in front of them. As the large Boeing 767 starts to descend Drake can feel his head pounding. It had been a day since his stitches were taken out but the headaches were only getting worse. He rubs his eyes but it doesn't help. As the plane lands he powers on his iPhone trying his hardest not to talk to Lyah. He knows at this point it's probably over. Another promising relationship he's finally ruined. Just like Rosie, Trishelle, and Misty before this one. He finally sees the pattern. He rubs his eyes one more time and before he can look, Lyah is gone. He waits as people exit the plane, making sure he gives Lyah all the distance she needs. He looks at his iPhone and a text message pops op.

Barry G
We need to talk. Don't worry about the other day...Barry loves you!

He can't help but smile. He swipes the phone and dials Barry's number. The ringing through the earpiece on the phone pierces his head, exacerbating his already pounding headache. Barry picks up the phone just as we fade out.]

---

”I chose a poor team. I was wrong. I was eager to move forward with my plans to take down Mark Ward and I chose a couple of men that weren't true warriors. Ethan Brody and Landon Axel are frauds. They are role players that never showed up for their roles. Choosing them to fight this battle with me is something I will have to live with for a long time. Its a mistake, that could over time, prove fatal. I mistake that might cost me the chance to take down Mark Ward once and for all. But let's get it all out in the open, shall we? Don't confuse me with them, Goth. Don't make the mistake of lumping me in with Guns For Hire. I am not a fake or a fraud. I'm not a pretender. I am a three time SCW World Heavyweight Champion. I am the only one in the world that can say that...period. You're right, Casey Williams didn't come to my aide. He didn't back me up when you, the corporate pawn that you are, were doing Mark Ward's bidding in taking me out. Wait, hold on. I'm sorry. You were doing the bidding of Lord Raab who was doing the bidding of Mark Ward. How does that work? The big bad unbeatable Goth is nothing but a second fiddle to the world's most awkward weirdo? Nothing but a lackey of a lackey of Mark Ward? What about all of this talk about you being this great almighty force? Don't get me wrong, I already admitted how legendary you are, so this is not me trying to make fun of you. This is me pointing out the irony that for as much shit as you talk about yourself, you're perfectly content being Lord Raab's bitch in his stupid name group. What happened to the King of Kings? Oh yeah, that's right. The unbeatable Goth lost that to Kain. For all of the smack that you sit here and talk, Goth, you sure do contradict a lot of it. But I'm not surprised. For all of the rants you had about calling me hypocrite it looks like you were just reflecting. It seems like you were just trying to pawn off your own feelings of self loathing and disappointment on to me. I get that, everyone goes through stages of denial every once in a while. I feel for you, Goth, I really do. I have impairments as well. I can barely stand without a lidocaine shot anymore. I can't even imagine what pain you must be going through mentally with your vision, man. But that's not an excuse to be the ass kissing, suck up, piece of shit that you are. I hope the last image you ever get to see is me standing over you with your Roulette title. I hope that's the lasting image for your eternity. To know that your long dream was nothing but a failure. That you came up short and it was me that sent you packing. For all the shit you talk Goth, remember, it's me who has the World Heavyweight Championship not you. It's be who challenged you, not the other way around. I don't back down from shit. I will own Mark Ward's ass but it starts with you on Sunday, kid. You're the next chess piece that belongs to Mark Ward that will fall. Just another one of his pawns falling to my Knight. Just another casualty in a winner take all war. The worst part about all of it is that you don't even know. You think that you're actually the star of the show. Sorry kid, but this ain't an art house flick in black and white. This is a full color, feature film about the most magical, most fantastical SHOWSTOPPER that ever lived. You hit it right on the nose, pal. You are second fiddle and don't ever forget it.”

“You asked me a question. You wanted to know if I knew how long you had to wait. The truth is I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. You are on some quest to prove something to someone and by all means, carry on, but if you think for one second I care about you and your dying wish to be the longest reigning Roulette champion then you've got a lot to learn, bro. You want to wrestle two matches in one night then go ahead. I don't care. I'm not like all these other idiots who think you can't do it. I know you can and I know you'll win the first one. I don't that was ever really in question though was it? I hope you do because nothing would please me more than to rub it in your face for months that I took that dream of breaking Equinox's record away from you. For all the self righteous bullshit you spew, you deserve at least that. I don't care if Lord Raab beats Sean Jackson. Just bescause that dickhead walked out tot he ring and declared some sort of allegiance to me does not make him my friend or my ally. Sean Jackson is the one person in this world I hate more than Mark Ward. He's the one person that can make me forget about Mark Ward. So Raab can go ahead and rip him from limb to limb, I don't care. I've already resigned myself to the fact that Guns For Hire are a lost cause. Casey will fight but he's not a true soldier. The truth behind all of this is that I am an army of one, Goth. A one man wrecking crew designed to walk right through you and on to my salvation. My salvation of course? My salvation is the end of Mark Ward's run. I coming for it baby and I'm not stopping until I have it all and not you, not Raab, not his creepy boyfriend, and certainly not Mark Ward can stop me,. I'm coming baby, and Hell is coming with me!”

“No one ignores you. Maybe you've gone blind already but if not...it's time to open up your fucking eyes. Every one praises you, bro. Every one knows how dominant you are and can be. You're the only triple crown winner, a two time World Heavyweight Champion and an absolute beast in the ring. When you say you're going to beat me they believe you. Because you did it two years ago. Not two weeks ago. Lets clear that up right now. Alexis Edwards beat Lyah Lindberg. Goth did not beat Drake Green. You talk about the mission that you have been on since you have been back. You talk about it as if you are on some mission from God. You brag that when you beat me you'll kneel down in the center of the ring and hold both belts and all of the adulation will pass to you. That the arms will reach out for you and the heavens will part and the light will shine down on you and rainbows will shoot out with Unicorns riding down them or whatever the fuck else is going on in that crazy brain of yours. Let's get back to reality, shall we? If you win, which you can and you might, their will be no adulation. There will be no outstretched arms. There will be no glorious crowning achievement and there will be no parting heavens. There will just be boos. Boos for a wrestler that no one respects anymore. Boos for a corporate pawn who does the bidding of an evil tyrant. Boos for a coward who hides behind Lord Raab. And boos for a man that has lost his way. You might win the World Heavyweight title on Sunday, Goth, but you'll never be a Champion. You'll never be the man they all look up to. You'll never be the one they look toward to put them on your back and carry them to greatness, to take them to the promised land. You can never give them something to believe or find them something to hope for. You're no soldier and you're certainly no savior. You're just a stooge who gave up all that is good for a ticket to the promised land. The problem for you Goth it somebody has to punch that ticket. Someone has to admit you. And your ticket taker is Mr. Showtime, Drake Green. You want in? Then you have to go through me. You want to make history? The bring it. Let's tear that place up Goth because at the end of the night on Sunday, only one of us will be standing. Only one of us will be the Roulette Champion and the World Heavyweight Champion. Only one of us will be the chosen one. Who will it be, Goth? My money is on me....who do you got?”

---

August 31st, 2004 – Venice Beach – Los Angeles, CA – 11:45 PM

[The scene fades back in alongside the historic boardwalk of Venice Beach. Sitting in a car is Drake Green. He's wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and an all black Chicago Blackhawks cap, with the brim pulled down as close to his eyes as he possibly can. His skin looks almost white as it shines in the pale Los Angeles moonlight. He takes a few deep breaths, sitting in his Toyota Corolla, as he impatiently peers his eyes around the area as if waiting for someone. Beads of sweat start to form under the brim of his cap as keeps his eyes focused on his surroundings. After minutes of frantically searching, he finally sees him. Jenny's now ex-boyfriend, Greg Hardway. He's walking with two friends down the side of the boardwalk near the road. Three kids all dressed near identical in baggy shorts, hooded sweat shirts, and backwards or sideways baseball caps. Drake takes a deep breath and then steps out of his burgundy Corolla, closing the door quietly behind him. He steps as fast and as softly in his black combat boots as he can as he tries to catch up with them. As soon as he gets within earshot, he calls out to them.]

Drake: Hey guys, wait up.

[The three teens turn back toward him.]

Teen 1: Who's that?

Teen 2: Do we know you?

Drake: Yeah, of course. I'm a friend of Greg's right?

[Drake jogs up to them, with a smile on his face, and it's apparent that neither of the guys know who he is.]

Greg: I don't think I know you, bro.

Drake: Sure you do, man. You know...I'm Drake.

[He towers over the teenagers by at least four inches. His smile keeps the situation calm despite his intentions. They have no clue why he is there. He pulls a Newport out of the front pocket of his hoodie and slips it between his lips.]

Drake: You guys got a light?

[Greg is the first to respond.]

Greg: Yeah, bro, I got you.

[He pulls out a Bic lighter and sparks open the flame for Drake, who leans forward and lights the cigarette. Drake inhales deeply and then blows the smoke right into Greg Hardway's face. Greg waves his hand in front of his face to avoid the smoke and Drake's smile only get bigger.]

Drake: My bad, bro.

[He puts emphasis on the word “bro”, trying to sound like him.]

Greg: Nah, it's cool yo. But I don't think we know each other, dude.

Drake: Are you sure?

Greg: Pretty sure.

Drake: Really? I could've sworn we met through my sister.

Greg: Oh maybe, who's your sister?

Drake: Jenny Green.

[Drake continues smiling but Greg immediately realizes who Drake is. He nods to his friend standing to his left and the three teenage boys start back pedaling away from him.]

Greg: Look, man, I just remembered we had to somewhere so...I'll catch you later.

Drake: But we're just starting to get to know each other.

Greg: Yeah, man, like I said...I gotta jet...so....

[Drake doesn't give him a chance to finish his sentence. He flicks his Newport straight into the face of his sister's tormentor. Sparks fly up as Greg lets out a scream and falls to one knee. Trying to defend their friend, the teens converge on Drake. The future World Champion is too quick for them as he lands a fist to the throat of the kid on his left. The teen grabs his throat and Drake follows it up with a hard right that knocks him out cold. The third thug comes after Drake from behind him but Green remembers his training and lauches him into the air, flipping around on his back onto the cold hard cement with a quick hiptoss. The kid writhes in pain on the sidewalk and Drake follows it up with a hard boot to the face that knocks him out. He takes a deep breath, somewhat shocked by what just happened, and then turns back to Greg who is still holding his eyes on his knees just a few feet away from him.]

Drake: You mother...

[Green runs over and slams his knee into the side of Greg's head. Hardway falls down to the cement and Drake jumps on top of him. He holds his chest down to the ground with his left hand and pummels him with this right.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Hardway's nose busts open and Drake stops swinging. He grabs him by his orange Hurley hoodie and pulls him up a few inches off the ground.]

Drake: You think you're fucking tough, bro? You think you can do that to her and get away with it?!

[Greg just lays there, scared to say anything.]

Drake: Answer me!

[He manages to get out a few whimpers.]

Greg: I'm sorry...I didn't mean to...it just got out of hand....

[Green just stares at him for a moment, thinking. He inhales and exhales rapidly trying to catch his breath.]

Drake: Well....this just got out of hand too....

[Drake shoves him back down on to the concrete and pushes up off of him. He stands up, looking around around to make sure no one else is around and that Greg's friends are still out cold on the ground. He grabs Greg by his shirt and starts to drag him off of the sidewalk and off into the grass. He pulls through the tall uncared for grass and over to the side or back of whatever spray painted building is there. He picks him and slams him into the steel of the building and then proceeds to land successive punches into his gut.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

He pushes him back up against the steel structure and then looks him right in the eyes.]

Drake: She's only sixteen years old, man.

Greg: I'm...I'm....sorry.

Drake: Too late.

[Without thinking or hesitation, Drake clamps his right hand around Greg's neck. He tightens his grip and he can feel Greg choking. He doesn't care. As he waits for Greg's eyes to close he begins to drift off in his thoughts. He can hear the faint voices of Max and his brother Nick, and even Jenny calling his name. It's almost as if they were there with him. He tightens his grip and Greg's eyes begin to close just as he feels a hand on his shoulder pulling him away. He lets go of Greg and he falls to the floor and he turns to see Max standing right behind him. His Uncle Max grabs him and shoves him into the building.]

Max: What the hell are you doing?!

[Max slaps his in the face. Drake raises his hands to block the next one but it never comes. He looks past Max and sees Nick and Jenny staring at them with worry in their eyes.]

Max: What are you stupid? You wanna throw your life away?

Drake: He ra...

[He stops himself from saying the words in from of Jenny.]

Drake: He deserves it.

Max: Maybe he does, D. But you wanna throw your whole life away? For that?

[He points down to Greg who is on the ground, catching his breath.]

Max: Revenge isn't worth it, D.

Drake: It's worth it for me. That mother fu-

[Max cuts him off.]

Max: You want to throw all of those opportunities? Huh? You think those world title shots will ever come? Revenge isn't worth it, D. It's never worth it. The cost is always too high. Don't ever forget that, Drake. No matter the crime...no matter what they do to you....it's NEVER worth it.

[Drake, still panting, nods at Max. He looks past her at his baby sister Jenny who is in tears and his brother Nick who is has his arms around her. He turns back to Max.]

Drake: I'm sorry, Max...

[Drake starts to cry and Max immediately pulls him in for a giant hug. Drake clenches the only father figure he's ever had as he cries out and tries to speak.]

Drake: I just want him to pay...

Max: I know, D....I know.

[Greg slowly slips away as his friends pick him up and they take off.]

Drake: I couldn't control myself.

[Max pulls him out of the hug and that puts his hands on his shoulders. H elooks him right in the eye and then says something that will ring true for the next eleven years.]

Max: Opportunity is always better than revenge, Drake. Revenge will squander every opportunity you have. You can't let it get in the way of the opportunities you will have to be successful. Ever. No matter what. You understand me?

[Drake nods as he wipes his nose.]

Drake: Opportunity over revenge.

Max: Always.

[Cut to black.]

 A Story About Revenge: Part II

---

”In moments of pain, we seek revenge.” –Ami Ayalon

---

November 26th, 2015 – Drake Green’s Home – Bakersfield, CA – 11:30 AM

[The camera fades in inside of Drake’s gym. The cold feeling cement room is heated up in the middle where Drake and Lyah Lindberg are working out in the six-sided wrestling ring. Drake is wearing an Under Armour long sleeve shirt, black shorts, with kneepads and sneakers. Lyah is wearing a bright pink Under Armour tank top, tight black workout pants, and pink Under Armour sneakers. Her hair is pulled back and she has a large, over-sized, black brace on her left knee. They lock up in the center of the ring and Drake pulls her into a side headlock. He tightens the grip around her neck before calling out to her.]

Drake: Come on. Get out. get out. Faster...faster!

He squeezes harder.

Drake: Let’s go Lindberg!

[Lyah remembers what she’s been taught, and knowing she isn’t as strong as Drake, she decides to do what she has to do in order to break free. One, followed by another, and a third elbow strike to Drake’s midsection forces his grip to loosen. Lindberg follows it up by pushing him off, into the ropes. She drops palm and chest first to the ring as he approaches her as he leaps over her. She quickly pops back up and hits an armdrag as he meets her in the middle of the ring. She transitions that to an immediate armbar attempt, her go to finishing submission hold but Drake counters immediately. He lifts her up and drops her back first onto the mat with a quick slam.]

Drake: Too slow. Get up, try again.

[Lyah rolls off the mat and the two lock up again. He grabs her and flips her onto her back before applying a chin lock. He tightens the hold.]

Drake: Come on...Lyah…

[She spins and tries to overtake Drake but she gets caught and Drake quickly slips her into his patented triangle choke….the “Rated R Chokehold”. Lyah taps immediately. Drake lets go and Lyah falls onto her back, panting heavy. He hops up to his feet and shakes his head a bit.]

Drake: What’s going on?

[Lyah pauses before answering, continuing to catch her breath. Finally, she sit’s up on the mat, looking up at him, frustration etched over her face as sweat runs down her forehead.]

Lyah: What do you mean? I made a mistake and you caught me. I tapped out. Simple, dude.

[She holds her hand out towards Drake, ready for him to lift her to her feet. He ignores her.]

Drake: A mistake? No… you didn’t make a mistake. You moved too slow. Get up on your own.

Lyah: I think I’ll take a five minute break then. Asshole.

Lyah lets her hand drop at her side, frustrated.

Lyah: You’ve been doing this for like, ever. Instead of getting mad when I make a mistake, or sorry, move too slow, maybe you should coach me instead of being a dick. Ever thought of that one?

Drake: Yeah, I have. And you know what that makes me think? That you assume because you fuck me that I’m somehow gonna take it easy on you in this ring. Well get over it because it isn’t gonna happen. You want me to coach you up? You want a teachable moment? Here’s one for you. Alexis Edwards isn’t going to give a shit if you need a breather. She isn’t gonna help you get your ass off of the mat. Now if you want that title...if you really want it...then you need to kick it into another gear Lindberg.

[She adjusts her knee brace and slowly stands up. She glares over at Drake, who has a look of intensity over his face. ]

Lyah: Screw Alexis Edwards, I can beat that bitch. Let’s go.

[Lyah again ties up with Drake in the center of the ring and he quickly overpowers her, forcing her into the corner, but instead of wait for him to let off, she lifts her right knee up into his stomach. She then slips out from his grip and hits a dropkick to his back, sending him chest first into the corner. Not letting up, she runs and jumps on his back and locks in a sleeper hold, wrapping her legs around his waist.]

Lyah: Go to sleep, Drake. Or tap out, I got you.

[Drake flips her around and tries to put her into a sleeper hold of his own but she moves faster than him and quickly slips him into an armbar. She pulls back on his arm, wrenching it tightly, knowing if she gets it extended fully, he will have no choice but to tap out.]

Lyah: Give up?!

[Lindberg would normally talk more trash, but she’s focused for the moment, wanting to prove to Drake that she’s serious when she needs to be. After a few seconds, Drake has no choice but to slam his hand into the mat, tapping out, prompting Lyah to release the hold as soon as his hand hits the mat for the third time. She rolls backwards and onto her knees with a smile over her face as her ponytail is now messy.]

Lyah: If you were Alexis, I would have kept that shit on a good five seconds.

[Proud of herself, she crawls over to him on her knee’s, and leans down, maneuvering her face just inches away from his playfully.]

Lyah: Who isn’t fast enough now, boyfriend?

Drake: You…

[He quickly spins around and then grabs her, flipping her over and pinning the back of her shoulders on to the mat. He slides over her, staring straight into her eyes.]

Drake: You know...you’re kinda sexy when you actually put some effort in.

[He smiles as he keeps her pinned down against the canvas.]

Lyah: You were kind of sexy when you were tapping like a little bitch a minute ago…

[Her quick-witted response is offered with a grin as she presses her feet down hard against the mat and bridges her back up as Drake still has a grip on her wrists.]

Lyah: And you can’t pin me either, just like Alexis.

[He licks his lips a bit and then thrusts forward, kissing her intensely. After a moment he tilts his head back and smiles.]

Drake: Now...run the ropes while I take a shower.

[She pushes him away from her, laughing.]

Lyah: Way to ruin the moment...nothing like running the ropes to kill my mood. Jerk. I hate running the ropes.

[She stands to her feet, fixing her ponytail as she listens to his orders, and begins hitting the ropes as hard as she can. Drake heads for his residence in the back but before he turns the corner he turns back to her.]

Drake: Happy Thanksgiving!

---

”I’ve been around SCW long enough to see the parades of stars, men and women, that come and go. Some of them are talented, some are useless, and others are just lazy. One thing they all have in common? They all claim to be somebody. They come here and spew out mindless bullshit. They all say that they’re here to take SCW by storm. They all rant on and on and fucking on about being somebody. Do you know what the worst part is? The worst part is that its usually about one in ten that last more than three matches and probably about one in twenty that last more than five matches. People just can’t hang. People just don’t understand how hard it really is to make it here. There are guys like Steve Ramone and TNA that taste mild success. Guys that would be perennial main eventers in other promotions that sometimes just can’t find their groove here. Why you ask? It’s because SCW is the toughest place to make it. Period.”

“But you’re different Alexis. Not only have you had some success here early on and won yourself a pretty little title, but you’ve also come out and said the exact opposite of everyone else. You didn’t claim to be someone at all. In fact, you claim to be nobody. You claim to be just another hooded, nameless face in the crowd. Just another one of Timothy Stagg’s groupies. You wear the “Nobody” badge proud with hooded sweatshirts, hash tags on Twitter, and constant claims that you’re just another “Nobody”. But I’m calling bullshit.”

“You’re not nobody at all Alexis. You’re somebody, alright. In just a few short months you’ve managed to grab hold of the company’s secondary title and get yourself into Climax Control’s main event. That’s more than Tim Stagg’s has accomplished in a year and that’s more than your sad little friend Connor Murphy has accomplished in almost three years. You’ve even managed to cozy up to Mikah, the only woman who stands above you. You’ve gone all buddy buddy and it’s borderline brilliant. You’ve fooled almost everyone…almost. I know your kind. Sniveling and conspiring all the way to the top. Using people like Tim and Conner and fooling people like Mikah. I know where your career is headed and I can’t wait to see how far you can take it. But it’s about time you stop being a cowardly, lying little bitch. Show the world who you are. It’s time to stop pretending.”

---

November 26th, 2015 – Drake Green’s Home – Bakersfield, CA – 1:45 PM

[The camera fades back in inside of Drake’s home gym. Lyah Lindberg is in the six-sided ring. Her body glistens with sweat as she bounces off the ropes, one by one. Every time she hits the ropes, her eyes clench shut and a small whimper comes out of her mouth. Even so, she continuously runs back and forth and pushes through the pain. As she keeps running, Drake walks back out. He’s wearing a blue sport coat, white shirt, and dark blue jeans. He has a smile on her face as he watches her running. Just as he’s about to speak up and stop her, she hits the ropes and screams out in pain. She falls to her knees as he runs over to her.]

Drake: Are you ok?

Lyah: I think so.

Drake: You think?

Lyah: Yeah… I just…I’m tired. You look nice.

[Drake can’t help but smile.]

Drake: Well I had a chance to take a shower so…

Lyah: Must be nice.

Drake: Here, let me help you up.

Lyah: I don’t need help, dude.

Drake: Don’t be stubborn.

Lyah: Dude…

[She gives him a long blank stare filled with angry eyes and he backs off a bit.]

Drake: Ok.

[She rolls her eyes a bit as she stands up. She goes to walk toward the other end of the ring. She stops and reaches down to pick her water bottle up off of the canvas and as she does, the bottom of her pink Under Armour tank top lifts up a bit as she bends over. Drake notices something under shirt.]

Drake: What’s that?

[He springs to his feet and charges over to where she is standing.]

Lyah: What?

[She again shoots him a mean-eyed look.]

Drake: Let me see something.

[He goes to lift up her shirt.]

Lyah: What are you doing?

Drake: Just relax.

[He peels up the back of her shirt revealing two deep red bruises across her back.]

Lyah: It’s ok…it’s just from the ropes.

[Drake stares at the two deep red bruises. There is something horrifyingly familiar to him about them. He stares and he can feel a sense of anger come over him. His hands begin to tremble as he shuts his eyes.]

---

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

[Drake busts through the hospital room door. Sitting about ten feet away from him is a very young Jenny Green. She’s wearing a hospital gown and her eyes and cheeks are filled with the remnants of heavy black mascara mixed with tears. Her hair is dyed jet black. Her arms are pasty white and missing her signature tattoo sleeves. She looks up at Drake and her green eyes turns a bright red as she begins to sob for what looks to be the 382nd time that night. He runs over to her and they embrace. Her cries get louder as she lets go of all her emotions into the shoulder and arm of her older brother.]

Drake: It’s ok…it’s ok…I’m here.

[Her cries get louder as he rubs her back.]

Jenny: Ow ow ow ow.

[He lifts his hands up off of her.]

Drake: What’s wrong?

Jenny: My back…

[She whimpers and then buries her head back into his arms. He looks over her back and sees that her gown is tied tight in the back. He moves the right side just a few to see two horrifying deep red bruises across her back. His eyes widen and his face turns a shade of white. Just as he goes to cover her back up, two nurses walk into the room.]

Nurse: I’m sorry, sir. We’re going to need just a few minutes with her. And then she can go.

[Drake nods but Jenny holds him tight. She whispers up at him.]

Jenny: Please don’t go.

Drake: I’ll be right outside.

Jenny: Promise?

Drake: I promise.

[He gives her a kiss on the top of her head before heading out of the door. He walks into the hallway and then leans back against the wall just outside of her now closed door. He looks across the hall to see his brother Nick talking with Max. He stares at them for a moment before a cold hand interrupts him on his forearm. It starles him for a second before he realizes who it is. Is former step mother Phyllis, wearing a denim jacket and her eyes as tires as his, stands in front of him.]

Drake: Sorry, I didn’t see you there.

Phyllis: That’s ok, Dickey. You, ok?

Drake: A little freaked out. But…

Phyllis: A little?

Drake: I guess not…do we know who…who was she with?

Phyllis: She won’t say but I know.

Drake: Who?

Phyllis: This little prick she’s been hanging out with. Kid’s name is Greg. He’s a real dick….Dickey.

Drake: Why don’t you tell the police?

Phyllis: Because she’ll deny it. She loves him…

[She lets out a sarcastic chuckle under her breath.]

Drake: You sure it was him?

Phyllis: Oh I’m sure.  This isn’t the first time he’s roughed her up either…

Drake: You knew?

Phyllis: Of course I knew…

Drake: And you didn’t do anything?

Phyllis: What am I going to do?

Drake: I don’t know…protect your daughter maybe? Not a have six glasses of wine with dinner and stay awake long enough to make sure she gets home safe? What the fuck, Phyllis?

Phyllis: Don’t judge me. You know how tough it is without your father?

Drake: Yeah, I know. You’ve been telling me for ten years.

Phyllis: Well excuse me for having a tough time.

Drake: Look…

[He lets out a big exhale.]

Drake: …I don’t wanna fight with you. What can I do?

Phyllis: What can you do? I’ll tell you what you can do. You can find that little piece of shit and put him in the ground. That’s what you can do.

Drake: Come on, Phyllis. I’m not-

[She cuts him off.]

Phyllis: Did you not see those bruises on her back? Her face?

[She steps closer to him and now a noticeable tear begins to well up in her eyes.]

Phyllis: He raped my baby, Dickey. He raped your sister. Now go take care of it.

[The two lock eyes for a moment and after a long stare, one which sees tears stream down Phyllis’ face Drake turns to look for his brother Nick who is nowhere to be seen. He turns back toward Phyllis and puts his arm on her shoulder.]

Drake: Ok…tell me where to go.

---

”We all have those victories that we relish. The ones we can’t get enough of. I’ve certainly had a few. My title win over Kevin Carter is one. My win over Rage is another. Those times that we overcome odds that we’re not sure we can actually beat. Those special moments that can define our careers. But we also have the ones that got away from us. Those matches that for one reason or another just slip through our fingers. I’ve certainly had one or two of those. One of them…was against you Goth. A match I should’ve won. A match I had to win. Of course…we all know that I didn’t win. We all know that the premature end of my first title reign was the beginning of another great chapter in the story of Goth. I can accept that. I have to. But it doesn’t mean that I have to like it. It doesn’t mean that I have to be ok with it.”

“I’ve never had a bad word to say about you Goth. I’ve never had a reason to bring you up. I think people overlook the fact that you’re easily the most decorated member of the SCW roster. You’re the only Triple Crown Winner. You’re a former tag team Champion, a three time Roulette Champion, and of course a two time SCW Word Heavyweight Champion. That’s not counting your immense success elsewhere. Anyone who says that you’re not worthy of my title is an idiot, point blank. There isn’t anyone else in this business that I’d like to see across from that ring from me. There isn’t anyone else that I think DESERVES to be there. I’ve looked forward to the opportunity that I’m gonna get at December to Dismember. I’ve hoped for it for a long time. It’s a chance for me to correct a mistake. It’s an opportunity for me to right a wrong from a few years ago. I need this, Goth, and I can’t wait. Did you ever just have one of the moments when you feel that it’s over? That there’s nowhere else to go? I had one of those moments, Goth. Right after I lost to you. In my eyes I had hit rock bottom. I knew that no matter what I did I couldn’t erase my loss to you. But I was wrong. After two years I finally have that chance to correct the biggest mistake of my career.”

“The few things about you that do disappoint me are our recent choices. Your choice of company and the fact that you’ve chosen to align yourself next to Mark Ward has left me with no choice but to put you down in two weeks. This week is merely a warm up. It’s a chance to see what we can do together. To me it’s more about Lyah getting to punch Alexis in the face more than anything. Me and you? We have a date in two weeks. On that night the whole world will know who the best really is and to be completely honest with you…I can’t wait.”