Post by Jonny Fly on Dec 27, 2015 13:48:20 GMT -5
Four Weeks Ago
[Scene Begins]
The establishing shot takes us outside of Oaklandish, an artsy and locally inspired clothing store in…you guessed it, Oakland, California. The store is right off one of the busiest streets downtown. Our camera is zoomed in on the front of the building, where the word ‘OAKLANDISH’ displays prominently in neon lettering. At street level a glass façade encased in yellow trimming holds the main entrance. As we shoot in the direction of the building, Steve Orbit enters the scene.
Oh, Steven. We’ve missed you. Orbit is looking as classy as ever. He’s wearing a long white jacket bedazzled entirely with white goose feathers. He has the jacket buttoned up, all the way down to his kneecaps. The space between his feet and knees has found comfort in a pair of western looking authentic alligator boots. Exotic alligator, obviously. That’s all he’s wearing. A feathered goose trench coat and alligator boots. Not even panties. Wait, I mean underwear! He’s suspiciously without his normal lavish gold jewelry at this present moment. You see, its Christmas season and Daddy Orbit owes a lot of hoes some presents. Pimpin’ truly ain’t easy.
Steve-O has approached from the north on the sidewalk, and stops in front of the store. He turns to face the road. He looks left, then right, then down at his ‘more-expensive than Jayson Price’s cumulative therapy bills’ watch. He looks annoyed. Maybe he was here to meet one of his bitches? Maybe she owes him money? Maybe he’s going to strangle said bitch, right here in public, in a true firm-handed pimp manner? Maybe we should get popcorn and watch this unfold…
Oh, nope. He’s waiting for Jonny Fly, who’s just arrived on the sidewalk from the south. Orbit’s annoyed look quickly melts away. He and half-brother exchange a comprehensive series of handshakes and greetings. There’s so much love going on right now. It puts everyone in the holiday spirit. I can hear little Oaklander children singing carols from the rooftops at present moment. What a beautiful sight. Orbit and Fly finally cease their acquaintances, the singing children shut the fuck up, and the duo enter the store. Our scene tags along.
Now what the fuck is this shit?
Fly and Orbit are stopped dead just inside the doorway of Oaklandish. No more than ten yards in front of them, squeezing his frame into perhaps the world’s smallest black leather jacket, is Torture. You know him, that dude from the Hall of Fame and such. Best WCF Hardcore Champion ever. No not the first time, his recent reign. Amazing. Almost as amazing as the fact that he’s able to fit into this fuckin’ jacket. What the hell is he doing? Still unaware as to Fly and Orbit’s presence nearby, Torture takes to a nearby mirror to admire his looks.
Torture: Oh my god. This jacket is fantastic.
“That jacket is also from the little girls section”
...the voice of Jonny Fly cuts through the distance between the front door and where Torture is modeling for himself. Knowing immediately, a smile curls onto Tort’s lips as he slowly turns to face Fly and Orbit.
Torture: Shit, even trying on clothes I command an audience. You guys pay admission to be here?
Orbit: People love to watch trainwrecks. Like the most hated man in WCF history prancin’ around in the little girl’s section of a famous Oakland clothing store. You’ve fallen hard, homie.
Torture: Nah, forget all that nonsense. Tell me seriously, what do you think of this jacket?
Fly: The jacket is a tight virgin vagina. Your body is a twelve inch dick…literally, you’re a dick.
Torture: I don’t get it.
Fly: The word dick in that context is a homonym. I’m saying that not only do you not fit in that jacket like a dick in….
Torture: No, shut up. I got that part. I was ignoring it. I asked you a question about this jacket and you didn’t answer me.
Orbit: I understood his answer perfectly. Maybe you didn’t because the jacket is so tight its restricting blood flow to your brain?
Torture: Wait, you’re criticizing my attire? The guy wearing a blanket made of feathers?
Orbit: Hold the fuck up, homie. No you didn’t just talk about MY jacket. Feel this shit. It’s one-hundred percent goose down. This shit ain’t just no Target-brand regular goose down either. The motherfuckin’ geese who were used to make this jacket were genetically modified to produce the plushest and most beautiful feathers in the MOTHER. FUCKING. WORLD.
Orbit moves closer to Torture and holds his arm out.
Orbit: Touch it.
Torture: I’m not going to touch your jacket.
Orbit: Go ahead. Touch it. Stroke it. Feel the exquisiteness first hand.
Torture: I won’t do it.
Orbit: TOUCH IT.
Torture: FINE!
Torture moves his arm in the direction of Orbit’s jacket. With one finger he strokes one of the feathers comprising the sleeve of the jacket.
Torture: Oh wow, that’s nice. Shit dude, we should layer the inside of this with some CoolWear technology.
Orbit: Hell no, you ain’t commercializing this shit. This is custom, son. Made especially for Steven Reginald Orbit, the motherfuckin’ Oakland Mack himself.
Fly: …wait, your middle name is Reginald?
Orbit: What? No.
Fly: That’s what you just said.
Orbit: Man, forget ya’ll. I gotta go buy some Christmas gifts for the girls. Here’s to hoping they sell see-through panties by the bulk.
Orbit trots off, leaving Fly and Torture – longtime rivals, albeit mostly from a distance – awkwardly staring at one another. Torture is the first to break the silence.
Torture: You know, I’ve never really quite understood why you don’t like me. How did we get to be this way?
Fly: That can’t be a serious question.
Torture: I’m probably one of the top three likable people that’s ever been in WCF. I’ve always been more than cordial with you. I’ve even talked you up once or…well once, I think. I remember that specifically. I did say nice things about you once. Maybe? It may have just been a matter of interpretation.
Fly: You’re a giant piece of shit.
Torture: But so are you! That’s why I don’t understand why we’re not friends!?
Fly: Let me ask you a serious question. Do you remember my first couple of months in WCF?
Torture: Uh…no. Well maybe. Was I main eventing every show and winning every match at that time, or was that before you were around?
Fly: You weren’t wrestling, but you were around and fucking with everyone all the same. You interrupted D-Day’s Wrestler of the Year ceremony. Couldn’t just let him have that moment to himself, right? Then you got involved with the Odin and Corey Black match for the World Title at One. Then for some god damn reason I still don’t understand, you decided to make sure Kalyn James Evans would get a chance at the Television Title against me, when I’d already won the contendership for it and LITERALLY turned the current champion into a vegetable.
Torture: Seriously? You’re upset about that stuff? I thought Jonny Fly had thicker skin than that.
Fly: I tend to believe I’ve had a very consistent temperament during my time in WCF. You fuck with me, I destroy you. That’s how I joined the company of ‘legends’ so quickly. But you, Torture, you portrayed me as something less than you. You laughed off my threats against you back then as just ‘some rookie’ running his mouth. I would have utterly annihilated you. The most hated man in WCF history, run out of the ring by some Television Title wielding scrub who signed a contract just a month earlier. But you left. Maybe ran? I guess that’s just another one of those things that’s a matter of interpretation, right?
Jonny Fly flashes his trademark smirk. Torture’s eyes narrow in response.
Torture: I’m going to be one hundred percent honest with you right now. I…don’t remember any of that shit. Like…none of it. We had beef back then? I do remember KJE. I do imagine I just wanted to…you know…see her…wrestle…a lot. You get where I’m going with that, right? It wasn’t anything personal.
Fly: Do you really think I give a fuck if it was personal or not? You had no business involving yourself in my world. The motherfuckin’ Jonny Fly era didn’t take a nap when some old-timer wanted to watch a piece of ass flop around in the ring.
Torture shakes his head and takes in a deep sigh.
Torture: Even if that was my rationale, I mean…can you REALLY blame me? Tits and stuff, man. It’s a potent cocktail and I wanted to put my cock in her tail.
Fly: Well, when you put it like that…
Smiles simultaneously appear on both men’s faces.
Fly: I suppose it was a long time ago. I should get over it.
Torture: I have nothing but love for you, Fly. Shit, maybe one day we can work together. Jonny Fly and Torture, that’d be the team of all teams.
Fly: Maybe so, but I’m not really wrestling these days. I’ve given that up. Maybe for good. Who knows?
Torture: I’ve been there. It always seems to suck you back in though, doesn’t it?
Fly nods silently to the response.
Torture: Never say never, Fly. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you in the ring soon enough.
Torture winks at Fly. He then removes the jacket (using way more effort than should be necessary) and folds it over his arm.
Torture: I’ve got to pay for this jacket and get out of here. I have a date tonight.
Fly: You’re not actually thinking about wearing that jacket, are you?
Torture: Are you kidding me? OF COURSE I’m going to wear this jacket. With a scarf…and capri pants…with cowboy boots.
Fly: I don’t even know what to say to that.
Torture: Well, just don’t be too jealous, Fly. We can’t all look this good.
Fly: None of this makes any sense. That jacket. Your attire. The fact that you came all the way to Oakland for a simple date.
Torture: Rumor has it, this is where you go when you want one of the finest bitches.
Fly cocks his head at the statement. Torture smiles, and quickly turns and walks away in the direction of the checkout lines carrying his new favorite jacket triumphantly.
Fly: Hey wait! You’re dating a hooker? ONE OF ORBITS!?
There’s no response from Torture, who continues walking away. Fly puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head in disbelief.
Fly: That motherfucker is trying to steal my gimmick! I’m supposed to bang all the hookers.
There’s nothing else to see here. The scene comes to a close.
[Scene Ends]
Three Weeks Ago
[Scene Begins]
We begin in Club Violet, Oakland’s beloved stripper and skank superstore. The maestro of this whore orchestra is Steven Orbit, the most famous resident of the bay area’s shittiest city. Club Violet is a, well, club. Not like the delicious sandwich club that your wife or girlfriend should spend all her time in the kitchen making you, or the large bat-like object club, but a social place offering beverages, dancing, and all that fun shit club. This one just happens to also offer naked bitches who will have sex with you a small donation to their college fund.
Club Violet consists of two floors with a basement. The basement is where the naughty things happen. The main floor is where the legitimate business transactions occur, or in other words, that’s where your dollar bills go to die. The upper floor is the VIP area and administrative offices. The decoration of the establishment is upscale, and the décor features mostly dark red, black, and purple coloring. We’re in Orbit’s office upstairs, where both men are lounging on a leather couch positioned on the left-hand side of the room. The couch faces a television that’s mounted onto the wall on the right-hand side of the room. That television is tuned to the latest edition of WCF’s Sunday Night Slam.
Orbit and Fly, with absent expressions, are watching nearly in horror as Jayson Price does his best impression of a ‘bad guy’ as he attacks Torture’s brother, Anthony. Their interest peaks at the appearance of Creeping Death, Corey Black’s alter ego. Then lastly, they fixate on Torture’s face – the anger and hatred in his eyes - just before he leaves the ring to find his brother. As the broadcast goes to commercial, Orbit immediately directs his gaze to Fly. The self-proclaimed most dominant wrestler in WCF history has…that look. The same look seen on Torture’s face just seconds ago on screen. Fly slowly stands to his feet.
Fly: That’s…
Fly’s words trail off almost immediately. He’s searching for the right thing to say to express what he’s thinking, but this is a man who has had his fair share of ‘bad guy’ moments. Fly is one of the viler, narcissistic, and criminal wrestlers that’s ever entered the WCF crazy bin. He finally settles on a word to say.
Fly: Lame.
It’s not the most eloquent word, but it does the trick.
Fly: Fuck man, I thought Price died like five month ago?
Orbit shrugs his shoulders.
Orbit: No idea. It’s Price. Who cares?
Fly: I mean, is this shit supposed to shocking? Is this supposed to be ‘edgy?’ Am I’m supposed to believe those two cupcakes have now been demonized to the dark side? Fuck_this_absurd_nonsense. This is beyond dumb. Black and Price are pussies. Price is a five-year running punch line to wrestlers new and old, he’s a laughingstock. Black has been playing Mr. Mentor for the last year to a bunch of progeny. Now all of a sudden they run out of Midol and they’re torturing motherfuckers? REALLY? Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
Orbit: Again, who cares?
Fly: I blame myself.
Orbit: Hold up, what? What are you talkin’ about?
Fly: I should have shut these two down a long time ago. I should have never let them carry on as Pantheon. When I left, I should have burned the whole thing down. Both of them included. Whatever the fuck is going on between Torture and them, it most certainly traces back to their allegiance under Pantheon and inability to find relevance for the group without me as its leader. Like a sick fuckin’ dog, they need to be put down. It should have happened a long time ago. This isn’t just Torture’s fight. This shouldn’t just be his fight.
Orbit: That seems like a stretch, bro. They got their own little triangle shit goin’ on. We haven’t been in the picture for months.
Fly: I can’t watch this happen. I won’t watch these two idiots go any further. The sad reality is that WCF doesn’t need Price or CD anymore. They’re barely midcarders anymore. Black is a shit leader so that whole ‘sage veteran’ shtick doesn’t go very far. He has no eye for talent, and the best and brightest talent in this company have no respect for him. Is it any wonder that the Corey Black Pantheon was such a fantastic trainwreck? Price is an unstable child who’s spent the past five years trying to figure out his own direction. He’s a cat chasing his own tail. He’s just going round…and round…and round. He’s a stale character. He has no dimension. Nobody is on the edge of their seat wondering what he’s going to do next. It’s all one long monotone novel. It’s a novel people have tried to put back on their bookshelf a long time ago, but it magically springs back to life – literally – and forces itself down your god damn throat. Nobody. Gives. A. Fuck. About. Jayson. Price.
Orbit: Shit, you know I ain’t gonna argue with that. I still don’t see why this whole thing has got YOU worked up. They been this way forever.
Fly: Maybe it’s the cumulative effect? Maybe it’s just the fact that they’re more than just a nuisance at this point. They’ve left their shell. Creeping Death is back. Price is abusing defenseless mutes.
Orbit: Since when do you care about people?
Fly: Nah, I don’t care about people. People are naturally pieces of shit. Think about it; think about Slam’s ratings every week. Innately, people love violence. Their saving grace is that most grow up in a social construct that condemns certain behaviors. They’re herded into a line and shuffled forward through their lives on the straight and narrow. I’ve embraced the violence, I’ve embraced that part of my life. I was never able to shake that. Where I’m from, the line of what’s right and what’s wrong is grayed out by what it takes to survive. Price and Black haven’t lived that. That’s not their background.
I’ve only hurt people who’ve deserved it or pushed me to that point. Even our own fucking mother deserved it. When’s the last time you saw me in a hospital persecuting some motherfucker’s brother because that guy just happens to be a better wrestler than me? I’ve always dealt with my problems in the ring, and I’ve destroyed dozens of wrestlers for less than the charade these two are pulling. Fuck man, when you and I had our shit did we not settle it in the ring? Even Seth and I settled our problems in the ring. I didn’t go rape and murder Shannon over it. I’m dead fuckin’ serious, Steve. Enough is enough. Once upon a time it was these two trying to shepherd me forward on their path of righteousness. Now they’re the ones that are lost. I’m going to put them back in line.
Orbit nods his head, reluctantly agreeing with Fly.
Orbit: Well then, I guess you know what you have to do.
Fly immediately grabs his phone from his pocket. He dials a number and sets it to his ear. Within seconds, the individual on the other end of the line answers.
Fly: This is Jonny Fly.
…
Fly: Look, I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know where you’re going. I can’t even imagine what you’re thinking right now. But I will tell you this, anything you need done…I’ll do it.
…
Fly: I don’t think you understand. When I say anything, I mean that by its strictest definition. Any_thing. I’ll suck every last god damn breath out of them if you want me to.
…
Fly: That’s it? That’s all you want?
…
Fly: I can make that happen. It’d be my pleasure.
…
Fly: I’ll see you there.
Fly hangs up the phone. He turns and looks toward Orbit.
Fly: I need to pack. I’m heading to Indianapolis.
With that statement, Fly turns and exits the office. Our scene immediately goes dark.
[Scene Ends]
Two Weeks Ago
[Scene Begins]
The door simply reads ‘Torture.’ It’s engraved onto a placard hung on a door at Bankers Life Fieldhouse. From behind us, a dark shadow creeps onto the door. We spin around to see the face of four-time WCF World Champion Jonny Fly; his first appearance at a WCF event in months. Fly doesn’t bother knocking, per his own personal tradition. He opens the door and walks straight into Torture’s locker room.
The man himself is sitting silently on a bench in front of his locker. The locker door is open, and a picture of his brother has been stuck onto the inside of the door with a magnet. Torture simply stares at the picture. Fly has brought a duffel bag with his ring attire, which he drops onto the ground. He walks over and takes a seat next to Torture on the bench.
Fly: How’s he doing?
Torture: He’ll be doing better after tonight.
Fly: I’m here to make sure of that.
Torture: You know Fly, I have to be honest with you. There’s one thing this business has taught me, and everyone else, time after time. Nothing is free. What’s your angle in agreeing to do this?
Fly: No angle.
Torture: Don’t bullshit me. You don’t care about me. You don’t care about my brother. You’re here for selfish reasons. I’m okay with that, don’t get me wrong. I understand how it works. I just want to know your motives before we go out there together. That’s all.
Fly: We have a mutual dislike for Corey Black and Jayson Price.
Torture: Don’t you mean Creeping Death?
Fly: I don’t care what he calls himself. He’s the same fuckin’ scrub of a wrestler I’ve beat multiple times. He’s the same hanger-on leeching off the name of MY stable, the stable I made the greatest in WCF history. And Price…for fuck sake, who even cares anymore what he’s doing? It’s always yawntastic.
The comment brings a small smile to Torture’s lips.
Fly: Price is WCF herpes. He never, ever, goes away.
Torture: So much potential wasted. Honestly, when you boil it all down I think his only real problem with me is that he once had hopes and dreams of being like me. But he kept blowing his chances. Then I told him he was fucking up and he got butthurt and it’s been that way forever. He can’t get past it, he can’t get over it. That’s Price though. He’s the type of guy who if you push, they crawl back into their shell. He’s the sensitive sort. No spine. No back bone. There’s nothing there. He’s a soft fuck. That’s why he saves his worst performances for the biggest stages. That’s why he held a World Title for 16 days before tapping out and pissing it away. That’s why he kills himself off at least once a year when things get tough and he doesn’t know what else to do.
Fly: I was in a stable with him for a long time. He needed babied, anyone will tell you that. He’s a high maintenance motherfucker. Black himself has said it dozens of times, and yet somehow their still together and doing whatever the hell they want to call last week. If he’s been mad at you this entire time for things you’ve said about him in the past, then why has Black been getting away with telling him he’s a dumbass for years?
Torture: Is it not obvious? It’s a hatred toward me bred from jealousy. He’s not jealous of Corey Black. No matter how many times Black may beat him, Price thinks he’s better. With me, he doesn’t know that. Nobody else thinks it either. He wants to believe it, he wants it be true, but that’s all he’s got, and that gnaws at him. That eats at him. He wants so badly to be TORTURE. He wants to be the most feared wrestler in WCF history. He wants the glory and admiration. He wants Seth Lerch to sing his praises every time he’s on television. Black is no threat. He’s a corpse, and a corpse that’s been cuddling with him for years. Price has the Logan disease. They can’t get over me. They can’t move on. Their careers are stuck in neutral. I broke them, and they’ve spent the better part of the last half decade blowing in the wind because of it. For Price, this is desperation. This is a kid who’s been in timeout so long that he feels that he has nothing to lose by trying to escape.
Fly: For Black?
Torture: I think CD just wants to put some life into his career. I think he wants people talking about him. I think he wants people to fear him again. It’s been a long time since he’s been ‘that guy,’ you know? I see how these new guys talk about him, there’s no respect there. Black knows he can’t compete with them, so what does he do? He turns to an old enemy to try and spread his message. There’s no reason for him to be doing what he’s doing. None. It doesn’t make sense. Unlike Price, Black has beaten me. Somehow. This isn’t some grudge bullshit. This is just simply a man who’s at his breaking point. The sand in his hour glass is just about up. This is his big move. Creeping Death 2.0. It’s fucking predictable.
Fly: Nobody cares about Creeping Death. It’s still the same wrestler, just with some Terry Roberts dress up shit going on. That’s supposed to impress me? That’s supposed to scare me – Jonny motherfuckin’ Fly?
Fly rolls his eyes and laughs slightly.
Torture: Exactly. The end of a wrestling career can be a bitter and ugly thing to witness. We can’t all just pop back in whenever we want and have an epic Hardcore Title reign, you know? Price and Black are done. They’re grasping for any reason to pump life into their flat careers. They need to go. Tonight, we make them look across the ring to the two men who will happy to take those careers from them, once and for all. It’s the two men who they know better than anyone else in the industry. The two men who they’ve both latched onto and followed around looking for success. Is it any wonder why it was you that was always said to be the next Torture, versus Price? Why were you always compared to me, and not Corey Black?
Fly smiles and mutters one single word.
Fly: Dominance.
Torture: Black’s accomplishments are based on longevity. Price’s accomplishments are far less, but it’s the same concept. Our accomplishments are much more profound, and were done in an acute and awe-inspiring manner. It’s been a long time since Black and Price have experienced any sort of dominance, if ever. Let’s go show them just what they’re up against. For Anthony.
Fly nods his head and stands up on his feet. Torture follows.
Fly: …and for us. It’s time to shed some baggage from our lives. I’m ready to end this shit.
Fly and Torture exchange a hand shake. Just minutes from now, he’ll be revealed as Torture’s partner at One against Price and Black. As the scene begins to dissolve away, Fly begins to change into his ring clothes for the first time since the summer.
[Scene Ends]
One Week Ago
[Scene Begins]
It’s a new day in Oakland, California. The dark times are over. No, that doesn’t mean that Steve Orbit and friends have been exiled to San Francisco. I’m saying that there was a time not that long ago when Jonny Fly’s hot fry production facility was burned down by[, uh, suspicious circumstances. But the days when the country’s number one producer of those crunchy and spicy potato sticks are over. A new plant has been constructed in the same exact spot as the old one. It looks the exact same. The same people work there. The same man runs the plant. It’s like that whole burning thing never even happened.
So, here we are. Staring at a large red sign reading ‘ConAgra Foods – Regional Headquarters.’ Underneath the sign reads ‘Plant Manager: Jonny Fly.’ This sign is stuck into the ground just outside the plant, surrounded by beautiful shrubbery and trees and all that fun stuff. Our camera moves from the sign to the plant resting in the distance. The scene then jumps to the entrance, which has been pushed open allowing us to enter the facility.
We enter the building and move forward down a long hallway. About ten feet down the hall we come to a sign that directs us to the administrative offices to the right. We hang a right and walk the length of the hallway before taking another right and heading down another hall that ends at a door with the name ‘Jonny Fly’ hung on it. The door isn’t closed all of the way, so we push it open to reveal Fly himself sitting behind his desk. Fly is busy signing some papers. In complete contrast to Seth Lerch, he appears to be taking the time to read each paper before giving it his signature of approval. He looks up to spot the cameraman peering into his office. He lifts his head to respond.
Fly: Ah. I’ve been expecting this visit. Jonny Fly promo time. This is sure to ruin some people’s Christmas spirit. Feel free to get set-up. I’m ready.
The cameraman enters the office. While still shooting, he sets the camera up across from Fly’s desk, centering him in the shot. A signal is given to Fly, who begins to speak into the camera.
Fly: Well, hello there WCF. I’ve missed you. I live a busy life, one of which I will not apologize for. But it makes these little meetings increasingly rare. I’m much more content to watch and let others have their fun. Only sometimes, it seems, my presence is needed.
Fly pauses for a moment, staring at the camera without emotion.
Fly: I think that brings us straight to the question of why I’ve returned for this match. Torture and Fly versus Price and Black. There’s some ridiculous and convoluted bullshit that’s been going on involving Torture, Corey Black Death, and Jayson Price. Everyone knows that. There’s been backstabbing abound, old rivalries renewed, ended, and then renewed again. Corey Black changed his name to his old name. Jayson Price tried to kill someone, but couldn’t do it, because his dick was inverted well before Bruce Jenner made it popular. But where do I fit in? What is Jonny Fly doing teaming with Torture?
Yes, I’ve been on the sideline chilling for the last five months while all of this has been playing out. Now all of a sudden I’ve magically appeared on the card. It’s a question that can be answered rather simply. Because…
Fuck Corey Black. Fuck Jayson Price.
Fly’s expression changes to a cocky smirk.
Fly: If anyone knows anything about my career in WCF, you know that Black, Price, and I have a storied history together…and sometimes not together. Price and I have fought over World Titles. Black and I have fought over World Titles. We’re some of the more prominent members in the history of Pantheon. We’ve won a Trios Cup together, and host of other things. But it wasn’t all that long ago that I realized what people had been trying to tell me all along. Corey Black and Jayson Price are fuckin’ parasites.
Fly stops and takes a deep breath. He blows it out slowly, maintaining his composure as he continues to talk.
Fly: A parasite needs another organism to survive. It survives by eating off another, and giving nothing in return. That was the relationship between Black, Price and myself. I gave them everything, relevance, credibility, and purpose in a company that had already turned the page and spit them out. It was I who brought each of them into Pantheon. I brought Corey Black back from IWF after I had sent him there with his tail between his legs after my first World Title victory. I brought Price back from the unemployment line after Seth fired him, mostly because he’s the very definition of an average wrestler. In all this time later, those motherfuckers are still playing the buddy game.
Pantheon is long dead. Ninety-eight percent of WCF knows this. The other two percent are Black and Price. They don’t know what else to do. They’re lost. The glitz and glamour of being a Pantheon member died when I officially left the group over a year ago. Yet, there was Black and Price, still trying so fucking hard to keep something going that they didn’t even start to begin with. It was pathetic. If I’m proud of anything that I did over the summer during my fourth month stint wrestling, it was that I destroyed Pantheon members every_single_time I faced them. Rivals and allies both were telling these guys that there is no Pantheon, and never will be a Pantheon, without Jonny Fly. Yet, as the losses piled up, as other stables dominated them, they continued on their fool’s mission.
Oh, but Corey Black knows talent. Jayson Price is Mr. Every Title. These guys can resurrect the group from the dead. No. These two fuckin’ idiots can’t even win a Television Title in this era, and they think they can replicate what Pantheon did? Mediocrity is a curse in which both of them are blessed. This curse has turned into a disease that they can’t cure. It’s seeped into their blood and poisoned their minds. Now they’re acting out, like children who had their candy taken away. There it is, ladies and gentlemen. There’s your rationale for all this bullshit. Pretty fucking dumb, right?
From my perspective, you can only watch Corey Black cost you Trios Cup Tournaments or Tag Team titles so many times before you wise up. You can only listen to Price talk shit to his own team members on Twitter so much before realizing that he’s a bigger clown than Jack Happy and Switches put together. Price has spent the last four years regurgitating the same god damn schtick he was doing when I first started here. This dude is either a drunk train wreck, crazy, angry at the world, or he’s playing dead. He’s a motherfucking cliché times four. It really wasn’t much of a surprise to turn on the television last week and see him doing the angry at the world routine. I learned while teaming with Price that he’ll never change, and that’s exactly why I KNOW that he’ll sink in this match. Torture and Jonny Fly on the other side of the ring? Price may faint with anxiety before he even touches the canvas.
Corey Black is no better. This was a guy who was once a trusted sidekick. Emphasis on the word sidekick. Black knew what his role was in Pantheon. I did the heavy lifting, I was the leader, and he was there for name value. He was simply asked to not fuck up, which ended up being pretty god damn difficult for him toward the end. Black was enjoying the ride. He did matches against guys like Adam Young, Doc Henry, and Jordan Caliban so as to protect his resume, and anything bigger than that he needed to ride the Jonny Fly train into the winner’s circle. It was a nice transition to retirement for him. A fun and rewarding final act. He rode Torture’s success in the early days, and he was able to round it off by hitching his wagon to Jonny Fly at the end. He was a henchmen for the two most dominant wrestlers in history at their peak. That’s a good gig, man. That’s a story he could have told his grandkids about. But – the motherfucker never went away at the end.
Now look where we are. I beat Black…again…just six months ago. What’s changed? Some face paint? A new name tag? Fuck off. I’m going to shred that dude once again. They’re going to plaster my fuckin’ beautiful face over top of his in the WCF Hall of Fame. I am everything Corey Black wants all of you to believe that he is. I’m the motherfuckin’ reaper. I don’t need to change persona to be that person, that’s the Jonny Fly status quo. Win, at all costs, and without any care for the carnage left in my wake. That’s why Black was always the sidekick. That’s why he has no business being on the opposite side of the ring with me. There is as much of a Corey Black-Jonny Fly rivalry as there was a Corey Black-Doc Henry rivalry. A bunch of matches together doesn’t make a rivalry, not when the result is always…ALWAYS…one-sided.
You know, this is all so very ironic. Black and Price – the bad guys. The heels. The crazy people. Does nobody remember how I was treated by them when I gave up on Pantheon and realigned with Steve Orbit? I was portrayed as a traitor. I was vilified. What the fuck happened to Jonny Fly? Why is he beating up on his mother? I’d lost it again, they said. Not that I cared, absolutely not. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. I chose my brother over Black and Price. I chose a different path than what WCF and Pantheon could provide me. But here we are a few months later and this who god damn act looks pretty fuckin’ familiar, does it not?
Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but I’m not flattered. I’m pissed. Enough is enough. Does anyone want to see another fucking Price and Black tag-team? Not to mention this isn’t their fuckin’ gimmick. These guys being evil is the equivalent of some abstinent school kid fucking his teacher…in the ass. If they’re going to bore us by repeating Jonny Fly angles – Pantheon, turning evil, etc. – could they at least mix up the team a little? I’ve spread the wealth around. I’ve teamed with everyone at some point or another. Price and Black are like the awkward nerds at a school dance. They just keep to themselves. It’s some West Virginia style incest shit over in their locker room.
Raise your hands if you want to see the crazy (again) Jayson Price and Creeping Death saga play out? Yeah, nobody. Fuck off, you two. This shit sucks. What are they going to do next, put Seth in jail? Frame Steve Orbit for murder? Get kidnapped and shot? Start a criminal enterprise? Get Bobby Cairo elected for mayor of New York City? Turn Gravedigger into your personal hitman? Form a stable and name it after a roman building? Find out you had a black half-brother? Start eating more hot fries per capita than any man in the motherfuckin’ universe?
Fly points down at his crotch.
Get off these nuts. You two can’t do what I do. You can’t recreate what I’ve done. You_two_are_fucking_dead_in_the_water. You’re in a dingy without an oar. A life raft with a hole in the bottom. A canoe on dry land. Let me tell you what you’re going to do, and all of you motherfuckers can quote me on this. Black and Price are going to tread water for three months before thinking better of it. Black will go back to being…well, Black, and start tutoring underprivileged Flyjobbers again. Price will probably play dead for a fifth time. Maybe even have a funeral this time around to really play it up – “IT COULD BE REAL THIS TIME GUYZ! SRSLY! ARE YOU INTRIGUED? LIKEMEPLZ.EXE.”
I may very well return to this office at the match to resume my business dealings. Torture may return to his business as well. But we’ll still be around, on the fringes, where we should be. Torture may decide to drop in and hold any title he wants for another year. I may return to recapture my Trios Cup crown. Maybe go for that fifth World Title. Who knows? But Price and Black – they won’t be around. At least not in this current pathetic form. Torture and I will make sure of it. The match result is not in question. Torture’s brother will be avenged. This is simply the last chapter of the book. It needs an ending, and we’re going to author it.
Fly pauses once again. His breathing slows as he resumes speaking.
Fly: The Torture and Jonny Fly team may very well be a one-time event. For so long people have wanted to see the two of us in the ring together, but as opponents. The clash of two dominant era in WCF history. And while our appearance in the ring together serves the purpose of destruction, it is not of one another. This is about clearing the deck. Putting a final exclamation point to the tangled web that exists between the four of us. When you think about it like that…of course I’m in this match. Who better to be standing over Price and Black at the end of this saga, than Torture and Jonny Fly? The two men who they are most synonymous with, either as partners or as competitors.
Fly’s cocky smirk returns.
Fly: But let there be no mistake, this match is not a competition. This is no once in a lifetime matchup of Hall of Famers and future Hall of Famers. This is an execution. This is a beheading of the never-ending Corey Black-Jayson Price romance…and in a twist that even Creeping Death can appreciate, I’m the motherfucker wielding the giant machete.
…
Fly: I’ll see you kids real soon…for the last fuckin’ time.
Fly winks at the camera and then motions for the camera to cut. After a few seconds zoomed in on Fly’s face, the camera fades to black.
[Scene Ends]
[Scene Begins]
The establishing shot takes us outside of Oaklandish, an artsy and locally inspired clothing store in…you guessed it, Oakland, California. The store is right off one of the busiest streets downtown. Our camera is zoomed in on the front of the building, where the word ‘OAKLANDISH’ displays prominently in neon lettering. At street level a glass façade encased in yellow trimming holds the main entrance. As we shoot in the direction of the building, Steve Orbit enters the scene.
Oh, Steven. We’ve missed you. Orbit is looking as classy as ever. He’s wearing a long white jacket bedazzled entirely with white goose feathers. He has the jacket buttoned up, all the way down to his kneecaps. The space between his feet and knees has found comfort in a pair of western looking authentic alligator boots. Exotic alligator, obviously. That’s all he’s wearing. A feathered goose trench coat and alligator boots. Not even panties. Wait, I mean underwear! He’s suspiciously without his normal lavish gold jewelry at this present moment. You see, its Christmas season and Daddy Orbit owes a lot of hoes some presents. Pimpin’ truly ain’t easy.
Steve-O has approached from the north on the sidewalk, and stops in front of the store. He turns to face the road. He looks left, then right, then down at his ‘more-expensive than Jayson Price’s cumulative therapy bills’ watch. He looks annoyed. Maybe he was here to meet one of his bitches? Maybe she owes him money? Maybe he’s going to strangle said bitch, right here in public, in a true firm-handed pimp manner? Maybe we should get popcorn and watch this unfold…
Oh, nope. He’s waiting for Jonny Fly, who’s just arrived on the sidewalk from the south. Orbit’s annoyed look quickly melts away. He and half-brother exchange a comprehensive series of handshakes and greetings. There’s so much love going on right now. It puts everyone in the holiday spirit. I can hear little Oaklander children singing carols from the rooftops at present moment. What a beautiful sight. Orbit and Fly finally cease their acquaintances, the singing children shut the fuck up, and the duo enter the store. Our scene tags along.
Now what the fuck is this shit?
Fly and Orbit are stopped dead just inside the doorway of Oaklandish. No more than ten yards in front of them, squeezing his frame into perhaps the world’s smallest black leather jacket, is Torture. You know him, that dude from the Hall of Fame and such. Best WCF Hardcore Champion ever. No not the first time, his recent reign. Amazing. Almost as amazing as the fact that he’s able to fit into this fuckin’ jacket. What the hell is he doing? Still unaware as to Fly and Orbit’s presence nearby, Torture takes to a nearby mirror to admire his looks.
Torture: Oh my god. This jacket is fantastic.
“That jacket is also from the little girls section”
...the voice of Jonny Fly cuts through the distance between the front door and where Torture is modeling for himself. Knowing immediately, a smile curls onto Tort’s lips as he slowly turns to face Fly and Orbit.
Torture: Shit, even trying on clothes I command an audience. You guys pay admission to be here?
Orbit: People love to watch trainwrecks. Like the most hated man in WCF history prancin’ around in the little girl’s section of a famous Oakland clothing store. You’ve fallen hard, homie.
Torture: Nah, forget all that nonsense. Tell me seriously, what do you think of this jacket?
Fly: The jacket is a tight virgin vagina. Your body is a twelve inch dick…literally, you’re a dick.
Torture: I don’t get it.
Fly: The word dick in that context is a homonym. I’m saying that not only do you not fit in that jacket like a dick in….
Torture: No, shut up. I got that part. I was ignoring it. I asked you a question about this jacket and you didn’t answer me.
Orbit: I understood his answer perfectly. Maybe you didn’t because the jacket is so tight its restricting blood flow to your brain?
Torture: Wait, you’re criticizing my attire? The guy wearing a blanket made of feathers?
Orbit: Hold the fuck up, homie. No you didn’t just talk about MY jacket. Feel this shit. It’s one-hundred percent goose down. This shit ain’t just no Target-brand regular goose down either. The motherfuckin’ geese who were used to make this jacket were genetically modified to produce the plushest and most beautiful feathers in the MOTHER. FUCKING. WORLD.
Orbit moves closer to Torture and holds his arm out.
Orbit: Touch it.
Torture: I’m not going to touch your jacket.
Orbit: Go ahead. Touch it. Stroke it. Feel the exquisiteness first hand.
Torture: I won’t do it.
Orbit: TOUCH IT.
Torture: FINE!
Torture moves his arm in the direction of Orbit’s jacket. With one finger he strokes one of the feathers comprising the sleeve of the jacket.
Torture: Oh wow, that’s nice. Shit dude, we should layer the inside of this with some CoolWear technology.
Orbit: Hell no, you ain’t commercializing this shit. This is custom, son. Made especially for Steven Reginald Orbit, the motherfuckin’ Oakland Mack himself.
Fly: …wait, your middle name is Reginald?
Orbit: What? No.
Fly: That’s what you just said.
Orbit: Man, forget ya’ll. I gotta go buy some Christmas gifts for the girls. Here’s to hoping they sell see-through panties by the bulk.
Orbit trots off, leaving Fly and Torture – longtime rivals, albeit mostly from a distance – awkwardly staring at one another. Torture is the first to break the silence.
Torture: You know, I’ve never really quite understood why you don’t like me. How did we get to be this way?
Fly: That can’t be a serious question.
Torture: I’m probably one of the top three likable people that’s ever been in WCF. I’ve always been more than cordial with you. I’ve even talked you up once or…well once, I think. I remember that specifically. I did say nice things about you once. Maybe? It may have just been a matter of interpretation.
Fly: You’re a giant piece of shit.
Torture: But so are you! That’s why I don’t understand why we’re not friends!?
Fly: Let me ask you a serious question. Do you remember my first couple of months in WCF?
Torture: Uh…no. Well maybe. Was I main eventing every show and winning every match at that time, or was that before you were around?
Fly: You weren’t wrestling, but you were around and fucking with everyone all the same. You interrupted D-Day’s Wrestler of the Year ceremony. Couldn’t just let him have that moment to himself, right? Then you got involved with the Odin and Corey Black match for the World Title at One. Then for some god damn reason I still don’t understand, you decided to make sure Kalyn James Evans would get a chance at the Television Title against me, when I’d already won the contendership for it and LITERALLY turned the current champion into a vegetable.
Torture: Seriously? You’re upset about that stuff? I thought Jonny Fly had thicker skin than that.
Fly: I tend to believe I’ve had a very consistent temperament during my time in WCF. You fuck with me, I destroy you. That’s how I joined the company of ‘legends’ so quickly. But you, Torture, you portrayed me as something less than you. You laughed off my threats against you back then as just ‘some rookie’ running his mouth. I would have utterly annihilated you. The most hated man in WCF history, run out of the ring by some Television Title wielding scrub who signed a contract just a month earlier. But you left. Maybe ran? I guess that’s just another one of those things that’s a matter of interpretation, right?
Jonny Fly flashes his trademark smirk. Torture’s eyes narrow in response.
Torture: I’m going to be one hundred percent honest with you right now. I…don’t remember any of that shit. Like…none of it. We had beef back then? I do remember KJE. I do imagine I just wanted to…you know…see her…wrestle…a lot. You get where I’m going with that, right? It wasn’t anything personal.
Fly: Do you really think I give a fuck if it was personal or not? You had no business involving yourself in my world. The motherfuckin’ Jonny Fly era didn’t take a nap when some old-timer wanted to watch a piece of ass flop around in the ring.
Torture shakes his head and takes in a deep sigh.
Torture: Even if that was my rationale, I mean…can you REALLY blame me? Tits and stuff, man. It’s a potent cocktail and I wanted to put my cock in her tail.
Fly: Well, when you put it like that…
Smiles simultaneously appear on both men’s faces.
Fly: I suppose it was a long time ago. I should get over it.
Torture: I have nothing but love for you, Fly. Shit, maybe one day we can work together. Jonny Fly and Torture, that’d be the team of all teams.
Fly: Maybe so, but I’m not really wrestling these days. I’ve given that up. Maybe for good. Who knows?
Torture: I’ve been there. It always seems to suck you back in though, doesn’t it?
Fly nods silently to the response.
Torture: Never say never, Fly. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you in the ring soon enough.
Torture winks at Fly. He then removes the jacket (using way more effort than should be necessary) and folds it over his arm.
Torture: I’ve got to pay for this jacket and get out of here. I have a date tonight.
Fly: You’re not actually thinking about wearing that jacket, are you?
Torture: Are you kidding me? OF COURSE I’m going to wear this jacket. With a scarf…and capri pants…with cowboy boots.
Fly: I don’t even know what to say to that.
Torture: Well, just don’t be too jealous, Fly. We can’t all look this good.
Fly: None of this makes any sense. That jacket. Your attire. The fact that you came all the way to Oakland for a simple date.
Torture: Rumor has it, this is where you go when you want one of the finest bitches.
Fly cocks his head at the statement. Torture smiles, and quickly turns and walks away in the direction of the checkout lines carrying his new favorite jacket triumphantly.
Fly: Hey wait! You’re dating a hooker? ONE OF ORBITS!?
There’s no response from Torture, who continues walking away. Fly puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head in disbelief.
Fly: That motherfucker is trying to steal my gimmick! I’m supposed to bang all the hookers.
There’s nothing else to see here. The scene comes to a close.
[Scene Ends]
Three Weeks Ago
[Scene Begins]
We begin in Club Violet, Oakland’s beloved stripper and skank superstore. The maestro of this whore orchestra is Steven Orbit, the most famous resident of the bay area’s shittiest city. Club Violet is a, well, club. Not like the delicious sandwich club that your wife or girlfriend should spend all her time in the kitchen making you, or the large bat-like object club, but a social place offering beverages, dancing, and all that fun shit club. This one just happens to also offer naked bitches who will have sex with you a small donation to their college fund.
Club Violet consists of two floors with a basement. The basement is where the naughty things happen. The main floor is where the legitimate business transactions occur, or in other words, that’s where your dollar bills go to die. The upper floor is the VIP area and administrative offices. The decoration of the establishment is upscale, and the décor features mostly dark red, black, and purple coloring. We’re in Orbit’s office upstairs, where both men are lounging on a leather couch positioned on the left-hand side of the room. The couch faces a television that’s mounted onto the wall on the right-hand side of the room. That television is tuned to the latest edition of WCF’s Sunday Night Slam.
Orbit and Fly, with absent expressions, are watching nearly in horror as Jayson Price does his best impression of a ‘bad guy’ as he attacks Torture’s brother, Anthony. Their interest peaks at the appearance of Creeping Death, Corey Black’s alter ego. Then lastly, they fixate on Torture’s face – the anger and hatred in his eyes - just before he leaves the ring to find his brother. As the broadcast goes to commercial, Orbit immediately directs his gaze to Fly. The self-proclaimed most dominant wrestler in WCF history has…that look. The same look seen on Torture’s face just seconds ago on screen. Fly slowly stands to his feet.
Fly: That’s…
Fly’s words trail off almost immediately. He’s searching for the right thing to say to express what he’s thinking, but this is a man who has had his fair share of ‘bad guy’ moments. Fly is one of the viler, narcissistic, and criminal wrestlers that’s ever entered the WCF crazy bin. He finally settles on a word to say.
Fly: Lame.
It’s not the most eloquent word, but it does the trick.
Fly: Fuck man, I thought Price died like five month ago?
Orbit shrugs his shoulders.
Orbit: No idea. It’s Price. Who cares?
Fly: I mean, is this shit supposed to shocking? Is this supposed to be ‘edgy?’ Am I’m supposed to believe those two cupcakes have now been demonized to the dark side? Fuck_this_absurd_nonsense. This is beyond dumb. Black and Price are pussies. Price is a five-year running punch line to wrestlers new and old, he’s a laughingstock. Black has been playing Mr. Mentor for the last year to a bunch of progeny. Now all of a sudden they run out of Midol and they’re torturing motherfuckers? REALLY? Jesus fuckin’ Christ.
Orbit: Again, who cares?
Fly: I blame myself.
Orbit: Hold up, what? What are you talkin’ about?
Fly: I should have shut these two down a long time ago. I should have never let them carry on as Pantheon. When I left, I should have burned the whole thing down. Both of them included. Whatever the fuck is going on between Torture and them, it most certainly traces back to their allegiance under Pantheon and inability to find relevance for the group without me as its leader. Like a sick fuckin’ dog, they need to be put down. It should have happened a long time ago. This isn’t just Torture’s fight. This shouldn’t just be his fight.
Orbit: That seems like a stretch, bro. They got their own little triangle shit goin’ on. We haven’t been in the picture for months.
Fly: I can’t watch this happen. I won’t watch these two idiots go any further. The sad reality is that WCF doesn’t need Price or CD anymore. They’re barely midcarders anymore. Black is a shit leader so that whole ‘sage veteran’ shtick doesn’t go very far. He has no eye for talent, and the best and brightest talent in this company have no respect for him. Is it any wonder that the Corey Black Pantheon was such a fantastic trainwreck? Price is an unstable child who’s spent the past five years trying to figure out his own direction. He’s a cat chasing his own tail. He’s just going round…and round…and round. He’s a stale character. He has no dimension. Nobody is on the edge of their seat wondering what he’s going to do next. It’s all one long monotone novel. It’s a novel people have tried to put back on their bookshelf a long time ago, but it magically springs back to life – literally – and forces itself down your god damn throat. Nobody. Gives. A. Fuck. About. Jayson. Price.
Orbit: Shit, you know I ain’t gonna argue with that. I still don’t see why this whole thing has got YOU worked up. They been this way forever.
Fly: Maybe it’s the cumulative effect? Maybe it’s just the fact that they’re more than just a nuisance at this point. They’ve left their shell. Creeping Death is back. Price is abusing defenseless mutes.
Orbit: Since when do you care about people?
Fly: Nah, I don’t care about people. People are naturally pieces of shit. Think about it; think about Slam’s ratings every week. Innately, people love violence. Their saving grace is that most grow up in a social construct that condemns certain behaviors. They’re herded into a line and shuffled forward through their lives on the straight and narrow. I’ve embraced the violence, I’ve embraced that part of my life. I was never able to shake that. Where I’m from, the line of what’s right and what’s wrong is grayed out by what it takes to survive. Price and Black haven’t lived that. That’s not their background.
I’ve only hurt people who’ve deserved it or pushed me to that point. Even our own fucking mother deserved it. When’s the last time you saw me in a hospital persecuting some motherfucker’s brother because that guy just happens to be a better wrestler than me? I’ve always dealt with my problems in the ring, and I’ve destroyed dozens of wrestlers for less than the charade these two are pulling. Fuck man, when you and I had our shit did we not settle it in the ring? Even Seth and I settled our problems in the ring. I didn’t go rape and murder Shannon over it. I’m dead fuckin’ serious, Steve. Enough is enough. Once upon a time it was these two trying to shepherd me forward on their path of righteousness. Now they’re the ones that are lost. I’m going to put them back in line.
Orbit nods his head, reluctantly agreeing with Fly.
Orbit: Well then, I guess you know what you have to do.
Fly immediately grabs his phone from his pocket. He dials a number and sets it to his ear. Within seconds, the individual on the other end of the line answers.
Fly: This is Jonny Fly.
…
Fly: Look, I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know where you’re going. I can’t even imagine what you’re thinking right now. But I will tell you this, anything you need done…I’ll do it.
…
Fly: I don’t think you understand. When I say anything, I mean that by its strictest definition. Any_thing. I’ll suck every last god damn breath out of them if you want me to.
…
Fly: That’s it? That’s all you want?
…
Fly: I can make that happen. It’d be my pleasure.
…
Fly: I’ll see you there.
Fly hangs up the phone. He turns and looks toward Orbit.
Fly: I need to pack. I’m heading to Indianapolis.
With that statement, Fly turns and exits the office. Our scene immediately goes dark.
[Scene Ends]
Two Weeks Ago
[Scene Begins]
The door simply reads ‘Torture.’ It’s engraved onto a placard hung on a door at Bankers Life Fieldhouse. From behind us, a dark shadow creeps onto the door. We spin around to see the face of four-time WCF World Champion Jonny Fly; his first appearance at a WCF event in months. Fly doesn’t bother knocking, per his own personal tradition. He opens the door and walks straight into Torture’s locker room.
The man himself is sitting silently on a bench in front of his locker. The locker door is open, and a picture of his brother has been stuck onto the inside of the door with a magnet. Torture simply stares at the picture. Fly has brought a duffel bag with his ring attire, which he drops onto the ground. He walks over and takes a seat next to Torture on the bench.
Fly: How’s he doing?
Torture: He’ll be doing better after tonight.
Fly: I’m here to make sure of that.
Torture: You know Fly, I have to be honest with you. There’s one thing this business has taught me, and everyone else, time after time. Nothing is free. What’s your angle in agreeing to do this?
Fly: No angle.
Torture: Don’t bullshit me. You don’t care about me. You don’t care about my brother. You’re here for selfish reasons. I’m okay with that, don’t get me wrong. I understand how it works. I just want to know your motives before we go out there together. That’s all.
Fly: We have a mutual dislike for Corey Black and Jayson Price.
Torture: Don’t you mean Creeping Death?
Fly: I don’t care what he calls himself. He’s the same fuckin’ scrub of a wrestler I’ve beat multiple times. He’s the same hanger-on leeching off the name of MY stable, the stable I made the greatest in WCF history. And Price…for fuck sake, who even cares anymore what he’s doing? It’s always yawntastic.
The comment brings a small smile to Torture’s lips.
Fly: Price is WCF herpes. He never, ever, goes away.
Torture: So much potential wasted. Honestly, when you boil it all down I think his only real problem with me is that he once had hopes and dreams of being like me. But he kept blowing his chances. Then I told him he was fucking up and he got butthurt and it’s been that way forever. He can’t get past it, he can’t get over it. That’s Price though. He’s the type of guy who if you push, they crawl back into their shell. He’s the sensitive sort. No spine. No back bone. There’s nothing there. He’s a soft fuck. That’s why he saves his worst performances for the biggest stages. That’s why he held a World Title for 16 days before tapping out and pissing it away. That’s why he kills himself off at least once a year when things get tough and he doesn’t know what else to do.
Fly: I was in a stable with him for a long time. He needed babied, anyone will tell you that. He’s a high maintenance motherfucker. Black himself has said it dozens of times, and yet somehow their still together and doing whatever the hell they want to call last week. If he’s been mad at you this entire time for things you’ve said about him in the past, then why has Black been getting away with telling him he’s a dumbass for years?
Torture: Is it not obvious? It’s a hatred toward me bred from jealousy. He’s not jealous of Corey Black. No matter how many times Black may beat him, Price thinks he’s better. With me, he doesn’t know that. Nobody else thinks it either. He wants to believe it, he wants it be true, but that’s all he’s got, and that gnaws at him. That eats at him. He wants so badly to be TORTURE. He wants to be the most feared wrestler in WCF history. He wants the glory and admiration. He wants Seth Lerch to sing his praises every time he’s on television. Black is no threat. He’s a corpse, and a corpse that’s been cuddling with him for years. Price has the Logan disease. They can’t get over me. They can’t move on. Their careers are stuck in neutral. I broke them, and they’ve spent the better part of the last half decade blowing in the wind because of it. For Price, this is desperation. This is a kid who’s been in timeout so long that he feels that he has nothing to lose by trying to escape.
Fly: For Black?
Torture: I think CD just wants to put some life into his career. I think he wants people talking about him. I think he wants people to fear him again. It’s been a long time since he’s been ‘that guy,’ you know? I see how these new guys talk about him, there’s no respect there. Black knows he can’t compete with them, so what does he do? He turns to an old enemy to try and spread his message. There’s no reason for him to be doing what he’s doing. None. It doesn’t make sense. Unlike Price, Black has beaten me. Somehow. This isn’t some grudge bullshit. This is just simply a man who’s at his breaking point. The sand in his hour glass is just about up. This is his big move. Creeping Death 2.0. It’s fucking predictable.
Fly: Nobody cares about Creeping Death. It’s still the same wrestler, just with some Terry Roberts dress up shit going on. That’s supposed to impress me? That’s supposed to scare me – Jonny motherfuckin’ Fly?
Fly rolls his eyes and laughs slightly.
Torture: Exactly. The end of a wrestling career can be a bitter and ugly thing to witness. We can’t all just pop back in whenever we want and have an epic Hardcore Title reign, you know? Price and Black are done. They’re grasping for any reason to pump life into their flat careers. They need to go. Tonight, we make them look across the ring to the two men who will happy to take those careers from them, once and for all. It’s the two men who they know better than anyone else in the industry. The two men who they’ve both latched onto and followed around looking for success. Is it any wonder why it was you that was always said to be the next Torture, versus Price? Why were you always compared to me, and not Corey Black?
Fly smiles and mutters one single word.
Fly: Dominance.
Torture: Black’s accomplishments are based on longevity. Price’s accomplishments are far less, but it’s the same concept. Our accomplishments are much more profound, and were done in an acute and awe-inspiring manner. It’s been a long time since Black and Price have experienced any sort of dominance, if ever. Let’s go show them just what they’re up against. For Anthony.
Fly nods his head and stands up on his feet. Torture follows.
Fly: …and for us. It’s time to shed some baggage from our lives. I’m ready to end this shit.
Fly and Torture exchange a hand shake. Just minutes from now, he’ll be revealed as Torture’s partner at One against Price and Black. As the scene begins to dissolve away, Fly begins to change into his ring clothes for the first time since the summer.
[Scene Ends]
One Week Ago
[Scene Begins]
It’s a new day in Oakland, California. The dark times are over. No, that doesn’t mean that Steve Orbit and friends have been exiled to San Francisco. I’m saying that there was a time not that long ago when Jonny Fly’s hot fry production facility was burned down by[, uh, suspicious circumstances. But the days when the country’s number one producer of those crunchy and spicy potato sticks are over. A new plant has been constructed in the same exact spot as the old one. It looks the exact same. The same people work there. The same man runs the plant. It’s like that whole burning thing never even happened.
So, here we are. Staring at a large red sign reading ‘ConAgra Foods – Regional Headquarters.’ Underneath the sign reads ‘Plant Manager: Jonny Fly.’ This sign is stuck into the ground just outside the plant, surrounded by beautiful shrubbery and trees and all that fun stuff. Our camera moves from the sign to the plant resting in the distance. The scene then jumps to the entrance, which has been pushed open allowing us to enter the facility.
We enter the building and move forward down a long hallway. About ten feet down the hall we come to a sign that directs us to the administrative offices to the right. We hang a right and walk the length of the hallway before taking another right and heading down another hall that ends at a door with the name ‘Jonny Fly’ hung on it. The door isn’t closed all of the way, so we push it open to reveal Fly himself sitting behind his desk. Fly is busy signing some papers. In complete contrast to Seth Lerch, he appears to be taking the time to read each paper before giving it his signature of approval. He looks up to spot the cameraman peering into his office. He lifts his head to respond.
Fly: Ah. I’ve been expecting this visit. Jonny Fly promo time. This is sure to ruin some people’s Christmas spirit. Feel free to get set-up. I’m ready.
The cameraman enters the office. While still shooting, he sets the camera up across from Fly’s desk, centering him in the shot. A signal is given to Fly, who begins to speak into the camera.
Fly: Well, hello there WCF. I’ve missed you. I live a busy life, one of which I will not apologize for. But it makes these little meetings increasingly rare. I’m much more content to watch and let others have their fun. Only sometimes, it seems, my presence is needed.
Fly pauses for a moment, staring at the camera without emotion.
Fly: I think that brings us straight to the question of why I’ve returned for this match. Torture and Fly versus Price and Black. There’s some ridiculous and convoluted bullshit that’s been going on involving Torture, Corey Black Death, and Jayson Price. Everyone knows that. There’s been backstabbing abound, old rivalries renewed, ended, and then renewed again. Corey Black changed his name to his old name. Jayson Price tried to kill someone, but couldn’t do it, because his dick was inverted well before Bruce Jenner made it popular. But where do I fit in? What is Jonny Fly doing teaming with Torture?
Yes, I’ve been on the sideline chilling for the last five months while all of this has been playing out. Now all of a sudden I’ve magically appeared on the card. It’s a question that can be answered rather simply. Because…
Fuck Corey Black. Fuck Jayson Price.
Fly’s expression changes to a cocky smirk.
Fly: If anyone knows anything about my career in WCF, you know that Black, Price, and I have a storied history together…and sometimes not together. Price and I have fought over World Titles. Black and I have fought over World Titles. We’re some of the more prominent members in the history of Pantheon. We’ve won a Trios Cup together, and host of other things. But it wasn’t all that long ago that I realized what people had been trying to tell me all along. Corey Black and Jayson Price are fuckin’ parasites.
Fly stops and takes a deep breath. He blows it out slowly, maintaining his composure as he continues to talk.
Fly: A parasite needs another organism to survive. It survives by eating off another, and giving nothing in return. That was the relationship between Black, Price and myself. I gave them everything, relevance, credibility, and purpose in a company that had already turned the page and spit them out. It was I who brought each of them into Pantheon. I brought Corey Black back from IWF after I had sent him there with his tail between his legs after my first World Title victory. I brought Price back from the unemployment line after Seth fired him, mostly because he’s the very definition of an average wrestler. In all this time later, those motherfuckers are still playing the buddy game.
Pantheon is long dead. Ninety-eight percent of WCF knows this. The other two percent are Black and Price. They don’t know what else to do. They’re lost. The glitz and glamour of being a Pantheon member died when I officially left the group over a year ago. Yet, there was Black and Price, still trying so fucking hard to keep something going that they didn’t even start to begin with. It was pathetic. If I’m proud of anything that I did over the summer during my fourth month stint wrestling, it was that I destroyed Pantheon members every_single_time I faced them. Rivals and allies both were telling these guys that there is no Pantheon, and never will be a Pantheon, without Jonny Fly. Yet, as the losses piled up, as other stables dominated them, they continued on their fool’s mission.
Oh, but Corey Black knows talent. Jayson Price is Mr. Every Title. These guys can resurrect the group from the dead. No. These two fuckin’ idiots can’t even win a Television Title in this era, and they think they can replicate what Pantheon did? Mediocrity is a curse in which both of them are blessed. This curse has turned into a disease that they can’t cure. It’s seeped into their blood and poisoned their minds. Now they’re acting out, like children who had their candy taken away. There it is, ladies and gentlemen. There’s your rationale for all this bullshit. Pretty fucking dumb, right?
From my perspective, you can only watch Corey Black cost you Trios Cup Tournaments or Tag Team titles so many times before you wise up. You can only listen to Price talk shit to his own team members on Twitter so much before realizing that he’s a bigger clown than Jack Happy and Switches put together. Price has spent the last four years regurgitating the same god damn schtick he was doing when I first started here. This dude is either a drunk train wreck, crazy, angry at the world, or he’s playing dead. He’s a motherfucking cliché times four. It really wasn’t much of a surprise to turn on the television last week and see him doing the angry at the world routine. I learned while teaming with Price that he’ll never change, and that’s exactly why I KNOW that he’ll sink in this match. Torture and Jonny Fly on the other side of the ring? Price may faint with anxiety before he even touches the canvas.
Corey Black is no better. This was a guy who was once a trusted sidekick. Emphasis on the word sidekick. Black knew what his role was in Pantheon. I did the heavy lifting, I was the leader, and he was there for name value. He was simply asked to not fuck up, which ended up being pretty god damn difficult for him toward the end. Black was enjoying the ride. He did matches against guys like Adam Young, Doc Henry, and Jordan Caliban so as to protect his resume, and anything bigger than that he needed to ride the Jonny Fly train into the winner’s circle. It was a nice transition to retirement for him. A fun and rewarding final act. He rode Torture’s success in the early days, and he was able to round it off by hitching his wagon to Jonny Fly at the end. He was a henchmen for the two most dominant wrestlers in history at their peak. That’s a good gig, man. That’s a story he could have told his grandkids about. But – the motherfucker never went away at the end.
Now look where we are. I beat Black…again…just six months ago. What’s changed? Some face paint? A new name tag? Fuck off. I’m going to shred that dude once again. They’re going to plaster my fuckin’ beautiful face over top of his in the WCF Hall of Fame. I am everything Corey Black wants all of you to believe that he is. I’m the motherfuckin’ reaper. I don’t need to change persona to be that person, that’s the Jonny Fly status quo. Win, at all costs, and without any care for the carnage left in my wake. That’s why Black was always the sidekick. That’s why he has no business being on the opposite side of the ring with me. There is as much of a Corey Black-Jonny Fly rivalry as there was a Corey Black-Doc Henry rivalry. A bunch of matches together doesn’t make a rivalry, not when the result is always…ALWAYS…one-sided.
You know, this is all so very ironic. Black and Price – the bad guys. The heels. The crazy people. Does nobody remember how I was treated by them when I gave up on Pantheon and realigned with Steve Orbit? I was portrayed as a traitor. I was vilified. What the fuck happened to Jonny Fly? Why is he beating up on his mother? I’d lost it again, they said. Not that I cared, absolutely not. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want. I chose my brother over Black and Price. I chose a different path than what WCF and Pantheon could provide me. But here we are a few months later and this who god damn act looks pretty fuckin’ familiar, does it not?
Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but I’m not flattered. I’m pissed. Enough is enough. Does anyone want to see another fucking Price and Black tag-team? Not to mention this isn’t their fuckin’ gimmick. These guys being evil is the equivalent of some abstinent school kid fucking his teacher…in the ass. If they’re going to bore us by repeating Jonny Fly angles – Pantheon, turning evil, etc. – could they at least mix up the team a little? I’ve spread the wealth around. I’ve teamed with everyone at some point or another. Price and Black are like the awkward nerds at a school dance. They just keep to themselves. It’s some West Virginia style incest shit over in their locker room.
Raise your hands if you want to see the crazy (again) Jayson Price and Creeping Death saga play out? Yeah, nobody. Fuck off, you two. This shit sucks. What are they going to do next, put Seth in jail? Frame Steve Orbit for murder? Get kidnapped and shot? Start a criminal enterprise? Get Bobby Cairo elected for mayor of New York City? Turn Gravedigger into your personal hitman? Form a stable and name it after a roman building? Find out you had a black half-brother? Start eating more hot fries per capita than any man in the motherfuckin’ universe?
Fly points down at his crotch.
Get off these nuts. You two can’t do what I do. You can’t recreate what I’ve done. You_two_are_fucking_dead_in_the_water. You’re in a dingy without an oar. A life raft with a hole in the bottom. A canoe on dry land. Let me tell you what you’re going to do, and all of you motherfuckers can quote me on this. Black and Price are going to tread water for three months before thinking better of it. Black will go back to being…well, Black, and start tutoring underprivileged Flyjobbers again. Price will probably play dead for a fifth time. Maybe even have a funeral this time around to really play it up – “IT COULD BE REAL THIS TIME GUYZ! SRSLY! ARE YOU INTRIGUED? LIKEMEPLZ.EXE.”
I may very well return to this office at the match to resume my business dealings. Torture may return to his business as well. But we’ll still be around, on the fringes, where we should be. Torture may decide to drop in and hold any title he wants for another year. I may return to recapture my Trios Cup crown. Maybe go for that fifth World Title. Who knows? But Price and Black – they won’t be around. At least not in this current pathetic form. Torture and I will make sure of it. The match result is not in question. Torture’s brother will be avenged. This is simply the last chapter of the book. It needs an ending, and we’re going to author it.
Fly pauses once again. His breathing slows as he resumes speaking.
Fly: The Torture and Jonny Fly team may very well be a one-time event. For so long people have wanted to see the two of us in the ring together, but as opponents. The clash of two dominant era in WCF history. And while our appearance in the ring together serves the purpose of destruction, it is not of one another. This is about clearing the deck. Putting a final exclamation point to the tangled web that exists between the four of us. When you think about it like that…of course I’m in this match. Who better to be standing over Price and Black at the end of this saga, than Torture and Jonny Fly? The two men who they are most synonymous with, either as partners or as competitors.
Fly’s cocky smirk returns.
Fly: But let there be no mistake, this match is not a competition. This is no once in a lifetime matchup of Hall of Famers and future Hall of Famers. This is an execution. This is a beheading of the never-ending Corey Black-Jayson Price romance…and in a twist that even Creeping Death can appreciate, I’m the motherfucker wielding the giant machete.
…
Fly: I’ll see you kids real soon…for the last fuckin’ time.
Fly winks at the camera and then motions for the camera to cut. After a few seconds zoomed in on Fly’s face, the camera fades to black.
[Scene Ends]
