The X-Tron Flickers On!
TRIPLE THREAT
WREX vs. QUARTZ vs.
KASSIDY HAYES(CHAMPION)
The Camera pans to the announce team!
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Holy shit! |
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WOAH! |
Intern: Cort! Cort!
Cort: I said no interviews, dammit!
An obviously frustrated Cort stumbles his way through the catering area, eyes down and distraught over his loss to Tre Golden.
B17: I think he was trying to warn you…
Cort immediately tries to spring around to confront B17, but it’s too late.
SMACK!
The long hidden Future Investment briefcase ricochets off Cort’s head. Cort drops to the ground with a dazed look on his face and blood spilling from an opened wound just above his eyebrow.
B17: Funny thing happened last night...I was out with my boys, showing them how to throw a baseball, enjoying some milkshakes and fries, you know? Good ole American fun.
Cort tries to sit up but is met with a boot to the chest.
B17: But when I get back home I find this horrible mess. Couch is ripped open, tv smashed, and the air conditioning unit has been destroyed. To me---HEY.
Cort had been trying to crawl away, to which B17 had been following, but when he tried to stand again B17 had stomped on his achilles.
B17: Anyways. You’re right, cut to the chase. Security footage showed you. Destroying my things. I can only assume you were looking for this.
B17 holds up the bloody case.
B17: Cort. I will make this very clear so that even your racist, mysosignist, cowardly ass can understand. I am cashing in at Wrestlelution.
With a spurt of energy Cort rears up and swings at B17, but misses and collapses back to the floor after another smash from the briefcase.
B17: Me, Cort. Not you. If anything losing to Tre should have been proof enough...you are not ready. You don’t have what it takes. And honestly…
THUD!
B17: I’m.
THUD!
B17: Getting sick.
THUD!
B17: Of you!
Cort’s face is now a crimson mask.
B17: You disgust me. You’re a man that dragged Jehst, with so much potential into a cycle of constant disappointment at the hands of my Lost Boys. You tried to find yourself a “monster” to protect you. Surely you’ve realized that all the theatrics, and the hookey mask, and the riddles, and the cringy threats does not make a monster.
B17: Monsters don’t live in cabins in the woods, Cort. They don’t make idle threats. They don’t wear cheesy masks. No, Cort.
B17 kneels down next to barely conscious Cort: Cort...The monster is right in front of you, and you’re pissing him off.