ST. LOUIS FINAL: Victor Molotov vs. Beast

[TH]

RP DEADLINE is Saturday, January 7th, 11:59:59 PM, give or take a second.

Victor Molotov beat...

1st round: The Mighty Impala
2nd round: Boogie Smallz

Beast beat...

1st round: Alcaeus
2nd round: Joe Average

 

[MrWest]

(The Abandoned Gym: It is shadowy dark. Molotov stands in the center of the old, ropeless boxing ring. An inert figure lies at his feet.)

MOLOTOV: Beast.

You are Canadian, from what I understand.

And I suppose that might make you a bit more of a "pure" wrestler than your American counterparts in the minds of many.

Not in mine though, Beast. Not in mine.

PURE WRESTLERS DO NOT WRESTLE IN DRESSES, BEAST!

They do not partake in "War Games". They do not throw people thorugh tables, or climb up ladders to get belts, or hit their opponents with chairs.

They wrestle Beast. That's all they do. They wrestle.

That's all I do, Beast. And I am left to wondering if "Big League" superstar like youyrself can keep up.

You see, I know you Beast. I know all about you. I know your "Legend". I know you titles. I know where you have been and what you have done. I know that, according to the "Internet Smarts" that have been circling this tournament like the vultures they are, that you are their favorite to win the whole thing.

I also know that your head will will be the greatest trophy yet to be mounted upon my victory mantle. And that, once I have removed you from the wrestling landscape, all of America will know that none can resist my holy mission. Just like the Mighty Impala and that intoxicated deficient Smallz, your time has come, Beast. And even the greatest of you shall become nothing more than a notch on my belt in my quest to save wrestling from itself.

You are not facing a "Vampyre" this week. You are not facing an "Average Joe". I am not some mental deficient who would like to sink his teath into you neck as soon as pin you. Nor am I some rank amateur celebrating my first big win.

I am no gimmick.

I am a wrestler, Beast. I am a "shooter". I am The Purifier. And this week I take out one of the icons of this "Sport".

 

[MarcusWestcott]

(A TEAM interview set. A chain linked fence in front of a black backdrop. The fence has several rows of barbed wire on top of it, but otherwise, the fence is in a state of disrepair - some broken links, and several pieces of garbage strewn along the bottom of the fence as if blown there by the wind. A banner with the TEAM logo on it has been hung on the fence. Beast stands in front of the fence, in full wrestling gear.

Beast: Well, with all that, you at least got one thing right, Molotov. I'm Canadian.

Unfornately, that's something that anyone with Google can come up with. Same with the title reigns. As far as the "legend" thing goes... I prefer to use the term "reputation". "Legend" should be reserved for those whose time is past, and have accomplished great things in their careers.... even if your name IS Joey Melton.

You don't really know me, Molotov. If this is your attitude, then it's a pretty poor one.

In preparation for this match, I did all the usual homework. I watched matches that I could find. I listened to what you said in the TEAM tournament. And I was thinking to myself, that "Damn, here's a match I can finally get into. Here's a guy that just wants to wrestle." I wasn't going to have to worry about interference. I wasn't going to worry about taking a cheap loss with a nut shot or a chair to the side of the head. I was finally going to just step into the ring, and do what I do best.

And that's WRESTLE.

You see, Molotov, you and I are a lot alike in that respect. Above it all, you enjoy the skill, the comepition, the mental games between two men in the ring. Then you know that when that bell rings, you've laid it all on the line, you've left every bit of yourself in the ring, and you've either won or lost the match on your own merit.

I was looking forward to stepping into the ring with you and tearing the house down in a way that only two WRESTLERS can. Finally, I can meet a WRESTLER, not a man so delusional he thinks he's a 2500 year old Vampire, or never-will-be rookie.

But, I don't know if that can happen. You, Molotov, are a so-called PURE wrestler. You frown upon tables. You scoff at ladder matches. That's fine. To each his own. You may think they're the incarnation of the Devil, but to me, Victoria, I just think it's another skill to learn - and excel at. If I get put into a War Games match, I'm not going to turn up my nose and laugh it off. I'm going to get in there and use the environment to the best of my ability. Put me in a ladder match for a title, and you're damned sure I'm going to be thinking on how to use that ladder to my advantage. I'll have to use my brains to time my ascent up the ladder so my opponent can't catch me and take that match.

You may turn your nose up at it, Victor, even laugh at it, but my participation in those matches doesn't make me any lesser of a wrestler. It just allows me to adapt my skills for the environment which I'm in.

It doesn't cheapen me, Victor. It makes me the complete package. And that's exactly why all these people have me at the top of the list to win this TEAM tournament.

I can do it all.

Hell, hold a gun to my career and threaten me to wrestle in a dress, or never wrestle again, and I'll take the twenty minutes of humiliation in order to spend the rest of my life doing what I love in a heartbeat.

It just makes my opponents look all the worse for wear, having to say they got beat by a guy in a dress.

And if you know me as well as you think you do, you'd know that.

And you'd be ready for it.

I've seen your kind before. The Russian that thinks that everything he does is superior to how it's done in the West. But, you're not just better than anyone else, you're above the sport itself. Let me let you in on a little secret, Victoria. It's been done before. Have you heard of Vladimir Vlachinko? He played it exactly the same way, and he hasn't been seen in ages.

Your head isn't going to be a trophy. It doesn't need to be so grandiose. This is just another match, Victor.

Words aren't enough, junior, and if you still want to tempt the Fates, then this big league Superstar is going to send you back to Siberia with your hands in your pockets, your shoulders shrugged, and your head hung low just like Team Canada did in 1972. It's going to take more than some beaten training partner at your feet to intimidate me.

But don't worry. I'm sure that you can grab a sattelite off the black market and watch me continue my rampage through the TEAM tournament from the comfort of your living room.

(Fade out.)

 

[MrWest]

(The Abandoned Gym: The inert body now lays upon the dirty floor. Molotov sits in a shadowy corner.)

MOLOTOV: No, Beast. You are wrong. You and I are NOTHING alike!

Nothing.

Do you know what I would do if some scumbag promoter threatened to fire me if I didn't WEAR A DRESS to the ring? Do you know, Beast?

No, I would not acquiece like a typical North American - not even if "my career was on the line." Instead I would wrap my hands around his throat and choke him down into the earth for trying to make me sully my sport.

Paycheck be damned. I will not corrupt my values. But then again I am not like you. I am not a slave to the almighty dollar.

And no one can tell me where or when I can ply my trade. Not some overly-creative promoter. Not his lawyers. Not the beauracrats back in Mother Russia who ended my military career. Not even the surgeon who fused a metal rod into my spine and told me would never walk again.

I am a wrestler. A pure wrestler. And that is all I do. Whether it be in a ring or on the docks or in a back alley with only the rats to bear witness to my prowess.

All I need is my hands, Beast. My body is my weapon. And cages and tables and ladders do not make you "well rounded". They make you weak.

As much as you say I do not truly know you, you obviously have not idea what you are facing in me this week.

I am no Vladimir Vlachinko. I am no kossack clothed, Russian Ultra-Nationalist out to show you the evils of your capitalistic Western ways. And honestly I could give a damn if your nation defeated the Soviets in some hockey game some thrity years ago or not.

This isn't about nations or policies or hockey. This is about me snapping your neck and making our sport better - if less "well rounded" - in the process.

Because when I am finished with you, you will long for the days where you could don a dress and climb a ladder before dropping your foe through a wooden table covered in tacks.

Oh...and I am sorry if I offended you by endowing you with a "Legend's" status one week too early. Because once we leave St Louis this week, I will assure you that your time of accomplishing great things shall be in the past.

This may well just be "just another match" for you, Beast. But I plan to make it the last match of your "highly reputed" career.

FTB

 

[MarcusWestcott]

(Beast, in front of the same TEAM interview set.)

Beast: Wow, Victoria.

You're wrong, I'm wrong, EVERBODY'S WRONG! The whole world is in chaos!

Man, try and give a guy a little respect, and suddenly the door gets slammed in your face. I guess your English needs a little more work, eh, Comrade? You didn't understand that I was giving you some respect for the kind of wrestler you are... how you love the pure aspect of what is we do.

(Beast waves his hand dismissively.)

Beast: But hey... if you want to take that and throw it on the ground and stomp all over it... fine.

Just allow me to respond in turn.

Victoria, you should probably get yor facts straight before you start talking like you actually understand something. This whole dress thing? Blown way out of proportion. You see, Dan Ryan and I don't exactly get along. The world knows this - well, everyone except you, that is - and the dress was his way to try and humiliate me. It was going to cost me my World Heavyweight Title if I didn't wrestle in that match.

Do you UNDERSTAND that, Victor? The WORLD. HEAVYWEIGHT. Title. Something that I had worked so god-damned hard for - something that I gave my life and my body for, what I sweat and bled for. The very thing that signifies excellence in our business. The goal of World Champion is something that everyone who ever gets into this business dreams of being, and after going through hell and back to get it, there was no way I was going to let someone take it away from me on a whim. I was NOT going to have what I worked so bloody hard for taken away from me without someone defeating me for it.

THOSE are values.

Rather than wear the dress in acquiescence, as you put it, I wore it to send a message. Yes, I wore it to keep my job and my title, but I also wore it as a personal "f*ck you" to Mr. Ryan. He wanted to see me on the mat lying in a pool of my own blood, humiliated with a dress. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. I may have looked like a fool, but it was that fool that beat his Tag Team Champions, one of them one of the past biggest names in our sport.

This is something that I usually don't share with anybody... but, on Saturday nights I like to throw on a nice dress, go out to dive-bars and insist that everybody call me "Mrs. Peterson." Well, actually I don't, but even if I did, it wouldn't matter a single damned bit, Maria, because that has nothing to do with how good of a wrestler I really am.

You may have your values, Mr. Molotov, and for that, you have my respect. It's good to see someone stand up for what they believe in, but sometimes, you just gotta do what you gotta do, ya know? "Beast, I need you to wrestle in a table match tonight." You got it. "Beast, I need you to fight in a martial arts match tonight." Absolutely. "Beast, I need to you wrestle a technical match tonight." I'm all over it.

And I'll do just as well in any of them.

I'm the kind of guy that will take any challenge, any time, anywhere, Victoria, and if you're not willing to do the same, then you don't belong in the same ring as me.

If I was running my own federation - which I might very well do someday - and you were on my roster, and I asked you to wrestle in a ladder match, and you said "No, it's against my standards." Well, I'd fire your ass on the spot. You are a professional wrestler. You work for someone. You do what the hell you're told to do, or you suffer the consequences.

THAT'S showing values.

What would you do in a normal job? If you worked at a place that made widgets, and your job was to put the pieces of the widget together, but you refused, saying it was against your values, you know what would happen? You wouldn't be making widgets anymore, cause you'd be FIRED.

And don't give me this bullsh*t about a paycheck, either. As I said before, people get into professional wrestling to become the absolute best. The World Champion. But that's not the only reason, and there's not a single person that can deny it. Not only do they want to be the very best at what they do, but they want the accoladates - and the fame and fortune - that goes with it. I can't for a moment picture myself training hard for YEARS, dealing with injuries, and devoting your life to wrestling and saying "well, I've reached the mid-card, and I can handle making as much money as the average well-paid clerical professional." No way. Wrestlers want the money, the financial well being of being a superstar, and getting the big-money payoffs of the PPV main events. Do you think Wayne Gretzky or Mario Lemieux said "Hey, I know you want to pay me 6 million dollars a year, but you know what? I really love what I'm doing, and I'm just happy to be a hockey player, so I'll just take $100,000."

That's a snowball's chance in hell of happening right there, son, and you can quote values until you're blue in the face, but I, and everyone else will call bullsh*t each and every bloody time.

But don't worry, Victor, you can just roll around on the docks with big, greasy, smelly men, since they'd remind you of home - you know, the big Russian Bears, and all - and you can happily proclaim yourself "Dock #7 Heavyweight Champion".

And absolutely no one will care.

You've got to wa-a-a-ke up, honey... oh no, you wet the bed again... Why can't I have a normal child without these problems?

But I've got it all figured out. You don't wrestle in anything other than pure wrestling matches NOT because of your values, but because you're a coward. The values thing is a nice cover, though, I'll give you that. If your head wasn't shoved so far up your own @ss you can tickle your wittle tummy from the inside, you'd realize that participating in these kinds of matches isn't just garbage. Sure, when done excessively, it can get boring, and the novelty wears off, but the other intangible thing it does is teach you how to endure pain. But you couldn't handle it, could you? You got hit with a chair and put through a table and snapped your little twig of a neck, and now you're so frightened of them that even the sight of a steel folding chair leaves a brown stain on your tighty-whities.

So, I've got a little challenge for you, Victor. I'm assuming you're going to decline it - you know, values and all - but I'm going to give it a shot anyway.

Let's make this little encounter best two-out-of-three, shall we?

The first fall, we'll do it your way. We'll make it the most technical match you've ever been in. No closed fists, nothing. Even the slightest infraction of the rule book that the official detects will get the other disqualified. We'll wrestle our asses off.

And then, when I beat you at your own game that first fall, we'll do it MY way the second fall. If, by some freak of nature, you manage to beat me that first fall, we'll continue to do things your way, and we'll wrestle the second fall under pure rules as well. But, when I beat you, I'm free to name a stipulation. It could be tables. It could be ladders. It could be chairs. It could be all three of them. It could be none of them, and be something else entirely. Let's keep them guessing, shall we, and turn this tournament upside down, shall we?

What's it going to be, Molly? Are you going to be a Russian Bear, or are you going to be a little mouse?

I'm willing to bet there'll be a big yellow stripe running down your Russian Red belly.

One way or another, you're going to fail, Victor. You want to "clean up" wrestling, and this is going to be my LAST match?

You couldn't be more WRONG.

I plan on wrestling in the next round of the TEAM Tournament.

And when I WIN it, I'll let you call me a legend.

(Fade out.)

 

[MarcusWestcott]

(FADE IN: The same interview set. Beast is on set, with a New Year's party favor cap on and a noise maker in his hand.)

Beast: Happy New Year, everybody! How's it going? I just thought I'd take some time out from our New Year's celebration, and check in to see if anyone had seen Mr. Molotov.

No? You neither?

Damn, I was so looking forward to hearing if he had the cojones to accept my challenge or not. The fact that it's taken him this long gives me hope that he might even be at least contemplating it.

In the meantime, since we're in the festive mood, I had a little song prepared to keep with the celebratory theme.

(Beast clears his throat and spritzes a little throat soother in his mouth.)

Beast: Ahem! Ahem! Mememememememememeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Sounds good, doesn't it?

This is a little ditty, sung to the tune of "Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?"

Oh where, oh where has my small Russ-ky gone?
Oh where, oh where can he be?
With his yellow-striped-tummy and his tail between-his-legs.
Oh where, oh where can he be?

Oh where, oh where has my small Russ-ky gone?
Oh where, oh where can he be?
With him cowering alone and him sucking his thumb,
Oh where, oh WHERE can he beeeeeeeeee?

Thank you! Thank you very much! I'm here all week! Please tip your waitress!

But seriously, Victoria. I can't wait to hear what you think.

I'm just jacked to step into that ring and wipe that superiority complex right off your face, and when it's all said and done, when you're lying on your back in the middle of the ring, and you wake up after everyone's gone home, you're going to think to yourself, "What in the name of "Are ya there, God, it's me Margaret" was I thinking?"

But don't feel bad. I'll even cover your ticket back to Siberia after the headache goes away and you realize you just can't cut it against real talent.

Now, we return you to your regularly scheduled New Year's celebration.

(Beast blasts the noise maker and dances off-screen as we fade out.)

 

[MrWest]

(Back in the Gym)

MOLOTOV: Are you sure you are actually a Canadian, Beast? Because the more that I hear you talk the more you begin to sound like a typical All-American fraud.

I hear these words like "respect" and "values" eminating from your lips. And it just become even clearer that you have no idea what they mean.

Now I ask you this Beast, what kind of man of values and respect demands a camera crew to come out and indulge him on NEW YEARS EVE and gives them THAT!? These people have plans and families of their own. And I am sure they had better things to do than rush on in to work on your whim just to listen to you sink some rather lousy and out of key Canadian Ditty.

But then, what should I expect from a man that defines himself by the size of his belt buckle and the fact that he makes more that the company steno pool.

You talk to me about "World Titles"? Really? That is why you do this? Here in the land where it seems every man who owns keys to an arena is handing one out?

How many WORLD Titles are recognized in this nation, Beast. How about in just this little corner of it?

5? 10? 252?

Don't talk to me about value, Beast. Not when the wrestling world that you belong to has done it's best to make sure it means just about nothing.

Nio Beast, I do not dream of being a World Champion, Beast. No more than I dream of wearing a dress. Instead, I dream of defeating World Champions. Of breaking them. And leaving there broken forms lying upon the ground before I move one to break the Next "World Champ."

To me it is far more important to cut to to core of this sport that to rise to the top of it. To rip out the cancer at it's heart. And thus to heel it.

And that is why my mission cannot be compromised.

It has nothing to do with cowardice, Beast. Although given your disfamiliarity with ideals like honor and duty and integrity, I guess I can understand you getting the concepts confused.

So - no, Beast - I shall not accept your challenge. Just like you would perhaps refuse to wrestle in a Dog Feces Match or a Loser Must Drink His Own Urine Battle Royal (or at least I hope you would), I shall not sully my cleansed and purified soul by accepting any stipulated match that might arise from the corrupted cess pool of filth that you call a brain.

That said, if you want to bring a chair with you to the ring, go ahead. If you want to bring a table or a ladder or a barbed-wrie exploding bat, go ahead.

Bring any crutch you feel yo need to face me.

And I will defeat you with just my bear hands.

I don;t care for novelties, Beast. And I choose not toengage in their use. But you do wahtever you feel you have to do to defeat me.

And realize that it shall not be enough.

So keep working on that singing voice of yours, Beast. Because I here that your "American Idol" television show will be starting again soon. And after I end your distinguished and legendary career this week, you shall need something to fall back on.

FTB

 

[MarcusWestcott]

(Beast, in front of the same TEAM interview set.)

Beast: "The more you know, the more you blow", right, Victoria?

Or in your case, "The more you don't know, the more you shoot your mouth off and make yourself look like an idiot in the process."

Let's set the record straight, Susie-Q. First of all, the ONLY reason I was stuck doing a promo on New Year's Eve was because the TEAM crew had been knocking on the door of your sh*t-hole gym, chasing you for two days straight, only to come up with absolutely NOTHING. They couldn't find you, and since they were getting paid for their efforts to get SOMETHING on tape, they figured that they might as well turn to someone they can COUNT ON to be available. It wasn't ground breaking, but hey, it was fun.

It's not my fault you were probably out partying the end of the year away and ended up slumped on the ground in some alley, your little hat on, party favor in one hand, empty bottle of cheap vodka in the other, and your ass up in air like the cum dumpster you truly are.

Some way to treat that temple of yours, Victoria.

At least I can hold my liquor, even if I can't sing.

Now about this whole World Title thing.

You know, through all of this, you and I might actually agree on something. The phrase "World Champion" is bandied about somewhat loosely in the States. I suppose there's an argument to be made that all the best athletes in the world come to compete in whatever league they play in, be it the NBA, Major League Baseball, or the National Hockey League, but I have to admit that I find the notion of a bunch of 10 year olds playing baseball in Pennsylvania for the Little League World Series a bit ridiculous. Or that the NBA calls it's League Champions the World Champions, even though they were beaten the Olympics by a group of Argentinians that no one thought had a chance.

But let me throw the mother of all "HOWEVER"'s into the mix, ok?

The World Champion of ANY wrestling federation symbolizes the very best that federation has to offer. The person that wears that title around their waist, or carries it on their shoulder is the symbol of greatness for the federation, the Ambassador of that federation. The person that is expected to carry their federation on their shoulders to further greatness. Is one World Champion any better than another World Champion? F*cked if I know. They'd have to compete to find out. But, If I compete in EPW, I will strive to be the EPW World Heavyweight Champion. If I compete in CSWA, then I will strive to be the CSWA World Heavyweight Champion.

The number of World Titles is absolutely irrelevant. It doesn't matter whether it's EPW, A1E, winning the TEAM Invitational Tournament, becoming Uncle Bob's Back Yard Champion, or Victor Molotov's Mother's Back Door Champion, you will know this, Sally.... where EVER it is that I choose to compete, I gun to be the absolute best. Whether there is one World Champion in the entire United States, or fifty... MY mission is to be the best there wherever I may be.

And here in TEAM, Julie, that means winning this Invitational Tournament.

And that means beating you. Your mission be damned.

You're here to destroy everyone that isn't a PURE wrestler like you are, is that it? You're here to end the careers of anyone and everyone that's ever taken part in any kind of gimmick match. You want to end the careers of anyone that's done so much as use a closed fist. That's all fine and dandy, Vivian, but tell me something. You're willing to wrestle Dildo Don down on the docks with a can of sardines for payment, so long as he doesn't use his fish hook, but tell me, Mr. Rocket Surgeon, what happens when there's no one left to destroy and maim and end the careers of? What happens when the well runs dry, and you're left in a circle jerk all by your lonesone with no friends and no point man to hold the cracker?

What happens? What happens when there's no one left to wrestle? What happens when you "cut to the core" and there's no careers left to destroy? Well, you could probably retire, and bask in the glory of having decimated the entire planet's wrestling roster, but c'mon, Lindsey, you're a competitor. You thrive on the competition, the sport, the challenge. What happens when it's all gone? Are you going to wrestle yourself into submission?

That, I'd pay to see.

So, as far as my little challenge goes, like I said, Sarah, that I knew you probably weren't going to accept it. You'be proven me right and shown that you're a mouse, not a bear. But, not only am I going to show up this week, I'm not going to be bringing any crutches. I am going to beat you at your own game, Martha, and I'm going to leave you more stunned than Planet Earth after the Michael Jackson verdict.

I'm going to beat you...

Beast holds out his hands in front of him, as if there's something in them, and he's beholding the sight. It looks quite comical, actually.

Beast: ... with THESE BARE HANDS!

(Back to normal speak.)

Beast: I can't help but imagine the look on your face when this 100% Grade A through-and-through Canadian spikes you on your head and pins you for the 1-2-3 and the Purifier gets washed down the drain in the TEAM showers.

Wait, maybe I can. I think it might look like this.

(Beast adopts a look that would make you think in a heartbeat that he was unconscious, holds it a moment, then snaps back to reality.)

Beast: I might even break out into song after it's all over.

Regardless, when this match is over, I'll be heading into the next TEAM tournament match, one step closer to my goal, and you'll be back standing in line for bread.

And you're getting nothing but the crusts.

(Fade out.)

 

[MrWest]

(Back at the Gym: Molotov just slowly shakes his head.)

MOLOTOV: That was...remarkable, Beast. Just standing here and watching to you fall apart like that.

You are such the typical American. If you cannot make headway with the facts, just make stuff up and hope half the fools listening will believe you. Truly, it is sad that you truly are likely the best that your culture has to offer.

Do I look like a drinking man, Beast? Do I look like one that would be found passed out in an alley with a bottle of liquor in my hand?

And did I hear you right? Perhaps I have gotten my American vernacular confused, but did you really drop an anal rape reference? Even I who could not hol you in any lower esteem just assumed you were better than that.

But no, Beast. I was not out partying and unable to meet my commitments. And I certainly was not slumped anywhere with my "ass up in air like a cum dumpster."

Fact of the matter is that the production crew did come around to the gym on the 30th and we shot a clip. Unfortunately due to a technical miscue about halfway through the session our work was lost and the day had to be scrapped. Sure, the crew offered to come back the next day and complete our efforts, but - honestly - I am a man who understands and respect the value of a hard work and family. And I would never dream of asking anyone to forsake their familial commitments for something that could be just as well accomplished after the Holiday.

So I told them enjoy their hard earned day off while I continued to preapre for our match in earnest solitude.

But apparently, not everyone in the tournament feels that way, do they, Beast?

And before you decide to disparage my name with more of your lies., need I remind you who actually did call in a camera crew to tape them caroussing in song with a very real part hat on his head and noise maker in hand.

I believe that was you, Beast. Although - being a man of true values - I shall stop with only what I have seen and not accuse you of any further nighttime proclivities. Be they anally oriented or not.

But let's say we brush our hands of New Years Eve and continue on toward the future. The future where I will be sending you and all the American "World Titles" you can win between now and then to an early retirement.

See, Beast. While for you it is about greatness and glory; to me, it is about honor and redemption. And while each round of this tournament brings you one step closer to another feather in your cap; to me, it means far far more. Each round I am victorious, not only do I get to cripple that weeks foe, but - by advancing - I am handed more and more infidels to destroy.

And once I win this tornament, Beast, I will no longer have to chase down the heritics. For I shall have something that the heretics crave. And the heretics will then come to me.

So you see, you are really just a small piece in something far bigger, Beast. You are just another brick that must be planted for wrestling's road to redemption to reach it's destination.

And as far as what happens once I have completed my mission, Beast?

Oh I don't think either you or I really need to worry about all of that quite so soon.

Even my my own best estimates I doubt if I can cripple any more than 2 or 3 of you infidels in any given week even under the best of conditions. And given the thousands and thousands of American pieces of trash like you that I must dispose of, it could be decades before I finish my mission.

Decades in which you and all of your titles and your defeat in the TEAM Tournament will likely be long forgotten.

But let's say I do eventually destroy America's stain on Wrestling. What then? Is that what you want to know, Beast?

I simply recreate our art in my own image - the way it was meant to be.

FTB

 

[MarcusWestcott]

(Back in front of the TEAM interview set.)

Beast: Well, slap my ass and call me Sally.

Do you HAVE a sense of humor, Victoria? Or is your stick SO far up your ass that it's tickling your throat? Are you some robot or something?

You just take what you've heard, assume it was given as Gospel, and then sh*t a brick about how much you've been disrespected. Hell, I didn't even say that you were being treated like a fluid waste receptacle and pass it off as FACT. I said PROBABLY. I took a guess. For all I knew, you weren't getting drunk and being ass hammered by a large Comrade of yours named Olga. You could have been giving away free blow jobs to your sparring partners in your seedy, grimy little gym, and I would have been none the wiser. I just went from what I know about you and what I've seen and used a complex mathematical and theoretical calculation based on your award winning personality, and thought drunken anal rape made more sense at the time.

Hell, if you think *I* go overboard at making stuff up, you should try facing off against Chip Friendly some time. That sonofab*tch is crazy loco.

So the production crew came around, you taped a segment, and *maybe* - note the conjecture here - it was the camera crew that was drinking the cheap vodka, and they recorded over your segment with an episode of "Desperate Housewives". Come on, Victoria, for all your boasting of being a great competitor and being all about honor and redemption, you couldn't do another take of what amounts to four minutes of television time? For a pure WRESTLER at the so-called top of the heap, how lazy are you? Maybe it's not being lazy, but maybe you just failed acting school and you sweat like a pig in fear every time the camera turns on.

But here you are again, Victoria, blasting me again for contorting the facts while you do the same damned thing. You're not all about honor, you're all about hipocrasy. I was happily downing some quality Molson's product and spending time with my girlfirend, when suddenly I'm the one being interrupted by a camera crew going "Beast! Beast! We've been trying to get something from Victoria, and we can't, but people are really bugging us for something for your match. Can you help us out?" So I'm the one that gets pulled away from MY New Year's Eve Celebration, and I have to be the hero because you can't get it up.

Story of your life, isn't it Jennifer?

It's not about honor and redemption, it's about making excuses.

When we hit the ring in the quarterfinals, there's going to be absolutely no excuses when I pummel you through the canvas. You don't have to make excuses for being beaten by your superior.

But if you want to move forward, I'm right there with ya, pardner.

You seem to think that your honor supercedes talent. While you wish to do things the pure way - and as I've said over and over, that's great - just because you're honorable doesn't mean you can do jack squat between the ropes. I mean, really, Susie Q - in the first round of the TEAM tournament, you beat a guy that barely had the brainpower to make it to the ring, and in the second round, you defeated a guy that has spent more time on Cloud 4:20 than he has training in the ring. You've really had a tough time in this tournament. I've beaten a guy that was willing to throw away his entire life to be one of the greats at what he chose to do, and I had to beat a Vampire!

Do you understand, Victoria? A VAMPIRE!!

I've proven that I can go, while you've proven you can make it to the ring on time. Which, in retrospect, is better than your ability to record a segment on time.

But I digress.... back to this honor thing...

I can open doors for women. I can refuse to embezzle money from the company I work for when presented a fail-safe opportunity to do so. I can work tirelessly to benefit charities - which I do, by the way - and I can take a bullet for my best friend. Those are all honorable things, Julie, and while I personally believe in each and every one of those things, honor just doesn't get the job done anymore. You may have done each and every one of those things I've mentioned, but because of it, it doesn't automatically mean that you can't suck in the wrestling ring.

I've heard it all before, Sarah. The big bad man is going to inflict a lot of pain on me. He's going to break my leg. He's going to cripple me. He's going to end my career.

It's never happened.

I've had guys bigger and badder than you threaten me before, Victoria. I've been attacked repeatedly with that very purpose in mind, and with one arm, I've defeated World Champions.

It's all a big bag of hot air. You can continue to blow all you want - since I hear that you're good at that kind of thing - but it doesn't change the fact that I'm willing to go the extra mile to get the job done.

To defeat me, Victor, you're going to have to go a lot further than that.

And that's something you've readily admitted you're not willing to do.

Sounds to me like your little mission is about to hit a huge road bump. That little brick is going to rise up and wrestle you into the ground before dropping you on your head and handing you a not-so-graceful exit from this tournament. You'll have all the time in the world to perfect your crippling skills. You can even cripple yourself if it makes you happy.

Because that's about all you're going to get accomplished this week.

(Fade out.)

 

[MrWest]

(The Gym)

MOLOTOV: Pathetic, Beast. Simply pathetic.

You start the week claiming to be a man of honor and values. And you finish it with this? With oral sex and pop culture references?

In fact, Beast, I am beginning to suspect that you are the worst kind of American fraud. Worse that the drug addict Smallz even. Because he - at least - is true to himself. He knows that he is an infidel worm and revels in it. You, on the other hand, are a worm who hopes to convince himself and the world that he is an eagle.

Listen to yourself, Beast. Listen.

You seek to justify your actions because other heathens lie and commit worse misdeeds that yourself. And - trust me - if I should ever encounter this Friendly Chip of whom you speak, I shall show him even less mercy that I shall be showing you this week.

You continue to make an issue about the production schedule, when it is clear that you chose to leave your party and make a fool of yourself. It is not my fault you chose to air your drunken indisgressions in front of the camera. It was not my laziness or my fear or my lack of acting training - as obviously I have been able to fulfill my promotional duties withoutfil throughout this tournament. It was your impatience. That is all. Plain and simple.

Do you really expect anyone to believe that the production crew was getting such heat because I "missed" a non-vital soft deadline by less than five hours that they had to run to you. Especially when the other Tournament quarterfinalists have been producing at half our rate. Wouldn't it have made more sense to drag Dan Ryan out of his New Years Party? Or perhaps even sending some camera tech out to locate the man they call WildStar and dragging him into the production room?

But no, They had to "interupt" you, didn't they?

And it is my fault.

Now who is the one making excuses, Beast?

Fact is I relish the chance to get you into the ring. I relish the opportunity to conquer one of America heros - a man who vanquishes Vampires like he was sunshine and sends novices home with their dream crushed.

The fact that you hold doors and don't steal and occasionally give money to the needy is immaterial. Especially now that you have thrown off those vestiments of honor for the costume it is and shown yourself for what you really are.

You are no legend, Beast. You are a lie. A lie that I shall unveil and lay out before the world in peices upon the canvas.

I may not be the biggest man you have faced in the ring, Beast. And I may not be the baddest. But I promise you this - I shall be the last.

Because when Victor Molotov encounters a bump in the road during his mission, he flattens it out.

FTB

 

[MarcusWestcott]

(FADE IN: A plain black interview set. No damaged fence or brick wall for effect. No huge TEAM logo for advertising. Just a director's chair, and Beast in the chair, wearing simply a tshirt and jeans, along with a pair of Doc Martens.)

Beast: It's quite obvious that you know nothing about me, Victor.

Let's drop all the sh*t, shall we?

Let's just strip away all the facades and all the sex jokes. Let's forget all the positioning and humor, and let's toss away all the crippling and maiming B.S..

Here I am, Victor. It's just me.

You want to know who I am? You want to know all about me? I'm not a hero. I'm not a legend. I'm not a worm, and I'm not an eagle.

I'm just a man.

I'm a professional wrestler. And I'm damned good at it. The innuendos, the trash talking, the teasing... all packaging. But once you strip away the packaging and you're left with the core, with most people you're left with just a tiny piece of what you began with.

With me, Victor, it doesn't matter whether I'm accusing you of taking part in anal rape. It doesn't matter if we're going on and on for days about the interview schedules.

Take away all the packaging with me, Victor, and what you're left with is more than the sum of its parts.

A driven, intense, powerful, skilled wrestling machine.

You want me to be true to myself? Fine. Here it is. I'm just a guy that has discovered what he's truly gifted at, and wants to use that gift to the fullest of its potential. Whether it's World Titles, Tournament victories, Cup wins, whatever the case may be, I'm just a guy that's a special breed of person, one who is driven and focused to excel, and will simply not accept second place.

Let's not argue personalities, shall we? Let's just go with the pure facts, since you are, in fact, such a pure person.

I am the epitome of consistency in excellence. That which I strive for is all that matters. Whether I'm facing Vampires, rookies, World Champions, or mid-card fixtures, you always get absolutely everything I've got in ring. I get in the ring, and when the match is over, everything I have is left in that ring, and you know that win or lose, you're in for the fight of your life when you're in the ring against Beast.

The numbers don't lie, Victor.

Strip away all the packaging, and at the core, based on wins, losses, and title performances, I am of the elite.

2004. The number one wrestler overall.

2005. The number two wrestler overall.

Where were you?

Top 5? Nope.

Top 10? Didn't see it.

Even when you strip away all the malarky, at your heart, you're all about ending the careers of those you face. I don't even need to go back the last two years to document your failure and take away the mystique. Hell just last round in the TEAM tournament, you told the world you were going to cripple Boogie Smallz, but even after you beat him, the man was on EPW television.

At least when I'm making my claims, all i do is claim that I'm going to beat my opponent. I may joke around, I may even stretch the truth once in a while, I may call you girl's names, but all I ever do is claim that I'm going to win the match any given week.

I don't embarrass myself by telling the world that every man I face is going to wrestle their last match that week, only to have my opponent show up again next week.

I'm a lie?

I suggest you take a look in the mirror, Victor. Take a good, long look. Really analyze yourself.

You're not going to like what you see.

Especially when it's me wrestling in the next round of the TEAM tournament.

(FADE OUT.)