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Outliers / The ABCs of Death (BLACK)


Where's my money, Chad?
Jul 3, 1997
The Silk Road
(FADEIN: Night-time, the Hollywood Walk of Fame! CASTOR STRIFE strolls down the crowded sidewalk, ignoring the spectators and tourists at either side of his arm as he heads toward the camera)

CASTOR: "Welcome to Hollywood, home to the beautiful and famous. Come, see their names; place your hands into theirs which are etched permanently into concrete. Know what fame is like, even for a moment."

"Those who made it, make it here. But I want to take you down a different street, Jack Harmen. It's a path reserved specially for those who made a wrong turn. Like Dante's Hell, there are many levels. Observe the first, where buried are the bright-eyed impressionables who failed before they ever got a foot in the door."

"And the next level? For those who stepped one foot in, while the other was severed off."

"There are deeper levels, some reserved for some very talented people who ALMOST made it to the top, but met the man who owned the mountain."

"Television, fame, glory - we think it commonplace because television shows only the outliers, and we the glorious - you Jack, me - we have songs written and blu-ray discs burned for our every accomplishment. Do you count your career in gold? I do. Well, I did. But not this year. Not for Futureshock."

"Our match isn't a fight between the two best creators the sport has ever seen. You came to burn the Frontier? But you're taking a blowtorch to a ghost town, because I cleared the competition out. There are no more legends - I blew their fucking heads off. Burn, baby, burn what? You're too late."

"Castor Strife is the name they associate with creation. The artist, the visionary. But they, whoever they are, forgot that I destroyed more than I made here on the Frontier."

"If this is Hell, and Eddie Mayfield is the Devil, what does that make me? I'm the one who kept the place at capacity. Souls in, souls out."

"This is my career. Hand-prints in cement. Gold belts and platinum trophies on my wall. But my true legacy is the list of names you'll never read about. The one I wrote in permanent red marker. The names of those who never made it, almost made it, came right close, up to the very top, before I kicked them back down. Names on head-stones."

"Some go quick, like 15 minutes of fame. You had 15 YEARS Jack - and in three seconds, I'll take it all away. Another name on a forgotten street."


(FADEIN: From the confines of a training center boiler room, PAT BLACK aka CANCER sits hunched over with his botched blonde dye-job hair, with black roots, hanging over his face)

BLACK: "Some of you know me as Cancer, but that's just a moniker, a force of nature that puts men, women, children and even small animals into early graves. My real name is Patrick Black, and I am one of those names you spoke of, Castor. Carved in the wrong type of stone, at the end of the wrong street. The street that no one goes to visit, because it makes them sad."

"I didn't aspire to make people sad, Castor. I envisioned a long, healthy career, with lots of fans wearing my t-shirt, chanting my name, asking me to sign their autographs. It was going that way, too. THINK BACK!"

"Fifteen years ago, I was the NFW Mid-Atlantic Champion. You were a rookie, Great Man, and I was a champion. You ate SHIT; I ate prime rib. Times were decent."

"I'm not going to name names, but I was summarily THROWN INTO A TRASH CAN, and set on FIRE! My title was taken by your GOOD FRIEND and then-NFW Commissioner Mike Manson, and discarded like a straw wrapper. Not given a second-thought!"

"I spent the last decade wondering WHY. I never got an answer. But since you offered me that guaranteed title shot, Castor, a different question has been on my mind. WHAT IF?"

"What if forces at large never fucked with my career? What if I was allowed to continue my reign as Mid-Atlantic champion?"

"Could I have been you? The World Champion, the star, the LEGEND. Patrick Black - NFW Hall of Famer. But these are the dreams of a dead man, remember?"

"I'm the name on the tomb. But somehow, I made it back to life. Walking Dead. Undead in the flesh."

"Jack Harmen is my friend. I don't want to fight him. Why did you give me that contract? You say MIND GAMES, but I don't believe you, Castor."

"I think you saw something in me that I didn't even see in myself. You saw the past that could have been. The legend...that never was."

"Cancer came to kill you and help Jack burn the New Frontier. Why did you pull Patrick Black into this, Castor? To prove that there IS life after death? These are interesting times, yes."

"I see my name on your list, and it's fading...almost gone..."



UTA Hall of Famer and All-Around Nice Guy
Staff member
Jan 6, 2005
Los Angeles, CA, formerly PA
JACK HARMEN (V.O.): I am no creator.

(FADEIN: JACK HARMEN, your WORLD CHAMPION, stands illuminated under a single spotlight in a cavernous soundstage in Hollywood. The cold concrete echoes under his feet as the spotlight follows every pace. Harmen wears a custom made t, where he as a Zombie chomps into Castor Strife’s neck, and dangles the Heavyweight Championship, wrapped around his wrist and tied in place by the buckles like a Caribbean strap.)

JACK HARMEN: In fact, I’m more Mayfield’s Lucifer than I am any sort of righteous God. Everywhere I’ve gone, I’ve left destruction and devastation in my wake. You can look it up on Wikipedia. I’m sick of singing the same ol’ song.

(Harmen kicks an imaginary can.)

JACK HARMEN: I don’t care about accomplishment. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE me my gold, and you gotta pry it from me with the JAWS of JAWS from BOND. And maybe Patrick is the instrument of my undoing, but I'd never give you the credit. And you should know, it was never about being the BEST. It was ALL about the shiny. And SPLATTERING it with the blood of my enemies.

(Harmen smiles. XCU on his curled lips.)

JACK HARMEN: And I’m gonna bleed you dry. Even if you take that SHINY DOUCHEBAG GRILL from my waist, where I pretend Mayfield is perpetually blowing me… it’ll take you a lot longer than three seconds to wipe my existence from this place. And that’s not talking about the past, the accolades and the accomplishments and the LEGEND that is… well… HIM. That High Flyer will live longer than I can ever imagine. I created a being above judgment, above humanity. My story will be told to cavemen children when we retro-reverse of evolution Cas. HE, is immortal.

(Harmen raises the strap to his face, his mouth reflected in the jaw of Eddie Mayfield on the breastplate, just over his own lips.)

JACK HARMEN: I. I am a dead man walking.

(MEDIUM CLOSE UP, as JACK drops the Heavyweight title to the ground. The spotlight remains hovering over Mayfield’s golden grill.)

JACK HARMEN: Take your three seconds Cas. Then you can take all the time in the world to watch us make it BURN.

(HAMREN walks off, as the camera ZOOMS in on the Heavyweight title. Mayfield’s face is SPLATTERED with blood as we hear HARMEN’s footsteps ECHO. MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC, interlaced with the NFW logo ENGULFED in FLAMES. FADE OUT.)

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