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Raised by Wolves


League Member
Feb 19, 2004
North Shore, MA
Scene: Midnight to Early Morning, the cameras pan across an empty street in central College Park. The only activity seen is the small trickle of patrons slowly leaving through the bronze-handled doors of the local pub. A light breeze cascades around the building and forces the hinges upon the wooden sign above to squeak, showing signs of its age. Upon it the words “Pub Fenris” are engraved in some old world script. The light plays off of the sign as we pan across the pub frontage. A slow rise of the camera shows the reverse of the same sign. A chained wolf sleeps with the bodies of forgotten gods underneath his paws.

Flash Cut Scene

Scene: The camera opens to reveal the Anarchy Cross logo emblazoned on the back of a motorcycle leather and pans back to reveal a rear shot of Aidan Campbell. The man has looked better, Carrying three days of stubble and lacking in choice of wardrobe with mesh fingerless driving gloves, jeans, wife-beater and combat boots, there were homeless people in College Park who could be better looking. With his hair falling into a braided tail and hanging from the back of a Red Sox cap he throws his newly minted silver blackberry phone on the table before him and settles in.

Pan cut to view of bar

It was Tuesday Night, but you’d never know it by the activity in the bar. Either it was vacation week, or frat night or just that special combination of youth and carelessness that gave this bar its edge, but business was good. The music was leaning towards a little bit of country and a little less rock and roll as the Bartender, apparently recognizing Campbell sent over a bottle of Glenlivet. Gratefully, the bartender was competent but Campbell didn’t see what he was looking for. He wasn’t here. The waitress however, was. A brief smile to a pretty girl and allowing himself a shot of whiskey would be a decent way to open the evening.

Freeze frame on Campbell’s hand as it places down the shot glass.

Randalls: “That wasn’t for you kid.”

Fast cut pan shot to face Campbell’s Table.

Scene: Mike Randalls sits directly next and to the left of Aidan Campbell. Like Campbell, jeans and boots are the clothes of the day. Unlike him, Randalls is actually clean and looks to be in phenomenal shape. A black t-shirt drapes his frame as he turns a Baltimore Orioles cap around and stares Campbell down.

Campbell: “Hard to tell considering…”

Randalls: “..Considering you were one of 115 people in this bar and completely oblivious to a 240 lb man sitting less than 3 ft away from you?”

Campbell remained silent. There was a part of him that wanted to tell this guy to **** off. There was another part of him that said he couldn’t afford to start a bar brawl. Castinetti had managed to clear his issues with the probation office. He didn’t need to be visible or take a chance of landing on his hip again.

Randalls on the other hand, wasn’t surprised to see Campbell. He knew the moment he sent that letter that sooner or later, sooner if the kid was smart and later if he needed his ass adjusted, he’d be here and willing to learn something. The silence broke with Campbell finally saying something.

Campbell: “Why me?”

What Campbell probably didn’t expect was another question in reply.

Randalls: “Why Hornet? Think about it.. why not the Ultratitle?

Seconds passed as Campbell thought about whether he could trust Randalls. Could he afford to not trust Randalls? At this point he knew he needed help. He was here because he needed Mike’s help. If he expected to get any he needed to level with him, starting right now.

Campbell: “The Ultratitle is a load of crap. Let’s take a gift from Greensboro, devalue our own title, and split the entire fed apart.. I’m not NFW South, North, or East. I am NFW. The fact that I’m in the Southern conference is an unfortunate, forced reality. As far as I’m concerned, Merritt’s in with Prosser and all the rest of them to take down NFW in one big bloody mess for their own benefit.”

Randalls sat back. The kid looked like crap, but he had teeth.

Campbell: “As far as Hornet goes, he’s the icon. He’s the reason I got into this business and he’s going to be the most personally rewarding victory of my career….

Randalls: “Well..”

Campbell: “Mike, with all due respect, you’ve asked me out here, you’ve asked me questions that I’m not so sure you’ve got any right knowing the answers to, and you’ve told me not to drink your scotch. If you’re not going to tell me why you want to help me….

Randalls: “Shut up and listen or I’ll walk the hell out of here right now. You look like s***, you move like s***, and unless some poor bastard takes responsibility for you, you’ll kill yourself. You want to know why I want to help you, you little prick?”

“Wildstar, Garvin, Southern, and Hornet are the reasons. You beat Wildstar in a gimmick v. gimmick match in 2000. You took out Garvin in 15 seconds, beat Southern at his own game and had Hornet walk away from you. You’ve got talent, but you’re a total a**hole and a physical time bomb.”

Campbell appeared somewhat caught off-guard.

Randalls: “I don’t think you realize what Sullivan did. Three weeks ago you faced down Hornet and took on the gimmick of one of the greatest wrestlers of all-time with that cute little jacket and shades move. When Sullivan told you continue that… You are not going to abuse that man’s legacy.

Randalls intensity dies down and he takes a moment to look around. The “wolf” had let his own guard down for a moment and it was time to feel more comfortable again.

Randalls: “Aside from all that, you’ve gotten the attention of someone who I owe a favor.”

Flash Cut Scene: Slow Motion to Freeze Frame

A second silver blackberry handheld is thrown on to the table. Nearly identical to Aidan’s, it shines with the same blue W logo.

Voiceover: “Drink up kid, cause for the next three weeks.. you’re mine.”


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