Backstage, we join a camera snaking through the corridors of the arena, hastily making its way to a standstill as OCW Hall of Famer Paul Pugh stops it dead in the corridor.
He’s dressed casually - jeans and a t-shirt, and he’s looking pensive. He rubs his nose for a moment and begins to address the camera.
Pugh: Wrex. It’s over.
He scratches the back of his head
Pugh: You know it. I know it. You’re a shell of what you used to be and you’re limping around this place waffling about past glories… about the good times. Well, let me tell you something Wrex… the good times are over.
He sniffs - he sounds congested, he’s trying to clear his nose
Pugh: This place, this place you poured your blood, sweat and tears into for years… it doesn’t care about you… hell it never did. See Wrex, OCW is transient - not in the same way you’re transient you fat hobo…
He shakes his head
Pugh: OCW outlasts us all. Guy Fausto, Nick Kage, RD Money, Parker Stevens, Dimsmore, Patolomai, Matsuda… all did exactly what you did… and where are they now? Exactly. Barely even a footnote in the history of this company. Barely even a thought in the minds of these fans - of this locker room.
He snorts again, clearing his nose slightly
Pugh: See Wrex, in your mind, you’re some grand martyr to the Turmoil cause. You dragged the CCW title out of the dirt and put it at the top of the card - you were exceptional… except…
He looks side to side
Pugh: Look around you Wrex. Turmoil is still the B-Show.
The crowd boos in the arena
Pugh: The CCW title is not the OCW title.
They boo again
Pugh: See Wrex. You spent the last few years of your life building a second-rate legacy. Always content with being second best… And now you want peace?
He grins
Pugh: We don’t always get what we want. Neither of us gets that grandslam and because of that - you don’t get your big send-off. You get your status quo. You get to be second best one more time - looking up at the lights as a truly legendary legend stands over you.
He snorts one final time
Pugh: One more go around. One more Wrex match. One more example of why you never quite made the big leagues, kid. One more example of why you’re better off consigned to history like all the others. See you next week…
He winks at the camera as we fade into something else…
GRUDGE MATCH
LUIS BISHOP
vs.
CLAUDIO STARDOM
Tonight's Turmoil show keeps on trucking along, with all the holly, jolly holiday action that only it can provide.
Unfortunately, not everybody is feeling particularly festive tonight, as we see The Mantis walking out of the locker room, having just dressed back into his street clothes; a forest green zip-up winter jacket with a black hoodie underneath, jeans and black boots with green accents.
He also carries a black and green duffel bag that contains his all wrestling gear. As he walks down the backstage hallway towards the parking area, he has a sullen, almost mournful expression on his face, looking more down than where he's actually going. Soon, he enters the lot and approaches his car, but not before a voice rings out behind him.
Voice: Hey! Mantis, buddy!
The Mantis doesn't immediately respond, huffing in annoyance, wanting to simply go home, but decides to turn towards the voice's owner.
The Mantis: Sorry, "buddy", now's really not a good-
The Mantis pauses as he discovers the owner's voice is none other than Jim Black, having a quiet smoke off in the corner of the parking lot, despite the clearly posted "NO SMOKING" sign.
Jim Black: Still think so? He says with a smirk, before snuffing out his cigarette and walking up to The Mantis as he opens his car's trunk.
The Mantis: I got a lot of things to think about, Jimmy. I'm sure you know that. Christmas coming up, wondering how to beat the traffic, wondering how much I gotta get up in the morning to salt the sidewalk, all that jazz...
Jim Black: As well as your performance since returning to the fold? He says, as The Mantis closes the trunk with a resounding metallic thud, before looking at Black with an unamused face, resting an arm on the trunk lid. Come on...you can't tell me you're the only one who's noticed. You haven't exactly been lighting up the stage since you've come back. It's not often a guy does Riot and Turmoil back to back on his debut and loses them both. Not really a good look, bud.
The Mantis: So, what, you're just here to gloat, then? Get in a cheap laugh at my expense? He says, speaking irritability, but not exactly defending himself.
Jim Black: Hey, don't shoot the messenger. People are talking, you know. About you.
The Mantis: If you had to shake off two years of rust, you wouldn't have an easy time of it either! He says, pointing a gloved finger at Black, before continuing. This stuff takes time to settle back into, and I'm not gonna be just some flash in the pan.
Jim Black: Funny you say that, because that's what I've been hearing the most. Now, again, I'm just telling you what I've been hearing, but some are suggesting that you've been off for two years because you've still got some leftover trauma...particularly from The Last Blacksmith.
Suddenly, The Mantis' face goes blank, and his eyes cross. Even underneath his mask, it's clear something's up. His mind flashes back to that pivotal moment years ago, when he had been thrown through a burning table at the hands of The Last Blacksmith. The Mantis says nothing for a short moment. Black notices this shift in behavior.
Jim Black: You, uh...you okay there, bud?
The Mantis: Shut up, and leave me alone. You're not the only one fighting his inner demons. He says, almost growling at him, before quickly jumping into his car, starting the engine and aggressively peeling out of the parking lot like a man possessed. As The Mantis speeds away, Jim Black looks onwards at his car with a similarly blank expression, like he'd just seen a ghost. And he could've sworn...did his eyes turn a bit...red?
