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A few days before Turmoil airs, a black 1999 Mercury Mountaineer pulls up in front of a high class hotel. A male chauffeur approaches the vehicle and begins to open the door. A shiny black leather Gucci shoe steps out of the car and the driver begins to shoo away the chauffeur. Bray S. Spur reaches out his other foot and steps out of the car. He looks to the man and tosses his keys at him.


Bray S. Spur: Don’t wreck her.


The chauffeur stares at the vehicle, intent on figuring out if this old truck was really the Broken Spirit’s. He looks at Bray S. Spur immediately and returns his gaze to the truck. He begins to crack a smile before Bray S. Spur puts his hand on the man’s left shoulder.


Bray S. Spur: Is there a problem?

Now with a firm grip on the man’s shoulder, Bray S. Spur closed in on the man with an angry gaze. The chauffeur began to sweat as his left shoulder began to lose its feeling. He returned his gaze to Bray S. Spur and immediately regretted it as he saw Bray’s eyes locked in on the man, seemingly burning a hole into his soul.


Chauffeur: Um... uh,.. no no no no sir. No problem! It’s just that-


Bray S. Spur tightens his grip on the man’s shoulder and briefly lifts him off the ground.


Bray S. Spur: [raising his voice] It’s just what!? That a man like myself should be able to afford a more expensive car!? Unlike you and all these other idiots, I don’t waste valuable money on sh!t I don’t need! I don’t need a new truck! I don’t want a new truck! My father gave me this truck! Are you insulting him as well?


Chauffeur: No, mister Spur, not at all! This is actually a pretty nice car- erm, truck that you have right-


Before the man can complete his sentence, Bray S. Spur drops his luggage and grabs the man, putting him in a full nelson. He drags the man to the hood of his truck and lowers the man’s head onto it.


Bray S. Spur: Say one more stupid remark, you ignorant ass-clown! I’ll bash your face on this damn hood so many times and make you clean up the blood!

At this point, the entirety of the hotel area is looking on at the scene. Some fans near the entrance way are looking on in horror. A woman covers her young daughter’s face, now covered in tears. A young man clutches his girlfriend’s hand tightly and stares down the superstar. Bray S. Spur looks up from the man and takes a menacing glare at the couple. He releases his grip on the man and walks towards the crowd of fans.


Bray S. Spur: Do you have a comment?


The boy tightens his grip on his girl’s hand and backs away into the crowd.


Bray S. Spur: [off camera] Punk ass marks.


The superstar returns to the garage area. The chauffeur, trembling with fear, picks up the luggage. Bray S. Spur snatches the luggage away and raises his right elbow at the man’s head. The man ducks and falls down. Bray chuckles with delight as he puts his luggage on the ground and begins to walk to the locker rooms.


As he progresses through the lobby, Bray S. Spur begins to notice something strange in his surroundings. One by one, the staff and even some fellow independent talent staying there are glaring at him. Upon entering his hotel room, he opens the door behind him and prepares to lock it when another hand stops the motion. Bray turns around to see a woman prying the door open. Judging by the look on her face, she isn’t too pleased to see him.


Woman: You son of a bitch! Who the hell do you think you are!?


Bray turns to the woman and does his best to keep his composure. He speaks to her in a slow, monotone voice.


Bray S. Spur: And what do you want, oh gracious madam?


Woman: Cut the crap, Spur. We all saw how you treated that poor man like that! He was only asking a question!

Bray S. Spur: He was trying to test me, to see if I wouldn’t take offense to crap like that. I don’t tolerate idiots, miss. And I don’t appreciate you barging in my locker room like you own the damn place. If I were you, I would know your place. I am a talent! Judging by your outfit, it is your job to make sure that I look like a million bucks, not to come at me like one of my so-called idiotic “fans”.

Woman: You don’t even have a match on Turmoil, asshole. I’ve checked the match card.


Bray S. Spur: So what? Even if I don’t have a match, I still look great. [scoffing] At least.. I look better than the other train wrecks I have to work with. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m hungry. Spring your little ass to the lobby and wait for further orders. And tell the workers down there to hire some better guinea pigs in the future. Get it?.... Got it?..... Good.


The woman flips off Bray as she leaves. After a moment of silence, Bray S. Spur slams the door to his room as the scene fades to black.

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"It's like the number zero...It's empty, but at the same time it holds infinite possibilities." - Igor
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