Champoon Wrasslin': Season 4: The Prelude

[The King]

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CHAMPOON WRASSLIN'
S E A S O N  4 |  T H E  P R E L U D E

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AN INVITATION TO THE SUNNY SHORES OF COSTA RICA!

COME JOIN IN THE FUN AT SUNNY HILLS HOLIDAY CAMP FOR KIDS! MORE INFORMATION ON THE BACK OF THE CARD!

p.s. we need your help, dylan.

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Dylan, the CW World Heavyweight Champion, would walk through the forestry of Costa Rica, searching for the holiday camp through the big graping vines, soon he would be outside the wooden hut. Entering, he would push past the leaf canopy. What had compelled him to answer this plea for help? What was he expecting to find in Sunny Hills?!

Welcome, Dylan.

Through musky dirt and dust there would be sat none other than...

King Brad Swann

Dylan was in shock

Long time no see. I hope you had a pleasant flight over.

Dylan clenched his fist, ready for an ambush and a fight - but there wasn't one. Swann remained sat, cross legged - a welcoming smile on his hideous face.

I am not here to incite violence upon you, Dylan. Times have changed. I, am a changed man.

--I do not believe it for one second, Sw--

And you shouldn't. For you only know the man from the past whom inhabited this body. An evil, wicked man.

I have undergone a full body cleansing in Costa Rica, I have repented that of my sins and I have devoted my time to helping underprivileged kids by running this youth camp. If you believe that people can change, then you should believe in me and my journey to salvation, Dylan.

For the first time, Swann offered Dylan a handshake.

I am a changed man - and I would like to formally apologise for all that I have put you through --and explain why I brought you here today.

Before they could shake some commotion occurred outside the hut, Dylan and Swann would rush out, and standing in the thickness of the trees would be an eight foot monster of a clown, with fresh blood trickling from its jaw, eyes bright red and mouth agape at the sight of Dylan Black.

What the-

I am the devil himself, Zimbo!

Dylan turned to look at Swann-- 'you know this guy?' Swann's face would say otherwise.

I have been summoned by his lordship, Big Drag ULTIMATE, to escort Dylan Viper back to his father.

...Jeffery?

What? No. --Big Drag.

Swann would turn to look at Dylan, eyes wide.

Big Drag?!

Dylan would go to interject, but struggled to find the words.

DYLAN! You are to come with me NOW.

Swann would bravely step forward, placing a hand on Dylan's chest before turning to look at the giant clown.

Now hold on you ...clown! Dylan is our honorary guest! ...He's not going anywhere!

...

Swann would side-eye Dylan.

--unless, of course, he wants to-?

Dylan would sneer his nose.

Fuck Big Drag.

...Yeah, fuck Big Drag.

Dylan would shudder at the thought of him and Brad Swann being of the same thought.

--I'm not going anywhere.

Zimbo would chuckle, cracking his knuckles.

He said you might say that.

With an almighty belch of a scream Zimbo ran at a pace faster than any mammal his size had ever ran before, the canopies of leaves tearing from their branches and estranging themselves upon the devil clown's body. Dylan and Swann would shriek before diving to the sides, Zimbo crashing through the wooden hut and bringing it to its knees. He would rise from the dust. A scornful playfulness in his eyes. Swann and Dylan would clamber to their feet, looking at one other for a brief moment, 'RUN!'

Through moss and leaves that appeared to get darker with every quickened step, Dylan, Swann and his group of youth scouts charged their way through the forestry. Zimbo's deafening chuckles would be drained out by the crackling of twigs and the deep breaths of the group. Silence. They had got away, for now.

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Swann, Dylan and the youth group had set up camp next to a steep slant in the hill, a quiet fire being attended to by one of the older boys of the group.

Dylan would be watching Swann, and the way in which he interacted with the kids - it astonished him. He would have never thought that a man of Swann's devilish, brutish murdering calibre could be capable of fathering a group of estranged, rebellious kids --and yet here he was, as much as he shouldn't be, sharing coconuts and fruit from nearby trees with a bright white smile on his face and a warmth in his usually cold, calculated white eye.

You want some?

Dylan snapped out of his trance to realize that Swann was staring intently back at him, the remains of a demolished mango in the palm of his right hand.

No. Uh... --I'm good.

Swann gave off an unusual smile and nod before turning to the smallest kid, who sat perched to his right, handing the rest of the mango to him before joining back in the conversation.

What has happened to King Brad Swann.

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Dylan would awake on his bed of leaves to find that he was alone in the morning sun. No traces of a fire. No sign of anyone, no Brad Swann or his youth group. Just him. A few trees. And silence.

--Hello...?

A crackling sound, like the snapping of a twig, would startle the CW World Heavyweight Champion, jolting his head towards the vicinity in which the sound echoed.

YOU CAN'T KEEP RUNNING, MR. VIPER!

Dylan would, without hesitation, fall to his feet and grab the CW World title from off the branch of a tree, taking no time in running, and no time in looking back.

--YOU CAN'T RUN FROM HIM FOREVER, DYLAN!

AND YOU CAN'T RUN FROM ME, EITHER!

Dylan would turn, being startled by a tree, he would turn again and there in the distance would be Zimbo again, a sickening smile on his face.

COME HERE, DYLAN-DYLAN-DYLAN!

He would take a step forward but a blinding light would smack its way into reality and, following a second of blinding light burning his eyes, Dylan would see the silhouette of SABER-TRON, laser sword in hand.

WHAT THE--

Saber-Tron would slice at the giant clown, pulverising his left arm clean off as the eight foot beast scampered into the darkness of the forest, squealing in pain. Saber-Tron would turn to the stunned Dylan.

We haven't got much time, Dylan. Quick, you must come with m---

A rope around the neck of Saber-Tron, pulling back as his body flip-flopped, struggling to fight back and breath. Before the world champion could react, Saber-Tron's body would fall limp to the floor, a small weaze of breath exhaling under that mask of his.

Standing behind him would be King Brad Swann. His hands bloody from the rope burn.

Don't go, Dylan... --Not just yet.

Dylan would eye up Saber-Tron's laser sword that would be next to the boot of Swann, the latter placing his foot on top of the hilt, nearly igniting it.

Forget all of this. Forget the World Championship. Forget Big Drag. Repent your sins alongside me... And save your soul! You can join us, Dylan. We can help rehabilitate you. We can help to save you!

The youth kids would slowly appear from behind the trees, sharp knives in their hands, a grimacing look on their faces. The champ was surrounded.

What is it with you and your fucking cults--

Cult, or no cult, we can save you Dylan.

Fuck you.

Swann would sigh. A rope would be placed around the throat of Dylan as one of the elderly boys held him back from behind.

A shame...

Dylan would push backwards and smack him against a tree before being freed of his grip. He would stumble to his knees but would immediately feel the singing of a laser sword burning the tip of his nose.

...Forceful rehabilitation is a most painful procedure.

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Dylan would awake atop a wooden bed, his body covered in blanket. He would go to move his robotic arm when, he would discover, that he was tied down. He would look over to the side of him, and there would be the prone body of Saber-Tron, still alive, but struggling to breath.

Saber-Tron would struggle to speak, a muffled sound falling from his mouth.

The canopy door would be flung open as a group of six kids entered, picking up the wooden ends of Saber-Trons bed and lifting him in the air, taking him outside of the hut.

--H- hey! Where are you taking him?!

The kids would remain silent and stern, the Tron having now been taken out of the hut.

Dylan would be left alone --until a young girl around the age of ten, with a bright daisy in her hair, would enter the hut - picking up a glass from off of the side and walking over to Dylan.

Open wide Mr. Black.

Dylan would try and object but his hands were tied. The girl forced the gooey substance into Dylan's mouth as the world around him became faint and tainted. He was falling into a deep slumber.

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Fire. Burning wood. The smell of smoke that choked the lungs. Dylan would awake to a scene straight out of a hellish nightmare. He was sat on a rocking chair, arms tied, an almighty fire in front of him, and surrounding him in a fire circle, the camp of kids.

Dylan would observe further. A black podium hastily scraped together - and standing behind it, a few inches off the ground, naval and all, King Brad Swann.

SABER-TRON! For crimes commited against humanity...

Saber-Tron would be carried in within a coffin, the top lid open to reveal him tied down at every joint. The coffin, stopping just in front of the podium.

--the Jury sentences you to DEATH, by BURNING!

As soon as the King banged his naval, a blinding light disrupted the scene - with ambers of red and yellow turning to white --and in a flash, the rest of the Trons had arrived to form an inner circle, circling the fire. Lightsabres and all.

No Brad Swann! For two accounts of MURDER, for embezzlement and FRAUD, and for crimes against humanity, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!

The kids would scarper into the forest, escaping into the darkness with nothing left of them but the patches of grass in which they knelt. King Brad Swann was alone with Dylan and the Trons.

Dylan would watch through blurry eyes as the Trons, lightsabers poised, positioned themselves in-front of the podium.

Brad Swann, put your hands on your head!

Dylan realised that the senses in his legs were sharpening up, he felt... something. Certainly not enough to get him out of the chair though. With dazed vision he would watch as Swann raised his hands in the air, and slowly placed them on the crown of his head.

You're right, I am guilty.

Something in the distant forestry, a sound approaching. Dylan's eyes would widen at the sight of forty or so men clad in black armour and green eye insignia. Assault rifles in their hands.

His head would be plagued with a monsoon of horrific memories. This was Eyetology --and OUR Brad Swann was now their new King.

The Trons, surrounded and out-manned, would be forced to drop their laser swords. Kneeling with defeat as they were roped and tied.

I am the rightful heir to Brad Swann's vision. I am the King, of Eyetology!
IT'S TIME TO BRING BACK THE VISION.

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COMING THIS SUMMER TO THE XHF NETWORK
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