A pair of tiny adult male hands are cupped holding a ring of keys. Slowly, a round shadow consumes the keys as a presence hovers over them.
“They’re yours once again, MR. Dean.”
The shadow lingers as our shot pulls out a bit revealing Dean staring at the keys in Smith’s hands. Behind Smith rests the OCW Arena.
“Take them, sir. They’re yours once again. After nearly a decade.”
Dean’s trembling hand reaches for the keys. He carefully removes them from Smith’s possession and grips them tight with his right hand. Smith nods, showing genuine emotion. Dean grips Smith and brings him in for a big hug, nearly crushing him. Smith backs away, trying to catch his breath. Dean stares at the OCW Arena and then at the keys.
“It’s great to be President Dean once again. And, as my first official order, I’m gonna do something I should’ve done a long ass time ago, sucka.”
Smith coughs, holding his chest, “What’s that, sir?”
A loud, mechanical roar sounds in the background.
“What the heck is that?”
Dean smirks. Tires screech as the roar grows louder. And louder. And louder.
Our view pans around, over Smith’s shoulder. A white vehicle pulls into the OCW Arena parking lot, leaving a massive trail of thick, black smoke behind it. The engine roars, causing every living creature in or around its path to leap, run, and dive out of the way.
As it draws closer, the vehicle becomes discernible. It’s a white 1988 hatchback Honda Civic.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes, sucka. It’s the Mighty Civic.”
Indeed, the famed Mighty Civic roars toward Smith and Dean. Smith gets nervous, unsure of how the vehicle is going to stop in time to avoid crushing them. Dean doesn’t waver, brimming with confidence. The Mighty Civic spins around, sliding sideways toward Dean and Smith. It comes to a stop mere few feet from the two. Smith exhales, doubling over.
“Relax, Smith. Car may sound like thunder and look like ass but the guy running it knows what he’s doing.”
The passenger’s window rolls down. Behind it rests a tiny, nerdy man wearing coke bottle glasses. Dean rolls his eyes. “Hey Dean! What’s up!”
“Hello, Eugene.”
Eugene starts to crawl out of the passenger’s window.
“Eugene, the hell are you doing? This isn’t NASCAR!”
Eugene falls out and hits the pavement. He pops up, “Sorry, Derek. But I couldn’t get the door to unlock.”
Dean stares down at Eugene who stares back up at him, smiling. The driver’s door opens and out steps the impressive stature of pro wrestling legend and former Dean protege, Derek Mobley. He makes his way around the front of the Mighty Civic.
He stands in front of Dean, “Alright, we’re here.”
Dean continues staring at Eugene, “You brought him with you?”
“Relax. He’s the tech guy. Probably have him run the twitter account.”
“Ugh, that account is going to lose so much respect, sucka.”
“What’s going on here?” Smith asks. He eyes Eugene like an aging wife eyes a bright eyed, much younger potential mistress.
“Derek Mobley,” Dean finally looks his protege in the eye, standing to attention. “For too long I’ve kept you and OCW away from each other. Well, that changes today.”
Dean extends the keys, “This place needs a man of high character. One who puts others ahead of themselves. So, I hereby transfer my authority over to you, Mobley.”
Eyeing the keys, Mobley inhales. He snags the keys from Dean and gives him a big hug. Dean reciprocates. Eugene sobs a little bit. Smith remains leery.
“Run it, close it down, do what you want with it, sucka,” Dean breaks the hug, speaking with genuine enthusiasm. It’s as though a weight has been lifted.
“I won’t let you down, Dean.”
“You never do, sucka.”
And with that, Dean marches off. A pivotal moment in history witnessed by four people.
“Can I park your car, sir?” Smith asks, anxiety shaking his voice.
“Whoa. Nobody handles the Mighty Civic but me.”
“Yea, nobody but Derek!” Eugene parrots. Derek puts a hand on his diminutive shoulder to chill him out.
Smith’s head lowers. “But I do need you to do something for me.”
Smith perks up, “Really?”
“Yep.”
“Anything! You name it! You need me to get the OCW Arena ready for a show next Monday and I’ll do it! Put out advertisements, I’m your guy! Contact all the old veterans for one ‘last’ run, that’s me, sir! Hide some potential damaging evidence, well, I can do that…”
“That right there, what you just said.”
“Oh god,” Smith’s shoulders slump, “Not the basement. Not already.”
“I want you to gather me a dozen or so names. Wrestlers you feel capable of inoculating this place of the disease that has infected it for nearly 25 years.”
A quizzical look passes across Smith’s face.
“I don’t know what the future holds for this place, Smith. But I do know there can’t be any kind of future worth having as long as the curse remains. So our first order of business is to seek out, battle, and destroy this curse once and for all.”
Eugene reaches out, gripping Smith by the arm, “We’re counting on you, Smith. All these years you’ve been the rock of this place.”
Words cannot express how much that means to OCW’s most loyal employee. So, he doesn’t even try. Instead, he nods, “I won’t let you guys down. I’ll have a list of names for you as soon as possible!”
Smith turns and heads inside the OCW Arena.
“What about?”
“No,” Derek shuts Eugene down.
“He’s always bailed us out of jams before.”
“Warrick is not going to be involved in this. He’s doing his own thing now.”
“But I miss him.”
“I do too, but he’s got to learn how to survive on his own.”
Eugene nods.
---
Inside the OCW office, a few days later. Smith begins his presentation.
“Okay, first off, we’ve got Mike Zybala. Nobody has been more loyal. Throughout OCW’s 20 plus years loyalty like Zybala’s has been taken advantage of. Never really offered a legitimate shot at the OCW Title.”
“Second, we have Lord Allton. A tireless worker. A man who has given everything he has to this promotion only to be pushed aside time after time after time. Taken for granted thanks to the curse’s desire to push those deemed more ‘exciting.’”
“Then we have Donnie Harris. Someone who was labeled ‘not good enough’ pretty much from the outset. He should have quit years ago but has stuck it out. The Curse’s arrogance has labeled him an opening act when his desire shows he could be so much more.”
“Up next is Bob Grenier. A man who worked hard to achieve his dreams only to see them snatched away via the Curse’s greed. Grenier should have never been stripped of the OCW Title but Welsh looked at Bob and only saw middle class thanks to the Curse’s influence.”
“Duce Jones. You might remember his father, Krayzie. Duce is a legacy. A man who has known nothing but derision and frustration since joining OCW. Welsh allowed the embodiment of evil, Bifford, to bully Duce time and time again. A byproduct of this hideous curse.”
“LCP. Say what you want about the man, but he’s all heart. He displayed that in TRIAD. For years, the Curse has laughed at ‘comedy’ characters. But it’s never taken them seriously despite their obvious talents. LCP resembles all those less serious characters who should have been given more opportunity.”
“A name unfamiliar to all, Henri Toussaint. I’ve watched rookie after rookie after rookie enter OCW only to be run off by its acerbic roster or warped into a malevolent person jaded against the rest of the profession. Henri comes into this with bright eyes wide open. A clean slate which might be enough to defeat the Curse.”
“Zombie Marcus is the ill-fated son of Punisher. Punisher a friend and colleague of Scorpion. The Curse’s influence convinced Dean to manipulate Scorpion all those years ago...something he did to a lot of OCW ‘legends’. Zombie Marcus carries the torch for those forgotten legends and, in his zombie like state, perhaps he can avenge legends like Scorpion and defeat the Curse.”
“This spot was reserved for Rico Dominguez but...that’s not gonna happen so, why not let Matt Knox do his thing. He was front and center among those purged. The Curse deciding to make a mockery of some of the greatest talent this sport has ever known. Perhaps, The Curse’s greatest sin. Maybe it takes a purged to rid this place of its greatest disease.”
“Which brings us to Vhodka Black. I’ll be honest, I had no intention on including her. Some might say she’s a curse herself. But my former boss, Marcus Welsh saw enough in her to believe she’s the only one capable of defeating this wretched disease. So, why not? Let’s give her a shot.”
“And, finally, Mack O’Connor. A two time OCW Champion, although you’d never know it. A man of conviction. A man who never compromises. A man the Curse hates. He demolished the eMpire. He withstood the Dean Clock. Time after time he proved he was the best wrestler this place had but the Curse always held him down. Through sheer belligerence and a touch of alcoholism, perhaps he is the one to break the curse.”
Mobley eyes a board behind Smith with photos of all the participants. “Makes sense to me.”
“Yea?”
“Yep, I trust your judgment, Smith. Let’s get these people together and end this Curse once and for all.”
Our view rises through the roof of the office and outside the OCW Arena. With haste, it soars across Key West to an isolated location. It hovers over the old OCW office, now known as the Haunted House.
It darts inside. It travels through the floor and into the basement. Inside the basement, we see specters coming and going, none of them recognizable. The walls seem to move. The floor seems to crawl. In the back of the room is a sticky, grimy, dirty piece of metal.
Everything goes black, save the soiled piece of metal we’re focused in on. Time rewinds and the metal starts to shine. Eventually it stands alone as a true spectacle of modern craftsmanship. As the original OCW Title.
A quick montage of Dean receiving the original OCW Title from a strange blacksmith who exudes the quirky confidence that can only be manifested through a hidden power.
Dean watches as the OCW Title turns rookies into men and, eventually, men into monsters.
A shot of Dean handing the title over to Lurrr much to the dismay of the entire roster is shown. The screen pauses and we see something entering into the belt. It slides across the metal like a faint bit of sludge before vanishing within OCW’s greatest prize.
In the possession of men such as Lurrr, Syren, Bifford, Shady, D Double D, Masters, Special K, Shadow Stalker, TGO, and Everlast the belt becomes increasingly infected. The curse of these evil, selfish men staining it beyond repair.
Until, finally, Paul Paras is turned away by Scott Syren. The last hope the title had of returning to its previous glory. Syren proceeds to mock Paras after the match by pissing all over the title. The fans booing and cursing at the OCW icon and new Champion as the heroic Paras is forced to leave in shame.
A few weeks later, we see Scott Syren, high on every drug imaginable, toss the old OCW Championship into the ocean for no reason other than it would piss off everyone else on the roster and, well, he could.
The clips end as we are taken back to a live shot of the basement as the old OCW Title, covered in years of deceit, treachery, and casual murder rests as the beating heart of this haunted abode.
