(Fadein, Cameron Cruise stepping inside CSWA headquarters, the quietness of outside now replaced by ringing telephones and computer keyboards click-clacking away. Smiling, Cruise walks up to Yvette the front desk secretary and leans himself on the counter. It's been a long time since he'd been in this building and the day in which things would come back to normal was finally here.)
CRUISE: It sure would be nice if I can get the phone messages I've been waiting forten minutes to receive.
Y: Mister Thomas, I told you that I would bring them to you as soon as....Mister CRUISE?!?!!
CRUISE: Good to see you too Yvette. Word has it the new boss has got somethin' for me??
Y: Yes sir, Mister Cruise just a second.
(Yvette then swivels around and fishes through some files and produces a paper, handing it to Cruise.)
CRUISE: Thanks Yvette, and by the way....please do call me Cameron.
Y: You got it, Mister Cruise.
(Walking away, Cruise reads the paper and mouths the words of "World Title Tournament" and mentions something under his breath about Mercedes needing a vacation. Walking back outside, Cruise grins and pockets the paper, heading to his car.)
CRUISE: High Flyer, whoever the hell you are....you're in for one HELL of a Reality Check, an' bein' that it's a fresh start....I'm going to make sure by hell or high water....that you're not going to just not like it...
You're going to hate it like Riddick Bowe does the Marines.
Because there is no way I'll allow it to be otherwise.
Swaying in the evening air, The Lunatic's crimson red hair flipped to cover his face from view. He continued to walk this way, his red hair covering the eyes of a professional superstar who is near world renown. Covering the grimace of a battle worn veteran dealing with the pressures of two lives attempting to pull him in opposite directions.
Covering the face of the fWo's Neighborhood Lunatic, High Flyer.
See, quick back story. High Flyer competed in Mexico for a while, went up into the independents in the middle nineties and came on big towards the end, signing with IWO. It was there he created a gimmick of selling snow, that appealed to a huge cult following. So much so that he was hot shotted the world heavyweight championship to gauge the crowd's reaction.
Until then, no one had viewed High Flyer as anything more than a tag team specialist and mid-card draw.
Now, the CSWA had contacted him about participating in their World Heavyweight Championship tournament. Sixteen of the greatest wrestlers alive today battling to call themselves a champion.
"A champion." Flyer muttered under his breath. "I may not be able to get Miles... but I can take something he's never had." Flyer shook his head. "No no. It's worth more than that. It's not worth being used in my plight with Miles." Flyer smiled, just barely visible underneath his bangs. "That'll have to just be a bonus."
He wore a leather jacket to cover himself from the soon to be brisk night air. Technologically equipped, he decided to listen to some music from his mp3 player.
Before his cell phone let out a song. The Muse's "Our Time is Running Out". He reached into his jeans and pulled out his cell, flipping it open smoothly. A text message, from an unknown source was the name listed. Inside, was the following text.
6 foot 4, 253 lbs.
31 Years Old.
Check Web for additional information."
"Cameron Cruise," Flyer said, placing the cell phone away. "He can't possibly be prepared for the insanity that awaits him." Flyer smiled. "Unless he gets his hand on a High Flyer comp tape." Flyer stopped in his stop, and began to think. This was easily determined by the famouse "Thinker" sculpture pose Flyer had decided would be appropriate to do in the midst of public. "The Crippler." Flyer sighed. "He's probably a technical kind of guy. Cripplers mostly are. Unless they use wrenches. Then they're just assaulters. So I've got to contend with a guy who can counter the counter of the counter to my counter. This should be interesting."
Flyer broke from his pose, and began to walk once more. A little girl was standing there, staring at him.
"Why were you standing all weird like?" she asked, barely 6 years old.
"Well, aren't you inquisitive!" Flyer bends down, and pulls out a lollipop. "Here's some candy."
He rubs her head, tossing her hair, as she turns around and races to her mom. "Hey mommy! The stranger gave me candy!" she shouted, as Flyer simply shook his head.
"Kids." Flyer paused slightly. "See, beating Cameron Cruise will be as easy as giving candy to a child."
That's when the little girl's mother charges up, grabbing Flyer's shoulder and twisting him around. "You gave my little girl CANDY!?"
"What?" Flyer laughed. "It's not like it's illegal or anything. And you wouldn't say a thing if I was a doctor, or if it was Halloween, or Candy Day which is a new holiday I invented that takes place every other Tuesday." Flyer reached into his jeans, and pulled out two large folded slips of cardboard paper. "Would you like a brochure?"
The woman simply gives him quite the glare, before taking her child away by the wrist. Flyer sighed. "Watch out for dislocating her shoulder!" Slight pause. "Nice woman." He smiled. "Pert."
Flyer, voice over, spoke the next part as he continued his way down the street.
"And so, I continued walking, because one day, I will be crippled.
Would it be because of Cameron Cruise?
Or would it be because of an errant Police Cruiser?
Find out, next time on an all new edition of Rocky and Bullwinkle.
"Gee, his nickname must be 'Crippler' because the way he injures people each time he steps in the ring."
(Fadein, Cameron Cruise, dressed in black jeans, a white shirt with Anarchy shades on, in front of a CSWA backdrop.)
CRUISE: I've heard 'em all before, 'Flyer---do you mind if I call you 'Flyer? I mean because I just kinda figured that if you're name is 'HIGH FLYER' then that must be what you do in the ring and that 'Flyer could be short....you like like Rob for Robert, Tom for Thomas, that sorta thing.
"The Neighborhood Lunatic".
You know that'd be almost intimidating if I hadn't heard it in one form or another on seven different continents for the past ten years, but hey....I'm sure there's a reason it was givin' to you as well as one that made it stick, so forgive me if I take your word for it.
(Cruise stops a second and puts a hand on his hip and runs the other hand through his hair, brushing it back out of his face.)
I don't mean that in an accusing way mind you...that just what I've heard. But 'Flyer let me ask you this....
You ever take on a guy that's wrestled "I quit" matches only to find out that when you faced him....not necessarily in "I quit" matches mind you, just in General....that he'd go as far as to have his mouth sewn shut in efforts to insure himself from ever giving up??
Because if you have or you haven't then perhaps you're in over your own head, pal.
Yes, I've wrestled that type of a guy before and no, it's not that easy. But while you've been around the indy leagues selling snow....which is really cool by the way....I've been living very comfortably and selling out arena's almost single handedly Worldwide.
Please note that I said "almost" because taking all the credit wouldn't do Joey Melton the justice of being a dozen-plus World Heavyweight Champion.
That and if he ever caught wind of it, I'd be subjected to long hours of Rod Stewart music until my vision became bloodshot. How do I know this??
Because it's happened.
I've seen me do it.
But while selling snow is....a cult-inviting hobby from where you come from, I've been packing and HELPING pack arenas and backyards to Eastern Europe palaces to the Farmer's big red Barn based on the performances I put on night in and night out.
And believe me....trying to keep Farmers from wringing Joey's neck for inciting their teenage daughters to mob and beg him to take them away is no easy task.
Again, I know....I've seen me do it.
But you go right ahead and impress people by doing those poses while you're trying to figure out you're plan. At least you LOOK smart while you do it. As a matter of fact, while you're at it....maybe you can impress other childeren by coloring little eight by ten frames of the Mona Lisa for them to take home---you'll still confuse the sh*t outta them and anger their parents, but hey....
At least you'll look cool doing it.
"The Crippler" vs. "The Neighborhood Lunatic".
Sounds almost epic, no??
The only difference is 'Flyer, is while you're still willing to go at me with a chair or the ring bell, I'll already be on my way backstage and to the next round in the Tournament.
Because that's just a Reality Check 'Flyer, that you just...won't like.
(Fade In. High Flyer stands in front of a CSWA backdrop, much like Cameron Cruise did. He seems a bit out of place, looking away from the camera as it rolls.)
Flyer: I'm having second thoughts on this whole stand here and interview thing. Can I get some sort of play stage or something? I can act out Macbeth with Care Bears.
(No response, and so, Flyer just sighs and turns toward the camera to speak.)
Flyer: Cameron Cruise. No, I haven't wrestled a guy with his mouth sown shut. But I have had my hair burned off by a C4 blast in the context of a title defense. I've wrestled in a bowl full of cats for some reason. I've outlasted forty men on top of a SCAFFLE to get a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship, only to trade it in to get my hands on my best friend and beat some sense into him. I've had my face singed by Craig Miles, I've been a trusted partner for Deacon on numerous occassions, and I beat Eli Flair on the biggest day of the 2004 calender year, Cyberslam, to win, at then, HIS United States title. So, No Cameron, I haven't wrestled a man with sown lips in the confines of an I Quit match, but I wouldn’t be scared to, and I’d have a strategy. I'd cause him so much pain, so much anquish, so much bloodshed, that eventually, his own screams would rip open his stitches, and the only words he'd ever wanted to say in his whole life, "I Quit," would no doubt be uttered.
Flyer: How's that for terrorfying? Does it send a chill down your spine like a Dorney Park Rollar Coaster advertisement? I thought so. Regardless, I don’t really have a transition here, so I’m just going to start stabbing around blindly, and bring up the fact that you refer to me as an Independent wrestler. Lemme just say this and move on.
(Flyer counts on his fingers as he speaks.)
Flyer: IWO… global. fWo, global. jOlt, National at least. Farmer Big Red’s Barn… well, I guess you couldn’t say that was global. I mean, you’ve been there. They pay you in beer for some reason. It’s like they’re giving you money, but forcing you to spend it on alcohol. That’s just odd to me.
(Flyer shakes his head to snap out of his tangent. He reaches into his pocket and proceeds to take out a folded piece of paper. It’s a colored drawing of the Mona Lisa, shabbily done.)
Flyer: You know, you can see how nervous I am. My hands are shaking so much that I couldn’t even stay in the lines.
(A close up of the picture reveals that there’s a big red X over the Mona Lisa’s head, and all of the colors are just done randomly, with no adhearance to line structures. Red bleeds from the upper left corner all the way into her right eye, before abruptly turning to a bright baby blue.)
Flyer: It’s got this… quality, that I really like. It seems disjointed just looking at it. This is art. This should be in the CSWA exhibit, the CSWA hall of fame. And it will be one day, right next to the image of me defeating the four men I have to defeat in order to be proclaimed Champion. And I know that means, to get to number 2, I have to get past you Cruise. So don’t think of this as me putting my gameplan on cruise control, because the only reality check you’re going to cash is going to be paying for your hospital visit.
Flyer: Wait a second, he didn’t mean an actual check, did he? He meant it as that phrase “Reality check.” Like… yeah. Man. I totally screwed that up. How come no one tells me anything? Jeffrey? Mark! Mark! Get over here right this instant! Tofu Coffee and Jello Pancakes! Pronto!
Mark(Off Screen): There’s no such thing as tofu coffee.
Flyer: And there won’t be if you aren’t proactive enough to try to invent it! I mean, jeez. Isn’t it obvious?
(Flyer looks dead into the camera, and suddenly his blood red face is just completely chopped out from under him. He almost looks white, pointing toward the camera.)
FWrestling.com was founded in 1994 to promote a community of fantasy wrestling fans and leagues. Since then, we've hosted dozens of leagues and special events, and thousands of users. Come join and prove you're "Even Better Than The Real Thing."
Add Your League
If you want to help grow the community of fantasy wrestling creators, consider hosting your league here on FW. You gain access to message boards, Discord, your own web space and the ability to post pages here on FW. To discuss, message "Chad" here on FW Central.