OoC: I've ran this past Tom, and he said if I felt part of it was tame enough, I should go ahead and post it. If anyone finds what I've written in this one offensive, I apologise in advance. -Karl
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[FADE IN. A bright, blue sky, some fluffy white clouds skittering across. All seems peaceful, as birdsong fills the air. Suddenly, a guitar starts to play, rhythmically, as the clouds change to form words, the sky darkening. The music gets louder, a bass joining, and then a screaming voice, quiet, but getting louder]
There’s Entertainment….
Then there’s NAPW
[KICK IN: “Judas Rising” by Judas Priest. Yes, read that correctly – the Judas Priest. The band are giving a special show, Halford in his leathers, microphone in hand, rocking the world as only true Metal Gods can]
White bolts of lightning
Came out of nowhere
Blinded the darkness
Created the storm
War in their heavens
Vengeance ignited
Torment and tempest
Attacks like a swarm
Fortune and flame from chaos to destiny
Bringer of pain forever undying
Judas is Rising
Eternal betrayer
Ice cold and evil
Taking no prisoners
Dark prince of the world (dark prince of the world)
Humanity trembles
Enslaving you sinners
You can’t beg for mercy
For none will be saved
The burden of sin echoes the prophecy
Ascending from hell, forever despising
Judas is Rising
[KK Downing and Glenn Tipton take to the front of the stage, showing you exactly why they are the fathers of twin guitar solos. The crowd are headbanging like crazy, as Halford again steps centre stage to deliver the final chorus]
Repentance revealed, deceivers are crying
My crucified steel evangelising
Judas is Rising
Judas is Rising!
[The crowd go absolutely MENTAL as the song comes to an end – but we’re not interested in the crowd. The camera instead pans from the stage, focusing on a figure standing in a doorway at the back of the hall. The shot switches as the figure moves behind a wall, and we see it’s the man himself, Mr Entertainment, wearing his leather biker’s jacket, walking down the hall. A few other gig-goers are there, buying more drinks, or some T-shirts, but we’re no interested in them any more than we are the crowd in the auditorium. The band has started up “Deal with the Devil” – but we’re still following the man from New ERA. Finally, he comes to a door marked “PRIVATE” – which he enters. And so do we. The room itself is excellently laid out – a blue leather sofa sits along one wall, a glass coffee table in front of it with a crystal wine-glass and TV remote atop that, filled with a thick red wine. The carpet is a complementary blue to the sofa, and in a mahogany cabinet opposite the sofa is a 42” plasma TV screen, the New ERA of Wrestling logo on screen. Mr Entertainment has stayed near the door, letting the cameraman in, and as we pan round, we see him grabbing a crisp bottle of German beer from an ice-bucket. He then reaches to a bowl on a nearby counter, taking a packet of crisps, opening them as he cracks the top off the beer. Taking a long swig, he moves to the sofa, slumping down. The camera starts to move, but he motions it to stop. After a few seconds, he turns to face us, one leg resting on the sofa for comfort]
ME: So, let me get this straight – the Kingsellence of Kingsecution actually thinks people give a sh!t about two male prostitutes in g-strings dancing in one of the filthiest nightclubs I’ve ever seen? He thinks people give a damn about a staged club-night? I mean, what, are we supposed ta believe that was a swingin’ club, rockin’ the night away because the Bullet runs a successful joint? Sorry pal, but I’ve yet ta see a club ya can take a camera crew round when it’s actually packed. Even this room had ta be prepped – a couple of mics so I didn’t have ta lead a boom crew through the halls here. How many drunks do ya know who can honestly stay away from a camera? They just love makin’ an ass outta themselves.
Then again… they had you to do that for ‘em, didn’t they?
[He takes another swig, effectively draining the bottle, and tosses it over his shoulder so it lands on the floor behind the arm of the sofa. He leans towards the coffee table, picking up the remote, and settles himself before continuing]
ME: Now, if Mister Cameraman will turn to the monitor, I’ve prepped something that’ll say it all. I guess I’d better warn ya though – this ain’t the kids stuff ya’ll on Saturday mornings.
[The camera turns to the TV, zooming in so the screen fills the screen. Slowly, the New ERA logo fades, as Forever Rachel by Nobuo Uematsu plays. The screen fades to show a beautiful countryside scene – woodlands in the distance, a stream, mountains to one side… a tranquil scene. In the middle of a field, the camera zooms in to show a beautiful, tawny-haired woman in a red dress – a very conservative dress, but one that, nonetheless, shows her true beauty. This is not some implant-heavy woman, but a fair maiden. A narrator’s voice comes in to play, and the story can begin]
Narrator: In a world torn apart by senseless war, there was a girl who, untouched by the horrors of the outside, lived peacefully in the village of the Valley. They were protected by the highest of mountains, and the sun shone down, giving the plants and crops its light. They were well watered by the sparkling stream which meandered down from the highest peaks, bringing the melted pure snow, filtering it through the rocks to create a clear, natural water the envy of all the world. The village wanted for nothing, even though they had no contacts with the outside world. For millennia, as the war raged amongst the other nations, this one village was safe, protected as if by the Gods themselves.
One day, Aria was sitting alone in the fields, gazing up at the pale blue sky as the song of a lark filled her ears. She was without doubt the most beautiful girl in all the world – her tawny hair cascading over one shoulder in natural waves, her deep blue eyes calm and innocent, and her immaculate skin as pale as polished ivory. As she gazed at the clouds, she gave thanks to the Gods for the peace and prosperity in which she lived. And she was happy.
[The screen shifts to a desolate city – dark, sombre, sad, angry, vast concrete structures tumbled into dust]
Narrator: But elsewhere, there were those who were not happy. The ravages of war had torn the hearts from the other peoples. They lived in fear, going about their business like machines, their hair grey as steel, and their eyes lost and hard as granite. Their skin was bleached and piebald from the use of chemical and magical weapons, and the bones of their ancestors lay where they fell. The stench of death was in the air, and it came from the very living themselves.
It is here, in this desolate wasteland, that a man known as Kob lived. He was a large man, intimidating to all who saw him. He was able to crush the soul out of the enemy with his bare hands, his eyes never showing any form of emotion – for he had lost all hope with the death of his father before his very eyes.
His father had been a proud man, and served with his son in the army. One day, trying to capture an enemy fortress, he failed to see a trip-wire spread across the corridor down which they were fighting. This particular enemy was shorter than they were, so as they ran to more secure positions, they passed under the wire – but Kob’s father, giving chase, was first decapitated by the wire, then destroyed in the explosion from the napalm grenades on either side. Kob had watched in horror as the smoke and dust cleared, the first light of dawn coming in through the slits where windows would normally be. There, by his feet, was the flesh of his father – and there, on the wall, was the flesh of his father. There, under the rubble, was the flesh of his father, oozing through the stones. From that day, Kob never spoke again.
Now, in his forties, Kob stood staring across the barren wastelands. He had never known what this land once looked like before the war, so to him, all was as it should be. Today, he was to go on a mission into the mountains, to try and find a secret passage through to an enemy stronghold. As he did every mission, he hoped it would be his last. As he knew every mission, it was not to be.
The road through the mountains was harsh. Kob and his men had encountered heavily fortified enemy troops as the made their ascent, and all except three of his men lay slain – Memo, Reese, and Eire. The four men escaped into a cave, fighting as best they could, but they were outnumbered. The enemy were soon at the mouth of the cave, and Kob knew they had but one chance – to risk moving through the uncharted darkness. He motioned his men to move ahead, as he took hold of two giant pillars of rock – stalactites and stalagmites that had formed eons ago. Using all his might, he pulled the great pillars towards him, causing the cave to shake violently. Rocks fell, as Kob ran through the blackness, the sound of crashing rocks and the screams of the dead and dieing echoing throughout the mountains.
They travelled they knew not how long, spending night and day in total darkness, feeling their way towards what they hoped would eventually be an escape. When finally they reached an exit, Kob looked out, and could not believe what he saw –
A world of beauty. A world of woods and fields, of streams and mountains, of clear skies and singing birds.
The Valley.
They left the cave, and made their way through the fields. They could not believe what was about them – in their entire war-ravaged lives, they had never even dreamed such a place of beauty could exist. Memo, Eire and Reese spoke in hushed tones, as Kob’s eyes filled with tears.
And then, in a nearby field, sitting near the stream, they saw a beautiful girl with tawny hair wearing a red dress. Her beauty astounded the four men – here, in this place of beauty, was a thing so beautiful she could not be real. And yet she was – as they drew nearer, Kob could hear her singing – a happy, vibrant, rich voice like none he had ever heard. Again, his eyes filled with tears. As they approached, the girl looked up, greeting them with her smile and sapphire eyes. Kob moved nearer, unable to think, his chest tight, until finally he stood near her. She looked at him, and reached out a hand to touch his. Her skin was so soft, so delicate…
Unable to accept the beauty around him, Kob struck her, knocking her to the ground. He tore at her dress, tore at her undergarments. Distraught with rage, he threw himself on top of her, pinning her arms above her head as she screamed. Kob’s eyes blazed, and he reached one hand down around her throat, as the others smiled in delight. Taking from his satchel a jar wrapped in cloth, Reese lit it, tossing it as far ahead as he could. As it hit the ground, the earthenware jar split, its contents splashing far and wide, as the flames took hold. Memo and Eire went towards what appeared to be a nearby village, and put to sword those that they saw – men and women, young and old. Children, babes in arms, it mattered not. For they too were unable to accept that beauty could exist in this world.
Aria wept, her breath becoming shorter and shorter. Desperately, she tried to cry out, but her voice would not come – her throat was being crushed. She lay bleeding beneath the giant man, his eyes filled with hatred for her and her people and her world, and the smell of his sweat, of her blood, and the burning smell of flesh filled her nostrils. Fearfully, she closed her eyes, expecting death.
But then, a brilliant light shone forth from the heavens, and four figures appeared, descending on steeds of purest silver. Three of the figures ran toward the village, intent on protecting the people therein, whilst the fourth made straight for Aria and her assailant. He wore a suit of mail, and his raven hair was tied into a tight ponytail which snapped as he rode. In his right hand he held a sword, from which a fiery light shone, howling for vengeance. As he neared, Kob could hear the thundering of hooves, and, screaming, he got to his feet, fumbling with his breaches and sword as he tried to move away from the girl.
But for Kob, it was too late. The horseman moved swiftly, and in one fell swoop, he split him in two down the middle, each half ablaze as the fiery wrath of the Gods themselves seared his flesh, melting his bones, until finally, nothing remained of Kob.
Dismounting, the horsemen took the weeping Aria in his arms, and whispered softly to her, as his three companions made their way from the village.
“Be still, child. It is over. You are safe.”
“B-but… who…”
“Hush. My name is not important. All that matters is that you and you village are safe again from the ravages of the outside world. I am my companions shall ensure that this New world shall never again be threatened by those who cannot accept the beauty and power you all hold, for you, Aria, hold a far greater power than any outside. You and your people are the final bastion the Gods created to ensure balance in this world – you are the good to the evil of humanity. You are the calm to their rage, and, above all, you are the pure to their wickedness.”
“Th…thank you.” Aria sobbed as the horseman took his cloak, covering her nakedness, and rocked her gently in his arms.
“Well met,” called one of his companions. “‘Twas easier than we had anticipated.”
“Yea,” said a second. “I almost pitied them.”
“No worries, friend,” spoke the third, “for there was nothing that could be done save their demise. They were not able to accept that somewhere in this world, beauty doth exist.”
The horseman, still holding the sobbing girl, turned his head to his friends, and spake softly, “Let us swear, by the Gods, to always protect this land. For here, the Gods, did hope to create a New ERA for humanity – one of peace and prosperity. In the name of Marceau and La Roque, and all of the other Gods, we must protect this place, lest the evils of the outside once again threaten. For one day, I hope that all mankind, yea and all womankind too, may come to this peaceful valley, see how life can be without war, and find entertainments besides killing and raping, for those are not entertainments to be proud of.”
His companions nodded their agreement, and, placing their hands on the shoulder of the horseman, did swear an oath – to protect the good, honest people of the Valley from harm in whatever form it came, until the world was made peaceful, and the New ERA could begin.
[The screen fades, as a calming melody plays, drifting off into the distance. The camera pans round, showing Mr Entertainment on the sofa, another beer in his hand. From outside the room, fans of Judas Priest might recognise “Hell Rider” playing]
ME: I think that says it all, don’t it? Of course, I’m not gonna assume that Scooby Doo actually understood any of that, bein’ the hypocrite he is, so, just fer him, I’m gonna say a few things in plain, simple English, because in his anger he might take things the wrong way. He’s like that, ain’t he?
You’re upset, Rover? Upset that I told the truth – that the Pro bed-Wetters you belong to ain’t worth the crap MWG scrapes off his boot after a walk through the park? Upset that people still flock to New ERA house shows night in an’ night out, when you guys are takin’ a complete sabbatical? Upset that a REAL network has New ERA on it’s books, as opposed ta you guys payin’ YouTube you can pretend yer actually watched?
Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn if you got pissed off or pissed out. Hell, I don’t care if ya’ll have a match this week, this minute, next month, or whenever. Matches against no-talent losers like yerself ain’t up to the substandard of guys like MWG, or Jon Marx, or Boozy Boris, or the guys on the road with a real promotion tha’ despite pre-emptions is doin’ the house-show tour. I’m more worried about Crocko-**** than I am you.
Because unlike you, I can wrestle. Unlike Biggles, I know that Emily Winifred can wrestle. I know that Compu-nerd an’ Chow-time can wrestle circles around Kyle Reese an’ some guy who got his name by stickin’ R on the end of the name of a Transformer tape. Those three ain’t up to my standard – but they’re more than good enough ta beat a bunch of wannabes.
How can I say that? Because quite simply, New ERA is the New ERA of Wrestling – the best an’ brightest stars, goin’ at it up an’ down the country. New ERA is all about Entertainment, whereas you guys – you wouldn’t know fun if it hit you in the head. You guys rape the intelligence an’ values of the decent, hard-working people of America who just want one thing when they turn on the tube – to be ENTERTAINED.
You tellin’ me they get that from you guys? I’ve seen the tapes, and I have NEVER heard chants piped in that badly. I’ve never seen more tarp on seats, and I’ve attended EPW events.
In other words, loser – you ain’t got a chance in hell. Ya work for a none company, run a none nightclub, an’ somehow have delusions that people give a damn about ya’ll.
I’ve pissed you off? GOOD. YOU’RE the one who started out by disrespecting the fans, disrespecting ME, an’ disrespectin’ New ERA by thinkin’ the result of this match is a foregone conclusion in yer favour. The only thing that’s certain is that I hold all the cards.
[He takes a swig of his beer, smacking his lips, and smiling for the camera]
ME: Ya know, I think I’ll do something I told myself I wouldn’t do. Back when I was training, back when I was in the indies, I told myself I’d always carry my opponent an’ do what was best for the fans. I’d make sure the fans got their money’s worth, that they got the sense that things were on the line. I promised myself that I’d make sure the show was as dramatic as it could be – if my opponent needed the win fer that ta happen, I’d put them over. I’d lay down, take the fall, and give them the win knowin’ I’d already given the fans a match ta be proud of. I don’t need wins or losses, because I know how good I am.
But just this once, I don’t think I’m gonna be that nice. I was gonna let ya have the win, but… I don’t think that’d be good fer the fans anymore. I don’t think them thinkin’ the Pro bed-Wetters have a chance against New ERA is on the cards now – because they’ve sat through three tapes from you, each one more agonizingly borin’ than the last.
The fans have been punished enough.
Oh, I might still carry yer ass to a good match – the fans deserve some edge of the seat stuff. But one thing they don’t deserve is your lies. NAPW on the map? NAPW as a threat, as a credible wrestlin’ company?
Don’t make me laugh. Poor quality wrestlin’, poor quality production, an’ piped in chants are no match fer the razzle, the dazzle, the schnazzle that comes from watchin’ ME.
Mister Entertainment.
[He takes another swig, draining the bottle, and sets it on the coffee table. He then picks up the glass of wine, twirling it round as he watches the wine swirl]
ME: Ya want my A-game? You ain’t deservin’ off it. Hell, I could put Sparky Mark Matix against ya, and he’d win. You represent a fed whose only claim ta fame is havin’ someone on the roster who managed ta beat the Snoragon ta retain the CoC belt, as if that means anythin’. You represent a fed that bores the pants offa the fans. You represent a fed that stages riots, an’ makes World Wrestlin’ Entertainment look like REAL professional wrestling. You don’t even deserve my Z game.
But if ya’ll want my A-game, you’ll see it. When New ERA of Wrestling is in the final, winnin’ the Dupree Cup, as you an’ your team of bed wetters are cryin’ and *****in’, wonderin’ what ya can rig next ta try an’ get some attention. Remember that when yer on yer back, lookin’ at the pretty lights shinin’ down on ya – ta quote the Snoragon, when ya realise that your world’s a lie, an’ that all the fans are laughin’ at ya. Remember that when NAPW is next on TV, and YouTube actually puts up somethin’ better than it.
Some grass growing.
Because the Dupree Cup is comin’ home ta New ERA – because they’ve got ME.
Mister Entertainment.
Now, if ya’ll don’t mind, I’ve got some REAL music ta listen to.
[He drains the glass, smacks his lips, and sets it down as he stands. He smiles at the camera, giving us a quick wink, before opening the door and heading back to the auditorium. The set has progressed, and the mighty Priest are playing an old one – “Some Heads Are Gonna Roll.” FADE OUT]
