RELOADED 15: Amsterdam

[jediPREZ]

RP DEADLINE: 2/24 (11:59:59PM Astral Standard Time, threads close first thing Monday AM!)
IN-STORY DATE: 2/23
RP NOTES: FOUR RP LIMIT!

NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING PRESENTS:
RELOADED 15: "SMOKE ON THE WATER"
AMSTERDAM ARENA - AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS

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

MAIN EVENT
BEST OF FIVE TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP SERIES: MATCH #5
'VAN GOGH RULES' - I QUIT/ROOFED STEEL CAGE MATCH
JACK BRYANT (c) - 2 vs. DORCHESTER STRATTON - 2

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

THE GRAND PRIX SERIES ROYALE FINALE
GRAND PRIX ROYALE RULES - WINNER RECEIVES WORLD TITLE SHOT!
To eliminate an opponent, they must be OUTSIDE the ring and you must leap over the top rope and knock them to the ground with an offensive maneuver. There are no order of entrants, everyone starts in the ring at the bell, you can eliminate multiple opponents with one maneuver. NFW FRONT OFFICE has confirmed there will be qualifying opportunities at BRAWLHALLA.

SPECIAL GUEST COLOR COMMENTATOR: NFW WORLD CHAMPION, IMPULSE

Current NFW Qualifiers: Legion, Lane Cash, Peter Windham, Akita, Lord Coyner Pollard, Jack Harmen, Phil Atken, Alex Austin
Current World Qualifiers: Leyenda De Ocho (*), Freddie Sagawa, Kid Chameleon, Jesse Ramey, Orange Dragon II, Fappity Baytor

(*) Signed with NFW in December, partly through the GPX.

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

Card Subject to Change...​

'PREZ NOTES':

ALL 235 POUND & UNDER WRESTLERS: Whether a wrestler is signed to NFW or an international free-agent-for-hire, if you weigh 235 pounds or less... you have the right to put your name into the hat for the NFW Grand Prix. WORLD CHAMPION IMPULSE has also upped the stakes and now ANY WRESTLER that wins the Grand Prix will earn a WORLD TITLE SHOT.

If you are on the current roster, or a free-agent wanting your shot and have not qualified yet, simply RP in this thread!

 

[LQJT86C]

The Night of Broken Glass is Over. We are Free to BeliEVE

(FADEIN: The shaking, rumbling middle car of the dirty C-Train, travelling downtown from Chambers Street in NYC. The overhead lights flicker as the train comes to a crawl, then a stop – “Ladies and gentlemen, we are held up due to train traffic and will be moving again momentarily” the conductor announces. ALEX AUSTIN leans forward in his seat, all ten fingers met at the tips in a contemplative pose as he looks up into the camera. His Caesar-cut is neat, but he is unshaven. LUCKY SEVEN sits next to him stoically, legs crossed in purple leggings, hands tucked into the pockets of her short jean skirt. She’s wearing her necklace of old coins – Civil War and Prohibition era; special issue and foreign coins too – and is gently nodding to the music playing over her Bose headphones, which is faintly heard now that the train is silent. Austin breathes deep, sighs. These are STRIFE’S DISCIPLES, and in another time period they might have robbed this train car on horseback with pistols)

AUSTIN: “Fuck you.”

(Eyes widen; they are baggy)

AUSTIN: “I’ll say it again, so you know that I’m not being facetious. FUCK YOU.”

“For all you put him through...for every trial of fire you set in his path toward final enlightenment. Fuck you, for betraying Castor Strife’s love by not properly celebrating his life and times.”

“He gave the Frontier life as it sentenced him to death. The greatest talent in a generation, and you squandered him. Fuck you. Die slow. Yeah...you’re gonna.”

(Strokes his beard, then cracks his neck left and right by the edges of his jaw. Austin leans back – he’s wearing a thin black hoodie over a SISTER MACHINE GUN t-shirt, and a necklace carrying a SHARD OF BROKEN GLASS in the shape of an upside down triangle)

AUSTIN: “I was a fleck of dirt on the waistcoat of a prophet. He carried me, gave me substance, and in his wake I sit or stand before you today, a full mound flesh. Dirty, but not dirt. Filthy, but not filth. Derelict, yes, but a student...a disciple.”

“Many of you see me as some goon Castor dragged out from anonymity, and that’s fine. You don’t have to believe in me. But you WILL believe in him, that I can promise.”

“In the Frontier, we lionize the weak. Castor tried to change that. He wanted a new path for everyone. He wanted the young talent to rise up and think for themselves. He hated guys like JJ, and Blaine, and even guys like you Rook, who despite their immense talent remained in subdued cocoons of self-comfort, instead of venturing out to be something greater than they were.”

(Sneers, shakes head)

AUSTIN: “Like the Windham Clan before it, the Hellfire Club is a poison. And we are the cure. We carry the message of the one true visionary, the only man willing to face them down and beat them at their own game. You got a taste of it at Reloaded, but unfortunately...the loss of the Great One has made our mission more difficult. But it will go on.”

“We are going to bury you, JJ. By the word of our Master, we will pluck you from relevancy and send you back into the abyss.”

“Any one who wishes to join us, hey...our doors are wide open. We reject no one who has a thirst for the knowledge and wisdom of the visionary Castor Strife. But we will not sing and dance and revel in Eddie’s bread and circus show while the Good Man suffers in self-imposed exile.”

(Licks around his dry lips)

AUSTIN: “I look around the frontier, and all I see are guys with a world of talent, doing their very best to play the part and be who they think the suits at NFW headquarters want them to be.”

Is this good, Eddie?

Do you like the way I said that, Lamont? Was it witty?

What do you think of my entrance music, Fiona?

Is there a better name for my move? I wonder what Eddie and Lamont think.

How can I be more shocking than JJ?

HOW CAN I HELP WITH PR?!

“Man, let that shit die!”

“Nobody gives a FUCK what these dinosaurs think. Castor Strife proved that there is another, more prosperous way. You can be your own man, create your own legend, without the hoops they make you jump through. JJ Deville and his Hellfire Club are a convenient way to keep us in line, marching to the drumbeat of homogeny. Soon he’ll be gone, and they need another strawman, maybe one more easily controlled. Cycle continues.”

(Austin shrugs, sniffs)

AUSTIN: “I never cared about the history of this business. I’m a submission wrestler; I’m THE REAL DEAL. My skillset is about to revolutionize this game, and take it to the next level. As far as I’m concerned, pro-wrestling began and ended with Castor Strife. He put you all on the fucking MAP. And with the knowledge he gave us, we the Disciples will blaze a new trail in his name. A new style for a new era.”

(LUCKY SEVEN pulls off her headphones)

L. SEVEN: “Hey, lemme say something?”

AUSTIN: “Sure.”

L. SEVEN: “OK, I grew up around pro-wrestling. My oldest brother RA was a promoter, second and third oldest brothers both wrestled. That said? I really don’t pay attention to any of you guys. The vast majority of you BORE ME, and are generally speaking, unathletic, unintelligent, and just...not appealing in the least.”

“Just like Alex, I’m a legitimate athlete. I didn’t get into this business because I had nothing better going on. My brother, Castor Strife – my teacher, my hero – he showed me the business from a different perspective. He taught me that I didn’t have to conform to the standards of other people. I could come in, with my own style, and have an immediate impact. I could attain fame – fortune’s already on my side – and become a world champion.”

“So to be honest, I wouldn’t shed a tear if none of you worked another day of your life in that ring. I’m here to kick a brain injury or two through the skulls of nonbelievers. You can eat truth from the open hand of Strife’s Disciples, or eat a concussion that’ll make your brain raw. My legs are like whiskey to your liver. To alter a legendary quote: Left kick, hospital. Right kick, cemetery. By the way, how’s your skull Lamont? Fucking pig.”

(Seven puts her headphones back on, crosses her legs and puts her hands into her jacket pocket. The train begins to move again as the overhead lights flicker some more)

AUSTIN: “Seven’s never broken a bone in her life. Never a car accident, a miscue, or even a stumble. Her picture is on the wall of every security office in Vegas, because she never played a number wrong. She is fortune personified. Me, on the other hand: I’m a walking, talking, toxic barrel of misfortune. I was put on this planet to spread the word of our Master, the One True Visionary, the One Good Man, Castor Strife...through pain, misery, broken bones, and fractured dreams.”

“Lamont was the first witness. Blaine, dude...I stabbed your dad.” (smiles)

“Who will be the second witness? Who wants to be shattered – who wants to be saved? Keep Castor in your heart – and fear in your head.”

(Takes the shard of glass in his fingers, and holds it up for the camera to see)

(FADEOUT)

 

[Biron]

Nature

(CUT TO: Jack Bryant, decked out in a black Monsta ‘Diesel Muscle Body Shop’ tee, beat-up Wranglers, and black Stetson boots, standing with a RELOADED 15: “SMOKE ON THE WATER” backdrop behind him. The NFW World Television Championship hangs loosely from his left shoulder.)

JB:
“ It’s all comin’ ta’ a head n’ Amsterdam, ‘chester. ”

“ It’s been over a year since Montreal, where yer best bud DeVille offered you a conditional World Title shot. All ya’ had ta’ do was stick mah shoulders ta’ tha’ canvas fer three, measly seconds n’ put that TV strap in his grubby, little hands. Well, you found out quick n’ in a hurry that plannin’ is tha’ easy part, but beatin’ Jack Bryant is tougher than whit leather. Ah bounced ya’ aroun’ pillar ta’ post n’ back a’gin before you drug up n’ got tha’ hell outta Dodge. Fourteen months later, what folks are callin’ tha’ most brutal, hard hittin’ war that tha’ Frontier’s seen in a long while, it’s all comin’ down ta’ a single match. It’s gonna’ end in fittin’ fashion - after tha’ dust settles, only one a’ us will be left standin’. That’s all, but guaranteed in a match like this. There’s no escapin’. There’s no exit. When that sumbitchin’ STEEL CAGE drops down ah’round us, it’s just me, you, n’ whichever poor bastard they toss in there ta’ (smirks) keep order. We both know there ain’t gonna’ be a lick a’ order, ‘chester. There’s no controllin’ men like me n’ you. It’s only gonna’ end when one a’ us makes tha’ other say I QUIT. ”

(JB turns his head slightly and runs his hand over his beard.)

“ Ah’m good n’ aware that Ah’m squarin’ up with a cold-blooded killer. That cute, little Country Club Assassin tag was built from tha’ broken bodies n’ ended careers ya’ve left in yer wake. Yer, without a doubt, tha’ most vicious sonuvabitch in tha’ Frontier. Ah’mma leave it ta’ you ta’ tell everybody ah’bout yer Greatest Hits, a’gin n’ a’gin. Ah’m not sayin’ it’s not imposin’, ‘chester. Ah bet it really revvs Veronica’s engine. Ah know it has some a’ tha’ fellas in tha’ back shakin’ like a dog shittin’ coconuts, but not this good ol’ boy. (shakes head) When Ah step foot inta’ tha’ arena, well, goddamn, mah manners tend ta’ head right fer tha’ closest window, too. (sends a gob of spit into the ground) See, Ah get a bad case a’ Mad Dog Mean n’ folks end up havin’ a bad night. Ya’ ask tha’ Windham Clan boys, all five a’ them Ah run through in Charleston. Go ahead, ask yer gal pal JJ how that worked out fer him. Ask Phil Atken. Ah bent his spine damn near inta’ a horseshoe and he’s been luckier than beat hell since. So save tha’ dick measurin’ fer yer weekly Hellfire Club meetin’s in tha’ steam room. ”

“ This one ain’t gonna’ be decided by one a’ us havin’ a lack a’ killer instinct. Ah know you’d like nothin’ more than ta’ end mah career, ta’ put mah head on yer mantle next ta’ tha’ Plumber’s. Be a real nice talkin’ piece, Ah reckon. Call yer friends from tha’ Country Club over n’ tell ‘em how ya’ tore apart tha’ BEST tha’ Frontier had ta’ offer not once, but twice. (nods) Me … well, all Ah wanna’ do is win. If Ah need ta’ stomp yer bones inta’ mush, then Ah will. Tha’ thing is .. Ah don’t know if yer willin’ ta’ risk everything. Are you willin’ ta’ go back ta’ drivin’ a Ford Taurus with no hubcaps rather than yer precious Jag? Would you watch Rumsfeld leave you high n’ dry ‘cause a crippled boyfriend with popsicle sticks holdin’ up his pecker doesn’t do it for her? Let all tha’ money dry up. All yer friends up n’ disappear. Back right ta’ where ya’ started. ”

“ Ya’ were a poor kid from a borin’ neighborhood with nothin’, but a pipe dream a’ wrasslin’. Well, through blood, sweat, n’ busted bones, it happened. You made it tha’ Big Leagues n’ were a champion. Then ya’ sold it all down tha’ river ta’ get rich quick. You quit on yer mentor Wildstar. You quit on yer best friend n’ tag partner Tsunami. You quit on yer girlfriend Rayne, who had stuck with ya’ through thick n’ thin. That’s yer nature, Stratton. When things got rocky, ya’ started lookin' fer greener pastures. Tha' grass ain't always greener on tha' other side, bub. Now, yer gonna’ share a cage with Jack Bryant n’ there’s not a drop a easy there. Yer gonna’ put a hurtin’ on me, like ya’ve never done ta’ anybody before, n’ Ah’m gonna’ keep on comin’. Yer gonna’ ask me, hell, PLEAD fer me ta’ quit n’ Ah’m gonna’ spit in yer eye. Dishin’ it out is one thing, but takin’ it is whole ‘nother ballgame. ‘cause when shit hits tha’ fan, a fella starts showin' his true colors. That’s when tha’ cracks in tha’ foundation start ta’ show. ”

(JB readjusts the belt on his shoulder.)

“ Mah old man was a tough-as-nails steel worker, who worked long hours on a dangerous job n’ never made a peep. Tha’ values Ah was brought up on are as strong as steel. Workin’ hard. Bustin’ heads when heads need bustin’. Bein’ uncompromisin’. See, there ain’t an ounce a’ quit in a Bryant’s blood, ‘chester. Can you say tha’ same fer yerself? When tha’ canvas starts soakin’ up yer blood, how hard ya’ gonna’ have ta’ look ta’ find some quit? Ah’m thinkin’ not far at all. (flashes a crooked grin) Come Reloaded 15, son, it's gonna be time ta' ... NUT UP. "

(FTB)

 

[GreggG]

Re: Nature

(CUT TO: The exterior of THE HOTEL PULITZER, downtown Amsterdam! The camera then CUTS TO: An oak, brown door reading ROYAL SUITE, which is open a crack. The door opens slowly. The lights are completely dim and show the interior of a luxury suite, but in ruins. The glass of broken glass litters the floor. A TV has been overturned. Sheets are torn, as are the window treatments. And standing in the middle, is DORCHESTER STRATTON -- his Don Draper-style is completely a mess, with a three day beard. He's wearing a white undershirt, bloodied, and white boxers.)

DORCHESTER: "Jaaaaaack. OHHHH JAAAAAACK!" (Dorchester glares at the camera.) "I told you, JACK, to stay down. I told you when I ran you over with that car to QUIT. TO HAND ME THE TITLE. Because, Jack... I... I DON'T LIKE THIS! I DON'T LIKE WHEN I GET LIKE THIS, JACK!" (Dorchester looks around the room in shock.) "I checked in here last night and I woke up and the room looks like this. I don't REMEMBER what happened, Jack. I don't REMEMBER destroying this $2,500 a night hotel room. Just like I don't REMEMBER spitting in Wildstar's wife's face in front of their son. Just like I don't REMEMBER throwing bleach in the eyes of Joe The Plumber. Just like I don't REMEMBER running you over with a car. I like..." (Dorchester runs his fingers through his Brylcremed hair.) "I like being in CONTROL, Jack. I like wearing the crisp suits. I like driving a Jaguar. I like the multi-course meal at the Lower Merion Country Club. When I'm in control, Jack... I'm a damn good wrestler. I'm cunning. I'm ruthless. I'm a pit-bull. But when I..." (Dorchester looks around the room.) "When I get like THIS, Jack... this is when careers end. This is when PEOPLE GET HURT. This is when I GO OVER THAT LINE! THIS IS WHEN I...."

(Dorchester's eyeballs are still there but are somehow completely blank. He sees a desk chair, the only unbroken piece of furniture in the room let. He grabs it and smashes it into the wall and it smashes in two. The then does it again and again, ripping it apart. He then has the sharpened table leg and jabs it repeatedly into the plaster wall, screaming as he does. The plaster wall cracks, exposing the plywood underneath. The table leg just remains jammed in there. Dorchester just stares at it. Then, someone clears her throat. The camera pans to the right and, coming from the bathroom, is VERONICA ABRAMS RUMSFELD. She's wearing a silk, black teddy -- perhaps a size too tight, even. She looks around the room, her finger slowly grazing across the damaged wall and the table leg sticking out. She gets a sadistic smirk that slowly and creepily turns orgasmic. She walks around Dorchester, who is still catatonic, her finger tracing his shirt.)

RUMSFELD: "Jack, all work and no play make Dorchester a... well... NOT a dull boy. They make him into..." (She stares at him up and down, salivating.) "They make him into THIS. Behind the Chanel suits and the Shipley education and medals won at the Devon Horse Show, Jack, is a woman who... well... my well-heeled relatives are aghast when I say this, but I'm a woman who enjoys watching other people suffer. I get off, Jack, by watching people get hurt. In particularly, I get off by watching the man that I CONTROL--" (Dorchester's head snaps in weird obedience.) "HURT people, Jack. Amsterdam's known for its red light district. Any kind of sexual fetish or desire can be satisfied within a five minute walk. But me?" (Veronica now walks behind Dorchester and rubs her hands up and down her arms, her sadistic glare even more caustic.) "I don't even need to leave our hotel room to get what *I* want. You're going into a cage with THIS man. A man who will do anything to win a match. But not just that... a man who will do ANYTHING to serve the desires of the woman he loves. I get off on watching him dish out pain. He gets off by doing as I say. It's a..." (She bats her eyes at the still catatonic Dorchester as if she's on her prom night.) "PERFECT match. And, Jack, when Dorchester takes that title... well..." (Veronica rubs her hands together and then bites Dorchester's earlobe. He doesn't even flinch, save for a small smirk cracking.) "Well, I think you'll understand what the victory party's going to be like." (Veronica sneers and then grabs Dorchester by the hair and pulls his head down and starts violently tonguing him. They both fall into a pile of broken furniture and glass. The camera doesn't even begin to film what's going on.)

RUMSFELD: "OHHHHHHH SHMOOOOOPIEEEEEE"

(FTB)

 

[GreggG]

(CUT TO: JJ DeVille, sitting in a high-backed red leather chair, his ascot tied loose around his neck, the cheesboard in front of him.)

JJ: "It never ceases to amaze me. I'm not even BOOKED to have a match at Amsterdam and I'm getting called out. But that's just PAR FOR THE COURSE when you're the most important man in professional wrestling today -- if not HISTORY. My Horatio Alger Story Gone Horribly, Horribly Awry continues FORTH!" (JJ twirls the ascot on the emphasis of the awkward Olde English-type speech.) "Austin Aries -- IF THAT IS INDEED YOUR REAL NAME -- I just want to thank you for reminding everyone of just exactly WHO I AM! Yes, I am the man who has screwed up this promotion. I took the league that YOUR C*CKSLAVE conquered.... and WOOOOOOOOOPPPSIIIEEE I made it my own! Castor Stryfe may have been the World Champion... but NO ONE WILL REMEMBER A DAMN THING ABOUT HIS TITLE REIGN! That's because he was the World Champion DURING THE ASCENT OF JJ DEVILLE! He may have held the title but I had an iron grip around the thorax -- that's a BODY PART, for those of you who did not go the NORTH CAROLINA STATE UNIVERSITY, A NATIONALLY RENOWNED RESEARCH INSTITUTION! -- of New Frontier Wrestling. I think, Aries, you need to look into the mirror and realize this about your boss. The reason why his title reign was... woooo BOAOOSOOHSHSHSHSHSHSHS" (JJ acts like a bomb blew up.) "Was because NO ONE CARED ABOUT HIM! Everyone hung on my every word and deed. New Frontier Wrestling because THE HOUSE THAT JJ DEVILLE TOOK OVER! The deed is in OUR NAME -- HELLFIRE CLUB LLC! I am THE BOSSMAN! I'VE GOT THE POWER! Aries, you and your little band of insurgents wants to end me? Don't you see what I've done? Troy Windham -- GONE. Mike Randalls -- GONE. Dan Ryan -- GONE. And you think YOU can stop me? You think that some relic goon MMA castoff is going to stop me? You think Castor is going to stop me? Or that mystery man running around in that Cyclon B zoot suit? No, Aries. NO ONE CAN STOP ME. Now get out of my face because I'm a BUSY, BUSY MAN. If you lip off to me one more time, I'll rip off that trollyp Lucky Seven's jort-skirt and will make an episode of Law and Order Special Victims Unit out of her."

(JJ purses his lips.)

JJ: "Now that THAT'S taken care of... I've got two VERY IMPORTANT cents to add about this little Grand Prix tournament. Does it pertain to me or The Hellfire Club? Directly, NO. But I can't help but notice how... how INTERESTING it is. You see, the traditional REWARD for the Grand Prix winner has been to challenge our TRIPLE CROWN winner for that illustrious title. It gives someone a chance at a title while also putting the spotlight on a champion who is oft-times forgotten about. In this case... that's Mr. Rook Black, which is INDEED his real name. However..." (JJ purses his lips and puts his finger to his temple.) "Now things got changed. Once again, Impulse -- the leader of the cleverly named 'TEAM IMPULSE' -- has strode in on his white horse to take away the SPOTLIGHT from our current Triple Crown champion, with that no-good toothless slumlord Eddie Mayfield completely COMPLICIT. Impulse has given the Grand Prix winner a chance to win the World Title. No doubt, the people who have so much invested in Impulse -- the people responsible for him getting a myriad of chances to make it in this industry despite, well, completely sucking -- are going to spin it as him being a 'fighting champion.' Eye Roll. But let's speak the INCONVENIENT TRUTH about what this is all about here. Team Impulse wants to be able to say that Randall Knox broke Joe The Plumber's record for most consecutive wins as NFW World Champion. And what better way to get that oh-so-important first win than by challenging a wrestler small in size and weight and/or who could very well likely be a newcomer to NFW? Impulse will defend the title against someone of his size on HIS home court. He has rigged the playing field while, once again, stealing the spotlight from Rook Black. Oh, what a REVOLUTIONARY! WHAT AN AGENT OF CHANGE! IMPULSE IS AWESOME AND WE SHOULD ALL TALK ABOUT HOW AWESOME IMPULSE IS! AND LET'S NOT FORGET THAT HE CAN'T BE BEAT EVEN WHEN YOU BEAT HIM FOR HE SHALL SHED NO TEAR! WHAT FIGHTING SPIRIT FROM OUR BELOVED ICONIC CHAMPION WHO HAS ONLY HAD HIS ENTIRE CAREER SPOONFED TO HIM!"

(JJ tosses pack his ascot.)

JJ: "Now, a *TRUE* fighting champion would have come out on national television and demanded a rematch with Castor Styfe... this time in a traditional wrestling setting so he could PROVE his manhood as opposed to fluke his way to victory. This has not yet happened. And, oh, by the way -- this was an item INITIALLY SUGGESTED BY ROOK BLACK HIMSELF! The same Rook Black, mind you, who turned and humiliated Impulse... who has done nothing to avenge this betrayal! Not only does this run in the face of time-honored wrestling tradition... well, it's pretty much completely cowardly, to boot. And, quite frankly, it's a slap in the face of Rook Black -- a man who has held his title longer than any other champion here in NFW! Rook Black -- a man of character -- has, frankly speaking, been RIPPED OFF in this situation. If we can demand justice for the West Memphis 3... we can demand justice for ROOK BLACK!"

(JJ purses his lips.)

JJ: "Now, Rook, yes, OUR offer still stands. We are welcoming you with open arms to The Hellfire Club. You have proven difficult so far, but that's something that we've expected. You and that Leyanda De Agro -- IF THAT IS INDEED HIS OR HER REAL NAME -- have been a little... well, PUSHY... when trying to determine the terms to a potential matchup you may or may not have with a man who is more than just technically speaking YOUR BOSS. I'll determine the type of match we have and the setting we have. I'm letting it go, for now. But at some point, a decision, Rook, will HAVE to be made! Sleep on it. We'll wait. But not for long. Because we're too busy DOING WHAT THOU WILT! BWAHAHAHAHA! BWAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!"

(JJ flips his ascot around as he does his evil laugh bit. FTB!)

 

[User Poets]

JJ: "Now, a *TRUE* fighting champion would have come out on national television and demanded a rematch with Castor Styfe... this time in a traditional wrestling setting so he could PROVE his manhood as opposed to fluke his way to victory. This has not yet happened.

(Now we're in a Helsinki hotel room, with a hand - held camera focused on the television. In this case, it's focused on the Berlin Brawl replay, more specifically, the World Champion's taped promo.)

IMPULSE (On Television): "I'm committed to this title with every fiber of my being, and my belief about a championship is that it's only as valid as the defenses that the Champion survives. To that end, I'm willing to put my title on the line against almost any wrestler in this company."

"With a few conditions."

"The first is Castor Strife. I know he'll be out there later tonight, and I don't know what your physical condition is right now, but as soon as you're ready, I'll clear off all contracts to give you your rematch."

(And we mute the television.)

CALICO ROSE (Voice Over): Every time you talk, Jessica, you show your ignorance and the rest of us get a little dumber out of pity. Maybe you should find another job?

Also, there was no Triple Crown Championship the last time a Grand Prix took place, and the first one that Doc Curiosity won gave as its prize a shot at every title. So, in a sense, RK is bringing things back to where they started.

You'd know this if you weren't so willfully stupid. When Troy comes back I'm sure he'll explain to you how ignoring history works best when you first acknowledge that it's there.

As far as Rook Black goes?

(Turn back to the television, and some lovely promotional material for the Helsinki show. From our esteemed World Champion.)

IMPULSE (Again, on television): "I'm not lighting this bag on fire and dropping it on Rook Black's front stoop, or putting ex lax in the SupaFly special brownie stash: the Express are the World Tag Team Champions and Rook has held his title - plus the title it was spawned from - longer than any other Champion currently wearing gold today in this sport. They've earned the right to main event a show."

CALICO ROSE (Second verse, same as the first): The part you don't seem to get is that we don't have any hard feelings against Rook. He attacked RK, well, that's par for the course in this business. But if you look at Rook's history and attitude and his track record, we should've seen it coming.

And we're well aware that the traditional thing to do in this sport is to abandon all courses and attack Rook at every turn and for RK to get his just revenge.

You know what worked better? RK lets it go, then beats Rook along with Legion and Eric Dane to become number one contender, then beats Castor in a match of his own creation for the NFW World Title.

Maybe if you ever won a championship you'd get it, Jessie.

(The camera swung around and made us all dizzy as the lady obviously stood up from wherever she was sitting and placed it on the dresser, facing the wall.)

For now, the Helsinki nightlife calls to us. The Ice Bar is expensive and not worth it once you get past the gimmick of being in an ice bar, but it's an experience everyone should have at least once.

(And we're out.)

 

[LQJT86C]

JJ The Deceiver

(FADEIN: In the parking lot of RA Palazzo’s NFW Brooklyn training facility – to be featured in future website feature article! – stand ALEX AUSTIN, LUCKY SEVEN, and STEEL VIPER in front of a rented black Chevy Equinox. Seven leans against the car in a short-sleeve tee, her arm with the full-sleeve tattoo folded over the other and angled toward the camera. Viper is pacing, and Austin throws his bag into the back, closes the door, and walks in front of the camera. His t-shirt is the face of legendary fighter and catch wrestler Kazushi Sakuraba)

AUSTIN: “No, Austin Aries is indeed NOT my real name, JJ you fucking TWAT. And I’m not even going to dignify your shtick by reciting my name, which you know damn well.”

“After all, I’m the guy who is going to carry Castor Strife’s banner into your home base and blow it all to hell. We have the numbers to do it, and most importantly, we have HIM – laying silent in the shadows, plotting our next move, giving us the wisdom needed to destroy your trifecta of underachievers.”

“You have the AUDACITY to question the Visionary Castor Strife’s legacy – man, what the fuck have YOU DONE?! Serious question, tough guy. I could name five moments in the last five months of our Great Master’s career that would brutally outshine anything you have ever done...PERIOD. What is the Frontier going to remember about you? Parking fines? Flight delays? What’s your next brilliant move – you gonna call up the Department of Public Works and tell them not to plow my street? Oh no, we know you're next move - parading around an impostor of our Great Teacher and claiming it's us. Despicable.”

(Bites bottom lip in anger, wipes mouth)

AUSTIN: “You are a McDonald’s Happy Meal in the shadow of Castor Strife’s banquet of greatness, and nothing you do short of conquering the entire wrestling circuit from Boston to Berlin will ever put you in the third sentence of the twelfth paragraph of the same conversation with Castor Strife.”

“So how does it feel? Just like Castor, you were once counted out, forgotten, and like Castor you had a second chance. But while he went on to revolutionize the way we think about this business, you essentially played with your dick on camera for an entire year and a half. Nice job. I should take a road trip to NC right now just to twist you like a pretzel in your own living room, but see...I’m a PROFESSIONAL. Under the guidance and tutelage of my Master, I am going to hit you where it hurts. I’m gonna kick you in the PRESTIGE.”

“Hellfire’s stated goal is EVERY BELT in the New Frontier. Well how’s this – the Guild is going to block you off from all three singles titles in one night.”

“FIRST – Impulse has stated that you don’t sniff the World Title until you’ve beaten Castor Strife. Well it looks like I’M the only guy who can get you a match with him, and I have to be honest – it’s not looking good. So instead of winning the GPX and challenging Impulse for the belt you would eventually challenge me for, I’m going to win the GPX and challenge...”

(Pauses with mouth open)

AUSTIN: “ROOK BLACK. I can see the writing on the walls – you want Rook Black in your club house, which makes sense because instead of being the three laziest do-nothing-to-further-the-sport overrated pieces of wasted talent, you could have Rook Black and be the FOUR laziest do-nothing-further-the-sport overrated pieces of wasted talent.”

“So our SECOND priority is blocking you from the Triple Crown Title by placing it in my hands, and thus restoring it to some kind of national integrity. I don’t know what kind of Jack Harmen voodoo doll Rook used to keep the title as long as he did, but I promise you...he’ll need more than magic to beat me.”

“THIRD – and you should listen loud and clear, Dorchester – the Guild is going to honor the agreement come to by our Master and Fiona Love, and act as the PERSONAL security for TV Champion Jack Bryant.”

“...whether he likes it or not.”

“Face it Jack – it’s a lonely word out there, and you need all the friends you can get.”

(Austin walks off and LUCKY SEVEN approaches the frame)

L. SEVEN: “A graduate and alleged BIG MAN ON CAMPUS at NC State threatens to rape somebody. Color me shocked! I bet you touched yourself silly like a 13 year old when the cameras turned off, you bad little boy. That’s my problem with you JJ – everything in your world is just one giant fantasy.”

“In your mind, you’re the LEGEND. But who, honestly, ever paid a ticket to see you? I mean, they MIGHT if you actually got in the ring once in a while, but you find every excuse not to back up your delusions of grandeur. Is that a business model or something? Did I miss that class at the NC State MBA program?”

“This alternate universe where you outdid my brother is nothing but a land of flying happy dinosaurs, talking couches, and genie heads in a box. And you, the master of faux-reality, with your bow-tie and dopy white-boy minstrel act, are just a Pee Wee trying to swim with Moby Dick.”

“We’re the Disciples of the White Whale. And on my family name, I swear to fucking Gods, JJ...you will drown.”

(blows a kiss)

(FADEOUT)

 

[Jesse Ramey]

Re: JJ The Deceiver

The scene opens back up inside of the LAOS JUNGLE; Jesse Ramey looks to have been fashioning together bamboo tied together with strips of bark holding them together.

“Are you planning on just sitting there until I’m done with this?” Ramey questioned the camera man.

The camera’s lens panned up looking directly at Ramey, “I don’t see the point in helping you. You broke my cell phone, what good is helping you going to do? You’ve ruined our only chance of getting out of here.”

“No,” Ramey laughed, “I’ve given us a chance to take a staged comical scenario and turn it into something we’ll both be able to learn from.”

The camera man’s tone could be heard becoming more panicked, “This wasn’t supposed to be a learning experience though, Jesse. This was supposed to be comical; you just didn’t know you were going to be left so that the comical aspect continued. You’re the one who took this to the extreme.”

Ramey smiled, “Exactly, they shouldn’t have tried to pull my strings. I’m not under contract with this company and I’m not going to be pulled around like a puppet on a string. This worker don’t dance for their money. I’m going to take everything they throw at me, and I’m going to tweak it to where it’s in my favor not theirs.”

“How did you tweak this situation in your favor though?” The camera man questioned frantically, “I don’t see how us being stuck in this forsaken jungle has pushed any chips into your pile at all. It just seems like you’ve lost your freaking mind altogether.”

“How are you missing the training possibilities here?” Ramey chuckled, “This is better than being in a gym all day long. This is better than working on your agility all day long. We’re getting real life experience doing this, at least I am. You’re not getting anything because you’ve just been sitting on your butt taping me this entire time. Isn’t that camera going to eventually run out of tape?”

“We don’t use tapes anymore,” The camera man hung his head a bit, “it’s all transmitted back to headquarters by bouncing off of a satellite, so they get this all in real time. The battery lasts forever too because they sent us out here with this new technology that works off of solar.”

“Then use your head son,” Ramey laughed some more. “Don’t you think if they really wanted us they would be able to follow the ping that your camera is putting off right to us? They may have originally wanted to make this comical, but now it’s getting exciting. I’ve made it exciting, because I’ve done things my way.”

“That’s what I want them to understand.” Ramey smiled, “I don’t need a script. I don’t need them to put me into a situation and then be able to just get out of it when they feel I should. I’ve been doing this for so long now, that I know what the people want. The people want what I give them.”

“They want this,” Ramey stepped closer to the camera man, “you need this.” Ramey extended his arm and helped the camera man back to his feet, “Before you got stuck out here with me, you were just another lemming doing exactly what you were told. I’ve given you the chance to fight the system and break out of your freaking mold son! To go against the grain and be something you’ve never been before in your life; self-reliant!”

“What if we don’t make it out of here though?” The camera man questioned.

“That’s your problem,” Ramey continued to smile, “we’re going to make it out of here. There is no question about that, because I have the will to get us out of this situation. I’m self-reliant; I have the confidence in myself that I’m going to make it out of this situation and that’s what you gain from this experience.”

“Do you see any of the other members of the GRAND PRIX doing this kind of stuff?” Ramey waited for a reaction, “No, they are all sitting in a hotel in or around Amsterdam going to the gym when they feel like they need to. They aren’t getting a twenty four hour experience like we are. If they get hungry they’ll just go down to the local McDonald’s and they’ll pick up something to eat.”

Ramey walked around, finding a tree with a ton of melon at the top, “If we want food we have to work to find it. If we want shelter, we have to work to have that shelter right now. If something comes into our environment, we have to take care of it so that it doesn’t take care of us.”

Ramey turned pointing to the live fire, with a skinned snake resting on a stick over it. “We have all of the opportunity in the world to strive and survive in this environment.”

Ramey’s way of thinking finally began to sink into the camera man and he began to nod in approval.

“And when we’ve got all of the supplies and necessities that we need to survive,” Ramey turned to the makeshift raft he had been working on, “we’ll plop this sucker into the Mekong and we’ll float on down that river to Phnom Penh and we’ll get on a plane and fly to Amsterdam. We may make it there right on time to do the shows, but we had to work to get there.”

“We get the experience out of this situation that no one else can make a claim to.” Ramey smiled, “That gives me the advantage in this Grand Prix. I’ll be ready for anything that gets thrown in my path.” Ramey eased his way closer to the camera, “I know you’re watching this, so anyone involved in that Grand Prix Finale, remember this. I’m coming for you, and I’m going to be more prepared for this match than any one of you. First I’m going to take the Triple Crown from Rook Black, then I’m coming to Amsterdam and I’m walking away with that World Championship match.”

“Jesse Ramey,” Ramey paused, “by the end of this all will be the first man in NFW history to be a dual champion not under an NFW contract.”

The scene faded to black.

 

[Rook Black]

IDEKA

ROOK: "..."

(ROOK BLACK sitting on his desk, the Triple Crown Championship on his shoulder. He has a concerned look on his face.)

ROOK: "I don't really even know how to respond to all this attention."

(ROOK looks off camera for a moment, his eye movement evidence of sorting a lot of thoughts. He shrugs.)

ROOK: "There's just a lot to cover."

(ROOK takes a breath.)

ROOK: "Jesse Ramey, does it make you feel better about yourself, to imagine that all the way back in 2004-"

ROOK: "You know, old shit?"

ROOK: "- that you were victimized by a conspiracy that forced you to lose to me?"

ROOK: "Does that thought comfort you? I kind of hope it does. I have had to cope with my fair share of folks touched in the head who believed strange things, and I suppose this persecution complex you've got going on isn't that much stranger than any of the others."

ROOK: "And you've made some interesting choices. You've decided that being trapped in the jungle of Laos is a good idea to prepare yourself to come at several competitors and then face me. For someone with an interest in the genuine and real, Jesse, you sure do seem to be working hard to construct some very implausible fantasy scenarios."

ROOK: "I welcome motivated competitors, so, if this is what motivates you, I don't really care. But if you're going to stand out from the other competitors, and then be the one to beat me ..."

ROOK: "Do better."

ROOK: "Alex Austin, hey, I almost didn't notice you there. I can see that you're not a fan of mine, which affects me about the usual amount."

ROOK: "You've also made some interesting choices over your occasional visits to NFW, typically to prove that you're a complete moron, what with being outsmarted by Eric Dane, and selling out your boss."

ROOK: "How would you rate your own decision making ability, Alex? What with the course of action you've taken. Was it bad luck? Was it a temporary error in judgement? Are you usually better than that? Are you ready and willing to bring a focused and decidedly-not-that-stupid-again Alex Austin to the ring and win the GPX?"

ROOK: "Castor's decision to go intangible by becoming a haunting ghostly presence is really just about one thing, cowardice. He basically feels like he's been wronged by the universe and NFW because he got suckered by a well timed counter, and lost his prize. So, rather than suck it up and go forward, he'd rather take his ball and his grumpy self home. Which leaves us with you, Alex Austin, a shadowy, insubstantial, yet very tangible presence to speak to us instead."

ROOK: "How lucky for us."

ROOK: "But don't get me wrong, Alex, I'll be happy to fight with anybody who wants to fight with me, since that's what lets me get by these days, but you know, if I had a choice..."

ROOK: "I'd much rather talk to the organ grinder instead of the monkey, if you know what I mean."

ROOK: "JJ, you're really only proving my initial assessment of you. You don't operate with any degree of nuance or subtlety. You're dangerous in the bad `live dynamite hot potato' way, not the fun `roller derby girl with the mohawk, tattoos and facial piercings' way."

ROOK: "The Impulse Camp's decision to hijack the GPX, well-"

ROOK: "Did I find it disrespectful? Yes. But that's kind of been how he's usually behaved from the onset. It's hard to even be offended at this point really."

ROOK: "The only thing I have a teeny tiny objection to, is that it appears he decided he'd solidly proven he's my better."

ROOK: "He did win that four way match. I want to make that absolutely clear. There's no disputing that. It was a well timed move, just like the one that made him champion."

ROOK: "But I think it's a little curious that he's that comfortable with how it went. To get the pin on Eric Dane after I put the Gauntlet Backhand on the chump from the top rope? I can't object to it, because I'd sure as hell do the same thing myself. But to say `beat that guy' and cross my name off the list? Ehhh, I'm not really feeling that, but it remains debatable at best. You can't take away that he won, and you can't take away that he became the champion."

ROOK: "Besides, I got my main goal that night achieved. Indisputable and undeniable humiliation of Eric Dane, which promptly sent the sulking crybaby to wherever the fuck he goes to feel better about failing in NFW. One of those moral victories. Like the time that Impulse lost to you, but he went home happy since A, he didn't cheat, and B, Rose completely humiliated you after the match with one of the most entertaining superkicks I've ever seen in my life."

(ROOK smiles.)

ROOK: "I even accepted and ate a cupcake just to ask her about it."

ROOK: "But I digress. In this lonely and miserable, meaningless existence, I have violence to make me feel better about everything, and yeah, everybody has already figured this out about me, so I'm not seeing any point in trying to imply otherwise. Do you get how getting to fight you, JJ, for this title, is more valuable to me than champagne? Or a threesome? Or a sleek car with shitty mileage? Or humiliating waiters?"

ROOK: "Competing here is all that matters to me."

ROOK: "It's why I'm still the Triple Crown Champion. It's why I'm the Final Boss."

ROOK: "I will obtain my objectives by any means necessary."

(ROOK removes the Triple Crown Championship from his shoulder and points to the top triangle on the belt's emblem.)

ROOK: "Patience."

(ROOK points to the lower right triangle.)

ROOK: "Cunning."

(ROOK pints to the lower left triangle.)

ROOK: "Ruthlessness."

(ROOK restores the belt to his shoulder.)

ROOK: "I accept what they consequentially mean about me as a human being without complaint. That I am going to remain successful, but also alone-"

(ROOK leans in to enunciate as clearly as possible.)

ROOK: "For-"

ROOK: "-Ever."

 

[LQJT86C]

Re: IDEKA

(CUTTO: ALEX AUSTIN)

AUSTIN: "Rook, you re-wrote so much history right there, they should call you Houghton-Mifflin. I'm not going to stand here and defend my own bad decisions, because I WENT through the first step to rehabilitation and admitted the error of my ways. And that's when Castor Strife built me back up into the man I am today. But let's talk about you, and some of the claims you just made."

"To call my Master a COWARD of all things, isn't just idiotic...it's downright OFFENSIVE."

"For FIVE-HUNDRED AND NINETEEN DAYS, you didn't drop his name (holds up finger) one time. With all the rust that third-string belt of yours collected during your reign of in-action, and all the times brass held the stool in front of you to STEP UP and challenge for the big belt, I'd think you would find time to call out The Visionary himself during the 519 of his reign."

"But now you're gonna come out on what, 520, and call the man a coward while he's recovering from the most brutal match in NFW history? Rook, this is why greatness will never be attached to your name. You'll always be a footnote in someone else's history book, no matter how many times you attempt to re-write it. YOUR ERASERHEAD AIN'T BIG ENOUGH! Now you were the one who vanquished Eric Dane? Strife ate the man's SOUL - you simply chewed on the marrow."

"You ponder, and presume, and think so as to analyze...while taking care to question and rationalize and figure out...but while you're staring at the painting wondering when it becomes a ship, that ship's sailed, buddy boy. And all you are is another clueless pig, stranded on sand while men like me swim in the abyss of KNOWLEDGE afforded us by the LAST GOOD MAN."

"Final boss? No, you're the mid-Boss, Rook. You're Bowser's dopey son with with the wand. You're that Digdogger shit from Legend of Zelda that you gotta kill with music."

"And while all you pigs sleep easy, thinking Linkpulse has got the sword and Ganon's asleep below the dirt, I promise you..."

"...he's awake. And every day, he's watching. Speaking through me. SEEING through me. So think on your words Rook Black (it's what you do best), and HOPE that it's only me that comes after you."

(FADEOUT)

 

[User Poets]

Re: IDEKA

(FADEIN... on ice.

Literally. Ice to the left of me, ice to the right. Here I am.

(Stuck in the middle with you.)

We're at the Arctic Ice Bar, housed inside La Bodega. It's a tepid, controlled, constant twenty three degrees Fahrenheit inside this place, and to that end I'm wearing a plain black baseball cap, my leather jacket, and a pair of gloves.

Gloves, because I'm here in an official capacity. I have the New Frontier World Title belt in my hands, and I don't want to freeze to the metal.

Next to me, in front of a glass carved from ice was the New Frontier Vice Champion, Calico Rose. She was bundled up, the cold air putting some color in her cheeks. Her ensemble was complete with a pale green "Plants vs. Zombies" hat tied under her chin, a dramatically large black fake fur coat, and black mittens.

She's on her third drink. I'm abstaining, since I'm defending my title very soon.)

IMPULSE: Amsterdam is imminently looming, and even though my Championship isn't on the line, it's an important night for me.

Amsterdam is where the Grand Prix reaches its apex, and we'll see who's earned a shot.

Maybe it'll be Leyenda de Ocho. Maybe Alex Austin. Maybe it'll be Jesse Ramey or Lane Cash or the Commissioner himself, Peter Windham.

Maybe Legion will earn a second shot.

Maybe someone new, someone unknown, someone not even announced yet will earn their chance at immortality.

I'll be there to scout 'em all, firsthand, and I'm sure before long they'll all have earned a title shot of their own.

That's the difference between the New Frontier and most of the other organizations in this business: every promotion on the face of the planet declares themselves the best, but the New Frontier, time and again, invites athletes of all walks of life to try their luck, and the New Frontier comes out on top every time.

Look at the Ultratitle.

As a company, we fear nobody.

As its World Champion... I accept any challenge to this company's strength and honor.

Because I am the Eye of the Storm... the Oasis.

(Rose drained her glass and handed it to someone off camera.)

ROSE: Not to mention we're the best dressed and most fun.

IMPULSE: Exactly.

ROSE: And you have the most awesome Vice-Champion ever.

IMPULSE: Certainly can't forget that part.

As far as the Grand Prix goes... best of luck to all the participants. You - and I, for that matter - continue to prove that this business is not dominated by the biggest, but by the most athletic.

And I welcome each of you to step out of the chaos of the New Frontier for a night... and we'll see what you can do.

(Before the camera could switch off, our attention was drawn behind its sight.)

VOICE: Another round, 'n get the two'a them somethin', too.

IMPULSE: Jack Bryant.

(True to my prediction, the TV Champion stepped into view, with Fiona Love right there with him.)

BRYANT: What's goin' on, Champ? Rose, my dear, how's things?

(Bryant gave Rose a hug while I shook Fiona's hand.)

FIONA: This place is kind of overpriced and gimmicky... what say we get outta here?

(Little did I know, our evening had just begun.)

 

[Rook Black]

Re: IDEKA

ROOK: "Alex, I get that you're not happy.

(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK brewing a cup of decafe in his hotel room, the Triple Crown Championship around his waist. He's got black and white track pants, and a black wifebeater, and 1080s.)

ROOK: "But as far as I'm concerned, Castor was worth protecting from these observations for only as long as he was actually here."

ROOK: "And I would have continued to be generous with his legacy, should he have remained here. But it's not hard to see the writing on the wall. He's gone, and we get saddled with you guys instead."

ROOK: "That's shameful. That's downright embarrassing really."

ROOK: "And really, is it that hard to imagine that I sent Eric Dane away? After his brutal match with Castor, do you recall what he had to say? He wanted a rematch. Does that sound like someone who has had their soul devoured, Alex? Please, use that brain of yours just a bit. He was all ready for our big match for to see who would be the guy to face Castor. Think he was just upset that Impulse pinned him? Was that it maybe?"

ROOK: "Eric vanished into thin air because he was humiliated to have me definitively and explicitly get the better of him. And yeah, I really wanted to get both the prizes, Eric's demise and the win."

ROOK: "But Impulse did it. And then he did in Castor. And you know, during our intense personality conflict leading up to that sweet razorwire match, know what Impulse said to me? `You already have a title belt, Rook.'"

ROOK: "He seemed to think that I didn't belong in that match. That I had my own title to defend, and didn't have any business challenging Castor for his."

ROOK: "What an odd thing to suggest, don't you think? It runs a bit counter to your notion that I had a responsibility to call Castor out."

ROOK: "But it doesn't matter really, Alex. The damage is done. I'm still here, Eric Dane is not. Impulse is here, and Castor is not. You can try to say that I've gone revisionist history, Alex, try to suggest that my remarks are suddenly the reason that I'm disrespected or some such nonsense. But really, Alex, based on what I said there really isn't even that much to revise."

ROOK: "This is NFW. I am here. Where is Castor?"

 

[brusch]

Re: IDEKA

“Ok, hooo, nice and easy…here we go…”

(A comically deep breath that lasts a solid 4 seconds and presumably pulled right next to a microphone)

“Legionyou’reugly LaneCashyoulookatboobiestoomuch PeterWindhamdrinksMD20/20andsmellslikeraccoonpee Akitaisaloser LCPisajerkandIowehimone JackHarmenyou’reoldandyourbrain’sbroken PhilAtkenIhateyouandyourassismadeoutoflead AlexAustinyou’reaposer FreddieSagawaIoweyouonetooandyourbreathstinks KidChameleonyou’reatwobitknockoffwhowillnevermeasureuptotherealthing JesseRameyprobablyhasmalariabynowsomeoneshouldcheckonhim OrangeDragonTwomorelikeOrangeDragonWhoamirite FappityBaytorhow’syourhand *gaaaaaaaaaaasp*”

(The camera opens to an NFW backdrop. Leyenda de Ocho stands before it in a bright yellow and red mask vaguely resembling a bird with red pants. His hands are on his hips as he labors to catch his breath.)

Ocho: “Thirteen guys…is a lot…to trash talk. Whew.

Forgive me. Some of that was probably a little unfair. I just wanted to get that out of the way right off the bat so I could talk about something I’m REALLY interested in…

Earthbound.

More specifically, the Flying Man. One of the greatest characters in video game history, though if you blink you would have missed him…and if you never played Earthbound you have no idea what I’m talking about. Which is fine. That’s why I’m here - to educate.

At a critical moment in the game, the hero Ness is forced to retreat into the deep corners of his mind, all the way to the subconscious levels that contained the evil in Ness’s mind. An evil which, metaphorically, we ALL possess - even if it’s in small quantities. A beautiful representation of the human truth that we are all, always, in a constant choice of whether to succumb to that evil or whether to press on, to fight, to overcome the temptations of our sinister recesses.

Within his mind, Ness encounters the Flying Man…a surreal half-man half-bird who tells Ness that he is the embodiment of his Courage. Capital C. He follows Ness, giving him the strength to press on through the difficulties and the fear he faces in the increasingly warped and disturbing depths a person rarely taps into within their own mind.

He is poetic. He is pure. He fears not death or failure, he fears not the wicked or the proud. He presses along, inside and beside the hero, as Courage with a capital C.

That’s what it is going to take to win the Grand Prix. That is what it’s going to take to make something for yourself in NFW.

Evil lurks around every corner…there are villains and cheats and liars and friends and companions and partners in every corner of this place. It takes courage to know thyself, to believe that what you’re doing is the right thing, to press on when you’re scared or outnumbered or the world tells you you’re not supposed to be here, not yet. To fling yourself outside a ring over and over again, to put every inch of your body on the line in a hellacious match against 13 other warriors who all hunger the same way you hunger.

I am the Flying Man. I am Courage with a capital C. And I will press on, eyes ablaze, until my task is complete.”

(Fade to black)

 

[Biron]

Finally, A Little Incentive ...


(CUTTO: Don Det, Laos; A modest bungalow shaded by palm trees on the bank of the Mekong River. CUTTO: The inside of said bungalow, where an assumably au naturel LANE CASH, his private area covered by a white, bath towel-sized sheet, is lying face up on a cushioned, bamboo massage table. A young Laotian woman - she could be eighteen, she could be thirty - is rubbing down Lane’s thighs. To his left and right, the BEAUTIFUL BLONDES, just barely covered by their sheets, are also getting worked on by similarly aged Laotian women. HIGH-ANGLE CUTTO: LANE reaches above his shoulder, fishes a cigarette from an open pack of Pall Malls, which are next to his Ray-Ban Cats 5000 shades, and clamps it between pressed lips.)

CASH: “C’mon, Suke. (sparks cigarette, sits up) Either that knot in my right thigh’s goin’ or you are. One word to Chow Puxe (her eyes go wide) and you’re doin’ Bamboo Shows on the Mekong for dirty-dicked pirates. (raises eyebrows) PRO BONO.”

(As SUKE starts doing double-time on that thigh, a content LANE lies back down and takes a few charges off his Pall Mall Long.)

CASH: “A little incentive can go a long way. Somethin’ that the EN-EFF-DUB finally realized after weeks of watchin’ Lane Cash sleepwalkin’ through the competition. Whether it’s the threat of your vaginal tract bein’ transformed into a cactus via bamboo slivers or, say, a World Title shot, uppin’ the ante is never a bad idea. No doubt the brass saw their CASH COW sleepin’ standin’ up during the last few Grand Prix events. That a once-in-a-lifetime Athletic Marvel was startin’ to lose interest and FAST. That, even though they’d run out their nice, little dog and pony show, I was still mailin’ it in. (shrugs) They desperately needed to get this Money Train back on the tracks. They had Emergency Meeting after Emergency Meeting. They even rehired that hot artsy broad. (smirks) Then, like a mystical Slingshot Dropkick from YOURS TRULY, the one’s where time seems to slow down, where the only reasonable explanation for my hang time is that I briefly went into ORBIT, it hit them in smack dab in their blowholes. Lob a World Title shot right into his WHEELHOUSE. Mission Accomplished, Board of Directors. Amsterdam just became the HOTTEST TICKET in town. President Edward Mayfield himself is gonna have to scalp tickets to get in. That’s why Lane Cash is the Greatest Show on Earth.”

(LANE nods, takes a drag from his cigarette, and exhales through his nostrils.)

CASH: (holds up hand) “Rook, bro, before you break another desk lamp and cry yourself to sleep, let me explain. That title you have is nothin’ to sneeze at. If it was mine, I would treat it like a newborn baby - cradle it in my arms, sing a lullaby or two, and then brain the first dickhat that looked at me wrong with it. The thing is … (pauses to eyeball Suke) my time is precious. I’ve got shit to do. So everything comes down to WORK versus REWARD. A shot at your title just doesn’t make the grade, man. The common folk would show up in droves to see you and me. And, hey, I’d gladly let you hitch your JALOPY to my MINT-CONDITION ‘69 Firebird. You could strap on your Dexter’s Laboratory backpack and come sit in the back of the bus with the Big Kids. Oh man, you’d be excited. (takes a puff, exhales) Except, sooner or later, you’d ask one too many questions. You’d tug on my shirt one too many times. And that’s when I bash your dome into the bus window, open up the back hatch, and send you packin’ with nothin’, but a Hit the Road, Black! (chuckles) As I was sayin’, you and that title are not the problem, man. It’s the fact that I’d have to go through and merc the greatest FAILURES and VIRGINS that wrestlin’ has to offer to take it from you. And considering most of these punks shoulda been flushed, I was lookin’ at losin’ at least a half-hour that’s not comin’ back.”

(LANE snuffs his Pall Mall out on the side of the bamboo table.)

CASH: “Except now, the Big Belt has been put into play and King Cash has become INVESTED. This is what they needed. There’s only one man that can turn the Red Light District into a GHOST TOWN and that’s Mr. Saturday Night Ride (thumbs chest) himself. I’m the Money Shot as far as EN-EFF-DUB goes. That’s why they damn near HANDED me this World Title shot with a BOW ON IT. Nobody wants to see De Mayo, or Jack Harmen, or that ground-huggin’ Alex Austin. They want to see Lane Cash blowin’ chumps up like a Heat-Seeking Missile and that’s exactly what they’re gonna see. Look at that stip. (smirks) I do better slingshot work than Dennis the f(bleep!)in’ Menace. Hey, I’m not sayin’ these idiots can’t fly. I’m sayin’ that there’s nobody else in the WORLD with my HOPS. The rest of these clowns are millin’ around like a herd of antelope, just happy to be eatin’ up some green. (gestures money sign) I’m like a Bengal Tiger - except eight or nine times more rare - and I’m settin’ these fools up for the kill. (rubs hands together) We're not even on the same LEVEL. That’s what happens when you’re fightin’ over nickels and dimes at your feet. You never even think to look up and see the HUNDREDS flyin’ over your heads. (big smirk) That World Title shot is mine by Divine Right of KINGS. Remember, peasants, CASH IS KING!”

(The shot FTB as LANE rolls over onto his stomach.)

 

[LQJT86C]

Re: Finally, A Little Incentive ...

(FADEIN: The camera turns the corner of an empty ring, closing up on ALEX AUSTIN who is leaning over the ropes, in an ATAMA t-shirt and a vintage Northstars hat)

AUSTIN: "Where is Castor? (smiles) You want to know..."

(Pauses, looks off to the side contemplatively)

"Castor Strife can't be found in a house of stone or wood. He's inside you; he's all around you. Split a piece of wood, and he is there. Lift a stone, and you will find him."

"His Kingdom is within and outside you. His image is hidden by his light."

"Familiar words? It's the Gospel of St. Thomas. You're an educated man, or so you claim to be, Rook. So you tell me...what does it all mean? Why on Earth is Castor Strife not here in the flesh? (smiles) I wonder."

"Cowardice? No, there's enough of that to go around. You're all cowards, loitering at the curbside of his vast shadow. You are pathetic, and it will be a good day when I destroy what little credibility you have in the New Frontier, Rook, and take your title. That day is coming, shithead. Real fucking fast."

"I am my Master's disciple..."

(FADEOUT)

 

[Rook Black]

Re: Finally, A Little Incentive ...

ROOK: ...

(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK, he's seated cross legged on a mat on a gym floor, wearing black and white track pants, black wifebeater, 1080s. His eyes are shut. His breathing is slow and measured. Before him, folded up, is the Triple Crown Championship.)

ROOK: "Wrong answer."

ROOK: "But that's not really your fault, Alex. The question was, by it's nature, a little unfair."

ROOK: "There's only two answers."

ROOK: "Where am I? Where is anyone?"

ROOK: "I am here. NFW."

ROOK: "Legion is here."

ROOK: "Jack Harmon, Nova, they are here."

ROOK: "Jack Bryant, Dorchester Stratton. They are here."

ROOK: "Impulse, our NFW World Champion, he is here."

ROOK: "Layenda de Ocho, Boogie Smallz, Jesse Ramey, Orange Dragon II, they are all here. Not necessarily on contract all of them, but they are doing battle here. In our ring, they're fighting. They are here."

ROOK: "Teddy Alexander. Phil Atkin. They're here."

ROOK: "JJ DeVille, Blaine, they are here."

ROOK: "You get where this is going, Alex? Do I need to list everybody who is, by one way or another, committed to being here?"

ROOK: "I didn't ask where Castor was because I wanted to conjecture about his astral presence. I didn't ask where Castor was because I was curious about which medical facility he was patronizing. Or which posh cottage he's mounting his recovery at."

ROOK: "I asked because I wanted you to confirm what I had already suspected."

ROOK: "Wherever he is, he's not here."

(ROOK opens his eyes. His focus is fixed, his face is stern.)

ROOK: "This is NFW. If you aren't here, then you're somewhere between shit and dead."

(ROOK visibly relaxes.)

ROOK: "But at least you're here, Alex. That's something, I suppose. You want to ruin me, come take my things, bust up my reputation? I welcome your efforts."

ROOK: "Hell, let's have a little fun with conjecture, shall we? Let's suppose you do come at me in a match, and in a spectacular display of ability, you best me, definitively. You're the new Triple Crown Champion, I've been beaten, my statistically insignificant streak is over."

ROOK: "You know what happens then?"

ROOK: "I'll still be here. Which is more than you can say for your master, isn't it?"

ROOK: "I continue to win, Alex, because my eyes are open to the possibility, hell, the inevitability of loss. I am mortal, finite, of limited strength and time in this world, as I age and as I approach my eventual death. I am aware that a single moment of failure, a single moment where I am less than diligent would mean my defeat."

ROOK: "And as I am pitted against forces that threaten to overwhelm me, as I am at the edge of complete and utter failure, I find a way. Every time, I find a way."

ROOK: "That bit of line around your neck that you're so proud of, that leash allegedly held by the hand of your master, it's a hangman's noose. As long as you're wearing it, anytime you're pitted against a concrete individual you'll wind up choking."

 

[Colin]

Re: Finally, A Little Incentive ...

We find ourselves in the company of the esteemed Phil Atken. For what he is considered esteemed for is questionable but he insists that he is esteemed so there you go. THERE YOU GO. He is of course standing in front of a black back drop in an undisclosed location somewhere in that damn socialists Europe. Of, he is also on the phone.

Atken: "... didn't you tell me you have an economy?

...

No...

...

No, you don't need to meet my new friend.

...

No. Remember, you have an economy. Do that, do that totally true thing and not a lie you told me because you you were trying to disown me. Do that. Run that economy. No one even knows what a David Cameron is! Least of all me! Just don't come here... and don't invite your relatives either. I don't really need to see Kasper's performance art ever again. Now I gotta run, there's cameras and stuff. LOVE YOU LOTS. BUHBYE!"

Phil quickly hangs up his phone and turns his attention back towards the camera.

Atken: "Looking at Reloaded, looking at this big multiman hubub, I've almost started to question why I signed up, signed on that dotted line, why I submitted all that paperwork to get the official Mayfield Seal of Approval, why oh why oh why did I want to enter this Grand Prix. It's hardly been a joyful and enticing time for me in the past. It seems like an opportunity to wallow in the failures of the past instead of looking at a quite successful present and a glowing future. I mean, I wasn't in this Grand Prix for me, I wasn't in it for a chance to go up against Rook Black and the Triple Crown, I certainly wasn't in it for NFW World Heavyweight glory. I signed up to this Grand Prix, I battled my way to victory not because I wanted one last run at a singles title here in NFW. Not because I wanted to try and right the wrongs of the past and finally make myself a somebody here. I was in the Grand Prix for a shot at those EEE EM TEES. I entered this Grand Prix as the wing of the Atken and Alexander Music Factory. The wing that could fight the battle, who could claim to be considered a cruiserweight. Teddy, he sure as hell didn't fit the mould or the spirit of the Grand Prix. So, I was the one, I was the one who was going to get our team our rightful shot at the Superfly Express, our chance at those belts once more. A chance that wasn't going to be dampened by a crazed hobo with a squash racquet. I entered this shindig to redeem myself in the eyes of Teddy . I was entering the Grand Prix as a representative of a team, a unit, men with a united goal. I was going to bring that title shot home to Atken and Alexander. That's what I was going to do.

Now though? Now... me and Teddy, we already gone and got got what we wanted. Teddy already considers my redeemed. Hell, he considers me a brother. So, I'm not here for Teddy, I'm not here to earn our Tag Title shot, we already have that banked down in ole Oslo. So why am I here? What's the point? Why even bother? I'm not a singles guy anymore, I'm a tag teamer, I'm part of a unit, a united team, a true team. I got there without this Grand Prix victory. I got there without jumping through the latest hoop. The latest throw as much shit in the ring as possible in the hopes the fans enjoy the stink while everyone involved insists that theirs doesn't."

Phil begins to slowly and repeatedly tap his index finger against his temple.

Atken: "It's just puzzling to me, I mean, I have my duty as a contracted NFW wrassler to appear in Amsterdam. Hell, I may even enjoy the occasional show while I'm here but what do I hope to achieve? What's my goal? What's my purpose in this bout? I already have my desire. I already got there without having to risk life and limb against 13, 14, 15, 16, 17... god knows how many nutjobs looking and lusting to be pointed to as the next "guy". They want to be NFW's next Impulse, the plucky lil guy who managed to overcome size, weight and mind and still come out on top of it all. They too want to send a low budget porn director tumbling into shards of glass as if it was somehow a meaningful victory. That's what this Grand Prix has turned into. It's a cavalcade of people beginning us to look at them. To pay attention to them. To take them seriously. I'm... I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to do that because ONE, none of you will ever take me seriously, some call that my charm. I get underestimated a lot, it's almost cliche at this point. People point to me, they look at my past and they guffaw. They just can't get their tiny heads wrapped around what I've accomplished this year. The record books, look 'em up, look up who has victories of Dan Ryan and Nova, who has taken them down in NFW. You'll realise very quickly it's a short list, perhaps even a list of one. Still, people won't take that seriously, people will never take me seriously. It's not a battle worth fighting, who needs respect when you've got tag title gold. When you've got a partner you can rely on to take a bullet for you, as you would him. You only need to prove people wrong if you care about their thoughts in the first place and knowing the NFWite mindset, there's not going to be a single thought in the entire Amsterdam arena.

The other reason, number TWO? The truth is, I just don't need it. I don't need this win, I don't have that fire, that passion, the RUMBLIN' IN THE BELLY that people like Leyenda de Ocho and Jesse Ramey will insist in front of cameras for money that they have. This Grand Prix, I fought for my place in this final, I fought hard, I earned my spot. Eddie Mayfield now deems it suitable to toss anyone who has once uttered to words "NFW" in a telephone conversation as part of this final climatic moment. Pollard, Austin... they get in just for showing up. THEN we open it up to the world, to anyone who has ever stood in a wrestling ring. THEN the finale is a match where victory is determined by sheer dumb luck. I shouldn't be surprised, the company does whatever the hell it wants.

Guys, you want a shot at Impulse, I wish you the best, I'm sure in your own minds, you are going to be trend setters and not fresh meat to the NFW abattoir. Me? I already got what I need. You guys want to screw up enough, I'll pounce, I'll take you out, hell I may stumble into another NFW World Title match where 1,000 guys cause a distractions but the champion still declares it a clear victory but otherwise, you guys go nuts for donuts. Me and Teddy, we got some Memorial Titles to win and that's my priority, that's called team work. That's what I am now and I'm damn proud of it."

 

[brusch]

Re: Finally, A Little Incentive ...

“There’s one more lesson that the Flying Man teaches us…”

(The camera opens to Leyenda de Ocho standing before an NFW backdrop, costumed as before with red pants, and a yellow-and-red birdlike mask.)

Ocho: “You see, in Ness’s mind, there isn’t just one physical embodiment of Courage - there are five. Five identical, brave brothers who will accompany Ness one at a time without a question asked. If the first one falls, you can go back and ask the second to help you through your trials and tribulations; a tombstone marks the first Flying Man’s sacrifice, reading ‘Ness’s Courage Is Resting Here. He Fought Well And Died.’

A fitting tribute. The second brother can follow you, and he will prove to be every bit the companion as Flying Man 1 was; and if he falls, another tomb will mark his end. ‘Another One of Ness’s Courage Is Resting Here. He Damaged Evil Terribly, and Finally Died.’

Flying Man 3 still bears some of the same fire and excitement of the first two, telling you that Courage hasn’t died yet. He may fall as well: ‘Here He Rests…I Didn’t Have Time To Have His Name Chiseled Into The Tombstone.’

…

And then, something really interesting happens.

The fourth Flying Man, if you get to that point, will accompany you with the advice that you shouldn’t treat the Flying Men like trash.

And if he dies?

‘Someone’s Tombstone’.”

(Ocho stands very calmly, choosing his words carefully. He closes his eyes, remembering the scene that he has played through over and over again.)

Ocho: “The fifth and final Flying Man is not Courage, and he tells you that Courage pushed too far, Courage that is over-relied upon, Courage that is purely used in place of planning and preparation can quickly become something else.

The final Flying Man is named Desperation. With a capital D.

Even more than the blatant lesson the game gives us is a more subtle one; these Flying Men are almost certainly doomed to fail by the time you get to the final evil in Ness’s mind. The player only believes he needs their help, when really, it is an inevitability that he will stand alone in his final conquest. Courage isn’t a crutch; it’s inside you all along. The Flying Men exist to reveal that Player One is a powerful force in his own right, allowing him to face the evil in his own mind without fear.”

(Ocho opens his eyes and slowly begins inching towards the camera.)

Ocho: “If you aren’t prepared for the test that lays before you…if you aren’t resolute in your aims, if you don’t understand that you must find the Courage within yourself rather than relying on fortune or circumstance…Desperation will take over. And Desperation is the fastest way to end your game.

My life is not a plastic shell without substance. My aim is not to represent these iconic stories and characters purely for the fun of it (though believe me, it can be a blast)…it’s because these icons can tell more pure, more real stories than most people could on their own. They can show you ways of thinking outside the norm. They can give you inspiration, passion, a road to travel…an example to follow.

I am the Flying Man. I am your Courage. However…don’t treat me like trash.”

(Fade to black.)

 

[Biron]

Villa de Valentino


(CUTTO: Venice, Italy - An exterior shot of the Villa De Valentino - white, crushed rock drive, wrought iron gating, a three-story villa w/ five-sided, stone steps leading up to it. CUTTO: An indoor pool w/ clear blue water in a heated room with a glass panels looking out at the villa’s sprawling grounds. FRANCESCA ELECTRA, in a Torrid Plunge Cutout Monokini by Jolidon, is laid out on a rattan beach lounger. Across the room, a barefoot LEXX ‘Machine’ TARANO, wearing a red Ironville Gym tee and black sweatpants, picks over an array of fresh fruit and various appetizers. The shot focuses in on a figure moving under the water, nearing the pool’s edge, and breaking the water’s surface to reveal VALENTINO FERRARI. VALENTINO, rocking black, low waist Emporio Armani swim briefs, climbs the pool’s steps and is met by a waiting FRANCESCA with towel in-hand.)

FERRARI: (moderate, smooth as silk Italian accent akin to Assassin Creed’s Ezio) “Benvenuto. (grinning, dabs self w/ towel) I have invited you to Villa De Valentino to announce my entree into the Grand Prix. I would be a fool to allow this opportunity pass me by. I do give credit to the NFW World Champion - possibly the only man, aside from myself and Lexx, with any HONOR in this wasteland. Of course, it’s only a HINT of honor. He’s mostly a smug, little man that one day - a day that’s coming soon - will write a check that he cannot cash. (smirks) What else would you expect from an American? Much like the debt-ridden country Impulse is from, he’s a man of many weaknesses. Whether he acknowledges that or not, I do not care.”

(VALENTINO hands his towel off to a short Italian maid - perhaps in her 50s - and sits down on a rattan lounger. There’s a row of seven in total. FRANCESCA returns to hers, also.)

FERRARI: “That I can help with. The Original Showstoppers (disgusted) seemed to believe they were the GREATEST TEAM in all of Professional Wrestling. Franklin Fargo spoke often about it. As you can imagine, this is not something I agreed with. Well, as you saw in Berlin, Lexx and I helped them see the error in their way. We showed them with precision that only a European - mostly Italian - possesses. Unlike you, we are not wasteful. I assure you that our message was received. The message is simple - we (gestures toward LEXX), Venice Coast-to-Coast are Tag Team Wrestling’s GOLD STANDARD. As if being the All-Europe Team Champions, the MOST PRESTIGIOUS Team Titles in the WOLRD, was not enough evidence, one-by-one, we will defeat any and all challengers. We, Italians, already rule athletics, fashion, and romance. Now, our dominance in Team Wrestling will be on full display.

(The maid from earlier returns with a push cart w/ a bottle of Brunello de Montalcino in a bucket ice and two wine glasses. She’s quickly dismissed by VALENTINO.)

FERRARI: “But first, I will walk into this Grand Prix in Amsterdam and walk away vittorioso. This is not only a slight at the competition, however. It’s a testament to my SUPERIOR SKILL, STYLE, and, as is the case with most Europeans, INTELLIGENCE. My competition is POOR - in both talent and wealth. (chuckles) Just look at them. You have video game addicts - great role models for a disgustingly obese country. You have Lane Cash, who dresses in fine clothing and wears expensive shades, but he’s nothing more than a simple-minded country bumpkin. (sneers) You can expect these men to hold a candle to Valentino Ferrari. I already had everything they did not - looks, wealth, talent, the love of the World's Most Beautiful Women - and, after Amsterdam, I will be the Winner of the Grand Prix, too. (slicks back hair) There's nothing you can do, but ... TRY and KEEP UP!”

(FADE TO FERRARI FAMILY CREST)

 

[Legion]

Re: Finally, A Little Incentive ...

[We fade in to see Legion – wearing a Chaos Reigns T-shirt and blue jeans, head down staring at the floor.]

LEGION: No doubt everyone has been wondering why the winner of last year’s GPX hasn’t said his piece about the battle royal – as you can figure out I’ve been preparing myself both physically and mentally for the battle against Impulse for the title and looking at the list of who else have arrived I realised the two scenarios out in front of me..

If I beat Impulse I get to watch all of you tear each other apart for a shot at the gold and if I’m not successful at night 1 of Brawlhalla I get to tear you all apart- either way it’ll be enjoyable. I have some old enemies that want to continue their fight against me from Lord Coyner Pollard down to Akita and yet there’s others that I want to make sure realise their folly at stepping into the ring with me: Fappity – you remind me of a old enemy – one that didn’t take it seriously when it counted, you’re too busy being occupied with which hand to use in those precious private moments of yours, what will you do when the other arm is broken?

My main focus though: Akita and Alex Austin.

Remember Laos Akita? Yes you won the battle but I saw the look in your eyes – you want to cause chaos, you’ve felt that you’ve had to hold back the urges of the past until we met and by the look on your face after I screamed ‘DISHONOR’ at you, sooner or later you will embrace the chaos once more and I will continue to make you see it.

Alex- I watched your little statement that your ‘master’ gave you to kill us all and I laughed – you of all people have no concept of loyalty, YOU caused Castor to lose everything to Eric Dane by forging his signature and then what does Castor do? The worst mistake he could – dissolves the Guild and yet still finds you loyal. Time for me to send a message – one of utmost importance; betray me and you pay the ultimate price.

Chaos will reign soon enough and with the Black Market by my side everyone will be exposed for their true selves soon enough.