Titan’s Collide
The locker room is mutinous. The crowd is riotous. The very foundation of OCW feels to be cracking. President Dean is holed up in his office, pacing back and forth. His protege, Derek Mobley, made the trip to witness the event, hoping to see something that might entice him to jump into the ring. It’s made clear by the look on his face that he’s no closer to joining the promotion than that guy Liljungleman ate.
“Derek,” Dean stops, turning toward his young, popular protege, “the people like you, right? How about we have you debut on tomorrow night’s Massacre and…”
Smith bursts in, “The locker room, Dean! The locker room!”
“MR Dean!”
“I’m sorry.” Smith continues as Derek sneaks out behind him. “I think we’ve got a mutiny on our hands, sir. There was peace when SiLVeRFReaK beat Syren. But tonight? After THAT finish. We might see a massive walkout.”
“What’s wrong with Scorpion? I mean I know Scruff missed Freak’s shoulder being up but that shit happens all the time.”
“He’s seen as an outsider being put over all the home grown OCW talent, sir. He did almost nothing to earn this shot and now he’s taken out the man who’s been supporting the locker room for months.”
“Fuck,” Dean falls back into his chair, “when you put it like that. Okay, reverse the decision.”
“Uh, what”
“Reverse it. Put the title back on Freak.”
Smith has no words. “I said now, sucka!” Dean screams. Smith rushes out.
Anxiety is in the air. The promotion is at a pivotal fork in the road. Will Dean’s decision save them?
The owner, riddled with stress, takes a seat and turns on the TV situated in the top corner of the room. A local news report breaks in.
“Tragedy has struck right outside Titan’s Collide. OCW talent, Zeb, furious over tonight’s match result stormed out of the arena, got into his truck, and sped away so recklessly, so hastily that he drove right over a bridge and into a ravine where he was crushed. To death.”
Dean covers his mouth and leans forward, eyes wide.
Smith re-enters, “Well now they’ve both quit! Freak and Scorpion! Freak doesn’t want the title. Scorpion can’t trust your decision making. We’ve lost them both, Dean!”
Silence.
“Oh and that new rookie, Zeb? He apparently walked out!”
Dean points up at the screen. Smith looks at the breaking news. “Oh. Oh my.”
A thought runs across Dean’s mind. A thought no rational mind would ever consider. But, as we’ve seen, this isn’t a rational place. “Tell the rest of the roster,” Dean pauses allowing Smith to listen, “tell them what happened to Zeb and warn them that could happen to them if they walk out.”
“You serious, sir?”
Dean’s eyes are fixated at nothing in particular, staring through the top of his desk. “Mhm. That’ll keep them static until I can figure out this OCW Title mess.”
At this point, Smith knows not to argue. But there is one more matter. “What about Zeb? Somebody is going to have to identify him…”
“That’s what you’re for,” Dean’s eyes look up at Smith. “Take his body and…”
A defeated Smith finishes Dean’s statement, “To the basement.”
“To the basement.”
Smith slowly exits. Dean picks up the phone and dials a number. A few rings pass before he gets an answer. Through a smile, Dean greets his old friend, “Syren! How the hell are ya, sucka!”
We cut away.
---
The all-too-familiar location reappears with Cocco Ricci pacing, ominously. He’s wearing a detective’s coat and has the collar popped, concealing the lower part of his face. He squints, staring at us, “Unfortunately, Dean’s threats worked. The majority of the roster remained put.”
He takes a few more steps forward, “Perhaps it might have been better had they left. A hard lesson Dean needed to learn to change his ways. Alas…”
Above Ricci, the ghostly visage of Zeb appears in one of the windows. His body mangled and torn. He casts a sad gaze downward, “Zeb’s death was used as a tool to ‘save’ OCW.”
Ricci spins around, dramatically, the camera cuts to meet his new position, “And soon? Scott Syren would return to the company inserting himself back into the Main Event picture ensuring that the crowds and the money would not flounder.”
“As always, this corrupt promotion went down the path of moral turpitude.”
Zeb’s image slowly vanishes into the darkness behind him.
“The end of 2000 would bring hope, however. The start of a new year would birth the hope that OCW might change it’s ways. Would they? We’ll find out, next time…” Cocco Ricci’s image, once again, blinks, it statics.
We cut away.
September 24th, 2000
I mean who really cares at this point
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