07-27-2022, 01:48 PM
[There was very little doubt that it had been a rough few years for Gerald Gribbin, the man who UWA had known as the Executioner. Time and time again, if there was anyone who needed getting rid of, it was Gerald who received the call. He’d taken on man mountains sent his way by New Eden; he had gotten rid of some of the biggest scourges known to walks the corridors of wrestling organizations worldwide. But when the UWA closed its doors for the final time, the expected job offers never came, and Gerald was left with nothing. He’d watched wrestling programming from time to time, and seen people like Tsunami taking his spots, and all he could do was sigh. His time was over, and although it had been a heck of a ride, it still annoyed him as he felt like there was so much more, he could have done but would now never get that chance. Even now, he sits in his disheveled flat, in need of renovation and over in the corner, looking every bit out of place is his old Executioner costume. The dark black fabric always made him look intimidating. He looks at it longingly, wishing that he could pull on the uniform one last time. As he does, the phone rings, Gerald flicking it onto speaker.]
Gerald: Yeah, who is it?
Voice: Gerald… its Theo.
Gerald: Theo? Who the hell is Theo?
Theo: I’m your agent
Gerald: I have an agent?
[He’d forgotten over the course of time. It wasn’t that much of a surprise to him that he was probably paying someone for doing nothing.]
Theo: Yes. I know you haven’t heard from me for a while, but I got a call this morning, something that might interest you.
Gerald: I very much doubt it
Theo: Well, what if I had an offer on the table for you to become the Executioner, one last time.
[That comment peaks his interest he cannot deny, and he listens a little more intently.]
Gerald: Go on…
Theo: You’ve heard about Supreme Championship Wrestling, right?
Gerald: Who hasn’t? UWA was a rival in the past before it blew up in Bryant’s face.
Theo: Well, it’s Rise to Greatness weekend coming up, and they want you to take part in a match.
Gerald: Excuse me?
[He doubted the SCW had even heard of him, never mind was asking him to take part on one of the biggest shows in the World.]
Theo: It’s legit Gerald, they called me, and they want you
Gerald: And this isn’t a joke?
Theo: No, I’ve checked it out, it’s kosher.
Gerald: And what kind of match is it?
Theo: A Gimmick Battle Royal…
[The line goes silent, Gerald closing his eyes. Had it really come to this?]
Theo: You there Gerald?
Gerald: I am NOT a gimmick Theo, you know this. I’ve taken on some of the baddest men on the planet and humbled them, bringing them to their knees.
Theo: Gerald, that was years ago. This is the perfect chance for you to step out in front of tens of thousands again and say the goodbye you never had the opportunity to before. Plus…
[Gerald mobile phone goes off, and he pulls it out his pocket.
Theo: That’s how much they are willing to pay you in appearance money.
[Gerald opens the text, his eyes widening at the figure.]
Gerald: Well, I’ll best see if I can still fit in the costume then, hadn’t I?
[SCENE FADES]
[Scene reopens in a dark and dank boiler room, steam occasionally escaping from the cracks in the heavily rotted pipes. Brass tacks here people, the boiler room is in a real state of disrepair, and if it was supposed to look foreboding it was working. Through the steam, like a beacon of darkness (can you get a beacon of darkness), comes the Executioner (please forget his name is Gerald.), and he comes to a half so that only a half light shines on his mask, the rest of him in silhouette. In a low, intimidating voice, the man that struck fear into all UWA starts to speak.]
“Remember me SCW? I am the man who you all hoped and prayed would never make it over to these shores. I am the man who took unwanted individuals and sent them to the pits of despair. Imagine my surprise, when I received the invitation… to do the exact same to all of you.”
[He cackles, somewhat maniacally, like every generic monster character in history had every done. Well, at least those that could laugh, and didn’t let others speak for them. Executioner used to speak in grunts too. Grunting was usually enough. Over time he had learned to verbalize his emotions.]
“A Battle Royal, designed to be a little light relief. Destined to be nothing but a horrific lesson for you all.”
[Steam sprays from one of the pipes, straight into the Executioners face but he doesn’t even flinch. Partially because of who he is, but mostly because the seemingly ‘hot’ steam isn’t that at all and is refreshing in the damp air of this boiler room.]
“There is nothing to be gained from victory, nothing to be earned from success. But what I gain from the demise of my opponents is far more rewarding than monetary value. I get to feed on each and every one of your souls. My hunger satisfied at last. No matter who you are, no matter what you mean to this company. You have signed your own death warrant and placed yourself in my path. The path I walk, ends at only one place. Oblivion. I can help you all. Each of you that enter. You can all entertain your delusions of grandeur; I have no problem with anyone having a shred of positivity left. In fact, I encourage it. But, that optimism for your survival, is ill placed. Not accepting your fate is only delaying the inevitable. Succumb, go out on your terms, and perhaps the pain shall not be so overbearing. Perhaps.”
[A squeal is heard from towards the back of the boiler room. A piercing scream that reverberates around the metallic pipes, deafening to some, but not to the Executioner. Those screams seem to make him euphoric, his eyes widen, almost crazed, making the mask even more ominous than it was before.]
“So SCW, till Rise to Greatness comes around, I want you all to sleep soundly in your beds. When you leave your loved ones at home, make sure that you give them an extra special hug, or perhaps words of wisdom that they can remember you by. I do not care for the formalities of how you lived your life. I dismiss the false prophets like Tsunami, and the other individuals of my ilk who tried to walk in my shoes. This world doesn’t belong to SCW, or some fabled universe. This world, from this moment… belongs to me. And it is my job to rid the dead wood, the chaff, and it’s a job I did well… sorry, DO well. Soon, very soon, the others in this Battle Royal will find that out for themselves. Too little. Too late.”
[Suddenly the room is engulfed in light, as a door opens, a man carrying a mop and bucket stepping inside.]
Janitor: What you doing? You shouldn’t be down here.
“I should, and you would be well advised to leave.”
Janitor: Hold on, I remember you. You’re that Executioner guy that used to worked for the United Wrestling Alliance. We ran a few of their shows back in the day.
“Of course, you remember. My reputation precedes me.
Janitor: So, you here for the Gimmick battle royal?
“Excuse me…”
Janitor: The Gimmick battle royal… bit of fun to break up the real wrestling.
“I am not a gimmick.”
Janitor: Sure, you are. Ten feet tall. The coat and mask. Skulking in the shadows of the boiler room like a psychopath. This isn’t the nineties you know.
“I AM NOT A GIMMICK.”
Janitor: OK bro, either way you can’t stay down here.
“You’re not getting it are you? I’m not some kind of ‘character’. I’m not some pretend demon. I rid the UWA of some of the…
Janitor: You’re for real, aren’t you? I bet underneath that mask is a guy called Dave. You can’t REALLY believe this shit?
[The Executioner steps forwards, and still the janitor doesn’t look scared. The Executioner pushes the door closed, so that just the light once again shines, reflecting off the mask.]
Janitor: What you doing?
“Showing you just how real I am…”
[The Janitor is grabbed, and he is pulled into the darkness, After a few moments we hear a scuffle, before a blood curdling choking noise, which eventually stops. The door then opens, the Executioner standing in it, turning once more to face the camera.]
“DO NOT try this at home.”
[SCENE FADES.]