Flies Meet Spiders Again
“What do I see 'cross the way?
See myself molded in clay.
Stares at me, yeah I’m afraid,
Changing the shape of his face.”
-Alice in Chains,
Angry Chair
(FADEIN: Old-time projector footage of an educational film on insects. A brown spider works its legs frenzied, spinning a trapped fly into a blanket grave. The narrator drones on, but the volume is turned down as CASTOR STRIFE begins to talk over the film)
CASTOR: (V/O) “Once, I spoke to you of
flies and spiders. Do you remember?
Can you? Or do the lessons of painful memories get filtered into the place in your mind where boys fear to tread?”
“I can’t imagine the feeling of terror, dread, helplessness that you and so many others felt when my terror oncoming reached the gates of this establishment. Flies can avoid just about everything, Randall. You could swing your hands and swat a spatula and never kill one. And that’s what NFW was in the years before I re-emerged: a house of flies.” When flies collect, they rule the air, rule the kingdom.”
“But flies cannot avoid a spider. I had my eyes trained on you all for so long…and in the years since, I have eaten.
I have eaten.”
(LENS BURN and CUTTO: CASTOR STRIFE walking the landscape of rural Australia. His tight maroon leather jacket is unzipped, and the NFW World Heavyweight Championship is strapped around his waist)
CASTOR: “There aren’t many flies left here; just a lot of maggots. But nobody wants the spider dead, because he eats the mosquitoes (SPLICE CUTTO: JJ Deville), keeps the people free of disease. You’re the last of the flies, Randall. You have watched me eat the world alive. I may have let you walk out of the arena last time, but things change. (nods) Yes, you said it best: things change. For better, and sometimes worse.”
“Some things stay the same, though. Like you, Randall. In fact, that’s what I admire about you most –
consistency. I can always count on you to be the same man you were yesterday.”
“This isn’t the first time you’ve spoken to me about draws, and
half victories.”
(The smokey but peculiarly smooth intone of his voice speaks matter-of-factly. Castor continues to peruse the patchy wasteland of the Australian outback, as four-legged reptiles crawl at the ground through mammal skulls and spurts of weeds)
CASTOR: “To be honest, friend, I don’t know what half-victory is. The mere suggestion offends me. It sounds too close to defeat. Do you find moral comfort in being champion of half-victories? Of course you do. That’s your path, Randall, always leading you round to your petty, narrow personal focus.”
“
Still trapped in yesterday.”
(Crouches down to scoop a lizard into his hands, and gives playful chase when it escapes. A smile comes across his face, and as the camera follows him into the next frame, we come upon the mysterious young girl known as LUCKY SEVEN, whose back is turned to the camera. The wind kicks up sand around her and Castor, blowing her 50/50 dyed hair into a black and blonde stream. She is wearing black boots and auburn leggings beneath a shoulderless pastel-colored skirt; her long, thin muscle tone gives pop to her deltoids, the athletic feminine build of a gymnast, or martial artist, or both. Castor walks by her and gently palms the top of her head; a comrade, a disciple, or both)
CASTOR: “Let me tell you what I remember about Crash 50. I walked into TD Garden not having wrestled a singles bout in over five years, and when it was over, I had immediately elevated myself to co-number two World status. I made you leverage everything, and nearly surpassed you in one evening. Months later,
I did, and haven’t looked back since. But you…you never left Boston. Still trapped in the past. Still writhing in my web.”
(Points to the camera gravely)
“I warned you, Randall, prior to our World Title match in North Charleston. I warned you not to fight the man you met at Crash 50. Things change, yes, and they did. And you failed to adapt to that reality.”
“So I warn you again: I am not the same man I was three years ago, or last year, or yesterday. Every time you think you’ve figured out my game, I roll the dice and enhance my position. This time, there’s more than a title in play. Misjudge me, and you may never walk again. These are the stakes. This is my challenge.”
(As he continues walking into the next frame, we come upon ONE MAN, TWO MAN, THREE MAN, FOUR…each of different shapes and sizes, but all wearing a black cone-like velvet bag over their heads, similar to Abu Ghraib prisoners)
CASTOR: “Behold the MYSTERY – just who
is The Guild? Ahhh, that’s the trillion dollar question!
Who. They could be someone you know – a neighbor, a friend, your doctor…or your priest. I keep their identities secret because the fun is in the guessing, but I will make one promise to you Randall: they aren’t interested in you.
Battle lines are being drawn. Rough days are ahead. The New Frontier in 2013 is no place for cowards, and when we meet at Reloaded, the Cutting Room Floor will make a coward out of one of us.”
“It ends in Perth: this world isn’t big enough for us both. I’ve devised the match so that somebody gets eliminated for good and final. And for the first time in many years, DOUBT has crept into my head.”
(Runs fingers through his hair, and grabs two handfuls of blonde, pulling tightly. His palms cover his eyes, and Castor falls onto his knees dramatically. He begins to shake his head)
“
I don’t know if I can survive this one. This is no ordinary fight! One slip, and the glass will tear me to shreds. All I’ve worked for, BROKEN into shards and embedded in my skin! I might have gone and done it, Randall. I might have destroyed myself this time!”
(Castor begins to shake. Is he crying? No – as he pulls his hands away from his face, we see that he’s smiling, holding in laughter)
CASTOR: “And I feel fine…(laughing)…
and I feeeel fine! (subtly mimicking the melody of that famous R.E.M. song. Suddenly the smile goes away) HOW DO
YOU FEEL, IMPULSE?
RANDALL! Old friend, old enemy! Are you ready for your fate?
Are you ready to fight me when life, limb, and GOLD hangs in the balance?”
(Pulls the title off his waist and throws it over the shoulder, as he turns his back to the camera. He quickly turns back around and drops to sit on the ground. The camera zooms in for a closeup)
CASTOR: “You don’t need a Mayan calendar to know that it’s the end.
It’s the end!”
(Silently mouths the numbers as he counts off his fingers: “ONE…TWO…THREE…FOUR”)
(Turns his fingers sideways and drags them across his neck like a blade)
(FADEOUT)