Single-Use Post Truth; Hold The Future
Oct 23, 2019 16:03:31 GMT -5
fowler, tuckerblane, and 1 more like this
Post by robriot on Oct 23, 2019 16:03:31 GMT -5
The screen fizzes into life; a crackle and a burst of static that gives way to colour-bleached, stylized footage, like we're watching an old VHS tape. It's a wrestling event, long ago, and far away.
The ring is a scene of destruction. Bodies everywhere. Anonymous wrestlers bloodied and battered, strewn out across the ring and the ringside area. Fans up on their feet, jumping up and down with excitement. They’ve just seen something incredible, and they’re all gazing toward the rampway in appreciation. On the ring apron is printed the name of a long-dead wrestling promotion: “WrestleWars.”
As the camera pans around, the washed-out tape continues to play, and we finally get to see what the audience sees. On the ramp are three men known to millions around the world, but looking a little younger than they do now. Frank Windsor, Rob Riot, and Billy Fowler. They're slapping each other on the back and laughing, mugging for the camera and pointing at the ring. Fowler reaches down and picks something up. It's the WrestleWars version of the World Heavyweight Championship, and he hands it to Rob Riot.
This is a clip that’s been played YouTube millions of times. Every wrestling fan knows it. It’s the night the Bastards formed.
As 'Take It Easy Chicken' by Mansun plays in the background, the commentator on the old recording shouts over the noise, uttering the sentence that would give the group their name.
"This pack of Brits - these animals - they care about nothing and nobody. They've beaten half the damn roster to a pulp. They're not here to help this promotion; they're here to infect it! Folks at home, I apologize for my language, but they're nothing but bastards!"
The footage freezes. From somewhere unseen comes the voice of Rob Riot.
“Oh, the times we had. The enemies we made. The enemies we beat. Three men with one shared destiny. Who stood in our way? Nobody. Who tried? Everybody.”
The image on the screen shifts and changes. We’re still in the past, but we’re somewhere else now. It’s an RSW show, a few years ago. Once again, the Bastards are on the rampway, face to face with PT Merciless and Dylan Erickson. There’s some kind of standoff going on, but before their opponents can strike, Riot downs Erickson with a swift superkick to the face. The big man crumples and goes down. Merciless rushes forward, but Windsor and Riot grab a leg each and launch him into the air, where Fowler catches him with a cutter.
The distinctive voice of RSW’s legendary miscreant commentator Tommy Onions calls the move.
“HARD BREXIT!”
The footage accelerates now. It’s all of RSW’s great, good, and not so good, all being hoisted up and sent down the same way. Shane Mitchell. Morcant Davis. Ruby Walsh. Hard Brexit, Hard Brexit, Hard Brexit. The Bastards, ripping opponents apart. The Bastards, standing tall.
The footage comes to a stop once more. This time, it’s on Frank Windsor holding the RSW World Heavyweight Championship. Riot and Fowler are, as ever, by his side as Windsor hoists the belt over his head. Again, we hear the voice of Rob Riot.
"I held you down? I didn't want you to progress? I worry for you, Frank, I really do. Your memory isn't what it was. The fact of the matter is you won that Riot Star Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship before even I did. But I'll give you credit; you were there for me the night I lost it, too."
We’re almost back in the here and now. This time, the footage is from AnarChristmas last year; the final AnarChristmas in RSW history. Shane Mitchell has dethroned Rob Riot as the RSW World Heavyweight Championship, and wrestling’s most famous faction appear to be ready to say goodbye.
On the ramp, bruised and battered, the three men face out to the audience and bow in unison. The commentary team wonders what they're looking at.
TOMMY ONIONS: What is this? What are we seeing here? Are they saying goodbye?
JOSEPH GREER: It sure looks that way, Tommy. They’ve driven the roads together for years, and now it looks like they’re going out together, too. If this is what it looks like, it’s the end of an era. The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.
Rewind. Play.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
Rewind. Play.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
Rewind. Play.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
The image fades out, and Rob Riot walks onto the screen from the right-hand side. Behind him is nothing but darkness. Clad in his signature tweed jacket and corduroys, the Riot Star is still sporting a stitched-up cut above his eye from Windsor's callous sledgehammer attack. The eye is swollen and dark. He's shaking his head, not yet looking down the lens of the camera.
"You've spoken so much about me and you, Frank, and so much of it was the truth, but the real details, the vital details, you've left out. See, I remember things a little differently than you do. I remember how we climbed the ladder together. I remember how we supported each other to world championships and tag team championships. I never turned on you when you won your first world title; I supported you. I was there to watch your back, just like Fowler was. The Bastards had no leader. We were a trident of terror. We were anarchists. If there was a pecking order in the Bastards, it only ever existed inside your head. Perhaps that's what all this is really about."
He pauses, and cracks his knuckles, before slowly and deliberately favoring his swollen eye, at which he visibly winces.
"Yes, I helped you to train. Yes, I showed you almost everything I know. Remember that I said 'almost' - it's going to be important later. And yes, Frank, I had more success than you did when all was said and done. I'm not going to apologize for that - that's just because I'm better than you. I know you've never been able to accept that. I wonder if that's why you always thought I was the leader? The little people look up at the stars, right? Is that how I really made you feel all those years, Frank? Like a little person? Whether you looked up to me or looked at me with envy doesn't really matter. Either way, you took it all on board. Look, I taught you so well…"
Riot fades out again, and we see footage from the end of Onslaught 1. Kintaru, the now-deposed GCW World Champion, is a battered, bloody pulp. Rob Riot swarms all over him, beating him with fists and feet. As Kintaru struggles to get back to his feet, Riot picks up the championship title. He weighs it in his hands, and he lunges at Kintaru as if he intends to take his head off with it. The footage goes into slow motion.
Just as Riot approaches the point where he’s about blast the title belt into Kintaru’s skull, the footage merges with a re-run of the end of Onslaught 2. Where Kintaru once stood is Rob Riot. Where Riot was stood is now the masked Frank Windsor, sledgehammer in hand. The sledgehammer blasts into Riot’s face, just above his left eye. Riot goes down hard.
The footage fades away once more, leaving us back in the dark room with Rob Riot. By now, he’s looking down the camera. That eye is bloodshot, red, and angry.
"See, you've learned perfectly. My methodology. My style. Exactly what I would have done in your shoes. Walk into a new promotion and shoot your shot against the biggest name on the roster. Only I wouldn't have done it to you, Frank. I'd never, ever have done it to you. I want you to remember that. Whatever happens from now on. Whatever injuries this war you've chosen leave you with. I want you to remember you started it, and I want you to remember that you have no excuses. Let's be honest, Frank. Let's be honest to the audience in a way that you've singularly failed to be. We haven't just danced this dance once before. We've danced it twice."
Another video clip, as Riot fades into the background once more. We’re back in WrestleWars, for the lesser-known first Battle of the Bastards. Rob Riot, Frank Windsor, and Billy Fowler did indeed have a high-profile match at RSW Anarchy 50, but it wasn’t the first time someone had booked that match. Dave Demented had beaten RSW to the punch by several years.
The match is in its closing phases. Riot hits Fowler with a jawbreaker and clotheslines him over the top rope to the outside as the big man staggers away. Windsor attempts to jump on his back, but Riot shoves him away into the turnbuckles. As Windsor stumbles forward, Riot drills him with a superkick that Shawn Michaels would have been proud of. Windsor is down, and Riot hooks the leg.
Despite a desperate lunge by Fowler to make it back into the ring, it’s all over. One, two, three, and the bell rings. “I Feel You” plays. A weary Riot staggers back to his feet, and his arm is raised in victory.
Rob’s voice cuts in over the footage.
“Does the scene look familiar?”
Now we're back in RSW, and it's Anarchy 50. Once again, Fowler is trapped outside the ring as the triple threat comes to a close. Riot catches Windsor with a roll-up pin, like a veteran. As Shawna Savante goes down to count the pin, the wily seasoned pro puts his feet on the ropes for leverage. Windsor struggles for leverage but to no avail. One, two, three. "I Feel You" plays again.
Riot has his hand raised in victory and laughs, as Windsor yells at her in fury. For the second time, Rob Riot had won the Battle of the Bastards.
The scene freezes and then fades out to return us to the uncomfortable close-up of Riot.
"I heard what you said, Frank. I 'booked you to do the job' apparently. You do know our audience is smart, don't you? I had nothing to do with the booking of RSW by the end. I wasn't even under a permanent contract. I didn't book you to lose, you just lost. I outmaneuvered you. Just the same as I never made you wear leopard print, or get a stupid haircut, or mince around the place like Enzo fucking Amore. As tempting as it must be to blame me for those lost years of your career, that was all you, Frank. All of it. I wasn't even around. Own your mistakes. Own your weaknesses. Own your losses."
Riot clicks his fingers, and as if by magic, a glass of whiskey appears in it. He takes a sip, looks down the lens of the camera, and winks.
“Don’t ask me how I did that. Maybe I’ve picked a thing or two up from Chris Parsons. OH! In fact, let’s talk about that.”
Riot takes another sip of the whiskey, holding a finger up as if to say 'wait a moment.' and then clicks his fingers again. The glass disappears.
"You seemed to imply that I'm using Chris Parsons for my own nefarious ends. Is this an insecurity thing? Do you think I've replaced you and Billy with Chris Parsons and Andi Snow? Am I forgetting the Bastards and forming a new chapter of the Inglorious Basterds with Chris instead? Is that what's keeping you awake at night? Don't worry your little bleached blonde head about it. Me, Chris, and Andi are nothing like the Bastards. We're not best friends like you, me, and Billy are. We don't phone each other up on our off days. We're not in a WhatsApp group. Chris and Andi haven't replaced you and Billy in my heart. What you see in the three of us is an alliance of convenience. But that's not to say I haven't learned a couple of things from him. That's one of the key differences between you and me. I learn from my mistakes."
Riot stays in the foreground, but in the background a static image of the Bastards appears. It's a promotional photo from years ago. Riot has long hair and is cleanly shaven. Fowler and Windsor are still young and ambitious. It can't have been taken long after the group first got together. Rob takes a moment to turn around and gaze upon it appreciatively, with a little wistful shake of his head.
"This used to mean something to me. It still did, until the end of Onslaught. I thought it meant the same thing to all of us, but clearly, I was wrong. You've tried to paint this whole situation as if it were a means to an end for me, but it wasn't. It was a means to an end for you. It's what brought you here to where we are. It was about you sucking up everything you could take from me until you were ready to come and take a crack at the throne. Well, Frank, you really picked your moment and made your mark. But do you know what Chris said to me as he picked me up and carried me down the ramp? Do you know what he whispered in my ear as I was stood at the top of that rampway, staring down in disbelief at a man who I thought was my friend?"
Riot tiptoes close to the camera and cups his hands close to the lens as if he's about to let us all in on a grand secret.
"He said, 'show no compassion. Trap the anger and show no compassion.'"
Dropping his hands, he takes a couple of paces back again, allowing his last sentence to hang in the air for a moment.
“He was right to say it, and you know why. You know the Rob Riot way. For all I’ve done and everything I’ve achieved, I’ve always been tainted by mercy and compassion. I held off on Morcant Davis when I could have finished him for good. I never killed PT Merciless when I held his life in my hands. I tried to save RB Cardone, and I kept my hands by my sides and let my own son beat the living shit out of me worse than you ever could. When it comes to it, my mercy has dictated my responses. The Rob Riot of old would have been hurt by what you did. The Rob Riot of old would have spent this past week calling you, texting you, trying to reach out and work out what went wrong, and why you’ve done this to me. Sadly for you, I’m not the Rob Riot of old. Chris Parsons is right about me. I do enjoy hurting people, and I don’t need to ask myself why. Nor do I need to ask you. I don’t need to know why you did what you did to me, Frank. I just need you to know what’s going to happen next.”
Very slowly and deliberately, Riot reaches out into the darkness and picks up a roll of wrist tape. He begins to bind it around his fists as if he were getting ready for a match here and now.
"I'm going to hurt you, Frank. I'm going to hurt you very badly. When me and Parsons come to that ring, I'm not even going to look at Tarrasque. I don't care about Tarrasque. He's just a wall of muscle with no brains, and I've beaten walls of muscle before. I'm the man who put Garmr down, and Garmr was five times the monster that Tarrasque is. Derren Archer has already given Tarrasque more than he can handle, and if Archer can get the beating of him, I'm sure I can come up with something fouler….geddit, fouler? 'Fowler?' Yeah, you're not the only one who can do fourth wall breaks. Ask yourself what you're doing stood next to that man, Frank. A brainless steroid freak who's as likely to attack you as he is to attack me. Was this part of your big plan? Was this how you saw yourself when this whole deal was pitched to you? Tagging with some mutant imbecile? No, I'm not even going to look at Tarrasque. I'm coming straight for you."
He’s finished taping up his left hand now. Just as slowly and methodically, he switches to his right hand and begins to repeat the process.
"When I get to you, I'm going to show you everything you failed to learn. All the little nuances I never showed you. The reversals I kept to myself. The strikes you were too slow to execute. The holds I didn't teach you how to escape. People love 'teacher versus student' matches. It's a great story, and I'm going to make sure they get their money's worth. I'm not just going to run in there and finish you quickly; I'm going to take my time with you. I'm going to clown you and school you, and expose you as the short-change second-rate Rob Riot wannabe you've always been. I might even let you get a few shots in because I want you to have hope. I want to look in your eyes and see a look that I didn't see when you were cozying up to Adrian Styles - a look that says, 'I believe I can win this.' When you truly and honestly think that you have even half a chance of taking me out, that's when I'm going to switch it up on you. I'm going to turn it around and take it away from you. And for the record - here's a spoiler, so you might want to train for it - I'm not going to pin you. I'm going to make you tap out instead. You're going to be laid flat on your back, trapped in the Locking Clamp, and you're going to tap out to me. That's how this story ends - for now. Because even then - even when I've humiliated you in front of the whole world - this story is just beginning."
Rob looks down at his hands in exactly the same way he did in the aftermath of the beating he laid on Kintaru. He claps them together and flexes his knuckles with a cracking sound. Seemingly satisfied, he reaches offscreen again and picks up his red ring gloves, which he undoes and puts on.
"Now, you might think that I'm doing all that to be cruel, and you'll be right. But I'm not being cruel for the reasons you think. This has nothing to do with what you did to me at the end of Onslaught. What you did at the end of Onslaught means nothing to me. I can tell it means everything to you, but it means nothing to me. I refuse to let you mean anything to me, Frank. I refuse to let anything you do mean anything to me. This isn't about revenge for me; it's about making an example of you. Making an example of you for the benefit of this promotion and the benefit of the whole pro wrestling community. Because GCW has a problem, and I'm the only person who can fix it."
Riot bites a stray piece of wrist tape and spits it out. He punches his two gloved hands together, twice, testing their weight.
"GCW has been back for only a couple of months. This is supposed to be the most prestigious wrestling promotion in the world, and yet the World Heavyweight Championship has been treated as a joke. First, it gets given to Kintaru - a midcard guy who couldn't draw flies with a mouthful of shit. A guy who melts every time the spotlight is turned on him. In the meantime, I won a tournament and earned my spot as number one contender. And then you come in. Frank Windsor waltzes in, and Mr. C fucking W decides that Frank Windsor is the better option. So Frank Windsor gets handed the belt instead. There have been two World Heavyweight Champions since GCW came back, and neither of them did a single thing to earn their status. Paper champions make the company a joke. This company needs credibility. This company needs me. That's why I'm going to tear your body apart, Frank. Not because of what you did to me, but because of what you represent when you wear that championship."
Riot takes a step to the side as if he’s done talking, but then appears to reconsider. He takes a half step back, with a wry smile on his face, and looks at the camera again.
"This is what it comes down to, at the end of it all. I ain't mad at you, Frank. Hell, at any other point in time, I'd be almost proud of you. You've finally learned to step out of my shadow and stand on your own two feet. You're probably at the beginning of a great singles career. In any other circumstances, I'd be happy to let you have the spotlight. But you just chose the worst possible moment to do it. Everyone knows why I came back to GCW. Everyone knows the only reason I came back to the ring at all is because I want the GCW World Heavyweight Championship. I've already proven I'll stop at nothing to get it, and you just happen to be the man standing in my way. So whether I have to stamp on your head, snap your leg, scratch your eyes out, or kick you in the balls to do it, I'm going to do it. And you're going to sit there and whine, and cry, and complain that I'm holding you down, but ultimately there's not a single thing you have in your arsenal that's capable of stopping me. Do you know why?"
He sneers.
“Because to be frank, Frank, you just aren’t good enough.”
Riot pulls back his hand and drives his fist into the camera, smashing the lens and sending it clattering onto the floor. Through fuzzy, fading footage, we see footage of Rob striding away into the darkness.
The camera dies, and then fades out. When it does, it’s replaced by that clip of the Bastards taking their final bow at the end of Anarchy 50.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
Click. Rewind. Play.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
Click. Rewind. Play.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
Another burst of static, and we’re done.
The ring is a scene of destruction. Bodies everywhere. Anonymous wrestlers bloodied and battered, strewn out across the ring and the ringside area. Fans up on their feet, jumping up and down with excitement. They’ve just seen something incredible, and they’re all gazing toward the rampway in appreciation. On the ring apron is printed the name of a long-dead wrestling promotion: “WrestleWars.”
As the camera pans around, the washed-out tape continues to play, and we finally get to see what the audience sees. On the ramp are three men known to millions around the world, but looking a little younger than they do now. Frank Windsor, Rob Riot, and Billy Fowler. They're slapping each other on the back and laughing, mugging for the camera and pointing at the ring. Fowler reaches down and picks something up. It's the WrestleWars version of the World Heavyweight Championship, and he hands it to Rob Riot.
This is a clip that’s been played YouTube millions of times. Every wrestling fan knows it. It’s the night the Bastards formed.
As 'Take It Easy Chicken' by Mansun plays in the background, the commentator on the old recording shouts over the noise, uttering the sentence that would give the group their name.
"This pack of Brits - these animals - they care about nothing and nobody. They've beaten half the damn roster to a pulp. They're not here to help this promotion; they're here to infect it! Folks at home, I apologize for my language, but they're nothing but bastards!"
The footage freezes. From somewhere unseen comes the voice of Rob Riot.
“Oh, the times we had. The enemies we made. The enemies we beat. Three men with one shared destiny. Who stood in our way? Nobody. Who tried? Everybody.”
The image on the screen shifts and changes. We’re still in the past, but we’re somewhere else now. It’s an RSW show, a few years ago. Once again, the Bastards are on the rampway, face to face with PT Merciless and Dylan Erickson. There’s some kind of standoff going on, but before their opponents can strike, Riot downs Erickson with a swift superkick to the face. The big man crumples and goes down. Merciless rushes forward, but Windsor and Riot grab a leg each and launch him into the air, where Fowler catches him with a cutter.
The distinctive voice of RSW’s legendary miscreant commentator Tommy Onions calls the move.
“HARD BREXIT!”
The footage accelerates now. It’s all of RSW’s great, good, and not so good, all being hoisted up and sent down the same way. Shane Mitchell. Morcant Davis. Ruby Walsh. Hard Brexit, Hard Brexit, Hard Brexit. The Bastards, ripping opponents apart. The Bastards, standing tall.
The footage comes to a stop once more. This time, it’s on Frank Windsor holding the RSW World Heavyweight Championship. Riot and Fowler are, as ever, by his side as Windsor hoists the belt over his head. Again, we hear the voice of Rob Riot.
"I held you down? I didn't want you to progress? I worry for you, Frank, I really do. Your memory isn't what it was. The fact of the matter is you won that Riot Star Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship before even I did. But I'll give you credit; you were there for me the night I lost it, too."
We’re almost back in the here and now. This time, the footage is from AnarChristmas last year; the final AnarChristmas in RSW history. Shane Mitchell has dethroned Rob Riot as the RSW World Heavyweight Championship, and wrestling’s most famous faction appear to be ready to say goodbye.
On the ramp, bruised and battered, the three men face out to the audience and bow in unison. The commentary team wonders what they're looking at.
TOMMY ONIONS: What is this? What are we seeing here? Are they saying goodbye?
JOSEPH GREER: It sure looks that way, Tommy. They’ve driven the roads together for years, and now it looks like they’re going out together, too. If this is what it looks like, it’s the end of an era. The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.
Rewind. Play.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
Rewind. Play.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
Rewind. Play.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
The image fades out, and Rob Riot walks onto the screen from the right-hand side. Behind him is nothing but darkness. Clad in his signature tweed jacket and corduroys, the Riot Star is still sporting a stitched-up cut above his eye from Windsor's callous sledgehammer attack. The eye is swollen and dark. He's shaking his head, not yet looking down the lens of the camera.
"You've spoken so much about me and you, Frank, and so much of it was the truth, but the real details, the vital details, you've left out. See, I remember things a little differently than you do. I remember how we climbed the ladder together. I remember how we supported each other to world championships and tag team championships. I never turned on you when you won your first world title; I supported you. I was there to watch your back, just like Fowler was. The Bastards had no leader. We were a trident of terror. We were anarchists. If there was a pecking order in the Bastards, it only ever existed inside your head. Perhaps that's what all this is really about."
He pauses, and cracks his knuckles, before slowly and deliberately favoring his swollen eye, at which he visibly winces.
"Yes, I helped you to train. Yes, I showed you almost everything I know. Remember that I said 'almost' - it's going to be important later. And yes, Frank, I had more success than you did when all was said and done. I'm not going to apologize for that - that's just because I'm better than you. I know you've never been able to accept that. I wonder if that's why you always thought I was the leader? The little people look up at the stars, right? Is that how I really made you feel all those years, Frank? Like a little person? Whether you looked up to me or looked at me with envy doesn't really matter. Either way, you took it all on board. Look, I taught you so well…"
Riot fades out again, and we see footage from the end of Onslaught 1. Kintaru, the now-deposed GCW World Champion, is a battered, bloody pulp. Rob Riot swarms all over him, beating him with fists and feet. As Kintaru struggles to get back to his feet, Riot picks up the championship title. He weighs it in his hands, and he lunges at Kintaru as if he intends to take his head off with it. The footage goes into slow motion.
Just as Riot approaches the point where he’s about blast the title belt into Kintaru’s skull, the footage merges with a re-run of the end of Onslaught 2. Where Kintaru once stood is Rob Riot. Where Riot was stood is now the masked Frank Windsor, sledgehammer in hand. The sledgehammer blasts into Riot’s face, just above his left eye. Riot goes down hard.
The footage fades away once more, leaving us back in the dark room with Rob Riot. By now, he’s looking down the camera. That eye is bloodshot, red, and angry.
"See, you've learned perfectly. My methodology. My style. Exactly what I would have done in your shoes. Walk into a new promotion and shoot your shot against the biggest name on the roster. Only I wouldn't have done it to you, Frank. I'd never, ever have done it to you. I want you to remember that. Whatever happens from now on. Whatever injuries this war you've chosen leave you with. I want you to remember you started it, and I want you to remember that you have no excuses. Let's be honest, Frank. Let's be honest to the audience in a way that you've singularly failed to be. We haven't just danced this dance once before. We've danced it twice."
Another video clip, as Riot fades into the background once more. We’re back in WrestleWars, for the lesser-known first Battle of the Bastards. Rob Riot, Frank Windsor, and Billy Fowler did indeed have a high-profile match at RSW Anarchy 50, but it wasn’t the first time someone had booked that match. Dave Demented had beaten RSW to the punch by several years.
The match is in its closing phases. Riot hits Fowler with a jawbreaker and clotheslines him over the top rope to the outside as the big man staggers away. Windsor attempts to jump on his back, but Riot shoves him away into the turnbuckles. As Windsor stumbles forward, Riot drills him with a superkick that Shawn Michaels would have been proud of. Windsor is down, and Riot hooks the leg.
Despite a desperate lunge by Fowler to make it back into the ring, it’s all over. One, two, three, and the bell rings. “I Feel You” plays. A weary Riot staggers back to his feet, and his arm is raised in victory.
Rob’s voice cuts in over the footage.
“Does the scene look familiar?”
Now we're back in RSW, and it's Anarchy 50. Once again, Fowler is trapped outside the ring as the triple threat comes to a close. Riot catches Windsor with a roll-up pin, like a veteran. As Shawna Savante goes down to count the pin, the wily seasoned pro puts his feet on the ropes for leverage. Windsor struggles for leverage but to no avail. One, two, three. "I Feel You" plays again.
Riot has his hand raised in victory and laughs, as Windsor yells at her in fury. For the second time, Rob Riot had won the Battle of the Bastards.
The scene freezes and then fades out to return us to the uncomfortable close-up of Riot.
"I heard what you said, Frank. I 'booked you to do the job' apparently. You do know our audience is smart, don't you? I had nothing to do with the booking of RSW by the end. I wasn't even under a permanent contract. I didn't book you to lose, you just lost. I outmaneuvered you. Just the same as I never made you wear leopard print, or get a stupid haircut, or mince around the place like Enzo fucking Amore. As tempting as it must be to blame me for those lost years of your career, that was all you, Frank. All of it. I wasn't even around. Own your mistakes. Own your weaknesses. Own your losses."
Riot clicks his fingers, and as if by magic, a glass of whiskey appears in it. He takes a sip, looks down the lens of the camera, and winks.
“Don’t ask me how I did that. Maybe I’ve picked a thing or two up from Chris Parsons. OH! In fact, let’s talk about that.”
Riot takes another sip of the whiskey, holding a finger up as if to say 'wait a moment.' and then clicks his fingers again. The glass disappears.
"You seemed to imply that I'm using Chris Parsons for my own nefarious ends. Is this an insecurity thing? Do you think I've replaced you and Billy with Chris Parsons and Andi Snow? Am I forgetting the Bastards and forming a new chapter of the Inglorious Basterds with Chris instead? Is that what's keeping you awake at night? Don't worry your little bleached blonde head about it. Me, Chris, and Andi are nothing like the Bastards. We're not best friends like you, me, and Billy are. We don't phone each other up on our off days. We're not in a WhatsApp group. Chris and Andi haven't replaced you and Billy in my heart. What you see in the three of us is an alliance of convenience. But that's not to say I haven't learned a couple of things from him. That's one of the key differences between you and me. I learn from my mistakes."
Riot stays in the foreground, but in the background a static image of the Bastards appears. It's a promotional photo from years ago. Riot has long hair and is cleanly shaven. Fowler and Windsor are still young and ambitious. It can't have been taken long after the group first got together. Rob takes a moment to turn around and gaze upon it appreciatively, with a little wistful shake of his head.
"This used to mean something to me. It still did, until the end of Onslaught. I thought it meant the same thing to all of us, but clearly, I was wrong. You've tried to paint this whole situation as if it were a means to an end for me, but it wasn't. It was a means to an end for you. It's what brought you here to where we are. It was about you sucking up everything you could take from me until you were ready to come and take a crack at the throne. Well, Frank, you really picked your moment and made your mark. But do you know what Chris said to me as he picked me up and carried me down the ramp? Do you know what he whispered in my ear as I was stood at the top of that rampway, staring down in disbelief at a man who I thought was my friend?"
Riot tiptoes close to the camera and cups his hands close to the lens as if he's about to let us all in on a grand secret.
"He said, 'show no compassion. Trap the anger and show no compassion.'"
Dropping his hands, he takes a couple of paces back again, allowing his last sentence to hang in the air for a moment.
“He was right to say it, and you know why. You know the Rob Riot way. For all I’ve done and everything I’ve achieved, I’ve always been tainted by mercy and compassion. I held off on Morcant Davis when I could have finished him for good. I never killed PT Merciless when I held his life in my hands. I tried to save RB Cardone, and I kept my hands by my sides and let my own son beat the living shit out of me worse than you ever could. When it comes to it, my mercy has dictated my responses. The Rob Riot of old would have been hurt by what you did. The Rob Riot of old would have spent this past week calling you, texting you, trying to reach out and work out what went wrong, and why you’ve done this to me. Sadly for you, I’m not the Rob Riot of old. Chris Parsons is right about me. I do enjoy hurting people, and I don’t need to ask myself why. Nor do I need to ask you. I don’t need to know why you did what you did to me, Frank. I just need you to know what’s going to happen next.”
Very slowly and deliberately, Riot reaches out into the darkness and picks up a roll of wrist tape. He begins to bind it around his fists as if he were getting ready for a match here and now.
"I'm going to hurt you, Frank. I'm going to hurt you very badly. When me and Parsons come to that ring, I'm not even going to look at Tarrasque. I don't care about Tarrasque. He's just a wall of muscle with no brains, and I've beaten walls of muscle before. I'm the man who put Garmr down, and Garmr was five times the monster that Tarrasque is. Derren Archer has already given Tarrasque more than he can handle, and if Archer can get the beating of him, I'm sure I can come up with something fouler….geddit, fouler? 'Fowler?' Yeah, you're not the only one who can do fourth wall breaks. Ask yourself what you're doing stood next to that man, Frank. A brainless steroid freak who's as likely to attack you as he is to attack me. Was this part of your big plan? Was this how you saw yourself when this whole deal was pitched to you? Tagging with some mutant imbecile? No, I'm not even going to look at Tarrasque. I'm coming straight for you."
He’s finished taping up his left hand now. Just as slowly and methodically, he switches to his right hand and begins to repeat the process.
"When I get to you, I'm going to show you everything you failed to learn. All the little nuances I never showed you. The reversals I kept to myself. The strikes you were too slow to execute. The holds I didn't teach you how to escape. People love 'teacher versus student' matches. It's a great story, and I'm going to make sure they get their money's worth. I'm not just going to run in there and finish you quickly; I'm going to take my time with you. I'm going to clown you and school you, and expose you as the short-change second-rate Rob Riot wannabe you've always been. I might even let you get a few shots in because I want you to have hope. I want to look in your eyes and see a look that I didn't see when you were cozying up to Adrian Styles - a look that says, 'I believe I can win this.' When you truly and honestly think that you have even half a chance of taking me out, that's when I'm going to switch it up on you. I'm going to turn it around and take it away from you. And for the record - here's a spoiler, so you might want to train for it - I'm not going to pin you. I'm going to make you tap out instead. You're going to be laid flat on your back, trapped in the Locking Clamp, and you're going to tap out to me. That's how this story ends - for now. Because even then - even when I've humiliated you in front of the whole world - this story is just beginning."
Rob looks down at his hands in exactly the same way he did in the aftermath of the beating he laid on Kintaru. He claps them together and flexes his knuckles with a cracking sound. Seemingly satisfied, he reaches offscreen again and picks up his red ring gloves, which he undoes and puts on.
"Now, you might think that I'm doing all that to be cruel, and you'll be right. But I'm not being cruel for the reasons you think. This has nothing to do with what you did to me at the end of Onslaught. What you did at the end of Onslaught means nothing to me. I can tell it means everything to you, but it means nothing to me. I refuse to let you mean anything to me, Frank. I refuse to let anything you do mean anything to me. This isn't about revenge for me; it's about making an example of you. Making an example of you for the benefit of this promotion and the benefit of the whole pro wrestling community. Because GCW has a problem, and I'm the only person who can fix it."
Riot bites a stray piece of wrist tape and spits it out. He punches his two gloved hands together, twice, testing their weight.
"GCW has been back for only a couple of months. This is supposed to be the most prestigious wrestling promotion in the world, and yet the World Heavyweight Championship has been treated as a joke. First, it gets given to Kintaru - a midcard guy who couldn't draw flies with a mouthful of shit. A guy who melts every time the spotlight is turned on him. In the meantime, I won a tournament and earned my spot as number one contender. And then you come in. Frank Windsor waltzes in, and Mr. C fucking W decides that Frank Windsor is the better option. So Frank Windsor gets handed the belt instead. There have been two World Heavyweight Champions since GCW came back, and neither of them did a single thing to earn their status. Paper champions make the company a joke. This company needs credibility. This company needs me. That's why I'm going to tear your body apart, Frank. Not because of what you did to me, but because of what you represent when you wear that championship."
Riot takes a step to the side as if he’s done talking, but then appears to reconsider. He takes a half step back, with a wry smile on his face, and looks at the camera again.
"This is what it comes down to, at the end of it all. I ain't mad at you, Frank. Hell, at any other point in time, I'd be almost proud of you. You've finally learned to step out of my shadow and stand on your own two feet. You're probably at the beginning of a great singles career. In any other circumstances, I'd be happy to let you have the spotlight. But you just chose the worst possible moment to do it. Everyone knows why I came back to GCW. Everyone knows the only reason I came back to the ring at all is because I want the GCW World Heavyweight Championship. I've already proven I'll stop at nothing to get it, and you just happen to be the man standing in my way. So whether I have to stamp on your head, snap your leg, scratch your eyes out, or kick you in the balls to do it, I'm going to do it. And you're going to sit there and whine, and cry, and complain that I'm holding you down, but ultimately there's not a single thing you have in your arsenal that's capable of stopping me. Do you know why?"
He sneers.
“Because to be frank, Frank, you just aren’t good enough.”
Riot pulls back his hand and drives his fist into the camera, smashing the lens and sending it clattering onto the floor. Through fuzzy, fading footage, we see footage of Rob striding away into the darkness.
The camera dies, and then fades out. When it does, it’s replaced by that clip of the Bastards taking their final bow at the end of Anarchy 50.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
Click. Rewind. Play.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
Click. Rewind. Play.
“The Bastards are closer than a lot of brothers.”
Another burst of static, and we’re done.