Backstage in OCW’s dimly lit locker room, the air is heavy with the smell of sweat, locker
Doors clang with heavy, metallic thuds as other Wrestlers prepare for their own matches in the background. The camera pans over to the aftermath of a grueling Rookie Tag Team Challenge match.
The concrete floor is stained with blood and sweat, and sitting on a bench in the center of the room, sits The Mantis and Damian Bourne. Bourne lets out a heavy sigh, his face flustered and full of frustration.
Damian Bourne: Care to explain to me what the hell that was out there, Mantis? Huh?
The Mantis: I could ask the same of you, Bourne. That was a shocking match. He says with an irritated, muffled voice, not looking at him, still wearing his prescribed mask seen earlier in the night. Damian scoffs and crosses his arms.
Damian Bourne: I just went through a war out there with a grass-fed country giant, and I didn’t lose because I got out wrestled…I lost because you tried to be some kinda damn daredevil! Damian slaps his chest to emphasize his point.
Damian Bourne: You and all those flashy hurricanranas…are you just out there trying to get some highlight reel moments for yourself? If you think flips and flair get the job done in this business, you got it all twisted, buggo. You’ve got no ring IQ, Mantis-
The Mantis: Oh, and you do?! He suddenly snaps at Bourne, interrupting him. Getting absolutely plowed like a field is your idea of intelligent competition? You barely made him or Deaver flinch! I at least had the gall to try to push the envelope; to take risks. The only things that ever got twisted out there were your spine, and your knickers!
The rest of the locker room was now tentatively staring at the two, as their argument rapidly rose in temperature.
Damian Bourne: Eh, listen here, you! That Dollar Store John Henry may have whooped me, but I laid an equal smackdown right back on the behind of Joe Deaver, and Canada saw all of that tonight. That’s who my beef is with, that piece of Pennsylvanian trash.
The Mantis: This jingoism of yours is wearing very thin, Bourne. This delusional patriotism that you've got is like a crush that doesn't notice you.
The Mantis: You're out there every night, waving that damned bit of cloth and your flannel as if it somehow defines you, as if you could do no wrong. I'm not out there waving around the red hand of Ulster as if my life depends on it. I've survived this long without it. You need to start thinking more practically.
Damian Bourne: Watch it, kid! I should put my hands on you for that! Right here, right now! Never again… never again will I put my faith in some masked acrobat unless they’re from south of the damn border and their name is El-
The Mantis: DON'T! SAY IT! He suddenly shouts, turning to Bourne, before looking him dead in the eye. His breathing becomes ragged and laboured inside the medical mask.
The Mantis: He stares Bourne down for a moment, his eyes filled with a barely contained rage, before collecting himself. Damian chuckles in his mind thinking of El Gran Mistico, still successfully baiting the young wrestler.
The Mantis: You know something, Bourne? Maybe you were right. Maybe they did let me out too early. Maybe I should have rested a bit more, take another week off.
The Mantis: Because I could've had three Belakors choke me in the ring, and they wouldn't be nearly as painful as it was to watch you. Well, aside from watching the Jets, anyway. Damian snarls at The Mantis, disregarding the jab at his home team.
Damian Bourne: You’ve got a lot to prove to be on my level, and right now, you’re not even worth squashing, you green freak. Stay out of my way. When you see me, don’t even look at me, and if you approach me after a match in the parking lot, just know that I keep a Canadian beat stick in the trunk, just for pests like you.
Bourne storms off and out, leaving The Mantis standing now alone with everyone else in the locker room, his fists clenched and trembling with frustration.
The camera then lingers on The Mantis, slowly zooming in. His masked face hides a furious fire, now burning quickly with each passing second, as if more kerosene had just been poured on by the arrogant Canadian. The cameras fade to flames, transitioning into the next segment…
ROOKIE CHALLENGE MATCH SKADI vs. ASHLEY MOORE
This time we find ourselves in the locker room of the reigning CCW champion, Daddy Bingo, B17. He looks focus, staring dead ahead in quiet contemplation.
His phone dings, signalling the receipt of a message but he ignores it, remaining locked in to his plans.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
B17: What the heck?
Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding.
B17: Oh come on!
Bingo sighs and straightens up, picking his phone up from the dookit.
B17: 128 messages?!? From a withheld number?
Ding.
Bingo groans and swipes one of the messages open, mumbling about caller ID and why it exists if you can block it. When it opens it appears to be some home movie footage, causing a smile.
B17: Wasn’t expecting… That…
The pause in his voice carries on as the camera pans to look over his shoulder. We see footage of Bingo playing with his dog. They’re both have a great time.
A voice calls out on the footage and the dog runs away from B17, like a fat kid that’s just seen the ice cream truck. We eventually see it charging away towards a young Jordan Trance.
B17: That was a good day.
The videos continue, but slowly turn towards a compilation of moments. The moments though seem to emotionally rattle Bingo a little bit, it’s all footage of his dog leaving him or going past him, running towards Jordan.
B17: Okay now, that’s just mean.
“She picked me because you were never home. JT x”
The CCW champion slams his phone down, looking visibly upset, he casts a glance to the ceiling and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as we fade out.
We begin catching up with former OCW & CCW World Champion Inness Quartz as he paces through the halls with an extremely tense look on his face.
He does not break his gaze often, though occasionally to peer into a windowed room or group of people backstage. Eventually, he steps to an OCW Crew member wearing a white polo.
Quartz: Akita.
OCW’s Head Official Akita turns to face Quartz, slowly removing his production headset with a smile.
Akita: Quartz! Very nice to see you, how was surgery?
Quartz: Where’s the old man, Akita?
Akita’s taken aback a bit by the abrupt demand and leans back slightly, trying to figure out the situation. Inness seems to register Akita’s trepidation and shakes his head to disarm the situation.
Quartz: I’m sorry… There’s a lot going on right now, that’s not on you… I hope.
Akita chuckles and nods enthusiastically, quickly darting his eyes back to the monitor he was reviewing to make sure his immediate attention was not needed.
Akita: Quartz, it is okay. I understand.
Quartz: Surgery was a success. I’m ahead of schedule, I was recently cleared this past Wednesday morning by OCW doctors.
Akita: That is great! I hear you are getting that match with Ryu that you wanted?
Quartz: Yes… but listen Akita, I really need to talk to Sensation. There’s been things going on since I’ve come back that don’t sit right with me.
Akita perks up, concerned.
Quartz: Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s all been one big misunderstanding.
Akita: Ahh, well, I can ask him.
Akita places his headset back on his head before pushing a few buttons on the device attached to his waist.
Akita: Mr. Sensation, location?
After a few moments, you can see Akita shake his head and inaudible murmurs reply.
Akita nods: That was Mrs. Sensation. She tells me he is unavailable right now, but-
Quartz: Unavailable?
Quartz’ demeanor stiffens up again, his scowl returning to his face just as quick as it disappeared.
Quartz: I’ll let you get back to it, Akita. Thank you for your help. I’ll go find out just how unavailable he is.
WEE BABY MAN VS. LIL BABY MAN JORDAN TRANCE
vs.
ALEKSANDER BOLEK
