Post by Deleted on May 11, 2014 16:59:09 GMT -5
(Inside the luxurious Sequitus tour bus, Caliban, Cormack MacNeil and Jordan Ciserano are playing cards in the main living space. They sit on a brown leather couch at a grey marblestone table that holds their cards, a bottle of Bourbon and assorted snacks. Conspicuous by his absence is one Brent Alpine.)
Jordan Ciserano: I hope Brent's getting some shut eye. Dude's been wired since we left Paris.
Caliban: Yep, he's in the Pantheon obsession phase. I've been there. It's not a good place.
Cormack MacNeil: Easy trap to fall into.
Caliban: We gotta get him some pussy or something. Anything to get him out of the 'Must Beat Fly' mindset.
Cormack MacNeil: Pantheon are not gods, they are men. We fight them as men, we beat them as men. We fight the mythology, we'll fall like many before us. We have to get Brent's head right.
Jordan Ciserano: He'll be fine after a sleep.
(With that, we hear an Australian twanged groan of discomfort emanating from a long rectangular compartment of the coach. Caliban, Ciserano and MacNeil exchange concerned glances.)
(The sun slowly sinks out of a golden sky as darkness engulfs the entire desert landscape. A slither of sun remains, trapped between cloud and sand dunes. It flickers and fights but eventually dies into ominous darkness. A bell tolls and the fluttering of bats in flight echoes through the wasteland.)
(The camera pans down in the midst of a trial. One man is stood on a wooden platform by a stand. He is clad in an 18th Century style, black, gold and silver brocade court dress. Another man, clearly the defendant is tied into a guillotine of sorts. His head is strapped to the apparatus by rope as opposed to being within a hole. The executioner stands over him, on top of the frame, with some sort of blade. A fourth man paces anxiously to the side. The scene is illuminated by a large bonfire that separates the trial from a crowd of nearly one hundred watching with blood-lust. Members of the crowd are holding lanterns. The judge speaks.)
Judge: Hear thee, hear thee! Please be silent for the trial of Brent Rainer Alpine's career.
(The camera zooms in to reveal that the judge bears the face of a certain Jonny Fly. The executioner is Corey Black in a black hooded Medieval robe. He wields his famous machete and seems to be salivating for his cue to swing it. The pacing man to the side, suited and booted, looks exactly like Jayson Price. As you probably guessed, the defendant is a horrified looking Brent Alpine. The crowd are composed of WCF superstars past and present. A brief scan through the ghoulish faces baying for blood - Steve Orbit, Adam Young, Greenfever, Lilith, Logan, Tank Reaper, Brandon Phlash, Mark Dillinger in Nathan von Liebert attire, El Angel Obscuro, Michael Santiago and GEORGE!)
Judge Fly: Mr. Alpine, what is your defence? What makes you believe you can vanquish Pantheon and I? ANSWER ME!
Defendant Alpine: Urgh... err... well...
Executioner Black: See - nothing! Ooh, can I get him Jonny? Can I get him? Please!
Judge Fly: No, we must ensure a fair trial. The court has appointed the defendant a legal representative. Attorney-at-law Price, please provide your client's defense.
Attorney Price: Your honour, my client has not paid his legal fees so I am unable to provide my services. And frankly, I believe he is guilty. There is no way he can defeat us. He will end up just like his comrades over there.
(Off in the distance is Cormack MacNeil slumped in a noose and Caliban down at his feet with a sword through his body. Amid the desert, a small trail leads off behind them. A decrepit arrow sign reads 'SOUTH STREET'.)
Defendant Alpine: Please... h... help me.
Attorney Price: I will only help you if you pay your dues. You must PAY THE PRICE PAY THE PRICE PAY THE PRICE!
Judge Fly: Spiffing pun. Well, in that case, I have no choice but to deem the defendant...
(There is a rising chorus of 'OHHHHHHH's from the onlookers.)
Judge Fly: GUILTY! Executioner Black, MACHETE his Flyjobber ass!
(The crowd cheer like rabid hyenas. With this, Executioner Black plunges his machete straight into Alpine's neck, splitting his head from his body. Alpine's head rolls to the crowd.)
Alpine Head: Aw flamin' galah, that was a real blow.
(Onlooker Orbit stops the still facially expressive head with his foot like a soccer ball and juggles it with 'keepy uppies'. He then catches it to the delight of his peers.)
Judge Fly: Hey Orbit, you finally got what you always dreamed of! Head off Brent Alpine!
(Ooh heel turn. Onlooker Orbit retreats in shame. The crowd boo and charge at Judge Fly with pitchforks that just happened to appear from nowhere. He beats them all off with ease. They all begin to die and some are thrown into the fire. Executioner Black and Attorney Price attempt to help Fly deal with the numerical disadvantage.)
Judge Fly: S'cool guys, I got this.
(Judge Fly finally destroys everyone in the crowd as if he were taking a nap. He yawns as his bionic arms and legs unleash a barrage of judo, MMA, boxing, grappling, street fighting, origami, feng shui and, just for kicks, thai kickboxing mastery. All in the space of a few seconds, he also dances the bachata, recites the entire Magna Carta in 10 different languages, Fly-ertapps an army of Swedish models and gives birth to a bearded alpaca-duck hybrid BECAUSE HE'S FLY AND HE CAN!)
Executioner Black: That was fun.
(Suddenly Judge Fly morphs into a massive dragon with Jonny Fly's face. A Dragonfly if you will. He eats both Executioner Black and Attorney Price and licks his lips. Onlooker Orbit is still standing amongst the ashes, corpses and overall mayhem. He drops the Alpine Head which is still pulling faces. Orbit gets to his knees and begs for mercy.)
Dragon Fly: Give me what I want and you shall be spared.
(With this, Onlooker Orbit pulls out his WCF World Title from his tattered garb. Dragon Fly grabs it with his teeth.)
Dragon Fly: Thank you. You may go.
(Onlooker Orbit flees. However, Dragon Fly swoops down and devours him.)
Dragon Fly: Oh no, I did that lying thing again.
(Out of nowhere like in all good nightmares, a polygraph machine appears and goes off with a harsh buzz. Dragon Fly swoops around Alpine Head, taunting him and booming in laughter.)
Alpine Head: I will swat you, Dragon Fly!
Dragon Fly: Ha... with what arms?
Alpine Head: You forget one thing...
(In a bizarre turn of events, Alpine Head grows long Stretch Armstrong arms and begins hitting Dragon Fly.)
Alpine Head: This is MY nightmare! If I want arms, I got arms.
(The nimble beast flies around the sky and evades his every punch.)
Dragon Fly: You will never conquer the mighty Dynasty! CAN'T TOUCH THIS! CAN'T TOUCH THIS!
(Alpine Head/Arms directs more and more jabs in the direction of Dragon Fly but misses every time.)
(The scene resumes in Alpine's bed cabin within the Sequitus tour bus. MC Hammer's 'U Can't Touch This' plays from the main living area within the coach. A miniature TV hangs in the corner of the sleeping compartment and plays the Pantheon versus Big Time Thickness match from last week on mute. Several sheets of crumpled note paper are scattered over the compartment floor. They contain various words and diagrams but each have been crossed out. Alpine is lay asleep on a small bed. Well, mostly asleep. A small fly buzzes around him and his hand is sleep-swatting. But, as in the nightmare, is continually missing.)
(We are back now in the main living area of the bus. The card games are over, the music has stopped and Sequitus minus Alpine are sat more upright and appear somewhat downcast. Sinney brings them a tray of beers and glasses with ice and lemon lovingly included.)
Caliban: We need to get this shit sorted. Brent's head's not in the game.
Jordan Ciserano: He'll be OK. Would you rather he be like he was in The Shine days and not give a shit about our opponents? Least he's lost his ego and actually CARES. It's the biggest match of his career. Can you blame him wanting to win?
Cormack MacNeil: Jordy, it's not that. We're glad he cares. But it's all he seems to be thinking of. He's eating, breathing, dreaming about taking down Pantheon.
Caliban: The guy's incapable of a conversation of anything BUT Pantheon. It ain't healthy.
Jordan Ciserano: Hey man, we all have our issues...
(Caliban coughs in a half amusement, half awkwardness.)
Cormack MacNeill: As always, there's only one solution - BEER!
Caliban: Amen to that. We'll hit Madrid in an hour or so. We should go 'emborracharse' as the natives say. Maybe get Brent some hermosa senorita concha! That'll take his mind off Pantheon.
(Sinney raises her eyebrows in partial disgust as the scene fades out.)
(The streets of Madrid are a beehive of activity and MacNeil, Caliban and Alpine stroll by without being bothered.)
Brent Alpine: I've literally watched like 38 hours worth of footage since Sunday and I cannot find one discernible and clear blemish in Pantheon's game. Nothing that they haven't corrected down the line.
Caliban: Dude! Let me celebrate my Internet Title win. Let's just get drunk. Fuck Pantheon!
Brent Alpine: Sorry man. Congratulations again.
Cormack MacNeil: So what we gonna do for our promos this week? Management is breathing down my neck.
Brent Alpine: We have to get into some sort of crazy antic. Maybe we could rope in Kate Winslet or Iron Man. It's got to be real funny and wacky and entertaining. Maybe we could pretend we are on Planet Pantheon and we end up wiping out their species. Or we could do a Harry Potter spoof. I'll be Dumbledore.
Cormack MacNeil: How about we just do it in a bar?
Brent Alpine: Come on Cormack, would Pantheon shoot a promo in a bar? No way, it's too generic. We're hanging with the top dogs now. We have to step up the entertainment levels.
Caliban: How about we just be ourselves? We are Sequitus. Let's focus on being the best US we can be rather than trying to be Pantheon rip offs. We are a different blend to them. Remember what you said when you came back from the dead? We are REAL, we're emotional, we have heart. Fuck Pantheon and their irrelevance. Why play in that sandpit? They're having a good time in it now but it's quicksand and they're sinking.
Brent Alpine: But...
Cormack MacNeil (cutting him off): Enough! Let's enjoy what the night brings. I promise we can talk about those guys tomorrow. Let's taste a bit of Spanish culture... or in your case, the Spanish CONCHA.
Brent Alpine: What's concha?
(Cormack and Caliban smile at each other knowingly.)
(An Australian, a Canadian/Scotman and a Northern Irishman watch into a bar. The punchline is yet to be decided. Young men and women with beautiful tans stand around drinking, flirting, shooting the breeze and watching the football/soccer on a large screen. Standing out a mile off are the pasty skinned Caliban and MacNeil. Away from the eyes of Sinney and Isla, they scout the many nubile young women... for Alpine, of course. Speaking of whom, Brent is solely focused on them and oblivious to the beauty that surrounds them.)
Brent Alpine: Guys, we shouldn't have more than one drink. We need to be in perfect condition for Slam and the Trios Cup. Let's not be like Pantheon.
Cormack MacNeill: Chill, we have 3 days left.
Brent Alpine: We need every advantage we can get. I've been watching their matches. Pantheon lose once in a blue moon. We need that blue moon.
Caliban: No way, Price loses all the time.
Brent Alpine: That's not true. He lost a lot last year but it was his clone, remember. The real Jayson Price is a WCF Grand Slam winner.
Caliban: That clone bullshit was a cover up for his drinking problem and mental issues. Don't be blinkered. Anyway, he lost to Logan in a triple threat C4 Deathmatch with Oblivion at Explosion. You know? The one that made him disappear for a few weeks in a sulk.
Brent Alpine: It's not like he was pinned or gave up. He just got... blown up! Least he didn't lose a toe like Logan for fuck's sake. I'd consider that more of a win - the fact he kept all his limbs. Other than that, he hasn't lost all year since the clone debacle ended at One.
Cormack MacNeill: Awesome. Real Madrid.
(Cormack points out the football highlights on the big screen. Real Madrid's speedy winger Gareth Bale dribbles the ball around two hapless defenders.)
Cormack MacNeill: I wonder who most people in this bar support. Real or Atletico? The two Madrid giants.
Brent Alpine: Real Madrid remind me of Pantheon actually. They are like a machine put together with the top players on the globe. They are glitz, glamour and they very rarely lose. Somehow, though, they lack soul.
Caliban: Man, would you shut up about Pantheon? I love you bro but this is getting tiresome.
Cormack MacNeill: No, no, he's right. Pantheon ARE the Real Madrid of the WCF. You know what though, Brent? Who is top of La Liga right now? Atletico Madrid. This city's runt of the litter. The pesky little brother. They've been put together on a shoestring budget but they are kicking Real Madrid's ass. They have soul and heart and FIGHT! Does that remind you of anyone? We will be the Atletico Madrid of the WCF. If they can take down the elite after years and years of an established hierarchy, why can't we?
(Cristiano Ronaldo appears on the screen. Several ladies in the bar wolf whistle and giggle to each other. Ronaldo performs an effortless piece of skill, making a mockery of the opposition player.)
Brent Alpine: The league's not over yet and Real have Cristiano Ronaldo, the best player in the world today. Just like Jonny Fly, he proves himself week in and week out. His stats are scary.
Caliban: Ronaldo's a fucking ponce that poses in pink speedos for women's gossip magazines. He rolls around the ground every time a player tries tackling him. Yeah he's good but I have zero respect for him. Fly's the same. I hate the guy. He's not as unbeatable as everyone says he is. You need to get him out of the immortal box otherwise you have no chance. He's human and he can lose.
Brent Alpine: When has he lost?
Caliban: XIII against Price for a start.
Brent Alpine: That was a ridiculous gimmick match that Fly didn't want to be booked in. Sarah Twilight was giving him shit all match.
Caliban: Where's the heart in that? That's no excuse. Not wanting to be booked in the first place is not grounds for bending over and collapsing.
Brent Alpine: OK what else?
Cormack MacNeil: He lost to FPV at Blast 2012.
Brent Alpine: He wasn't the one pinned.
Caliban: Explosion 2013. Steve Orbit pinned him.
Brent Alpine: That was Corey Black. They had swapped bodies due to some popcorn experiment.
Caliban: Brent, you've been watching too many Pantheon videos. You're wrapped up in their paraphernalia. He lost, pure and simple. There was no body swap just like Jay Price wasn't cloned. They have to excuse their defeats with bullshit because they don't have the humility to admit they fell short on those occasions. They DO lose, Brent.
Brent Alpine: I haven't even started on Corey Black yet. He's barely lost in years. He basically built this federation from the ground up in his Creeping Death days.
Caliban: More spin. Creeping Death ruled the WCF when it was a much weaker stomping ground than it is today. There were a handful of top guys but lots of also rans. The WCF has proper athletes these days. Corey can glamorize all he likes. Yeah he hasn't lost much in recent years. That's because he's a part timer. He's been playing away in some Mickey Mouse fed because the heat of the WCF kitchen became too much for him.
Brent Alpine: That's not true. When I was a teenager, I saw videos of him in Japan as Shinji Kiryu. He was incredible. You're making out as if he's overrated. I'd argue the opposite. Asshole though. I met him a few years ago in The Myth nightclub in Maplewood, Minnesota and asked for his autograph. He totally blanked me as if I wasn't there. Nikki Venus signed. She was nice. Gorgeous too.
Cormack MacNeil: Speaking of which, what do you think of her?
(Cormack points to a ravishing blonde alone at the bar. We're talking Shakira-esque. Not Chikara as so often confused on internet forum posts.)
Brent Alpine: She's stunning but we have too much to focus on.
(Cormack whispers something in the blonde's ear. She giggles and looks at Brent. He pulls her towards him.)
Shakira Lookalike: Hola.
Brent Alpine: G'day.
Caliban: Damn, we need to hook up a polygraph just below her waist.
Cormack MacNeil: Why?
Caliban: To make sure those hips don't lie!
Cormack MacNeil: Oh dear...
(The scene fades out with Brent and the Shakira Lookalike smiling warmly and gazing amorously into each other's eyes.)
(We are back at the tour bus. MacNeil and Caliban are again sat on the sofa. Ciserano has his ears to the sleeping compartment door.)
Caliban: Come on kid, let's give the man his privacy.
Jordan Ciserano: I can't believe Brent's actually getting laid! When he was The Shine he was full of stories but I saw no actual tail around him.
Cormack MacNeil: Beer and sex. The perfect things to take a man's mind off Pantheon.
Caliban: He needs it. He's been so negative.
(The Shakira Lookalike, fully clothed, storms out of the compartment door and goes to leave. Ciserano is startled. Caliban gets up from the couch and tries to apprehend her.)
Caliban: What's wrong? Qué pasa?
Shakira Lookalike: I speak English. Your friend no fun. He just talk and talk about panty on. I don't want keep panty on. I no know Johnny Fly. He ask Price. I not prostitute. Your friend he strange. I go.
(She leaves. Caliban sits back down.)
Caliban: This is worse than I thought. His cock must hate him right now.
Cormack MacNeil: What do we do?
Caliban: There is one last resort.
Cormack MacNeil: Which is...?
(Caliban stares to the other side of the coach towards the kitchen area. Percy Micro is licking spilt beer from the floor.)
Cormack MacNeil: Oh hell no. Brent told us to keep his camera and microphone off and keep him as a regular pet. We can't risk him spying on us and getting inside our heads.
Caliban: But that's the point. He is able to get into anyone's head. The pig's that smart. Like it or not, he's a master of psychology. He steered Alpine before and, if anyone can do it now, it's him.
Cormack MacNeil: That's true. But he's controlled by a WCF superstar. What if that superstar is one of Pantheon?
Caliban: That's a risk we're going to have to take.
(Caliban walks towards Percy Micro. He fiddles with the gadgetry on Percy's collar. With this, Alpine emerges from his sleeping quarters.)
Brent Alpine: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! I told you not to activate Percy Micro's equipment. He isn't our friend, Jordan. He'll tear us apart from the inside out.
Caliban: Look man, you've been a mess. I have no choice. Percy's the only one who can seem to reach into your head. You need to get out of this Pantheon obsession zone and be positive about Sequitus.
Brent Alpine: OK, OK. Just give me til morning. I'll get my head straight. Just promise me you don't turn Percy Micro's microphone and camera on. That would be the death of us.
Caliban: Alright. Do what you need to do. We have a promo to film in the morning.
(It is morning. The sun shines through the tour bus windows. Alpine sits facing the camera with the rest of Sequitus.)
Brent Alpine: Pantheon, your pillars are about to fall down. Your gods are killing each other. Be prepared for the earth to tremble as the biggest upset in WCF history happens at Slam. Sequitus WILL defeat you and go on to win the Trios Cup.
Jonny Fly, you have BEEN the best here. But you are arrogant and your pride will be your failing. I can't wait to see you fall off your lofty perch.
How dare you denigrate the Trios Cup last year! How dare you disrespect the World Title by basically handing it to Steve Orbit earlier this year and being more concerned about your hot fries in the aftermath.
You exude arrogance in all you do and so far that has been justified. I'm sick of it.
Corey Black, you think you can swan back here and just pick and choose your dates? We do this day in day out and we give our blood. Yes you have paid your dues but you have to keep paying your dues in this business. Sequitus will rip your proverbial golden ticket in half.
Jayson Price, I empathise with you over your highs and lows. I've been there. I have been labelled the Future of WCF only to go through growing pains and traumas. But unlike you, I've stripped away my walls and I'm genuine. I don't claim to be in some phony religion. You hypocrite!
Your mistakes may be a rarity. Your losses are anomalies. But I'm here to tell you... SEQUITUS IS THE ANOMALY!
(The camera cuts. Sequitus relax as the promo is finished.)
Caliban: Hey Brent... did you mean that?
Jordan Ciserano: I hope Brent's getting some shut eye. Dude's been wired since we left Paris.
Caliban: Yep, he's in the Pantheon obsession phase. I've been there. It's not a good place.
Cormack MacNeil: Easy trap to fall into.
Caliban: We gotta get him some pussy or something. Anything to get him out of the 'Must Beat Fly' mindset.
Cormack MacNeil: Pantheon are not gods, they are men. We fight them as men, we beat them as men. We fight the mythology, we'll fall like many before us. We have to get Brent's head right.
Jordan Ciserano: He'll be fine after a sleep.
(With that, we hear an Australian twanged groan of discomfort emanating from a long rectangular compartment of the coach. Caliban, Ciserano and MacNeil exchange concerned glances.)
(The sun slowly sinks out of a golden sky as darkness engulfs the entire desert landscape. A slither of sun remains, trapped between cloud and sand dunes. It flickers and fights but eventually dies into ominous darkness. A bell tolls and the fluttering of bats in flight echoes through the wasteland.)
(The camera pans down in the midst of a trial. One man is stood on a wooden platform by a stand. He is clad in an 18th Century style, black, gold and silver brocade court dress. Another man, clearly the defendant is tied into a guillotine of sorts. His head is strapped to the apparatus by rope as opposed to being within a hole. The executioner stands over him, on top of the frame, with some sort of blade. A fourth man paces anxiously to the side. The scene is illuminated by a large bonfire that separates the trial from a crowd of nearly one hundred watching with blood-lust. Members of the crowd are holding lanterns. The judge speaks.)
Judge: Hear thee, hear thee! Please be silent for the trial of Brent Rainer Alpine's career.
(The camera zooms in to reveal that the judge bears the face of a certain Jonny Fly. The executioner is Corey Black in a black hooded Medieval robe. He wields his famous machete and seems to be salivating for his cue to swing it. The pacing man to the side, suited and booted, looks exactly like Jayson Price. As you probably guessed, the defendant is a horrified looking Brent Alpine. The crowd are composed of WCF superstars past and present. A brief scan through the ghoulish faces baying for blood - Steve Orbit, Adam Young, Greenfever, Lilith, Logan, Tank Reaper, Brandon Phlash, Mark Dillinger in Nathan von Liebert attire, El Angel Obscuro, Michael Santiago and GEORGE!)
Judge Fly: Mr. Alpine, what is your defence? What makes you believe you can vanquish Pantheon and I? ANSWER ME!
Defendant Alpine: Urgh... err... well...
Executioner Black: See - nothing! Ooh, can I get him Jonny? Can I get him? Please!
Judge Fly: No, we must ensure a fair trial. The court has appointed the defendant a legal representative. Attorney-at-law Price, please provide your client's defense.
Attorney Price: Your honour, my client has not paid his legal fees so I am unable to provide my services. And frankly, I believe he is guilty. There is no way he can defeat us. He will end up just like his comrades over there.
(Off in the distance is Cormack MacNeil slumped in a noose and Caliban down at his feet with a sword through his body. Amid the desert, a small trail leads off behind them. A decrepit arrow sign reads 'SOUTH STREET'.)
Defendant Alpine: Please... h... help me.
Attorney Price: I will only help you if you pay your dues. You must PAY THE PRICE PAY THE PRICE PAY THE PRICE!
Judge Fly: Spiffing pun. Well, in that case, I have no choice but to deem the defendant...
(There is a rising chorus of 'OHHHHHHH's from the onlookers.)
Judge Fly: GUILTY! Executioner Black, MACHETE his Flyjobber ass!
(The crowd cheer like rabid hyenas. With this, Executioner Black plunges his machete straight into Alpine's neck, splitting his head from his body. Alpine's head rolls to the crowd.)
Alpine Head: Aw flamin' galah, that was a real blow.
(Onlooker Orbit stops the still facially expressive head with his foot like a soccer ball and juggles it with 'keepy uppies'. He then catches it to the delight of his peers.)
Judge Fly: Hey Orbit, you finally got what you always dreamed of! Head off Brent Alpine!
(Ooh heel turn. Onlooker Orbit retreats in shame. The crowd boo and charge at Judge Fly with pitchforks that just happened to appear from nowhere. He beats them all off with ease. They all begin to die and some are thrown into the fire. Executioner Black and Attorney Price attempt to help Fly deal with the numerical disadvantage.)
Judge Fly: S'cool guys, I got this.
(Judge Fly finally destroys everyone in the crowd as if he were taking a nap. He yawns as his bionic arms and legs unleash a barrage of judo, MMA, boxing, grappling, street fighting, origami, feng shui and, just for kicks, thai kickboxing mastery. All in the space of a few seconds, he also dances the bachata, recites the entire Magna Carta in 10 different languages, Fly-ertapps an army of Swedish models and gives birth to a bearded alpaca-duck hybrid BECAUSE HE'S FLY AND HE CAN!)
Executioner Black: That was fun.
(Suddenly Judge Fly morphs into a massive dragon with Jonny Fly's face. A Dragonfly if you will. He eats both Executioner Black and Attorney Price and licks his lips. Onlooker Orbit is still standing amongst the ashes, corpses and overall mayhem. He drops the Alpine Head which is still pulling faces. Orbit gets to his knees and begs for mercy.)
Dragon Fly: Give me what I want and you shall be spared.
(With this, Onlooker Orbit pulls out his WCF World Title from his tattered garb. Dragon Fly grabs it with his teeth.)
Dragon Fly: Thank you. You may go.
(Onlooker Orbit flees. However, Dragon Fly swoops down and devours him.)
Dragon Fly: Oh no, I did that lying thing again.
(Out of nowhere like in all good nightmares, a polygraph machine appears and goes off with a harsh buzz. Dragon Fly swoops around Alpine Head, taunting him and booming in laughter.)
Alpine Head: I will swat you, Dragon Fly!
Dragon Fly: Ha... with what arms?
Alpine Head: You forget one thing...
(In a bizarre turn of events, Alpine Head grows long Stretch Armstrong arms and begins hitting Dragon Fly.)
Alpine Head: This is MY nightmare! If I want arms, I got arms.
(The nimble beast flies around the sky and evades his every punch.)
Dragon Fly: You will never conquer the mighty Dynasty! CAN'T TOUCH THIS! CAN'T TOUCH THIS!
(Alpine Head/Arms directs more and more jabs in the direction of Dragon Fly but misses every time.)
(The scene resumes in Alpine's bed cabin within the Sequitus tour bus. MC Hammer's 'U Can't Touch This' plays from the main living area within the coach. A miniature TV hangs in the corner of the sleeping compartment and plays the Pantheon versus Big Time Thickness match from last week on mute. Several sheets of crumpled note paper are scattered over the compartment floor. They contain various words and diagrams but each have been crossed out. Alpine is lay asleep on a small bed. Well, mostly asleep. A small fly buzzes around him and his hand is sleep-swatting. But, as in the nightmare, is continually missing.)
(We are back now in the main living area of the bus. The card games are over, the music has stopped and Sequitus minus Alpine are sat more upright and appear somewhat downcast. Sinney brings them a tray of beers and glasses with ice and lemon lovingly included.)
Caliban: We need to get this shit sorted. Brent's head's not in the game.
Jordan Ciserano: He'll be OK. Would you rather he be like he was in The Shine days and not give a shit about our opponents? Least he's lost his ego and actually CARES. It's the biggest match of his career. Can you blame him wanting to win?
Cormack MacNeil: Jordy, it's not that. We're glad he cares. But it's all he seems to be thinking of. He's eating, breathing, dreaming about taking down Pantheon.
Caliban: The guy's incapable of a conversation of anything BUT Pantheon. It ain't healthy.
Jordan Ciserano: Hey man, we all have our issues...
(Caliban coughs in a half amusement, half awkwardness.)
Cormack MacNeill: As always, there's only one solution - BEER!
Caliban: Amen to that. We'll hit Madrid in an hour or so. We should go 'emborracharse' as the natives say. Maybe get Brent some hermosa senorita concha! That'll take his mind off Pantheon.
(Sinney raises her eyebrows in partial disgust as the scene fades out.)
(The streets of Madrid are a beehive of activity and MacNeil, Caliban and Alpine stroll by without being bothered.)
Brent Alpine: I've literally watched like 38 hours worth of footage since Sunday and I cannot find one discernible and clear blemish in Pantheon's game. Nothing that they haven't corrected down the line.
Caliban: Dude! Let me celebrate my Internet Title win. Let's just get drunk. Fuck Pantheon!
Brent Alpine: Sorry man. Congratulations again.
Cormack MacNeil: So what we gonna do for our promos this week? Management is breathing down my neck.
Brent Alpine: We have to get into some sort of crazy antic. Maybe we could rope in Kate Winslet or Iron Man. It's got to be real funny and wacky and entertaining. Maybe we could pretend we are on Planet Pantheon and we end up wiping out their species. Or we could do a Harry Potter spoof. I'll be Dumbledore.
Cormack MacNeil: How about we just do it in a bar?
Brent Alpine: Come on Cormack, would Pantheon shoot a promo in a bar? No way, it's too generic. We're hanging with the top dogs now. We have to step up the entertainment levels.
Caliban: How about we just be ourselves? We are Sequitus. Let's focus on being the best US we can be rather than trying to be Pantheon rip offs. We are a different blend to them. Remember what you said when you came back from the dead? We are REAL, we're emotional, we have heart. Fuck Pantheon and their irrelevance. Why play in that sandpit? They're having a good time in it now but it's quicksand and they're sinking.
Brent Alpine: But...
Cormack MacNeil (cutting him off): Enough! Let's enjoy what the night brings. I promise we can talk about those guys tomorrow. Let's taste a bit of Spanish culture... or in your case, the Spanish CONCHA.
Brent Alpine: What's concha?
(Cormack and Caliban smile at each other knowingly.)
(An Australian, a Canadian/Scotman and a Northern Irishman watch into a bar. The punchline is yet to be decided. Young men and women with beautiful tans stand around drinking, flirting, shooting the breeze and watching the football/soccer on a large screen. Standing out a mile off are the pasty skinned Caliban and MacNeil. Away from the eyes of Sinney and Isla, they scout the many nubile young women... for Alpine, of course. Speaking of whom, Brent is solely focused on them and oblivious to the beauty that surrounds them.)
Brent Alpine: Guys, we shouldn't have more than one drink. We need to be in perfect condition for Slam and the Trios Cup. Let's not be like Pantheon.
Cormack MacNeill: Chill, we have 3 days left.
Brent Alpine: We need every advantage we can get. I've been watching their matches. Pantheon lose once in a blue moon. We need that blue moon.
Caliban: No way, Price loses all the time.
Brent Alpine: That's not true. He lost a lot last year but it was his clone, remember. The real Jayson Price is a WCF Grand Slam winner.
Caliban: That clone bullshit was a cover up for his drinking problem and mental issues. Don't be blinkered. Anyway, he lost to Logan in a triple threat C4 Deathmatch with Oblivion at Explosion. You know? The one that made him disappear for a few weeks in a sulk.
Brent Alpine: It's not like he was pinned or gave up. He just got... blown up! Least he didn't lose a toe like Logan for fuck's sake. I'd consider that more of a win - the fact he kept all his limbs. Other than that, he hasn't lost all year since the clone debacle ended at One.
Cormack MacNeill: Awesome. Real Madrid.
(Cormack points out the football highlights on the big screen. Real Madrid's speedy winger Gareth Bale dribbles the ball around two hapless defenders.)
Cormack MacNeill: I wonder who most people in this bar support. Real or Atletico? The two Madrid giants.
Brent Alpine: Real Madrid remind me of Pantheon actually. They are like a machine put together with the top players on the globe. They are glitz, glamour and they very rarely lose. Somehow, though, they lack soul.
Caliban: Man, would you shut up about Pantheon? I love you bro but this is getting tiresome.
Cormack MacNeill: No, no, he's right. Pantheon ARE the Real Madrid of the WCF. You know what though, Brent? Who is top of La Liga right now? Atletico Madrid. This city's runt of the litter. The pesky little brother. They've been put together on a shoestring budget but they are kicking Real Madrid's ass. They have soul and heart and FIGHT! Does that remind you of anyone? We will be the Atletico Madrid of the WCF. If they can take down the elite after years and years of an established hierarchy, why can't we?
(Cristiano Ronaldo appears on the screen. Several ladies in the bar wolf whistle and giggle to each other. Ronaldo performs an effortless piece of skill, making a mockery of the opposition player.)
Brent Alpine: The league's not over yet and Real have Cristiano Ronaldo, the best player in the world today. Just like Jonny Fly, he proves himself week in and week out. His stats are scary.
Caliban: Ronaldo's a fucking ponce that poses in pink speedos for women's gossip magazines. He rolls around the ground every time a player tries tackling him. Yeah he's good but I have zero respect for him. Fly's the same. I hate the guy. He's not as unbeatable as everyone says he is. You need to get him out of the immortal box otherwise you have no chance. He's human and he can lose.
Brent Alpine: When has he lost?
Caliban: XIII against Price for a start.
Brent Alpine: That was a ridiculous gimmick match that Fly didn't want to be booked in. Sarah Twilight was giving him shit all match.
Caliban: Where's the heart in that? That's no excuse. Not wanting to be booked in the first place is not grounds for bending over and collapsing.
Brent Alpine: OK what else?
Cormack MacNeil: He lost to FPV at Blast 2012.
Brent Alpine: He wasn't the one pinned.
Caliban: Explosion 2013. Steve Orbit pinned him.
Brent Alpine: That was Corey Black. They had swapped bodies due to some popcorn experiment.
Caliban: Brent, you've been watching too many Pantheon videos. You're wrapped up in their paraphernalia. He lost, pure and simple. There was no body swap just like Jay Price wasn't cloned. They have to excuse their defeats with bullshit because they don't have the humility to admit they fell short on those occasions. They DO lose, Brent.
Brent Alpine: I haven't even started on Corey Black yet. He's barely lost in years. He basically built this federation from the ground up in his Creeping Death days.
Caliban: More spin. Creeping Death ruled the WCF when it was a much weaker stomping ground than it is today. There were a handful of top guys but lots of also rans. The WCF has proper athletes these days. Corey can glamorize all he likes. Yeah he hasn't lost much in recent years. That's because he's a part timer. He's been playing away in some Mickey Mouse fed because the heat of the WCF kitchen became too much for him.
Brent Alpine: That's not true. When I was a teenager, I saw videos of him in Japan as Shinji Kiryu. He was incredible. You're making out as if he's overrated. I'd argue the opposite. Asshole though. I met him a few years ago in The Myth nightclub in Maplewood, Minnesota and asked for his autograph. He totally blanked me as if I wasn't there. Nikki Venus signed. She was nice. Gorgeous too.
Cormack MacNeil: Speaking of which, what do you think of her?
(Cormack points to a ravishing blonde alone at the bar. We're talking Shakira-esque. Not Chikara as so often confused on internet forum posts.)
Brent Alpine: She's stunning but we have too much to focus on.
(Cormack whispers something in the blonde's ear. She giggles and looks at Brent. He pulls her towards him.)
Shakira Lookalike: Hola.
Brent Alpine: G'day.
Caliban: Damn, we need to hook up a polygraph just below her waist.
Cormack MacNeil: Why?
Caliban: To make sure those hips don't lie!
Cormack MacNeil: Oh dear...
(The scene fades out with Brent and the Shakira Lookalike smiling warmly and gazing amorously into each other's eyes.)
(We are back at the tour bus. MacNeil and Caliban are again sat on the sofa. Ciserano has his ears to the sleeping compartment door.)
Caliban: Come on kid, let's give the man his privacy.
Jordan Ciserano: I can't believe Brent's actually getting laid! When he was The Shine he was full of stories but I saw no actual tail around him.
Cormack MacNeil: Beer and sex. The perfect things to take a man's mind off Pantheon.
Caliban: He needs it. He's been so negative.
(The Shakira Lookalike, fully clothed, storms out of the compartment door and goes to leave. Ciserano is startled. Caliban gets up from the couch and tries to apprehend her.)
Caliban: What's wrong? Qué pasa?
Shakira Lookalike: I speak English. Your friend no fun. He just talk and talk about panty on. I don't want keep panty on. I no know Johnny Fly. He ask Price. I not prostitute. Your friend he strange. I go.
(She leaves. Caliban sits back down.)
Caliban: This is worse than I thought. His cock must hate him right now.
Cormack MacNeil: What do we do?
Caliban: There is one last resort.
Cormack MacNeil: Which is...?
(Caliban stares to the other side of the coach towards the kitchen area. Percy Micro is licking spilt beer from the floor.)
Cormack MacNeil: Oh hell no. Brent told us to keep his camera and microphone off and keep him as a regular pet. We can't risk him spying on us and getting inside our heads.
Caliban: But that's the point. He is able to get into anyone's head. The pig's that smart. Like it or not, he's a master of psychology. He steered Alpine before and, if anyone can do it now, it's him.
Cormack MacNeil: That's true. But he's controlled by a WCF superstar. What if that superstar is one of Pantheon?
Caliban: That's a risk we're going to have to take.
(Caliban walks towards Percy Micro. He fiddles with the gadgetry on Percy's collar. With this, Alpine emerges from his sleeping quarters.)
Brent Alpine: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! I told you not to activate Percy Micro's equipment. He isn't our friend, Jordan. He'll tear us apart from the inside out.
Caliban: Look man, you've been a mess. I have no choice. Percy's the only one who can seem to reach into your head. You need to get out of this Pantheon obsession zone and be positive about Sequitus.
Brent Alpine: OK, OK. Just give me til morning. I'll get my head straight. Just promise me you don't turn Percy Micro's microphone and camera on. That would be the death of us.
Caliban: Alright. Do what you need to do. We have a promo to film in the morning.
(It is morning. The sun shines through the tour bus windows. Alpine sits facing the camera with the rest of Sequitus.)
Brent Alpine: Pantheon, your pillars are about to fall down. Your gods are killing each other. Be prepared for the earth to tremble as the biggest upset in WCF history happens at Slam. Sequitus WILL defeat you and go on to win the Trios Cup.
Jonny Fly, you have BEEN the best here. But you are arrogant and your pride will be your failing. I can't wait to see you fall off your lofty perch.
How dare you denigrate the Trios Cup last year! How dare you disrespect the World Title by basically handing it to Steve Orbit earlier this year and being more concerned about your hot fries in the aftermath.
You exude arrogance in all you do and so far that has been justified. I'm sick of it.
Corey Black, you think you can swan back here and just pick and choose your dates? We do this day in day out and we give our blood. Yes you have paid your dues but you have to keep paying your dues in this business. Sequitus will rip your proverbial golden ticket in half.
Jayson Price, I empathise with you over your highs and lows. I've been there. I have been labelled the Future of WCF only to go through growing pains and traumas. But unlike you, I've stripped away my walls and I'm genuine. I don't claim to be in some phony religion. You hypocrite!
Your mistakes may be a rarity. Your losses are anomalies. But I'm here to tell you... SEQUITUS IS THE ANOMALY!
(The camera cuts. Sequitus relax as the promo is finished.)
Caliban: Hey Brent... did you mean that?