Post by Steve Orbit on May 10, 2019 20:26:17 GMT -5
OAKLAND
Scene opens in Steve Orbit's office at his primary base of operations-- his strip club, Club Violet. Orbit sits behind a large mahogany desk. The walls are packed with memorabilia-- many framed photos of Orbit with celebrities who have visited the Club, but also some WCF related items. Two authentic World Championship belts hang directly behind his desk. There are also posters for various PPVs, ONE 2013 - FLY VS ORBIT stands out. We can see Homegrown Players merch, Genesis, Vapor Kings. His entire office, a testament to a one-of-a-kind career. Accomplishments that most people who enter the wrestling business dream of, but very few realize.
Sitting across from Orbit is a familiar figure. If we had to guess, he eats steroids for three meals a day in between bench pressing cars and grand pianos, and smashing beer cans on his forehead. We hear his voice.
"mack why do u keep checking your phone bro."
The camera reveals that Tyler Walker, one half of the legendary bioWalker, is sitting in a chair across from Orbit. He's wearing a black t-shirt with "SECURITY" on the back.
Orbit: Nah T-Bone, it's nothin'.
Camera zooms on Orbit's phone. The screen shows two missed calls from "WCF Price".
tyler: what do you have some girl friend trying to make you a house wife hahaha
Orbit grins at his Head of Security's stupidity.
Orbit: You know better than that, fool. You got a team together for next weekend?
Tyler stares blank.
Orbit: Club Violet East. NYC. Grandest opening in the history of mother fuckin' strip clubs.
tyler: oh ya im on it boss
Orbit: Good 'cuz this shit has to go smooth. These mother fuckers didn't wanna give me no license, I had to pay off this one and that one... nah mean?
tyler: dont worry if anybody tries to act crazy I will stick my head in their ass and fuck them up dawg
Orbit nods.
Orbit: Just make sure you got that mean mug on with that juiced-up look in your eye.
tyler: I like apple juice. by the way the bar is out of apple juice boxes i drank them all again sorry
Orbit: So tell the bitches to go buy some more apple juice! Damn son I ain't the fuckin' grocery store.
Tyler Walker leaves the room. Orbit leans back, looking at his phone again. He scrolls to "WCF Price"... sighs... and makes the call.
Orbit: ... Yo this is Orbit, I missed the call. Who's this? ... Jayson who?
Orbit holds the phone away from his ear as we hear yelling.
Orbit: I'm fuckin' with you man. Whatchu want? ... WCF is closing? Again? ... Damn. Sorry to hear that? Yo, I might be able to put some money together, y'all selling or what? ... Shit, for real? ...
Orbit laughs.
Orbit: HELL no. I ain't comin' back for no God damn one last match. Not interested. The fuck I look like puttin' on them 'gator trunks again, sweatin', for what? My career is over. I did everything. I beat everybody who matters, I won every title that matters. I was Wrestler of the Year two fuckin' years back to back. Unheard of shit. ... Yeah, I'ma fuckin' brag. I beat YOU too, NIGGA.
Orbit holds the phone away from his ear again, grinning as Price yells.
Orbit: We both know I won for reals. Anyway even if I wanted to I can't do it. I'm pimpin' so hard and expansive that it can't be contained to California anymore, I'm comin' to take over the east coast. Club Violet East. Manhattan. ... Hell no you can't drink for free! ... Aight, one time. You got a one night invitation, drinks on me. After that you payin' for your own fuckin' drinks.
There's a long pause as Price talks.
Orbit: I DO love WCF. Don't pull that shit. I'm real sorry but I'ma have to miss that last show. Retired is retired. ... Nah, I'm not gonna change my mind. Book the show without me, I'm good. For real. ... Aight man.
The call ends and the scene fades out.
NEW YORK - MANHATTAN
Scene opens outside of Club Violet East. It's opening night and the place is jumpin'. Inside, we find Steve Orbit hanging in the VIP balcony section, overlooking several stages. It's dark but colored lights are flashing, that good grimey strip club music is pumping. Orbit is wearing a full lavendar pimp suit with zebra trim and a feather in his cap. As Orbit talks to a group of customers, Tyler Walker approaches and taps him on the shoulder. After a moment, Orbit steps away from the group.
tyler: i saw a WCF guy
Orbit: What? Fuckin' Price, make sure they servin' him that cheap liquor! That mother fucker will drink me outta business!
tyler: its not jayrone price is those guys from the beach boys
Orbit: What?
tyler: u know the beach boy crew where they are from the beach or something but its like supposed to be irony cool like a hipster thing
Orbit: Did you just say irony? You been readin' boy?
Walker points towards a section where HASH TAG BEACHKREW is sitting. Wade Moor, Jared Holmes and some other no name mother fuckers are there.
Orbit: Oh, shit. It really is the #beachkrew. Came to bask in the glory, I suppose. Can't blame 'em. Can't say I give a fuck, but you know. Good for them. Lookin' like they ain't had pussy since pussy had them.
tyler produces a reciept from his pocket and hands it to Orbit. Orbit's eyes widen.
Orbit: Damn, they spendin'-- Wade Moor is buyin' all these bottles? Damn, I didn't think he had flavor like that. Who knew.
tyler: u want me to kick them out
Orbit laughs.
Orbit: Nah, chill. Let the boys enjoy themselves. I'll give 'em a shoutout, especially Wade, rackin' up a tab like that.
Orbit makes his way to the DJ booth. The music fades to a low volume as we hear the DJ scream.
DJ: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN PUT YO MOTHAFUCKIN' HANDS TOGETHA FOR ONE OF THE BADDEST NIGGAS ON THE PLANET, STEEEEEVE OOOOOORRRBBBIIIITTT!!!!
The crowd explodes with excitement as a spotlight shines on Orbit. Every bitch in the club stands at attention. Orbit soaks it all in before grabbing the mic.
Orbit: What's good, Club Violet?!
The crowd explodes again.
Orbit: Ay, y'all enjoying yourselves?
Fucking insane pop.
Orbit: Yo, I got a surprise for y'all tonight. I know you're here to see bitches but we got a former colleague from my pro wrestling days, a bad motherfucker ladies and gentlemen, WADE MOOR!
MOTHER FUCKING insane pop. Somebody just got stabbed. Girls are doing blow on the tables. It's a God damn party. Orbit waves Wade towards the DJ booth. Wade slowly makes his way towards the booth, grinning. Orbit leans in to the DJ.
Orbit: Look at this sloppy mother fucker. No style. But he's spendin', the crowd's into him-- whatever.
Wade and Orbit meet behind the DJ booth. Orbit offers him a bottle of champagne, which he glady takes. Wade pours a glass, and then another. Orbit raises an eyebrow.
Orbit: Shit, this man gonna shut us down. Hold on a minute, playa.
Wade pauses before drinking another glass. He looks at Orbit with a wild grin, and takes a step towards him. Orbit senses something is off.
Orbit: Step back, my nigga, or...
Wade comes in closer and steps the heel of his boot down onto Steve's shoe. His $3000 Mauri alligator shoes. Orbit is instantly furious, inhaling deeply, but he keeps his composure-- until Wade steps on the other shoe, this time harder.
Orbit: Yo, what the fuck? Are you drunk?
Orbit's had enough. He shoves Wade off without thinking twice. Wade barely budges, but comes back with a stiff right hand to Orbit's face. The record scratches as the music cuts off-- lights come on, Orbit and Wade are about to collide but a seemingly endless stream of security guards gets directly in between them, keeping them completely seperated.
Orbit had been played. THE PLAYER had been played.
Orbit watched with a distant look in his eye as he comes to the realization. Security escorts Wade out of the Club with little resistance, but Wade has his eyes calmly fixed on Orbit. He's glaring. He's taunting. He's... challenging Orbit.
At the door, Orbit's head of security, Tyler Walker starts to get a little too rough with Wade. He gets headbutted in the nose and his nose just explodes with blood and the sound of bone cracking. Walker falls to his knees and Wade boots him in the face, knocking him unconscious. The rest of security grabs him off the ground and drags him towards the back of the Club as Wade stands in the doorway, smiling. Proud of what he's done.
Orbit retreats to his office. On the way, some girls try to check on him. He shoos them away. The crowd is confused as the music comes back on and the DJ tries to get the energy going again.
Orbit slams the office door. He sits down and opens the desk drawer, pulling out his cellphone. He dials.
Orbit: ... Yo, Price. ... Wade Moor. I want WADE MOOR at your fuckin' show, B. ... Don't worry about it just PUT ME IN THE RING WITH THIS MOTHER FUCKER. So I can legally beat the dog shit outta him. ... Nah you ain't gotta check no schedules, just book the fuckin' match. ... My tone? Mother fucker I said book the match. ... Aight then.
Orbit throws the phone against the wall. Fade out.
THE NEXT DAY
Orbit is at his home gym. He's wearing a gator speedo because of course he is. His brand new phone rings.
Boom, Facetime with Jonny Fly.
Orbit: Sup bro?
Fly: You tell me what's so imporant. I'm really kinda busy, you know.
On Facetime, we see that Fly is in his underwear lounging on a waterbed, eating a bag of Hot Fries with a woman on either side of him.
Orbit: Yeah, looks like it. I'm goin' back in for one more match.
Fly gets up suddenly, the waterbed bounces both women off of the bed.
Fly: WCF?
Orbit: Where else.
Fly runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. He thinks for a moment.
Fly: Why? Yesterday you were dead set against it.
Orbit: Wade Moor, that's why.
Fly: Who?
Orbit: Wade Moor. HASH TAG Beachkrew. This mother fucker comes up in my club, starts throwin' money around, and steps on my shoe. My brand new mother fuckin' Mauris my nigga.
Fly's expression drops. He feels bad for his brother.
Orbit: WHAT THE FUCK DID THOSE SHOES DO TO DESERVE THAT? Perfectly good, fresh out the box. That... new alligator skin smell, that shine... God, man.
A tear rolls down Orbit's face.
Fly: I'm... I'm sorry, Steve. You're right, the shoes didn't deserve that.
Orbit: What the fuck has the world come to when you mindin' your own business openin' a multi-million dollar strip club, and some fat nigga comes and steps on your brand new Mauri alligators? I dunno, man. I'm real fucked up about this. And you know what else is fuckin' me up? I didn't see it comin'. This dirty mother fucker is in my Club and I couldn't see the jux comin' a mile away? Am I losin' my shit or what?
Fly nods.
Fly: I mean... yeah, you definitely should have seen that coming. Those guys don't go to strip clubs. Not female ones, anyway.
Orbit chuckles.
Fly: Look, maybe he's not as stupid as he looks. And acts. And everybody who he hangs around. And his fuckin' mother, probably. Maybe he's not that stupid. He wanted a big match and he got it. He won, Steve.
Orbit: Yeah, he won alright. He won tickets to a mother fuckin' Pimp Slap. I'ma slap the sand and salt out that mother fucker.
Fly: Salt?
Orbit: You know... salt water, beachkrew, I dunno.
Fly looks concerned.
Fly: Jesus, are you sure you're ready for this? You aren't even talking shit like you used to.
Orbit flexes. He's not quite as cut as in his prime, but definitely still muscular and fit.
Orbit: Look man, I'ma get justice for my shoes one way or another. If I'ma stay retired I gotta make sure a mother fucker knows that you can't just come up and disrespect Steve Orbit like that. Not without reprocussions.
Fly: Have you considered... you know.
Fly makes the gun to the head motion.
Orbit: Come on man, we ain't doin' that type of shit no more. Last thing I need is another fuckin' federal case.
Fly: You and me both.
Orbit: ... You know what it is. A couple years off ain't nothin'. I just slapped a bitch the other day, she's still sleepin'.
Fly laughs.
Orbit: Besides, this is light work. Wade Moor? Pssh.
Fly: Don't underestimate this kid. He manipulated you into coming out of retirement. He embarassed you in front of your girls, and your customers. He's got one up on you. If he beats you in the ring...
Orbit raises an eyebrow.
Orbit: IF?
Fly: Yeah, you're right. But if you're gonna make a statement, make it loud. Make it clear. Take his fucking head off.
Orbit: That's the plan. Besides, it's history. WCF's last show. Maybe a part of me wanted to be a part of it all along.
The Facetime shows the two girls jump on top of Fly.
Orbit: Aight bro, I'ma let you do your thing. Sup ladies?
Girls: Hey Steve!
Orbit: Lookin' good out there. Fly, I'ma catch you aight?
Fly: Later.
Orbit ends the call. He steps onto the treadmill and begins to walk on it.
Orbit: One more time. Wade Moor. Doin' it for the 'gators.
The pace increases and Orbit starts to run.
Orbit: WCF baby.
Orbit grins. Fade out.
Scene opens in Steve Orbit's office at his primary base of operations-- his strip club, Club Violet. Orbit sits behind a large mahogany desk. The walls are packed with memorabilia-- many framed photos of Orbit with celebrities who have visited the Club, but also some WCF related items. Two authentic World Championship belts hang directly behind his desk. There are also posters for various PPVs, ONE 2013 - FLY VS ORBIT stands out. We can see Homegrown Players merch, Genesis, Vapor Kings. His entire office, a testament to a one-of-a-kind career. Accomplishments that most people who enter the wrestling business dream of, but very few realize.
Sitting across from Orbit is a familiar figure. If we had to guess, he eats steroids for three meals a day in between bench pressing cars and grand pianos, and smashing beer cans on his forehead. We hear his voice.
"mack why do u keep checking your phone bro."
The camera reveals that Tyler Walker, one half of the legendary bioWalker, is sitting in a chair across from Orbit. He's wearing a black t-shirt with "SECURITY" on the back.
Orbit: Nah T-Bone, it's nothin'.
Camera zooms on Orbit's phone. The screen shows two missed calls from "WCF Price".
tyler: what do you have some girl friend trying to make you a house wife hahaha
Orbit grins at his Head of Security's stupidity.
Orbit: You know better than that, fool. You got a team together for next weekend?
Tyler stares blank.
Orbit: Club Violet East. NYC. Grandest opening in the history of mother fuckin' strip clubs.
tyler: oh ya im on it boss
Orbit: Good 'cuz this shit has to go smooth. These mother fuckers didn't wanna give me no license, I had to pay off this one and that one... nah mean?
tyler: dont worry if anybody tries to act crazy I will stick my head in their ass and fuck them up dawg
Orbit nods.
Orbit: Just make sure you got that mean mug on with that juiced-up look in your eye.
tyler: I like apple juice. by the way the bar is out of apple juice boxes i drank them all again sorry
Orbit: So tell the bitches to go buy some more apple juice! Damn son I ain't the fuckin' grocery store.
Tyler Walker leaves the room. Orbit leans back, looking at his phone again. He scrolls to "WCF Price"... sighs... and makes the call.
Orbit: ... Yo this is Orbit, I missed the call. Who's this? ... Jayson who?
Orbit holds the phone away from his ear as we hear yelling.
Orbit: I'm fuckin' with you man. Whatchu want? ... WCF is closing? Again? ... Damn. Sorry to hear that? Yo, I might be able to put some money together, y'all selling or what? ... Shit, for real? ...
Orbit laughs.
Orbit: HELL no. I ain't comin' back for no God damn one last match. Not interested. The fuck I look like puttin' on them 'gator trunks again, sweatin', for what? My career is over. I did everything. I beat everybody who matters, I won every title that matters. I was Wrestler of the Year two fuckin' years back to back. Unheard of shit. ... Yeah, I'ma fuckin' brag. I beat YOU too, NIGGA.
Orbit holds the phone away from his ear again, grinning as Price yells.
Orbit: We both know I won for reals. Anyway even if I wanted to I can't do it. I'm pimpin' so hard and expansive that it can't be contained to California anymore, I'm comin' to take over the east coast. Club Violet East. Manhattan. ... Hell no you can't drink for free! ... Aight, one time. You got a one night invitation, drinks on me. After that you payin' for your own fuckin' drinks.
There's a long pause as Price talks.
Orbit: I DO love WCF. Don't pull that shit. I'm real sorry but I'ma have to miss that last show. Retired is retired. ... Nah, I'm not gonna change my mind. Book the show without me, I'm good. For real. ... Aight man.
The call ends and the scene fades out.
NEW YORK - MANHATTAN
Scene opens outside of Club Violet East. It's opening night and the place is jumpin'. Inside, we find Steve Orbit hanging in the VIP balcony section, overlooking several stages. It's dark but colored lights are flashing, that good grimey strip club music is pumping. Orbit is wearing a full lavendar pimp suit with zebra trim and a feather in his cap. As Orbit talks to a group of customers, Tyler Walker approaches and taps him on the shoulder. After a moment, Orbit steps away from the group.
tyler: i saw a WCF guy
Orbit: What? Fuckin' Price, make sure they servin' him that cheap liquor! That mother fucker will drink me outta business!
tyler: its not jayrone price is those guys from the beach boys
Orbit: What?
tyler: u know the beach boy crew where they are from the beach or something but its like supposed to be irony cool like a hipster thing
Orbit: Did you just say irony? You been readin' boy?
Walker points towards a section where HASH TAG BEACHKREW is sitting. Wade Moor, Jared Holmes and some other no name mother fuckers are there.
Orbit: Oh, shit. It really is the #beachkrew. Came to bask in the glory, I suppose. Can't blame 'em. Can't say I give a fuck, but you know. Good for them. Lookin' like they ain't had pussy since pussy had them.
tyler produces a reciept from his pocket and hands it to Orbit. Orbit's eyes widen.
Orbit: Damn, they spendin'-- Wade Moor is buyin' all these bottles? Damn, I didn't think he had flavor like that. Who knew.
tyler: u want me to kick them out
Orbit laughs.
Orbit: Nah, chill. Let the boys enjoy themselves. I'll give 'em a shoutout, especially Wade, rackin' up a tab like that.
Orbit makes his way to the DJ booth. The music fades to a low volume as we hear the DJ scream.
DJ: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN PUT YO MOTHAFUCKIN' HANDS TOGETHA FOR ONE OF THE BADDEST NIGGAS ON THE PLANET, STEEEEEVE OOOOOORRRBBBIIIITTT!!!!
The crowd explodes with excitement as a spotlight shines on Orbit. Every bitch in the club stands at attention. Orbit soaks it all in before grabbing the mic.
Orbit: What's good, Club Violet?!
The crowd explodes again.
Orbit: Ay, y'all enjoying yourselves?
Fucking insane pop.
Orbit: Yo, I got a surprise for y'all tonight. I know you're here to see bitches but we got a former colleague from my pro wrestling days, a bad motherfucker ladies and gentlemen, WADE MOOR!
MOTHER FUCKING insane pop. Somebody just got stabbed. Girls are doing blow on the tables. It's a God damn party. Orbit waves Wade towards the DJ booth. Wade slowly makes his way towards the booth, grinning. Orbit leans in to the DJ.
Orbit: Look at this sloppy mother fucker. No style. But he's spendin', the crowd's into him-- whatever.
Wade and Orbit meet behind the DJ booth. Orbit offers him a bottle of champagne, which he glady takes. Wade pours a glass, and then another. Orbit raises an eyebrow.
Orbit: Shit, this man gonna shut us down. Hold on a minute, playa.
Wade pauses before drinking another glass. He looks at Orbit with a wild grin, and takes a step towards him. Orbit senses something is off.
Orbit: Step back, my nigga, or...
Wade comes in closer and steps the heel of his boot down onto Steve's shoe. His $3000 Mauri alligator shoes. Orbit is instantly furious, inhaling deeply, but he keeps his composure-- until Wade steps on the other shoe, this time harder.
Orbit: Yo, what the fuck? Are you drunk?
Orbit's had enough. He shoves Wade off without thinking twice. Wade barely budges, but comes back with a stiff right hand to Orbit's face. The record scratches as the music cuts off-- lights come on, Orbit and Wade are about to collide but a seemingly endless stream of security guards gets directly in between them, keeping them completely seperated.
Orbit had been played. THE PLAYER had been played.
Orbit watched with a distant look in his eye as he comes to the realization. Security escorts Wade out of the Club with little resistance, but Wade has his eyes calmly fixed on Orbit. He's glaring. He's taunting. He's... challenging Orbit.
At the door, Orbit's head of security, Tyler Walker starts to get a little too rough with Wade. He gets headbutted in the nose and his nose just explodes with blood and the sound of bone cracking. Walker falls to his knees and Wade boots him in the face, knocking him unconscious. The rest of security grabs him off the ground and drags him towards the back of the Club as Wade stands in the doorway, smiling. Proud of what he's done.
Orbit retreats to his office. On the way, some girls try to check on him. He shoos them away. The crowd is confused as the music comes back on and the DJ tries to get the energy going again.
Orbit slams the office door. He sits down and opens the desk drawer, pulling out his cellphone. He dials.
Orbit: ... Yo, Price. ... Wade Moor. I want WADE MOOR at your fuckin' show, B. ... Don't worry about it just PUT ME IN THE RING WITH THIS MOTHER FUCKER. So I can legally beat the dog shit outta him. ... Nah you ain't gotta check no schedules, just book the fuckin' match. ... My tone? Mother fucker I said book the match. ... Aight then.
Orbit throws the phone against the wall. Fade out.
THE NEXT DAY
Orbit is at his home gym. He's wearing a gator speedo because of course he is. His brand new phone rings.
Boom, Facetime with Jonny Fly.
Orbit: Sup bro?
Fly: You tell me what's so imporant. I'm really kinda busy, you know.
On Facetime, we see that Fly is in his underwear lounging on a waterbed, eating a bag of Hot Fries with a woman on either side of him.
Orbit: Yeah, looks like it. I'm goin' back in for one more match.
Fly gets up suddenly, the waterbed bounces both women off of the bed.
Fly: WCF?
Orbit: Where else.
Fly runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. He thinks for a moment.
Fly: Why? Yesterday you were dead set against it.
Orbit: Wade Moor, that's why.
Fly: Who?
Orbit: Wade Moor. HASH TAG Beachkrew. This mother fucker comes up in my club, starts throwin' money around, and steps on my shoe. My brand new mother fuckin' Mauris my nigga.
Fly's expression drops. He feels bad for his brother.
Orbit: WHAT THE FUCK DID THOSE SHOES DO TO DESERVE THAT? Perfectly good, fresh out the box. That... new alligator skin smell, that shine... God, man.
A tear rolls down Orbit's face.
Fly: I'm... I'm sorry, Steve. You're right, the shoes didn't deserve that.
Orbit: What the fuck has the world come to when you mindin' your own business openin' a multi-million dollar strip club, and some fat nigga comes and steps on your brand new Mauri alligators? I dunno, man. I'm real fucked up about this. And you know what else is fuckin' me up? I didn't see it comin'. This dirty mother fucker is in my Club and I couldn't see the jux comin' a mile away? Am I losin' my shit or what?
Fly nods.
Fly: I mean... yeah, you definitely should have seen that coming. Those guys don't go to strip clubs. Not female ones, anyway.
Orbit chuckles.
Fly: Look, maybe he's not as stupid as he looks. And acts. And everybody who he hangs around. And his fuckin' mother, probably. Maybe he's not that stupid. He wanted a big match and he got it. He won, Steve.
Orbit: Yeah, he won alright. He won tickets to a mother fuckin' Pimp Slap. I'ma slap the sand and salt out that mother fucker.
Fly: Salt?
Orbit: You know... salt water, beachkrew, I dunno.
Fly looks concerned.
Fly: Jesus, are you sure you're ready for this? You aren't even talking shit like you used to.
Orbit flexes. He's not quite as cut as in his prime, but definitely still muscular and fit.
Orbit: Look man, I'ma get justice for my shoes one way or another. If I'ma stay retired I gotta make sure a mother fucker knows that you can't just come up and disrespect Steve Orbit like that. Not without reprocussions.
Fly: Have you considered... you know.
Fly makes the gun to the head motion.
Orbit: Come on man, we ain't doin' that type of shit no more. Last thing I need is another fuckin' federal case.
Fly: You and me both.
Orbit: ... You know what it is. A couple years off ain't nothin'. I just slapped a bitch the other day, she's still sleepin'.
Fly laughs.
Orbit: Besides, this is light work. Wade Moor? Pssh.
Fly: Don't underestimate this kid. He manipulated you into coming out of retirement. He embarassed you in front of your girls, and your customers. He's got one up on you. If he beats you in the ring...
Orbit raises an eyebrow.
Orbit: IF?
Fly: Yeah, you're right. But if you're gonna make a statement, make it loud. Make it clear. Take his fucking head off.
Orbit: That's the plan. Besides, it's history. WCF's last show. Maybe a part of me wanted to be a part of it all along.
The Facetime shows the two girls jump on top of Fly.
Orbit: Aight bro, I'ma let you do your thing. Sup ladies?
Girls: Hey Steve!
Orbit: Lookin' good out there. Fly, I'ma catch you aight?
Fly: Later.
Orbit ends the call. He steps onto the treadmill and begins to walk on it.
Orbit: One more time. Wade Moor. Doin' it for the 'gators.
The pace increases and Orbit starts to run.
Orbit: WCF baby.
Orbit grins. Fade out.
