Outside of the arena, a car sits idling in the staff side of the parking lot, a man sitting inside with his head resting on the steering wheel.
The camera pulls in closer along the passenger side, moving in tight enough to breach through the open portal of the window, until it sits inside the car, centered on the driver.
As the man lifts his head, it becomes clear that its the One Man Revolution and reigning Pride Champion, Bobby Minio. His head tilts back onto the raised head rest, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he moves.
Digital Voice: INCOMING CALL.
Quietly, Minio speaks out to the voice.
Bobby Minio: Ignore…
Digital Voice: INCOMING CALL, Harvey “The Good Light”.
Bobby Minio: Ignore.
Digital Voice: INCOMING CALL, Harv-
Bobby Minio: IGNORE THE GODDAMNED CALL.
His head slumps back onto the steering wheel, before each hand raises, gripping the sides of the wheel around his head tight enough to squeek his palms into the leather.
Bobby Minio: When will everyone just leave me the **** alone… Inception, Telos… the title… Just let me think for five godforsaken minutes.
Digital Voice: YOU HAVE - TEN - NEW MESSAGES.
Bobby Minio: For Christ’s sake.
Minio leans back again, in the failing light of the summer sun it’s clear that he’s still not really sleeping, despite being re-invigorated by Telos’ challenging words the week prior. He looks stressed, exhausted and more worn down than ever before in his time in OCW.
Digital Voice: INCOMING CALL.
Bobby Minio: Ignore.
Digital Voice: INCOMING CALL, Harvey “The Goo-
Before the voice can continue the message, Minio lunges forward, snatching the iPhone from the center console of the car and snaps it in half, leaving the device in the shape of a V, a rare victory in Minio’s recent stint of battles.
He drops it down onto the passenger side floor and after a brief moment of tightly shutting his eyes, they open again and he gazes up at the arena, a look of disgust creeping up across his baggy eyes.
Bobby Minio: To hell with this. Not tonight.
He reaches down, shifting the car into gear as it roars back to life from the soft purr of the idled engine. He begins to pull forward through the spot, forcing the camera man to hustle, hopping head first into the car, the camera sitting at an odd, low and crooked angle peering up at the Champion.
Minio pays not attention to this, he just drives for a moment, taking a second to mash a hammer fist down into the top of the steering wheel as an expression of his frustrations.
Bobby Minio: They ride you until there’s nothing left. You go from being the hot new whip to becoming little more than the asphalt.
Bobby Minio:
You’re not even road kill, road kill can be swept aside, you’re the road THEY travel. Then they wonder why you begin to crack, pit out and develop pot holes.
Bobby Minio: I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking… nah, plotting. On how I could make them all regret that. Make them regret taking me for granted.
Bobby Minio:
I wish I could just open up a chasm like an earthquake and swallow them, this company, this industry… just swallow it hole, until there’s nothing left but the skidmarks and the pavement, but that’s just not realistic, is it?
There is a moment of silence as the camera man adjusts in the side, struggling to get upright so the camera is at head level. As it happens, Minio’s head whips over his shoulder, looking behind the seats.
Bobby Minio: IS IT?
The camera trails behind to see Minio is shouting at the Pride Championship, sitting upright against the back of the cramped backseat.
The camera looks back towards Minio, his looks back towards the road, again sighing. Deep down he realizes what he’s done. He’s anthropomorphized this title to become the voice, the face of his every doubt.
He knows how this must look to the outside, but he’s so far removed from caring that he’s actually doing this on camera.
Bobby Minio: Instead… I’ll make them come to regret it in my own way. I’ll pay it forward, the way it was paid to me. Every challenger they let step up to the plate, I’ll cut down at the ankles, leaving nothing but a pair of shoes in front of me.
Bobby Minio:
Just like so many ate me up in the ring when I took my shot at their titles, I decimate every one and every thing until there is nothing left. No voices, no doubts, no critics. No challenges, no tough talk, no headaches and no sleepless nights.
Bobby Minio: I want everyone in this company to look at me as a walking fall out zone, with Telos as little more than a cautionary tale. An example of what happens when you overstep your bounds and try to take my place.
Bobby Minio:
Just like Maxwale before him, and Dupree before that. I won’t just ruin legacies, I’ll prevent them from occuring. All that will be left is me, myself, and my peace and quiet… because after all....
He turns, staring directly into the camera’s lens.
Bobby Minio: We all know that MY voice, the voice that refuses to be silenced, is the only voice that matters now, and the only voice I care to hear again.
His gaze turns back to the road and after a few seconds, the camera pans forward as well, focusing on the New York City traffic. After another fifteen seconds of silence aside from the sounds of the city, the camera man’s voice cracks open.
Camera Man: Uhh… can you drop me back off at the arena now?
Bobby Minio: You’re ruining my moment.
Camera Man: Sorry, my ba-
Bobby Minio: Just shut up!
After another brief moment, the scene fades back to the ring-side area.
T.Y. SPARKS & JOSHUA TUCKER
vs.
THOMAS ARCHER(c) & N.MAXIMUS
Dennis Dillinger fades onto the screen to boos. He taps away on his cell phone with a smug grin on his face. He seems to be looking for something on his phone. A lightbulb seems to go off in his head as he smiles and nods.
Dillinger’s head snaps to the side aggressively.
Dillinger: Can you believe the gall of some of these “competitors”?
The camera pans to the right to see a very unimpressed Jett Draven standing straight up. His head is tilted back and his eyes are closed.
Dillinger: This show’s future signature attraction cannot stay out of the mouths of your peers, Jett Draven!
Jett does not move, but his eyes open, looking over at his agent.
Dillinger: Check this out.
He holds his phone up to his client, showing him what’s on the screen. Jett Draven scoffs but doesn’t react too harshly, he turns away as the camera moves forward to see what’s on the phone’s screen. It’s a tweet..
@SolomonCaineOCW: ”...Speaking of Lution, who the fluff is Jett Draven? Lmao”
Dillinger: 521 likes? 199 ‘retweets’? What a joke.
Dillinger: He doesn't know the name Jett Draven. So I think it’s about time you two got personally acquainted. What do you think?
Draven: Watch real closely at ringside tonight and you're gonna see exactly what I think when I get my hands on him and rip his fluffing head off.
ASHLEY MOORE
vs.
ELSA HOLMBURG
A hospital door closes softly behind the hand of Aerith. She is guarding the hospital room of her friend Terra Daturas to ensure the mystery assailant can not ambush her further.
Aerith has a very concerned look on her face, she peers down at the floor and crosses her arms, leaning back on the door she closed seconds earlier. As she looks up into the lights, she begins speaking to herself.
Aerith: Those two… They say they’re your friends, Terra. They say they’re doing everything they can to find the person who did this to you…
Aerith: ...but I don’t believe them! They’re not even being aggressive enough! They just let that monster Blaine walk right out of the room! They didn’t even follow up on FloJo!
Aerith leans up and turns back to the door. Her concern starts to slightly shift to anger.
Aerith: You don’t have a very diligent “Troupe”. Here I am stuck in this stupid hospital…
Aerith: ...I know they’re trying… or at least I want to think they are, but I can’t hardly bare seeing you in there like that knowing we’re not doing everything we can to find who it was and crush them!
Aerith: Don’t worry, I won’t let anything else happen to you. You can be sure of it. I guess I am kind of happy that we get to spend so much time together now.
Aerith: Before… you were always just so busy trying to help everyone else. After our match with Ashley and Empress I thought I finally found a friend who wouldn’t abandon me.
Aerith:
Now I know you wouldn’t do that. I’m going to prove you my loyalty by protecting you from whatever monster could have done this.
Aerith: ...and then I’m going to hurt them!
She shakes her head and leans back on the door again, arms crossed. She looks down at her fingernails as the camera backs away, fading back to ringside.
We cut to backstage at Riot, with a shot of the backstage halls. Wrestlers and staff alike pass by, but the camera remains centered on a curtain dividing another hallway from this main thoroughfare.
After a few seconds, H2O passes by on his way to his #1 Contender’s match with B17, and the curtain rustles… out pokes the head of Cort Marshall!
He creeps out of the curtain, Future Investment briefcase in hand, and starts walking towards Harvey… before a hand grabs him by the shoulder.
Cort: GAH!
Cort whips around to see none other than Tre Golden. He tugs on his collar as he backs away from Tre.
Golden: Going somewhere?
Cort: No! I mean, yes! Wait… hold on…
Cort checks his watch.
Cort: This thing is telling me it’s none of your damn business where a world heavyweight champion contender goes!
Golden: Let me guess. You were gonna creep up on Harvey and crack him one with that case?
Cort: You have no right to accuse me! I’m an innocent man!
Golden: Cort, you’re as bad at lying as you are at locking in an armbar. Whatever you had planned ain’t happening.
Golden:
Stack the deck for B17, sneak up on both of them, grab a mic and start soliloquizing about books written by dumb nazi Mothafluffas, none of it.
Golden:
They are going to have their match, fair and square… or else.
Cort: Or else... what? Are you threatening me, kid?
Golden: Not a threat. A cold ass promise homie.
Cort scoffs.
Cort: Promise to somebody who’ll listen, bub. I got work to do…
Cort turns to leave but suddenly swivels back around, aiming for Tre with the case! Tre’s wise to it this time, though, and ducks, leaving Cort’s momentum to carry him right onto Tre’s shoulders!
Tre lifts him for a Golden Opportunity, but Cort wiggles out, landing back on his feet and staggering away.
Cort: SECURITY! SECURITY! I WAS JUST ASSAULTED BY THIS MAN!
Golden: I know you did not just go full outraged soccer mom on me?
Golden: You gonna turn into a Kyle next? Punch some holes in drywall?
Employees come running as Tre puts his hands behind his back. They rush in between both men, as Cort frantically adjusts his suit and Tre simply stares him down.
