He was the last to board the train. Pacing car length until he’d extinguished the souls of his Doc Martins, Joey sought an excuse. He would’ve bought one from a fellow passenger if any had seemed approachable. His life, concerns, insecurities, they weren’t as contagious as Melton needed them to be. Life went on beside him, and he knew comfortably now, it’d go on in his absence.
Joey slid through the closing doors knowing it was easier to blow himself up than turn back. Nervously, after freeing his left foot from the kissing doors, he zipped his winter coat up until the teeth were sowing layers of skin into fabric. The walk was measured and unsure. The man’s knees buckled, and at his age, it meant a chorus line of history was sounded like the proud Jazz of a trumpet player performing in his room, alone, but hitting the notes still because he can.
The Beast was stalked in delicious irony. Too lazy, and well-fed to consider Joey a threat. A second before cementing the ending to his script, Melton wondered if, just perhaps, Beast knew he was there. Sometimes, you have to blow a man up to win. It’s not what they tell you your first day in the business, but we all learn life lessons at our own pace.
There would be things Melton missed. But, Lindsay was better off this way. She should covet someone her own age, a man who didn’t fake being saved. This was the right move.
Marcus needed to die.
“Give me some time, Joey…time,” Ryan kept saying, reeling Joey in from the cold. If Dan wasn’t ready to book Melton and Beast in a Main Event, Joey couldn’t see how waiting six months to a year would be appropriate, or even fair. Melton couldn’t look at himself in the mirror and admit he wasn’t a front line player anymore. He’d convinced himself carrying Cruise to a raise, and a handful of dirt-rag articles meant something, but Joey wanted the top again. Greensboro was his until Merritt molded Hornet from clay out of spite. Joey told him back then he’d never be able to make anything as great as what he had. Melton played his hand for a stake in the company, for celebrity treatment, and more upfront. Maybe it was more a stroke of luck than Merritt genius that called his bluff, but here he is almost twenty years later being held from the Main Event again while the next generation is resold.
Joey couldn’t look at himself in the mirror and admit to being a mid-card player, but he could kill himself with ease. He tried three years ago on a dare.
Melton thumbed the ignition. As he pressed the button, he mimicked the complacent faces surrounding him, side-bets on which of them he’d see in hell.
“Marcus...”
One-second delay.
“Sorry.”
He was blind with no tool to measure time. How long was his world dark and cold? How long would the guilt rear its ugly head?
Melton could feel the grass scratching his nose, and the sun baking his naked back. His eyes were his to open, and though he struggled to relearn how, Joey took this new world, where there didn’t seem to be pain at all, in.
He stood on a grassy hillside as beautiful as ever painted. A cleansing wind wept through his hair, and there was no urge to cover himself, or turn in horror behind. Joey Melton was free from his world of sin, and true to the promises that were told to him, he saw, fifty feet ahead the backs of sixty-four thighs.
Thirty-two virgin women waited. To those who don’t believe in God, yeah, well, take that.
Paradise: Melton’s reward for killing a man who had bored the wrestling world past the point of tears.
As Melton approached a redhead, her pale white-skin ready to blush in embarrassment and waves of pleasure, he smiled, and let his arms reach and lead the rest of the way. She moaned as the Sexual All-American firmly took her hips.
“Which one’s first?” Joey asked, nibbling into her neckline.
“Hey bro, do me…I’m the best.”
One by one they turned to face Melton, and there to his disbelief stood the face of Cameron Cruise, thirty-two times.
“What the hell is this?”
“Welcome to Paradise, big boy.”
As Joey was dog piled under Cameron Cruise[s], he let out a wail that awakened his fellow dead.
“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo o.”
“Joey!!” Lindsay rolled Melton in annoyed violence. “Joey! Wake up!”
“Nooooo---wah?”
“God Bless America. You’ve been screaming like a banshee for the last five minutes.”
“Lindsay? Lindsay is that you?” He buried himself in her chest before she could hit him. “I didn’t mean to do it. I…I’m not a bomber, you know this. I’m not crazy. I’m not.”
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”
He paused.
“You could be a little more sensitive to my nightmares. Just FYI.”
“Oh, I’m sorry baby. Was it the one about Cameron Cruise again?”
Don’t fall in love. Ever. Seriously.
“I hate everything about you,” he announced before rolling back over to sleep.
“Just once, I’d love it if you dreamed about me. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“But,” Joey spoke, turning back around to face Troy, his face as honest as Abe’s. “I do everyday.”
“Oh shut the f*ck up.”
[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: Beast nailing the Absolution on Adam Benjamin.
CUT TO: Karl Brown coming off the ropes with a Quebrada.
CUT TO: Christian Sands standing victorious in the ring.
CUT TO: JA delivering the Karelin Driver to Ron Artest
CUT TO: Adam Benjamin delivering a Shining Wizard to Karl Brown.
CUT TO: Joey Melton, mugging for the crowd.
CUT TO: Boogie Smallz lighting up a blunt.
CUT TO: Lindsay Troy dropkicking Beast.
CUT TO: JA and Sebastian Dodd locking up in the middle of the ring.
CUT TO: Dan Ryan sitting sedately in a chair, staring into 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.]
[We cut to the broadcast booth where Dave Thomas, Mike Neely and Dean Matthews sit.]
[The sounds of a screaming, sold-out Toyota Center fill the air as the cameras cut to the backstage area before the twenty-first edition of EPW AGGRESSION hits the air.]
DT [V/O]: We're just moments away from coming to you live from Houston, Texas, but our backstage crew got wind of an arrival to the arena. We're back there now...Kenny, are you there?
MN [V/O]: Smart money says it's HORNET WINZ~!! coming to take his revenge on that Greensboro Heat Sucker!
[Cut-to: KENNY LOMBARDO, his back to the opened garage door of the arena.]
KL: I'm here Dave, Mike and Dean. Word came through on the radios back here that there's been a black limo sighting in the area and the dispatcher informed us that it was on its way to the Toyota Center. He didn't say who was in the car, only that...
[In the background, said black limo rolls down the ramp and into the arena. CROWD POP! Lombardo turns around and waits for the limo to come to a stop. The chauffeur jumps out of the car, pushes Lombardo back and opens the door...]
[CROWD POP!]
DM [V/O]: Gentlemen, I think it's safe to say that we're in the presence of Royalty!
[LINDSAY TROY emerges from the backseat of the limo, duffel bag slung over her shoulder.]
KL: Lindsay! Can I get a word?
[Troy nods to the driver, who re-enters the car, then stares at Lombardo.]
LT: No, but you could carry my bag for me.
[She places the duffel over Lombardo's shoulder and proceeds to walk off-camera. The crowd laughs in the background, while Kenny just stands in place, dumbfounded.]
LT [off-camera]: GET THE LEAD OUT, LOMBARDO!
[Kenny shakes his head and runs out of the shot, while the cameras cut to black.]
[CUT TO: Backstage. Boogie Smallz walks in sporting a Houston Texans jersey with the number “1” on both sides and “R. BUSH” on the back. He has a lit blunt hanging out of his mouth, his hair is froed out with a fro pick sticking out, and he has on black warm-up pants with the left leg hiked up to his knee.
Boogie walks up to the line-up sheet and takes a drag off of his blunt.]
BOOGIE: Entourage versus JA and Troy.
[Making his way down the list with his finger.]
Don’t know them…don’t know them.
Two schmucks in an IC title match.
[Still moving his finger down the list.]
Jobber match.
Joey versus Hiroshi.
Ahh yeah. [Puffs his blunt.] TV title match…Tha B To Tha Z, tha man thas gonna help bring EP-Dub back to greatness…Boogeezey…Boogie ma’fuggin Smallz! [Grins.] And then some guy named “Yours Truly”? That sounds so fairy…I ain’t even gonna get into it. Kiss your title goodbye, *****!
[Still looking down the list, puffing his blunt.]
Wait a second…what tha kcuf is this? THREE WAY ACTION!?!?! Karla Starr [Nods his head.] Foxx. [Nods his head.] Mike Evers? [Does a double-take.] Now that don’t sound right.
[Grabs an EPW Magazine lying on a table by the list. He thumbs through it to the diva section to confirm his beliefs.]
Nah…that ain’t right. Mike Evers gets a three-way with these two fine-ass dime pieces? I don’t think so. Somethin’s gotta be done about that.
[Boogie contemplates for a moment and a light bulb goes off in his head. He turns his head to his left and sees Wisconsin Bill, the manager of Mike Evers, grabbing a cup of coffee at the buffet table.]
BOOGIE: Hey…Pecos Bill, what up son?
WISCONSIN BILL: Not s*&% you mother f@%$#!
BOOGIE: Whoa now, Bill. Chill out cowboy. I got a biznuss deal for ya, homey.
WISCONSIN BILL: What kind of a deal?
BOOGIE: How would you like to make your boy a star? I’m talkin’ guaranteed contract, benefits package, all tha ish that comes with bein’ a champion.
WISCONSIN BILL: I’m not sure I see where you’re going with this.
BOOGIE: What am I sayin’? I’m talkin’ about Mike Evers bein’ tha TV champ tonight! Screw a qualifying match…tha man is too good for that. Look at tha big picture, yo.
WISCONSIN BILL: Let me run this by Mike. [Opens a nearby door.] Hey Mike, got out here.
[Boogie puts out his blunt and attempts his best white guy voice.]
BOOGIE: Hi Mike, how you doing there buddy?
MIKE EVERS: Hello sir. I know who you are. I am not sure I should be speaking with you before my three-way tonight.
[Boogie bits his lip at the mention of the word “three-way”. He nods his head and speaks to Evers in his best white guy crackery voice.]
BOOGIE: No Mike, you’ve got it all wrong. I am just misunderstood. In some ways…you remind me a lot of myself.
[Boogie has a confused look on his face, as if he hopes Evers is buying what he is trying to sell.]
MIKE EVERS: I appreciate those comments Mr. Smallz. I will listen to what you have to say.
BOOGIE: So I was thinking that maybe I would help you out and give you a chance to fulfill your dream. No one did it for me…and I had to suffer in a tag team for almost a decade. [Lowers his head and shakes it.] I am trying to make right…what went wrong to me. So tonight…picture this…TV title match…Adam Benjamin defends his title against Mike Evers! DA BOMB! [Pauses, still speaking in a nasally voice.] Did I say that right?
MIKE EVERS: Gee, I don’t know. I signed a contract to face Karla Starr and Foxx…I am a man of my word.
BOOGIE: Come on, Mike. Do this for me. I won a TV title a couple of years ago, I already did that. It’s your turn.
MIKE EVERS: I appreciate the offer, but…
BOOGIE: What…are you worried about your three-way with Foxx and Starr? Hey, I’ve got a great idea. I’ll return the favor…I will fulfill your commitment for the three-way. [Shrugs his shoulders.] It’s the least I could do.
WISCONSIN BILL: As your manager Mike, I am going to accept this offer on your behalf. You can’t let a deal like this pass you by.
[Wisconsin Bill shakes Boogie’s hand.]
BOOGIE: You won’t regret this. When you are TV champ, don’t forget the little people. [Gives out a fake laugh.] Alright buddy, good luck.
[Boogie walks away from Mike Evers and Wisconsin Bill.]
BOOGIE: [Smirks.] Suckas.
DT: First up on Aggression we have the first televised match between two very promising athletes. One has come back from retirement and one is a brand new rookie looking to continue make a name for himself. It will be “Phenomenal” Frankie Scott facing The Sergeant.
DM: These two squared off in a dark match at the end of last month with The Sergeant picking up the win. There is a competitive spirit between both Sarge and Scott that I haven’t seen in long time here in EPW. It’s refreshing and bodes well for the future.
MN: The U.S. Army reject against a returning wrestler with delusions of grandeur. We’re not really starting this Aggression off on the right foot now, are we?
DT: Well, The Sergeant has been very focused since debuting. It’ll be interesting to see if he can keep this up.
DM: I think focus could be the deciding factor in this match. Frankie Scott has been worried about quickly reestablishing himself, which has hurt him since the beginning of his return. We’ll see if both men can focus and bring their best to this match for the world to see.
DT: With that, let’s take it down to the ring for the introductions…
[“Phenomenon” by Thousand Foot Krutch plays over the arena speakers… Frankie Scott’s hype video is played on the EPWtron and the fans erupt… “Phenomenal” Frankie Scott bursts through the curtains…Crowd gets louder…]
TF: First, making his way down to the ring and hailing from Atlanta, Georgia, standing six-foot-two and weighing in at two-hundred forty-two pounds… “Phenomenal” Frankie Scott!!!!!
[Frankie Scott is halfway down the runway and looks back at the EPWtron… He points to the crowd… Pyrotechnics explode… Scott emerges from the smoke, slapping hands with the fans… He rolls into the ring and raises both arms in the air for another pop from the crowd… His music fades…]
[Cue in “We Right Here” by DMX… The crowd once again erupts, this time for The Sergeant who breaks through the curtains and wastes no time making his way toward the ring… He is moving with a purpose…]
TF: And his opponent, from Springfield, Missouri. He stands five-foot-ten and weighs two-hundred-and-one pounds. He is… The Sergeant!!!!!
[The crowd pops once again as The Sergeant rolls into the ring…]
DM: The crowd is certainly not sharing your disdain for these two wrestlers, Neely.
MN: Give them time. Remember, this is their first impression of these two. It won’t take long for these two to make a bad one.
DT: It’s amazing to me how determined both of these guys look.
[bell rings…]
DT: The match begins. Collar and elbow tie up. Both men trying to get the advantage. They push away. Once again trying with a collar and elbow tie up. The Sergeant with a single leg take down and he’s on the attack with a headlock.
DM: He’s wrenching tightly. I don’t think I’ve seen anybody try so hard with just a simple headlock.
DT: Scott fighting his was out with elbows. The Sergeant not wanting to let go but finally releasing. Phenomenal with a arm drag straight into a arm bar. Almost instantly he gains the advantage. The Sergeant yelling out and trying to break loose.
DM: Both men working hard to maintain some sort of advantage early on. This match will get more interesting as they try to but the other away.
MN: Two losers working hard for an advantage. Wow.
DT: Frankie Scott seems to have the upper hand. He has Sarge positioned… belly to back suplex, and Sarge goes down hard.
DM: That should be a wake up call for The Sergeant. He should have known that Scott had more in him than he showed in that dark match last month. I’m curious about Frankie’s plan of attack for this match.
DT: Frankie seems to be taking the name of the show as his plan. Aggression. He has been relentless on The Sergeant, dropping three consecutive elbow drops and dropping left and rights as he stands Sarge up. Belly to belly suplex! The crowd gives their approval.
MN: I should have known the fans would cheer. Brain dead zombies. It’s worse than listening to the popular songs on the radio. No matter how many times you hear the song, there is still some 13 year old kid requesting it on one of those shows.
DM: While I’ll agree with you on the radio stations, these fans know what they are looking at when they watch wrestling. These two are competitors.
DT: Scott is up quickly and he has Sarge’s right leg stretched out. Multiple knee drops onto that right leg.
DM: I haven’t really seen Frankie isolate one part of the body. He’s just mixing it up, trying to completely wear out Sarge. Seems like he is expecting a long match, and wants to test Sergeants overall conditioning and endurance. We’ll see how it plays for him. I’d be working one part of the body right now if I were him.
DT: The Sarge is rolling in pain right now. Frankie Scott has definitely brough the “A Game” that he and Sergeant have been talking about all week. The Sergeant is up on his feet with help from “Phenomenal”. What’s this? A CRADLE by Sergeant!
1 – QUICK KICKOUT!
DM: It looks like that leg of Sarge’s wasn’t able to withstand the strain so soon after the abuse it took moments ago.
DT: The Phenomenal one looks very upset. He moves on a slowly recovering Sergeant. Picks him up… BODYSLAM. Textbook job by Frankie Scott.
DM: Notice how Scott reared back and really got full momentum on that slam. Great to see some wrestlers still know how to execute some of the basics.
DT: Frankie’s eyeballing that top turnbuckle.
DM: I don’t like the looks of this. High risk moves yield high, but can cost you dearly.
MN: Maybe this will be over with soon…
DT: Scott climbs to the top. He leaps… flying elbow drop ala Macho Man – NO! He missed!
DM: Sarge was playing dead, there. Doesn’t look like he’s too bad off right now.
DT: The Sergeant has Frankie Scott set up… DDT! The crowd really doesn’t know who to cheer for at this point.
MN: Who cares? The fans are idiots if they cheer either one of these guys.
DT: Scott whipped into the corner. Sarge is building steam. He flies across the ring for a big splash… MISSES. He’s staggering back with the wind knocked out of him. Phenom is already up on the top turnbuckle once again… MISSILE DROPKICK! Oh my! That one caught Sarge directly in the head. I don’t think he’ll be able to recover from that one. The crowds on their feet…
DM: Some of them are looking back at the entrance… it’s Dan Ryan!
DT: We knew that there was some animosity between Frankie and Dan Ryan. Looks like something’s about to happen.
DM: Scott needs to be focusing on his opponent. Sarge is no slouch and Frankie could have this thing won!
MN: I don’t think Dan wants to fight tonight. Looks more like he’s trying to get a better view of the action. This Frankie kid is a moron.
DT: Shades of the dark match these two had. Frankie Scott has taken his attention off of this match and The Sergeant is very slow to move to his feet.
DM: Mr. Ryan is just standing there. Frankie needs to get back to the attack.
MK: You’d be able to tell if Dan was going to do something. He generally doesn’t wait this long. I wish he’d come down to the ring and clear both of these two out of the ring.
DT: Frankie is visibly upset at the lack of emotion from Dan Ryan. WHOA! Out of nowhere The Sergeant runs up behind Scott with a roll up.
1… 2… Thre- NO!
Frankie won’t let Sarge sneak a win in the same way twice in a row.
DM: Scott’s off balance, though. It doesn’t look like Sarge is slowing up any!
DT: Frankie’s reeling with his back turned to Sergeant. The Sarge from behind… could this be his finisher, the Corrective Training? No! He goes straight into a reverse DDT! Sarge with the cover…
1… 2… 3!!!!!
DT: The Sergeant has done it again, this time in front of a nationwide audience. He didn’t opt for his finisher, which is a reverse DDT modified into a submission guillotine.
DM: I think he was just trying to quickly capitalize on Scott’s lack of focus. I don’t know if he would have tapped out at this stage in the match. Even in a submission, he could have regained his composure and got to the ropes.
DT: True. The question now presents itself: what does this do to these two promising wrestler’s futures here in EPW?
[Dan Ryan exits through the curtains, still emotionless…Frankie Scott has recovered and is slapping the mat… He yells out in frustration…]
DT: There is a mixed reaction from the crowd on this one. The Sergeant with his hands held high is almost through the curtains. He’s giving Frankie Scott a very sympathetic look on his face. I think Sarge has got a lot of respect for the man he just went up against. We’ll be back everybody… don’t go away!
[Cue up a comical but ambiguous commercial for male enhancement… You know, the one’s with the guy whistling in the background through the entire commercial…]