::FADEIN on the locker room of the Basham-Schultz Wrestling Academy, the (until recently) dim and unsavory haunt of “The Wolf” Chris McMillan. McMillan sits on one of the benches, reclining against a locker. A towel is wrapped around his waist. Another covers the top of his head, hooding his face. Seated as he is, with 230 lbs. Of muscle packed on a frame that wasn’t meant to hold more than 180, McMillan appears nearly as wide as he is tall::
The Wolf: Saw your cousin on TV the other day, Adam. He was talking about John Doe’s lack of professional achievement in one breath, and the next he was talking about the fact that he’s had a whopping THREE years of training and no ring experience with the next. He’s not the sharpest bowling ball in the drawer, is he?
The Wolf: Let me ask you something, Adam. We’ve all seen that you’re a phenomenally self-absorbed dingus. Sometimes that can cause difficulties in your interpersonal relationships. Were you so hard up for a tag partner that instead of going through the effort of finding someone who was actually willing to put up with you, you had to mold one out of young and impressionable family stock? It wouldn’t surprise me. Instead of having to develop a dynamic with someone, you just mash some young kid into your own arrogant image. Easier to control that way, right? No need to worry about him actually thinking, right? All you have to do is tell him he’s the greatest thing since spermicidal lubricant, his three years of training has of course prepared him to step up to the big boy urinal, and you and he are going to unleash a giant stream of piss all over everyone else in MCW. Boom, he’s your little lackey for life. It’s sad.
The Wolf: Now, you were the champion here when the doors closed three hundred years ago. Good for you. Now you expect Christian Sands to come down to the ring on TV next week and hand you the belt that we were all promised a shot at.
The Wolf: I don’t know Christian Sands. I don’t know if he’s going to give you the belt or not. The title was vacated when the promotion went out of business. You were never beaten for it, it’s true. But titles are stripped or vacated all the time. They took your belt away from you whether you like it or not. The thing is, whether they give you the title or whether they make you work for it, I was still promised a shot. I will get it, whether it’s a tournament or if I have to come and get it from you. You’re not gonna like it when I do.
The Wolf: The fact remains, though, Adam … as we speak, you are NOT the world heavyweight champion. You’re just another Joe in the back, as far as everyone else is concerned. You might stay in the 5 star hotel, you might get to hump a hooker that’d cost me two week’s pay. But when you’re in that locker room, when you’re in that wrestling ring, you’re not high society. You’re not special. You’re just another warm body for me to sink my teeth into.
The Wolf: World title or not, we’ve still got a match. I’m glad to see you’re preparing so well. The expensive hotel, high class ass, and whatnot. It’s nice that you’re that confident in your abilities. As for me, I’ll be in the gym. I’ll be studying the tapes. I’ll be laying the groundwork for your destruction. So live it up, Adam. Live it up.
::FADE TO BLACK::