Existing As Nonpareil - Ep 001
Jul 21, 2019 19:41:51 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, The King, and 2 more like this
Post by Union Jack on Jul 21, 2019 19:41:51 GMT -5
Atlanta, Georgia.
We open to a black and white feed facing out of the windscreen of a car along a highway. Heavy traffic is moving in both direction as white lettering falls into the shot. They spell out ‘Existing As Nonpareil’. A voice begins to speak.
“Just landed in Atlanta, just had a three-hour flight from New York. With about a twenty-minute delay, so we’re looking at, what, at least a four-hour travel day.”
The feed cuts to a color shot of Joey ‘The Dude’ LaDude as he switches the phones camera to himself. David Sinclair is glimpsed in the driver’s seat.
“Ah, keep in mind we were only in New York for literally..”
“A week” calls David Sinclair from the drivers seat.
“Yea, we went from Chicago to New York…”
“Sapphire Thirty-Nine.”
“Went to Sapphire Thirty-Nine which is a eh, Adult Entertainment establishment in midtown. Woke up after a nine-hour nap and then had to get our flight.”
CUT
Sapphire Thirty-Nine, NYC
David Sinclair, laughing, climbs up onto the stage. He staggers and grabs the stripper pole to keep himself standing. He wraps his leg around the pole and gently slides down, trying to look seductive as he drunkenly does so.
CUT
Atlanta, Georgia.
The camera is now trained on David Sinclair behind the wheel.
“Well here we are, back in Hotlanta BAYBEE!” Sinclair slaps the steering wheel and ‘woops’ excitedly. “This has been a long time in the making. The last five years have been tough man, really tough.”
“At least we got the money to re-open now.”
“Yeah.” Sinclair nods “After five years of living off of the royalties, dividends and trust fund, we finally got an investor.”
“Who was it?”
“Huh?” Sinclair shoots a look at the camera. “Oh, I dunno. Some old guy randomly came over to me last night as I was coming out of the bathroom.”
CUT
Sapphire Thirty-Nine, NYC
A CCTV feed shows the door of the disabled bathroom. The door rattles for several moments. Swearing is heard from inside. A frustrated grunt is closely followed by a loud thud. Finally, the red ‘Engaged’ sign flicks to green ‘Vacant’ and the door is roughly pulled open. A disheveled and sweaty David Sinclair almost falls into the walkway, a strange white substance covers his nose.
“Hey, jinglenuts.” The voice startles Sinclair, but as he looks up at the elderly gentleman with the short, grey peppered hair to which the voice belonged he relaxed. “You got a little something on your nose.”
Panicked, Sinclair wiped. The man chuckled and stepped toward him, pushing a folded piece of paper into his jacket pocket.
“Take this.” He says with a smirk. “Should solve all your problems.”
CUT
Atlanta, Georgia.
David Sinclair is still driving, and the camera is fixed on him.
“And it was cash?” LaDude asks, confused.
“A cheque” Sinclair corrects. “For exactly what it’d cost to renew the licensing on the trademarks, the debts on the View, the needed repairs and renovations from those animals tearing the place up and… recreational expenses involved.”
“So..” Joey ‘subtly’ sniffs loudly.
“Yea.” Sinclair nods.
“Well who the hell just gives that kind of money away?”
“Not a clue. Just signed the cheque ‘CW’ and stuffed it in my pocket.” Sinclair sighs, shakes his head and looks into the camera. “We’re driving along I-85 heading south from Heartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Heading out to the arena. I’ve not been there in the best part of five years. I really hope it’s still fit for purpose.”
CUT.
The View, Atlanta, GA.
David Sinclair is stood in front of a chain link fence. Behind him, the expansive parking lot and approach of The View sits empty. In the background stands the large oval building that was home to Gate City Wrestling.
“It’s April 1, 2019 and we’re at ‘The View’. This place has sat empty for five years now, but not anymore. GCW is back!”
Sinclair lifts a set of bolt cutters, sets them against the chain holding the gate shut, squeezes and… nothing happens. Sinclair grunts and tries again, his foot slipping from under him. “Damnit” he mutters to himself as he tries once more. He shoots an annoyed look over at the camera. Finally, he snaps. “Joey would you get your ass ove…”
CUT.
The View, Atlanta, GA.
David pushes back a boarded door and steps into the darkness of The View. Joey follows behind, the camera unprofessionally dipping to look at the floor as he climbs across the broken glass.
They stop dead in their tracks as David turns to Joey, ”Did we get permanent hearing damage last night?”
CUT
Sapphire Thirty-Nine
David Sinclair is now seven ladies deep as the salt and peppered man walks toward the exit, pausing to nod at the sight of Sinclair standing atop a pyramid of strippers as he screams ”We’re back baby!”
CUT
The View, Atlanta, GA.
Back in the abandoned Gate City View Arena, Joey sounds confused as he confirms, ”No, I hear it too.”
A rhythmic thumping echoes lowly as they both slowly creep forward. Winding through the Arena they reach the lower level housing The Smart Mark.
Through a crack in the door, light pours out.
CUT
David and Joey exchange glances as Joey flips the camera from Sinclair to himself and back.
Holding his first up, Sinclair whispers, ”On three we rush ’em. One…two...three..”
Bursting through the door both Joey and David let out their warcry
CUT
Running into the room full barge, the camera bounces and juggles as they almost trip over each other coming to a sudden stop.
As spotless as the day it was built, The Smart Mark looked ready to open at any minute.
Unfazed and seemingly expecting them Parsons is standing behind the polish jagged black granite testament to excess that was his bar.
His suit jacket is casually tossed over a stool on and a towel rests on his shoulders. Smiling, the one eye remaining is full of life and fire as he can’t contain his excitement as he spreads his arms welcomingly while gesturing to a long white line of powder. ”Well, it’s about fucking time! You guys are like five years late! Are we doing this or what!?”
CUT
’A few weeks later’
Parsons stands center ring with Sinclair as Joey LaDude does his best to stay back and out of ’The Nightmare’s’ way.
Surrounding the front side of the ring from the camera’s viewpoint, are a crew of hard hat and safety vest clad construction workers. Looks of concern are on all their faces from the foreman guys, all the way to the borderline useless kid that gets coffee.
Looking out over the assembled workforce, he’s clearly not happy as Sinclair starts to address their crew. ”Hey everyone, we just wanted to talk to you all so we are all on the same page.”
Worried faces stare back at him, ”We know we’re a little behind schedule and a couple setbacks have happened…”
One gruff looking man with a thick brown beard hollers from the crowd, ”Setbacks? We saw it!”
Losing his patience, Parsons steps forward “Look guys what Davey there is trying to say is, there is no Gate City Phantom. What happened to Bill and Gussy were unfortunate accidents and both are being paid well while they recover.”
The sea of concerned faces just stare back at them.
CUT
Footage of a random day’s work is up next with David and Parsons overlooking from the floor as teams are restoring, rebuilding and repainting while others are taking stock of equipment and if it can be reused or refurbished.
Through the general hustle and bustle surrounded in noise, a thud followed by a yell of pain comes from a team of laborer’s. LaDude’s nerves get the better of him as the camera jiggles and goes black as Joey is clearly heard, ”Fuck! Is it broken?” turning the camera around he finishes, ”Nope, thank Jesus.” Before remembering he was filming something.
Getting back to the commotion, Parsons and Sinclair are going over things with two injured workers as first-aid responders check them out.
CUT
Coming back, things are quiet as all three are now in a restored office. David Sinclair has he back to a large window that has horizontal blinds running top to bottom as Parsons stands facing both Sinclair and the windowpane.
Joey Ladude is the first to say something. ”So, what happened? Are those guys alright?”
Sinclair nods solemnly, ”Yeah they’re going be fine. A broken collarbone and a broken wrist, they’ll both be on light duty doing paperwork after a couple days to rest. I’m more concerned by what they saw.”
Parsons cuts in, ”There’s no phantom. Probably just stress, or drug use, or maybe it’s just some losers thinking they have to try to sabotage our relaunch to show they have a new edge…some shit fell, no one was seriously hurt, those guys will recover just fine…there’s no such thing as a phantom…”
At that moment, a strained assumedly female squeal is heard before the office window shatters, a cinder block landing at Parsons feet.
LaDude chimes in, ”Then what the fuck was that?!”
CUT
’A few weeks later’
David Sinclair is alone in one of the partially lit corridors of The View. Behind him, half erect, stands an empty scaffold. Clear plastic sheeting splattered with white paint sections off a darkened corridor. A sign on the wall marks this as the third floor of The View and the work looks to almost be completed. GCW is nearly ready. Sinclair wanders idly, circling in front of the abandoned concession stands with his cell phone pressed to the side of his head.
“Hello, Pete? Pete, is that you?” Sinclair pauses for a moment, then smiles nodding his head.
“Yea it’s me, David Sinclair! It’s good to hear from you!” A perplexed look washes over Sinclair’s face. “Huh? Well... I don’t think that’s necessary. No, of course this isn’t a recruitment call; not at all!”
Sinclair listens for a few moments, then nods his head. “Well, yes… the rumors are true. We’re getting the band back together! The show back on the road! The Fat Lady hasn’t sung yet! The Lion does NOT sleep tonight! Huh? Sorry, I got carried away. What was that?”
Sinclair again starts wandering around the corridor looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Who? Well, there’s me, LaDude, Some old guy… Oh and, eh… Chris Parsons.” Sinclair winces, pulling the phone away for a moment. Finally he goes back to the call “Hello? Medland? You there? Hello?”
Sinclair looks at his phone and shrugs his shoulders. “Well… that was pretty Merciless, Petey.”
Suddenly there is a ruffle of plastic and the lights in the lobby cut out. Sinclair jumps and looks around in shock. “Is anybody th..”
A feminine scream of fear or anger or desperation fills the air and the camera is dropped in the shock of the moment. As the feed rights itself and focuses… David Sinclair is now seen sat on the ground holding his head as a near shapeless figure disappears into the sealed corridor.
CUT
“I’m telling you, it was right up here!” Sinclair walks into the corridor, a white bandage wrapped around his head.
“This is a fucking building site, dumbass! You probably tripped over a pot of paint and hit your head!” Chris Parsons follows into shot looking exasperated. “I’ve told you, there is NO Gate City Phantom!”
“Yeah, come on David… There’s nothing here anyway.” LaDude calls nervously from behind the camera.
“It’s over here!” Sinclair points toward the sectioned off corridor. “We both saw it Joey! Whatever it was, it went this way!”
“And what the hell is down there?” Parsons barked.
“Down there?” LaDude asked, gulping “There’s only one thing down that corridor… That’s the Crow’s Nest.”
“Fine!” Parsons sighs. “Let’s get this over with and take a look!”
CUT
Chris Parsons leads the way, with David Sinclair following at a safe distance brandishing a paint roller perched on on a bent pole, with duct tape wrapped around the handle. Parsons looks back over his shoulder and shakes his head. “What are you gonna do with that, hope the ghost is allergic to eggshell white?!”
“I didn’t say it was a ghost! I said a phantom!” Sinclair retorts with little conviction.
“Excuse me, that’s much more plausible.” Parsons scoffed as he reached the end of the corridor.
The entrance before them was almost entirely blocked. A broken neon sign that once read ‘Talkin’ Crude With Styles & LaDude’ hangs askew from the chain-link set wall which had mysteriously found it’s way to the entrance of the Crow’s Nest. Parsons set a shoulder against the board and tested it for structural stability. As the wall creaked a strange noise emitted from inside the Crow’s Nest.
“Woooooo!” The drama was instantly broken when the attempted ghostly ‘ooo’ spluttered out in a chesty smokers cough “Do not enter my abode! I am the Gate City Phantom and I command you – LEAVE MY, eh.. shit… Abode?!”
Parsons looks at the camera and shakes his head before muttering “Fuck this shit.”
Parsons pushes his way into the exclusive studio of the GCW, closely followed by David Sinclair and finally our brave Cameraman. As the feed enters the Crow’s Nest, the broken window overlooking the arena is smeared in a mixture of what appears to be blood, vomit and excrement. The camera is slowly panning around the trashed room, when suddenly from off camera Parsons snaps…
“Oh you’ve GOT to be kidding me!”
“What the...” Sinclair calls as the camera whirls around on the two stars of our show and a strange looking third man several feet in front of them. His hair is a tangled, knotted brown afro and his dirty unkempt bread hides most of his face. He is completely naked, save his mirrored aviators and the illustrious ‘Big Silver’ GCW Championship slung low on his waist… though not quite low enough to conceal the low hanging wrinkled skin and matted curly hair protruding below.
He coughs again, emitting a cloud of smoke from his mouth and awkwardly holds up his arm in an awkward wave. “Oh, Hey Guys!”
Sinclair leans toward him, squinting his eyes. “Is that… Adrian Styles?!”
“You’re paying the bill for cleaning this up Styles!” Parsons shakes his head and walks away. “Davey, you need to order a new title belt… Nobody’s gonna want that thing now!”
CUT
A few weeks later still…
A change of pace sees a color shot of the office from earlier. Cleaned up, the new pane of glass still bears a white taped ’X’ running corner to corner.
A high backed chair sits with its back to the camera. To the right side, an arm is bent and It’s clear the person is on the phone.
”Yeah, everything is going to be on schedule despite our little stowaway. I do have one question though…”
Turning around, the black suit jacket belongs to none other than Kintaru, who asks into the camera.
”Why wasn’t I a part of this clearly well thought out and not nonsensical bullshit?”
The feed of Kintaru freezes and white lettering falls into the shot.
They spell out ‘Existing As Nonpareil.’
END
We open to a black and white feed facing out of the windscreen of a car along a highway. Heavy traffic is moving in both direction as white lettering falls into the shot. They spell out ‘Existing As Nonpareil’. A voice begins to speak.
“Just landed in Atlanta, just had a three-hour flight from New York. With about a twenty-minute delay, so we’re looking at, what, at least a four-hour travel day.”
The feed cuts to a color shot of Joey ‘The Dude’ LaDude as he switches the phones camera to himself. David Sinclair is glimpsed in the driver’s seat.
“Ah, keep in mind we were only in New York for literally..”
“A week” calls David Sinclair from the drivers seat.
“Yea, we went from Chicago to New York…”
“Sapphire Thirty-Nine.”
“Went to Sapphire Thirty-Nine which is a eh, Adult Entertainment establishment in midtown. Woke up after a nine-hour nap and then had to get our flight.”
CUT
Sapphire Thirty-Nine, NYC
David Sinclair, laughing, climbs up onto the stage. He staggers and grabs the stripper pole to keep himself standing. He wraps his leg around the pole and gently slides down, trying to look seductive as he drunkenly does so.
CUT
Atlanta, Georgia.
The camera is now trained on David Sinclair behind the wheel.
“Well here we are, back in Hotlanta BAYBEE!” Sinclair slaps the steering wheel and ‘woops’ excitedly. “This has been a long time in the making. The last five years have been tough man, really tough.”
“At least we got the money to re-open now.”
“Yeah.” Sinclair nods “After five years of living off of the royalties, dividends and trust fund, we finally got an investor.”
“Who was it?”
“Huh?” Sinclair shoots a look at the camera. “Oh, I dunno. Some old guy randomly came over to me last night as I was coming out of the bathroom.”
CUT
Sapphire Thirty-Nine, NYC
A CCTV feed shows the door of the disabled bathroom. The door rattles for several moments. Swearing is heard from inside. A frustrated grunt is closely followed by a loud thud. Finally, the red ‘Engaged’ sign flicks to green ‘Vacant’ and the door is roughly pulled open. A disheveled and sweaty David Sinclair almost falls into the walkway, a strange white substance covers his nose.
“Hey, jinglenuts.” The voice startles Sinclair, but as he looks up at the elderly gentleman with the short, grey peppered hair to which the voice belonged he relaxed. “You got a little something on your nose.”
Panicked, Sinclair wiped. The man chuckled and stepped toward him, pushing a folded piece of paper into his jacket pocket.
“Take this.” He says with a smirk. “Should solve all your problems.”
CUT
Atlanta, Georgia.
David Sinclair is still driving, and the camera is fixed on him.
“And it was cash?” LaDude asks, confused.
“A cheque” Sinclair corrects. “For exactly what it’d cost to renew the licensing on the trademarks, the debts on the View, the needed repairs and renovations from those animals tearing the place up and… recreational expenses involved.”
“So..” Joey ‘subtly’ sniffs loudly.
“Yea.” Sinclair nods.
“Well who the hell just gives that kind of money away?”
“Not a clue. Just signed the cheque ‘CW’ and stuffed it in my pocket.” Sinclair sighs, shakes his head and looks into the camera. “We’re driving along I-85 heading south from Heartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Heading out to the arena. I’ve not been there in the best part of five years. I really hope it’s still fit for purpose.”
CUT.
The View, Atlanta, GA.
David Sinclair is stood in front of a chain link fence. Behind him, the expansive parking lot and approach of The View sits empty. In the background stands the large oval building that was home to Gate City Wrestling.
“It’s April 1, 2019 and we’re at ‘The View’. This place has sat empty for five years now, but not anymore. GCW is back!”
Sinclair lifts a set of bolt cutters, sets them against the chain holding the gate shut, squeezes and… nothing happens. Sinclair grunts and tries again, his foot slipping from under him. “Damnit” he mutters to himself as he tries once more. He shoots an annoyed look over at the camera. Finally, he snaps. “Joey would you get your ass ove…”
CUT.
The View, Atlanta, GA.
David pushes back a boarded door and steps into the darkness of The View. Joey follows behind, the camera unprofessionally dipping to look at the floor as he climbs across the broken glass.
They stop dead in their tracks as David turns to Joey, ”Did we get permanent hearing damage last night?”
CUT
Sapphire Thirty-Nine
David Sinclair is now seven ladies deep as the salt and peppered man walks toward the exit, pausing to nod at the sight of Sinclair standing atop a pyramid of strippers as he screams ”We’re back baby!”
CUT
The View, Atlanta, GA.
Back in the abandoned Gate City View Arena, Joey sounds confused as he confirms, ”No, I hear it too.”
A rhythmic thumping echoes lowly as they both slowly creep forward. Winding through the Arena they reach the lower level housing The Smart Mark.
Through a crack in the door, light pours out.
CUT
David and Joey exchange glances as Joey flips the camera from Sinclair to himself and back.
Holding his first up, Sinclair whispers, ”On three we rush ’em. One…two...three..”
Bursting through the door both Joey and David let out their warcry
CUT
Running into the room full barge, the camera bounces and juggles as they almost trip over each other coming to a sudden stop.
As spotless as the day it was built, The Smart Mark looked ready to open at any minute.
Unfazed and seemingly expecting them Parsons is standing behind the polish jagged black granite testament to excess that was his bar.
His suit jacket is casually tossed over a stool on and a towel rests on his shoulders. Smiling, the one eye remaining is full of life and fire as he can’t contain his excitement as he spreads his arms welcomingly while gesturing to a long white line of powder. ”Well, it’s about fucking time! You guys are like five years late! Are we doing this or what!?”
CUT
’A few weeks later’
Parsons stands center ring with Sinclair as Joey LaDude does his best to stay back and out of ’The Nightmare’s’ way.
Surrounding the front side of the ring from the camera’s viewpoint, are a crew of hard hat and safety vest clad construction workers. Looks of concern are on all their faces from the foreman guys, all the way to the borderline useless kid that gets coffee.
Looking out over the assembled workforce, he’s clearly not happy as Sinclair starts to address their crew. ”Hey everyone, we just wanted to talk to you all so we are all on the same page.”
Worried faces stare back at him, ”We know we’re a little behind schedule and a couple setbacks have happened…”
One gruff looking man with a thick brown beard hollers from the crowd, ”Setbacks? We saw it!”
Losing his patience, Parsons steps forward “Look guys what Davey there is trying to say is, there is no Gate City Phantom. What happened to Bill and Gussy were unfortunate accidents and both are being paid well while they recover.”
The sea of concerned faces just stare back at them.
CUT
Footage of a random day’s work is up next with David and Parsons overlooking from the floor as teams are restoring, rebuilding and repainting while others are taking stock of equipment and if it can be reused or refurbished.
Through the general hustle and bustle surrounded in noise, a thud followed by a yell of pain comes from a team of laborer’s. LaDude’s nerves get the better of him as the camera jiggles and goes black as Joey is clearly heard, ”Fuck! Is it broken?” turning the camera around he finishes, ”Nope, thank Jesus.” Before remembering he was filming something.
Getting back to the commotion, Parsons and Sinclair are going over things with two injured workers as first-aid responders check them out.
CUT
Coming back, things are quiet as all three are now in a restored office. David Sinclair has he back to a large window that has horizontal blinds running top to bottom as Parsons stands facing both Sinclair and the windowpane.
Joey Ladude is the first to say something. ”So, what happened? Are those guys alright?”
Sinclair nods solemnly, ”Yeah they’re going be fine. A broken collarbone and a broken wrist, they’ll both be on light duty doing paperwork after a couple days to rest. I’m more concerned by what they saw.”
Parsons cuts in, ”There’s no phantom. Probably just stress, or drug use, or maybe it’s just some losers thinking they have to try to sabotage our relaunch to show they have a new edge…some shit fell, no one was seriously hurt, those guys will recover just fine…there’s no such thing as a phantom…”
At that moment, a strained assumedly female squeal is heard before the office window shatters, a cinder block landing at Parsons feet.
LaDude chimes in, ”Then what the fuck was that?!”
CUT
’A few weeks later’
David Sinclair is alone in one of the partially lit corridors of The View. Behind him, half erect, stands an empty scaffold. Clear plastic sheeting splattered with white paint sections off a darkened corridor. A sign on the wall marks this as the third floor of The View and the work looks to almost be completed. GCW is nearly ready. Sinclair wanders idly, circling in front of the abandoned concession stands with his cell phone pressed to the side of his head.
“Hello, Pete? Pete, is that you?” Sinclair pauses for a moment, then smiles nodding his head.
“Yea it’s me, David Sinclair! It’s good to hear from you!” A perplexed look washes over Sinclair’s face. “Huh? Well... I don’t think that’s necessary. No, of course this isn’t a recruitment call; not at all!”
Sinclair listens for a few moments, then nods his head. “Well, yes… the rumors are true. We’re getting the band back together! The show back on the road! The Fat Lady hasn’t sung yet! The Lion does NOT sleep tonight! Huh? Sorry, I got carried away. What was that?”
Sinclair again starts wandering around the corridor looking suddenly uncomfortable. “Who? Well, there’s me, LaDude, Some old guy… Oh and, eh… Chris Parsons.” Sinclair winces, pulling the phone away for a moment. Finally he goes back to the call “Hello? Medland? You there? Hello?”
Sinclair looks at his phone and shrugs his shoulders. “Well… that was pretty Merciless, Petey.”
Suddenly there is a ruffle of plastic and the lights in the lobby cut out. Sinclair jumps and looks around in shock. “Is anybody th..”
A feminine scream of fear or anger or desperation fills the air and the camera is dropped in the shock of the moment. As the feed rights itself and focuses… David Sinclair is now seen sat on the ground holding his head as a near shapeless figure disappears into the sealed corridor.
CUT
“I’m telling you, it was right up here!” Sinclair walks into the corridor, a white bandage wrapped around his head.
“This is a fucking building site, dumbass! You probably tripped over a pot of paint and hit your head!” Chris Parsons follows into shot looking exasperated. “I’ve told you, there is NO Gate City Phantom!”
“Yeah, come on David… There’s nothing here anyway.” LaDude calls nervously from behind the camera.
“It’s over here!” Sinclair points toward the sectioned off corridor. “We both saw it Joey! Whatever it was, it went this way!”
“And what the hell is down there?” Parsons barked.
“Down there?” LaDude asked, gulping “There’s only one thing down that corridor… That’s the Crow’s Nest.”
“Fine!” Parsons sighs. “Let’s get this over with and take a look!”
CUT
Chris Parsons leads the way, with David Sinclair following at a safe distance brandishing a paint roller perched on on a bent pole, with duct tape wrapped around the handle. Parsons looks back over his shoulder and shakes his head. “What are you gonna do with that, hope the ghost is allergic to eggshell white?!”
“I didn’t say it was a ghost! I said a phantom!” Sinclair retorts with little conviction.
“Excuse me, that’s much more plausible.” Parsons scoffed as he reached the end of the corridor.
The entrance before them was almost entirely blocked. A broken neon sign that once read ‘Talkin’ Crude With Styles & LaDude’ hangs askew from the chain-link set wall which had mysteriously found it’s way to the entrance of the Crow’s Nest. Parsons set a shoulder against the board and tested it for structural stability. As the wall creaked a strange noise emitted from inside the Crow’s Nest.
“Woooooo!” The drama was instantly broken when the attempted ghostly ‘ooo’ spluttered out in a chesty smokers cough “Do not enter my abode! I am the Gate City Phantom and I command you – LEAVE MY, eh.. shit… Abode?!”
Parsons looks at the camera and shakes his head before muttering “Fuck this shit.”
Parsons pushes his way into the exclusive studio of the GCW, closely followed by David Sinclair and finally our brave Cameraman. As the feed enters the Crow’s Nest, the broken window overlooking the arena is smeared in a mixture of what appears to be blood, vomit and excrement. The camera is slowly panning around the trashed room, when suddenly from off camera Parsons snaps…
“Oh you’ve GOT to be kidding me!”
“What the...” Sinclair calls as the camera whirls around on the two stars of our show and a strange looking third man several feet in front of them. His hair is a tangled, knotted brown afro and his dirty unkempt bread hides most of his face. He is completely naked, save his mirrored aviators and the illustrious ‘Big Silver’ GCW Championship slung low on his waist… though not quite low enough to conceal the low hanging wrinkled skin and matted curly hair protruding below.
He coughs again, emitting a cloud of smoke from his mouth and awkwardly holds up his arm in an awkward wave. “Oh, Hey Guys!”
Sinclair leans toward him, squinting his eyes. “Is that… Adrian Styles?!”
“You’re paying the bill for cleaning this up Styles!” Parsons shakes his head and walks away. “Davey, you need to order a new title belt… Nobody’s gonna want that thing now!”
CUT
A few weeks later still…
A change of pace sees a color shot of the office from earlier. Cleaned up, the new pane of glass still bears a white taped ’X’ running corner to corner.
A high backed chair sits with its back to the camera. To the right side, an arm is bent and It’s clear the person is on the phone.
”Yeah, everything is going to be on schedule despite our little stowaway. I do have one question though…”
Turning around, the black suit jacket belongs to none other than Kintaru, who asks into the camera.
”Why wasn’t I a part of this clearly well thought out and not nonsensical bullshit?”
The feed of Kintaru freezes and white lettering falls into the shot.
They spell out ‘Existing As Nonpareil.’
END