Behold, the World Heavyweight Champion.
The bustle of New York City-- dotted with building lights above, street signs and cars below-- appears almost as another world, when viewed from a midtown Manhattan penthouse. Such is the case for Larry Tact, who sits on his crescent-shaped, black chaise lounge chair, set in perfect observing position on the patio. He relaxes in a pair of blue SilverTab jeans and black Alfani button-down shirt, while soft blue lights cast a calm ambience overhead. One arm is propped between his head and the luxury mattress of the lounge chair, as he sips on a cocktail of choice held in the other.
LARRY TACT: "Before I say anything else, one thing takes priority. And that is... if anyone really thought, for ONE SECOND... that you'd find me anywhere NEAR Little Rock, Arkansas... ANYTIME before the weekend... congratulations. You've given me the biggest laugh of my week."
He smirks.
"That goes out especially to our grand ownership."
He sips the cocktail.
"I mean, this is undoubtedly going to be a critical show for this promotion. It's the kickoff to the brave new run of the WFW:NE... the return from a THREE YEAR BAN in the US...."
"WHERE ELSE would a company think of going for such a grand event?"
"WHERE ELSE befits the company, to display their new image to the world?"
"WHERE ELSE could embody the image of their NEW AND TRUE World... Heavyweight... Champion?"
"You chose... Little... FRIGGIN'... Rock, Arkansas?!"
"How about, I don't know.... MADISON SQUARE GARDEN?!"
"Ring a bell? Sports Mecca? Home of your World Heayweight Champion?"
He shakes his head, drinking from the glass.
"It's shameful. It's disappointing. Except... I'm refusing to let it be."
"Because after three years... three years of government oppression... three years of trying to kill off the New Era... three years of LEGALLY-imposed silence... and, most of all... THREE YEARS of listening to Jonathan Marx, falsely claiming he was STILL New Era World Heavyweight Champion..."
"I am free to speak my mind, and hold my place, once again... as THE standard of this New Era, and the one standing above the pack."
"Larry Tact is the World Heavyweight Champion."
"And just as I said, all those years back... there's nobody I need to thank. There was no extra assistance I needed to option for. I went it alone, from the bottom up, and now... here I am, at the top again."
"Just the same, I WILL take the time to thank one person..."
Jerks a thumb to his chest.
"Myself."
He chuckles, sliding off the chair and standing. He walks over to a table, placing the glass down on it, and picks up the NEW World Heavyweight Championship. He soberly stares at it.
"The noise of the city doesn't reach up here. It's my oasis, my paradise. But the crying protests of Rocko Daymon have no bounds, I imagine, because I can hear him even now... (BLEEP)ching about how wrong I am."
He laughs.
"Don't bother, Daymon. Everyone knows, finally, what happened at Banned in the US. Everyone knows your wife did what she does best in that Main Event... she sought out a more capable man than yourself. And she failed to understand what I knew the second I pinned Jonathan Marx: I had nothing to lose by taking that shot from her, and everything to gain."
"The most important of which was... reinforcing my credibility over you. Cuz the fact is, Daymon... I'm the World Champion who earned it, that night, and you aren't."
"I pinned Marx to earn the World Heavyweight Championship. You didn't pin anyone, and demonstrated you're nothing more than dead weight I now have to drag. But that, followed by the legally-enforced silence I've been under, these past years? It's only made me that much stronger."
"You, on the other hand, had free reign to continue calling yourself World Heavyweight Champion. But you've barely said a word to accredit yourself, to acknowledge what I, and New Era, gave you the opportunity to do: win a World title."
"Hell, as my Good Deed for the Year, I even allowed you the time this week, up to now, to make a statement before I did. Albeit, it was just to confirm what I already knew."
"For the first time in the Age of EVER... Daymon's got nothing to say. You've got nothing, except an empty survival at Banned in the US, with your World title. On that topic, for three years... I shut your ass up. Not by attacking you, or speaking out about who was truly World Heavyweight Champion."
"No... just by the performance I put on, at Banned in the US. If you had any sense in you, then you'd have known my hunger then. But now, you have no idea how much its grown. I'm going to show you, though. You can bank on that."
"As for Marx... for the flaws I may see in him, was at least PROUD to be World Heavyweight Champion. He damn well might've DIED to keep that title, if I'd let it go that far."
"But I don't take to killing men who uphold the traditions of true wrestling. Men who are dedicated to what makes wrestling great. Jonathan Marx is a great wrestler. And, though I completely disapproved of his methods, he was a damn proud World Champion."
"Just like I am."
"Just like you're NOT, Daymon."
He takes another drink from the cocktail, exhaling an air of satisfaction.
"Enough on that, though. At least, until the cries of Daymon reach far and wide."
"We really have come full circle, though. It wasn't a natural thing, not inevitable... that the first-ever World Champion this promotion crowned, would claim his place again. If anything, it may be considered 'improbable.' But it's happened, and so, in Little Rock... the match I return to the New Era with... my opponent for the night..."
"It couldn't be more appropriate."
He rests the belt over a shoulder, returning with his glass to the chair, though sitting upright, rather than lounging, this time. He gazes out at the far-reaching city skyline.
"Because it will be a reminder, to everyone in the WFW:NE... that just as we have come full circle... I am just as hungry as I was throughout Battle Bowl Mania. And for those who don't know of that inaugural tournament to crown me the World Champion... do yourself the favor of picking it up at Best Buy and watching it straight through. It really was a unique experience, hosted by New Era of Wrestling. Something I haven't gone through before or since that Battle Bowl Mania, in fact."
"And, in some respect, it was thanks to Spectrum that I received the opportunity at carving this piece of my legacy."
"Spectrum, what is there to say? Actually, there's plenty. Your presence was such a unique one brought upon the promotion. And honestly, it's not a hint less enigmatic to this day. Really, it's a pleasant surprise seeing you listed to appear on the return launch of the New Era."
"Pleasant, for me. In all likelihood, though, it won't be so much for all your pimply-faced, shut-in, tie-dye mask wearing... adoring cult of fans."
"Although, given the lapse in time... I guess they've moved from being shut-ins of their parent's houses, to a lonesome and pitiful existence dwelling in a studio, somewhere... or in their parent's basement."
"Now, time may have passed, but surely they STILL know better than to look to me for pity. They undoubtedly haven't forgotten the last time we met, Spectrum. The last time I beat you. And the time before that... and the Battle Bowl before that. Time doesn't heal all wounds, not for these pathetic people who just live out their lives with no success, only failure... no real 'lives' to speak of."
"They looked to you for that, Spectrum. You're the one who's supposed to bring HAPPINESS and JOY, spreading it around to all those who are lonely... like all your fans. They looked for you to beat me before, to bring them that joy... but you failed. Still, they waited to see you again, Spectrum. They waited each and every day, for their life's light to come and perform for them. Fly around with all that grace, doing stunts they never believed they could do. Being successful, like they never believed they could be. But you never showed up, did you, Spectrum? You weren't around for them to be entertained."
"And once more, you failed them."
He pauses, a satisfied expression taking form as he nods, taking another sip from the cocktail.
"You're sitting on two strikes, Spectrum. But when I beat you again, at Raucous... you'll have to answer to them afterwards. That's not my problem, and I won't kick you out for striking out again. In fact, while you were and continue to be a unique presence... you never did aspire the way I did."
"Don't get me wrong, I'm sure the passion to strive was in you, Spectrum. Just not with the same intensity as mine. I'd wager we could have gone on to be one of the great tag teams on this circuit, and further if we wanted. We were that good. But one thing that separated us, Spectrum?"
"The fans. Those people I described before. They're parasites; unfit to be associated with the likes of great people. Elite wrestlers. Me, and what I do? It's so far beyond them, on such a different level, they probably couldn't even hang on for the ride without losing their grip. But you chose to associate yourself with the likes of such inferior people. You decided to embrace the fans. So, now you can answer to them, when I'm done with you at Raucous."
"Until then, enjoy knowing you'll be in the ring with the World Heavyweight Champion, one more time. One more chance to shine in the brightest spotlight, with one of the elite this industry is graced with. Undoubtedly, the standard of the New Era."
"Larry Tact."
"But don't get too high on the thrill of it, Spectrum. Don't embrace history, or appreciate the moment, too much. Cuz that's the moment when your humbling hits home."
"Your tactful surrender, on the other hand? That will come... when I choose. And when it's all said and done, the past will prove present, in another way, too..."
"...for you will... be... TACTILIZED!"
FADE OUT.
