Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7

Dennis picks up his phone and begins making calls. The scene switches back to Versus dealing with Tude and his minions.

You leave! You leave now!

Versus: You guys need to relax. I've been here helping the monks rebuild their monastery. I've been here probably 50 times in the past 10 years. This dude over here, I've given him a high five almost every time I've seen him because he reminds me of Emmanuel Lewis.


Versus: DAFUQ?!


A group of small Tibetan men crowd around Versus yelling at him for killing Webster.

How the hell?! I didn't kill anyone!

Tude points at a TV, showing the 80's hit show Webster. Confused and getting angry, Versus points at the tv and realizes (by some freaking miracle) what they're talking about.

Wait...Emmanuel Lewis isn't dead! That's Garry Coleman! That's Arnold, Arnolds dead.

Tude: Arnold?!

Versus: Whatchu talkin bout Willis!


Versus: UGH! Help me Dylan Buckwitz!

The group is seen pushing Versus out of the airport as he tries to explain to them that he didn't kill 80's hit tv stars Webster or Arnold, but to no avail, Versus gets pushed outside in the cold weather seeking shelter wearing nothing but his orange robe and sandals.

The Camera pans to the announce team!

Oh dear!

Wait so he didn't kill webster?



North American Championship

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The Camera pans to the announce team!




Nate Ortiz sits in an empty hallway somewhere in the arena. No more time for speeches and uplifting, it’s just Nate, an empty hallway, and what he feels is the weight of the world on his shoulders.

This is a vulnerable moment that isn’t often seen from The Great Than GOAT. He slicks his hair back as he runs the Wrestlution 10 Main Event through his head.

The last memory being the moment as he sat in the corner watching a battered Pugh walk away with the OCW Championship, and seeing the sad look on the faces of the entire crowd.

Excuse me do you have a minute.

Nate, knowing the voice immediately snaps out of his daze.

For you? I have all the time in the world.

Nate gets to his feet grimacing, showing some of the lasting effects of his decade long career. I then his wife Tiffany Sensation-Ortiz a big hug and kiss.

What are you doing here?

Tiffany: You think I wouldn’t want to be here live for this? You’re fighting the man who’s made life for me professionally and personally hell. My dad can be a jerk, and will always be a handful but he’s my dad.

Nate: You know you don’t have to tell me. We’ve been to hell and back with him. Tonight is about much more than the OCW Championship.

Nate: Losing that match at Wrestlution hurt. It cut deep. You know I can’t really say I’m over it.

Nate: Hell I’m not over Summercide and Dupree… Those are wrong that I have to right for myself. Tonight I’m fighting for you, our daughter, and the old man.

Nate puts his head down.

But this doubt keeps creeping in Tiffany… I’ve done everything there is to do here, more than once. But what if I lose tonight?

Tiffany: Then you get back up and go again. You aren’t a quitter. You don’t have G.T.G.O.A.T. embroidered on your jacket for nothing. I didn’t marry a punk and that’s what…

Nate glares at his wife stopping her mid sentence.

You’re right, I’m the mountain and he’s just another climber trying to reach the peak. Tonight I’m going to pull Mugen’s ass back to the ground and show him why you don’t mess with our family.

Nate: Tonight for the 6th time I won’t be The Franchize or Mr. OCW, I’ll just be The Champion.

Tiffany smirks as Nate grabs her hand as they walk down the hallway.

The Camera pans to the announce team!

This is going to be one for the ages!

I can't wait!




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Oh what the hell!

Thats how you make a statment!


B-17 stood waiting to deposit his check at the grand Wells Fargo. His role in The Transporter 4 may have ended unceremoniously and abruptly but they still owed him money.

A kid behind him who was waiting with his mother was growing curious. The kid couldn't be more than 10-years-old, pimple faced, frail, and ugly. The entire appearance wasn’t helped by the fact that he wore a “I miss Jimmy Henry” shirt.

The little dookie shoe kept trying to peer nonchalantly at B-17. Finally the kid gathered his courage and tugged at Bingo’s worn, black leather jacket.

This was a mistake. B-17 was already agitated after learning that SHE was still alive, not that he wasn’t thrilled by the great news....

Annoyance clouded B-17’s eyes as he turned slowly around to face the adolescent brat.

Brat: Are you B-17?

Bingo’s eyes flicked from the kid up to the mom who was watching with interest. He looked back down at the kid and gave him a wink.

He held out his hand to the mom
: B-17, you must be his older sister?

She blushed. Took B-17’s hand gingerly and smiled: No. This is Jackson. I’m his mother.

B-17 smiled back, but his teeth were gritted.

B-17: Jackson? Bingo gave a bit of shudder that swelled up in his shoulders: I know a Jackson...such a lovely person.

He looked her up and down once again. Undressing her with his eyes. Wondering what secrets that trim grey shirt hid and what those slim blue jeans held so firmly. She was shapely and a brunette with short silky hair.

But her face. Hmm. A small pimple could still be seen poking out from beneath her makeup, just below her lip. It was unsightly. And she had frown lines, her skin was aging horribly.

And while those firm shapes were enticing, there was a small bump around her waist. Poor kid, he didn’t realize that he had spoiled her beauty. Bingo could think of an over the counter cream that would help her, five years ago.

Mom: You look so familiar.

B-17: Do I? Well, I have been on television quite a lot. He flexed as he brushed his hands through his hair.

Brat: Mom this is-

The kid’s voice was silenced by a loud shout followed by a woman's high pitched scream. A nervous ripple went through the crowd as confusion led to many scuttling around.

A black ski-masked gunman armed with M9 Beretta entered through the high arched glass doors and began shouting for all to hit the floor. B-17 looked around bemused as the mom and child dropped like a sack of potatoes and covered their heads and began to whimper like pathetic cows lead to slaughter.

Gunman: Everyone, everyone! ON THE F*CKING FLOOR.

B-17 started clapping. The gunman looked at him in awe. He pointed the gun directly at B-17:

B-17: Oh bravo, bravo. So convincing! Did Tarantino put you up to this! God! What a revolutionary mind!

The gunman didn’t know how to respond. He hand was shaky and his lips parted but no words came out for a moment: Wh-What are you doing?

B-17: Oh right! Stay in character! Got it.

Women: What are you doing? She was terrified, unable to raise her voice to more than a whisper.

B-17 coughed dramatically and in an overly theatrical voice spoke: Don’t worry, hun. It will be alright, I promise.

She buried her head even further under her arms.

B-17 looked back up at the gunman and pointed at him: You’re not going to pull that trigger. His voice was brash and raspy and his movements slow and calculated.


B-17: Yeah, I like animals better than people sometimes...Especially dogs.

Gunman: Wha-

B-17: Dogs are the best. Every time you come home, they act like they haven’t seen you in a year.

B-17 snuck closer. The gunman shifted side to side on his feet, uncertain of what to do.

B-17: And the good thing about dogs...is they got different dogs for different people. Like pit bulls. The dog of dogs. Pit bulls can be the right man’s best friend...or the wrong man’s worst enemy...Right?

Gunman: I-I don’t know what’s going on.

B-17: Yeah...I can dig it. I had a dog like that...a poodle. She didn’t bark, though...She pissed on the floor. I hated that dog. But if I was ever depressed she’d lay her head in my lap, look up at me with those big old eyes. And even though I thought I hated that dog, I loved her. It’s like that, ain’t it? The love-hate thing.

The gunman was becoming more erratic in his movements. His wild waving of the gun from hostages to B-17 was causing a lot of anxiety in the room. B-17 was only a few short steps away from the barrel of the gun.


B-17 was now an arm length away. The potential robber snapped, he reared back and pistol whipped B-17 across the face with a horrible crack and shout of anger.

B-17 clapped his hands over his nose and screamed:

The gunman’s eyes had gone crazy, he was confused, maybe even a little scared at what was happening. Uncertain of what to do he put the gun to Bingo’s head, hopeful to now get his point across.

Bingo reared up in anger and forcibly grabbed the gun away from the dookie robber. He lashed out and bitch smacked the robber who toppled over in a mess. He jumped on him and held the gun up to his face.

Bingo was breathing heavy, his eyes were bulging from his head and sweat was pouring down his face. He seemed oddly giddy about the position he found himself in.

B-17 whispered so only the gunman could hear:
You stupid, dum dum. You’re supposed to pull the hit and allow the camera to shoot from behind, ameratur. I mean...If this was real...things would be, well, this would be interesting, wouldn't it?

Bingo smiled. The robber was silent but his eyes were clearly telling a story. They were filled with regret, shame, fear as they watched Bingo's hand tremble

B-17: I mean, just imagine...I could pull this trigger. Blood...Ohh...Blood, it would be everywhere. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just, tempting...but I’m the hero. It wouldn't be very Captain America, would it?

Bingo let out a hysterical laugh and stood up suddenly
: Alright! We get all that! Great job guys! I got to go. Be sure to get back to me when shooting starts up again. And someone please get a more realistic looking gun, seriously.

He tossed the gun off to the side and nonchalantly walked to the exit. No one had moved yet. They were uncertain of who the bigger danger was. When Bingo reached the door he turned and gave one more wave before exiting.

The Camera pans to the announce team!

Mental Health is a serious issue in the United States!

This man is clearly insane!