Promos for Assault 29 September 2018

[Stu]

... KEVIN STARR, with the championship strap over his shoulder, is stumbling his way from the back of the crowd to the locker rooms. As he roughly shoulders past backstage workers, Jr. Cobra can be heard ...

COBRA: "Hey, Starr! How would you like in on a business proposition? I have the inside track on these Girl Scout cookies, see, the ones that taste like toothpaste, and-"

*** His pitch is initially ignored, the interrupted by a bone-chilling war-cry! MACELROY rushes STARR from behind, knocking him down with a double-axehandle. Both men, still ragged from the match that just ended, roll onto the floor and immediately fall into a flurry of blows, fists and elbows. COBRA carefully steps around them.***

COBRA: "Hey, uh ... fellas ... uh ... are either of you interested in-"

*** hoisting each other up, the two enemies begin slamming each other into walls and lighting equipment. STARR even grabs hold of COBRA and shoves him into MACELROY, who meets the obstacle with a sharp elbow, spinning the masked salesman about three times before he hits the floor. At last, security and wrestlers alike pull the two apart. Over the din can be heard:

STARR: "... nothing! You are NOTHING, MacElroy! You are going to PAY for this ..."

MAC: "... want YOU, Kevin! DOG-COLLAR! Aye'm commin' fourr YOU-"

COBRA: "... just ... cookies ..."

[Stu]

TERRY SCHNIEDER: "Fans, this is Terry Schnieder with a special report. PWA has just received footage taken from the crowd  at rival promotion's house show, where Brawler Beckett arrived unannounced and addressed the crowd. Here is that footage... "



***At a house show in Lake Charles, LA, for the (omitted by court order) promotion, Bartholomew "Brawler" Beckett walks down the aisle, dressed in a Victorian-cut three-piece suit, to a thunder of "boo"s and cat-calls, all of which he ignores.  The look on his face is that of a man with a mission.  He takes a mic from one of the table announcers, then climbs into the ring.  There he stands in the center, looking about as he is shouted down by the throng of pro-wrestling fans.  Beckett saunters to one of the turnbuckle corners and reclines there, waiting for the fans to get it out of their systems.  Finally, he comes back to the center.***

BECKETT:  "I imagine the lot of you colonials want to see my lovely head on a pike." 

***general loud agreement*** 

BECKETT: "I can't blame you, really.  After all, you only know whatever drek you've been fed by the medier.  That is not your fault.  What IS your fault, is letting it get this far.  Naturally, I am talking about the recent events at iBoob So-Called Wrestling." 

***a chorus of "boo"s and supportive chants of "i-Noob! i-Noob!  i-Noob!"  Beckett waits for it to die down.***

BECKETT: "We at PWA have merely been trying to protect our sport, the Sport of KINGS, our business, and your passion as fans, from illrepute.  Think of it!  What does the world see when they look at i-Boob?  A pack of degenerates cos-playing their way to the ring, trying to look like Japanimation rejects or just wearing the rags they got from Mum twelve Christmasses ago, no ability, no athleticism, nothing that honors the Sport of KINGS!"

***howls of outrage, and a couple of fans try to jump the barrier to get to the ring, only to be stopped by security.  Beckett sees this, points at them, and continues ...***

BECKETT: "See there?  Passion!  You have such passion for this sport, so why would you cheer for those rejects who insult that for which you are so passionate?  You hate me, I don't care.  You love them, I ask, 'Why?'

"See, I am not against all of the individuals in that organisation; we at PWA are against that outlaw promotion.  There IS, in fact, some decent talent there, two of whom had the honor of sharing the ring with myself.  Oh I know that La Parca was new to the promotion, obviously signed on to give the company the veneer of respectability, and Ace Davis is still a young talent, not yet irrevocably corrupted by the philosophy of short-cuts and good-enough fostered there.  The former is an immigrant athete; I can identify with that ..."

***the fans "boo" as Beckett sneers at a fond memory,***

BECKETT: "... and the latter is a poor boy trying to earn his dear mother a better trailer home in which to live, perhaps even in a better trailer park.

"Big Bunny, on the other hand, may go eat rabbit."

***Vocal hostility breaks out again, and Beckett waits patiently.***

BECKETT: "To prove that we are against their promotion, and not against those individuals who show actual promise and capability, I have here ..."

***he pulls two envelopes from his coat pocket***

BECKETT: "... two contracts, one each, for those gentlemen I faced.  They will be delivered tomorrow through the post to those gentlemen.  These contracts will grant them each the opportunity to come and work and learn among the champion-callibur athletes at PWA, so they no longer have to debase themselves in that gutter.  Here, lads ... opportunity knocks!  I pray you answer!"

***With that, Beckett climbs out of the ring, tosses the mic back to an announcer, and leaves up the aisle amid the angry throng.***



TERRY: "It is unclear at this time if Beckett is acting of his own volition. It is also unclear what Beckett's motives are or if contracts he allegedly presented in the footage were legitimate PWA contracts. One thing is for certain: the hornet's nest has been stirred up yet again. More on this story as it develops."

[Stu]

TERRY SCHNIEDER: "I am here with the recently, apparently, reinstated Bartholomew "Brawler" Beckett and Mr. Beckett, allow me to welcome you back to the ranks of Prestige Wrestling Association."

BARTHOLOMEW "BRAWLER" BECKETT: "It is my honor to be here, Terrance, and your pleasure."

TERRY: "Uh ... yeah. We saw at the last Assault that you were indeed signed to a PWA contract, but there is some question as to whether the contract is still binding, since the contract was offered to 'Johnny Malibu'. Your comment?"

BECKETT: "When the contract was signed, it was I under the mask who signed it. There is nothing to keep a person from changing his name legally, nor his representation. An author under a pen-name is no less the writer of his own work. I assure you, it is binding."

TERRY: "Since you are under contract until further review, what are your plans for PWA?"

BECKETT: "My plans are as ever they have been, Terrance. I will rise to the top, I will advance this promotion, and I will do it in a way that brings glory to myself and the PWA, the greatest wrestling promotion in the world today."

TERRY: "Recently, you participated in a tournament held by a rival organization, and you emerged victorious. How will your participation in this other organization impact your time in PWA?"

BECKETT: "No reason it should affect anything here, Terrance. The iNCW is all duct tape and firecrackers, and wet ones at that. The reason that we in the PWA have gone after this so-called promotion is to rid professional wrestling of this most pernicious black-eye, nothing more.

"Well, most of us, anyway. Mr. Black seems to be chasing his halcyon days of bygone glory, but ... well, horses for courses."

TERRY: "Why did you choose to participate in this other company's show?"

BECKETT: "To prove for good and all that they simply cannot compete with real athletes. They thought I was searching for a new home, as if I would ever even consider them. Ugh, perish the thought."

TERRY: "So your new title, the King of iNCW-"

BECKETT: "I do not need the peasants' permission to be king. Frankly, I do not consider myself their king, as that would imply I have a culture in common with that band of inbred troglodytes. Rather, think of me as a conqueror."

TERRY: "... and the crown?"

BECKETT: "Hm? Oh, that Hamburger King playtoy they tried to give me? They likely found I had returned it to the rubbish bin when they went looking for their next meal."

TERRY: "Any closing comments?"

BECKETT: "Yes. To those who pollute the PWA with their personal agendas, be on the look out. Big changes, for the better, are coming. Keep a sharp lookout to see which way you should jump."

[BG05]

(Jack Lane is standing in front of lockers inside of a gym. Lane is dripping with sweat and looks into the camera with a determined look.)


Jack Lane: September 29th I have a date with destiny! I’m one match away.....ONE MATCH AWAY.....from getting back to Pantaro. I’ve been laying low and training hard because I know what’s at stake. I know what’s on the line. The winner of the match between me and Spencer Watts moves on to the pay per view with a shot at glory against Pantaro. The winner has a shot to lay claim to be the best in the world. The loser? The loser goes to the back of the line. The loser has to figure out how to get back into the thick of things.

Watts, understand that you’re in my way. Jack Lane doesn’t take a backseat to anybody, homie! I’ll do whatever I need to do to get this win. If I have to hit you with a chair, poke you in the eyes, take it to the streets.... I DON’T CARE!! This is what I’ve been working towards this entire time and you ain’t gonna stop me, bro.

Bring your “A” game Watts! You’re “A” game won’t be good enough this time. I’m locked in on you, my man. I’ll see you at Assault.....it’s gonna be INSANE!!

(Scene fades to black.)

[Stu]

*** ROBERT MACELROY, dressed in a suit and tie, no sports jacket, is pacing, agitated, in the reception room of DAMION BLACK'S offices. He looks like he is about to burst through the seams of his shirt. ***

MS. WHIGGINS, RECEPTIONIST: "Mr. MacElroy? Mr. Black will see you n-"

*** MAC rushes in as soon as she addresses him, and approaches DAMION BLACK's desk. ***

MAC: "Mr. Black, ye most due somethin' aboot thas Kaevan Starrr! Tha man will nae give me a straight fight, 'as saent a damned assassin afturr me, an-"

BLACK: "Yes, Robert, I know. Starr is using the rules to his advantage by bending and breaking them when he can get away with it. His is cunning and smart, and a gifted athlete. I assume you want me to do something about him. Bear in mind that I am resolved to stay neutral and fair where at all possible. What would you have me do?"

MAC: "Something te keep tha' bastarrd i' tha rrring an' maek him accountable fourrr his actions! Take away his chance forr te cheat his way out o' a daecent match! A cage, a dog-collarrr match, loumburrjacks, anything! I want me damned shot!"

BLACK: "Alright. At Circus Maximus the main event will be you against Starr for the PWA Heavyweight title in a special match. Pinfall and submissions will count, no DQ, and any man who cannot answer the referee's 10-count will lose. We'll call it an Edinborough Brawl match. If Starr does not participate or finish the match, he will forfeit the title to you."

MAC: "Joost gaet him theyrrre, man, Aye'm goin' tae-"

BLACK: "Robert, this will be your last chance at the title. I have other contenders who deserve a shot and, while Starr has been unsportsmanlike, you cannot keep getting title opportunities until you win. This is it. Make it count."

MAC: "Aye, 'at's all Aye'm wantin', boss. 'At's all Aye arsk ..."

[Stu]

*** Bartholomew “Brawler” Beckett stands at a PWA podium, well dressed as usual, as reporters and photographers jockey for the best position to speak to or see him. ***

BECKETT: “Calm down, gentlemen. I do not have much time for you, so the sooner we begin this, the better. Let’s begin with … you, the reporter in the red tie.”

REPORTER: “Mr. Beckett, the brand war between iNCW and PWA has reached a boiling point ever since your iNCW tournament victory. With PWA holding two iNCW championships and your victories over three members of their roster, what kind of advantage does PWA hold over iNCW?”

BECKETT: "'Advantage?' No, no, that makes it sound as though we are in competition with them. If our victories prove anything, it is that there is no competition between us. We in the PWA are merely trying to remove this blight upon our profession. Next, ah … you, the reporter in the red tie.”

REPORTER: “Much has been made of your alleged unsportsmanlike conduct while participating in that tournament: loaded boots, eye gouges, low blows, and so on. Your comment?”

BECKETT: "To begin with, the so-called 'loaded boot' is a fabrication. I am forced, because of an injury that I received in Japan several years ago at the hands of Gojira, their champion at the time, to wear a corrective boot if I wish to continue to compete. As for the eye-gouges and low-blows, the referee never called anything of the sort, although I seem to recall more than one closed fist being hurled at me. What passes for rules in that sociopaths' support group is quite beyond me."

REPORTER: “And what about the allegations of your use of brass knuckles?”

BECKETT: "Ah, those. Well ... yes, I used brass knuckles. You are quite right. And again, their own probably inebriated referee did not call it, even though I pulled them right in front of him. That just goes to prove my point about what manner of company they are.

"Now, as to why I used them, the answer is simple: I did not go there to out-wrestle their talent. They are an outlaw organization, and quite proud of it, too. Mind you, "outlaw;" and now they complain that I broke the few rules that they have preserved, even as they flaunt tradition and regulations. Hypocrisy.

"Of course, you gentlemen of the press have made no mention of the crisp professionalism with which I did use legitimate wrestling maneuvers, I notice. That is the last thing that the iNCW, and you lot, apparently, wish to point out, but the fact is this: I did not go there to out-wrestle their talent, because they are an insulting bastard of the sport that I love, that puts bread on MY table. Why on Earth would I treat them fairly by their terms?”

ANOTHER REPORTER: “Mr. Beckett, isn’t it true that the reason you originally donned a mask, as you did with the Malibu plot, was to avoid being recognized when you wrestle at similar outlaw promotions to pay off your debts for-”

BECKETT: “Security, remove that tabloid rag-monger immediately!”

*** Scuffling and contained violence ensues. ***

BECKETT: “Someone else, now. You, the reporter in the red tie.”

REPORTER: “Recently, you offered what you described as contracts to two members of the iNCW roster. Are you actively trying to recruit members of iNCW to PWA?”

BECKETT; "God forbid, no. No, I am only offering those two talented youngsters a chance to do something great with their lives, rather than wallowing in the bloody gutter, making a pile out of their careers. These two, one recently from a fine school in New Mexico and the other a talented man who is not beyond salvage, have received their contracts. Now, while Mr. Wyld and myself naturally do not have the authority to hire and fire in the name of the PWA, those contracts will allow them to work for us directly, and with our representation, as free-agents with enough backing to train with and compete in the PWA.

“Now, gentlemen, I’m afraid that is all of the time I have. Good day.”

*** Cameras flash and more unanswered questions are shouted as Beckett leaves stage right. As he passes near a mic, he can be heard mumbling, “... unworthy, I despise them…”

[Snow]

We see Snow's training facility, where he and Pantaro are going through a rapid warmup sequence. They start with some punches and kicks, and quickly escalate into rapid fire high-flying moves countered flawlessly one after another. After a few moments of this, they separate with a handshake.

Then a cough from off camera.

PENNYWORTH: So, this is where you train? How...rustic.

SNOW: Not all of us have the resources to have a private top of the line gym, amigo.

PENNYWORTH: Calm yourself, Snow. I'm not here to have a go at you, I'm here to work together. At least for now. I've got the goods on Wyld. You need to spill on Beckett and Cobra. I've got time to prepare this time, and I know who I'm facing. I can't have you or the cat there bringing me down.

SNOW: The cat? You are referring to the PWA Light Heavyweight Champion, I presume?

PENNYWORTH: Yeah, him. Look, we don't have to be friends, but if we're going to work together, let's at least try to find some chemistry, right?

SNOW: You could start by toning down the ego a bit there, Rich. We're all in the same match, after all.

PANTARO: One thing at a time, amigos. We have a match to win.

PENNYWORTH: Sure sure. Just...don't tell anyone I said this, but he's in my head. That crap with Johnny Malibu, it's getting to me.

SNOW: You and me both. I thought I was through with Beckett. He was done. Gone. Never allowed to wrestle again...and yet, thanks to you, here we are.

PENNYWORTH: That wasn't...

SNOW: And don't even get me started on Cobra. What he is doing to that poor boy. The way he and Anaconda are treating Arzon? I have half a mind to try to run them out of PWA as well.

PENNYWORTH: I don't think...

SNOW: And the way that Akira just thinks he can waltz in here and have titles handed to him because he was a big man on campus a decade ago? Like he thinks the rest of us aren't busting our asses to stay relevant, or that he's the only one that matters.

PENNYWORTH: I can't...

SNOW: I mean, each of them apart are bad enough, but put them all in one ring, at one time, and it's like the evil league of evil out there.

PANTARO: Calm down, amigo. Keep your focus and we can beat them.

PENNYWORTH: Yeah, man. We can take them. I mean...hey, do you have a computer in this place? I've got some film to show you.

[Nick Spoils]

Nick Spoils stands alone in front of a cinderblock wall. His suit is rumpled, and he's very obviously holding a stress ball in one hand that he is squeezing continually.

NICK: Tiger Gold. You have had a long and illustrious career. One that came close to ending on a poor move a few weeks ago, when you were injured. And injury that should have placed you on the shelf for quite some time, from what I hear.

And yet, you see fit to insert yourself into a personal grudge match. Inserted into a beatdown long overdue and well deserved. To put your giant fuzzy nose where it doesn't belong.

He visibly takes a deep breath and compresses the stress ball down to nothing.

NICK: Well. Since you have decided to make Brian's issues your issues, so be it. You've had a good career. Championships. Accolades. Glory. This week, when you face Ragnarok? You get to have one more high note of your career--a curtain call. Enjoy your time in the ring, Gold. It won't last.

[Quillz]

***The scene opens backstage at the PWA Arena. A blue and silver backdrop curtain hangs in the background. The Surgical Specialist, Akira Wyld stands in front of the backdrop, adjusting his wrist tape. His silver hair hangs over one eye on his stubbled face. He looks up at the camera and turns his index finger in a rolling motion in front of his face.***



WYLD: “Ever so slowly… the wheel turns and one by one, all the tumblers click into place. It’s taken a little while… but things here in PWA are finally starting to go according to plan. Damion Black may THINK he is in control here... but the reality is that every day, this organization comes one step closer to being MINE. All things serve the beam and all the moving parts in Prestige Wrestling Association inevitably move toward ONE purpose… making Akira Wyld the PWA World Champion. Robert MacElroy and Kevin Starr can have their fifteen minutes in the spotlight… but before long, they’re both going to find out that NOBODY stands in the way of the Surgical Specialist. Akira Wyld is ALWAYS two steps ahead of the competition. Learn it, live it, LOVE IT… or get the hell out of my way.”



***Akira Wyld begins pacing back and forth in front of the backdrop.***



WYLD: “Last season it was about making an impact here in PWA. For six weeks I kicked and fought my way to the top of the heavyweight division, showing the world that nobody in this organization gets it done in the ring like Akira Wyld. This season, I’ve had only ONE goal. This season was all about… RESPECT. From day one, people have been disrespecting the Surgical Specialist. Damion Black disrespected me… the PWA fanbase disrespected me… and that trust-fund having, silver spoon-fed pretender Richard Pennyworth disrespected me. Despite the fact that I had the most winning heavyweight record in the entire company last season, people all across the industry claimed that I was an overrated, egomaniacal grandstander who couldn’t back up my talk with action. They laughed at me and called me paranoid for having the guts to call out Damion Black for all his backstage political schemes. And worst of all… they had the NERVE to imply that I was just coasting by on my family name, despite ALL evidence to the contrary.”



***Akira stops pacing, puts his hands on his hips and slowly shakes his head.***



WYLD: “This season it was my mission to get back at each and every person who doubted me. So… let’s take a little look back at just what the Surgical Specialist has accomplished in season 2 of PWA. My first order of business was to remind each and every PWA fan who the most spectacular, technically sound wrestler in the entire company was. Last season I dominated the heavyweights…. so this season I set about dominating the light heavyweights! In my first singles match of the season, I laid that blue-masked boy-scout Pantaro on the mat for a firm three count, proving in one swift stroke that even the very best of the light heavyweights can’t hang with Akira Wyld in the ring.”



***Akira begins counting off on his fingers.***



WYLD: “After that, I went to work thoroughly embarrassing the Modern Day Aristocrat Richard Pennyworth. That wannabe ‘technical wizard’ had been bragging about his one-off, fluke win over me for weeks, and I made it my mission to dismantle that blow-dried, million-dollar deuce. Week after week, I got into Pennyworth’s head. Using my superior brain, I broke him down mentally, emotionally and physically. It got to the point where I wouldn’t even be in the arena… and yet the mere specter of the Surgical Specialist would cost Pennyworth matches time and time again. And now that Pennyworth has been beaten down and HUMBLED in almost every way possible… it’s time for the killing blow.”



***Akira Wyld stares directly into the camera.***



WYLD: “What do you say Aristocrat? After all you’ve been through do you have the guts to step into the ring with Akira Wyld one-on-one? Looking at my calendar… it looks as if PWA has a supercard on the horizon. Now… given your current damaged state of mind and less than stellar win/loss record… I don’t know if you really rank high enough to deserve a supercard match with the Surgical Specialist. But you know how I hate to leave a job unfinished. There’s a nasty little black mark on my record here in PWA that I want to see erased. The only way to do that is to stoop low and face you one more time. So tell me Little Dickie… do you have what it takes to sack up and face the music on the grand stage? Maybe you’d better get on your Bat Phone to your buddy Damion Black and see if you can grease those wheels one more time. But be careful what you ask for Pennyworth… because no matter what you think you know… I’m ALWAYS two steps ahead.”



***Wyld smiles as the camera fades to black.***

[Quillz]

***The scene opens atop a rustic mountain, backed by a breathtaking red and orange dawn. An eagle soars high in on the horizon as a crisp breeze blows by. Tiger Gold stands stoically atop the rocky outcrop, his bronze muscles reflecting the rising sun. He hammers his chest with a tree trunk-like arm and roars at the camera.***

GOLD: “Nick Spoils! For too long, you and your dishonorable brood have poisoned the fighting spirit of this noble organization. Your sinister machinations have festered under the skin of PWA like a sickness... dragging good, proud warriors down into your demented fever dream.”

***The camera pans around Tiger Gold as he balls his hand into a mighty fist.***

GOLD: “Since the Rise of Kings, your unholy alliance, Armageddon has held hostage one of our sport’s most noble prizes. You have used the Prestige Wrestling Tag-Team Championship as a trophy, lording over the PWA locker room like a sinister warlord. The only thing that those who serve you know is loyalty through violence... and obedience through pain! This week, allow me to deliver to you a message in a language that you understand. I shall face your behemoth, Ragnarok, one-on-one on the stage of the immortals!”

***Tiger Gold opens his massive hands and stares down at them with glistening eyes.***

GOLD: “With these hands, I shall rend Ragnarok’s soul from his mortal husk and send one-half of your unbeatable avatar duo crashing mightily to the mat. Backed by the roars of the cheering multitudes, I shall drive a dagger deep into the heart of your sick and demented family. Let this be the first stone cast in what shall be an epic war.”

***Tiger Gold flexes mightily as the camera zooms in on his muscular frame.***

GOLD: “And then... held aloft by this resounding triumph... my brother in arms Tiger Fury and I shall rip those tag-team titles from your slimy hands, and deliver the PWA tag division to all new heights of glory! Prepare yourself Nick Spoils... prepare yourself RAGNAROK! This Saturday at PWA Assault... your destiny awaits!”

***Tiger Gold leans forward into a roaring lion, double arm flex and growls definitely into the camera. Fade to black.***