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Alastair Ross: The Before and After.


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The scene opens in the lavish locker room of Dennis Dillinger Enterprises. Although the room seems empty of said group’s members, the sound of a television makes clear there is life.


Alastair Ross, DDE’s nuclear option can be seen in front of said TV, Rust Cohle vs Christian Garcia playing at full volume as Ross leans his full weight on the expensive glass table, rolling around a cigar in his hand as he watches.


Ross: I should have known your game from the start Garcia, say you don’t belong here but you slide into my business like the slimy prick you are.. Belong here more than me..


The sound of the locker room door opening can be faintly heard. Alastair Ross doesn’t even move his head, the clicking sounds of striped Gator shoes giving full indication of who entered the room.


Dillinger: That’s exactly why he’s here. He needs to be shown how business is done from PROFESSIONALS. He might be a dumb kid but he’s got a lot of talent and I will make him see that.


Ross: Face it Dennis, he was always going to pull this, talking to me about his grand visions for riding alone, I’ve saved you a lot of time, and more importantly, money.. I’ll be wanting that money when tonight’s done by the way.


Dillinger: And you’ll have your money, on time and in full just like every other week… Only this time, we’re not going to have a little episode like we did after Summercide. You’ll get your money once you finish the job against the Frenchman.


Ross: Won’t take long, if this waste of breath could crack him, I’ll do it quicker. He might be one of the best in the world.. But that crown is starting to get too heavy for his head, I’ll be happy to relieve him of the burden.


Dillinger takes a seat next to Ross and dabs his forehead with a red cloth. It’s clear he’s sweating up a storm, not the usual arrogant and relaxed Dillinger we’ve come to know.


Dillinger: You know, last year when I found you at that bar just absolutely slamming drinks, I knew the man I found was not at his peak.


Dillinger: You may disagree with me or say it’s the love of the money, but there’s something inside of that chest that beats for this business. Why else would you keep coming back?


Dillinger: You’ve seen washouts of all shapes and sizes come and you’ve seen them go…


Ross: Good few of those were your own investment, Dennis.


Dillinger: That’s exactly right!


Dillinger: You’ve got a nose for the uniqueness of this industry in a way that I didn’t. That’s why I gave you my card and that’s why you called me. Your talent. Your know-how. Hell, the work ethic it takes to physically turn what you were when I saw you into what you are now.


Dillinger stands and tries to straighten his suit jacket while taking a deep breath.


Dillinger: You’re going to win that championship tonight. Manuel is going to beat the Louis Vuitton out of that idiot Locke. Then all of us. You. Me. Parca…


Dillinger: …AND Garcia…


Dillinger: We’re all going to celebrate and we’re going to get this shit settled once and for all.


Ross doesn’t answer, instead taking a big puff of his cigar and blowing it out of the corner of his mouth in Dillinger’s direction.


Dillinger releases a nervous nod and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.




The scene opens once again in DDE’s private dressing room, this time sporting some changes as the corner that once belonged to Christian Garcia now has had a few holes kicked into it, El Primero’s corner cleared out much earlier in the show after the match with Colin Locke.


The only thing that’s stayed the same is the occupant, as Alastair Ross sits in his chair, North American Title in one hand, his OCW award in the other and an ice pack on his neck. Watching the main Anniversary Show main event with a vested interest.


The calm doesn’t last long as Dennis Dillinger comes barging in wearing an airplane-style neck-pillow, taped in the front mimicking a jerry-rigged neck brace.


Dennis: I swear to god. The only “Spanish Torture” in OCW was me trying to mentor that ungrateful, snot-nosed, pangolin-dick-having little prick for half of a year.


Dennis grabs his neck and furrows his brow in anger.


Ross: I told you Dennis, I knew Garcia was a snake from the day I met him. It’s why I gravitated towards him. Saw nothing but myself in him.. This day was always going to come.


Ross: But..


Ross Rises from his chair, holding onto his award but letting the title fall to the wayside.


Ross: ..Tonight isn’t about him, tonight isn’t about Manuels loss, those are issues for Riot. Tonight is MY night, tonight I got what’s been coming my way for far too long. And I’m going to celebrate.. While I do that, how about you go looking into getting back the money that fraud’s been taking from you.


Dennis: You’re damn right this is about you. And don’t you worry. Our team is at the office drafting plenty of documents. I’m going to take every dime I poured into that waste of breath and then some.


Ross: Good, get going. I’m gonna finish this match.


As Dennis leaves Ross falls back into his chair, Scooping the title off the floor, which seems to leave some white residue, and places it back on his lap.


Ross: Seven hundred and fifty one days… that’s how long it’s been since a title has sat on my lap.. too long.


Ross: The plan worked flawlessly, just like it did three years ago. The more things change..


Ross: ..The more we fucking do it again.


Ross bursts out into a maniacal laugh, ending quickly the last three count of the show. All traces of joy gone.


Ross: Oh well.. you did your best.. old god.


Ross hits the power button on the remote, sending the TV, along with the whole room, into darkness.

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