(CUTTO: A brightly lit room. The door is open and on the outside stand two guards.)
GUARD1: “This is boring. I don’t know why they have us standing here considering we’re in West Bumfuck.”
(The second guard laughs and looks back in the room.)
GUARD2: “Yea, you’re telling me. It’s not like there’s even anything in them yet.”
(The camera slowly fades back and sitting on a table in the middle of the room sit two steel briefcases, the light from above shining down on them.)
GUARD1: “I’m going to get some coffee.. you want me to get you some?”
(The second guard looks to his left and then back at the briefcases.)
GUARD2: “You know what, I’m going to come with. You make coffee like a stewardess. (Pauses) Plus, I need a cigarette.”
GUARD1: “Eh .. fine with me. Not like anyone’s going to find us gone for a few minutes. I’m sure Jimmy Hoffa’s probably hiding out in one of these rooms down here.”
(The second guard laughs again, and grabs the door handle shutting it. You can hear them talking as they walk away.)
(A few seconds goes by. In the background we hear a large metal door shut signaling that the two guards have left the hallway. Within moments the door handle turns and the door opens slightly. A man slinks in through the small crack and shuts the door behind him. He turns, revealing the man who was New ERA’s very first World Heavyweight champion .. Larry Tact.)
TACT: “Yes…”
(Tact walks towards the two briefcases and reaches into his pocket. With his free hand he picks one of the briefcases up and examines it.)
(CLICK.)
(Tact’s hand comes out of his pocket, a razor in its grasp. He surveys the bottom of the briefcase before digging the razor in and making cutting a mark on the bottom of it. Satisfied, he closes the razor and places the suitcase back on the table. Tact slowly walks to the door. He turns the handle, opens it and sneaks into the hallway, unnoticed.)
(We cut to the backstage area, finding Kenny Lombardo, looking snazzy as always in his camel-hair suit with his hair slicked back, standing backstage in the hall to the entry-way. Standing next to him is a pair of individuals, one small and the other enormous, standing with their backs to the camera.)
LOMBARDO: “Thanks, guys. We’re still waiting on the scoop on Class Act’s absence. But in the meantime, I have with me a well-reputed duo who hold the distinct honor of being Empire Pro Wrestling’s FIRST Tag Team Champions! They are Erik Black and Ivan Dalkichev… formerly the Crimson Calling, but now known as the Chronic Collizion!”
(Coughing, “THE ESCAPE ARTIST” ERIK BLACK turns around to face the camera, greeting it with a shit-eating smile and squinting red eyes.)
LOMBARDO: “Guys, first of all, welcome back to Empire Pro. As I said, you were formerly the Crimson Calling under the guidance of your manager, Nathan Fear… but now it seems as though you guys operate on your own.”
BLACK: “Yep.”
LOMBARDO: “And not only are you on your own, but it seems as though you’ve dropped the entire Communist angle associated with your team.”
BLACK: “Yep.”
LOMBARDO: “Along with that, it seems as though the two of you aren’t… uh, shy about your real life personalities being revealed on camera.”
BLACK: “Yep.”
LOMBARDO: “And, of course, there’s the obvious change in your name… to the Chronic Collision.”
BLACK: “No no, it’s COLLIZION!! CHRONIC COLLIZION!!”
LOMBARDO: “That’s what I said… “Collision.”
BLACK: “No, ColliZ-Z-Zion! You gotta put the Z in there!”
LOMBARDO: “…Collizion?”
BLACK: “Naw, you gotta say it louder! COLLIZION!!”
LOMBARDO: “I’m not raising my voice.”
BLACK: “Aw, come on, Kenny, show some BALLS for once in your life!”
LOMBARDO: “Right, whatever… Now, you guys were scheduled to make your big return tonight, but with Class Act being absent, it looks like that time will be for another day. But how does this delay affect your return to the ring as a team?”
BLACK: “You bet.”
LOMBARDO: “…that wasn’t a yes or no question.”
BLACK: “Oh, yeah. Lookin’ good, Kenny. How’s your mom been?”
LOMBARDO: “…uh, Erik, we’re live.”
BLACK: “Oh. OH! Right, right, well, Kenny, I must say that Ivan and I are shocked—SIMPLY SHOCKED!! Here we are at Wrestleverse, the freaking BIGGENEST PAY PER VIEW of the year, and those COWARDS from Class Act come over with stage fright! I guess they heard of who they were up against in their big debut and decided to stay home to save themselves a beating!”
LOMBARDO: “Well, we don’t know yet… but you didn’t answer my question.”
BLACK: “I can’t say we’re really SURPRISED, after all, what with Leonardo Johanson and his goons high-tailing it out of here as soon as they saw the SUPERIOR team come back onto the market! You see, ‘Van and I fight the war on the PSYCHOLOGICAL front as well. That’s why we’re as dominant as we are!”
LOMBARDO: “What exactly gave you guys the idea to..”
(Lombardo turns to Ivan Dalkichev, who seems to be sluggishly leaning against the wall he’s turned toward.)
LOMBARDO: “And what’s on your mind, Dalkichev? Were you expecting to go out tonight and find yourself in a real slugfest?”
DALKICHEV: “Hm?”
(We can hear something trickling. Kenny sniffs the air, and makes a face.)
LOMBARDO: “My God, man, are you PISSING out here in the HALLWAY?!”
DALKICHEV: “Meh…”
(Ivan zips up his fly and turns to the camera, looking unbelievably sloshed. He looks to Kenny with some disdain.)
DALKICHEV: “Runs like surgical or interrogation tool running down my schlonka…”
BLACK: “Must’ve been from that hooker you picked up in Detroit.”
DALKICHEV: “I vjork her in ass.”
LOMBARDO: “Uhm… how do you feel about Class Act’s absence?”
(Without warning, Ivan’s massive paw takes ahold of Kenny’s hand holding the microphone and nearly yanks his arm out of the socket as Ivan brings the mic to his face and douses the interviewer in a layer of saliva and mucous as he barks the following words.)
DALKICHEV: “I VJORK HER IN ASS!!!”
(Almost as quickly as he moved, Ivan tosses Kenny’s hand aside and slouches against the wall again, seeming to doze off. Erik leans in close to the reporter whispering.)
BLACK: “Just to FYI ya… he’s kind of a public hazard in Idaho, New Mexico, Vermont, and a few of the Canadian territories. It’s best to keep shiny objects and words more than two syllables at least teen feet away from him at all times.”
LOMBARDO: “…look, guys, can I just get your thoughts on Class Act’s absence?”
BLACK: “Our thoughts?”
LOMBARDO: “…right, I’m sure you guys don’t think very much to begin with. Well, any ideas on where Class Act may be?”
BLACK: “Hiding under their beds, is my best guess. But can you blame them? I certainly don’t. If I was faced with the news that my partner and I were going up against a LEAN, MEAN KILLING MACHINE and an UNSTOPPABLE JUGGERNAUT, I think I’d run and hide too. Then I’d remind myself, “Oh yeah, my partner and I ARE a lean, mean juggernaut and an unstoppable killing machine! We’d kick those other guys’ ASSES!!”
DALKICHEV: “We VJORK them in ass!”
BLACK: “And then when we were done laying waste to them, we’d write up their girlfriends on Myspace, and SPAM THE HELL out of their comment boards, and—”
(Erik cuts himself off as a shadow falls over him. The camera pans over revealing DAN RYAN standing stern in his fine Armani suit, looking lifeless behind a black pair of shades and sneering mercilessly. Erik and Ivan exchange a glance and quickly straighten up.)
BLACK: “Well look who it is, ‘Van… Mr. “I-think-you-guys-have-a-bit-too-much-on-your-plate-to-remain-active-with-this-company-for-another-year!”
RYAN: “A dumbass stoner and an ESL drunk? Canceling your contracts was a decision I won’t regret…”
BLACK: “Oh, it will be a decision you WILL regret very soon, Mr. Ryan! You’ll RUE the day you left us high and dry! It’s a good thing IRISH RED saw the potential in Empire Pro HALL OF FAMERS making a spectacular return to the ring! I guess you’re here now to GLOAT IN OUR FACES that we have to wait a few more weeks until we grace the ring yet again.”
RYAN: “Actually, I came to inform you two morons that I was the one that sent Class Act home tonight.”
BLACK: “AHA!! You old brainless FART!! You think you can sabotage the CHRONIC COLLIZION!!? But what power do YOU have?”
RYAN: “Well… I guess you’re right in the fact that I have no power. But last I checked, a match in this event requires ALL involved parties to be contracted employees to either NEW or Empire Pro. Last I checked… you guys aren’t working for either.”
BLACK: “HAHAHAHA!! “The Ego BLUSTER” is more like it! Of COURSE we’re working for Empire Pro! I even entrusted Ivan to hand in our paperwork!”
(Erik suddenly looks unsure of himself. He turns back to his partner.)
BLACK: “You DID remember to turn in our application, right, ‘Van?”
DALKICHEV: “OF COURSE!!”
(Ivan reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pair of wrinkled, soiled pieces of paper.)
DALKICHEV: “I still have it here in pants!”
BLACK: “Ivan… you’ve had our paperwork in your pants this ENTIRE TIME!! Not only are we not on the roster… we came all the way out here for NOTHING!!”
(Erik rips the papers out of Ivan’s hand and scowls in Dan Ryan’s face.)
BLACK: “This isn’t over, Ryan! Before this day is out, you will come to FEAR the CHRONIC COLLIZION!!”
DALKICHEV: “Formerly the Crimson Calling!”
(The two of them angrily brush aside the deposed owner of EPW. Ryan and Lombardo exchange a glance, shrug, and go their separate ways. We cut back to the commentators at ringside.)
MATTHEWS: “Looks like the Chronic Collision really shot themselves in the foot on that one…”
NEELY: “Get it right, Dean. It’s the CHRONIC COLLIZION!!”
THOMAS: “Well whatever the hell they’re calling themselves, they certainly seem EAGER to get back into that ring, even though they’ve inadvertently delayed themselves for a big return on Wrestlestock. I’m sure we’ll see them in action on the next Aggression… but speaking of action, we’re about to hear from Rocko Daymon…who has a shot at the NEW World Heavyweight Championship later on tonight…”
NEELY: “And who got his ass kicked by his ass last night!”
THOMAS: “Following that, it’s the #1 contenders match for the NEW World Tag Team Titles!”
(We cut to the locker room area… finding one of the competitors for tonight’s main event, ROCKO DAYMON, seated on a steel chair and overlooking a monitor. Standing right behind him is Caitlyn Daymon. Oddly enough, she’s passionately massaging his shoulders. The two sport matching shiners from their “spat” from yesterday. Seasoned NEW backstage reporter, Sam Baxter, steps into the frame and approaches the husband and wife duo.)
BAXTER: “Guys… I’m standing backstage right now with one of the participants in tonight’s Dueling Ladders main event. The ONLY man in the match to have never won a NEW World Heavyweight Championship for himself… but all that may soon change. Here is ROCKO DAYMON.”
(Rocko waves to the camera, but he doesn’t look up from the monitor.)
BAXTER: “Rocko, are you, uh… feeling in good shape after your, uh… “argument” last night with your wife?”
RDAYMON: “Bah, don’t worry about my condition, Mojo.”
BAXTER: “It’s Sam. We had an interview earlier in the week…”
RDAYMON: “Oh right… anyway, it might have LOOKED like Caitlyn here gave me the beating of my life… but she doesn’t hit as hard as many believe.”
CDAYMON: “You wanna go for round two, smartass?”
RDAYMON: “I wouldn’t want to punish my knuckles any more before the match later tonight…”
(The two exchange a brief glance and smile warmly, indicating there’s no longer any cold blood between them… in spite of their words. Sam looks confusedly between the two of them and continues on.)
BAXTER: “What are you doing to prepare for your challenge tonight, Rocko?”
RDAYMON: “Hm? Oh, just looking over some of my opponents’ last minute comments. Listening to Rabesque incessantly rant about incessantly ranting… Marx brag about his fluke of a “legacy”… Shawn Hart doing whatever the hell he does whenever the camera’s on…”
(Rocko sighs.)
RDAYMON: “I tell you, Sam… I just don’t SEE a champion in any of them.”
CDAYMON: “Oh Christ… here we go again…”
BAXTER: “What do you mean, Rocko?”
RDAYMON: “What I mean is that none of these guys really come up as “champion” material in my eyes… and the strange thing is, they’re ALL former champions themselves. What does that suggest about whoever the NEW World Heavyweight Champion is in general?”
BAXTER: “Uhm… I don’t know?”
RDAYMON: “It means any untalented SHMUCK can work his way into a title match and get lucky enough to win. Hell, guys like HART and MARX are living proof of that. But is that FAIR for the thousands of NEW fans who want to see a TRUE professional wrestler stand at the helm of the federation?”
BAXTER: “Well, naturally… but I’ll reiterate the question I posed at our sit-down interview: What, exactly, makes YOU think you’re any better than any of your opponents? Every one of them has worked his way to carry the NEW World Heavyweight Championship… yet you’re convinced that you’ve STILL got more to show than any of them. But what is there, Rocko? What HAVE you done to prove yourself as the “true” World Heavyweight Champion to speak of?”
CDAYMON: “THANK YOU! Somebody finally gives it to him in layman’s terms!”
(Rocko looks back over his shoulder, throwing her an irritated look.)
RDAYMON: “One of these days, Caitlyn… I’m going to punch you in the stomach so hard your lower intestine will come rocketing out your ass…”
CDAYMON: “Gonna be hard to do that after I cut your throat in your sleep.”
(Rocko turns back to Baxter and snickers.)
RDAYMON: “Would you listen to this sassy thing?”
BAXTER: “Uh, my question—”
(Rocko holds up his hand to cut Sam off. He leans forward and turns off the monitor midway through a promo, and turns directly to the camera.)
RDAYMON: “You know, Sam… I’ve heard a lot of talk lately about how Rocko Daymon is a fool… a braggart… unoriginal… unmotivated… self-centered… you name any sort of criticism, and it’s probably been tacked on to me. But I really don’t care. I collect criticism like any frequent traveler collects stickers on his suitcase that read “Maui” and “France” and “Indiana.”
CDAYMON: “That’s “India”, jack-ass…”
RDAYMON: “Whatever. The thing is, Sam, this sort of criticism isn’t something I’ve only heard in the past week. It’s something I’ve heard for the past year, since I first came to NEW. It’s something I’ve been hearing for the past SEVEN YEARS, since the last time I carried a World Heavyweight Championship.
So people think I trash talk a bunch, and perhaps I could take a little more of it in stride. But think, Sam… was there EVER an instance when I DIDN’T back up my words in the ring? Did anybody ever stop and think that there might be a REASON as to why I appear in front of a camera every week and flap my gums like the arrogant prick I am? Do they think I do it for the hype? To convince myself I can win? Do they think I GET OFF on it?”
No, Sam… it’s because I go into that ring every damn week and BACK UP MY WORDS like a TRUE professional wrestler… and it pisses me off to know end that, even though I hold a WIN over all the losers involved in this match, people STILL have trouble understanding that.”
WHAT ROCK ARE THESE IDIOTS LIVING UNDER?!”
I don’t care WHAT they say about me… because one thing that NONE OF THEM CAN DENY is that I’m a DAMN good professional wrestler. Good enough to beat them? You bet. Good enough to climb one of those ladders tonight and walk out with a briefcase? Damn straight. Good enough to win that title at BANNED? Fuckin-A-right I am!”
So people want to see more action and less talk? They want to see Rocko actually put his money where his mouth is? Sam, I’ve been waiting to do that since I came to NEW! I HAVE been doing it… on a consistent basis, week after week… but my opponents have their heads up their own asses, they’ve neglected to see it.”
Larry Tact wants to sit there and talk about how focused and motivated he is… about working his way from the bottom of the ladder, all the way into this match. Maybe he’s done all that, but he seems to have forgotten that I’ve done the exact same thing. He’s so absorbed about his own great climb to the top that he’s all but ignored my own. He’s turned a blind eye to my OWN focus and motivation. He thinks I’m putting all my faith in the Phantom Republican and my own self-infatuated bullshit… but little does he know the poise and determination I will bring with me into the ring tonight. He will know what it’s like to go face to face with a man vying for the same title, fighting just as hard… if not harder. If he honestly believes I don’t have what it takes, then he’s in for a horrible wake-up call…”
The same goes for my other opponents… and all of NEW, for that matter. People have doubted me since day one. They thought I was full of myself. But week after week, I proved them wrong, and tonight I’ll prove them wrong yet again. Only at the end of it all, when they see me walk out of that ring with either a strap or a contract in my hands, they won’t be able to deny it any longer…”
Don’t get me wrong… there are several great men in this federation, and many of them are probably fit to be the champion. But when you think of how often that title has traded hands, you begin to wonder if being the “champion” is as meaningful as it should be. Can any of the men involved in this match stand up and make a change? Maybe they can, but I remain skeptical. Tact seems to think he can start a new era for New ERA… but unfortunately for him, a more dedicated and more TALENTED man is already working toward a similar goal.”
With the Phantom Republican at my side… and CAITLYN in my corner…”
(Rocko points back over his shoulder to his wife, who flashes the camera a sinister grin.)
RDAYMON: “…I CAN’T be stopped in my path to the top.”
BAXTER: “Well Rocko, I’d wish you luck, but like you said earlier this week, I guess you’re the type who relies more on ability than “luck.”
RDAYMON: “You remember well, Sammy.”
CDAYMON: “Better than you do, anyhow.”
RDAYMON: “Shut it, woman.”
(The two look at each other again with cold stares, then smile and look away. Rocko turns on the monitor again as Caitlyn continues working on his shoulders, and Baxter turns to the camera.)
BAXTER: “Back to you guys.”
