End of the Line

[Wrex]

May 29th

 

The scene opens in a side room of a general ward somewhere in New York City, it’s been a couple days since the events of Turmoil and the person currently occupying said room could certainly tell you that they’ve not been pleasant.

 

The former North American champion can be seen lying in the bed, covered in plasters and bandages, his beard shaved at areas in order for cuts to be stitched and the man himself barely conscious from the amount of pain relief he finds himself on.

 

The most noticeable thing however, is the splint currently attached to his wrapped arm, a reminder of what happened after the main event.

 

The sound of silence is interrupted by the door as a doctor enters.

 

Doc: Hello Mr. Ross, how are we feeling today?

 

Ross: Like shit, nothing new.. did everything go well?

 

Doc: Well as you know, after your.. unfortunate injury and the risks it caused to our previous work, we had no choice but to fix it ourselves, and we were successful.. however.

 

Ross: However what?

 

Doc: Well as I told you. Injuries like these, especially repeats, come with certain.. risks, nerve damage.. sadly we believe you weren’t so lucky this time.

 

Ross: What does that mean? You telling me my arm is a fucking paperweight?

 

Doc: Please Mr, Ross. Stay calm, things like this heal, it just takes a little longer, we’ll be able to take the splint off and get you into a sling within a few weeks, from there you’re looking at a couple months, just like last time.

 

Doc: The potential nerve damage however, we’re not sure.. it could take a couple months, could be a year.. or it might just be something you’ll have to learn to live with..

 

Ross: ..There’s nothing that can be done?

 

Doc: We’ve got a few options to try and help with recovery but.. we’re limited due to your mobility. It’ll be something to discuss within the coming weeks. For now.. you just need to rest.

 

Ross: ..How long till I can get back to work?

 

Doc: Back? Mr, Ross, I think you fail to understand.. all these surgeries, fractures, breaks, concussions. I mean, speaking freely for a second.

 

Doc: You have a nasty habit of being told somethings wrong and deciding the best thing to do is make it worse, you are self destructive and incapable of listening to our advice, we tell you six months rest, you take one and a half.

 

Doc: Quite frankly, I don’t think there’s one licensed doctor in the state of New York that’ll clear you again, there is no back.

 

Ross: What? You can’t be serious.. this is all I have!

 

Doc: Better find something else quickly then, because as far as I can see, it’s the end of the line Mr. Ross.

[Wrex]

May 31st

 

We once again open on the hospital room of Alastair Ross, he’s certainly looking a lot better than last time, the bandages and plasters are finally gone showing the damage the night of the deathmatch truly caused, a few new fresh scars for the old hardcore wrestlers collection.

 

He’s in the process of drinking his morning cup of coffee when the door once again opens.

 

Ross: Jesus Christ how many check ups do you nee- oh.. it’s you.

 

The person who’s entered the room certainly isn’t a doctor, with his expensive suit, shades and shoes. The man is none other than the namesake of Dennis Dillinger Enterprises.

 

Dennis: Wrex. You just look… Great. Money, I’d say.

 

Ross: Good to see you too, surprised it took you this long to visit, punctual as ever.

 

Dennis: Listen, you and I both know you’re not getting up from that bed anytime soon. I tell ya’ I’m pretty sick and tired of this hospital. Feels like I am here every other day. Gonzalo… He-

 

Ross: Fucking Gonzalo.. look I get it, I screwed up. But Jesus Christ, that little shit cost me everything!

 

Dennis: Everything. You know… I saw so much in that kid.

 

Dennis: I saw a future star. A future statement maker. A future multimedia megastar.

 

Dennis: Then? Then I saw a failure. I saw a kid who decided to spit in the face of his potential in favor of his androgenous girlfriend and his little “feelings”.

 

Dennis: I saw a little ungrateful shit who threw away millions of dollars because he was a little upset one night. Here’s a newsflash… We all get upset. We all have rough nights like you two had at Summercide 2021. We all have down moments.

 

Dennis takes a few steps close to Ross’ bed.

 

Dennis: But only the weakest ones take the path he took. That little shit stole money from me… and you? You were the investment I thought could scrape the shit off of the sidewalk.

 

Dennis: …and well, you proved who you were last week. You proved that you were Wrex. You proved that you haven’t learned a goddamn thing. You’re not Alastair Ross. I’m Alastair Ross. You? You’re not the man I met in that bar at the end of his rope.

 

Dillinger reaches into a conveniently placed briefcase and pulls out a contract. He holds it up to Alastair’s face.

 

Dennis: You’re as weak as they come. I don’t have time for more than one hospital bed and you’re the one I can’t afford.

 

Ross’ face of disinterest twists in anger with each word spoken.

 

Ross: You leeching carny fuck. Smell a chance for some budget cuts and you come visit me in fucking hospital for it.

 

Dennis: It says right here, if you can read that is… If you cannot compete at my discretion, I am able to strike this contract down when and where I want. So as it stands now?

 

Dillinger tears the contract up in front of Ross’ face.

 

Dennis: You’re back in the shit barrel where you belong… Wrex.

 

Ross: Last I checked shit stain, firing a man for suffering an injury on the job isn’t great for your wallet.

 

Dennis: That’s the thing… Dennis Dillinger Enterprises consists of lawyers stronger than your upper body right now. I told you that you were the enforcer of this business. I told you that your past would always hold you back, and it was YOUR decision to let that happen… not ours.

 

Ross: Get the fuck out of this room, before my past causes something we’ll both regret.

 

Dennis: Oh, and you would regret it… Even as dumb as you are losing that title to Garcia… I know you wouldn’t compromise your family by hitting me. This is why you need me, this is why you’ve always needed someone else. Just too reckless to contend with the person you are and the person you’ll always be. I’ll leave you here to sit in your own ruin. Enjoy.

 

As Dillinger leaves, the cup of coffee soon follows him as Ross, using his last good appendage, launches the cup across the room towards the door with fury.

 

Ross: Don’t you know who I am you piece of shit! I need you huh? I don’t need shit on my boot.. I never fucking did!

[Wrex]

June 1st

 

We return one last time to the hospital bed of Alistair Ross, instead of rest and recovery; however he seems he’s on a mission to get up, collect his stuff and go.

 

Doc: I would really advise against this Mr. Ross, we still need to keep our eyes on the damage, movement could cause any number of issues, especially flying home.

 

Ross: Then I’ll hitchhike my way back to Michigan! I’ve done it before, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m unemployed, my insurance is gone and I’ll be damned if I spend whatever I have left on useless quacks like you, painkillers, rest and I’ll be fine!

 

Ross goes to open the door but someone else beats him to it.

 

Ross: What the hell do you want?

 

The man at the door can finally be seen, none other than the long time missing in action Bingo albeit with significantly more facial hair.

 

Ross didn't wait for an answer.

 

Wack!

 

B17: Ow! The hell you do that for?

 

Bingo clutches at his nose.

 

Ross: Stress relief!

 

B17: I told you…

 

SMACK!

 

Ross: I’ve got a broken arm, nerve damage, enough stitches to set off every metal detector in this place and now no job, so every time I hear something I don't like I'm going to throw punches.

 

B17 considered this for a moment. And then motions for Ross to follow him.

 

B17: 2019 Wrestler of the Year.

 

Ross: Better.

 

The two men begin walking out of the room and down the corridors of the building.

 

B17: Two time CCW Champion!

 

Ross: See now why are you the only one that remembers those things?

 

B17: Because I ended both--

 

WHACK!

 

B17: Son of a Quartz!

 

B17 remains silent as the men make it to the stairwell.

 

Ross: You know, last time we were here, pretty sure we pushed Matteo down the stairs.. and I kicked a midget.. And you…well, let’s not visit the cancer ward again… Where does the time go?

 

Bingo just smiles as they walk down the stairs.

 

B17: We adopted, you know?

 

Ross: Yeah, I heard. Congrats. What’s it like?

 

B17: Sometimes it’s like dealing with a whiny El Perca, honestly. Other times it’s like fighting with Mugen. But, she’s great. She likes watching Old OCW stuff. She doesn’t like the new stuff, says they all move too fast and it makes her sick.

 

Ross: Made me feel sick doing it, nevermind watching it back.. guess that’s in the past now though...

 

As they walk out of the Hospital Bingo flags down a cab…a very colorful cab. A B Community Cab…

 

Ross: Running a taxi service now?

 

B17: Take him wherever he wants.

 

B17 then hands Wrex a folded envelope.

 

Ross: What is this?

 

Bingo: Plane vouchers to Wyoming. She would like to meet her favorite Wrestler.

 

Ross: What? Who? Me.. poor kid.

 

B17: No. She would like to meet her Uncle Wrex. Let me know when you find him.

 

Ross: I uh.. if I ever find him again, I’ll send him her way, I guess I’ll see you around.. keep yourself well B- Caine.

 

Bingo wraps Ross into a big hug. And while Ross looks mildly uncomfortable he returns the embrace.

 

Caine: See you later, Mr. Turmoil.