***The PWA Arena explodes to life with pyrotechnics and thumping music are Assault begins. The music fades down and a chorus of boos fills the arena as George Prescott, III, the King of Managers, is already in the ring, a microphone in his hand and a broad smile on his face.***
PRESCOTT: “Oh, you mess of idiots can’t bring me down tonight! You can’t because I manage the single most dangerous, dominant, unparalleled champion of champions this illustrious sport has ever seen! Of course, I refer to none other than “The Siberian Psychopath” Viktor Sokolov!
“This is the man who stepped into a no-holds-barred, no disqualification free-for-all with the incredibly dangerous and devious Spoiler III, the unpredictable Rhett Holiday, now a champion in his own right, and the legendary brawling brute Nemesis Rex! And Sokolov went in against these three men and defeated them ALL to become the PWA Heavyweight Champion! Oh friends, it was a historic night indeed, but it was just the beginning!
“Viktor Sokolov proved he was no paper champion. No friends, he proved he was a man deserving of the title, the responsibility of being a champion of this wrestling organization! He issued an open challenge for his title and he took on all comers! Time after time he defeated the likes of Alex Prime, The Factor, Robert MacElroy, himself a former champion, and on and on, culminating in a successful title defense over one Rebel Wyld at PWA Undaunted!”
***Prescott puts his thumbs in his lapels and struts in the ring as the crowd heavily boos.***
PRESCOTT: “And the domination did not end at PWA Undaunted. No, your heavyweight champion has continued to make his presence known. He is a fighting champion! A fact he proved once again by putting his belt on the line against the illustrious Broadway Bobby Fame just this week at Battery! Time and time again, the Siberian Psychopath continues to prove that he is this company’s guiding light… It’s crown jewel… the attraction that people line up to see.”
***The crowd continues to boo and Prescott smiles.***
PRESCOTT: “And so, you heathens, count yourselves lucky! Count yourselves blessed that such a prolific athlete is your champion! You can all hold your heads high and for in your miserable lives be proud of one thing: that the terrifying force of nature known as Viktor Sokolov is your Heavyweight Champion! And rest assured that he will go on being your champion for years to come! There is no one. And let me be *very* clear… THERE. IS. NO. ONE who-“
***Just then, the recognizable riffs of a familiar theme explode over the stadium speakers. Prescott stops mid-sentence and glares down the entrance ramp uneasily. After a moment, a serious-looking Akira Wyld appears at the entrance ramp and makes his way down to the ring, microphone in hand. The crowd cheers as Akira rolls into the ring and paces back and forth in front of Prescott. The King of Managers swallows hard, and then regains his composure. He adjusts his tie and flashes a mock-smile at The Surgical Specialist.***
PRESCOTT: “Well well well… I was just getting to you Mr. Wyld. As I was about to say, before I was so rudely interrupted. Victor Sokolov has taken on and turned back every single contender that PWA has put in front of him. There is *no one* left in this company who has *earned* the right to face Victor Sokolov for his PWA Heavyweight Championship. Do you see what I mean when I say *earned*, Mr. Wyld? Being the son of a wrestling legend, I understand if that word doesn’t hold a lot of meaning for you. You see, *earned* means doing work, and getting recognized for it. In this context, it means showing the world that you deserve a shot at a title. Bobby Fame understood that. He *earned* his shot by winning himself a contender’s match. Not that it did him any good in the end.”
***The crowd boos and Akira scans the faces of the fans in the arena before settling on Prescott again.***
PRESCOTT: “Now I know waiting your turn and following the rules is kind of an alien concept to you… but you do realize you had your shot this season, don’t you son? You said you’d do whatever it takes to show the world you deserved to be the number one contender. You said you weren’t asking for a handout… you just wanted a chance to *prove* yourself. And guess what? You had your chance at Assault! And you blew it!”
***Wyld gets in Prescott’s face and sneers.***
WYLD: “The *shot* you set up for me was a handicap match against BOTH Masked Saboteurs. Is that how Victor Sokolov shows the world that he’s a fighting champion?”
***Prescott smiles and shakes his head.***
PRESCOTT: “Son, don’t come crying to me because you got played by a smarter man. And don’t even think about dragging *your* heavyweight champion’s name through the mud. It was *my* call to put you up against the Sabs. And mark my words boy… I didn’t do it because I thought you were a threat to my champion. I did it… because I just don’t like you. I did it because I’ve never liked any of you Wylds, and the last thing I want to do is give another one of Greco’s bastard spawn another pay-per-view main event slot. So why don’t you get your ass back to the locker room and cry to the championship committee if you think this isn’t fair. And good luck with that, because last I heard you aren’t on Damion Black’s Christmas list!”
***Akira nods and takes a step away from Prescott. Then he rushes in and grabs Prescott by both lapels and pulls him close. Prescott pinwheels his arms and yells.”
PRESCOTT: “Don’t you DARE son! You lay one finger on me and Victor Sokolov will be out here quicker than a hiccup and you’ll be spending the night in the hospital! That’s a damn guarantee!”
AKIRA: “You’re telling me Sokolov’s here tonight, and that if I lay a finger on you, Sokolov will come down to this ring right now?”
PRESCOTT: “You’re damn right he will!”
AKIRA: “That’s all I needed to hear.”
***Wyld grabs Prescott by the head and arm and drags him down into a Rolling Akira Lock! Prescott screams and flails his arms! Akira rears back and cranks on the pressure as the crowd explodes. He turns his head to the entrance ramp in anticipation. After a long pause, Victor Sokolov slowly makes his way out of the entrance area. Wyld sees him and smiles slyly. He cinches the hold on tighter and Prescott yells at the top of his lungs.”
PRESCOTT: “Help! Sokolov! Kill this son-of-AAAAHHHHH!!!”
***Sokolov stands at the entrance ramp for awhile longer, coldly surveying the scene. Prescott continues to flail… but slowly begins fading. His arm begin to go limp as Victor Sokolov makes his way deliberately to the ring. Prescott completely loses consciousness as Sokolov climbs the steps and walks toward Wyld. The champion stops eight feet from the Surgical Specialist and looks down at him. Wyld gives Prescott one last squeeze before dropping him, unconscious, to the mat. Wyld stands and stares at the Siberian Psychopath. Sokolov glances down casually at his unconscious manager, and then back up at Wyld.”
SOKOLOV: “Good… now we talk. You want match? You want I end your career? Okay. I want these things too. You want fight for belt? Okay. No more tricks. You have title match, no problem.”
***Akira stares at Sokolov. The champ takes one step forward and leans in.***
SOKOLOV: “All *you* must do… is make it to King of the Deathmatch III. Survive that long… and you face me for Heavyweight title. Then, I break you, body and spirit, in half.”
***Sokolov looks over Wyld’s shoulder at the unconscious Prescott.***
SOKOLOV: “But… is a long way to Supercard, no? Many things… can happen between now and then. Who is to say? Watch your back, Akira Wyld.”
***Sokolov backs up and steps between the ropes. He leaps to the ground and turns his back on Akira Wyld as he makes his way backstage. Akira climbs to the middle turnbuckle and watches him go. EMTs enter the ring and check on Prescott as the screen fades to black.***