RELOADED 14: Perth

[jediPREZ]

RP DEADLINE: 12/23 (11:59:59PM Astral Standard Time)
IN-STORY DATE: 12/29
RP NOTES: FOUR RP LIMIT!

NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING PRESENTS:
THE DOWN UNDER BARELY EVEN KNEW HER TOUR!
RELOADED 14 @ PERTH ARENA


*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

NFW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
Stipulation TBD
CASTOR STRIFE (c) vs. IMPULSE

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

BEST OF FIVE TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH #4
Australian Rules Tuxedo Match
DORCHESTER STRATTON (c) - 2 vs. JACK BRYANT - 1

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Card Subject to Change...​

 

[LQJT86C]

Guns, Germs, and Glass (THE CUTTING ROOM FLOOR)

(FADEIN: Empty arena in the background. In the foreground: point blank shot of a 30-foot high SCAFFOLD. Below are stacked tables, two sets, set up on a GLASS SURFACE that is raised about ten inches above the canvas. This is no makeshift scaffold; it’s a solid, well built structure. There is a girl, however, hanging upside down from one of the beams. She grips it with her palms, pulls herself over to a hang, and swings onto a lower beam that shakes when she grabs it. The girl looks familiar to you; she was last seen in Salem. For now, you can call her LUCKY. Now she’s standing, balanced on the lower beam, looking down and smiling nervously at the tables and glass that she would surely crash through on a misstep. She measures, and leaps to the top beam, hanging and looking across the arena with her green eyes that are shadowed purple. Her hair is dyed black on the right side, blonde on the left, and as her slender but well-defined limbs hang from the beam, she glances down past her black spandex, below her toes, at the 30 ft drop and laughs nervously. The camera pulls back and CASTOR STRIFE is in the shot, looking over his shoulder back at her. This Lucky, Lucky girl executes a practice pull up on the bar before pulling herself back to an upside down hang. She waves to Castor with her right hand, the arm of which is covered with a full-sleeve tattoo of mythological gods and monsters.

Castor keeps his head turned, watching the girl hang and swing from the scaffold beams effortlessly, like a child on a playground, as the camera brings him into focus. The NFW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP belt is slung over his shoulder, and his blonde hair is combed back on one side)

CASTOR: “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds. So said J. Robert Oppenheimer, who quoted the Bhagavad-Gita when he witnessed the explosion at the trinity nuclear test, the bomb which he designed. He split the atom that killed the kamikaze, and brought the Samurai nation to its knees.”

(He turns to face the camera, exhales and adjusts the gold belt)

“You see, Randall? There are no hard-fast rules to the human spirit. Oppenheimer didn’t question Japanese willpower, he just broke it. The Code of the Samurai couldn’t save them – why should yours save you? It won’t. Only I could have done that, but nobody said you chose your enemies wisely.”

CASTOR: “I feel I know you well enough to call you by your first name, Randall. Feel like I’m the only one who does. And perhaps you’ve earned the same right. So what would you call me? Castor Strife? J. Palazzo? Who or what am I to you? Some say I was made in Hollywood, born in…where? Arizona? Nevada? Los Angeles? Italy? Germany?”

“Stan Vick once said I just…dropped into his hands one day, like magic. Sometimes I’m not even sure of my origins. But somewhere along the line, Randall, Impulse…I figured out that it doesn’t matter where I started. What’s important…is where I’ll be tomorrow. May-be Arizona. May-be Los Angeles. Or Tokyo. Or Perth. I am everywhere. And wherever I go, I split the atom.”
(Lifts his foot off the seat and turns his body, walking a few steps to the right)

CASTOR: “I walk this roadway of burning cars, hollow buildings, raised boils, melted skin, crystallized sand, mutant pregnancies, and poisoned air. I do this, not you. I have no equal. No one can beat me. It’s all over for them, Randall.”

“I extinguished the Hellfire before it was kindled. My very presence convinced Rook Black that it was a good idea to hold onto that belt for another five years. Nova and Harmen are all good right there in the tag division, thank me very much. There’s…there’s nobody left!”

(Smiles wide; silently mouths “Nobody left”)

CASTOR: “You told me to name a stipulation, so look behind me and see THE CUTTING ROOM FLOOR: a thirty-foot high scaffold above two sets of stacked tables which stand on a thick platform of glass covering the entire canvas. First man to fall through the glass loses. And this is my parting gift to you – a tailor-made death trap guaranteed to split the atom and break one of us for good. It is the most dangerous match ever devised in NFW, not to be broadcast in CGI. This one’s in the flesh, IM-PULSE. This one cuts.”

“This is your chance, friend, your last chance, to end the nightmare. You can bring down Castor Strife without needing to pin his shoulders. Even I admit, this match poses considerable risks for me. Anything can happen once we’re up there.”

(Shrugs)

CASTOR: “What can I say? Risk-taking has been the signature of my career. Nobody puts themselves on the line like I do, and that’s what sets me apart. You’re no coward, but bravery without victory is like the sun behind a cloud: only beautiful when you can bathe in it.”

(LANA DREMIRE enters the scene as the camera pulls back. She looks over at the Lucky, Lucky girl hanging from the scaffold beams)

LANA: “HEY! Are you kidding me?! GET OFF THE SCAFFOLD YOU F[BLEEP]ING MANIAC!”

CASTOR: “She’s fine.”

LANA: “If she breaks it, she pays for it. She’s also going to kill herself.”

(The girl swings from beam to beam, but her grip slips. She yelps loudly, but barely hangs on with one hand before laughing again)

LANA: “JEEZ! Come on hun, get the hell down!”

CASTOR: “I wouldn’t worry about her. She’s never broken a bone in her life. Years ago a truck ran right at her. She laid down, and it passed right over her. Not a scratch.”

LANA: “That can’t be right.”

CASTOR: (smiles, looks at camera) “Some people don’t need to play with loaded dice. Sometimes, luck draws you. And it draws you again, and again…until you’re the living language of fortune itself.”

“Some people don’t break – that would be Laurie (nods in the direction of the Lucky girl with the number 7 printed on her sleeveless shirt).”

“Some don’t bend or waver – like you, Randall.”

"Take a good, long look at that death trap, at my beautiful CUTTING ROOM FLOOR. It doesn't leave much room for error. Hmm...some people won't play with chance at all." (SPLICE-CUT: JJ DEVILLE)

“But I…I don’t lose. I can’t.”

(Looks down, breathes in hard above his gold plated World Championship; looks back up)

“I won’t.”

(FADEOUT)

 

[User Poets]

Re: Guns, Germs, and Glass (THE CUTTING ROOM FLOOR)

Knoxnote: You should really listen to this one for this one.



"The Vegas line's currently got me as a Forty to One underdog in this match."

"I'm surprised that many people think I've got a chance."

"Yeah, I said it - I insult myself so you don't have to."

(FADEIN... on the odds board itself.

Okay, so it's homemade, and it's on my computer. I don't know if they have one or what they look like, I've only been to Vegas once and it was to wrestle for the New Frontier. I didn't even look in the casinos.

But you get the point. McGinnis programmed all the matches in and the odds are accurate and updated in real time.

It's the little details.

Anyways...)

"It's old, isn't it, Castor? You're already talking about your next title defenses and planning for the next year and a half of Castorvision. And why not? You've been the New Frontier World Champion for over a year now. You're the Ultratitle Champion. You are Death, destroyer of worlds."

"Who am I? I'm the guy who's got what I think we can accurately refer to as half a victory against you in three one on one matches. Maybe you're right to have dismissed me in Salem with those four words."

Impulse won't beat me.

"Things can change, Castor."

"If they didn't, you wouldn't be holding that belt. You wouldn't be the top wrestler in the world today."

"Do you remember Crash 50, Castor?"

I do.

"We restarted the match after I got counted out because you whined about not getting a fair shake. We restarted the match after you tapped out because you whined about not tapping out, and you got yourself a return match after I'd already wrestled once that night because Crash 50 ultimately ended in a double pin."

Can you believe it, Castor? You were whining. Pathetically. I can't even listen to your commentary during that match and believe that you're the same wrestler.

"That was still the proudest moment of my career, because we outshone the Plumber, the Bug, the Emperor, the Druggie, and the Awesome in their Pentagram match that was supposed to be the biggest match in the New Frontier's History."

"Winning would've been nice, but I'll take immortality on tape."

Things can change, Castor.

"Your career took off from that point, while mine sort of stayed put. We both kept on rising right up to the point where we both had an equal chance at your title belt, and that's when you took off and left everyone behind."

"But you have everything to gain in this match, Castor. You're right, there's nobody left. You're in the position everyone thought the Plumber would be in: you're nearly to the point where you can call yourself the FOREVER CHAMPION."

"Nova and Harmen? Taggin' up. Rook and Bryant? Busy with their own belts. Troy is gone and never earned a shot to begin with, Randalls is in the same place. You certainly showed Dan Ryan who's boss."

Wait, no. You didn't beat Dan Ryan.

I beat Dan Ryan.

"I'm the only one left, Castor. Except that I'm an afterthought. You already made this film, and there was no question at the end over who was Keyser Söze."

"Well."

"Godfather II may have been the greatest movie in cinematic history."

"But there's one little twist that turns it all on its head. You have everything to gain, Castor."

"And you have everything to lose."

"The Belt. The Legend. The Reputation. All will stand for you, or all will crumble under The Hubris."

"You defeated me clean and easy in a match under my rules, Castor... what will happen if the reverse takes place? What will happen in the Cutting Room Floor?"

"I'll tell you what won't happen."

"You won't break me."

How can you? You already did.

"You won't pin me."

Obvious.

"And you'll never intimidate me."

Scaffold. Tables. Glass. And I still don't regret telling you that I wanted you to choose a stipulation.

"Many things will take place on December 29th, Castor. The Mayans will be extinct. The Doomsday prophets will look like fools. You may lose the New Frontier Championship or you may carry the belt into your third calendar year."

"No matter who is able to walk out of Perth with the belt, Castor,"

-or who is able to walk out at all-

"You're one of the few wrestlers on this roster that I respect, no matter how much or how little that respect is reciprocated. I applauded your Ultratitle victory, even over my mentor Eli Flair, because it meant that the New Frontier was recognized as the number one promotion in the world in yet another way. If you were facing off against anyone but me at Reloaded, I'd be pulling for you the entire way because not only are you capable of beating anyone at any time, but you're a strong Champion who, despite the films you make, has represented this company with strength and dignity."

Believe it or not, that's all I ask of the Champion of my place of business.

"You don't see things in black and white terms. You don't do the math when I speak or act and decide that by some sort of arbitrary numbers, I'm either a hero or a fraud because I'm not shy about expressing my opinions."

"My wrestling is what matters to you, and I appreciate that."

"And while you've already proven yourself - so far - to be the better man in a straight wrestling match, you should have the advantage here. This is a match of your choosing, and it's so far beyond my comfort zone that I should have my head examined for agreeing to your terms sight unseen."

"But this is just another obstacle to overcome. And while, if I don't win this match I can't ever justify another title shot as long as you're the New Frontier's Champion, I also fully intend to surprise the world by proving my worth as the Marathon Man that Kerry O'Connor declared me, and surviving this match."

"Surviving you."

"Becoming what I always dreamed of being: the World Champion of the New Frontier."

"Forty to one?"

"I'm starting to like those odds."

Fade.

 

[Biron]

Cape Buff


(CUT TO: Jack Bryant, sporting a thick, but kempt beard, leaning against his black 1955 Chevy Pickup in the crushed rock drive of his Birmingham home. He’s dressed in a pair of Wrangler jeans, a gray “1975” Birmingham Vulcans tee, tan cowboy boots, and a backwards, black ballcap. Aside from the butterfly stiches on his right orbital, a hint of white medical bandaging can be seen on his forehead.)

JB: “ Ah’ve been smacked n’ tha’ chops .. plain an’ simple. ”

(Jack runs his right hand over his beard.)

JB: “ Happens from time ta’ time n’ this sport a’ ours. It ain’t ’bout if it’s gonna happen ‘er when it’s gonna happen, tha’ only thing that matters a lick is how a fella responds ta' it. Some folks fold up like a cheap tent when they’re faced with that sorta adversity. Others beat feet, get tha’ hell right outta Dodge. Then there’s tha’ kind that wipe tha’ blood off their lip, smirk, an’ go back fer more. Everybody’s got a differin’ opinion on tha’ best course a’ action. Heck, since tha’ beginnin’, Fiona’s been tellin’ me Ah needed ta’ get far, far away from ol’ Dorchester. Doctors are sayin’ that Ah’m hurtin’ an’, fer mah own safety, Ah should raise mah white flag an’ concede defeat ta’ tha’ Country Club Assassin. Sure, I’m banged up a bit. Seems like somebody’s twistin’ a knife n’ mah ribs every time Ah take a deep breath. (sends a gob of spit into the ground) Mah head feels like Ma’s doin’ double-time on tha’ dinner bell triangle. Ah reckon all that’s jus’ a reminder that Ah’m still alive an’ kickin’. (smirks) That Ah’ve been n’ a knock-down-drag-out fight. Ah know ‘lotta folks are gonna say that Ah’m crazier than a shithouse mouse fer sayin’ so, but Ah asked fer this .. fer a war, no quarter given. Ah wanted ta’ test mah mettle against tha’ very best n’ tha’ Frontier. ”

(Jack nods.)

JB: “ Ah’m not gonna sell ya’ short, Dorchester .. yer a top talent ‘round here. Ya’ll do anything ta’ stand atop tha’ heap. You sold yer soul ta’ tha’ Devil a long time ago an’ now ya’ve become him. Ya’ went from a whinin’ emo punk ta’ one vicious sonuvabitch. Ya’ retired tha’ legends that were Joe tha’ Plumber an’ Wildstar. Mike Randalls is laid up on tha’ shelf ‘cause a’ you. An’ now, with a whole helluva lotta proddin’ by yours truly, ya’ set yer sights on ol’ Jack Bryant. Yer lookin’ ta’ stop this good ol’ boy that some say can’t be stopped. (scowls) So far, so good, huh? Ah mean yer holdin’ a two-ta’-one lead n’ our Best a’ Five. Mah TV strap is sittin’ on yer fireplace’s mantle. Fer now, you got it all, Dorchester. Golden belts, money, an’ yer lil’ group a’ Black Hats are runnin’ roughshod over tha’ Frontier. After all them years a stabbin’ yer friends n’ tha’ back, a’ takin’ advantage a’ anybody an’ everybody, tha’ opp’rtunity ta’ end tha' series is within’ yer grasp. A single match stands b’tween you an’ that immortality, ‘chester. Jus’ one match. ”

(Jack leans forward and folds his arms across his chest.)

JB: “ Ah’ve seen ya’ pattin’ yerself on tha’ back. Yanno that mah back’s pressed firmly against tha’ wall. Ya’ reckon that ya’ have me right where ya’ want me, right? Ya’ got ol’ Jack Bryant on his heels. Ah’m outnumbered. Ah’m wounded. Tha’ sight a’ Jack Bryant movin’ backward has ya’ as giddy. That’s as fine as frog hair, far as Ah’m concerned. Jus’ remember, ‘chester, that a wounded animal, a wounded man can be tha’ most dangerous. Ya’ve heard tha’ stories at yer cocktail parties. One a’ them rich yuppies that went huntin’ Cape Buff n’ Africa, wounded one, tracked tha’ bastard ‘nta tha’ brush, an’ (slams fist into palm) dead. ‘cause sometimes, boy, when yer figurin’ that ya’ got tha’ upperhand, tha’ rug gets pulled out from under ya an' yer on yer head n' a split-second. Ask yer buddy, DeVille. He stacked tha’ deck against me .. had me fight five ‘er six a’ tha’ Sweetwater Boys before Ah could get ta’ him. He thought he had this fella lined up fer tha’ killshot, but, when Ah finally got mah mitts on tha’ lil’ weasel, it was a real short night fer him. He ended up curled up n’ a ball, blubberin’ like a damned baby. Ah left with tha’ World Television Title slung over mah shoulder. That's tha' kind a' man yer facin'. Ah’m fixin’ on that strap bein’ back on mah shoulder after Reloaded, Dorchester. When it’s all said an’ done, when tha’ dust settles, yer gonna realize that all them steps forward that brought ya’ closer ta’ yer dream were jus’ gettin’ ya’ n’ deeper an’ deeper with one pissed-off Southern boy. (flashes a crooked grin) See you n’ Perth, bub. ”

(FTB)

 

[LQJT86C]

Flies Meet Spiders Again

“What do I see 'cross the way?
See myself molded in clay.
Stares at me, yeah I’m afraid,
Changing the shape of his face.”

-Alice in Chains, Angry Chair

(FADEIN: Old-time projector footage of an educational film on insects. A brown spider works its legs frenzied, spinning a trapped fly into a blanket grave. The narrator drones on, but the volume is turned down as CASTOR STRIFE begins to talk over the film)

CASTOR: (V/O) “Once, I spoke to you of flies and spiders. Do you remember? Can you? Or do the lessons of painful memories get filtered into the place in your mind where boys fear to tread?”

“I can’t imagine the feeling of terror, dread, helplessness that you and so many others felt when my terror oncoming reached the gates of this establishment. Flies can avoid just about everything, Randall. You could swing your hands and swat a spatula and never kill one. And that’s what NFW was in the years before I re-emerged: a house of flies.” When flies collect, they rule the air, rule the kingdom.”

“But flies cannot avoid a spider. I had my eyes trained on you all for so long…and in the years since, I have eaten. I have eaten.”

(LENS BURN and CUTTO: CASTOR STRIFE walking the landscape of rural Australia. His tight maroon leather jacket is unzipped, and the NFW World Heavyweight Championship is strapped around his waist)

CASTOR: “There aren’t many flies left here; just a lot of maggots. But nobody wants the spider dead, because he eats the mosquitoes (SPLICE CUTTO: JJ Deville), keeps the people free of disease. You’re the last of the flies, Randall. You have watched me eat the world alive. I may have let you walk out of the arena last time, but things change. (nods) Yes, you said it best: things change. For better, and sometimes worse.”

“Some things stay the same, though. Like you, Randall. In fact, that’s what I admire about you most – consistency. I can always count on you to be the same man you were yesterday.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve spoken to me about draws, and half victories.”

(The smokey but peculiarly smooth intone of his voice speaks matter-of-factly. Castor continues to peruse the patchy wasteland of the Australian outback, as four-legged reptiles crawl at the ground through mammal skulls and spurts of weeds)

CASTOR: “To be honest, friend, I don’t know what half-victory is. The mere suggestion offends me. It sounds too close to defeat. Do you find moral comfort in being champion of half-victories? Of course you do. That’s your path, Randall, always leading you round to your petty, narrow personal focus.”

“Still trapped in yesterday.”

(Crouches down to scoop a lizard into his hands, and gives playful chase when it escapes. A smile comes across his face, and as the camera follows him into the next frame, we come upon the mysterious young girl known as LUCKY SEVEN, whose back is turned to the camera. The wind kicks up sand around her and Castor, blowing her 50/50 dyed hair into a black and blonde stream. She is wearing black boots and auburn leggings beneath a shoulderless pastel-colored skirt; her long, thin muscle tone gives pop to her deltoids, the athletic feminine build of a gymnast, or martial artist, or both. Castor walks by her and gently palms the top of her head; a comrade, a disciple, or both)

CASTOR: “Let me tell you what I remember about Crash 50. I walked into TD Garden not having wrestled a singles bout in over five years, and when it was over, I had immediately elevated myself to co-number two World status. I made you leverage everything, and nearly surpassed you in one evening. Months later, I did, and haven’t looked back since. But you…you never left Boston. Still trapped in the past. Still writhing in my web.”

(Points to the camera gravely)

“I warned you, Randall, prior to our World Title match in North Charleston. I warned you not to fight the man you met at Crash 50. Things change, yes, and they did. And you failed to adapt to that reality.”

“So I warn you again: I am not the same man I was three years ago, or last year, or yesterday. Every time you think you’ve figured out my game, I roll the dice and enhance my position. This time, there’s more than a title in play. Misjudge me, and you may never walk again. These are the stakes. This is my challenge.”

(As he continues walking into the next frame, we come upon ONE MAN, TWO MAN, THREE MAN, FOUR…each of different shapes and sizes, but all wearing a black cone-like velvet bag over their heads, similar to Abu Ghraib prisoners)

CASTOR: “Behold the MYSTERY – just who is The Guild? Ahhh, that’s the trillion dollar question! Who. They could be someone you know – a neighbor, a friend, your doctor…or your priest. I keep their identities secret because the fun is in the guessing, but I will make one promise to you Randall: they aren’t interested in you. Battle lines are being drawn. Rough days are ahead. The New Frontier in 2013 is no place for cowards, and when we meet at Reloaded, the Cutting Room Floor will make a coward out of one of us.”

“It ends in Perth: this world isn’t big enough for us both. I’ve devised the match so that somebody gets eliminated for good and final. And for the first time in many years, DOUBT has crept into my head.”

(Runs fingers through his hair, and grabs two handfuls of blonde, pulling tightly. His palms cover his eyes, and Castor falls onto his knees dramatically. He begins to shake his head)

“I don’t know if I can survive this one. This is no ordinary fight! One slip, and the glass will tear me to shreds. All I’ve worked for, BROKEN into shards and embedded in my skin! I might have gone and done it, Randall. I might have destroyed myself this time!”

(Castor begins to shake. Is he crying? No – as he pulls his hands away from his face, we see that he’s smiling, holding in laughter)

CASTOR: “And I feel fine…(laughing)…and I feeeel fine! (subtly mimicking the melody of that famous R.E.M. song. Suddenly the smile goes away) HOW DO YOU FEEL, IMPULSE? RANDALL! Old friend, old enemy! Are you ready for your fate? Are you ready to fight me when life, limb, and GOLD hangs in the balance?”

(Pulls the title off his waist and throws it over the shoulder, as he turns his back to the camera. He quickly turns back around and drops to sit on the ground. The camera zooms in for a closeup)

CASTOR: “You don’t need a Mayan calendar to know that it’s the end. It’s the end!”

(Silently mouths the numbers as he counts off his fingers: “ONE…TWO…THREE…FOUR”)

(Turns his fingers sideways and drags them across his neck like a blade)

(FADEOUT)

 

[User Poets]

Dreams are made

"I remember the spider and the fly, Castor."

"I remember everything."

​

(FADEIN... on a perfectly formed spiderweb. It's one of those that you think only exists in movies, until you see it in real life. There's a spider in the middle, and there are several fly carcasses about.

Very horror - movie.

There's some sort of indirect lighting that can only be caused by hours of preparation or perfect timing.

And...)

"I remember a man obsessed with me, a man intent on punishing me for the imagined transgression of evolution. I remember a man who took my TV title more on luck than anything else, who quite possibly never won a match via luck again."

"Including our rematch."

"So this is just another in a string of matches where Castor Strife comes out on top, as far as the wrestling industry is concerned."

Another fly lands in the web.

"If that was true, do you think I'd be here?"

The spider moves slowly toward the fly...

"I'm accused of a lot, Castor, and enough of it is accurate, but I don't waste my time with no-win scenarios."

"Did I just say that I could win this fight?"

Slowly...

"Even with the knowledge that you're not the man you were a year ago. Or two years ago. Or three years ago. You're still Castor Strife, which means you're predicated on a certain set of rules. Cinematic, dramatic, utterly obsessed with the presentation. What makes you so dangerous is that there's just as much substance behind the style, if not more, but the presentation is everything."

"Just check out your creative use of lens flare, color desaturation, and mystery cameos. Take it all away and you're just as impactful."

And the spider pounces.

"And so am I."

The spider continues to wrap the fly, presumably to save it for later.

"You cautioned me last year, Castor, not to fight the man that I fought at Crash 50. I caution you now, don't fight the man that you fought at Reloaded 9."

"I'm not the wide - eyed TV Champion that's just happy to be here anymore, Castor. I'm not blindly accepting of the best in everyone."

"There have been some hard lessons learned in the past year and a half, Castor: things I wasn't prepared to learn at the time."

"This is a cold, cruel world, and you can only rely on yourself."

And your Guild, when you have one.

"There are things I would do differently, which not many wrestlers are capable of admitting to anyone, let alone themselves. There are regrets that still haunt me when I let them."

"But I don't regret the match I wrestled against you at Reloaded, Castor. Even though I lost, I lost clean, I lost to a wrestler who both worked his ass off in that match and continued to do so after the fact."

"Besides, I wasn't ready."

"The naive, straightforward way I faced the Windham Clan down all by myself was proof of that. I needed to learn that not every wrestler deserves the same respect as those who earn it. I needed to learn that not every situation can be resolved with fair play and a positive attitude. I needed to learn that not every wrestler deserves the chance to get up."

I'm not going to kill you, but that doesn't mean I have to save you.

"And I've learned that there are so... so many wrestlers on the New Frontier's roster that just aren't worth my time."

"But not you, Castor."

"And not this match."

The spider ate freely, happily.

"This match will not brand one of us a coward, Castor. Stepping into this match without a second's hesitation saves us both from that label. This match will not be a test of courage or of manhood, or even of Championship."

"The Cutting Room Floor is about survival. In our own ways, we're both survivors, Castor. You rose above us all and remained there for over a year. I teased you, briefly, about Dan Ryan, but the fact of the matter is that Dan Ryan needed to beat you to become the Champion of the New Frontier: you had nothing to prove to him."

"And my own path of survival was a little less well - lit, and not quite a Yellow Brick Road. And yet here I am, Number One Contender by virtue of victory in the five way contender's match."

The aforementioned idiots that permeate this company may have other ideas about it, but the fact remains that none of them have earned a shot.

"But it's all just circular reasoning, right, Castor? The spider and the fly, and the spider has a constant need... to feed."

"What choice do I have but to let history repeat itself?"

"What choice do I have, but to step foot into your web, stare into your eight eyes, and let you devour me once again?"

I reached out and gently patted the spider on the front end.

"But I caution you, Castor, I'm not the same wrestler you faced at Reloaded. I'm not the same wrestler who broke his neck in a twist of fate, and I'm not the same wrestler against whom you went to a double pin at Crash 50. Because when the reality of the moment is being trapped, once again, in your web..."

And I withdrew my hand, just out of sight, and flicked the flint of a silver zippo.

"...then the only logical course of action is to change the reality of the moment."

The spider retreated quickly as the web went up in flames.

"Your match, Castor..."

Just as quickly, the flames burnt out, and all was left in darkness.

"...will be my finest hour."

FADE

 

[User Poets]

Re: Dreams are made

"The sun's coming up, Castor."

"Is this the last sunrise that the world will ever see?"

"I think not. But try convincing the mass of idiots who believe an easily misinterpreted calendar put together twelve thousand years ago that the world will just keep on spinning."

"That's the problem with the world today, Castor. Perspective."

(FADEIN... on the sunrise, The Lower Manhattan skyline is lit up like it's on fire through the frost that still covers everything overnight.

The sky is clear, and the early morning mist is quickly burning off.

Pull back, and Impulse is on a low rooftop with his back to the camera, staring into the city.)

"You stand up here, above everything, and you can see the world moving below you. You can see the full puzzle, each individual piece, and how they fit into the great microcosm of life. It really makes you think."

Impulse turned toward the camera and peered over the top of his sunglasses with a skeptical look.

"And it turns you into a superior, pretentious douche."

He turned his gaze back to the city.

"I get it, Castor. I really do. You're the director, so your natural position would be outside and above the action, dictating how it all goes down. Add to that your position as the New Frontier World Champion, and the faceless sycophants that come with that position, and it's not surprising that you'd turn even more narcissistic than you were before."

"Why else would you be teasing the Guild?"

"They won't be a factor in this match, they won't be a game changer for this company. I wouldn't be surprised if you don't even know who they are. Just three random shrikes that Lucky picked out for you so you could have a headcount behind you? Are they there to turn the tide against the Hellfire Club?"

"Where were they when the Windham Clan was trying to destroy the company?"

"I'll tell you where they were: they didn't exist because the Windham Clan was not threatening you, personally, the way the Hellfire Club has been."

"Narcissistic self - interest. You can hardly be blamed."

"After all, you're the director. This is your vision."

Jump cut to the city street. Whoever's holding the camera is doing an expert job at walking backwards, not falling, and not bumping into anyone. Impulse walked toward the camera, keeping pace.

"Me, I like to get down in it. I like to be part of the action, not hold myself above it. I believe in getting to know every part of the machine and knowing what makes them get up and go... because it puts a personal edge to the fights that need fighting."

He passed by people on all sides, and more than a few recognized him, said hello, and wished him luck. And before you decide that nobody who's a fan of the New Frontier would be a fan of his, try and remember he's from here.

"You're a great Champion, Castor. You're capable and talented, and your continued dominance of the New Frontier, combined with your Ultratitle victory, is nothing but money for this company."

"But you're a director. You're a watcher. You're a Champion for yourself, not for the New Frontier. And this company nearly collapsed under the weight of an external enemy because its inhabitants were too apathetic and self - absorbed to realize the danger posed."

"Why else would you be focusing your attention on a wrestler who isn't even part of this company? Because he affected your Ultratitle victory personally?"

He stopped.

"This match isn't in 3D, Castor. This match is as real as it gets."

You should know, you gave us the rules.

"I don't take you lightly. I've learned that lesson in quite the frustrating fashion."

"But this time, Castor?"

"You'll be directing high tragedy."

"Starring Castor Strife as the former Champion."

FADEOUT

 

[LQJT86C]

Nightmares are Made (of Glass)

(FADEIN: CASTOR STRIFE sits at the head of an empty conference table, with the NFW World Heavyweight Championship propped and folded in front of him. There is a white placard with his name on it next to the title. There are placards in front of all eight seats, in fact, but the names are blurred out. Square cocktail napkins have also been distributed throughout, with golden owl heads printed on each. Castor leans forward with his elbows on the table, hands clasped, and smiles faintly in acknowledge of the viewer)

CASTOR: “Impulse, you stupid little child…you still think this is about something larger than gold…”

“Praising me for my selfishness, complimenting me with the back of your hand. I need no lesson from you; I’ve broken your teacher and beaten you twice. I am the Sandman of your nightmares, you and all your friends. Beware the sand in my palm; one well-placed wind might just kill you. So what do you have left to impart? Perhaps take a lesson from me, why don’t you? Heed the virtue of my self-interest: it’s what the Cutting Room Floor is all about.”

(CUTTO: Side angle camera, grayscale view. Castor continues looking forward at camera #1)

CASTOR: “When we climb the scaffold, there is no more New Frontier. No more Team Impulse, no Guild. The only friend you have up there is yourself, so the time for looking after your own skin might be now, wouldn’t you say? You don’t have the piece of mind to know you’ll walk away from this match a fallen hero. Not this time. You climb, and bring with you all you have, and fall with all you’ll ever have, to quote Bill Munny. This match is without forgiveness.”

“Your people, my people, have approached me with good intentions, saying that they support the both of us. They ask me, Is it OK? Can I cheer you both? Can I be a fan of both men? I already know how you answer this question, because you’re partly responsible for fostering this sentiment. You say you respect me, so they respect me. You applaud me, so they applaud me.”

(CUTTO: Switch back to first camera, full color, Castor staring dead into it)

CASTOR: “But to them I say NO. You can’t like us both. There is no more middle ground; you are with me, or you’re against me. If a Castor Strife fan can’t find it in them to back me a thousand percent of the way, then I want them to sell their t-shirts, burn their posters, and save their money the next time I’m in town. Go cheer for Rook fucking Black, or JJ Deville, because you’re dead to me. I don’t want you anymore.”

“This is a time for choosing. Strife or Knox. Gold or Glass. God or Satan. May I have mercy on those who choose wrong.”

“My old friend Michael Manson had a sense of humor about these things – I don’t. I fail to see the levity in people wanting what I worked for. I perceive and eliminate threats without hesitation. Garbage in, garbage out.”

“Perhaps if you felt the same way about me three years ago, instead of smugly dismissing me from the comfort of your paramour’s dive bar, you would be the champion today. Instead, you float through life with indifference towards your enemies because at your core, you believe the good and righteous man prevails. BUT YOU HAVEN’T! I handed you the proverbial knife to kill the Windham Clan in its cradle, and you threw it away! You don’t use weapons! And so NFW suffered because of YOUR misplaced values.”

(CUTTO: Side camera, grayscale. Castor leans back into his chair, putting his finger to his lips in a pondering gesture before shaking his head)

CASTOR: “The Gods…they don’t reward contentment. They smile on the bold. You sit there, without regret, a soldier on a dead-end mission…and meanwhile, there is a zeitgeist gathering around me. The biggest thing this industry has ever seen. I am without rival, without equal.”

“Nobody has successfully defended this title as many times as I have. Nobody has gone almost five years without a loss while facing nothing but the very best. Let’s not mince words: I am the greatest wrestler of all-time.”

“No, no…(puts his finger up in interruption)…not the greatest wrestler today. Not the greatest of this generation. But the greatest…period. Now what does that make you? (smiles; shakes head) Not my true rival. You are Rook and JJ’s rival – I HAVE NO RIVAL. I don’t need your respect any more than I need Legion’s. I am first place, and you are 14 games back – or should I say, 30 ft. above?”

“Because that’s all it’s going to take, Randall. I have given you this opportunity to drop me to hell, and end your drought. But I’ve also opened a new possibility – that you leave the division forever. That, to me, is worth the price of admission. To never hear your name mentioned with mine again, that justifies every risk I’m taking on December 29[SUP]th[/SUP].”

(CUTTO: Switch back to original camera. Castor leans forward again, this time reaching over to casually adjust the blurred out placard at the seat next to him. He smiles)

CASTOR: “Don’t fear the Guild – fear me. Don’t fear Lucky Seven – she’s someone else’s problem. I am what’s in front of you, and I’ve been standing here your whole life. My vision and execution have plagued you vitally, and you don’t have the scalpels to cut it out of you. Castor V. Strife will be champion in 2013, while your bodega porch revolution wallows in 2009, wondering where it all went wrong.”

“Just know that it mostly wasn’t your fault – it’s mine. I did this to you. And just another week, I will do it to you again…again…again…”

(Bows head and shakes shoulder in subtle laughter)

“…again….again…”

(FADEOUT)