Post by Steve Orbit on Jan 31, 2016 14:07:24 GMT -5
Fade in to Steve Orbit's old school baby blue Cadillac speeding recklessly through an Oakland neighborhood. His tires screeeetch around the corner, as he mashes on the gas some more. Camera switches to inside the car, we find Orbit is furious. His eyes are wide, his breathing fast and heavy. His right hand reaches for his cellphone on the passenger seat-- the car swerves as he grabs it, nervously trying to find a number in the contacts. He gives up on that and tries another method.
Steve Orbit: OK Google.
The phone beeps.
Steve Orbit: Call Jonny Fly!
The phone does not pick up the command.
Steve Orbit: PEICE OF SHIT GOOGLE CALL JONNY FLY MOTHER FUCKER!
Somehow, that did it. The phone rings a few times... voicemail.
Steve Orbit: Jonny, it's me. I got a serious fuckin' situation on my hands, bruh. I need you to call me as soon as you get this. I... I think I might need some help, man. Just call me. Please.
He ends the call, and bites his fist. He was sure Fly would help him figure out a solution.
Steve Orbit: FUCK.
He slaps the steering wheel, hard. He continues driving with no clear destination...
Steve Orbit: Hold up... OK Google.
The phone beeps.
Steve Orbit: Call Christina.
The phone rings... after a couple rings, a female answers.
Christina: Heyyyy!
Steve Orbit: Christina! It's Steve!
Christina: Duhhh! I'm so glad you called-- what the hell is going on at the Club!?
Steve Orbit: You know somethin'? I'm hopin' you can tell ME what's goin' on. Can I come over? You at home?
Christina: I'll be there in five minutes, I'm--
Orbit cuts her off.
Steve Orbit: Aight, I'm comin' right now.
Orbit abruptly ends the call and slams on his breaks, banging a u-turn in the middle of the street. Cars honk at him but he is not the least bit concerned...
Minutes later, Orbit pulls into the parking lot of a public housing apartment building. He parks and gets out, leaning against the trunk. He lights a Black & Mild, takes a pull, and exhales with a sigh.
Another car pulls up next to his. It's a newer Honda Civic, red. The car parks and out steps a young girl with pink-tipped blonde hair. She's wearing a tight black t-shirt and jean shorts with a number of noticable tattoos on her body. She lights a cigarette before running up and hugging Orbit.
Steve Orbit: Hey.
She immediately senses that something is off.
Christina: It's the Club, isn't it? Something weird has been going on for the last couple of weeks.
Steve Orbit: What you mean?
Christina: I dunno, just... tension, everybody's on edge. Even some of the regulars have been asking me what's up-- and that Kamelia, let me tell you something about that fuckin' bitch.
Orbit shrugs.
Steve Orbit: I know she's a little rough around the edges--
Christina: She's a fuckin' Nazi. She fired everybody-- bartenders, waitresses. Even all of the bouncers are new, guys we've never seen before.
Orbit pulls off the Black & Mild, rubbing the back of his head.
Steve Orbit: I saw two of 'em yesterday.
Christina: We need you back, Steve! You gotta fire that bitch Kamelia and come back to us. Most of the girls are saying they're gonna leave if you don't do something.
Orbit nods, slowly.
Steve Orbit: I'm afraid it's a little more complicated than that.
Christina: What? It's your Club. She works for you-- fire her ass!
Steve Orbit: ... Ok. You right. Ok, I will. Don't worry about nothin'. Tell the girls... spread the word, this whole thing is about to blow over, everything is gonna be fine. I got this.
She hugs Orbit again.
Christina: I knew you would.
Steve Orbit: Aight, I gotta roll out. Stay up, girl.
She smiles and leaves, walking towards the apartment building. Orbit gets back into his car, tossing out the remains of the cigar. He fires up the engine and speeds out of the parking lot...
Orbit pulls into a parking spot at his bank, Bank of the West. He exits the car and struts inside. Once entering, he walks directly to an office in the back. The lettering on the door states "JULIUS JACKSON - BRANCH MANAGER". Orbit knocks on the glass door, and he is invited in by the middle-aged African American bank manager.
Julius Jackson: Mister Orbit! Come on in, nice to see you. Pull up a chair.
The man adjusts his tie and fixes his glasses. He leans back in his chair, as Orbit takes a seat across from him.
Julius Jackson: How's retirement?
Steve Orbit: I'm not really... I mean, I haven't really worked in a year, but I'm back now.
Julius Jackson: Really? That's not what, uh... what's her name, told me. Your girlfriend.
Steve Orbit: I don't have a girlfriend, Julius.
Julius laughs.
Julius Jackson: I know-- guy like you, probably got five or ten, right?
He continues laughing but Orbit is not amused.
Steve Orbit: What else did my so-called "girlfriend" tell you?
Julius loses his jovial spirit quickly as he notices that Orbit is not playing along.
Julius Jackson: Uh... she said you were going away for a while. I'm surprised to see you, actually. She was in here with your mother--
Orbit's face turns red. His blood begins to boil.
Julius Jackson: ... Am I missing something? I something wrong?
Steve Orbit: What happened to my Club, Julius? Why am I locked out of my own business?
Julius clears his throat.
Julius Jackson: Well, your mother was here. Nice lady. She and your girlfriend-- Kamelia, that's her name-- you granted her Power of Attorney, and they were in here handling business on your behalf... transferring ownership of Club Violet to a private investment firm.
Orbit's nostrils flare.
Steve Orbit: And you didn't think it was FUNNY. You didn't think it was a little bit suspicious that I wouldn't come here by myself to do something as important as that? Come on, Julius. How long we known each other?
Julius Jackson: Well, uh-- a while, yeah. But you always sending girls in here to make deposits, whatever else... they said you were busy and that this matter needed to be expedited. So I made it happen. You granted her Power of Attorney, Steve.
Orbit stands up and leans over the desk.
Steve Orbit: NO I DIDN'T! They played you, Julius! And because you too concerned with customer service and kissin' ass to be able to use DISCRETION and do your damn JOB the right way... now I gotta deal with the fuckin' consequences.
Julius begins nervously searching through his desk drawers, flipping through papers.
Julius Jackson: Steve-- if this is true, I'll certainly do everything in my power to help you regain possession--
Steve Orbit: Nah, you've done enough. You've done enough Julius.
Orbit gets up to leave.
Steve Orbit: And guess what-- when I DO get this straightened out, I'm taking my MONEY and my BUSINESS ELSEWHERE.
Orbit takes the candy dish off of Julius' desk and dumps the entire contents into his pockets. He takes all of the pens out of a jar and puts those in his other pocket. He slams the door on the way out. Julius puts his head in his hands and sighs.
==
THAT NIGHT
The scene is Club Violet. There's a short line outside-- business men, frat boys, lonely middle-aged men. At the front of the line... we see a black woman(?) with red hair. "Her" arms are muscular. There's something familiar...
She enters the Club. A group of clearly drunk men whistle at "her".
Red Head: Fuck outta here, niggas. I'm a dyke.
The red-head mocked as if she was going to attack the guys. They flinched. "She" made her way up towards the stairs that led up to the VIP section. After whispering in the bouncer's ear and slipping him a wad of bills, "she" walked up the stairs.
"She" crossed the VIP section to a hall which was roped off. There were two bouncers guarding the hall. One of them was texting on his phone. The other was talking to one of the dancers. The mysterious red-head tried to sneak past them, when...
Bouncer: Hey!
He turned and grabbed "her" by the arm. "She" panicked... if a fight broke out, "she" would never be able to sneak into the office undetected. Instead...
Red-head: Hey big boy, you wanna take me into one of these private rooms? I got somethin' reaaaal sweet for ya.
Luckily for the red-head, this particular bouncer was a freak and had a thing for trannies. He smiled, and "she" led him into one of the private rooms before the office. As soon as the door closed, we hear a brief struggle and a thump. The door swung open, and the red-head walked out. We see the bouncer unconscious on the floor behind "her".
The red-head continued towards the end of the hall. "She" grabbed the gold handle on the office door-- noticably, the "Steve Orbit" gold plate that used to hang from the door is gone, leaving behind an unpainted rectangle on the door. "She" ran "her" fingers along the bare wood, and then slowly opened the door, just a crack. "She" peeked inside.
Orbit's real mother, Meredith, sat behind the desk. Kamelia stood to her right, flanked by two big Russian looking meat heads-- security, body guards perhaps. It was clear they were talking to another person in the room, but the red-head's field of vision was not large enough. "She" pushed the door open a tad more...
Jonny Fly stood on the other side of the room.
"Red-head": ENOUGH!
"She" kicked open the door, drawing a familiar two-tone pistol from "her" skirt. "She" kept it trained on Meredith. Fly blocked "her" path, and the two bodyguards made a move as well.
Jonny Fly: Logan?!
The red-head ripped the wig off, revealing... Steve Orbit, of course.
Jonny Fly: Steve! Wait, I can explain!
Orbit looked ridiculous with women's make-up on his face, and wearing a blouse and skirt. But his plan had worked.
Steve Orbit: I don't wanna hear it, Fly. I knew it was just a matter of time before you'd fuckin' stab me in the back again.
Meredith stands from behind the desk.
Meredith: That's right. Don't waste your breath, Jonny-- I'll do the explaining.
Orbit swallowed hard, face to face with his mother.
Meredith: See, Jonny is a good boy. A good son. He helps his mother when she's in need. But you... you're too SELFISH! You're the BLACK SHEEP of this family!
Steve Orbit: That's fucked up, ma!
Meredith: What have you ever done for me! NOTHING! Except convince your brother to put me through a table on live television! I GAVE YOU LIFE!
Steve Orbit: Yeah, and then you ditched me! And Jonny, too-- you ain't really buying this shit, Fly?!
Fly takes out a gun and aims it at Orbit.
Jonny Fly: You know what they say, Steve... family first.
Fly winked at Orbit.
Time stood still as it all became clear.
On three, Jonny and Steve each turned, shooting one of the bodyguards. Meredith and Kamelia gasped.
Kamelia: You bastard!
Kamelia charges Orbit, but be back body drops her. She gets back up, Orbit pistol whips her-- out cold. Now it's just Fly, Orbit and their mother left.
Meredith: Jonny... what are you doing...
She slowly backed away from the two brothers as they stood side by side.
Meredith: We had a deal! LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER!
She pointed her finger at both men.
Meredith: BOTH OF YOU, LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER! YOU'RE BOTH GROUNDED!
She backed into Orbit's desk. Fly and Orbit looked at each other. Then they looked at the desk... and then back at each other.
Meredith: NO! NO. NOT AGAIN!
Orbit slips behind his mother, lifts her up-- Fly leaps and executes a cutter on to the desk, crashing through it. Orbit and Fly slowly get up and dust themselves off.
Jonny Fly: You look cute in a wig! If you weren't my brother...
Steve Orbit: Fuck you, nigga.
The two men tuck their pistols under their clothing and leave the office.
==
THE NEXT DAY
Inside of a non-descript diner, we find Orbit and Fly sitting across from each other in a corner booth. Both men sipping coffee, with steaming plates of breakfast foods in front of them.
Jonny Fly: I had been talking to her on and off. She came to me with the plan to rob you, take control of your assets. I knew I had to do it-- if it wasn't me, she would have found somebody else and then you would've really been screwed.
Orbit sips his coffee.
Steve Orbit: Good lookin' out.
Jonny Fly: Eh, what are brothers for. Anyway, we haven't heard the last of her, I can guarantee you that. She's fucking batshit insane. Money hungry, power hungry... she won't stop until she gets what she wants. Any means necessary type of mentality.
Orbit shrugs.
Steve Orbit: Must be where we get it from.
Fly smirks.
Jonny Fly: True. Oh well-- there's plenty of tables out there ready to be broken.
The brothers share a laugh before taking a few bites of food.
Steve Orbit: Seems like we both got a lot on the line comin' up on Sunday.
Jonny Fly: Corey's finished. After all these years, he finally picked a fight he can't win and it's going to cost him his career.
Steve Orbit: Eh, fuck him. Hard to imagine WCF with that little mother fucker, but that's the way it go. I'm just pumped to be back in the saddle, you know what I'm sayin'.
Jonny Fly: Yeah-- big opportunity. Did I hear that LOGAN is back?
Steve Orbit: Yup. Logan, Digger-- Benjamin Atreyu, remember him?
Jonny Fly: Oh yeah, he was promising a few years back. He's back in the ring? Last I heard he was... I dunno, some backstage position. Another few months he'll be on "WCF- Where are they now?"
Steve Orbit: No doubt. Couple more jobbers in the match, no big deal. It's pretty much a lock for your boy.
Orbit digs in to some more food.
Jonny Fly: I don't think you can do it.
Orbit stops chewing, and looks up at Fly. He swallows.
Steve Orbit: What's that?
Fly laughs.
Jonny Fly: I'm fuckin' with you. Besides, you're always at your best when people are telling you that the odds are against you.
Orbit nods.
Steve Orbit: I'm confident-- not OVER confident. More importantly, I'm more fuckin' motivated to win this match than I've been in a long time. I'm not lettin' this opportunity slip through my fingers, Fly. I'm bringing home that briefcase.
Jonny Fly: You better.
Fly grins as Orbit brushes off the comment, continuing to eat. Fade out.
==
Fade in to some foggy, wavy dream sequence shit.
Orbit stands in a WCF ring. Empty arena. Around him lay the bodies of the other six competitors of the Final Destination match-- Bonnie Blue, Spencer Adams, Johnny Rabid, Benjamin Atreyu, Logan and Gravedigger. They're all...
Wait for it...
DEAD.
DUN DUN DUNNNN.
Blood stains soaked the majority of the canvas. He looked around, eyes wide with horror...
Cut to Orbit, asleep in his bed, tossing and turning.
Steve Orbit: No... no... argghhh... NO!
Orbit shoots up to a sitting position, breathing heavy. He rubs his eyes.
Steve Orbit: Whoa.
He reaches to his night stand and grabs a pen and paper. He begins to write on the paper and we fade out.
==
HOURS LATER
We cut in to a camera feed. Orbit is adjusting and repositioning the camera, getting the perfect shot of himself sitting in his home office. There are WCF memorabilia hanging on the walls-- replica title belts, posters of PPVs. Orbit appears solemn and then he begins to speak.
Last night I had a dream-- a premonition, rather. I saw the Final Destination match play out in my head. I saw everybody... all my fellow participants-- DEAD. It was fucked up. I mean, I'm tryin' to win, don't get me wrong-- but nobody gotta die, you know what I'm sayin'? I done seen enough death in my lifetime, I don't need to be directly or indirectly responsible for six more deaths, especially not in a WCF ring. I don't need that type of negativity in my life.
Orbit sighs.
I'm recording this because... I dunno, if it really WAS a premonition, I feel like I can make a mother fuckin' living in retirement as one of those fuckin' television "mediums" or whatever. You know... hey, pay me a hunnid and I can help you talk to your dead folks, that type of shit. I write down my dreams sometimes, 'cause sometimes I get some good ideas for sexual positions and that type of shit, but this is different, maybe more important than that. So here it is-- time and date stamped-- so when the shit goes down, y'all know I saw it first.
Orbit looks at his notes.
I saw Gravedigger come into the ring, the mother fucker was winded just climbin' the ring steps. I took him aside, and I was like-- hey man, you ain't gotta do this. You got nothin' left to prove. You gettin' a nice check from the commentary. Why put yourself at risk? I mean, I could see if you was goin' in with the rest of these mother fuckers, but STEVE ORBIT is in this match. This shit is gonna be a mother fuckin' demolition. I tried to tell him... you know, I know you got pride and all that. I know you want that spotlight, but you can't have it. It's mine. But would he listen to me? HELL NAH. So 'bout five minutes into the match... I see the mother fucker clutch his chest. Yup. Heart attack. The mother fucker dropped dead right in the middle of the ring-- and the fucked up thing, nobody even noticed 'til the end of the match. Everybody thought he was takin' a nap.
Orbit crosses Digger's name off the list.
Next was Bonnie Blue. She came into the match hot! She was gettin' her shit in, stickin' and movin'-- and then, ZAP. This fuckin'... portal appeared, and she jumped inside. A few minutes later, that shit appeared in the same spot and she jumped out-- FUCKIN' DEAD. I can only imagine some wacky, zany shit happened, maybe the Timekeeper finally got her ass, I dunno.
Orbit pauses.
What? Sounds ridiculous? You're tellin' me.
Orbit scratched her name off the paper.
This is where it starts to get fucked up. I saw Johnny Rabid, with his pompous ass. He really thinks he's high and mighty, huh? I wanted to wipe that fuckin' smirk off his face so God damn bad. So tired of hearing that stupid mother fuckin' accent-- so we're in the match and he makes another fuckin' "Snoop Dogg" comment about me. I don't get it, how the fuck am I anything like Snoop? Snoop is my homie, I love him as much as the next nigga, but I ain't nothing like that tall, skinny, dog-faced mother fucker. Is that the only black mother fucker that Johnny Rabid knows besides me? That's the only explaination I can think of, shit. Anyway, that shit pissed me off because it seems like it's the only thing he can fuckin' say about me, so I bugged out-- I grabbed his head, I hit the ropes, Orbital DDT... and I feel a crack. I feel this nigga's neck snap right in my fuckin' arms, and his head just went limp. I broke his neck, man. I didn't mean to kill him, I just wanted him to stop with the Snoop Dogg shit 'cause it don't make no damn sense. But it didn't stop there.
Orbit scratched Rabid's name off.
Spencer Adams was in the match for a hot minute. He was doin' well-- I knew he would, he's a young guy with a lot of upside. He's gonna be a great Television champion some day, no doubt about it. Maybe even a two-time Trios champ. At least he WOULD have a bright future... if I didn't see him die, right before my mother fuckin' eyes. See, Spencer is a little dude. Some little guys do alright in this business, but others... have tragic endings, like this one. Spencer was on the mat. I hit the top turnbuckle, wasn't nobody around to stop me. I leaped... Oakland Splash, right on top of this mother fucker. I rolled off-- his whole chest was flattened, rib cage crushed. His fuckin' heart exploded on impact. I fuckin' killed him, yo, I killed him with the Oakland Splash. Some fucked up shit.
Another name crossed out.
Atreyu had some big moments in the match. He came close to that briefcase-- more than once. He brought it like it was 2013 and he was still a relevant name in WCF, before he fell into fuckin' obscurity. Yeah, things were lookin' up for Benjamin Atreyu. He really wanted that briefcase. It ended up, he had set up a ladder, climbed up-- I chased after him. One rung after the other, climbing, climbing. Me and Atreyu. So we hit the top-- start trading blows, back and forth, back and forth. Finally I hop over the ladder, onto his back. I hook him up in a half-nelson-- fuckin' Honey Dip right off the top of the ladder. I felt his mother fuckin' spine snap like a twig, you know what I'm sayin'. I thought he might live... maybe just be paralyzed or somethin', but he fuckin' died instantly. I saw the life leave his fuckin' eyes and then I closed them. I didn't mean to kill him! I felt bad... I felt horrible, but I had to keep goin' because it was me and one man left in the match, and I wasn't about to turn my back on Logan.
Orbit drew a line through Benjamin Atreyu's name.
This one is fuckin' with me the most. See, I could really give a fuck about them five mother fuckers. I got no history, no story, no real beef with any of 'em. I didn't mean to kill 'em, but shit-- they the one who stepped in the ring knowing Steve Orbit was gonna be in there. They signed a fuckin' waiver just like everybody else, whatever. But then there was Logan. It ended up being us two, face to face. Of course it did-- that's the way it had to be. I know for sure, that's the way Logan wanted it, and I'ma tell you why. The mother fucker was still obsessed with me. Still watching my every move. This mother fucker, Logan, sat at home for years just waiting for the opportunity to get in the ring with me again. You can see it in his performances. He's half-dead, uninterested in every single fuckin' match over the last few years-- except when Steve Orbit is involved. Then all of a sudden, he's alive, he gives a fuck. So it's down to me and Logan, everybody else is dead in the ring. Literally, fuckin' dead. Me and Logan throw a few punches back and forth, but the whole time he's talkin' to me, talkin' about... you know, our destiny, all kinds of shit. How much of an inspiration I am to him and how much he appreciates what I do in the ring. He threw a couple of other weird compliments in there, I dunno, I was tryin' to beat his ass so it's a little blurry. Anyway, he comes up with this plan-- let's both grab the briefcase together, he wants to rule the world together, all this bizarre shit. So I'm like, nah, mother fucker. I didn't come back to WCF to share nothin' with nobody. And he's like, come on, man, you and me. And I'm like, nah. So I give him a Pimp Slap just to reinforce what the fuck I'm sayin'. I turn around and start climbin' the ladder-- the nigga, Logan, runs into the ring ropes full speed, flips over the ropes-- traps his neck in between the top and middle ropes. He's chokin', he's gaspin' for air. And I'm like... yo, this fool is crazy, right? But I just kept climbin' the ladder and I grabbed that mother fuckin' briefcase. And I won. I think in a way... Logan would be happy. It's like, in death, he actually won. 'Cause wherever he is, probably not a better place-- but wherever he is, he's probably happy that I won instead of one of those other no name son of a bitches. Full circle. He passed the torch to the mother fucker who can carry the company for the next fifteen years.
Orbit crossed Logan's name off and held the paper up to the camera. Then he crumbled it up and threw it over his shoulder.
Maybe I'm trippin'. I mean, maybe it was just a dream-- or maybe I just watched too many of those cheesy Final Destination movies, wanted to do a parody, and this is the best thing I could think of. Who knows...
It's not important, 'cause none of this shit is gon' matter once we step into that Final Destination match on Sunday. Who's old, who's irrelevant, who's got questionable sexuality... who might be a time traveling witch, who never seen a black mother fucker before, that shit is all out the window and all that's left is who is willing to back up them words. Who has enough in the mother fuckin' tank, who has enough experience, enough TESTICULAR FORTITUDE to beat six mother fuckers so bad that they momma won't know 'em, and reach up to grab that contract and secure their World title shot.
Can't Rabid's family, or his annoyin' fuckin' generic robotic accent save him. Everybody gon' expect me to talk trash about this mother fucker-- how? He ain't done nothin' in this company worth talkin' about. He's a fuckin' nobody looking for his big break. He's a forgettable, background character in a third-rate stable that just don't have the fuckin' star power to make it seem like anything else than a flash in the pan, flavor of the month, bunch of gay frat boys who worship the devil. #BeachKrew can't live in Steve Orbit's WCF-- I promise you that, and Rabid is only the first one who gon' feel it.
Can't Bonnie's sci-fi, future-is-now voodoo shit save her. I really ain't got no problem with this bitch. She's whatever. She's entertaining. She might have some magic powers. She kinda reminds me of a fuckin' Power Ranger. Blue Ranger, that's what I'ma call her-- Bonnie Blue Ranger. Hey, man-- if there was a fuckin' Time Traveler Doctor Who Championship, Bonnie Blue got that shit on LOCK, B. Can't nobody touch her, she would hold that shit for a thousand years. But that don't exist, and she don't have no business anywhere near the World title.
Can't Spencer's fan-favorite, mother fuckin' pre-teen fan club havin' ass save him. No matter how much paint he puts on his body. Spencer fucked up our tag match. He fucked up the People's Choice Trios belts. He fucked up the Tag belts when he had 'em. I mean, this is kinda like Johnny Rabid-- he's lookin' for his breakout match. But he keeps fuckin' up. He's a good kid but he don't have what it takes to be a World Champion. He don't have what it takes to stand toe to toe with Steve Orbit, not when the stakes are this high. He won't get past me. No way.
Can't Gravedigger's 'rough old man' shtick save him, he ain't Clint Eastwood. He ain't pullin' guns on Korean kids, he's lucky if he can breath afer this match. I don't even know what to say about Digger. Seth probably threw him some change to do the match, I can't imagine he needs it-- who knows what his motivations really are, but the end result is gon' be what it is. I got no beef with Gravedigger, I'm just keepin' it real. Digger, if you keepin' it real-- just stay out of my way, big dog. I don't wanna be the one to have to check you in this match, but I damn sure will.
Can't Atreyu's big words and his big fancy ideals save him, not from Steve Orbit and this raw dawg pimpin'. Does anybody know what this nigga is talkin' about half the time? I can tell you what Benjamin Atreyu's problem is, I can narrow it down to one word-- FOCUS. The boy has ADD, ADHD or somethin'. One second he's talkin' to you about wrestling and then he's talkin' about God and the mother fuckin' meaning of life. God, the one who supposedly Gave you your Greatness-- man, you might be great at somethin', but it ain't wrestling. I think you need to take the Buddhist approach and go sit under a tree for twenty years. Clear your mother fuckin' mind. Figure out what you want to do with your life, 'cause this shit ain't workin' out. You done tried and tried again. You won't win Final Destination. Just be gone... and stay gone. This shit ain't for you.
Can't Logan's God damn Hall of Fame career save him, not now. Not at Fifteen. We supposed to believe that after all this time, after all these mis-steps-- the fat slob, the drag queen, the hot dog gimmicks-- you comin' back and you comin' hard? You comin' hard for Steve Orbit? Nigga, we don't believe you. We don't! It's been six years since you held the World title, Logan. Six mother fuckin' years... 2010 was the last time. That's half a decade, bruh. That's one-third of the fifteen in Fifteen that you ain't been doin' SHIT. So you can talk all that Mr. WCF shit, act like you been runnin' this place since day one-- you ain't been, Logan. You fell off long ago and you never recuperated, never recovered. Every time you come back it's a God damn embarassment, not only to yourself, but to the entire WCF. You can't un-do this shit, homie. It don't work like that. You ain't gonna put on your boots and magically wrestle like it's six years ago-- shit, what am I sayin'? Bonnie Blue might be able to do that for you. BUT she won't, because she's tryin' to win this shit too! So you're fucked, Logan. You're triple fucked and it's gonna be a cold, hard, grim realization when you're on the mat-- out cold, or worse-- and the truth hits. Once again, you couldn't do this shit. Once again, you weren't as strong as you was once upon a time. You weren't as fast, you ain't react as quick. Your mind wasn't firing off signals the way it used to. It's gonna be a hard mother fuckin' pill to swallow, Logan, but the truth always hurts-- and the truth is, you ain't got it like you used to, homie. You a sad old man, grabbin' for one last shot at relevance, one last run at the top... one last moment of greatness that ain't never comin'. Not for you, Logan. It's over.
Orbit breathed a sigh and took a sip of water. He cleared his throat.
Now that I've said my peice, allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is STEVE ORBIT. Some call me the Mack, or the Oakland Mack. I've held damn near every title belt in this company-- some of 'em twice. And I did it all with no mother fuckin' help from nobody. I came into WCF, a green rookie, and in three short years I became an international superstar-- all on the strength of my talent, my motivation, and my mother fuckin' accomplishments. I've got so many fuckin' year-end awards in my office that I had to build another shelf for 'em. You mother fuckers know who I am and what I'm about. So you can kill all that slick talk, you can stop talkin' all that fly shit, Steve Orbit is back. STEVE ORBIT... IS BACK. And it's time for me to reclaim my position in this company--
TOP DOG.
And it starts on Sunday at Fifteen.
Fade out.
Steve Orbit: OK Google.
The phone beeps.
Steve Orbit: Call Jonny Fly!
The phone does not pick up the command.
Steve Orbit: PEICE OF SHIT GOOGLE CALL JONNY FLY MOTHER FUCKER!
Somehow, that did it. The phone rings a few times... voicemail.
Steve Orbit: Jonny, it's me. I got a serious fuckin' situation on my hands, bruh. I need you to call me as soon as you get this. I... I think I might need some help, man. Just call me. Please.
He ends the call, and bites his fist. He was sure Fly would help him figure out a solution.
Steve Orbit: FUCK.
He slaps the steering wheel, hard. He continues driving with no clear destination...
Steve Orbit: Hold up... OK Google.
The phone beeps.
Steve Orbit: Call Christina.
The phone rings... after a couple rings, a female answers.
Christina: Heyyyy!
Steve Orbit: Christina! It's Steve!
Christina: Duhhh! I'm so glad you called-- what the hell is going on at the Club!?
Steve Orbit: You know somethin'? I'm hopin' you can tell ME what's goin' on. Can I come over? You at home?
Christina: I'll be there in five minutes, I'm--
Orbit cuts her off.
Steve Orbit: Aight, I'm comin' right now.
Orbit abruptly ends the call and slams on his breaks, banging a u-turn in the middle of the street. Cars honk at him but he is not the least bit concerned...
Minutes later, Orbit pulls into the parking lot of a public housing apartment building. He parks and gets out, leaning against the trunk. He lights a Black & Mild, takes a pull, and exhales with a sigh.
Another car pulls up next to his. It's a newer Honda Civic, red. The car parks and out steps a young girl with pink-tipped blonde hair. She's wearing a tight black t-shirt and jean shorts with a number of noticable tattoos on her body. She lights a cigarette before running up and hugging Orbit.
Steve Orbit: Hey.
She immediately senses that something is off.
Christina: It's the Club, isn't it? Something weird has been going on for the last couple of weeks.
Steve Orbit: What you mean?
Christina: I dunno, just... tension, everybody's on edge. Even some of the regulars have been asking me what's up-- and that Kamelia, let me tell you something about that fuckin' bitch.
Orbit shrugs.
Steve Orbit: I know she's a little rough around the edges--
Christina: She's a fuckin' Nazi. She fired everybody-- bartenders, waitresses. Even all of the bouncers are new, guys we've never seen before.
Orbit pulls off the Black & Mild, rubbing the back of his head.
Steve Orbit: I saw two of 'em yesterday.
Christina: We need you back, Steve! You gotta fire that bitch Kamelia and come back to us. Most of the girls are saying they're gonna leave if you don't do something.
Orbit nods, slowly.
Steve Orbit: I'm afraid it's a little more complicated than that.
Christina: What? It's your Club. She works for you-- fire her ass!
Steve Orbit: ... Ok. You right. Ok, I will. Don't worry about nothin'. Tell the girls... spread the word, this whole thing is about to blow over, everything is gonna be fine. I got this.
She hugs Orbit again.
Christina: I knew you would.
Steve Orbit: Aight, I gotta roll out. Stay up, girl.
She smiles and leaves, walking towards the apartment building. Orbit gets back into his car, tossing out the remains of the cigar. He fires up the engine and speeds out of the parking lot...
Orbit pulls into a parking spot at his bank, Bank of the West. He exits the car and struts inside. Once entering, he walks directly to an office in the back. The lettering on the door states "JULIUS JACKSON - BRANCH MANAGER". Orbit knocks on the glass door, and he is invited in by the middle-aged African American bank manager.
Julius Jackson: Mister Orbit! Come on in, nice to see you. Pull up a chair.
The man adjusts his tie and fixes his glasses. He leans back in his chair, as Orbit takes a seat across from him.
Julius Jackson: How's retirement?
Steve Orbit: I'm not really... I mean, I haven't really worked in a year, but I'm back now.
Julius Jackson: Really? That's not what, uh... what's her name, told me. Your girlfriend.
Steve Orbit: I don't have a girlfriend, Julius.
Julius laughs.
Julius Jackson: I know-- guy like you, probably got five or ten, right?
He continues laughing but Orbit is not amused.
Steve Orbit: What else did my so-called "girlfriend" tell you?
Julius loses his jovial spirit quickly as he notices that Orbit is not playing along.
Julius Jackson: Uh... she said you were going away for a while. I'm surprised to see you, actually. She was in here with your mother--
Orbit's face turns red. His blood begins to boil.
Julius Jackson: ... Am I missing something? I something wrong?
Steve Orbit: What happened to my Club, Julius? Why am I locked out of my own business?
Julius clears his throat.
Julius Jackson: Well, your mother was here. Nice lady. She and your girlfriend-- Kamelia, that's her name-- you granted her Power of Attorney, and they were in here handling business on your behalf... transferring ownership of Club Violet to a private investment firm.
Orbit's nostrils flare.
Steve Orbit: And you didn't think it was FUNNY. You didn't think it was a little bit suspicious that I wouldn't come here by myself to do something as important as that? Come on, Julius. How long we known each other?
Julius Jackson: Well, uh-- a while, yeah. But you always sending girls in here to make deposits, whatever else... they said you were busy and that this matter needed to be expedited. So I made it happen. You granted her Power of Attorney, Steve.
Orbit stands up and leans over the desk.
Steve Orbit: NO I DIDN'T! They played you, Julius! And because you too concerned with customer service and kissin' ass to be able to use DISCRETION and do your damn JOB the right way... now I gotta deal with the fuckin' consequences.
Julius begins nervously searching through his desk drawers, flipping through papers.
Julius Jackson: Steve-- if this is true, I'll certainly do everything in my power to help you regain possession--
Steve Orbit: Nah, you've done enough. You've done enough Julius.
Orbit gets up to leave.
Steve Orbit: And guess what-- when I DO get this straightened out, I'm taking my MONEY and my BUSINESS ELSEWHERE.
Orbit takes the candy dish off of Julius' desk and dumps the entire contents into his pockets. He takes all of the pens out of a jar and puts those in his other pocket. He slams the door on the way out. Julius puts his head in his hands and sighs.
==
THAT NIGHT
The scene is Club Violet. There's a short line outside-- business men, frat boys, lonely middle-aged men. At the front of the line... we see a black woman(?) with red hair. "Her" arms are muscular. There's something familiar...
She enters the Club. A group of clearly drunk men whistle at "her".
Red Head: Fuck outta here, niggas. I'm a dyke.
The red-head mocked as if she was going to attack the guys. They flinched. "She" made her way up towards the stairs that led up to the VIP section. After whispering in the bouncer's ear and slipping him a wad of bills, "she" walked up the stairs.
"She" crossed the VIP section to a hall which was roped off. There were two bouncers guarding the hall. One of them was texting on his phone. The other was talking to one of the dancers. The mysterious red-head tried to sneak past them, when...
Bouncer: Hey!
He turned and grabbed "her" by the arm. "She" panicked... if a fight broke out, "she" would never be able to sneak into the office undetected. Instead...
Red-head: Hey big boy, you wanna take me into one of these private rooms? I got somethin' reaaaal sweet for ya.
Luckily for the red-head, this particular bouncer was a freak and had a thing for trannies. He smiled, and "she" led him into one of the private rooms before the office. As soon as the door closed, we hear a brief struggle and a thump. The door swung open, and the red-head walked out. We see the bouncer unconscious on the floor behind "her".
The red-head continued towards the end of the hall. "She" grabbed the gold handle on the office door-- noticably, the "Steve Orbit" gold plate that used to hang from the door is gone, leaving behind an unpainted rectangle on the door. "She" ran "her" fingers along the bare wood, and then slowly opened the door, just a crack. "She" peeked inside.
Orbit's real mother, Meredith, sat behind the desk. Kamelia stood to her right, flanked by two big Russian looking meat heads-- security, body guards perhaps. It was clear they were talking to another person in the room, but the red-head's field of vision was not large enough. "She" pushed the door open a tad more...
Jonny Fly stood on the other side of the room.
"Red-head": ENOUGH!
"She" kicked open the door, drawing a familiar two-tone pistol from "her" skirt. "She" kept it trained on Meredith. Fly blocked "her" path, and the two bodyguards made a move as well.
Jonny Fly: Logan?!
The red-head ripped the wig off, revealing... Steve Orbit, of course.
Jonny Fly: Steve! Wait, I can explain!
Orbit looked ridiculous with women's make-up on his face, and wearing a blouse and skirt. But his plan had worked.
Steve Orbit: I don't wanna hear it, Fly. I knew it was just a matter of time before you'd fuckin' stab me in the back again.
Meredith stands from behind the desk.
Meredith: That's right. Don't waste your breath, Jonny-- I'll do the explaining.
Orbit swallowed hard, face to face with his mother.
Meredith: See, Jonny is a good boy. A good son. He helps his mother when she's in need. But you... you're too SELFISH! You're the BLACK SHEEP of this family!
Steve Orbit: That's fucked up, ma!
Meredith: What have you ever done for me! NOTHING! Except convince your brother to put me through a table on live television! I GAVE YOU LIFE!
Steve Orbit: Yeah, and then you ditched me! And Jonny, too-- you ain't really buying this shit, Fly?!
Fly takes out a gun and aims it at Orbit.
Jonny Fly: You know what they say, Steve... family first.
Fly winked at Orbit.
Time stood still as it all became clear.
On three, Jonny and Steve each turned, shooting one of the bodyguards. Meredith and Kamelia gasped.
Kamelia: You bastard!
Kamelia charges Orbit, but be back body drops her. She gets back up, Orbit pistol whips her-- out cold. Now it's just Fly, Orbit and their mother left.
Meredith: Jonny... what are you doing...
She slowly backed away from the two brothers as they stood side by side.
Meredith: We had a deal! LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER!
She pointed her finger at both men.
Meredith: BOTH OF YOU, LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER! YOU'RE BOTH GROUNDED!
She backed into Orbit's desk. Fly and Orbit looked at each other. Then they looked at the desk... and then back at each other.
Meredith: NO! NO. NOT AGAIN!
Orbit slips behind his mother, lifts her up-- Fly leaps and executes a cutter on to the desk, crashing through it. Orbit and Fly slowly get up and dust themselves off.
Jonny Fly: You look cute in a wig! If you weren't my brother...
Steve Orbit: Fuck you, nigga.
The two men tuck their pistols under their clothing and leave the office.
==
THE NEXT DAY
Inside of a non-descript diner, we find Orbit and Fly sitting across from each other in a corner booth. Both men sipping coffee, with steaming plates of breakfast foods in front of them.
Jonny Fly: I had been talking to her on and off. She came to me with the plan to rob you, take control of your assets. I knew I had to do it-- if it wasn't me, she would have found somebody else and then you would've really been screwed.
Orbit sips his coffee.
Steve Orbit: Good lookin' out.
Jonny Fly: Eh, what are brothers for. Anyway, we haven't heard the last of her, I can guarantee you that. She's fucking batshit insane. Money hungry, power hungry... she won't stop until she gets what she wants. Any means necessary type of mentality.
Orbit shrugs.
Steve Orbit: Must be where we get it from.
Fly smirks.
Jonny Fly: True. Oh well-- there's plenty of tables out there ready to be broken.
The brothers share a laugh before taking a few bites of food.
Steve Orbit: Seems like we both got a lot on the line comin' up on Sunday.
Jonny Fly: Corey's finished. After all these years, he finally picked a fight he can't win and it's going to cost him his career.
Steve Orbit: Eh, fuck him. Hard to imagine WCF with that little mother fucker, but that's the way it go. I'm just pumped to be back in the saddle, you know what I'm sayin'.
Jonny Fly: Yeah-- big opportunity. Did I hear that LOGAN is back?
Steve Orbit: Yup. Logan, Digger-- Benjamin Atreyu, remember him?
Jonny Fly: Oh yeah, he was promising a few years back. He's back in the ring? Last I heard he was... I dunno, some backstage position. Another few months he'll be on "WCF- Where are they now?"
Steve Orbit: No doubt. Couple more jobbers in the match, no big deal. It's pretty much a lock for your boy.
Orbit digs in to some more food.
Jonny Fly: I don't think you can do it.
Orbit stops chewing, and looks up at Fly. He swallows.
Steve Orbit: What's that?
Fly laughs.
Jonny Fly: I'm fuckin' with you. Besides, you're always at your best when people are telling you that the odds are against you.
Orbit nods.
Steve Orbit: I'm confident-- not OVER confident. More importantly, I'm more fuckin' motivated to win this match than I've been in a long time. I'm not lettin' this opportunity slip through my fingers, Fly. I'm bringing home that briefcase.
Jonny Fly: You better.
Fly grins as Orbit brushes off the comment, continuing to eat. Fade out.
==
Fade in to some foggy, wavy dream sequence shit.
Orbit stands in a WCF ring. Empty arena. Around him lay the bodies of the other six competitors of the Final Destination match-- Bonnie Blue, Spencer Adams, Johnny Rabid, Benjamin Atreyu, Logan and Gravedigger. They're all...
Wait for it...
DEAD.
DUN DUN DUNNNN.
Blood stains soaked the majority of the canvas. He looked around, eyes wide with horror...
Cut to Orbit, asleep in his bed, tossing and turning.
Steve Orbit: No... no... argghhh... NO!
Orbit shoots up to a sitting position, breathing heavy. He rubs his eyes.
Steve Orbit: Whoa.
He reaches to his night stand and grabs a pen and paper. He begins to write on the paper and we fade out.
==
HOURS LATER
We cut in to a camera feed. Orbit is adjusting and repositioning the camera, getting the perfect shot of himself sitting in his home office. There are WCF memorabilia hanging on the walls-- replica title belts, posters of PPVs. Orbit appears solemn and then he begins to speak.
Last night I had a dream-- a premonition, rather. I saw the Final Destination match play out in my head. I saw everybody... all my fellow participants-- DEAD. It was fucked up. I mean, I'm tryin' to win, don't get me wrong-- but nobody gotta die, you know what I'm sayin'? I done seen enough death in my lifetime, I don't need to be directly or indirectly responsible for six more deaths, especially not in a WCF ring. I don't need that type of negativity in my life.
Orbit sighs.
I'm recording this because... I dunno, if it really WAS a premonition, I feel like I can make a mother fuckin' living in retirement as one of those fuckin' television "mediums" or whatever. You know... hey, pay me a hunnid and I can help you talk to your dead folks, that type of shit. I write down my dreams sometimes, 'cause sometimes I get some good ideas for sexual positions and that type of shit, but this is different, maybe more important than that. So here it is-- time and date stamped-- so when the shit goes down, y'all know I saw it first.
Orbit looks at his notes.
I saw Gravedigger come into the ring, the mother fucker was winded just climbin' the ring steps. I took him aside, and I was like-- hey man, you ain't gotta do this. You got nothin' left to prove. You gettin' a nice check from the commentary. Why put yourself at risk? I mean, I could see if you was goin' in with the rest of these mother fuckers, but STEVE ORBIT is in this match. This shit is gonna be a mother fuckin' demolition. I tried to tell him... you know, I know you got pride and all that. I know you want that spotlight, but you can't have it. It's mine. But would he listen to me? HELL NAH. So 'bout five minutes into the match... I see the mother fucker clutch his chest. Yup. Heart attack. The mother fucker dropped dead right in the middle of the ring-- and the fucked up thing, nobody even noticed 'til the end of the match. Everybody thought he was takin' a nap.
Orbit crosses Digger's name off the list.
Next was Bonnie Blue. She came into the match hot! She was gettin' her shit in, stickin' and movin'-- and then, ZAP. This fuckin'... portal appeared, and she jumped inside. A few minutes later, that shit appeared in the same spot and she jumped out-- FUCKIN' DEAD. I can only imagine some wacky, zany shit happened, maybe the Timekeeper finally got her ass, I dunno.
Orbit pauses.
What? Sounds ridiculous? You're tellin' me.
Orbit scratched her name off the paper.
This is where it starts to get fucked up. I saw Johnny Rabid, with his pompous ass. He really thinks he's high and mighty, huh? I wanted to wipe that fuckin' smirk off his face so God damn bad. So tired of hearing that stupid mother fuckin' accent-- so we're in the match and he makes another fuckin' "Snoop Dogg" comment about me. I don't get it, how the fuck am I anything like Snoop? Snoop is my homie, I love him as much as the next nigga, but I ain't nothing like that tall, skinny, dog-faced mother fucker. Is that the only black mother fucker that Johnny Rabid knows besides me? That's the only explaination I can think of, shit. Anyway, that shit pissed me off because it seems like it's the only thing he can fuckin' say about me, so I bugged out-- I grabbed his head, I hit the ropes, Orbital DDT... and I feel a crack. I feel this nigga's neck snap right in my fuckin' arms, and his head just went limp. I broke his neck, man. I didn't mean to kill him, I just wanted him to stop with the Snoop Dogg shit 'cause it don't make no damn sense. But it didn't stop there.
Orbit scratched Rabid's name off.
Spencer Adams was in the match for a hot minute. He was doin' well-- I knew he would, he's a young guy with a lot of upside. He's gonna be a great Television champion some day, no doubt about it. Maybe even a two-time Trios champ. At least he WOULD have a bright future... if I didn't see him die, right before my mother fuckin' eyes. See, Spencer is a little dude. Some little guys do alright in this business, but others... have tragic endings, like this one. Spencer was on the mat. I hit the top turnbuckle, wasn't nobody around to stop me. I leaped... Oakland Splash, right on top of this mother fucker. I rolled off-- his whole chest was flattened, rib cage crushed. His fuckin' heart exploded on impact. I fuckin' killed him, yo, I killed him with the Oakland Splash. Some fucked up shit.
Another name crossed out.
Atreyu had some big moments in the match. He came close to that briefcase-- more than once. He brought it like it was 2013 and he was still a relevant name in WCF, before he fell into fuckin' obscurity. Yeah, things were lookin' up for Benjamin Atreyu. He really wanted that briefcase. It ended up, he had set up a ladder, climbed up-- I chased after him. One rung after the other, climbing, climbing. Me and Atreyu. So we hit the top-- start trading blows, back and forth, back and forth. Finally I hop over the ladder, onto his back. I hook him up in a half-nelson-- fuckin' Honey Dip right off the top of the ladder. I felt his mother fuckin' spine snap like a twig, you know what I'm sayin'. I thought he might live... maybe just be paralyzed or somethin', but he fuckin' died instantly. I saw the life leave his fuckin' eyes and then I closed them. I didn't mean to kill him! I felt bad... I felt horrible, but I had to keep goin' because it was me and one man left in the match, and I wasn't about to turn my back on Logan.
Orbit drew a line through Benjamin Atreyu's name.
This one is fuckin' with me the most. See, I could really give a fuck about them five mother fuckers. I got no history, no story, no real beef with any of 'em. I didn't mean to kill 'em, but shit-- they the one who stepped in the ring knowing Steve Orbit was gonna be in there. They signed a fuckin' waiver just like everybody else, whatever. But then there was Logan. It ended up being us two, face to face. Of course it did-- that's the way it had to be. I know for sure, that's the way Logan wanted it, and I'ma tell you why. The mother fucker was still obsessed with me. Still watching my every move. This mother fucker, Logan, sat at home for years just waiting for the opportunity to get in the ring with me again. You can see it in his performances. He's half-dead, uninterested in every single fuckin' match over the last few years-- except when Steve Orbit is involved. Then all of a sudden, he's alive, he gives a fuck. So it's down to me and Logan, everybody else is dead in the ring. Literally, fuckin' dead. Me and Logan throw a few punches back and forth, but the whole time he's talkin' to me, talkin' about... you know, our destiny, all kinds of shit. How much of an inspiration I am to him and how much he appreciates what I do in the ring. He threw a couple of other weird compliments in there, I dunno, I was tryin' to beat his ass so it's a little blurry. Anyway, he comes up with this plan-- let's both grab the briefcase together, he wants to rule the world together, all this bizarre shit. So I'm like, nah, mother fucker. I didn't come back to WCF to share nothin' with nobody. And he's like, come on, man, you and me. And I'm like, nah. So I give him a Pimp Slap just to reinforce what the fuck I'm sayin'. I turn around and start climbin' the ladder-- the nigga, Logan, runs into the ring ropes full speed, flips over the ropes-- traps his neck in between the top and middle ropes. He's chokin', he's gaspin' for air. And I'm like... yo, this fool is crazy, right? But I just kept climbin' the ladder and I grabbed that mother fuckin' briefcase. And I won. I think in a way... Logan would be happy. It's like, in death, he actually won. 'Cause wherever he is, probably not a better place-- but wherever he is, he's probably happy that I won instead of one of those other no name son of a bitches. Full circle. He passed the torch to the mother fucker who can carry the company for the next fifteen years.
Orbit crossed Logan's name off and held the paper up to the camera. Then he crumbled it up and threw it over his shoulder.
Maybe I'm trippin'. I mean, maybe it was just a dream-- or maybe I just watched too many of those cheesy Final Destination movies, wanted to do a parody, and this is the best thing I could think of. Who knows...
It's not important, 'cause none of this shit is gon' matter once we step into that Final Destination match on Sunday. Who's old, who's irrelevant, who's got questionable sexuality... who might be a time traveling witch, who never seen a black mother fucker before, that shit is all out the window and all that's left is who is willing to back up them words. Who has enough in the mother fuckin' tank, who has enough experience, enough TESTICULAR FORTITUDE to beat six mother fuckers so bad that they momma won't know 'em, and reach up to grab that contract and secure their World title shot.
Can't Rabid's family, or his annoyin' fuckin' generic robotic accent save him. Everybody gon' expect me to talk trash about this mother fucker-- how? He ain't done nothin' in this company worth talkin' about. He's a fuckin' nobody looking for his big break. He's a forgettable, background character in a third-rate stable that just don't have the fuckin' star power to make it seem like anything else than a flash in the pan, flavor of the month, bunch of gay frat boys who worship the devil. #BeachKrew can't live in Steve Orbit's WCF-- I promise you that, and Rabid is only the first one who gon' feel it.
Can't Bonnie's sci-fi, future-is-now voodoo shit save her. I really ain't got no problem with this bitch. She's whatever. She's entertaining. She might have some magic powers. She kinda reminds me of a fuckin' Power Ranger. Blue Ranger, that's what I'ma call her-- Bonnie Blue Ranger. Hey, man-- if there was a fuckin' Time Traveler Doctor Who Championship, Bonnie Blue got that shit on LOCK, B. Can't nobody touch her, she would hold that shit for a thousand years. But that don't exist, and she don't have no business anywhere near the World title.
Can't Spencer's fan-favorite, mother fuckin' pre-teen fan club havin' ass save him. No matter how much paint he puts on his body. Spencer fucked up our tag match. He fucked up the People's Choice Trios belts. He fucked up the Tag belts when he had 'em. I mean, this is kinda like Johnny Rabid-- he's lookin' for his breakout match. But he keeps fuckin' up. He's a good kid but he don't have what it takes to be a World Champion. He don't have what it takes to stand toe to toe with Steve Orbit, not when the stakes are this high. He won't get past me. No way.
Can't Gravedigger's 'rough old man' shtick save him, he ain't Clint Eastwood. He ain't pullin' guns on Korean kids, he's lucky if he can breath afer this match. I don't even know what to say about Digger. Seth probably threw him some change to do the match, I can't imagine he needs it-- who knows what his motivations really are, but the end result is gon' be what it is. I got no beef with Gravedigger, I'm just keepin' it real. Digger, if you keepin' it real-- just stay out of my way, big dog. I don't wanna be the one to have to check you in this match, but I damn sure will.
Can't Atreyu's big words and his big fancy ideals save him, not from Steve Orbit and this raw dawg pimpin'. Does anybody know what this nigga is talkin' about half the time? I can tell you what Benjamin Atreyu's problem is, I can narrow it down to one word-- FOCUS. The boy has ADD, ADHD or somethin'. One second he's talkin' to you about wrestling and then he's talkin' about God and the mother fuckin' meaning of life. God, the one who supposedly Gave you your Greatness-- man, you might be great at somethin', but it ain't wrestling. I think you need to take the Buddhist approach and go sit under a tree for twenty years. Clear your mother fuckin' mind. Figure out what you want to do with your life, 'cause this shit ain't workin' out. You done tried and tried again. You won't win Final Destination. Just be gone... and stay gone. This shit ain't for you.
Can't Logan's God damn Hall of Fame career save him, not now. Not at Fifteen. We supposed to believe that after all this time, after all these mis-steps-- the fat slob, the drag queen, the hot dog gimmicks-- you comin' back and you comin' hard? You comin' hard for Steve Orbit? Nigga, we don't believe you. We don't! It's been six years since you held the World title, Logan. Six mother fuckin' years... 2010 was the last time. That's half a decade, bruh. That's one-third of the fifteen in Fifteen that you ain't been doin' SHIT. So you can talk all that Mr. WCF shit, act like you been runnin' this place since day one-- you ain't been, Logan. You fell off long ago and you never recuperated, never recovered. Every time you come back it's a God damn embarassment, not only to yourself, but to the entire WCF. You can't un-do this shit, homie. It don't work like that. You ain't gonna put on your boots and magically wrestle like it's six years ago-- shit, what am I sayin'? Bonnie Blue might be able to do that for you. BUT she won't, because she's tryin' to win this shit too! So you're fucked, Logan. You're triple fucked and it's gonna be a cold, hard, grim realization when you're on the mat-- out cold, or worse-- and the truth hits. Once again, you couldn't do this shit. Once again, you weren't as strong as you was once upon a time. You weren't as fast, you ain't react as quick. Your mind wasn't firing off signals the way it used to. It's gonna be a hard mother fuckin' pill to swallow, Logan, but the truth always hurts-- and the truth is, you ain't got it like you used to, homie. You a sad old man, grabbin' for one last shot at relevance, one last run at the top... one last moment of greatness that ain't never comin'. Not for you, Logan. It's over.
Orbit breathed a sigh and took a sip of water. He cleared his throat.
Now that I've said my peice, allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is STEVE ORBIT. Some call me the Mack, or the Oakland Mack. I've held damn near every title belt in this company-- some of 'em twice. And I did it all with no mother fuckin' help from nobody. I came into WCF, a green rookie, and in three short years I became an international superstar-- all on the strength of my talent, my motivation, and my mother fuckin' accomplishments. I've got so many fuckin' year-end awards in my office that I had to build another shelf for 'em. You mother fuckers know who I am and what I'm about. So you can kill all that slick talk, you can stop talkin' all that fly shit, Steve Orbit is back. STEVE ORBIT... IS BACK. And it's time for me to reclaim my position in this company--
TOP DOG.
And it starts on Sunday at Fifteen.
Fade out.
