The End
"You're happy, Kid. Giddy, even."
"Why?"
"It's not often that a man can schedule his own execution."
(FADEIN: No frills or extras.
We're in a darkened room: not so much for effect but it's just a dark room. There's a few spots on, providing... juuuuuust enough light to see by.
The Second Coming is in view, wearing her black hoodie with the hood up, black leather mask over her lower face with spikes all over it, and taped fists. She's sitting on a folding chair, backwards, leaning her arms on the back of the chair and herself on her arms.)
"I just want you to remember that you asked for this, Kid. You wanted this match."
"Wait, no you didn't. You didn't want this match, because this match will sell out the SAC and make money for the Red Line, which will make money for us. And you want this company to fail, for... reasons."
(She waited a beat.)
"You called me their 'income,' Kiddo. I'm an unproven commodity. I represent loads of potential dollars, but no sure thing. By doing your best to take me out, you're not saying 'I'm going to destroy the Red Line.' You're saying 'I believe in this girl so if I'm going to destroy the Red Line I can't let her reach her potential.'"
"So, thanks - I guess?"
"Here's my thing, Kiddo. You can talk about truth, you can talk about educating the masses and the falsity that the office is giving me, but you're not offering anything else."
"You're trying to sound revolutionary, when you actually have nothing to say. You'd be the annoying skinny vegan kid always trying to save the spotted owls if it wasn't for the fact that you're actually affecting the course of the Red Line."
"Temporarily, at least."
"But you're very shallow, Kiddo - and you're very simple. You see an athletic girl with a potentially lucrative future and you want her... making money the way you want her to make it."
"You act the way you do, because you don't have the full story. Well, you won't get the full story until Slamtrack."
"When it slams you in the face."
(The Second Coming leaned back, holding onto the back of the chair. She stared at the ceiling, and the hood fell from the back of her head, exposing her long black hair.)
"I... don't... care... about a title. Not right now. I don't care about fame, or glory, or money, or any respect that this sport has given me so far."
"You, Koala Kid... have disrespected me. Therefore, you have taken my self respect, therefore you are exactly what you claimed to be: a hypocrite."
"Therefore. You need to be taught a lesson."
(She smiled. We assume: we can't really tell.)
"The joke of it, Kiddo, is that you've signed a contract for a hardcore match against me, and you don't know the first thing about me. I assume you've looked at me, decided I was a girl, or I was a rookie, or I was a rookie girl, and that you knew everything you needed to know about me. If you knew the truth, you'd never have stepped into my ring."
(The camera view moved in on an extreme close up.)
"And now, you've given me exactly what I want. You've given me you... in a match with no rules. You've given me you, without disqualifications or countouts."
"My mom has bashed the rude in the face with the business end of her microphone stand for twenty years now. My dad? He's broken his opponents' bones and spilled their blood in the squared circle since before that."
"Me? I am my father's daughter."
"You've interrupted me, cost me the chance to be Champion, disrespected me, held me down, and held me back, Kiddo."
"What do you really think I'll do to you in this hardcore match?"
(She laughed again.)
"It might be easier to tell you what I won't do."
"And I won't be nice."
(All of a sudden, her demeanor turned completely serious.)
"And you won't survive."
(FADE)
