We see Charlie sitting in the office of the 'Lock Down' Warehouse. A single desk lamp lights the small corner behind his desk, and shines reflectively on his face as he taps away at the keys of his custom keyboard. He slides his wireless mouse over a rubberized logo of the show, custom swag given to them by FOX networks for on camera presence in the office.
The camera swings around the room, slowly, moving behind him as he taps away at the keys, moving windows and tabs around on his three monitors, organizing the pictures of the recent WGWF event in San Antonio that grace the glass screens before him.
He moves images back and forth, and clicks one tab after another as the pictures flash across his screens. He is diligent and focused, and one wonders exactly what is so important about the All Hallows Eve show that he would so intently pictures of the arena.
Next to him on the desk sits a manilla folder with a red 'Classified' sticker affixed to the front of it, and several papers hanging out of the thick jacket. He looks over at it slowly as he works, and shakes his head from side to side. Grief and a string of sleepless nights play at his brain, and he wears his emotions openly on his sleeve.
Then, at the door is the sound of keys jingling, and the lock sliding to the side in the wood door. Charles jumps at the noise, absorbed in his research, and grabs the manilla folder, shoving all of the papers back inside of it, an then cramming it violently into a drawer of his desk just as Darina and Owen stroll through the door casually.
“Kid... you can't stare at a computer screen in the dark all night. It ain't good for your eyes.” Owen chides him playfully.
“Yeah... Yeah... You're right. How silly of me. I know better.” Charles stammers as his fingers glide over the keys that will hide his work from prying eyes, leaving the screen on a fake word doc about some rare flower native to the Cayman Islands. His nervousness is not lost on Darina, though, and she makes her way over to his desk slowly.
”You OK, kid? You seem a bit jumpy.” she inquires innocently.
“Uh... yeah Rina. I'm fine. I just... I have a lot going on right now, and I guess I just need to get some sleep. Matter of fact... I think I should do that right now.” he says in a blur.
Charles immediately gets up and starts gathering his things, and shutting down his station. Moments later, he grabs his things and heads out the door, looking back over his shoulder only briefly to say, “Good night guys. See you tomorrow.” before rushing off for the night.
“Weird one that kid. He is.” states Owen, baffled at his swift departure. Darina looks from the monitors to the door, definitely not convinced of Charles story, but resigned to ask about it another time.
Scene: Fade to Black.
Narrator:
“Once more the boots become laced, and the robes don the shoulders of the only perfect specimen of the species. Once more men face off against the embodiment of the physical form inside the squared circle. Once more the opportunity to to prevail is presented to the Stunning One.
For as long as man has walked the earth, there have been those who fight. They fight for food. They fight for dominance. They fight for survival. They fight to conquer all else. This is the story of man.
Some men, fight wars on TV that are never lethal, and in this practice, while they may be the best at what they do, they are far less than savage animals. They are caged dogs prodded and smacked, goaded into the fight they never asked for. Each and every one of them chickens given a ring to claw and peck in.
Others though, are truly gladiators. They face seedy elements of society and vile criminals every day of their lives, and they know better than most what people are really like. They live in the passion and emotion of the danger, and they excel at survival in a world where surviving the night means doing everything in your power to fight off the darkness that comes to claim you.
Few men are those real champions at life. Fewer still excel at it, and those who do are dangerous to say the least.
Are you ready Raziel? Are you ready Kyle Shane? Have you prepared yourself to fight against the odds in a war where the winner is the one who can walk away? No. I doubt it. Come Monday, when you find yourselves in the ring with a savage animal who only knows how to survive one way... don't say I didn't warn you. Sebastian St. Paul is a warrior in the truest sense of the word boys, and while you are both great at what you do, what you do is not survive. What you do is only 'fighting' as far as masturbating is considered sex. You are outclassed. You are outmatched. Honestly, come Monday night in Dallas... You are both out of your league.”
The scene fades in to Sebastian St. Paul sitting in a darkened room. A small TV sits nearby, flecks of black,gray, and white swirling across the flat glass screen, twirling and colliding in an violent dance of tumultuous chaos. His arms are resting gently on the arms of a high backed leather chair, and his eyes are closed. His chest lifts with each slow, measured breath, then falls as he exhales. Beads of sweat drip from his face, and dribble down his sculpted shoulders to his flawless chest before running swiftly down his chiseled abs. A small towel lays over one arm of the chair, and then St. Paul opens his mouth to speak, but no words come. His lips part again, and then close slowly, as if he is trying to figure out where to begin.
Finally, once more, Sebastian's lips part, but this time, in a slow, gravelly voice, he begins.
“I understand now, why Raziel takes an entire week to get his promo's together when he faces you Kyle Shane. I do.”
He closes his mouth once more, and signs deeply before continuing.
“I mean, after the number of times that Raziel has beaten you, I can imagine it would be hard to find something else to say to you that hasn't already been covered. I am sure though, that we will hear more of the bullshit he is fond of in those occasions though. In fact, I would bet on it.”
Sebastian opens his eyes slowly, and stares deeply into the camera lens, looking from his darkened room into the depths of each of you as you watch him, alone, lit by the faintest glow from the static snowstorm swirling across the glass of the TV.
“After all, what else can you say to a man who has never successfully defeated you? I mean really, Kyle? If you were Raziel, what would you say to him in your position? After the multitude of failed attempts by you to knock him from his throne of douch-bagery, what is there left to say?”
Sebastian takes the towel in his hand, slowly closing his fingers around the white cloth, and lifting it to his face, mopping the sweat from his brow, then sliding it down his neck to his chest, before discarding it carelessly beside the chair.
“You come out week after week and tell the world why THIS time will be different than the million attempts before, and yet every time it comes down to just you and Raz in that squared circle, you choke, and he kills you. You find a new way every week to say the same old...'This time I got you, Raz!'... and honestly, no one believes you anymore Kyle. Not one fan out there watching your promos has a doubt in their mind that when you climb through those ropes with Raziel, time and time again, that you will fall victim once more to the biggest asshole in the WGWF, and for once, I'm not talking about me.”
Sebastian runs his fingers over his eyes, weariness etched plainly across his features, yet still, even worn out from the hard life he leads, stressed to the brink by factors beyond his control, he is still sexier than every single one of the lifeless, filthy, sweat hogs watching at home.
“THIS week on Brawl though, Kyle Shane, WILL be different. You see, I am sure Raziel will draw the comparison from Roderick X to me in this match. He will tell the world that maybe this time things might be different for you, since you only ever gain a win over him when there is someone else to help you get it. Then again... I doubt for one second that he will give me the benefit of the doubt that I could be the factor that costs him one more victory in his ever-long string of W's in his record. It could happen, but I doubt it.”
Sebastian looks intently back into the camera, and smiles to himself. Ideas play around in his head that bring joy to his heart, and the warmth of it flows through him like sunshine warming a winter day.
“Whether he admits it or not though, there is no way I am walking into this match without making your history a thing of the past with Raziel. Monday on WGWF Brawl, a new Era of Professional Wrestling will begin for the WGWF, and I intend on changing everything, starting with Raziel's blatant disregard for not just my talent, but yours as well.”
Sebastian gets to his feet, freeing himself from the comfy leather chair he had been resting in.
“But... Kyle Shane... there are a few things you should know going into Brawl on Monday. I want you to pin Raziel in Dallas. I do. After what he did to me on Tuesday night, there can only be utter humiliation for that son of a bitch, and there is no worse thing that can be done to him than to ensure that you are the one who pulls the three count on his sorry ass. But know this, Kyle... once Raziel is out of the running to go to War Games... your time will come too.”
Sebastian makes his way away from the dim glow of the snowstorm still twirling across the small screen of the TV, and after a few moments, we hear a rhythmic, somewhat off-timed, thud-thud-thud. Thud. Thud-thud. After each impact, the sound of a heavy metal chain scraping against itself can be heard in the dark, and from the shadows floats Sebastian's voice.
“While I want to humiliate that sack of shit just like the rest of the roster does, there is no way I am letting you take my shot at War Games and the chance to get my hands on the WGWF World Heavyweight Title. A tray of ice cubes has a better chance of surviving in hell than you have of pinning me, Kyle, so it would be best for you, honestly, if you just looked at this as the gift it is. I am giving you the opportunity to finally pin Raziel in the middle of a real wrestling ring, with real WGWF fans watching, on a real WGWF Brawl show. We all know that there isn't any other way you are ever going to get to say that you pinned him without a video game controller in your hand, so take this chance for what it is, and be happy that I want to embarrass Raziel more than I want to kick your teeth down your throat.”
Thud-thud-thud-thud. Thud. Thud-thud.
“I told you Raziel. You have something I want. In your arrogance, you didn't even care to ask what it was Raz. You just made some stupid joke about how I want to fuck you, and called it a day. You disregarded my intent entirely, and now you have missed my warning. Now it is too late for you to back of the contest and save face to save yourself. You see, I figured that you probably assumed that it was your Tag Team Title that I wanted, didn't you Raz? You figured that I must be talking about the Belts that you and RJ worked so hard to finally take away from the Rubies. I mean, what else could you have that I want? I mean, if your insults were any where close to home, and I was actually interested in dudes, I damned sure wouldn't want anything to do with your cottage cheese thighs, or your flabby arms, or even your 'whistling in the wind' style open asshole that I often confuse for your face. Oh no... Even if I DID swing that vine to the other side of the jungle like you wish I had, you wouldn't even be in the running to get close to this perfect specimen of the species buddy. What then? What on earth could it be, Raz? Well it's simple. I want your reputation Raziel.”
Sebastian appears suddenly back in the small area of dim light afforded by the glow of the TV, his face dripping sweat again. He is smiling to himself, and glares into the camera, a bit crazed.
“That's right Raz... what better way to launch myself up the ladder here in the WGWF than to pad my record with events against the best the WGWF has to offer right? I won't take away from your talent, or your achievements like you will do to me on Sunday night when you finally come out of your dirty little hole you live in and toss together some dumb shit about how you're going to wreck Kyle Shane and I like your name was Ralph. I won't downplay how important this match is for the both of us like you will when you tell the world once more that Kyle Shane and I are the ones who have everything to lose and you have nothing to gain on Monday because we are both worthless trash that doesn't deserve the chances we are given. I won't belittle you or your career like you will do to us when you finally decide to grace the world with the golden gilded words from the great and powerful Raziel... Master of the... SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Sebastian is frothing at the mouth by this point, and has worked himself into a frenzy of rage and hatred. Spit flies from his mouth with every other word, and he is nearly screaming through clenched teeth.
“I KNOW how important this is to me and Kyle Raz. I know that you are 'THE MAN' to beat. I know that you have held a cubic shit ton of titles not just here, but around the world, and you are one of the best GOD DAMNED WRESTLERS ON THE PLANET!”
“I know Raziel. We all KNOW. We have heard you spout that same stupid shit since... well since for-fucking-ever ago, and quite frankly, there is a part of your logic that is just flat out wrong Raz.”
Sebastian finally gets himself under control, and his breathing slows some as he wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty face.
“The part that you are missing is very simple though, so I wouldn't have expected you to contemplate it necessarily. It’s obvious to me that you haven’t, so allow me to enlighten you a moment, Raz. The simple part of your logic that is flat out wrong, is that this match leaves you with nothing to gain, and it isn't Kyle and I that have everything to lose... It's YOU. If Kyle and I walk into that arena in Dallas, Texas, and anyone other than YOU walk out of that ring the winner of our match, where does that leave you, Raziel?”
Sebastian smiles to himself once more before continuing.
“I'll tell you where that leaves you Raz. It leaves you humiliated and broken. After all of the achievements you have tucked away under that giant golden Tag Team Title you are so proud of, to lose to either one of us now would be catastrophic to your career. You don't think so? Oh... Raz. How delusional are YOU? You mean to tell me that you think after Monday night, where you WILL find your shoulders pinned to the mat by either Kyle or myself, that there will ever be another opponent that takes up across the ring from you that doesn't laugh about it? That doesn't poke at you for losing to a rookie or a joke? No Raz, the truth here is that YOU are the one with everything to lose. Kyle Shane has lost to you countless times, as you are fond of telling him. If you pin Kyle in the match, what changes for him, really? The number of failed attempts to put you away? Big whoop. If you pin me on Monday, what changes for me, Raz? I add another L to my bio. Again, a really big whoopee. The only person this truly effects Raz, is YOU.”
Sebastian flops back down in his leather high backed chair, and grabs the towel nearby and mops his face once more before tossing the damp cloth back over the arm of the chair.
“Everyone expects Kyle and I to lose this match. Every Superstar in the back who thinks the three of us are either numb nutted assholes or worthless losers or wastes of every single second that we breath and take away the oxygen that they could have been using to survive. Every fat fuck fan sitting on their couch at home slapping on the pounds as they devour cheeseburgers and french fries and pizza living vicariously through all of us because they can barely make it to their refrigerator let alone actually become a real athlete. Every one of those stupid ass hats at FOX that changed my contract without asking me and sent me here to the WGWF to increase the rating on my own damned TV show.”
“ALL OF THEM RAZ”.
“Every one of them know in their souls that it will be you with your hand raised in victory come Monday in Dallas... but what if it isn't Raz? What if It isn't YOU at the end of the night moving on to War Games? What then, almighty immortal Raziel? What are you going to say to the world then?”
“That a rookie got lucky?”
“That Kyle and I teamed up on you and you weren't good enough to beat two nobodies?”
“That you have really just been a lucky son of a bitch that has had every advantage before now, and taken them to gain that laundry list of talent that you have put away?”
“You and I both know that those excuses won't fly Raz. We both know that once your winning streak comes crashing to a halt, and I make damned sure you go home with but one more big fat L on your bio, that all of those words will fall on ears that can't hear you over the millions of voices laughing, and it will be your name next to Dark Shadow, Peter Gilmour, and the Sentinel jerking curtains with the worst of the losers the WGWF has to offer. Shame will be all you have left of your illustrious career, and it will be at my hands that you fall Raziel. My hands.”
Sebastian leans forward, and grins a deadly smile that splits his face from ear to ear.
“Warriors Kyle. Soldiers Raziel. They live and die by their weapons. Be it a sword and shield, or trident and a net, or even a spear they wield into combat... the outcome is the same. One man lives, and one man dies. Blood is spilled. Lives are extinguished. Throughout history, men have fought against all odds to win a losing fight, and more often than not, the one outnumbered or outmatched comes away on a litter, drops of his life force dripping into pools beneath him as the survivors of the tragedy haul the dead from their final places of defiance and lay them to rest in their graves, be it hero or traitor. But sometimes... those who fight against all odds stand victorious, if not in deed, in legend.”
St. Paul stands once more, the dim light from the TV flashing across his grim grin.
“I am a warrior Raziel. I am a gladiator Kyle. I will fight with my last breath. I will struggle until my soul has drifted far away from my mortal form. My weapons are my fists and my mind, and I will do battle to the last with them both. You may have fought many men Raziel. You may have me by a long shot in experience in this business Kyle Shane. Youboth may have the advantage... but when the bell rings guys, and the match is all over, it will come down to the heart of a fighter, and the will to succeed against the ods. Kyle, you have already proven that the heart that beats in your chest is one more of a princess that needs saving from a tall tall tower, and Raziel has allowed himself to become complacent in his never ending struggle against your rhetoric. Neither of you are prepared to fight the war I am bringing to your home turf, and I intend to walk into the arena in Dallas with my head held high, and walk out of there with my hand raised in victory. After that... there will be no question of what my 'PLACE' in the WGWF is, and no matter what RJ Palmer thinks... his days are numbered just like the both of yours are.”
Sebastian walks away from the light of the TV once more as it flashes bright white and then fades to a single pin prick of light directly in the center of the screen.
“I'll see you inept sweat hogs in Dallas... but be prepared to have your mind awakened to the new era of the WGWF: The Stunning Age of Professional Wrestling.”