CRW Season 3 Prologue: Episode 2
Oct 29, 2016 18:48:22 GMT -5
Jacob Wilson, Cameron Corvis, and 2 more like this
Post by Talon Wilkinson on Oct 29, 2016 18:48:22 GMT -5
The beautiful thing about being in the heartland of America is the clear skies. Look up in the sky and unlike the big metro cities you will actually be able to count the number of stars in the sky. This is where Michael Sterling finds himself now. He steps out of his cab buttoning his two piece gray suit. He looks out to a row of motor bikes stationed one next to the other where a few gentleman linger to smoke cigars where above them a neon sign reads “Mother’s Tavern.” He walks up to the front door where a large advertisement is set up. “CAGE FIGHTING! 10 BUCKS A HEAD!”
Promoter: FANCY MAN IN A SUIT! LOOK OUT OF PLACE IN THESE PARTS HERE BUT I BEGRUDGE NO MAN LOOKING FOR ACTION!!
Sterling: What kind of whiskey you guys got in there?
Promoter: GOT EVERYTHING THAT CAN QUENCH A MAN’S THIRST!
Sterling reaches into his bill fold and hands the man a 100 dollar bill. The man’s eyes light up and immediately pockets it into his denim vest. Hell everything the man wearing is denim.
Sterling: Just make sure I sit near the bar and get a good view of the action.
The man waves Sterling into the bar. Once they step through the doors the enormous wooden saloon bellowed with laughter, clinking glasses, and of course the sound of the crowd cheering. Set up in the middle of the saloon was a makeshift cage made of chicken wire inside a man was trading blows with a large bearded individual. The room was filled with the smell of peanuts thrown on the ground meant to cover the stench of stale beer and tobacco juice. The man notices a passed out drunk and shoves him out of the way. The few people that notice can’t help but laugh. He wipes down the barstool.
Promoter: KEEP AN EYE ON MY BOY HE’S THE ONE WITH THE BEARD!
Sterling reaches back into his pocket and flips open his cigarette case. He strikes one up and lets out a big exhale of smoke. Looking back at the cage the large bearded individual gets a nod from the individual that led Sterling to his seat. He clinches together with the other man for a bit and then instantly the fight changes. Coming out of the clinch an overhand right knocks the man back. Sterling rolls his eyes and turns his back to the fight. He looks at the bartender and waves him over.
Sterling: Double Jameson. On the rocks.
The barman towers over the bar itself. He reaches up to the top shelf without even making an effort. His hair slowly graying and while most of his face is covered in hair his most distinctive features are his hands. In addition to the wrinkles were scars that had healed over. Some better than most. He didn’t move very well his entire body weight shifting with every move. Behind them the crowd roars with delight at the violence in the ring. Sterling notices the barman isn’t even paying attention to the action. He’s actually staring him down. Behind him the bearded man is crowned the winner of the fight. “And STILL undefeated in the cage … The GRAVE DIGGGGGEERR!!!!”
Barman: Heh
Sterling: Something funny their barman?
Barman: How much Lou sell me out for? Huh?
Sterling puts out his cigarette in the loaded ash tray. He looks down at his watch notes the time and reaches back into his pocket for another cigarette. He takes a business card and puts it face down on the bar.
Sterling: A business man always has his price. He didn’t have an exact location but I don’t need much. Old men like us have lived long enough to forget things. We’ve also lived long enough to have unfinished business. Shit like that aches. It’s like a debt. And like a cold wind in your joints. It hurts.
Barman: Look … whoever you are. I want to be left alone.
Sterling slides his business card across the bar. He double taps it with his finger and leaves the money for the Jameson on the table. Begrudgingly the Barman lumbers over and picks it up. It’s at this point that their conversation is interrupted by the returning promoter and the bearded fighter from the cage.
Promoter: DID YOU SEE THE BEATING MY BOY PUT ON THEM! I TELL YOU SIR THIS MAN IS THE ONE YOU HAVE GOT TO SIGN!!
Sterling gets bumped into spilling some whiskey over his hand. He turns around to see a sweaty large bearded man identified as the aforementioned “Gravedigger.” The Promoter turns to look at Sterling with a smile on his face. His teeth stained with chew juice. Sterling puts his drink down and with his other hand he finishes off his second cigarette.
Sterling: You know it’s rude to interrupt a man when he’s having a conversation. Besides I wouldn’t sign your boy here to clean the floors in this place let alone to fight.
Promoter: HEY!
Gravedigger: Hey old man! You think you can come in wearing your fancy suit and shit on people like us? Look around. You aint got no friends round these parts! Maybe what you need is to see the real thing up close and personal. You. Me. The Cage. NOW!!
Sterling: Be the first real fight you get tonight. I could spot that dive a mile away.
Promoter: THAT’S TWICE YOU DUN THROWN AN INSULT AT US! THERE WON’T BE A THIRD. FORGET THE CAGE DIGGER SHOW HIM THE PAVEMENT.
Sterling’s left fist is about to ball up prepared for the bearded man who grabs him by the jacket of his suit when a hand reaches over and pulls the Gravedigger across the bar. In one swift motion contradicting the body movement only a few moments ago; the man is lifted and dropped in mere seconds. A right hand to the belly and a knee to the temple finds the man knocked out. Now the bar is completely quiet. Only the faint music the feedback from the speakers but all eyes are now on the grizzled barman and the beating he just put on the cage fighting champion. Sterling looked back at the barman’s right hand bruised red from not having used it in a long time. The barman steps out away from behind the bar as everyone watches him walking. The promoter immediately tries to come up and have a conversation about cage fighting when he gets mushed in the face and pushed back on his ass. He looks down at the promoter he just shoved down before looking over at Sterling.
Barman: I always hated fixed fights. So … what do you need from me?
Sterling: I’m sure you know how to get to New York. Gravedigger.
Sterling finishes his whiskey. The barman steps almost toe to toe with him. Sterling is forced to look up as the man towers over him. He takes the same business card and puts it right back into his pocket where he retrieved it from. The feeling of nervousness doesn’t go away till the barman takes a few steps back.
Barman: Gravedigger is dead. That’s not who I am anymore.
Sterling swallows the fear that had built up in his throat.
Sterling: So what are you?
Barman: Well. Like you said. I’ve got unfinished business. But you can call me John... John Thomas.
We see Rorey, dressed as sharp as ever, sitting underneath the shade of an umbrella by the beach. We looks at each person walking to and from the beach, clearly looking for a certain person. He lets out a sigh and reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone, he presses on the screen a couple times and brings the phone to his ear.
Rorey: Michael, it’s Rorey, I’m here in Panama City, are you sure this guy is gonna be here…
Rorey’s head turns to follow a large gentleman with a tattoo that looked great seventy-five pounds ago
Rorey: No, unless this guy gained a lot of weight while he was retired, I don’t see him...What do you mean wait? The sun is ruining my suit...wait...I’ll call you back.
Rorey springs up from under the umbrella and cane walks himself towards someone.
Rorey: Excuse me, Jacob Wilson?
The man turns around, confused to see the slender black man with red hair staring at him. Rorey sees his face and sighs.
Rorey: Nevermind, thought you were someone else.
Rorey turns around and bumps into someone.
: Hey watch where the hell you’re going. Heh, look at you, did you get lost? The 50s are that way!
The man points off in the distance and laughs, rudely.
Rorey: Jacob Wilson?
The man stops laughing and tilts his head as he continues to chew a stick of gum.
Wilson: Yeah?
Rorey straightens his suit out a bit and stands up straighter.
Rorey: The name’s Rorey and I’m here to make you an offer.
Wilson: Look, whatever frat hazing thing you’re about to complete, I don’t want to be on the receiving end of it.
Rorey looks at Jacob, confused, for a moment before shaking the confusion off and speaking.
Rorey:: No, I’m a wrestling promoter of sorts.
Before he can finish, Wilson raises his hand to his face to stop him from speaking.
Wilson: Retired.
Rorey: I know bu-
Wilson again raises the hand and cuts him off, his attitude growing.
Wilson: So get lost.
Rorey: No.
Wilson stops closer to Rorey, taking a deeper breath, puffing out his chest as he raises his tone.
Wilson: Get lost, or get an ass kicking!
Rorey: You won’t do that and I’m not leaving Wilson. See, I’m here for Code Red Wrestling and I’d like to have you come back.
Jacob looks at Rorey for a moment before laughing.
Wilson: Hahaha that’s the hazing? Wow kids have gotten weak! Good one kid.
Rorey: Jacob, I’m not kidding. Let’s be honest here, you were a star in the making. But you found yourself getting overshadowed by some big names coming in, guys like Terry Marvin, Leander Apollo, The Soul of Philly-
Wilson cuts him off again, shaking his head and growling.
Wilson: That last one is incorrect.
Rorey: No, because that last one, came into Code Red as a fan and ended up winning the Prime Time championship, where was Jacob Wilson? Not on the card. Jacob Wilson deserved to be a feature of Code Red Wrestling, but was he? Were you?
Wilson: No.
Rorey: Not in my Code Red Wrestling. No, I can make a promise to you, you take this contract to your lawyer or whatever, look over it, sign it, and send to back to me, and I promise you you’ll get the opportunity you want and deserve.
Rorey hands Jacob an envelope, presumably the CRW contract he was speaking about.
Rorey: That promise is ironclad, you know something about that right?
Wilson: Yeah, I do.
Rorey: I’ll be seeing you.
From the beaches of Panama City to the lights of the Vegas strip that fill the scene as Rorey strolls down the sidewalk, dressed to the nines which gets the eye of a couple ladies of the night, who offer their services to the young black man as Rorey shakes his head. The scene progresses to the inside of a club, loud EDM songs blaring through the air, making Rorey cringe a bit. He makes his way up to the VIP and attempts to look for someone. A bouncer comes up to him.
Bouncer: Name?
Rorey: Chris Mosh.
Bouncer: You’re not Chris Mosh.
Rorey: I know, please let him know there is a executive from Reebok is here to speak with him down at the bar. Thank you.
Rorey turns around and heads down to the bar and orders a drink. By the time the bartender comes back, Rorey feels a hand on his back, none other than “The Party Boy” himself, Chris Mosh.
Mosh: Excuse me, are you the Reebok exec??
Rorey: No I’m-
Chris Mosh takes off, stumbling a bit.
Rorey: MOSH!
Chris Mosh dramatically turns around as Rorey gets up.
Rorey: There was no executive from Reebok but apparently, you don’t come out of the VIP until the club closes.
Mosh: Damn right. I shut these clubs down!
Rorey: Yeah, gotcha. Look, you’re clearly having a good time, and I wouldn’t want to intrude so I’ll be quick. I understand that you’re looking for more work-
Mosh: I’m not a pimp man. I just like to have a good time.
Rorey: I know. You’re a wrestler, and I’m looking for talent, like yourself. Specifically the type of talent that once wrestled for Code Red Wrestling.
Mosh: I do fit that description.
Rorey: Code Red is returning in the coming months and I want to know if you’re in or not.
Mosh: I’m in.
Rorey: Great I’ll send you a contract in the morning.
Mosh: Send it in the afternoon, I won’t be awake.
Chris pats Rorey on the shoulder and returns to the VIP section upstairs as Rorey just sips his drink as the scene fades into a handful of bells jingle against the glass door as Rorey's cane, followed by Rorey, walk into the building. His eyes immediately scanning across the incredible expanse of the gym he’s walked into. Television screens and cardio machines litter the section just past the front desk, but beyond that a group of young athletes congregate around one of three wrestling rings, as a figure shouts down out them from inside.
Alexis: Good afternoon, welcome to the Brute Camp. My name is Alexis, how can I help you Mister- ?
The man with the cane and fancy suit walks up to the desk, his eyes following the action across the room, scanning for a familiar face that he doesn’t seem to see. He extends his hand to the lovely woman behind the desk, smiling with a nod.
Rorey: Rorey, just Rorey. I was hoping to sit down with Mr. Evans?
Her eyes shift to a screen on her right, grabbing a mouse and quickly navigating through screens.
Alexis: May I ask about what?
Rorey: I’m here on behalf of Code Red Wrestling and Mr. Wilkinson
Her head tilts at the mention of CRW and she casts a sideways glance up at him, but quickly camouflages it with a smile.
Alexis: One moment please.
A few more seconds of navigating and typing and she stands up with that same smile.
Alexis: He’s free now. Right this way, please.
She turns and leads him through the cardio equipment and past a few weight benches, before reaching a half-opened wooden door and rapping her knuckles across it gently.
Alexis: Hey Rex, a gentlemen named Rorey is here to see you.
He holds up a finger as if to tell her one minute, but also motions to let him in with the same hand. He has a phone to his ear, but stands up as Rorey enters the room, motioning for him to have a seat.
Rex: I understand that, sir, and I appreciate you for thinking of me. But as I’ve already told you several times, I’m hanging up the boots as soon as Sin City’s death sentence is official. No amount of money you offer me is going to change that opinion, as my bank account already has more zeros in it than your company’s. I don’t mean to be rude, but your repeated attempts are beginning to impede my ability to do my new job. So if you would, please stop contacting me.
With that, he presses a button to hang up the phone and turns his attention to the gentlemen who just sat down across from him. His eyes are scanning the office’s walls, decorated with event posters bearing its owner’s image and name. CRW Vendetta. APW Survive & Conquer. SCW Cancun Clash. Rex’s eyes follow his and a smile pulls at his lips. He clears his throat and extends his hand, which Rorey eagerly reciprocates with a smile and a nod.
Rorey:Pleasure to meet you, Rex..
Rex: I apologize for you having to listen to the tail end of that conversation, Rorey. When a company closes its doors, the vultures swoop in to pick at whatever scraps remain, even a washed up athlete like me.
Rorey: Well that makes this awkward. But you’re not washed up, you and your brother won the tag titles right? You’re not that washed up that your brother carried you.
Rex: That might be true, but I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss my career-
Rorey: Actually… I’m here on behalf of Code Red Wrestling. Myself and-
Rex: Code Red? It’s been three years, what about it?
Rorey: Well, you see it’s having a rebirth of sorts and you and-
Rex: A rebirth? I’m sorry, but I highly doubt that. Talon and I might not speak as much as we used to, but he’s my kid’s uncle. He’s one of my best friends. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be hearing about the rebirth of the company that put me on the map from a suit I’ve never heard of.
Rorey: I understand your hesitation Rex, but-
Rex: Look, Code Red Wrestling was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I want nothing more than to see that company alive and thriving again, but if it’s truly happening, then Talon can fly down here and tell me about it himself.
Rorey: Mr. Wilkinson doesn’t travel, that’s why I’m here.
Rex shakes his head with a stifled laugh, before taking a moment to collect himself. Standing up from his chair, he takes a deep breath.
Rex: I owe everything I am today to Talon. He took a chance on me, a chance that I probably didn’t deserve at the time. Without Talon, I’m not the successful wrestler you’ve seen on TV the past few years. Without Talon, I’m nowhere near the quality of man I am today. Without Talon, I may not be outside of a prison cell. He looked past my rough exterior and pulled me out of a life that was leading nowhere, and I made the best of that chance. As I said, I want nothing more than to see Code Red Wrestling back on the market. But as I told the guy I was on the phone with earlier, my boots are all but on the hook. Only one man has the slightest chance of taking them back off.
Rex offers a somber smile, holding his arm up towards the door as he walks around the edge of the desk.
Rex: And that’s Talon. I’m sorry that you wasted your time.
Rorey: I really came here expecting to talk to your brother anyways, but I’ve wasted enough time. Tell your brother I’d like to speak to him back in New York, the old Under Armour arena.
Rorey gets up to leave and makes it to the door before spinning around on his cane, pointing at Rex.
Rorey: If Talon does come down here and convinces you to come back, let this be the warning, talk to me like that again, you’ll wish he didn’t come down here.
Rorey spins back around and exits, closing the door behind him leaving Rex to sit and ponder what the hell just happened.
Inside the formerly named Under Armour Arena in Bronx, NY, crews of electricians, plumbers, and general construction crews work feverishly to get the lower bowl of the arena prepared for the November 20th return of Code Red Wrestling. Dehumidifiers fill the concourses and crews begin to apply fresh paint to some of the cold concrete walls to begin to bring parts of the arena back to life. The hole or holes in the roof have been patched and repaired and proper electricity appears to have been restored, at least to the lower level of the facility, but the press boxes, upper level seating areas, and the rafters continue to be shrouded in darkness, and are still potentially damaged.
Backstage, the private locker rooms are all under repair with only the large group locker room, once only reserved for lower and mid-card talent, have been restored with functioning plumbing, new carpet, lockers, and benches. Beyond that, many of the once habitable and useful private locker rooms remain boarded shut like the pilot to a zombie film. At the end of the dark and still slightly damp hallway a light shines from inside an open door, the door that leads to what once was CRW Owner Talon Wilkinson's on-site office space. Getting closer, the light appears to be flickering. A small boombox style radio's display screen is all that attracts attention. The attention of a maintenance worker who curiously walks over to the room, poking his head inside.
Maintenance Man: Hey Charlie!? Check this out!
Charlie: What is it George?
A second maintenance man, Charlie approaches the first, apparently named George. The two stand side by side in the hallway, looking down towards the open door. George, a slender but goofy looking sort looks to the heavier set Charlie, and appears confused.
George: ...this is the office for the owner of this place, well... it used to be.
Charlie looks around at the floor around the doorway, seeing shards of wood and loose, bent nails laying around, indicating a crowbar was used to free the door way of obstruction.
Charlie: Gee, this doors been locked and blocked off for weeks, did you pry it open?
George throws his hands up in the air to declare his innocents, looking around the hall for anyone else who may have heard the accusation. He looks back to Charlie and speaks sincerely.
George: Me? Hell no, I'm not getting fired for doing something stupid like that... I thought maybe you or one of the guys did.
Charlie: I've already got two strikes bro, no way. ...so, do you want to... check the place out?
George: Of course, one of the perks of the job, right? See what shit got left behind? I mean, maybe I can snag some old school merch to sell on ebay.
The two friends walk into the office, using their cellphones for extra light. They look inside and while their are bookshelves with some random CRW related items left on the shelves, the most fascinating item is a boombox with a cellphone dock on top... The dock is occupied by a clean, new looking iPhone. The LED display on the boombox reads "TRACK 1 : PLAYING" but their is no sound coming out of the stereo. George turns the volume nob up, down, and back up and even hits the side of the stereo lightly before looking at Charlie, confused.
George: Huh... that's odd. It's not playing...
Charlie: Maybe the speakers are blown? Take it off of the dock, dumb ass.
George shrugs and makes an annoyed face as he snatches the Iphone off of the dock, and presses "PLAY" once again when the haunting keys of "Werewolves of London" begin to emanate from the mysterious phone.
George: ...What the hell? ...what a stupid song. ...whatever.
George turns the song off and tosses the phone to Charlie when the two are interrupted by their foreman who has clearly been looking for them for a few minutes.
Foreman: HEY!!! GET BACK TO WORK!
As the two friends walk away to get back to work, Charlie scrolls through the phone, still wondering where it came from, and who it belongs to.