Leaderboard

The noise of an OCW live event can be heard in the background, every now and again a loud bang chased by a chorus of “oooh’s” breaks through the volume levels. As time goes on a smartly dressed Nicholas Maximus appears pushing a trolley with four cardboard boxes on them. For the night, the four members of the Archer Academy have been given their own locker rooms. In each room, the four men are getting ready for whatever insane challenge they’re going to be set. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK! All four practically jump out of their skin, Benjamin in particular looks like he might even be having Nam style flashbacks due to the horn. Eventually a small television clicks on and Archer begins to speak. Archer: Greetings peasants, you are all hearing my voice from sunny Tijuana, I am enjoying life whilst you will be doing as much as you can do to… Sell individual items I have picked out for you. They will now be delivered by my favourite helper, Nicholas! Chop chop! Nic hands Damian Bourne his box and he opens it, revealing the contents to the wrestler. Bourne hesitates for a minute but then pulls out a plastic ziploc bag full of what seems to be AC Cobra photographs. He thinks for a moment but then reaches in his pocket and pulls out a sharpie. He pushes the box off of the desk in front of him and sits down. Bourne: Firstly I’d just like to remind everyone that I’m not doing this by choice. I’m sure if I don’t comply then this sicko wi- HOOOOOOOOOOOONK Bourne hears the horn but covers his ears too late, he waits for the muffled horn sudden stop to continue. He then starts pulling the 8x10 AC Cobra photographs out of the bag. Bourne: Now ladies and gentlemen, what we have here are genuine OCW pictures of the loved AC Cobra. Now I’m sure none of you want photographs of a desperate, thirsty, hopeless loser virgin gamer. Bourne: But...I’m sure if the illegitimate bastard love child of Mr.Sensation himself, also most likely to run the company after the old man dies were to sign these photographs...then you could wait until he’s the CEO to sell them on EBay like the no life dickheads you are, and of course it’ll only cost you $30 each. Capisce? Gracias Bourne then takes the cap off of the sharpie he retrieved from his pocket earlier and signs the photos on the desk. After completing those, he pulls out more and continues signing them until the scene fades to black.

The evening has worn on, we are back in the hotel where a glum looking Aerith is half slumped across a bar. She props herself up with one elbow, nursing a Guinness. She sighs loudly and ruffles her hands through her hair before glancing at her phone. It ticks over and a notification pops up. She cackles before cheering sarcastically. Aerith: Bar keep! A pint of your best mead for aw ma pals! The bartender looks a little confused by the dialect. Aerith: A beer for all of my invisible friends. The bartender takes out a small glass and pours a quick shot of whiskey in and takes a hit. Bartender: It's closing time but I'll give you one for the road. Aerith glances up, a little bleary eyed. Bartender: It's your birthday, I saw it on your phone… Anyway… He begins to lock up, pouring another Guinness before starting to clean up. Aerith: Thanks… I appreciate it. Without another word the bartender finishes tidying up the seating area and slips out, he does however, leave the lights on. Aerith downs the remainder of her old pint before starting on the fresh one. Aerith: Yesterday sucked. Today sucks. Where the heck are those three? She sighs and necks the other pint, and puts the glass down on the bar before realising, it's closed. Aerith: I'll take this up to the room and wash it for him… The glass disappears into her bag as she departs, heading into the elevator to head up to her room. The doors close and she's gone. The camera remains running long enough to just about catch a female trio returning from a night on the town as it fades out.

The noise of and OCW live event can be heard in the background, every now and again a loud bang chased by a chorus of "oooooohs" breaks through the volume levels. As time goes on a smartly dressed Nicholas Maximus appears pushing a trolley with four cardboard boxes on it. For the night, the four members of the Archer Academy have been given their own locker rooms. In each room, the four men are getting ready for whatever insane challenge they're going to get. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK!! All four practically jump out of their skin, Benjamin in particular looks like he might even be having NAM style flashbacks due to the horn. Eventually a small television clicks on and Archer begins to speak Archer-Greetings peasants, you are all hearing my voice from sunny Tijuana. I am enjoying life whilst you will be doing as much as you can do to.....sell individual items I have picked out for you. They will now be delivered by my favorite helper, Nicholas! Chop Chop! The television screen cuts out as Nicholas enters into Joshua Tuckers locker room, he drops a box at JTs feet then exits the room without saying a word. JT-OH for me? You shouldn't have! JT says sarcastically as he bends down and picks up the box shaking it a couple times to try and guess what it may be. JT-I wonder what it could be. A slicing, dicing Ginsu knife set, or a super absorbent SHAM-WOW towel. He slowly opens the box one side at a time before its completely opened. he looks in and sees a black permanent marker, a photo of himself, and a note. He sets everything on the table, checks the box for anything else then tosses it to the floor. He picks up the note which reads "sell your own autograph." JT chuckles then crumples the note and tosses it to the floor with the box. He then turns to the camera and begins. JT-You know? Archer had me read a card that said I was "so irrelevant I didn't know my own name." Now, him and his minion sidekick Gluteus Maximus want ME to sell my own autograph. Funny, but I'm not going to be able to do that in a room by myself. JT signs the photo, puts it in his jacket pocket and leaves the locker room. After two or three hours of wondering all around the entire arena inside and out, JT enters his locker room and locks the door behind him. JT-WOW! What a humbling experience. When I wasn't getting asked who I was, I was getting asked what I was on. Some thought I was flirting, others thought I was stalking. I never thought a $5 autograph would be that hard to sell. One kid even almost tricked me into paying HIM just to take the photo. He pulls the photo out of his jacket pocket and sets it back on the table, then sits in the chair. JT-I hope you found enjoyment in ALL of this Archer! What is next? He stares into the camera before taking a deep breath then exhaling and screaming LETS GO as the scene fades out.

The noise of an OCW live event can be heard in the background, every now and again a loud bang chased by a chorus of “oooh’s” breaks through the volume levels. As time goes on a smartly dressed Nicholas Maximus appears pushing a trolley with four cardboard boxes on them. For the night, the four members of the Archer Academy have been given their own locker rooms. In each room, the four men are getting ready for whatever insane challenge they’re going to be set. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK! All four practically jump out of their skin, Benjamin in particular looks like he might even be having Nam style flashbacks due to the horn. Eventually a small television clicks on and Archer begins to speak. Archer: "Greetings peasants, you are all hearing my voice from sunny Tijuana, I am enjoying life whilst you will be doing as much as you can do to… Sell individual items I have picked out for you. They will now be delivered by my favourite helper, Nicholas! Chop chop!" A middle finger would quickly be given to the small television just before Nicholas entered the locker room. Benjamin Moore: "Of course him send yu, What's in the box..?" Nicholas simply gives a devilish smile as he handed him the mystery box. As he did Benjamin caught a glimpse of a brown stain on his shirt along with more just like it around Nick's lips before giving off a weird look of disgust. Snatching the box from his hands the Jamaican wrester gives Nick a demanding shoo and begins to open the box. Once laying eyes on the product within it, Benjamin pull it out to revile a bottle of Cort Marshall's Real American BBQ sauce Benjamin Moore: "Yu Bum..." HOOOONK! Benjamin Moore: "Wah di rass! Stop with the stupid horn you bloodclee..." HOOOOOOOOOOONK! Taking the bottle that was in his hand and throwing it into one of the lockers Benjamin got himself infront of the camera and begins to speak Benjamin Moore: "Yu think me won't come to dirty Tijuana and lay hands on yu?" As he does this the lights would cut off and the door would open Benjamin Moore: "What now...? Ahhhhhhhhh" A loud and girl like scream could be heard within the darkness. It seemed to come from the same location Benji stood in but when the lights turned back on he was no where in sight. The only thing that was left was a american flag that laid on the floor neatly placed. The camera would now pan on Nick Bates who stood outside of the lockerroom with a casual shrug and says a few words before leaving the scene Nick Bates: "Shouldn't of thrown the bottle..."

The noise of an OCW live event can be heard in the background, every now and again a loud bang chased by a chorus of “oooh’s” breaks through the volume levels. As time goes on a smartly dressed Nicholas Maximus appears pushing a trolley with four cardboard boxes on them. For the night, the four members of the Archer Academy have been given their own locker rooms. In each room, the four men are getting ready for whatever insane challenge they’re going to be set. HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK! All four practically jump out of their skin, Benjamin in particular looks like he might even be having Nam style flashbacks due to the horn. Eventually a small television clicks on and Archer begins to speak. Archer: Greetings peasants, you are all hearing my voice from sunny Tijuana, I am enjoying life whilst you will be doing as much as you can do to… Sell individual items I have picked out for you. They will now be delivered by my favourite helper, Nicholas! Chop chop! Nicholas hands T.Y. Sparks his box and Sparks opens it and pulls out a gigantic pillow Sparks: Hey Nicholas! Nicholas turns around How do you expect me to sell something that is taller than me! Maximus Shrugs and walks away. The camera points to T.Y. Sparks Jr. who is standing backstage next to a table on his left with a giant pillow on it and a tv on his right. Sparks: So what I have here is a Code Jackman life size body pillow! Camera points down at the table to reveal the pillow, Sparks pauses for a second and seems to be thinking about what to say next Fufill all of your bedtime needs with this exclusive Jackman Body Pillow… Sparks: Still not convinced? Fine check out this…Sparks grabs a remote and turns on the TV next to him

Code Jackman stands up and begins to leave his box suit at the Enterprise Center in St. Louis, Missouri after the Blues lost to the Bruins 5-1. Code Jackman: Hold on one second let me finish this last drink of Beer. Jackman stood up and his cell phone falls from his lap. Code Jackman: Crap, that better not have broken. Jackman picks up his phone to see that he has over 500 notifications. Code Jackman: What the hell? I didn’t tweet anything. Did I get fired? Jackman scrolls through the notifications from his phone that are titled “Body Pillow” and how comments say we want them, this better not be fake, and where can we purchase this? Code Jackman: What the hell is a Body Pillow? I have never heard of a thing. Jackman sits back down in his comfy chair at the arena and grows leery. Code Jackman: Wait a second if I didn’t make this, that means I’m not making any money. My entire body is on this pillow. That is mine! Jackman begins to scroll through his contacts vigorously and begins to call someone. Code Jackman: Do you see this online? You do? There is only one person I know of who would do this only for the sake of money… Security: Hello Mr. can you please take your phone call outside and leave so the cleaners can come in? Jackman walks out still on the phone.

YAY!!!!!!

The camera displays a OCW logo-laden backdrop with a small monitor hanging from the ceiling. A plain-clothed interviewer, presumably an intern, is standing in the middle holding a microphone. OCW Interviewer: Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! We're about a week out from Wrestlution XIII which was jam-packed with action from all of OCW. If you haven't seen it yet, be sure to catch the Wrestlution Replay on PPV for the low-low price of... The audio garbles for a second and then resumes normally. OCW Interviewer: Speaking of Wrestlution, the internet has been buzzing all week about the Wrestlution confrontation between Solomon Caine and The Last Blacksmith. Blacksmith was seen shortly after the event, but didn't really seem to address the confrontation. Caine, on the other hand, hasn't been seen since. However, a rumor swirling around about Caine and Riot 534 says that this may not last long. Supposedly confirmed by an anonymous source close to Caine, the rumor claims that Solomon Caine will show up at Riot 534 unannounced to issue a response to his Wrestlution confrontation. The rumor doesn't say anything about what Caine might say, but anyone can be sure that he wasn't too happy about how it went. Social media has speculated in a variety of ways, with some saying that Caine will call out Blacksmith, and others saying that Caine may go in an unexpected direction. In regard to the second half, commenters say that Caine might seek help on his mission, a unknown goal that Caine has talked about for weeks. The only way to truly find out is to watch. Riot 534 is the first show after Wrestlution, and is sure to be jam-packed with action and drama from the fallout. Be sure to tune in! The camera fades to black.

F you Horsie.

wow, what to say ,I will try not to go for long. First of all, I would say thx to Jay for the video, and mainly would say thx to jay and all the staff to carry on such a wounderful system. I must admit that when I arrived, I didn't know if I would have lasted much, because of the different language and because it was a totally new reality for me. Instead, a year has already passed and, I am honest, it passed very fast. I would need to thank many people. Valk, that since the beginning helped me explaining how the site worked, translating me the FPR code. Quartz, for bear me this year when I asked him for opinions about my rps and also for have helped me to make a better translate. Jehst, because when I asked him a new attire he has always proved to be available. Jamie cause, even if sometimes we can have different opinions, he has always been honest about what I was doing, and in any case it has always been excellent feedback. And the list would still be long. Code, the guys I feuded with, the veterans... I need to congrat to the other guys that gained the promotion, Antonio Everett and Doc Green, two pure champions. It will be a pleasure to say that I have shared the rookie season with you. Many people, once they arrive here, already think about when they will be promoted. If I can give advice, enjoy your rookie season, because it is the one where you can have more fun, dare more and above all surprise. I full enjoyed my rookie season, and now I know yet that the "hard part" will begin now. Hope to show me ready. What also can I say... oh yes, Fuck Wrex. Ty all again.

The scene opens within a dimly lit, vast room. There appears to be something of a stage with an office chair on it, the back turned and presumably it's occupant. Oddly, to the right of it, fully illuminated stands Nick Betamax. Lower down, ten feet from the chair are four slumped and seated figures on chairs, their identities masked by the poor lighting. Suddenly, with a loud metallic thunk four spotlights are charged, revealing the four individuals as Joshua Tucker, Benjamin Moore, Damian Bourne and TY Sparks. They are bound and gagged, and as they slowly come to become more and more alarmed. Struggling against their bonds. ???: Ah yes, the peasants have awoken. You're probably wondering why I have invited you here. The chair spins slowly, revealing none other than Thomas Archer. In his hands he cradles B-17’s fabled wig, last seen in the possession of the nefarious Code Jackman. A free hand strokes it as if it was a giant cat. Archer: You see… You four have been chosen. What for you ask? The Thomas Archer Academy of Affluency. Over the course of a few weeks I shall be evaluating each of you on various aspects of being an OCW superstar, setting personal challenges and overall, most importantly, deciding who will be worthy to take on the International Icon. Damian makes some muffled noises and Archer rolls his eyes. Archer: Nicholas Maximus was my inheritance for banishing Bray to the shadow realm he spoke about so often from Pokemon. Oh… Nicholas, do the honours… Nick steps off of the stage and removes the restraints from each man one by one before returning to the stage. Thankfully for Archer the four gentlemen are still slightly drugged so cannot complain too much. Archer: Now, if you look below your chairs you will find your first challenge, an introductory card. Of course, if you are not hungry, ambitious or thirsty for success you can leave and forfeit a potential title shot. No one moves. Archer: As I suspected! You may reach under and remove your cards now. Archer claps and the four exchange awkward glances before doing as asked. Damian looks at his first. Damian: What is this ga- He gets cut off by a disgustingly obnoxious air horn blast from a hidden PA system. Damian: Is that ho- HOOOOOOOOOONK. Archer: The card please Damian. Damian grumbles and grits his teeth, reading it aloud. Damian: My name is Damian Bourne and I'm a stupid moron with an ugly face and a big butt and my butt smells and... I like to kiss my own butt. How does this prove any- HOOOOOOOOOONK. Archer: Next! The three remaining men look at each other nervously before Benjamin Moore clears his throat. Moore: Believe it or not, I, Benjamin Moore, was going to be a Winter Olympian and aid the 1988 Jamaican Bobsleigh team but they realised I sucked and the movie Cool… No, not finishing this. This entire thing is stupid. HOOOOOOOOOONK. Moore: You can- HOOOOOOOOOONK. Moore: Honk at me one- HOOOOOOOOOONK. Moore: Y- HOOOOOOOOOONK. HOOOOOOOOOONK. HOOOOOOOOOONK. Moore: GOD DAMN IT STOP THAT! OKAY! The movie Cool Runnings is actually about my friends all abandoning me because I was a colossal loser. Are you happy now? Archer looks at this fingernails. Archer: Delighted. Next, please! Also, Nicholas… “Nicholas Maximus” approaches Archer and tilts his ear as his new boss whispers a command. Nick simply nods and disappears off camera as TY Sparks raises his hands. Archer: Yes, fun sized man? Sparks: Can I go next and get this over with? Archer: Of course! Sparks: I am TY Sparks and I am a Hobbit. Archer begins to cackle and slaps his leg, minutes pass as he laughs at his own terrible joke before finally he calms down, wiping tears from his eyes. Eventually he looks to Joshua Tucker, who lifts his card and just drops it to the floor. JT: I'm so irrelevant that even I don't know my name. Archer claps, as Nicholas returns holding a tray, on it are a few round objects. Archer: Splendid! I'll be in touch! Deploy the escape device Nicholas! Nicholas slams the tray into the ground, the spheres bursting and engulfing the stage in smoke. A few mechanical noises can be heard in the background and once the smoke dissipates the warehouse lights up properly, Archer and Nicholas gone. The four men rise from their chairs, rubbing their wrists before shuffling towards the exit without a word, or at least for the most part. Damian: So… Police? Sparks: I think if you did that you'd wind up in jail instead somehow… Damian sighs and walks out into the outside world as the scene fades.

We enter a suburban home as the sun gives way to the moon. A fireplace fills the living room with flickering light and the sound of crackling wood as it turns to ash. A handsome example of man’s-best-friend decides to keep the fire company, resting on a rug near the warmth of this aesthetic furnace. There is a sudden burst of cheers, causing the dog to lift his head towards the very source: a family of three, playing Candyland on the dining room table. He focuses on the youngest first, as if to ensure her safety, and after realizing she is not in danger, rather, quite the opposite, he returns to his slumber. The little girl, almost old enough to start school, was celebrating her victory, having reached King Kandy and his Candy Castle. The girl’s mother, lovely and kind, congratulates her with a smile and exaggerated applause. The father, sitting at the head of the table, does the same. FATHER: Well played. You are a worthy opponent, but we shall see if your luck continues. One more game and then it’s off to bed... unless I lose that game as well. Unlike the living room, the dining room is brightly lit, yet it’s difficult to make out the father’s face… as if the lights refuse to shine in his direction. It’s clear to see that he’s a large man, and although he’s obviously a family-man as well, the visible wear-and-tear on his body suggests he played a different role in his former life. He rises from his chair, making his stature even more apparent as he towers over his petite wife, and tiny adorable daughter. Despite his daunting appearance, there is no fear in their eyes, only love. FATHER: Reset the board while I grab a beer; I need a drink after that beating. He starts towards the kitchen, but suddenly hesitates, raising his right hand to his head. With his fingers now massaging his temple and his eyes squinted shut, he uses his left hand to point towards his wife. FATHER: You want one, hun? MOTHER: No, thank you, But could you stick your head in the oven? Shocked by these words, he stops rubbing his temple and opens his eyes to see his wife looking up at him. Her lips are moving but for a moment he hears nothing. FATHER: What did you say to me? MOTHER: I said I didn’t want a beer... then I asked if you could take the cupcakes out of the oven… they should be done. DAUGHTER: I want cupcakes! The mother, with a slight scowl on her face, and concern in her voice, informs her daughter that the cupcakes are for daddy’s work, but she’ll make sure to save one for her. She then immediately puts her focus back on her husband. MOTHER: Are you okay? What’s wrong? FATHER: ...nothing... I thought you said something else... and I feel a headache coming on. MOTHER: Oh, there’s Asprin in the guest bathroom. FATHER: Thank you... I’ll be sure to take some. He’s had these “headaches” more frequently now, but in true husband fashion, has kept it from his family. No need to worry them after all. He enters the kitchen, where his thoughts are soon interrupted by the pleading shouts of a wife who knows she married an easily distracted man. MOTHER: Don’t forget the cupcakes! FATHER: Yeah, yeah. You two should be strategizing on how to win the next game instead of harassing m… His train of thought is derailed by a familiar, yet misplaced sound from another part of the house. Everything else becomes muffled, and before he knows it, it’s all he can hear. The voice of his worried wife is nothing more than a low hum, compared to the mysterious sound calling him... beckoning him. Black smoke seeps out of the oven as he leaves the kitchen in search of the siren song. What were once delicate cupcakes, were undoubtedly charred briquettes now, but no matter. The sound... what IS that sound? He enters a hallway and notices the pulsating light coming from his bedroom, like a fading heartbeat in need of rescue; but, unlike the wave of smoke now rushing out of the oven, the husband SLOWLY makes his way towards the bedroom --towards the pulse. Upon reaching the doorway, he hears the smoke alarm’s feeble attempt to overtake the seductive sound pulling him --consuming him, like the fire that will surely consume his home. Pushing the bedroom door aside, he sees the source of the light. He makes a pointless attempt to ask his wife if she left the TV on, but the first few words barely escape his throat and would not even be considered a whisper to most. The television, mounted on the wall near the foot of the bed, is projecting a bright, flickering light. As the husband positions himself directly in front of this glowing portal, the sound returns with greater clarity. Words of the past come flooding through. Countless voices --scattered but clear as filtered water-- bombard him. TV: Madness is here, OCW, and his name is... What a match. I’ve never seen a rookie give Fixxxer such a run... our first OCW Hardcore Champion... The Theatre of Pain is a plague and it’s only spreading... my God, they put him through a burning table... someone needs to put an end to this Bloodline... 2010 Hall of Fame inductee... moving last words to OCW as he retires the face paint... Dead silence now fills the room, along with a growing amount of smoke. The flickering light transitions to a solid image of Bray, The Anime Prince of OCW, dawning the paint of the Mad One, himself. The husband reaches up to the screen and places his fingers underneath the image of Bray. He takes a deep breath and his eyes widen while leaning in even closer. TV: This is a very interesting look, the Anime Prince is sporting. Very familiar, if you ask me. The screen flickers again. TV: ...perhaps he’s hoping for a slice of Mad Michael Morrison’s power... The husband lowers his head and begins to chuckle. The smoke completely fills the room. The only things visible now are the screen, and the hand of the man who is no longer chuckling, but instead, laughing hysterically. His laughter grows louder and the smoke starts to quickly subside, as if being sucked into a vacuum. As the smoke clears, however, the bedroom walls now appear to be covered in white padding; the TV screen now belongs to an old, CRT monitor, encased within a metal cage; the California King has been replaced with a twin-sized mattress on the floor; the bedroom door was now made of steel and locked from the outside with a little glass window for observation. A loud bang echoes from the door as someone delivers an even louder verbal warning. GUARD: Knock it off, MORRISON! You know it sets everyone off when you pull these freakin' laughing fits! You creepy jackass. Morrison’s laughter tapers off before replying. MORRISON: You’re right... but that’s why they call me Mad Mike.

Of course there is, it’s called the comments where you can talk trash !

I am disappointed in this one. Is there a markdown section?

In due time. Glad you enjoy the story so far.

In a small security room, lit by a sea of monitors flooding the wall, opposite the entrance, we find Mr. Truman sitting in your typical office-chair -- equipped with one bad wheel and a finicky height-adjust lever. Having made himself comfortable, quite some time ago, his suit-jacket cowls over the back-rest as he leans forward. Yes, he’s been here longer than a moment, that much is clear … perhaps too many moments. With his elbows resting on the security desk and fingers interlaced just below his tired yet focused eyes, he wonders how many more moments he must endure? The answer will have to wait as his phone suddenly rings, filling the room with the unpleasant sound of inevitability, overtaking any other possible thought. With each ring, the grimace on his face deepens, until he has no choice but to answer … or risk having his face locked in a perpetual scowl. He reaches back into his jacket pocket, securing the phone, but never relinquishing his focus on one monitor in particular; a monitor designated as Treatment Room 01. TRUMAN: This is Truman. Yes, of course ... the good doctor is with him right now. No-no, he’s been making great progress. In fact, he’s finishing up a session right now... As Truman peers into the monitor, we see Morrison sitting in the center of a room, with his arms defiantly crossed. The Doctor, standing next to Morrison, acquires a pen from the breast-pocket of his lab coat and scribbles something down on a clipboard before looking up towards the camera -- he slowly shakes his head. TRUMAN: [screaming internaly] ...and he’s making great progress. Morrison will be so sane he -- he could have tea with the Queen of England and you would never even know he recently made a ⅛ replica of the Venus De Milo with his own feces. Yes, sir, it was fairly impressive. Quite breath-taking ... figuratively and literally. But like I said, that insane behavior will soon be a thing of the past. Truman glances back at the monitor and watches as The Doctor returns the pen to his breast-pocket -- something he’s done so many times, you might consider it instinctual. Unfortunately, he did so while facing away from Morrison; presenting him with an opportunity to indulge one of his own instincts. Morrison leaps from the chair and quickly applies a Dragon Sleeper. In a matter of seconds, his victim goes limp and Morrison allows gravity to do its job. The body hits the ground like a bag of tennis balls and Morrison simply sits back down before shouting, “LIME WITH THE COCONUT!” TRUMAN: Yep, he’s really been taking to the treatment [face-palm] like a fish to water. Oh, and since I have you on the phone already, can we discuss my role in the company once... The phone call disconnects abruptly, which leads to an awkward silence, followed by the clicking of Truman’s tongue. He rubs the bridge of his nose and hits a button on the security desk, which lets-out a quick [bUZZ] as confirmation. TRUMAN: Gary, could you please collect the good doctor from treatment-room one? GARY: [bUZZ] Sure thing. Gloves n’ scrubs? TRUMAN: ???????? GARY: [bUZZ] Did he soil himself? TRUMAN: [bUZZ] Oh ... I don’t know ... but he’s old, so better safe than sorry. GARY: [bUZZ] Fair enough. Tired and frustrated, Truman focuses back on Morrison via the monitor. The longer he stares, the more visible his anger becomes, until... GARY: [bUZZ] Got The Doctor. Where do you want him? Truman snaps out of his blind rage and realizes Gary has not only entered the treatment room but has also placed The Doctor in a wheelchair. Like some kind of super-orderly with SEAL training, he now stands next to the intercom system, awaiting his next mission. TRUMAN: [bUZZ] Bring him to me. Wait ... gloves n' scrubs? GARY: [bUZZ] Nah, he’s clean. TRUMAN: [bUZZ] Then yes, bring him to me ... and good job. GARY: [bUZZ] That’s a big 10-4. Heading up. As Truman awaits the arrival of his Bad News Bears, he opens his laptop and pulls up a folder titled “SESSIONS”, containing numerous videos. He opens, one after the other, searching for any fragment of success or semblance of a pattern. With each one ending more horribly than the last, they could easily serve as the embodiment of failure ... his failure. Defeated, Truman slams down on the keys and almost screams a familiar four-letter word, often used in such dire situations; however, he clinches his fists instead. The anger coursing through him causes his entire body to vibrate, like an engine running with no oil, ready to fall apart. The shaking stops and he exhales, hoping his bad luck would leave with all the air in his lungs. Exhausted, he struggles to muster the energy needed to close the countless windows on his laptop. The videos, having reached the end of each session, appear to be carbon copies of one another ... and that’s when Truman notices the pattern. He rewinds about ten seconds; jumps to the next video and does the same. He repeats this action until the door opens behind him, allowing a blast of symbolic light to shoot in. TRUMAN: He sees someone... Gary, having opened the door, now wheels The Doctor into the security room and shuts the door behind him, cutting off the illumination provided by the hallway’s overly fluorescent lights. GARY: Oh, he’s not gonna see anything for a while. He’s still breathing though. Poor guy ... should I get some prune juice or something for when he wakes up? What do old people drink? TRUMAN: Shutup, Gary … I wasn’t talking about The Doctor. Morrison -- MORRISON sees someone … but doesn’t. Gary, confused by Truman’s last statement, simply scratches his head and tries not to sound judgmental with his next question. GARY: How do you see something, without seeing it? TRUMAN: No ... look ... at the end of each session, he does the same thing -- he closes his eyes, leans back and then touches his shoulder. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can see his lips moving. There is someone with him, but he closes his eyes. Why? Gary and Truman silently look at one another, as if expecting the other to reveal the answer at any moment. They both yelp, simultaneously, when The Doctor reveals he is no longer unconscious. DOCTOR: He probably doesn’t want to SEE whatever it may be. GARY: Jeezus, doc, how long have you been awake? Scared the hell out of me. The Doctor gingerly rises from the wheelchair and makes his way to the laptop. DOCTOR: He shows no aggression or fear ... quite the opposite, in fact. The Doctor points to Morrison’s shoulder. DOCTOR: He attempts to make physical contact here... As the video plays, Morrison touches his shoulder, just as Truman pointed out. DOCTOR: ...and here... Morrison proceeds to touch his other shoulder. DOCTOR: ...but he does not wish to see what his mind is projecting. Perhaps it causes him too much pain? Perhaps, THEY don’t want to be seen. GARY: My God… Truman, still trying to piece together what Gary and The Doctor have already discovered, extends his arms out, as if ready to catch a sack of answers. TRUMAN: Care to, once again, shed some light on the situation, fellas? GARY: His wife and kid. TRUMAN: ...... GARY: They ... they died in a fire. Truman, now understanding their reaction, places his hand over his mouth as his eyes widen. He stares off into the darkest corner of the room -- his mind racing. An uncomfortable silence fills the air as they contemplate the horror of seeing the animated bodies of dead loved-ones, ravaged by fire. GARY: Hey, man -- you didn’t know. Its a lot to... TRUMAN: This is great! Bewildered, Gary and The Doctor look at one another as Truman springs out of his chair with a new sense of vigor. GARY: How is this great, exactly? TRUMAN: Don’t you see? This is our ace in the hole! The Doctor can see the gears turning in Truman’s head and makes an attempt to throw a metaphoric wrench. DOCTOR: Now, Mr. Truman, I’m not sure I like where this is going. I never... TRUMAN: You’ll NEVER work in the medical field again if you don’t fall in line and do what we paid you to do! I have no trepidation in showing the world a series of videos where your “methods” are about as successful as your attempts to escape Morrison’s little choke hold. Remember that, Doctor? I’m not sure if someone your age can remember that far back … it’s so much harder to RECOVER from such a traumatic incident ... is it not? So much harder to bounce back ... much like rebuilding a career. The intensity in Truman’s eyes -- well, it was all The Doctor needed to validate his resolve. Even so, he still took a moment to ponder the consequences of his next decision before lowering his head and sitting back down in the wheelchair. Truman, having his answer and means-to-an-end, turns back to the live feed of Morrison. His face, now twisted by the mixture of anger and exhilaration, is almost unrecognizable. TRUMAN: Good, because we have a hard egg to crack. Now [looking over his shoulder] who’s up for an omelet?

I want one!

Hmmmmm..... This Lution was a very very good shoe. I'm not gonna delve deep with a review, got more of those in my tenure than some active members have rps. If your on the show and contributed in anyway, you deserve kudos. Even more kodus for those who took tough losses or big wins but still remained humble and courteous. Those that got upset for any reason, you can suck a dick! From the back! I'm just gonna say thank you to everyone who put the time and effort into making Lution feel as monumental as it did when I was a rook. I still get more excited about this event than any other in wrestling. Special thanks to all those that helped the FAME story get over and especially special thanks to Theo and Dan, working with them in any capacity is always a treat. Ofcourse the production team and Jay deserve major praise, for the amount of work that goes into commentary, hype vids, posters and the like. Here's to another great Wrestlution for the record books!

"Sparks: I am TY Sparks and I am a Hobbit." I am laughing way too much at this!!!