Post by Deleted on Dec 21, 2013 22:14:15 GMT -5
Sweat drips down the forehead of Waylon Cash as he stands on one end of the large training facility beneath the foundation of his house. The only sound is the smack of his taped fists slamming against the vinyl cover of the power bag in front of him. He drives his fist into the bag over and over; hate shooting from his bloodshot eyes. His stained white tank top clings to his flesh, growing wetter with each punch. His muscles ache beneath his skin, begging for a break, but his brain refuses their request. He continues on, punching the bag until his muscles give up. Still he continues, leaning on the bag, and swinging with what little is left of his might. Once his arms finally stop working, he lets out a primal scream, and drops to his knees. He hangs his head, watching as perspiration drips onto the shiny wooden floor beneath him. A voice from behind causes his head to jerk up.
Scott:Training hard, are we?
Waylon doesn’t answer at first, choosing instead to desperately gasp for air. Scott bends down, and helps the wrestler to his feet, allowing him time to regain his composure.
Waylon:Jeremy cut me off, and now I’m goin’ through withdrawals. I’m tryin’ to turn that into somethin’ I can use-
Scott:A good tactic, use that energy to-
Waylon:And it ain’t fuckin’ workin’!
Waylon grabs a folding chair, and hurls it across the room. It hits the wall, the sound of steel on cinder block echoing through the basement gym. The wrestler drops to his knees again, and stares at the ground.
Waylon:I’m losin’ it, Scott. I’m losin’ my god damn mind, and if I don’t get somethin’ in my system quick, D-day is gonna run all over my ass. Then where are we gonna be?
Scott:I believe Roxxanne has grown suspicious of me… so I will do this one more time. After this, you have to learn to cope. She’s right, this stuff is not doing you any good, and you need to get off of it. Once more, only for S-PAC.
Scott reaches into his jacket pocket, and tosses Waylon a small bag of white powder. Cash catches it, and stares down at the contents.
Waylon:For S-PAC.
Scott:Yes, now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. I have a deal in the works, and there is a flight to Ontario waiting for me.
Waylon:You can still get into Canada?
Scott:Scott Savage can’t, but Valdimir Skolnek can go wherever he wants.
With a wry smile, Scott pulls a fake mustache from his pocket, and applies it beneath his nose. The sight of this action causes Waylon to chuckle, as he digs a hit out of the bag. Scott makes his way above grounds, giving Waylon the privacy to set a line of cocaine on the gym floor, and inhale it through his left nostril. He immediately tilts his head back, letting the numbness drips down his nasal passage into his throat. A smile creeps across his face, and he jumps back to his feet, walking over to the wrestling ring. He has a seat on the apron, and pulls his cell phone from his pocket. He then opens the bag, and pours a much larger hit out onto the flat surface. Eyeing it for a minute, he dips down and inhales through the other nostril, letting out a loud whoop as it hits him. He sits for a few seconds, allowing the feeling to spread through his body, before turning back and pouring out another line. He inhales it quickly, and puts everything away.
His eyes go wide, as he hops off the apron, and throws a few punches at a phantom opponent. He takes off, jogging a few laps around the gym area, before coming back to the ring. He shakes his head back and forth, flicking drops of sweat onto the gray canvas. Cash hops back up onto the apron, and pulls out his phone and the bag again. He stares at them for a moment, his internal debate happening out loud.
Waylon:Should I? Why not… I’ve only had two… three? Two… it was only two.
He opens the bag, and pours out a little more than he had intended too, but takes it in anyway. He sits on the apron for a little longer, before he realizes that he is still sweating profusely. His heart hasn’t slowed down either. Before he can come to anymore conclusions, he notices his hands begin to tremble. That’s the last thing he notices before everything goes white. He is amidst nothingness for a while, he can’t tell how long. Soon the image of his father, Walter Cash comes floating into view.
Walter:Boy… are you outta your god damn mind?
Waylon tries to speak, but no words come out.
Walter:I tried with you. I don’t know what in the hell I did wrong. You had all the potential in the world, and you turned into this. You coulda been somebody.
Waylon’s rage finally allows him to break his silence.
Waylon:I am somebody, you old fuck! I’m somethin’ better than you ever thought of bein’!
Walter:I guess it don’t much matter now. You went and overdosed like a god damn fool. Now you got a choice. You can say goodbye to everything. You can pass on to the next world, and leave all your worries behind… or you can be a man, go back, and fix the problems in your life.
Waylon Cash is dumbstruck by this announcement.
Waylon:What?
Walter:I don’t know if I can spell it out anymore. You’re dead right now son. They’re rushin’ you to the hospital, and it’s up to you to decide what happens.
Waylon:You mean… I could be done with all of it? The pain, the stress, people tryin’ to kill me? All gone?
Walter:If you want to be a child about it, then yeah. What the hell is wrong with you? If you’re not gonna go back and make things right, go back for the wonderful lady that’s cryin’ over your body! Go back for the people who look up to you! Go back for all the people that put their time, sweat, and blood into makin' somethin' outta your sorry ass!
Waylon stares off into the nothing for a moment. A silent battle rages behind his eyes. His eyes shoot back and forth, as if looking at two invisible paths. It takes a few minutes, but the battle stops, and he seems to come to a conclusion. Words escape his lips, too quiet for even himself to hear.
Walter:What was that? Put some bass in your voice.
Waylon:Send me back.
Walter:Damn right… idiot.
The white nothingness surrounding Waylon quickly gives way to a blur of color and light. Cash feels the sensation of falling backwards. He reaches for something to grab onto as he goes faster and faster, but there is nothing. Colors whirl around him, and the force of falling eventually causes him to black out. When he wakes up, he keeps his eyes closed. The first thing he notices is that his throat is incredibly sore. He then realizes that he is laying on his back, on a soft surface. He slowly blinks one eye open, and closes it immediately. The light from above seems to pierce his brain, sending a shock of pain through his whole body.
Roxxy:Waylon?! Guys! Guys, he's moving!
Waylon hears the hurried footsteps rushing into his room, and tries once again to open his eyes. It hurts, but not as bad this time. He slowly look round the room, and sees a group of blurry shapes that he can almost identify.
Waylon:Wh-what happ...
He feels the cool palm of his fiance's hand gently press against his forehead to keep him from moving too much.
Roxxy:Relax baby. The doctor is going to write it up as a seizure, but you... you overdosed hon.
She can barely choke out the words. The blurry figures start to come into focus now. Waylon sees his fiance first, her eyes bloodshot, her cheeks soaked with tears. Next to her is Scott Savage, sipping away at a cup of coffee. Waylon sees the guilt in his eyes, but is certain no one else can. Trent Page stands at the foot of his bed, resting on a set of crutches.
Trent:You're lucky I came over. You gave us a hell of a scare, Tex.
Waylon:But... but...
Waylon tries to find words, but a thick fog seems to have occupied his brain.
Roxxy:Don't strain yourself baby. You've been out almost eight hours. Just try to relax.
Roxxanne gives Trent a look, and he takes his cue.
Trent:Hey Scott, why don't we head down and grab some coffee from the cafeteria.
Scott:I already have coffee.
Trent:You know, for a guy who graduated from law school, you can be pretty damn stupid sometimes.
Scott:Huh?... oh, right. Let's go then.
They exit the room, leaving Waylon and Roxxy alone. She has a seat in the chair by his bed side, and wraps her hand around his. She sniffs back a tear, and stares at the beeping monitor on the other side of the bed, not wanting to look at her fiance.
Roxxy:I can't-
Waylon:Stop. I know what you're gonna say. I'm done. It's over. I'll never touch it again.
Roxxanne is surprised into silence. Not just by her fiance's words, but by the new found strength in his voice.
Waylon:I ain't never felt nothin' like that before, and I don't ever wanna feel like that again. I'll never touch it again. You got my word on that.
She gives him a smile and a nod, as her hand tightens slightly around his fingers. They sit in silence for a few minutes, before a nurse comes knocking at the door. She peeks her head in with a tired smile.
Nurse:Mr. Cash, you have a visitor.
Waylon:Another one? I'm a popular guy today.
The nurse disappears into the hallway, allowing a tall, barrel chested man in a blue three piece suit to walk through the door. Blake Updegraff III smiles at Waylon from beneath a head of perfectly coiffed hair.
Blake:It seems one of my finest pupils has been bested by an entirely avoidable opponent.
Waylon:Save the speech Doc. I'm quittin'.
The well dressed man lets out a derisive chuckle.
Blake:Do you really think it's that easy? You just overdosed on cocaine, and you expect me to just leave because you insist you are quitting? You are smarter than that, Waylon.
The wrestler rolls his eyes, but says nothing.
Blake:I went home last time because I thought you were adult enough to handle this. I thought I had taught you better. Apparently I was wrong. I clearly have more teaching to do.
Waylon looks like he might argue, but he gets cut off by Scott Savage bursting into the room.
Scott:We might have a slight problem.
Waylon:What?
Scott:Well, it must be a slow news day, because every station in town has a van outside.
Waylon:Shit.
Scott:It's ok. I'm planning on going out to make a statement. Maybe that will get them to back off... probably not though.
Blake:We could always-
Waylon:Here's what we're gonna do. Scot, you go out and make a statement. Roxxanne, while he's doin' that, you put Trent in a wheelchair and cover him with a blanket. Take him out the front door and load him into a car quick. They might think he's me and follow you. Blake, hand me my phone. It's in the pocket of my jeans over there.
Roxxy:What are you doing?
Waylon:I'm gonna say what I gotta say before anyone else gets a hold of me. Go on now. The longer this takes, the more reporters are gonna show up!
Everyone runs out the door, as Blake tosses Waylon his phone. The wrestler fiddles with it for a moment, before finding the camera feature, and hitting record. He pans up and down the different wires and tubes leading to his body, saying nothing at first. He gives the camera a good shot of the hospital room, before turning the lens on himself.
Waylon:Doesn't look like much fun, does it? It ain't. I'm comin' to you from a hospital bed to make a point. There ain't a damn thing anyone can do to stop Waylon Cash. Look at me. I had a seizure, and I'm still gonna walk into One and whip D-Day's ass! In fact, I'm gonna look better than ever. I'm inde-fuckin-structible! Forget about killin' me, there ain't nothin' on earth that can even slow me down!
Waylon garbs the wires that run to the sticky pads on his chest, and rips them away form him. The machine goes nuts, causing a nurse to run into the room. Waylon lets out a growl, that sends her scurrying back into the hallway. Cash turns and sits up, before carefully removing the IV needle from his hand.
Waylon:You gotta understand somethin' Donny. Hardcore Hell is my match. I ain't never lost one, and I ain't ever gonna. I'm so in tune with this match that, not only do I already know every move I'm gonna make, I know what moves YOU'RE gonna try. I can see this whole match play out in my head, and it don't look good for D-Day. OF course, it never looked good for him. From the moment he decided to start a war with S-PAC, his days have been numbered. He's a hell of a fighter, but he picked a fight with a damn war machine, and he's gonna pay for it this Sunday.
Waylon stands up, and grabs his jeans from the chair next to his bed. He slides them on over his bare legs, before ripping off his hospital gown.
Waylon:You made a big mistake D-Day. You thought S-PAC was yours to destroy. You thought your noble intentions would protect you. Problem is, you messed with somethin' you can't beat. It doesn't matter what you were tryin' to do. What you did was wake a beast that's more than willing to rip you limb from limb without a second thought. Your career was dead in the water the day you decided you wanted to take us on. I'm just the one pullin' the trigger.
Waylon slips his feet into the boots at the end of his bed, and slips his white tank top on over his torso.
Waylon:Everything we've done before this, don't matter for shit. It don't matter how many stables are left, it doesn't matter what your mission is, and it sure as hell don't matter who bled first. I'm gonna makes sure you bleed last. I'm gonna do somethin' I been waitin' to do since the first time I met you. I'm gonna end your career. I'm gonna win, and guarantee that you never wrestle for this company again. Think about that D-Day. You'll get to sit your ass on your couch at home, watchin' S-PAC continue to dominate... the whole time knowin' you can't do a damn thing about it... that's gotta sting.
Waylon sits on the window sill, staring out at the parking lot full of news vans. Scott is standing in front of them right now, his hands folded neatly in front of him as he gives his statement.
Waylon:You've come a long way Donnie. You're a huge star here. Problem is that fame don't last. Careers don't last. The joy though... the incredible joy I'm gonna get outta watchin' you walk up that ramp for the last time, your head hanging in defeat... that's the kinda thing that lasts a lifetime. That's the dream that I'm gonna make come true this Sunday. After One, I will always be known as the man who ended your career. That's somethin' I can hang on my wall at the end of a long lifetime.
Waylon runs his hand along the sterile, white wall, drifting off for a minute. He shakes himself from his daze, and turns back to the camera.
Waylon:D-Day, when that door closes, and you're locked inside that cage with me, I want you to take a minute and think. I want you to consider everything you gave up, because you had to take on a force you can't control. I want you to think about all the years you have left, and the fact that you're flushin' 'em down the tubes because you got a grudge against the greatest stable WCF has ever seen. You know what you remind me of? That little dude in the picture from Tiananmen Square, standin' in front of that big ass tank. The only real difference is that at the end of your story, the tank keeps goin', and crushes the idiot who thought he could stop it. I guess it don't matter now. The contract is signed, the stage is set. It's just a matter of time now. See you on Sunday Donnie.
Waylon shuts off his phone, and slides it into his pocket, before making his way out of the hospital room. By the time he gets to the front door, the reporters have all followed Roxxy and Trent out of the parking lot. With a renewed sense of purpose, and a grin spread across his face, he steps across the parking lot toward Scott's black SUV. As he slides into the passenger seat, Scott gives him a sly smile.
Scott :Did you really mean what you said in there? About quitting?
Waylon returns his managers smile.
Waylon:I guess we'll find out.
Scott:Training hard, are we?
Waylon doesn’t answer at first, choosing instead to desperately gasp for air. Scott bends down, and helps the wrestler to his feet, allowing him time to regain his composure.
Waylon:Jeremy cut me off, and now I’m goin’ through withdrawals. I’m tryin’ to turn that into somethin’ I can use-
Scott:A good tactic, use that energy to-
Waylon:And it ain’t fuckin’ workin’!
Waylon grabs a folding chair, and hurls it across the room. It hits the wall, the sound of steel on cinder block echoing through the basement gym. The wrestler drops to his knees again, and stares at the ground.
Waylon:I’m losin’ it, Scott. I’m losin’ my god damn mind, and if I don’t get somethin’ in my system quick, D-day is gonna run all over my ass. Then where are we gonna be?
Scott:I believe Roxxanne has grown suspicious of me… so I will do this one more time. After this, you have to learn to cope. She’s right, this stuff is not doing you any good, and you need to get off of it. Once more, only for S-PAC.
Scott reaches into his jacket pocket, and tosses Waylon a small bag of white powder. Cash catches it, and stares down at the contents.
Waylon:For S-PAC.
Scott:Yes, now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. I have a deal in the works, and there is a flight to Ontario waiting for me.
Waylon:You can still get into Canada?
Scott:Scott Savage can’t, but Valdimir Skolnek can go wherever he wants.
With a wry smile, Scott pulls a fake mustache from his pocket, and applies it beneath his nose. The sight of this action causes Waylon to chuckle, as he digs a hit out of the bag. Scott makes his way above grounds, giving Waylon the privacy to set a line of cocaine on the gym floor, and inhale it through his left nostril. He immediately tilts his head back, letting the numbness drips down his nasal passage into his throat. A smile creeps across his face, and he jumps back to his feet, walking over to the wrestling ring. He has a seat on the apron, and pulls his cell phone from his pocket. He then opens the bag, and pours a much larger hit out onto the flat surface. Eyeing it for a minute, he dips down and inhales through the other nostril, letting out a loud whoop as it hits him. He sits for a few seconds, allowing the feeling to spread through his body, before turning back and pouring out another line. He inhales it quickly, and puts everything away.
His eyes go wide, as he hops off the apron, and throws a few punches at a phantom opponent. He takes off, jogging a few laps around the gym area, before coming back to the ring. He shakes his head back and forth, flicking drops of sweat onto the gray canvas. Cash hops back up onto the apron, and pulls out his phone and the bag again. He stares at them for a moment, his internal debate happening out loud.
Waylon:Should I? Why not… I’ve only had two… three? Two… it was only two.
He opens the bag, and pours out a little more than he had intended too, but takes it in anyway. He sits on the apron for a little longer, before he realizes that he is still sweating profusely. His heart hasn’t slowed down either. Before he can come to anymore conclusions, he notices his hands begin to tremble. That’s the last thing he notices before everything goes white. He is amidst nothingness for a while, he can’t tell how long. Soon the image of his father, Walter Cash comes floating into view.
Walter:Boy… are you outta your god damn mind?
Waylon tries to speak, but no words come out.
Walter:I tried with you. I don’t know what in the hell I did wrong. You had all the potential in the world, and you turned into this. You coulda been somebody.
Waylon’s rage finally allows him to break his silence.
Waylon:I am somebody, you old fuck! I’m somethin’ better than you ever thought of bein’!
Walter:I guess it don’t much matter now. You went and overdosed like a god damn fool. Now you got a choice. You can say goodbye to everything. You can pass on to the next world, and leave all your worries behind… or you can be a man, go back, and fix the problems in your life.
Waylon Cash is dumbstruck by this announcement.
Waylon:What?
Walter:I don’t know if I can spell it out anymore. You’re dead right now son. They’re rushin’ you to the hospital, and it’s up to you to decide what happens.
Waylon:You mean… I could be done with all of it? The pain, the stress, people tryin’ to kill me? All gone?
Walter:If you want to be a child about it, then yeah. What the hell is wrong with you? If you’re not gonna go back and make things right, go back for the wonderful lady that’s cryin’ over your body! Go back for the people who look up to you! Go back for all the people that put their time, sweat, and blood into makin' somethin' outta your sorry ass!
Waylon stares off into the nothing for a moment. A silent battle rages behind his eyes. His eyes shoot back and forth, as if looking at two invisible paths. It takes a few minutes, but the battle stops, and he seems to come to a conclusion. Words escape his lips, too quiet for even himself to hear.
Walter:What was that? Put some bass in your voice.
Waylon:Send me back.
Walter:Damn right… idiot.
The white nothingness surrounding Waylon quickly gives way to a blur of color and light. Cash feels the sensation of falling backwards. He reaches for something to grab onto as he goes faster and faster, but there is nothing. Colors whirl around him, and the force of falling eventually causes him to black out. When he wakes up, he keeps his eyes closed. The first thing he notices is that his throat is incredibly sore. He then realizes that he is laying on his back, on a soft surface. He slowly blinks one eye open, and closes it immediately. The light from above seems to pierce his brain, sending a shock of pain through his whole body.
Roxxy:Waylon?! Guys! Guys, he's moving!
Waylon hears the hurried footsteps rushing into his room, and tries once again to open his eyes. It hurts, but not as bad this time. He slowly look round the room, and sees a group of blurry shapes that he can almost identify.
Waylon:Wh-what happ...
He feels the cool palm of his fiance's hand gently press against his forehead to keep him from moving too much.
Roxxy:Relax baby. The doctor is going to write it up as a seizure, but you... you overdosed hon.
She can barely choke out the words. The blurry figures start to come into focus now. Waylon sees his fiance first, her eyes bloodshot, her cheeks soaked with tears. Next to her is Scott Savage, sipping away at a cup of coffee. Waylon sees the guilt in his eyes, but is certain no one else can. Trent Page stands at the foot of his bed, resting on a set of crutches.
Trent:You're lucky I came over. You gave us a hell of a scare, Tex.
Waylon:But... but...
Waylon tries to find words, but a thick fog seems to have occupied his brain.
Roxxy:Don't strain yourself baby. You've been out almost eight hours. Just try to relax.
Roxxanne gives Trent a look, and he takes his cue.
Trent:Hey Scott, why don't we head down and grab some coffee from the cafeteria.
Scott:I already have coffee.
Trent:You know, for a guy who graduated from law school, you can be pretty damn stupid sometimes.
Scott:Huh?... oh, right. Let's go then.
They exit the room, leaving Waylon and Roxxy alone. She has a seat in the chair by his bed side, and wraps her hand around his. She sniffs back a tear, and stares at the beeping monitor on the other side of the bed, not wanting to look at her fiance.
Roxxy:I can't-
Waylon:Stop. I know what you're gonna say. I'm done. It's over. I'll never touch it again.
Roxxanne is surprised into silence. Not just by her fiance's words, but by the new found strength in his voice.
Waylon:I ain't never felt nothin' like that before, and I don't ever wanna feel like that again. I'll never touch it again. You got my word on that.
She gives him a smile and a nod, as her hand tightens slightly around his fingers. They sit in silence for a few minutes, before a nurse comes knocking at the door. She peeks her head in with a tired smile.
Nurse:Mr. Cash, you have a visitor.
Waylon:Another one? I'm a popular guy today.
The nurse disappears into the hallway, allowing a tall, barrel chested man in a blue three piece suit to walk through the door. Blake Updegraff III smiles at Waylon from beneath a head of perfectly coiffed hair.
Blake:It seems one of my finest pupils has been bested by an entirely avoidable opponent.
Waylon:Save the speech Doc. I'm quittin'.
The well dressed man lets out a derisive chuckle.
Blake:Do you really think it's that easy? You just overdosed on cocaine, and you expect me to just leave because you insist you are quitting? You are smarter than that, Waylon.
The wrestler rolls his eyes, but says nothing.
Blake:I went home last time because I thought you were adult enough to handle this. I thought I had taught you better. Apparently I was wrong. I clearly have more teaching to do.
Waylon looks like he might argue, but he gets cut off by Scott Savage bursting into the room.
Scott:We might have a slight problem.
Waylon:What?
Scott:Well, it must be a slow news day, because every station in town has a van outside.
Waylon:Shit.
Scott:It's ok. I'm planning on going out to make a statement. Maybe that will get them to back off... probably not though.
Blake:We could always-
Waylon:Here's what we're gonna do. Scot, you go out and make a statement. Roxxanne, while he's doin' that, you put Trent in a wheelchair and cover him with a blanket. Take him out the front door and load him into a car quick. They might think he's me and follow you. Blake, hand me my phone. It's in the pocket of my jeans over there.
Roxxy:What are you doing?
Waylon:I'm gonna say what I gotta say before anyone else gets a hold of me. Go on now. The longer this takes, the more reporters are gonna show up!
Everyone runs out the door, as Blake tosses Waylon his phone. The wrestler fiddles with it for a moment, before finding the camera feature, and hitting record. He pans up and down the different wires and tubes leading to his body, saying nothing at first. He gives the camera a good shot of the hospital room, before turning the lens on himself.
Waylon:Doesn't look like much fun, does it? It ain't. I'm comin' to you from a hospital bed to make a point. There ain't a damn thing anyone can do to stop Waylon Cash. Look at me. I had a seizure, and I'm still gonna walk into One and whip D-Day's ass! In fact, I'm gonna look better than ever. I'm inde-fuckin-structible! Forget about killin' me, there ain't nothin' on earth that can even slow me down!
Waylon garbs the wires that run to the sticky pads on his chest, and rips them away form him. The machine goes nuts, causing a nurse to run into the room. Waylon lets out a growl, that sends her scurrying back into the hallway. Cash turns and sits up, before carefully removing the IV needle from his hand.
Waylon:You gotta understand somethin' Donny. Hardcore Hell is my match. I ain't never lost one, and I ain't ever gonna. I'm so in tune with this match that, not only do I already know every move I'm gonna make, I know what moves YOU'RE gonna try. I can see this whole match play out in my head, and it don't look good for D-Day. OF course, it never looked good for him. From the moment he decided to start a war with S-PAC, his days have been numbered. He's a hell of a fighter, but he picked a fight with a damn war machine, and he's gonna pay for it this Sunday.
Waylon stands up, and grabs his jeans from the chair next to his bed. He slides them on over his bare legs, before ripping off his hospital gown.
Waylon:You made a big mistake D-Day. You thought S-PAC was yours to destroy. You thought your noble intentions would protect you. Problem is, you messed with somethin' you can't beat. It doesn't matter what you were tryin' to do. What you did was wake a beast that's more than willing to rip you limb from limb without a second thought. Your career was dead in the water the day you decided you wanted to take us on. I'm just the one pullin' the trigger.
Waylon slips his feet into the boots at the end of his bed, and slips his white tank top on over his torso.
Waylon:Everything we've done before this, don't matter for shit. It don't matter how many stables are left, it doesn't matter what your mission is, and it sure as hell don't matter who bled first. I'm gonna makes sure you bleed last. I'm gonna do somethin' I been waitin' to do since the first time I met you. I'm gonna end your career. I'm gonna win, and guarantee that you never wrestle for this company again. Think about that D-Day. You'll get to sit your ass on your couch at home, watchin' S-PAC continue to dominate... the whole time knowin' you can't do a damn thing about it... that's gotta sting.
Waylon sits on the window sill, staring out at the parking lot full of news vans. Scott is standing in front of them right now, his hands folded neatly in front of him as he gives his statement.
Waylon:You've come a long way Donnie. You're a huge star here. Problem is that fame don't last. Careers don't last. The joy though... the incredible joy I'm gonna get outta watchin' you walk up that ramp for the last time, your head hanging in defeat... that's the kinda thing that lasts a lifetime. That's the dream that I'm gonna make come true this Sunday. After One, I will always be known as the man who ended your career. That's somethin' I can hang on my wall at the end of a long lifetime.
Waylon runs his hand along the sterile, white wall, drifting off for a minute. He shakes himself from his daze, and turns back to the camera.
Waylon:D-Day, when that door closes, and you're locked inside that cage with me, I want you to take a minute and think. I want you to consider everything you gave up, because you had to take on a force you can't control. I want you to think about all the years you have left, and the fact that you're flushin' 'em down the tubes because you got a grudge against the greatest stable WCF has ever seen. You know what you remind me of? That little dude in the picture from Tiananmen Square, standin' in front of that big ass tank. The only real difference is that at the end of your story, the tank keeps goin', and crushes the idiot who thought he could stop it. I guess it don't matter now. The contract is signed, the stage is set. It's just a matter of time now. See you on Sunday Donnie.
Waylon shuts off his phone, and slides it into his pocket, before making his way out of the hospital room. By the time he gets to the front door, the reporters have all followed Roxxy and Trent out of the parking lot. With a renewed sense of purpose, and a grin spread across his face, he steps across the parking lot toward Scott's black SUV. As he slides into the passenger seat, Scott gives him a sly smile.
Scott :Did you really mean what you said in there? About quitting?
Waylon returns his managers smile.
Waylon:I guess we'll find out.
