The Summer of 2000
The details regarding this event’s location cannot be revealed. Not because of anything spooky but because we don’t fuckin remember. But the location isn’t important. What’s important is what transpired on that very night. You see, it had been something like 7 whole months since any ‘casual murder’ took place in OCW. A glorious streak that was about...to...get...murdered(casually).
“Well look who it is...Mr. Champ!” Dean proudly yells when he sees Derek Mobley enter his office wearing the ICWF North American Title. Dean stands and gives his protege a hug.
“I couldn’t be more proud than if I was the one with the belt. Okay, maybe that’s a lie. But I’m still pretty damn proud, sucka.”
“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without ya.”
“I know,” Dean says in throwaway fashion, reclaiming his seat.
“I was wondering,” Derek sorta leans back, shoving his hips forward, really making that North American Title stand out, “if maybe I could wrestle in OCW right now. Like you promised.”
“Listen, kid…”
Dean gets cut off as a primal roar echoes down the hallway. The screams of an absolute lunatic. It’s followed by sounds of chaos, carnage, and worst of all, CALAMITY.
Derek Mobley turns around with a ‘holy fuckin shit’ expression. Dean stands and marches past him. He’s greeted by Smith in the doorway.
“Dean!” Smith can barely get the words out before his face is buried in Dean’s chest. He looks up, “There you are!”
“What did I say, sucka!?”
“Oh, right, MR Dean. Listen...it’s about Scott Syren. He’s out of control!”
Dean looks back at Derek then over Smith’s shoulder, down the hall. “That...that was Syren making all that damn noise?”
Smith nods. Mobley’s demeanor changes. He sneaks past Dean and exits the office. Guess he didn’t want to wait around lobbying for a spot in OCW after all.
“He’s got cocaine and steroids out in the open in the locker room. I was told he press slammed two soda machines on his way back after his match.”
“Press slammed two soda machines? Damn, that’s impressive, sucka.”
The surprise running through Smith’s body causes his eyes to bulge and his voice to raise, “Well...well...word is Johnny Hunter is going to quit if you make Syren the #1 contender!”
“Hunter is always bitching, he’ll be fine.”
Smith searches for more, “That new recruit SiLVeRFReaK? The one you labeled as ‘the future locker room leader’...he’s seriously reconsidering signing over Syren’s antics.”
“Man, just calm down. Tell Freak to come in here and I’ll smooth things over. He probably won’t ever have to face Syren.”
Dean’s flippant response flabbergasts Smith. His hands find their way atop his hips as his posture goes from subservient to damn-near defiant, “Did you watch the weight room match?”
“No but I heard the crowd, sucka. Loudest they’ve been all night.”
“He crushed Y2James head on the treadmill!”
“Crushed as in smacked it around a bit, right? A little blood?”
“LITERALLY CRUSHED.”
“So the paramedics are on their way?”
“To do WHAT, exactly? He’s got no head!”
Dean pauses.
“Should we call the police? Have Syren arrested for, I don’t know, murder?”
Dean’s eyes move toward the landline in his office. Three quick numbers and this mess would be taken care of, legally. His ears perk. The fans are going wild inside the packed arena. Chants of ‘SYREN! SYREN! SYREN!’ A smile crosses Dean’s face.
He leans in and whispers to Smith, “Casual murder, Sucka.”
Smith knows what this means. “To the basement?”
“TO THE BASEMENT!” Dean proclaims, ordering Smith to take the remains of Y2James and hide them away.
Smith sulks and drags his feet out of the office. Dean hears the chants of ‘SYREN! SYREN!’ filling the air and slowly throws his head back, closing his eyes...taking it all in. The intoxicating aroma of fleeting success fills his lungs.
We cut away
---
We are taken back to the Haunted House. Cocco Ricci returns. His complexion more pallid than before. He lowers his head, bill of his cap covering part of his face, “Another pivotal moment in OCW history you’ve just witnessed.”
“President Dean could have called the authorities. He could have had Syren arrested. He could’ve given some closure to the friends and relatives of their dear and beloved Y2James.”
“But, did he?”
Cocco Ricci violently turns toward the camera, “He did not!”
“Intoxicated by the chants. Titillated by the ovations! Perverted by the money, Dean sided with a beast so terrifying his prolonged existence would warp the very soul of this great company.”
Ricci’s words slow as he approaches the camera. In the background we see someone casually strolling near the house.
“The curse was fed on that night. That night when Dean allowed an innocent like Y2James to be murdered and forgotten so that the evil Scott Syren would remain free. Free to make OCW lots and lots of money.”
The image of Y2James appears in one of the windows. His head is cracked wide open. His eyes empty and sad. Staring down from the imprisoning window, he longs for something he cannot reach. The man wandering around the yard pauses and looks up, spotting Y2James.
It’s LC Pinkston. The hell is he doing out here? Pinkston sees Y2James staring down and feels like the guy could use a friendly wave. So, LCP waves up at the melancholy specter.
Cocco Ricci starts to glitch again, “I’d like to say President Dean learned from his ways and did all he could to change the promotion, preventing the curse from growing in scale. But, that’d be a lie. It only gets worse from here. I -” Ricci senses something. He turns around and spots LCP, “Hey, who the hell are you?”
We cut away.
Dean’s Office
Backstage at Massacre
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