Cameron Cruise impatiently reached for the parting electronic double doors, pressed for time, vowing to keep moving. If he stops he’ll have a moment to consider the phone call that summoned him to the Hilton Hotel: Huntsville’s biggest tourist attraction.
There was talk of getting a Wal-Mart five years ago, but groundbreaking on the recommended site unearthed an old Native American burial ground. Quickly the Huntsville town council voted to block further construction. The remains of dead Indians would fuel conversation for generations. It was also a source of both pride and out rage, Huntsvillians unsure of how they were supposed to feel.
On one hand, many made a yearly trek to Ted Turner Stadium in Atlanta to cheer on the Braves. On the other, strange occurrences at night, reports of pickups driving themselves into the forest to never return had long gone unexplained. Now, they had meaning.
Wal-Mart’s taken the soul of an entire nation, but Huntsville would be the lone voice of reason. The community of poor boys and girls who said, “No thank you, allowing a 24/7 Drug Store was enough.”
The burial ground was the heart of Huntsville until the Hilton was erected, like manna from heaven, offering the uneducated a classy means to earn minimum wage and a leg up on their forefathers who have accused following generations of raping the value behind a good living.
The people over time had trouble relating to rotting remains. While it was cool, the sacred ground said jack about the men and women who skipped house payments to throw up a second Directv dish. What does it mean to live in Huntsville? Who are its sons and daughters?
The joke was their town was only worth driving through, stopping for gas and a quick piss. A true humanitarian is someone who can laugh at himself.
Only worth driving through...
If true, the council approved the Hilton’s construction to have the last laugh. Nobody wants to stop in Huntsville, but a hotel this beautiful can’t be found in the surrounding areas.
Travelers find themselves trapped in Huntsville, albeit in style, like Cruise finds himself now.
Locked in a padded room with Joey Melton, the one man who’s taken almost a sick pleasure in raking Cameron over the coals verbally. He didn’t ask to team with the man, that’s for damn sure. But Melton did? The CSWA’s Mr. Everything requested to take Cammy on as a partner?
The fledging insanity in Cameron’s career has to be a result of global warming. Scientists have predicted gradual change over hundreds of years. Metropolitan cities weren’t being flooded, but Cruise’s personal space certainly was. And, though thousands aren’t senseless dying, isn’t this worse?
He stops in the center of the lobby, as ignorant looking Huntsville teens eye him behind the counter. Cruise nods his head, it’s a nice place no question.
“She's got a way about her”
”I don't know what it is”
”But I know that I can't live without her”
The quiet butchering of a song from the bar reaches Cameron’s ears like a whistle only he and dogs can hear. It’s unbearable. That awful playing of a piano, someone please, before pacemakers start malfunctioning.
“She's got a way of pleasin'”
”I don't know what it is”
”But there doesn't have to be a reason”
”Anyway”
The voice is picking up steam. Cruise power walks to the bar, a migraine building. Whoever is singing, guaranteed has their eyes closed, feeling the lyrics, as if only they shared that moment in time.
“She's got a smile that heals me”
”I don't know why it is”
”But I have to laugh when she reveals me”
Cameron staggers into the bar, and fights the urge to cry. There are lighters in the air, why? Sweet Momma Cass why are people respecting this? If Billy Joel is able to hear the rendition, Cruise hopes he’s not driving.
Is that?
Tell me it’s not...
“She's got a way of talkin'”
”I don't know what it is”
”But it lifts me up when we are walkin'”
”Anywhere”
Joey Melton sits on top of a piano as an elderly woman in a “Tony Stewart” T-shirt and white slacks romances the keys. Melton spots Cruise, nods, and kicks his head back in the air, still singing breathlessly.
“She comes to me when I'm feelin' down”
”Inspires me without a sound”
”She touches me...”
Cameron decisively grabs a fire extinguisher off the wall, steps to the old woman and fires off a round, saving humanity as we know it.
“...and I get turned arou--” Oblivious to much, even Joey Melton has to recognize he’s being rudely interrupted.
“Hey! Cruise, what ar-...”
The patrons file out of the bar. Damn Huntsville curfew. Last call comes so early now.
Cameron apologetically holds his right hand in the air. “Sorry Joey...”
“I should hope so, I was ten seconds away from the big finish.” Melton tosses the mic to the bartender and takes a seat at a small table for two. Cruise, trying to regain his senses, sits opposite Melton.
“Big finish? No man, they weren’t ready for it, believe me.”
“You’re probably right. Leave’em wanting more.”
Cruise grimaces. Melton was buying this. Yikes. Too bad he doesn’t own any swampland in Florida, he could clean Joey out within the hour.
“Melton the show starts in twenty minutes. We were supposed to check in two hours ago, and believe it or not I actually like being early. Spending the afternoon with the boys, and Mercedes. We love the business. It’s why we live in it.”
Melton stares Cameron in the eye. Cruise meant every word, and he knows it. Sincerity’s a new trait to Joey, but he’s learned how to sense it.
“Geez Cruise, what do you...watch the Lifetime Network and read women’s magazines too?”
The answer was yes, but Cruise would never admit it. Not even under the glare of a hot lamp with a taunting glass of water an arm’s length away.
“Come on Melton, let’s roll. Be serious for once.”
“I asked you here, because I am serious. The truth is people aren’t lining up out the door to team with a forty year-old superstar who’s selling dvds of barbed wire matches with midgets on his website.”
Cruise cocked an eyebrow. “I thought those were out of stock..”
“I wish.”
Cameron would either learn much from Melton, or move to the Alaskan Wilderness to find space.
“I’m easily written off now, Cammy. A side-show they say, and the good man upstairs only knows I nearly have a penny to my name. I asked to team with you because I knew you wouldn’t resist.”
“But I have. Not to be a stickler Joey, but I’ve been all but on my hands and knees to get out of this match.”
Joey cupped his face with two hands in anguish. “You and Troy both make heartfelt speeches come off like pulling teeth.”
“Me and Troy?” Cameron backed from the table slightly. “How long has it been Melton?”
“Too long. But don’t worry your safe, I’m not that depraved.” Joey takes a drink from a half-empty beer. “Though, I can’t yet vouch for how good you look when I’m drunk.”
Cruise shoots up from the table. “Allrighty. Hey thanks for the date? Dare I say? But I’m about fifteen minutes from getting fined, so I’ll see you at the arena.”
Melton hops to his feet, a smile on his face.
“That was a joke, Cruise. Listen...” Cameron turned back to Joey, though unsure why. “Thanks man. I’m going to give you all I got.”
Cameron relaxed. Who would turn down an opportunity to team with the legend? “I know.”
The sober one of the two fishes into his pants pocket and pulls out a set of keys, tossing them Melton’s direction.
“You drive. There’s still time for a crash course scouting report of tonight’s match.”
As they walked out of the bar, Cameron’s own words rung in his ear. Turning back to Joey, he stole the keys from his partner.
“Better yet...”
“Good call. I’m going to need a good hour to be able to stand upright with no problems.”
[Cutto: The parking garage of the Von Braun Civic Center. The cameraman watches as a huge monster truck - an old Ford in a former life - rolls into the arena. It parks across two parking spots. The doors swing open, admitting two massive figures - The Monsta Boyz, Buff Bellows and Fat Farrell. Both wear their typical Hawaiian shirts.]
BUFF: Aight, Fat Man. Ready to roll?
FAT: Aw, hell yeah.
BUFF: Then let's do this.
[Exchanging a high-five, Buff and Fat stroll through the double doors into the arena.]
[CUE UP: "Imperial March" - Rage Against the Machine. A video montage plays, featuring smoke-wreathed images of various wrestlers, some of them leaving blurred trails as they move.
CUT TO: Christian Sands hitting the Sand Blaster on an unknown opponent.
CUT TO: Karl Brown nailing someone with the Dragon's Bite.
CUT TO: Jonathan Marx slapping an intense STF on an unknown individual.
CUT TO: Adam Benjamin knocking the absolute bejesus out of an opponent with a shining wizard.
CUT TO: The Crimson Calling destroying their opponent with a Crimson Crasher.
CUT TO: Beast delivering a high impact Tiger Driver '91 to an unnamed man.
CUT TO: Dan Ryan, an evil grin on his face, stomping his massive frame towards the camera.
CUTTO: With a clash of metal, a logo slams across the screen, its edges flickering.]
[Cut to the ramp, where a wreath of pyro explodes around the EmpireTron and several bomblike, smoky explosions ripple about the entry way. The camera zooms in on the screen as the pyro finally peters out, then blurs to roving shots of the roaring crowd as a small banner in the corner briefly appears to proclaim that EPW is broadcast en Espanol. Various signs are visible in the crowd: "Jonathan Marx Kidnapped Guinevere", "HOLY JOEY MELTON SIGHTING!", "BEAST IS A BEAST", "Karl Brown Is So Hot!", "Sexual Harassment Sands, Part 2: Electric Boogaloo", "Poseidon Fears Zeus", "STORMS FEARS DOE", "THE NEWBIES... THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!", and finally, "DOWN WITH EPW! DOWN WITH DEGRADING TREATMENT OF WOMEN!" The last slogan is plastered across a number of signs held by a group of matronly women in the lower bowl. As well, four cloth-covered cylindrical shapes are visible near the entryway, each about ten feet tall.]
[Cut to the broadcast position. As usual, Dave Thomas and Mike Neely occupy the table, each one wearing an EPW polo shirt. Neely is playing with two of the new EPW action figures by Wakks Atlantic - specifically the Beast and Christian Sands action figures.]
DT: Welcome, everybody, to Huntsville, Alabama! Welcome to the eighth edition of Empire Pro Wrestling's Aggression! I'm Dave Thomas, and with me as always is the infantile Mike Neely!
MN: (deep voice) Are you ready to die, Beast? (geeky voice) Please don't hurt me, Christian! I'll do anything! (deep voice) Then give me Lindsay!
DT: What are you-
MN: (ignoring him; picking up the Lindsay Troy action figure and adopting a cheesy girl voice) Oh, Christian! You're so hot! Please, kiss me!
(Thomas reaches over and grabs the Troy and Beast figures.)
MN: (normal voice) Hey! I was playing with those!
DT: Folks, in case you haven't heard, the new line of Empire Pro Wrestling action figures is now in stores! We've got all your favorites! Beast, Christian Sands, Troy Douglas, Lindsay Troy, Karl Brown and more!
MN: Gimme those back!
DT: No. You're grounded.
MN: But, but, but!
DT: No action figures for you, young man.
MN: Awwwwwww!
DT: We've got our largest lineup yet for you tonight, as we'll be bringing you a grand total of EIGHT matches! Later on tonight we'll see the three qualifiers for the World Tag-Team Title match - but first, it's a double debut match!
MN: Another one? Man, we've got new talent up the yin-yang coming in here!
DT: What say we head down to the ring?
TONY FATORA: Th' following contest is a double debut match! It will be scheduled for one fall!
[Cue Up: "Hush" by Tool. The spotlight begins to quiver with the music as the curtains part and out steps Bunnie Hil to a huge ovation from the male population in the arena. Bunnie struts about halfway down the aisle before stopping and turning back to the entrance and pointing, as if on cue white pyro shoots out top of the entrance ramp as Brian Hale steps through the curtain. He jogs in place for a few minutes, rolling his neck from side to side before making his way down to the ring.]
TONY FATORA: Introducing first... He hails from Aspen, Colorado... He weighs in at two hundred and fifteen pounds... THISSSSSSSSSS... ISSSSSSSS... BIG AIRRRRR... BRIAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNN... HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALE!!!
[Blue mist seeps into the arena, blue strobe lighting flashes around. The Hives 'Main Offender' plays loudly. Blu creeps out mysteriously and crawls (literally) towards the ring. He flips over the top rope to the boos of the crowd. Takes a gulp of a blue alchoholic liquid.]
TONY FATORA: And introducing the opponent... He hails from El Paso... He weighs in at two hundred and seventy-five pounds... He isssssss BLLLLLLLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUU... THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNDAROUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!
[SFX: *DING* - Bell rings.]
DT: And there's the bell! You have to think, Mike, that this is going to be an interesting clash of styles, as Blu Thundarous outweighs Brian Hale by sixty pounds!
MN: Why was he crawling down the ramp? And was that blue Kool-Aid he was drinking?
DT: Uhm.
[The nimble Hale circles Thundarous before darting in. Immediately, Blu knees the smaller man in the kidneys, stunning him. Firing off another knee, Blu chops Hale down to a knee and karate-kicks him in the chops, knocking him down.]
DT: Oh! Interesting combination of strikes from Blu Thundarous, employing the knee in an almost Muay Thai fashion!
MN: What about your tie?
DT: No, Muay Thai.
MN: Yeah, your tie.
DT: It's a combat style!
MN: The Art of Neckwear. HI-YAH! FEAR MY BOWTIE!
[As Hale goes down, Blu applies a waistlock with Hale held almost in a horizontal piledriver position. From there, Blu delivers a series of hard knees to the top of Hale's head. Picking Hale up off the canvas, Blu drills him with a rough piledriver. A stunned Hale wobbles to his feet, and Blu launches him across the ring with a judo-style hip toss.]
DT: Big hip toss there from Blu Thundarous. It's interesting to see this fellow in action. The style of wrestling is so unorthodox, blending various forms of martial arts with wrestling grapples.
MN: Like the Corsage Suplex? Or the Suit Coat Slam?
DT: What?
MN; Hey, as long as we're talking about the My Tie style, why not go for the full Monty?
[Hooking up a recovering Hale, Blu hurls him across the ring with a swift Judo throw. He advances on the smaller man, but Hale battles back with a rain of knife-edged chops. Blu is backed into the ropes, and Hale goes for the Irish whip, but Blu hops up onto the ropes and springs back onto Hale with a moonsault body press that connects. Blu immediately goes for the cover.]
DT: Oh, there's the springboard moonsault, catching Hale off-guard! One - TWO - Hale kicks out!
MN: That guy's like two seventy five pounds, man. And he can fly. Dag.
[Blu drags Hale to his feet by the arm and delivers a couple more knees to the gut. Whipping Hale into the ropes, Blu nearly beheads him with a jumping clothesline. He then scoops up Hale from behind, setting him on his shoulders and falling back to connect with an electric chair drop!]
DT: And there's a big electric chair by Blu Thundarous, who has completely dominated this match!
MN: It's the power of the blue Kool-Aid. It gives him powerz. OHHH YEAHHHH!!!
DT: He doesn't look like a talking punch bowl to me.
MN: Not yet, Dave. Not yet.
[With Hale down, Blu drops a big elbow on him. He then vaults onto the top rope and sails off with a 450 splash, ending in a frog splash position firmly across Hale and drawing a wave of oohs from the crowd!]
MN: WHOA!
DT: What a maneuver! He calls that the Hit By Thunder! The cover!
One!
Two!
THREE! Blu Thundarous wins in a successful debut!
[SFX: *DING* - Bell rings.]
TONY FATORA: Here is your winner... BLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU... THUUUUUUUUUUUNDAROUSSSSSSSSSS!!!
DT: A strong debut for the man known as Blu Thundarous, as he dominated Brian Hale right from the opening bell.
MN: I had some doubts about that guy, man, with the crawling and the blue juice and all, but man - he's pretty damn cool. I like him. He's got the Mike Neely Endorsement.
DT: Well, I suppose we all want that.
MN: Basically.
DT: We've got to take a quick break, folks, but don't go away! When we come back, Blitz battles Second Coming for a berth in the tag title playoffs! That's next!
[Cut to a commercial for the new EPW action figures.]