RELOADED 13: JONES BEACH, NY

[Rook Black]

Re: Bearish Business

ROOK: "I see what you did there."

(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK seated behind a desk. He's got his chin propped up under one arm."

ROOK: "And I'm disappointed, something that I ought to be used to I guess."

(ROOK leans back, and shrugs.)

ROOK: "I think you're making a mistake though."

ROOK: "But, that's on you. I look forward to seeing how you'll try to spin the aftermath."

(FTB)

 

[LQJT86C]

Embarrassment of Riches

(Bookmarks - YouTube - Search Function - "Castor Strife shoots on NFW contenders" - Click on first video!)

(12 second Ford Fusion ad)

(FADEIN: Flip video shot of CASTOR STRIFE in front of the Downtown Greensboro Marriott in N.C., daylight hours. He's wearing a black tanktop, fitted jeans, dark sunglasses...his neck-length blonde hair is wet and combed back, and the NFW World Heavyweight Championship is slung over his right shoulder)

CASTOR: "Greetings from the Tar Heel State, home of Cecil B. Demille, 18th century smallpox epidemics, and JJ Deville's alleged bachelor's degree. I was just passing through, seeing the sights, meeting the people, running through Ultratitle, eating at Waffle House - really your standard N.C. trip."

"Now word on the street is, when I get back to New York, I'll have a front row seat at the Stairway to Hell match. Five men, top contenders, killing each other for a shot at my title. What an amazing sight to behold. Great for television, great for the fans, great for Castor Strife since I get to watch the winner limp away. But for all of you...well..."

(Takes of sunglasses, wipes brow, smiles)

"...it didn't have to come to this. No, I'm not being facetious; it really, really didn't."

"Maybe for Eric Dane it did. When you leverage yourself to the hilt only to lose everything in a fell swoop, your second climb is usually steep. He has to goad the rest of you with the verbal bite of a teenage girl's twitter account. OHAI - I just took food out of Mittens T. Cat's mouth for fuck's sake. No Eric, you can't talk like him."

"For the rest of you - Blaine, Rook, Impulse, Legion - all you had to do was ASK."

(Smiles, rubs temple)

CASTOR: "How long have I been champion? 400 days or so? STILL WAITING on somebody to step up to the fucking plate who Eddie didn't force up there. For all his faults, I'll credit Eric Dane with one thing - always have - he wanted the belt, and he found a way to get the match. Don't like it Rook? Let me ask you a question: how long have you had the National Whatever Crown for? 3,000 days? THINK IT'S TIME TO MOVE UP YET? Or do you need eight more matches with Jack Harmen?"

"I know you've been wanting to challenge me for a while, Impulse. Well...why didn't you? All I hear is you taking me to task for not FIRING UP THE MONGOOSE 10-SPEED and wrecking the Windham Clan's dirt ramps with you. Read my lips, Randall: I DON'T GIVE A SHIT. For the thousandth time, you and I had the Windhams DEAD-TO-RIGHTS at Supercrash 3, and instead of playing the game I told you to play, you let Troy back into the match and left me there at a severe disadvantage. That told me everything I'll ever need to know about you. I got what I wanted that night in San Antonio - Troy Windham's head, and he was basically out of commission thereafter."

"Nobody asked you to waste an entire year fighting JJ Deville on our behalf. JJ is smaller than small - he's NOTHING. He showed what kind of man he is by not challenging me for the big belt, and we all know it will never happen. Biggest match in NFW history is his with the flick of a pen. We could pack Jerry World, or the Big House - 100,000 people, 2 million pay-per-view buys, the world's eyes on him, and by pinning me he INSTANTLY becomes the legend he is in his own mind."

"Does he sign? No, he's like the rest of you. He would rather run around here playing with himself, bribing cemetery groundskeepers, handing out parking fines, canceling international flights and whatever other middle-class workforce fantasy he's dreamed up."

"You know, I USED TO blame him for causing me economic hardship in the way of sponsorships. But you know what, Impulse? I BLAME YOU. You provoked him, and he loves to oblige. Every time my people inform me of the latest JJ bullshit, the sentence ends with, "...to get at Impulse." I'm sick of hearing about it. Forget your rules of engagement - come to North Hollywood, hook up with a blackmarket dealer, buy a .44, and SHOOT THIS MAN IN THE HEAD. You say being a champion is the most important thing in the world? Prove it. Tell Gotham City to handle the Windhams them-damn-selves, and come see me about a World Title."

(Shakes head in disapproval)

CASTOR: "How about you, Blaine? Want to take a chance in the here and now, Futureperfect? No, you don't. Believe me you don't. I'll drive you back from Zero into negative integers. The only thing we share in common is your birth name - given to you, RUN by me. A man named Washington must have wondered what it would be like to meet the man himself. Just remember what you are Blaine - nothing but a cherry tree head, bobbing at the bad man with the wood teeth and the axe. I've emptied more orchards than Paul Newman."

"It's bad enough that none of you could be bothered to fight me, but now that one of you has no choice, watching the field mostly avoid my name has been hysterical. Impulse and his lady friend go after Dane, Rook goes after Dane, Rook keeps talking...paint dries, Impulse goes after Rook, Rook responds...paint continues to dry, and when it's finished, when all the walls in the house are no longer damp, we are still left with NO CLUE as to who wants (pats belt) THIS TITLE the most."

"This, in a nutshell, is why I'm out here south of nowhere about to end Joey Melton's career, empty out Chad Merritt's bank account, and doing more damage to confederate hearts and minds than the Union Army. It's because the answer is NONE OF YOU."

"None of you want my title. And all I want...(feigns crying)...is to find that special person...(wipes tear)...who won't look me in the eye before the bell rings and say, "Take it easy on me, champ". Nothing kills my hard-on like a dog that plays dead."

"So feel free to keep jarring with Eric Dane. Gods know he earned it. Wouldn't want the world to think you're backing down from a guy who's signature win in the New Frontier came over P. King Duk. Let him into your head some more, and I'll be happy to wipe him off the same map I put him on for a second time."

"Just remember that when you look across the ring at one another in front of a sold out crowd, and take in ALL the interest generated for this match, and relish ALL the press gathered to photograph the winner...remember, in the words of our President..."

"YOU DIDN'T BUILD THAT."

"And when the numbers come back, and viewership spiked so they could listen to me watch you from the announcer's table..."

"YOU DIDN'T BUILD THAT."

(Looks into camera, smiles mischievously)

"I DID!"

"I WAS THE ONE...Rook...I WAS THE ONE...Randall..."

"I was the one who grabbed the New Frontier's mantle during the dark days, and made this title worth something again. I repaired the boat, I kept the water out, IT WAS ME! NOBODY ELSE!"

(Outstretches arms)

CASTOR: "I'm here, brothers, (smells air) in the land of Cecil B., telling you that The Greatest Show On Earth is on his way to New York, and to borrow a few lines from the famous film...I am a one-man army on wheels, rolling over any obstacle in my path; a massive machine whose very life depends on discipline, motion, and speed...that meets calamity AGAIN, and AGAIN, and AGAIN, but always comes up smiling."

"I am the force that smashes relentlessly forward against impossible odds. This is MY SHOW, and none of you want a part in running it - that much is clear. Because none of you could do what I do, be what I am, without it driving you to madness, or...well, even death." (shrugs)

"This match isn't about you and the other competitors. It's about you and Castor Strife. Beating one another doesn't win you anything, only beating me does. And if this match can't produce a man like that, then you might as well stay home."

"None of you want to see me again. That doesn't make you my five best challengers, but it does make you the five smartest men in the New Frontier. And for whatever I or anyone else says about you, boys, well...at least you have that."

"I'm done..."

(FADEOUT)

(OTHER VIDEOS YOU MIGHT LIKE: Castor Strife beats Impulse, Castor Strife beats Impulse again, Doc Silver shoots on NFW Part 5 of 9, Castor Strife beats Eric Dane, Castor Strife embarrasses Legion, Castor Strife destroys Ultratitle REMIX!)

 

[Colin]

Re: Embarrassment of Riches

(OTHER VIDEOS YOU MIGHT LIKE: Phil Atken Attempts to Cling on to Relevancy)

*Click*

Atken: Hi Castor! Hey Castor! Hi! Castor! Hey, it's me, Phil! Remember me? Hi! Hey there.

*Click*

(You cringe a little and go make a cup of coffee)

*Click*

Atken: I know you like to use all them fancy words and highfalutin talkin' style... wait, why did I just turn Southern? Regardless, I think I would like to make a point. Seems like the kind of point that is worth making in the current environment and hell, I have access to a webcam... webcam videos seem all the rage these days... so I thought to myself "I want to reply to that nasty Castor man who has already forgotten I exist.". Then I clicked record. To be honest, I didn't really think this one through.

Still, it's funny to see you show off that belt of yours like some kind of all conquering warrior, the hero returning from the trenches for the victory parade. I'm starting to wonder if defeating Khristian Keller during the Ultratitle passed you the title of King Shit of Fuck Mountain by transitive property or some such but it certainly seems that way! Excuse my rude language but I feel that the point needed to be made.

I mean, you seem to be carrying yourself off like you beat me in the matter of seconds like the damn dog I am. Like the match was just something you had to just cruise your butt through before you got to the more important matters of trying to revive Eric Dane's career again.

I don't quite remember it that way. Now, my memory isn't the best, I admit, but I could've sworn that while you were a well rested man, a man without the care of the world, I was fighting my way through a tag tournament was a tag partner of questionable mental stability. Not sure if you were aware of that, other struggles don't seem to enter your radar of awareness. Hell, according to the Brawl repeat I listened to on Sirius STROKE XM radio on the way home that night, I even had a match right before I faced you for the title! Now, if that wasn't enough Castor, my friend, if that wasn't just leaving me as a battered and broken man, a man for you to just put out of his misery, if that just wasn't enough for the great Castor Strife, the future Ultratitle winner, the 400 days champion and all around great guy, you also had a damn clown car of interference to help momentum swing your way. Hell, most of them are in this little "pay attention to me!" stunt of a match at Reloaded. It's odd, that. If I was one to believe in conspiracy theories, I'd start to think that maybe someone in power encouraged that fisticuffs battle at the entrance way. That'd be downright silly though!

So, y'know, go enjoy that little commentators throne NFW is throwin' at ya. Maybe but on a crown you found at the local Burger King's rubbish bin that still stinks of children's tears and adult regret. Have a ball. Maybe you and Impulse can finally stare down at each other with MALICIOUS INTENT. Maybe you'll slap Legion so hard he'll become coherent. So many options to explore. Maybe through a series of comical mishaps, Rook Black will accidentally become a candidate for Governor of New York.

Just don't pretend I was just another hunk of meat in the pile. Don't pretend that you can ignore what happened at Brawl. I may be Eddie's afterthought, I'm not even sure that JJ knows who I am, I'm pretty sure I accidentally spilled coffee on Carlton once but one day, I'll be back up there. I know what I almost achieved at Brawl. I know I can achieve it, I may be a joke to most in NFW and rightly so but I was close. I was so very close.

 

[GreggG]

(CUT TO: Troy Windham, on the patio of his Long Island rental, hair frosted as usual, the Atlantic Ocean behind him.)

TROY: "Mike Randalls, there are a lot of things to call you. Tough? Yep. Insane? Possibly. Legendary? You don't hear me saying otherwise. But there are two things that I'm going to call you right now that no one else has ever called you. I'm going to say them to you. And I'm going to say them to the millions of people watching me right now, just as they have my entire career. And you're going to know that what I say is the truth. And they're going to know it, too.

The first word, Mike Randalls, is liar.

The second word, Mike Randalls, is a flunky.

Let's tackle the first. Now, Randalls, I'm glad you're playing history lesson. That's what you SHOULD be doing since... well... that's all you have. You're out here running me down because in 2002 -- ten years ago -- you cut Eddy Love's hair while I allegedly did nothing. Well, Mikey, I had a few other things on my plate back then. There's a guy by the name of Eli Flair who was my arch-rival back then. There are a lot of things to call Eli Flair -- industry parasite, politicker extraordinaire, footnote come to mind. But there's one thing that I will call Eli Flair, and this is his mortal enemy saying this, and that's the toughest person to ever step foot in a wrestling ring... and as tough as he was and is... guess what? I was tougher. So tough, in fact, that I went through four separate surgeries because of our battles. That could have been probably one, maybe zero, surgeries if I merely told a referee that I quit. But I didn't. Because I never will.

So, Randalls, excuse me if not fighting for the glory of Eddy Love's hair ten years ago doesn't exactly hit with the people watching at home. And, my man, neither does what you did in 1995. That's when you put a stake in GUNS' knee, a moment in time we'll never forget because you'll never let us. That was the defining moment of your career, Randalls... and that was SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO.

Randalls, I have a history and a past that exceed what everyone in this industry has ever done. There are so many things I've done that no one else can and will touch. World titles? Check. Ratings? Check. Marrying the EPW World Champion against her will? Done. Outlasting 60 other men, humiliating them all in the process, in the Gold Rush? Check. What have you done since then, save for doing things like not entering the Ultratitle for fear of a mark that will go down on your permanent record.

Randalls, I came out here before and called you a liar. Because you're not the legend you think you are. Instead, you're a relic.

As far as part two -- flunky, lackey, stooge.

Mike, I came after NFW for two reasons. This first? This place never showed me the respect that I both deserve and command, which is no shock to me since it's been run largely by Craig Miles and Eddie Mayfield, the two greatest TV champions but are still TV champions of all time. The second? I came here to put in another bullet point next to my Hall of Fame CV. I led the greatest faction of all-time. We invaded a league and took half of it over. Who else has done that? That's okay, I'll wait.

I listed two reasons. Did you hear me say 'Because Mike Randalls is here' anywhere on my list? No, because Mike, when I decided to run this promotion, your name wasn't anywhere near the left hand side of the website with your moveset nowhere to be found. That's because, Randalls, you weren't here.

You're acting like I've been sweating you my whole career and that I don't matter to you. Well, my man, you joined this league to come after me. More accurately, you came here at the behest of Eddie Mayfield. You came here at the snap of the nicotine-stained fingers of the greatest video games of all time... but a guy who is about the 402,322nd best wrestler of all-time.

You, Randalls, jumped when a man far beneath your supposed stature said jump. You, a man who lives in caves. A man who fancies himself as the ultimate rugged individualist in this sport, a man who walks the way.

What is the best way, Mike, to carry Eddie Mayfield's luggage? Do you use a shoulder strap or just go with wrist strength?

What is the best way, Mikey, to was Eddie's car? Do you put on an extra coat of Turtle Wax or just one?

What is the best way, Mikey, to address Eddie? Do you call him Mister Eddie or does a simple Sir do?

I call Eddie Mayfield a chump. And I'm calling you the chump's bitch.

As far as me, Randalls, riding lady luck twice?

Eli Flair couldn't make me say I quit ten years ago when I had a hell of a lot more to lose. Do you really think you'll make me say I Quit once, let alone twice? Do you really see me -- ME -- tapping to the dude who spends his spare time blowing into Eddie Mayfield's copy of Rad Racer for the original 8-Bit NES?

Do you really think that you'll have me knocked out at your feet twice? Do you really see me taken out by a guy who is willingly the submissive of the most overrated hack this industry has ever seen?

No, I can't see any of that happening, Randalls.

And I can't see me making you tap or beating you into unconsciousness, either.

That's not exactly my style, Mikey. My style has been to steal victories from nowhere, to take surefire defeats and make them into glorious moments of triumph. My thing has been to run long-time schemes and get my name on the marquee. You're going to hit me as hard as you can. And you're going to think you have me right where you want me. But that's when you realize that I've had you from the start and I'll have my way with you until the very end.

That's my style, Randalls.

Your style is the whole tucked in MMA Shirt thing but with facial hair. And that style was hot for a minute...

But it's not 1995 anymore, my man. It's 2012. I'm somehow still the coolest mofo alive.

And after Jones Beach, I'm still going to be that guy. And you?

Well, I'm sure Eddie Mayfield will still need someone to get on his hands and knees when he needs to step up to get to the Epyx Commodore 64 Box Set he has allll the way on the top shelf of the office in his two bedroom comfortably, but 'cozy' ranch house. That sounds like the ideal job for someone in retirement."

(FTB)

 

[Rook Black]

ROOK: "..."

FADE IN: ROOK BLACK shirtless, in striped track pants, adjusting the velcro straps on a pair of gunmetal colored gloves that extend partially up his forearm. He standing before a workbench with a vise and several pieces of hardware strewn about. Hung from a strap is the Triple Crown Championship. He tests the finger flexibility. Satisfied, he twists it at the wrist a few times, and tightens a strap on the left glove.

ROOK: "It is a mistake for everyone to consider Legion a non-factor. I have firsthand experience of the new, and shall we say more motivated, Legion and the violence he creates and perpetrates. This match plays to his strengths: his urge to indulge in violence both of the mindful and mindless variety, and his love for creating chaos. As an individual who is in pain, he's going to look for ways to share this pain with as many people as possible, which fits rather snug into a match with five competitors, ladders, and a spool of razor wire."

(ROOK flexes his fingers. The gloves will need to be broken in some before the match. He'll need to get comfortable with losing the tactile senses he has while wearing his usual fingerless gloves.)

ROOK: "It is a mistake to think that a casual kind of indifference to the violence in a Stairway to Hell Ladder match creates the appearance of a cool and aloof persona going into it. This is going to be dangerous. There's going to be blood. I am preparing to be a causal factor in the amount of blood."

(ROOK unstraps the gloves and removes them one at a time, hanging them from hooks above the workbench.)

ROOK: "It is a mistake to think that you can succeed in this type of match by not exploiting it's key feature. The decision to not use the razor wire is either extremely stupid or extremely arrogant or both. I am preparing to use it with extreme prejudice. I am preparing for folks to use it against me. While it's true that the people do love their cupcakes and fun, the people also love blood and violence and extremely scary weapons. And it is absolutely indisputable that they want their razor wire to be weaponized, since, after all, it's part of what they paid for. I personally find these self imposed limitations for alleged reasons of integrity to be downright insulting to me as a motivated competitor. I will do whatever I have to. And I will do it to any of you. To all of you. No exceptions."

(ROOK takes down the Triple Crown Championship and straps it around his waist. It's been polished recently, with a lot of attention to detail.)

ROOK: "It is a mistake not to come at an opportunity to fight for a chance to face the NFW World Heavyweight Champion with anything less then full one hundred percent absolutely driven motivation to win by any means necessary. There's an important nuance there though, which is for our Champion, Castor."

ROOK (finally turning toward the camera and leaning in to look directly at it): "The words are opportunity and fight. You'd raised the question regarding why did none of us just ask for the shot after all this time? Well, Castor, when you have a choice, would you rather ask for something, or take something? Besides, things mean more, they matter more, when you have to work hard for them. I think this would be something you'd know, since I would conjecture that you're the type of indulgent person who wants something only for as long as he doesn't have it, and when he has it, he doesn't want it anymore. But, I don't want to talk about you too much, since I am preparing to have a lot more conversations with you in the near future after I have won the privilege to be your next challenger. But I will also mention this much."

ROOK: "It would be a mistake to throw down the headset to join in the fun. I'm prepared to win at all costs, but there's a lot of very attractive value added opportunities what with all that I have to prove in regard to Dane and Impulse. Since I can't begin to fathom what whim or objective might overtake you should you decide to get a little closer to the action, I'm going to have to go with the default and assume you mean me harm, and that my attack on your person would be a very necessary pre-emptive action. Nothing personal. It's just business. The business of course being the culmination of my legacy. You know, that thing that I'm obsessed with."

ROOK: "It is a mistake to think that I've forgotten about you, Blaine. But with no contact or communication, I'm preparing for the possibility of a last minute substitution at this point."

ROOK: "As for Eric, it was a mistake to come to NFW. It was a mistake to attempt to tread on my reputation while trying to build your own all those months ago. In case you haven't figured it out, I will gladly do everything within my power to make sure that your entire existence here is as joyless and misery-laden as possible. Should all other elements come to failure at RELOADED I am prepared to at least take satisfaction in ruining you. Not that I think you're a weakling, not that I think you're defenseless, but just that you are in no way prepared for what's coming. I am very patient, but I have waited a long time to hurt you, and I plan in indulging myself in just a little bit of long overdue retaliation."

ROOK: "Mistakes were made."

ROOK: "But your mistakes are my opportunities. Opportunities, I am prepared to exploit."

ROOK: "If I am not the one to claim the spool of weaponized razor wire from the hook elevated above the ring, then I will take it from whomever holds it, and I will will use the fullest extent of my cunning, creativity, and ruthlessness with that weapon to neutralize three competitors and defeat one."

ROOK: "You can consider it inevitable."

(FADE)
(TO)
(BLACK)

 

[LQJT86C]

(CUTTO: CASTOR STRIFE chewing on an unlit cigar in his hotel room)

CASTOR: "You say earn, I hear wait. And a true champion...waits on no man. This title (pats the belt sitting next to him), has been there for the taking, IS there for the taking, will BE there for the taking. All you have to do is put your little Nikes on, and run Forest, run. (smiles) I can tell you who will be going after your title in the near future: NO ONE. Not after you just admitted that a three year run with the damn thing won't even (rabbit ears) EARN THEM a shot at mine. Way to devalue the Triforce. You just keep on serving those fries, Rook, while everybody else passes you. Suppose that if you were meant to be anything more than Assistant Manager, the Gods would have seen to it by now. (flicks cigar at camera) Fade it."

(FADEOUT)

 

[User Poets]

Allegory

"Just when I thought all was going quiet, and I could have a nice, unencumbered path to my final set of thoughts, our beloved Champion decides to have a say."

"So it goes."

(FADEIN... Canned footage of Castor Strife in action against someone. No idea who it is: I was looking for 'generic wrestling with Castor' and by george, I found it.

Maybe that's his name: Generic Wrestling.

Anyways...)

"Hi. I'm Randall Knox, and I'm a Conservative."

...

"No. Actually, I'm not."

"But I can see how you could make that mistake, Rook. After all, I hang out with musicians and bartenders and people who work hard for their money, people who believe in equal rights and separation of religion from every other facet of life, and I don't have any right to tell a woman what to do with the real estate in her gut."

"And I referred to a corporation, New Frontier Wrestling, via innuendo, as a sentient entity. So of course, I subscribe to the full tenets of a political belief system based solely on an anecdote."

Makes perfect sense to me, after all, why wouldn't the existentialist enigma choose that moment to be Literal Rook?

"I really want to know, Rook - why isn't the New Frontier a sentient entity? And because you seem to suddenly lack the ability to think past the surface because it would apparently give you a verbal and psychological edge on your opponents, I'll elaborate."

"This company was founded by Craig Miles."

"Its two Season Format champions were Michael Manson and Nova."

"The New Frontier's former Champions include Nova, Felix Red, and Joe the Plumber."

"And? Yori Yakamo Jr had the Dildonites."

...

"Are you prepared to say that this company hasn't gained some semblance of self - awareness?"

That's what I thought.

And there was a static cut to the NFW Season 2 finals, where what happens in Mike Randalls' locker room stays in Mike Randalls' locker room.

"So you took a piece of quasi - poetic rhetoric, Rook, and turned it into a political tool with the success rate of Eric Dane in championship matches. Congratulations."

"But the point remains, and it's relevant to what you were saying, Castor."

"I can't speak for anyone else in this match, but the reason I didn't just ask you for a rematch was because I didn't deserve one."

And not in the Eric Dane sense of the word.

"You and I were the co-number-one-contenders last summer, Castor. We beat Dan Ryan and Dorchester Stratton and were set to face off for the vacant belt, and you won."

"You pinned me, clean and fair, in the middle of the ring, which, to my way of thinking, ended my World Title aspirations."

"I'm not Eric Dane. I don't take a decisive loss and use it as a springboard for demands for greater glory."

Although, he might have a point, he didn't get to use his most effective wrestling hold, the old 'Tap the Champion on the shoulder and when he turns around, shoot him in the back of the head, roll him up, hook the tights and use the ropes for leverage as the only way to get a pinfall' suplex. He might've actually gotten the three with that.

"The New Frontier decides its Champions and Challengers, and all we can hope to do is be in the right place at the right time to use our applicable skills to earn immortality."

"Don't believe me? Felix Red was World Champion. After he lost, he floundered around for a bit before fading away."

"Kin Hiroshi lost the title. Gone. Dan Ryan lost the title. Gone. Nova lost the title. Gone. Joe the Plumber gave the title up. Gone."

"Other than Kin, they all tried to come back. Other than Nova, none of them made a palpable difference."

"So you tell me, does the New Frontier choose its Champion?"

"Currently, Castor, it's you."

Static cut to last summer, when Castor Strife pinned me in the middle of the ring.

"On one hand, I didn't deserve a title rematch. On the other, the Windham Clan was trying to destroy this company and I refused to allow them to do so."

"Is it my fault that they're here? Maybe it is. Maybe a year - long battle was just my cross to bear. Would I do things different now, Castor?"

"Maybe."

"But what's the point of hindsight?"

"Think about it, Castor."

"You've spent the past year telling me that it's my fault the Windhams are here. Zippy the Wonderdog brings up my name every chance he gets: he says it's because he wants to talk about how I'm a fraud and a loser without offering a shred of evidence to support his claims, but really he just realizes that his entire identity is based on me."

It's kind of like how Troy Windham refers to my supposed grandfather as his footnote and an afterthought, but in the six years since their last match, I've heard my boy bring Troy up exactly once: before the elimination match. Tells you who the loser really is, no?

"Me? I don't regret a minute. Did I screw this company over? I just spent a year trying to fix things, and stole the show every night in the process."

And I showed just how powerless the Windham Clan actually is. Not a bad days' work.

"But your perception of us, Castor, is laughable."

"Rook Black has a title of his own to defend."

"Legion was the Grand Prix Champion, and has had his own agenda.

"Blaine Hollywood was doing the Tag Team thing and sucking at tournament wrestling."

"Eric Dane stole his shot and was bitch - slapped by the New Frontier and its Champion."

Yes, I complimented you. Deal with it.

"And I put my energies toward defending the New Frontier. My work put me in a position to earn a shot, instead of simply asking for it."

"That's how this company has always worked, Castor."

"As far as your perceptions? You see us as you want to see us."

"You put us in whatever stereotype you can think of."

"In the simplest terms, and the most convenient definitions."

Static.

"Who is fighting for a shot at your belt, Castor?"

Cut to Rook Black.

"A brain."

Cut to myself, the I in Team that stands for Impulse.

"An athlete."

Cut to Legion, covered in blood, from the final showdown with Varga.

"A basketcase."

Cut to Blaine Hollywood, getting a manicure. Not sure of the time, date, or place. Rose found this footage, I don't ask questions.

"A princess."

Cut to Eric Dane, announcing his ill - begotten title shot several months ago.

"And a criminal."

Fade to black.

"It's up to the New Frontier, which of us will be able to use our skills to stand in the ring with Castor Strife."

​

And we're spent.

 

[Justin]

Re: Allegory

[Eric Dane.]

"You keep talking about how you defended the NFW from the Windhams, junior, but nobody is buying that line of bullshit. Why? Because they're still here. You beat up Bobby Jack and you lost to JJ."

[Pregnant pause.]

"I don't see how any of that is relevant to anything."

[More pause BECAUSE MOAR.]

"And neither does anyone else."

[End.]

 

[EastPrez]

THE PROBLEM WITH CHILDREN

(FADEIN: To ESEN WORLD HEADQUARTERS, spedifically the 8[SUP]th[/SUP] , 9[SUP]th[/SUP] and tenth floors, NFW Global Offices, 420 Avenue of the Americas, New York, Midtown. We are in the corner executive office of the NFW President. The office walls are adorned with 13 large framed ring photos of the NFW Champions on the night they were crowned, and then in a shadowbox case that goes across the main wall, above the mega-sized Plasma 3D TV is a replica or a retired version of EVERY SINGLE NFW championship belt, even the burned and resoldered Mid-Atlantic Championship which was incenerated by then-Commissioner MICHAEL MANSON. The camera pans over to the long cherry oak desk where sitting on the edge of the desk is NFW President, and also, surprise—they’re the same person—‘Hot Property’ EDDIE MAYFIELD, dressed in his wrestling gear – black ‘wet-look’ tightpants with flames running up the side, white traditional boots, wrists and forearm wraps and the newest Eddie Mayfield shirt – the Presidential Seal which looks more like the Ramones logo than it should feel comfortable with. “EDDIE DENNIS MAYFIELD HEEL” wrapping around a circle with an inset of an eagle and laurels, clutching the HEEL BIBLE and a Fork in it’s talons. MAYFIELD leans the wrong way ashing his Camel Red, and wincing. In the background, almost blending in between two floor plants and the American flag, is COJONES MERCADO, wearing jungle cammo fatigues and his CAJONES shirt. He icegrills the camera, patting a steel chair with an airbrushed image of PETER WINDHAMS FACE!)

MAYFIELD: “Reloaded 13 means a few things to me, Peter Windham. For one, it heralds the first NFW appearance of PRESIDENT y (That was for Cojones – I’m working on my Spanish) SINGLES COMPETITOR, Hot Property Eddie Mayfield, who happens to also be the Cat’s Meow, and to hear Troy Windham say it, (laughs and takes a drag) the WORST WRESTLER OF ALL TIME THAT WAS OVER. (COJONES grips the legs of his chair, grinding his hands into them!) Yeah, I know, I know. I’m the worstest. It means, Peter Windham, that this also heralds the beginning of a. . . (pause) journey. At the start, LEFT SHOULDER BUTTON and look into my inventory, and all I have is a pack of cigarettes (laughs) and two sub-screens with nothing there. I have a LONG road ahead of me, but I WILL LEVEL UP and get to the end of this mission, and the first XP achievement is ERASING YOUR ASS FROM NFW. ‘BLADADOOP! New Unlockable – Peter Windham Dumped on his Head!’ Then the cut-scene will be you getting FMV-videoed into a waiting ambulance and I’ll never have to look at your Aspy face ever again.

“Peter Windham, You have a receipt coming from Lil’ Ol’ Eddie. For backing the wrong horse, for HITTING ME WITH A GOD[BLEEEEP!] MINI VAN and for evem EXISITING, when we BOTH know you would have been better off left off in the back of your momma’s throat or wadded up in a Wendy’s napkin than EVER being conceived. I’m gonna make you pay for this whole Windham Clan business, Peter Windham, and I won’t be done until I ERADICATE you and the rest of your drooping faced partners. I hoped you’ve enjoyed your free lunch, Pete, because at Reloaded 13, your old pals at Sperm Bank are going to be rolling their eyes and putting out a specimen cup and a dog-eared copy of Black Tail for you, everyone’s favorite Wednesday Wanker, Problem Child, AKA Pete Windham, AKA Mr. Just Got Concussed by a Chair after I pin you, then I FIRE YOU, curtosey of Cajones Mercado, Chairman of Talent Relations.

"See you at Reloaded, Pete, and pack all your shi[BLEEEP!] – you’re leaving the island and ain’t coming back.”

(FADEOUT)

 

[jediPREZ]

Expectations

(SFX OPEN: Needle spinning on vinyl, followed by a light Native American drumbeat…)

“There will come a time, when all these words you’ve thrown my Way…”

(MUSICUP: “L'estasi dell'oro” – Ennio Morricone. The rolling ivories slowly harmonizing with the sad brass…)

“…come back and haunt your dying day.”

(FADEIN: An overhead panoramic and AIRWOLF tour of sand dunes, sparsely surrounding deadwood trees and a long, straight dirt road stretching towards the horizon… As the fly-by shot follows the Way of the road, it twists and turns over with the strings section singing along…)

“You WILL stand, Troy.”

(CUTTO: Over the last hills, the camera-view cascades it’s view down into an expansive valley housing a graveyard…)

“Not for your Clan, not for your brother. Not for the fans, not for the cameras.”

(CUTTO: Back to a swerving, swooping shot into the graveyard…and row after row of white crosses, stuck into mounds of dirt. Some with faded paint or etchings to signify the lost, some unmarked, unknown or weathered away from the years long gone by.)

“But for what we will both BELIEVE.”

(CUTTO: Clouds start shadowing the valley, the sky becoming overcast as the camera creeps along somewhere in the middle of the graveyard… closing in on a man kneeling with his back turned…)

“You have waited your whole career to wrestle the match of your life…”

(CUTTO: ‘THE WOLF’ MIKE RANDALLS barefoot and kneeling beside an open, unmarked grave with a shovel staked through the ground behind him. A small wooden box rests comfortably on a rock next to a small machete. As the wind gently blows, RANDALLS’ auburn hair sways across his face, which is currently staring into the grave. Slowly, the camera closes in as the music cuts on the warbling call and response whistle of Il buono, Il cattivo, Il brutto.)

RANDALLS: “I define mine by beating the man believing that.”

(RANDALLS stands up and grabs the shovel, he’s wearing a torn up black t-shirt and blue jeans frayed at the bottom…RANDALLS digs into the dirt.)

RANDALLS: “You misunderstand my intentions in pushing you towards this corner, Troy. (RANDALLS digs again…) For months, you’ve been getting on the airwaves, soundwaves and morse code operating boards demanding YOUR match with Mike Randalls. You’ve RESENTED Mike Randalls in your own words, Troy… resented the shadow… (RANDALLS digs…) the accolades… and when I question why you didn’t have the balls to do ANYTHING about it...”

(RANDALLS puts the blade of the shovel into the dirt, leaning on the handle for a moment…)

RANDALLS: “The world got reminded that Flair pulled your finger.”

(RANDALLS starts digging again…)

RANDALLS: “The hypocrisy was neither alarming nor surprising… it’s interesting how you feel inadequate in your relationship with JJ. (RANDALLS digs) I’m sure your bags seem heavier than they should… (RANDALLS digs again) Clearly Troy, the world’s known my allegiance with Craig Miles... But on a deeper level, don’t underestimate a crimson star logo I’ve chosen to help build. See, when the locker room couldn’t get its sh(BLEEP!)t together and I did get that call from Eddie, I could have walked away. (RANDALLS digs…) Instead, we’re all a year removed, you’ve nearly lost your whole Clan… you’re trying to stop the bleeding, Troy… but it’s too late….”

(RANDALLS tosses the shovel aside and returns to his kneeling position, rain starting to drizzle down…)

RANDALLS: “Not all of that is due to myself, Troy... but the moment your eyes met mine at the Alamodome, deep down you knew your fate… you KNEW this was unavoidable. It’s why you protected Ryan until he turned, it’s why JJ will be more of your legacy in New Frontier than your own name.”

(RANDALLS picks up the wooden box, caressing it in his hands…)

RANDALLS: “You think you know what I’m capable of...”

(RANDALLS drops the wooden box into the grave and then grabs the nearby machete, taking the blade and cutting his hand… blood trickling into the grave.)

RANDALLS: “You think that if you get a single pinfall in this match, I won’t respond by trying to paralyze you.”

(RANDALLS’ eyes slowly lower to a straight-on glare with the camera…)

RANDALLS: “After everything you have challenged in me… after everything you have charged against the Crimson Star … after everything you EXPECT of this match…”

(RANDALLS cocks his head, watching the blood drip down off his hand…FADETOBLACK)

“Why would you expect anything less?”