The scene fades into a shot of a busy city street, many people passing by as they go about their evening. On the street corner stands Archer, and next to him sits a large box, slightly larger than the size of a couple of telephone booths side by side. It has a red silk draped over the top, covering what’s underneath.
The new film studio acquirer, dressed in an expensive suit and tie combination, with a microphone in hand, begins to tap the microphone to gain the attention of the pedestrians.
Archer: “Ladies and gentlemen! We at ‘0.5% Studios’ would like to present to you, a street performance that will bewilder you, excite you, and make you want more! I give to you; ‘The Chicken Man’!”
The camera closes in on the box as a muffled sound can be heard.
Voice:“I’m going to kill you.”
Archer whispers back.
Archer:“That will be one hell of a lawsuit on your hands, never-mind the jail time. Just make the crowd happy like I know you love to do.”
He moves away from the box and puts his hand around a gold, tassel rope handle, pulling it down swiftly to drop the red silk cover and reveal Justin Jehst dressed in a chicken suit within a barred cage.
Archer: “Sir!”, he asks a passer-by.
Archer: “Would you like this chicken to dance! Just put a tip in this jar and he will perform for you!”
You can see Jehst’s eyes roll as the anger builds inside his slowly dying soul.
Passer-by: “Sure why not?!”
The man places a dollar note in the jar.
Passer-by: “And there’s only one dance I could recommend for this, and that’s ‘The Chicken Dance’!”
Some other pedestrians have stopped by and begin to watch on as Justin reluctantly begins the chicken dance within the cage.
Archer: “Come one, come all! Put your tips in and make the chicken dance!”
Child: “Mom! Can I put in a dollar?!”
Mom: “Sure, Frankie, go for it.”
The child places a dollar in the jar and steps back from the cage.
Child: “Chicken! Do a dab for me!”
Justin is obviously getting annoyed but humours the child's request, performing a POWERFUL dab with full arm extension and beak tucked right into his elbow crease.
Child: “Yaaayyy! Mom, can I have another dollar for one more dance?”
Mom: “Ok, last one, though, we have to go!”
Child: “Thanks, mom!”
The child drops another dollar note in the jar.
Child: “Do the Gangnam Style!”
Archer: “You heard him, chicken, dance!”
Jehst, once again, hesitantly dances as the child joins in as well.
He finishes his jig, smiles at the kid, and then turns to Archer with a less than pleased expression.
Jehst: “I hope Wrex destroys you tonight. I hope he - - - “
And before Jehst can finish his sentence, Archer tugs the rope handle again, pulling the cover back over the cage, muffling Justin’s voice.
Archer: “Thank you everyone for bearing witness to the soon to be corner attraction, here every weekend for you to be entertained!”
Archer leans up to the side of the cage and whispers.
Archer:“I may have only made $3 in this little stunt, but I’m guessing it has cost you a lot more than that, haha.”
Archer: "Now where’s my limo?"
Archer: "Oh and don’t worry, Chicken Nehst, you’ll be picked up by a truck and trailer in about an hour or so, so just sit tight! Bye!"
As Archer makes his way closer to the sidewalk to wait for his car, the red silk cover can be seen moving back and forth as Justin presumably shakes the cage in rage. The scene fades to black.
The camera pans to the announce team.
Thomas Archer is an Animal!
Subhuman!
The unmistakable rumble of an oversized vehicle can be heard minutes before it pulls into the parking lot at the Barclays Center. The Liberator, as it’s called, is nothing short of a monster truck.
A thousand horsepower, no exhaust, and tires more than six feet tall, there’s no way this abomination should be on the road.
As it finds its spot near the front of the parking lot, the engine turns off and instead of climbing out of the door, Jackson Montgomery slides out from the bottom.
When his dirty boots hit the ground, he jumps back up and grabs his duffel bag and slings it over his even dirtier tank top that reads “Back to Back World War Champs”.
As he walks towards the arena, fans are starting to accumulate near the front. Jackson pulls out his flip phone and begins to act like he’s talking on it.
Before he gets to the crowd, a man wearing an OCW polo shirt jumps in front of him.
OCW Man: Sir! You can’t park that, that THING right there!
Jackson flips his phone shut and looks back: Well why not? It’s a parking space ain’t it?
OCW Man: It’s actually FOUR parking spaces and their HANDICAPPED spaces at that!
Jackson: Look brother. My truck ain’t got no floor, the doors don’t open, and the windshield is made of plastic. Can’t get much more handicapped than that.
Jackson slaps the man on the shoulder as he walks past him, leaving the man staring at the truck in awe. As he reaches the fans, a little boy with a Make Wrestling OCW Again hat on steps in front of Jackson.
Kid: Mister Jackson? Can I get your autograph on my hat?
Jackson kneels down in front of the kid: Sure little buddy! Seems like you got something on this one. Let me get you a better one!
Jackson unzips his bag and reaches in. He pulls out a new version of the same hat. The bill is blue with white stars and the hat is covered in red and white stripes. Jackson takes this kids marker and writes, “Montgomery 1776” on the bill. He reaches up and takes the red hat off the kid and sticks the new on him.
Jackson: There you go pal. I’ll throw this one out for you.
The kid is ecstatic and runs to show his father, who salutes Jackson. He salutes back. Ignoring the callings of a few other fans, Jackson heads inside where he’s immediately met by Jim Black.
Jim: There you are! You know Cort was looking for you the whole show last Riot?
Jackson: I just walked in the damn door Jimothy! Give me a second to get settled. Ah forget it. I can’t get settled now. What are you blathering on about?
Jim: Cort. Cort Marshall. He was searching all over for you.
Jackson: Look Jim, I’m just here to shake babies and kiss hands, show off the FI briefcase, which...I forgot again! Dammit Jim! *Sigh* Just tell me who I’m wrestling tonight, Jameson.
Jim: You forg...nevermind. You’re not on the card tonight.
Jackson: I’m not on the card ton…..
Jackson is cut off by a voice from offscreen.
???: Finally!
Jackson and Jim both turn, and the camera pans right to show Cort Marshall walking into frame
Cort: I’ve been looking all over for you!
Jackson: Oh? Well, I didn’t notice. Are you one of them rookies or something?
Cort: Rookie? Wh-no! I’m a former tag team champion, patriotic American AND… I’m on the power rankings that you’re absent from!
Jackson: First off bub, no one and I repeat, no one is more of a patriot than ‘ol JackMo. I’ve served my time and came back to the greatest country in the world to continue to serve the only way I know how; drinkin’ beers, shootin’ deers, and stomping little pips like you into the ground. And power rankings? Do I look…
Jackmo flexes.
Jackson: … like someone who needs to be on a power ranking? I’m 100% real steel supercharged V8 power baby running on Pabst Blue Ribbon and Slim Jims! And… I’ve got that little FI briefcase. So what’d you interrupt my promo for, manlet!
Cort: My truck. You crushed my truck.
Jackson: You’ll have to be more specific. I crush a lot of things, you know what I’m sayin’?
Jackson elbows Jim Black in the chest; Jim flinches and begins to rub it.
Cort: The other night, at Riot, you were driving that thing around without a care in the world, and you ended up making a nice little tire track through my Chevy’s cab!
Jackson: Ah well, hard to see tiny insignificant things from the captain’s chair inside the S.S. LIBERATOR! No hard feelings right?
Cort: Not if you pay for it.
Jackson: Pay? For that? You should be thanking me for taking it to the crusher’s free of charge! That thing was more rust than truck! If I didn’t do it, the next light breeze would have. Jackson Montgomery needs all his money for Jackson Montgomery things, rookie!
Cort: Either you compensate me or I compensate your face.
Jackson: Oooh, I’m so scared! Little rookie’s gonna beat me up! How many matches you won? Huh? And who did the American gimmick FIRST! That’s right. Me. You’re just Jackmo shrunken in the wash. So get outta the way and buy a new truck, fool!
Cort scowls.
Cort: Keep talkin’ like that and maybe we should have a match. See who the real patriot is.
Jackson: A match? With me? Sorry kiddo, I got bigger fish to fry. Bigger titles to win.
Jackson pushes past Cort, who stares daggers at his back.
Jim: So, certainly a new development here on the show… do you have anything to say, Cort?
Cort: Got a few things I can’t say on TV. But maybe actions speak louder than words.
Cort looks back to where Jackson walked off.
Jim: Do you mean what I think you mean?
Cort: No... not yet.
Cort stalks off camera in the opposite direction.
Jim: Cryptic words from an angry ‘Merican! Stay tuned in case more emerges!
The camera pans to the announce team.
Who is the bigger Patriot?
Jackson has not accepted...but if he did I don't think OCW could handle Cort Marshall vs Jackson Montgomery. TOO MUCH FREEDOM!
Cheryl Stixx vs Ashley Blaine
The camera pans to the announce team.
What a grueling contest!
A commanding win!
A camera fades in to Quartz standing inside of a doorway backstage.
Quartz: Rustin.
Quartz voice remains calm and collected as he calls out for his tag team partner.
Quartz: Rustin.
Quartz voice begins to pick up as the camera pans to Cohle sitting on a chair, legs crossed and he turns his head slowly to acknowledge the call outs.
Quartz: My memory tells me... you told me your match with the rookie was going to be a functional warm up for our meeting with the champions.
Cohle: Welp. I guess I lied. You understand huh ? You lie all the time.
Quartz winces at the comment and walks closer to the chair area, Cohle turns his head back around, still looking very relaxed.
Quartz: I feel as if you're not listening to anything I've said the last few weeks, Rustin.
Cohle: Yehhhh, haha. I don't feel like I'm gettin' anywhere with words these days.
Cohle stands up and stretches in an exaggerated fashion.
Cohle: Which brings me to something more important.
Cohle: It looks like Liger Bunny wants to put themselves in my business before it's the right time. You think that's not okay, right? Like, right?!
Quartz: We discussed this previously, Rustin. This is not how we're to complete this objective.
Rust Cohle snaps his head around and pounces in Quartz' direction with a look of grit in his eyes. He stomps around the chair into his partner's face.
Cohle: What's the matter with you!? This objective is MINE. You don't even KNOW the objective you big idiot!
Cohle: You're the one that said this was temporary. Now you wanna go all commando and act like you're some big bad wolf!? You're gonna listen to ME now.
Cohle: He deserves this. I'm tired of being walked on! I'm finished being the butt of the joke, dammit! I am not your sidekick and I'm going through with it whether you're there or not!
Cohle shouts his thoughts directly in the face of Quartz. Quartz stands stone faced as his partner unleashes.
Cohle gets no response and walks away to the other side of the room, snatching up a small water bottle and drinking it quickly, before crushing the bottle.
Cohle: I bet you think you're so smart don't ya'? You're gonna walk away from all of this the second you get what you want, huh ?
Quartz: ... I told you that their time would come. The two of us have worked too hard to succumb to degeneracy.
Quartz: The mission is still not complete. Your pants are not held up by your ego, Rustin. We have a job to do.
Rust Cohle stands with his back turned, sorting through the table near the water bottle.
Cohle: Yea, you are right man, and our job is gonna be made easier tonight.
Cohle walks back over toward Quartz... again, a little close for comfort. Quartz stands solid, looking his teammate directly in the eyes.
Cohle: and like I said before, I'm gonna do it with - or without you. I never should have made the mistake of thinking you had my back.
In a sudden impulsive burst, Quartz grabs Rust Cohle by the shoulders, slamming him against the back wall and knocking over several pieces of equipment on the nearby desk. A familiar smirk wipes across the face of Quartz.
As he begins to speak, his voice has suddenly changed from calm and collected to erratic and eccentric.
Quartz: Whatchu tryin' to say bub? You think I'm not a good teammate? Hah! I brought you here and I ain't gonna let your little outburst keep me from those belts.
Quartz: Check the score, Rusty. Just because I ain't out there teaching you how to act doesn't mean you can start talking back!
Quartz turns his head quickly to the left before releasing Rust Cohle. Cohle shoves his hands away and fixes his shirt.
Quartz rolls his shoulders and neck and flexes his fingers before turning his head back up Cohle. The two stand silent for a few moments. Quartz voice returns to it's usual calm, deep effect.
Quartz: Rustin. I have your back. I know you have mine. We still have a mission to complete.
Cohle: Then you know what we have to do !
Rust Cohle slowly backs out of the locker room, leaving Quartz standing alone. The camera fades out.
