Leon is seen napping in the corner of his cell, when he's startled by a loud knock. He wakes up, and looks over to see Jack standing at the door, dangling keys. Excited at the thought of an escape, he jumps to his feet and make his way over.
Leon: Finally, we get out of this sh*thole.
Jack begins to unlock the door.
Jack: Sure...kinda.
Leon: What do you mean kinda? You have keys, I have running feet, we're getting the hell out of this bloody place.
Jack finishes unlocking Leon's cell.
Jack: Sure that's how it works if there weren't guards, guards, people with weapons...what are they called again?
Leon: Guards?
Jack: (rolls his eyes) Brilliant my boy! Just follow me and keep your mouth shut.
The two make their way through a couple of hallways, avoiding being seen by the guards. Jack stops and slaps his hand on Leons chest.
Jack: (whispering) Wait!
Leon: What?
You see Jack lean his head forward and down a bit around a corner, and then hear a long sniffing sound.
Leon: It's too late not to, but looking back at this, I'm absolutely certain I'm going to regret it.
The two men make their way to the solitary confinement area. Jack knocks on each door as he walks past, with his ear close to it. He's waiting for a certain response. He finally reaches a door at the far end of the hallway and knocks. A voice bellows from inside the cell...
Voice..."C*NT!!"
Jack smiles and looks at Leon.
Jack: That's him.
Leon: Seems like a nice enough chap. (rolls his eyes)
Jack tries a few keys, and finally gets one that works. He opens the door up, and inside is a very large, muscular man, stark naked with insanity in his eyes, staring at Jack and Leon.
Jack: Leon, Luther Bates. Luther, Leon.
Leon: Why's he naked?
Jack: Ask him.
Leon: Why are you naked mate?
Luther: F*CK OFF YOU C*NT!
Leons eyebrows raise a bit, he tilts his head and looks at Jack.
Leon: (pauses for a few extra seconds) Ok, if I'm going to go along with this, I need answers. Bullet point this sh*t.
Jack: I got into gambling, and I'm really, really good at it. Luther here likes to fight. So, I assembled a bit of a fight club, but for money. Luther here has made us quite a bit of change, and luckily for us...and this includes you too Leon. Luther has made a lot of money for quite a few of the guards as well. So, with my brains, his muscle, and your kinda muscle...we have exactly what we need to get the hell outta here.
Leon: Besides mildly insulting me, that's a solid plan so far. So, what's next?
You hear the door slam behind Leon and Jack. Luther stands over them with that insane look, still completely naked.
Luther: Sit down and SHUT THE F*CK UP!!!
Jack: Looks like we're going to be hostages.
Luther smiles at Leon. Leon confused and slightly terrified, looks over at Jack. Jack does another hit of meth.
Jack: OOOOOOOOFF!!!!!
The camera pans to the announce team.
Cort is ready to rumble!
And it's next!
Sgt. Cort Marshall paces backstage, restless. He's cracking his knuckles, shifting back and forth, on edge for his first match. Jim Black once again stands beside him, holding a mic for the Sergeant. After a second or two, Cort stops pacing back and forth and looks toward the camera, a cocky grin on his lips.
Marshall removes the cigar from his mouth and holds it between his fingers, gesturing as he speaks.
Marshall: So, Ed Reed. Mister Football. A truly American sport. One that prides itself on athleticism. Fitness. That never-say-penalty attitude. Unsettled domestic abuse cases. Brain damage. It's one of our national pastimes for a damn good reason, and that reason is violence. Organized violence. Gladiatorial combat for the age in which the nanny state won't let that happen anymore. I respect you for that, Reed. For entertaining this country's people with your blood, sweat and tears. Football players ain't pussies like those saps you see in... and I hate to even list it as a sport, tennis.
Black looks as if he's about to say something, but Marshall holds a hand up.
Marshall:Don't interrupt me, grunt. The women who play tennis have more testosterone than the men. Roger Federer couldn't beat up a small child, and I think it's our god-given right to beat a child every once in a while.
Marshall removes his sunglasses, now holding them in one hand and the cigar in the other.
Marshall: So, Reed, I don't hate you like I hate most of the people in this company. You have pedigree. History. You have a legacy.
But I have to tell you, Reed, that you've made a mistake. Stepping in the ring with me, tonight, is a bad idea. I'm not a football player. I don't have to follow rules. I can and will do things that would get your ass kicked off the team faster than you can say “premeditated canine combat.” You better shake off all those concussions and get one last moment of clear thought through your thick skull, Reed. Don't even try in there tonight. You won't beat me. You'll just get hurt. Why? Because I am a better sportsman than you, Reed. I was the de facto star player in the only sport America loves more than football; WAR.
Marshall bares his teeth in a confident grin after his last word, sticks the cigar back in his mouth and puts his sunglasses on, then turns away to leave.
Black: If I may interject, um, sir...
Marshall stops and turns back to the interviewer, his shit-eating smirk belying the fact that he's quite pleased with his well-researched trash talk.
Marshall: Go ahead.
Black: It's just that Ed Reed isn't the football player. Completely different guy. No relation. He was in OCW before the other Ed Reed retired.
There are a few uncomfortable seconds of silence as Marshall once again removes his sunglasses, then proceeds to stare at Black like he just pissed on his shoe.
Marshall, hissing through clenched teeth: EXCUSE ME, MAGGOT?
Black: I'm sorry sir, I would have told you earlier but--
At this point, the veins on the Sergeant's neck are standing out like nerds at a frat party.
Marshall: WHY DIDN'T YOU!?
Marshall throws the cigar at the ground with force. Black is unperturbed, somehow maintaining the classic wrestling interviewer polite-but-cool demeanor in the face of a Drill Sergeant who looks as if he's about to burst a blood vessel or possibly shit his pants. Violently.
Black: You told me not to interrupt you.
After that bombshell, Marshall deflates like a week-old birthday party balloon. All he can say is...
Marshall: Oh.
After yet another moment of intensely uncomfortable silence, Marshall opens his mouth. The voice that comes out is markedly reduced in bravado.
Marshall: Well, I'm still going to beat him up.
The camera lingers for a bit on both men standing relatively still, unsure of what to say, before it cuts away to the announce team.
The camera pans to the announce team.
Cort is ready to rumble!
And it's next!
Ed Reed vs Cort Marshall
Loading the player...
The camera pans to the announce team.
Hook line and sinker!
He got all of it!
Stacy Carter: Mr. Diamond, thank you for having this interview with me
Diamond: thank you for having me, I assure the pleasure is all mine.
Stacy Carter: Diamond, last week we saw you make your Riot debut when you lost against-
Diamond: whoa whoa whoa. lost? what match were you watching? i'm telling you, babe, this relationship will go no where if you start spreading lies about me like that.
Stacy Carter: but you DID lose. your shoulders were pinned for a 3 count.
Diamond: well yeah... THAT happened. my shoulders were pinned... and had that been a wrestling match, yes, i would've lost. BUT... it wasn't that
Stacy Carter: it wasn't?
Diamond: would i lie to you?
Stacy Carter: ummm... maybe?
Diamond: that's fair. but last week was not a wrestling. Last week, as you may recall was the first ever "Diamond COLON excellence in achievement wrestling open challenge" but the D.E.I.A.W.O.C. is not won using traditional pro wrestling means.
Stacy Carter (incredulously): really?
Diamond: yes, really. It is won using a points based system and let me tell you, Stacy, last week was an absolute slaughter on the official scorecard. Poor guy actually ended up with NEGATIVE points! so yeah, what you saw last week was me being a nice guy and giving that kid a little bit of time in the sun. boy howdy could that guy use it too. I mean seriously. dude's gotta have some sort of vitamin D deficiency by now.
Stacy Carter: ok, so how do you earn points?
Diamond: pardon?
Stacy Carter: well if you won on points, what earns you points and what warrants a point deduction?
Diamond: well... its pretty self explanatory... certain things will give you points and others will have them taken away.
Stacy Carter: what things in particular?
the Diamond looks visibly caught off guard by her questions
Diamond: well you know... like ummm... oh yeah. for instance, a left handed strike... that's uhh, that's 5 points. but a right handed strike is only 3 points. BUT... but umm, if a right handed strike is preceded by a left handed strike then itll be 5 too... yeah, and a take-down is ten but a throw is 25 points. and a striking with a closed fist to the head is negative 1000 points and 2 handstand strikes are 1500 points. there's also points for style and technique. its a whole thing really.
the Diamond looks off to the side
Diamond: WHAT? oh, I'm on my way. Sorry, honey, looks like I'm gonna have to cut this short, i got a... thing. I'll call youOKBYE
the Diamond hastily takes off his microphones and runs out off set.. The Camera Pans to Stacy who begins to yell!
Stacy: IT'S CLARK!!! YOU DICK!
Stacy: What a Sham!
