Post by Warpath on Feb 19, 2013 4:12:23 GMT -5
(The scene opens to show a large, bulky man walking along a narrow sidewalk. The man has a well refined brown goatee, as well as long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. A collection of late given roses reside along both sides of the sidewalk. The man unbeknownst to the uninformed is none other than Warpath, new addition to The Wrestling Federation. His moth-eaten light brown jacket and faded wrangler jeans impersonate that of someone ranking just above a homeless wonderer if the american culture had a feudal system.
The camera pans back and we see that were in the midst of a trailer park. Warpath casually cuts across a small yard treading to the front door of a small metal trailer. There are patches of rust spots littered throughout the sides. A small white table resides to the left of the door. Warpath pulls out his keys, pushes them into the lock, turns them and nothing...
He pushes them into the lock again, turns the keys yet again but the lock still resists and nothing...
His faces shows noticeable frustration just as his eyes pan up to catch a dangling note from the top of the door. In big red letters reads EVICTION NOTICE.)
Warpath: Son of a bitch!
(He crumbles the piece of paper in his hand and releases it into the wind. Warpath with purpose heads back to the sidewalk. With a grimace on his face, he gaits to a small building structure nearby. Warpath goes to pull the front door open but it is also locked. On the door hangs a CLOSED sign. Warpath closes his fist and bangs the door frame once until hearing the sound of an car ignition turning over. Warpath walks around the side of the building and spots a small balding man sitting in a red chevrolet cavalier with his driver-side car door still open. He's shuffling some papers into a briefcase, car running and all.)
Warpath: Travis, you got to be kidding me. Eviction? You know my situation.
(The balding man, Travis looks up.)
Travis: I warned you Dave, several times in fact.
Warpath: I admit I'm four months behind, but-
Travis: Correction, you WERE four months behind, now five. It's after the first of the month. Look I know your situation but you have left me no choice. I don't take pride in this kind of stuff Dave, I really don't, but I have a business and there is no room for empathy in it if I am going to make my living.
Warpath: I have a job now Travis. Real money man. No side job bar bouncing bullshit. I'm in, back in the ring, making it happen again. I just need a little more time and I can catch up the bills.
Travis: Look, I'll make arrangements to have your stuff pulled from the trailer, everything will be accounted for, I promise you that. Take my advice, worry about fixing your situation. Go do some touring again, get your life back. My son still has his Warpath action figure he got for Christmas three years back and it's collected less dust than you have for the last two years of solitude you've spent rotting away in this place.
Warpath: Your point.
Travis: My point is, people haven't forgotten what you were and could still be. All you've done for two years now since the IEW closed is sob, lift weights in your trailer and sleep. Crack that shell you are and show the world the man that still lives under it.
Warpath: (sarcastically) nice talk Travis, real nice...I don't need pep talks though. I know what I'm doing and I'm fully aware of how far I've fallen to this bride-gap my life is sitting on. I will get it all back, and I'm not just talking about the money. This still leaves us with a problem. I have important things in that trailer, sentimental attachments. Things I need for the road and things that I need kept safe for storage purposes. You box it all up and where the hell am I going to put it? I can't just lug this stuff along on the road with me to every pit stop for however long this last ride lasts. Give me three weeks and I will have the money for you.
Travis: Sorry Dave but I got my rules and I like a controlled environment, you know that. Thats how I operate. You knew these rules when you moved here. I really do wish you the best of luck and your stuff will be waiting here for you by tomorrow evening.
Warpath: I am scheduled to fly out to Rhode Island in the morning. That will not work for me.
Travis: Sorry Dave, I really am. Leave your keys by the front door.
(Travis shuts the door, buckles his belt and speeds off leaving Warpath looking on through a cloud of dust.)
Warpath: Sorry Travis but I live by my own set of rules as well.
(Warpath eagerly paces back to his trailer. He looks around suspiciously, as he wanders around to the rear of the trailer.)
Warpath: Gotta make this quick.
( He elbows a window frame a couple times with power, dislodging the window a bit. He pulls the window up all the way and climbs inside.)
Warpath: My first order of business was to get that defective thing replaced, guess thats your problem now Travis. I'll send you a couple extra bucks in a few weeks for it.
(The inside of the trailer looks to resemble much of the outside of it. Rough patches fill the walls. The trailer is mostly empty. Theres a weight bench filling the middle of a living space. A non-stopping drip is coming from a nearby sink. There are some dirty bowls scattered amongst a counter top. A small dinner table sits in a corner. On top of it is a huge world heavyweight championship belt. The front of it gold with an IEW emblem stretched across it. At the bottom is the name Warpath etched on it.
Warpath pulls out a large cardboard box from a closet. He sits on a beaten up old couch and unfolds the flaps. Looks of interest and admiration fill his face as he begins pulling out old wrestling attire. He pulls loose a pair of shreded army pants.)
Warpath: Oh the times I've had wearing you. I've bleed on you, been thrown through glass wearing you, been beaten with everything under the sun wearing you, I also won my last world heavyweight title with you. (He glances at the belt laid across the table.) But I think I've worn you enough.
(He folds them back up and sets them aside. He digs out a pair of blue trunks as well as a luchador mask.)
Warpath: Wrestled in my first match ever with you. Never won wearing you but thats ok, I learned some tough life lessons wearing you and I couldn't have had my later success without those lessons.
(He folds them back and sets them aside. He begins rooting through the box again, this time pulling out some dark green pants with strings of fire wrapping down both legs.)
Warpath: Won my first match ever with you. Good ole Japan. Those crazy bastards down there could really steal a show.
(He shakes his head with a smile. He pulls a pair of plain black pants. Nodding his head...)
Warpath: Then there was you. The IEA, where it all began for me in the states. You were the begining of my legacy. I won my first title with you, the IEA extreme title. I led the Disciples of Destruction wearing you. I still believe that was the most dominant faction assembled in recent memory within the business.
(With a sigh, he tosses the pants amidst the growing pile. Warpath looks down, cocking his head with absorption. He reaches down once more pulling out yet another pair of black pants, as well as a folded trench coat. He unfolds the pants. In bold, blue letters, the word LEGEND covers the right leg and the word REBORN on the left. Warpath cracks a small smirk.)
Warpath: I almost forgot you. You were meant to debut with me in the IEW. And you - (unfolds the trenchcoat)
(He turns the coat around. On the back of the coat the words in bold, blue letters with barb wire wrapping the letters spells P-R-O-P-R-I-E-T-O-R O-F V-I-O-L-E-N-C-E highlight it.)
Warpath: Very fitting that I find you now. Ironic really. My career is so far removed from fame, that its ridiculous. The reality is that the man once coined the IEA wrecking machine, later to be adapted into the IEW wrecking machine has been no more for so long now, that I don't even know where to begin anymore to get it all back. Could it be fear for the first time in my life. Fear of losing? Fear of winning?
(He looks to his right spotting a couple pictures set against the wall. In one picture, we see a younger Warpath celebrating with his first world heavyweight championship, the GEW world heavyweight championship. He shifts his focus to the next picture and it is that of Warpath still years younger hoisting with one arm the TCW world heavyweight title. Still holding the trenchcoat and pants, he stands from the couch and heads to a mirror hanging next to the open closet. On the mirror are small print phtotographs, everyone of them depicting a different story. In one, Warpath is being stretchered to the back. His face is crimson red with blood but he's giving a thumbs up to the crowd. In another he is shaking hands with his greatest IEW rival Jason Twisted moments following a grueling house of pain match. He shifts his attire to one arm and lifts another photograph of him burying Chaos alive in a burried alive match, winning his first title in the states, the IEA extreme championship. Warpath puts the picture back and shakes his head as if he's been through this routine of past remembrance one too many times. He holds the pants out once more looking them over.)
Warpath: Come on Dave, why this sudden pause. Let it go. This has gotten old. I have no more time for reflection upon who I was, who I am...what I am.
(He holds his trenchcoat out, his eyes fixated upon it's words. After a brief moment of consideration and thought, he tugs a duffle bag loose from the closet and quickly stuffs his attire into it. He snags a couple of photographs from the mirror and sets them into a side compartment of the bag. He begins pulling a few shirts and pants, stuffing them into his bag as well. He zips his bag shut. Just as he begins to walk away and make a quick exit. Perhaps acting on the impulse to start the new chapter in his life, as if to combat anymore feelings of the constraint he has felt for weeks now prior to faxing over his signature as a dedicated member of The Wrestling Federation , there is an untimely urge. An urge that he cannot overlook. He looks back at the IEW world heavyweight title. In almost a trance now, he lifts it up starring at it with intrigue. His eyes gaze upon a small custom inscription below his name reading an old proverb, " There is nothing noble about being superior to some other man. The true nobility is in being superior to your previous self.")
Warpath: This is like a freaking mindtrap, that I keep falling into. I can't let you go. I stare at you everytime I leave. For fucking two years now. Why are you so hard to let go of?
(Warpath's face grimaces in notable anger.)
Warpath: You are all that remains of a better time in my life and yet you also stand for a reminder of decline. When I won you, my life peaked and since I have slowly crumbled. You were my success and failure as the last IEW world heavyweight champion. If I am to be reborn, I must become more perilous, more unpredictable, above all else I must find more tenacity than ever before, and I can't have you lingering like a fog of doubt, enclosing my mind.
(He rubs his hand through his face, contemplating.)
Warpath: I am going to keep you close by, because when I succeed again. When I become somebody again. When I have MY swansong, I want you there because in that moment I am going to free my mind. In that moment your power over me will become frail. The negativity that I live with every moment, knowing on some level that I wasn't strong enough to keep my home, the IEW alive with you in my hands will be excercised like a demon back into the fiery pits of hell and all that you will stand for then is that one thing that I needed to find the closure to the legacy of Warpath.
(He reaches back in the duffle bag pulling loose the couple of photographs, he had just put in. He takes one last brief stare at the man he knew before, before grabbing a lighter from the table and setting one picture ablaze over the sink. Then the second. He flips the handle washing the ashes down the drain.)
Warpath: The wrecking machine is dead now. I am a man in search of a new worthy feat. A new act of dominance. Time for one last ride.
( A small drizzle begins to drop outside the trailer as the taps of it can be heard striking the metal roof. Warpath takes a deep breath, a smile catches his lips, and he flings the IEW heavyweight title over his shoulder and climbs back out the window from which he ascended. Closing the window, Warpath then takes foot toward the main road. The rain begins picking up it's velocity. Warpath pays it no mind. He continues his stride becoming more and more distorted through watery lens, before becoming an evanescence altogther. )
*********************The scene momentarily concludes*******************
(The scene reopens inside a diner. Small, otherwise it's your normal everyday, casual diner setting. A layer of booths fill the elongated left side, with large windows overlooking each one. There is an old fashioned juke box in the back corner. Parallel to the boothside is a barside, with stools. On the otherside of the bar sits the kitchen. The diner is deserted except for an old waitress doing a nightly sweep. Her hair is bound within a hair net. She is wearing a long dress with pink and white stripes, underneath a blue apron reading "Pearls Diner." Suddenly a bell rings as the front door swings open. The heavy fall of rain can be heard smacking the pavement outside for a brief moment as the door swings back shut. Dripping from head to toe, stands Warpath. He walks quitely to the last booth in the back corner of the diner. He tosses his title belt and duffle bag in the seat and sits directly across the table on the otherside of the booth. The old waitress approaches.)
Waitress: Hey Dave, nasty night out there. I was just about to close up, but I can spare a few minutes. You want the usual. Decaf, two sugars, two creams?
Warpath: You don't have to wait up Pearl. I was heading to the airport. Figured I'd make a pitstop. I got some hours to kill but I don't want to hold you up.
Pearl: Airport, you leaving us?
Warpath: You could say that.
Pearl: Where you headed?
Warpath: Rhode Island.
Pearl: Rhode Island huh? Thats nice. I hear good things, never been though. Look can I offer you something? You hungry?
Warpath:---
Pearl: Don't answer that, the look on your face already has. Your not going anywhere on a empty stomach. Tell you what. I'll get you your coffee and make you my grilled cheese that you like. Then I'll lock up and you can cut the lights out on your way out when your ready to leave.
Warpath: Im really not hungry Pearl, honest. A lil thursty, but you don't need to cook anything. I'm really not hungry at all.
(She shoots him a look.)
Warpath: Honest. Scouts honor. I'll just take a glass of water.
Pearl: Ok sweetie, if you change your mind you know where the coffee maker is.
(She leaves grabbing his water. Warpath stares at his title across the table, emotionless, and thinking. She comes back with a glass of ice water.)
Pearl: There you go hun.
(He pulls his wallet out. Flipping through his last couple bucks, her hand covers his.)
Pearl: It's just ice water. No charge. You just check back in when you return, let me know how your trip was.
Warpath: I may not be back Pearl. If I return, that could mean something. That I failed. I don't see that as an option for me anymore. I'm looking for a new life. Consider this me thanking you for too much kindness.
(She gazes at him. Her eyes catching the seriousness of his.)
Warparth: Before you say anything Pearl, there is something I want to ask you. Something I've thought about for a while now.
(She nods.)
Warpath: Look, I've been coming in here several times a week for over a year and a half now. Each day looking more and more like somekind of a hermit. Yet, you've never pryed. You've never asked questions. You've found me passed out on your deep fryer for crying out loud, yet all you've ever done is treat me with kindness, I can't remember when the last time I paid for a meal was. Why? You don't owe me anything?
(She greets him with a warm smile.)
Pearl: (takes a quick breath) I believe that everybody has a story. Some people live theirs openly, some closed. You've heard the old saying "don't judge a book by it's cover"?
(Warpath nods.)
Pearl: Meaning that it's not my place to read or critique their story. Everybody deserves the same chance. Some authors come from fortune and some not but in the end aren't we all just trying to create a best seller? Every writer needs their resources and help to get there though.
Warpath:--
Pearl: Look let me tell you something. I am 67 years old now. Back when I was 47, my husband and I, Owen was his name, purchased this diner. It was his dream to start a small family business and live our remaining years out in some small town. We'd grow old together in peace and quiet. About a year later, Owen passed. He had a heart attack in his sleep and for the first time in 22 years I was a widow. I spent weeks crying, confused, depressed. I didn't know what to do, where to go. So without reason, I went out one day and purchased a Harley Davidson. I had never driven a motorcycle, but I acted on impulse. I thought that I'd take a stroll cross country and do some sight seeing and somehow that would ease the pain.
Warpath: So what happened?
Pearl: What happened was the motorcycle collected dust in my garage. I spent so many weeks staring at it. Now it sits, never been used. Its just a memento to a life that I never attempted.
Warpath: What are you telling me Pearl?
Pearl: I'm telling you that if your going to make a new life for yourself than there can be no reservations, no doubts. You just do it because if you choose comfort over possibility than one day you may end up an old, lonely owner of a small diner in a small town full of regret. You'll have more time than you want to ponder your what ifs. You can fear the unknown just as long as that fear is used as an advocate to drive you. We'll miss you around here Dave. I'll miss you.
Warpath: You sound so certain that you won't see me again?
Pearl: Because something tells me everything that I just told you, you already know. Something tells me that theres been a time where you were more than a man listening to an old woman's life history rants...Warpath.
(She pats his world heavyweight title.)
Warpath: I didn't peg you for a wrestling fan or is the name on the title the dead giveaway?
(She smiles)
Pearl: I didn't know you had to be a wrestling fan to have heard of Warpath.
Warpath: So you've known this whole time?
Pearl: Like I said, it's not my place to critique.
(She points at a television hanging from the back right corner of the diner.)
Pearl: Gotta love late night television. Looks like theres something that may interest you.
( He turns to see a TWF logo flashing across the screen. With that Tommy Contours latest promo begins to air. Warpath stands interested. He moves closer to the screen not taking his eyes off. Behind him, Pearl unwraps her apron and tosses it on a coat hanger next to the front door. She flings a sweater over her shoulders looking back at Warpath as her right hand finds the door handle.)
Pearl: Don't chase your dreams Dave, make em. You still have the same abilities you always have. Now go show the world one last time. Like I said, we'll miss you.
(Warpath nods back at her. As she begins to walk out the door and perceivably his life for the last time.)
Warpath: Hey Pearl...
(She looks back.)
Warpath: Thanks.
(She smiles flipping an umbrella over her head.)
Pearl: Cut everything off for me, huh.
(He nods then turns back to face Tommy on the screen, a small smile finds the corner of his lips.)
7 MINUTES LATER
(Warpath sits in the booth, hands locked. The IEW heavyweight title placed underneath him, spread across the table. He looks at the camera. His face morphs into an expression of intent that it has not shown for what seems like a lifetime now.)
Warpath: Tommy Contour...I see your spirt of competition has not changed. Nor has your belief that you are technically superior to anybody that dares to step inside the ring with you. You know, a couple of years ago I was a man standing on a mountain of achievement. My elbows covered in the blood of everybody that I went through to become simpily the man in the IEW. I've won titles in my life. Heck I've won world titles in my life, yet none of them more gratifying than the thrill of becoming the IEW world heavyweight champion. The second time more sweeter than the first. The reason was that the IEW was the first place that actually felt like home to me since the IEA. You were there then too, and you know the things that I've done. The people I've beaten, the people I've hurt and simply the people that I've ended...yet after going through all that I have found humility in my life. Humility that wasn't there before. You see I thought I knew emotion then. I thought I understood what fighting with your "heart on your sleeve" truley meant, but I was wrong. It has taken a sad decline in my life, two years of misery that has been full of things that simply cannot fit within one promo to explain. I was a dangerous man then Tommy. Capable of unspeakable acts of violence and I have done both things that I'm proud off in my career and things that I'm not so much. The funny thing though is the whole time I believed that being a professional wrestler and a main event ass kicking, bone crumbling machine was a life I choose to live. It was supposed to be a joy that I used to fulfill two holes in my existence. Both a career and a hobby. However, it was when that all was taken from me, that my eyes were truley opened. When the IEW closed I still believed my career would pass on. I thought to myself... "Well your a champion. You've beaten the best of the best in every fed you've entered, who wouldn't want you?" Yet as the weeks passed bye not a call. Not a letter, nothing! I started to look in the mirror and question what was the problem? The problem was perhaps the world saw what I could not. I was the man, but I was the man in a fed that no longer existed. A bass in large lake full of younger, hungrier bass. I look back and I think was I too confident in myself, in the IEW? Maybe the problem was indeed that I was getting up there a little bit too much in age for these big time feds? No matter, obviously all these big shot promoters no longer saw currency or value in this aging pitbull, regardless of the reason. I still don't know why it took this long to find a new home. Maybe some of the smaller promotion owners felt I would never compete for them. I was the almighty Warpath right? Too much fame and prestige for the small times. Too much pride. Why would Warpath belittle himself to come and fight for the small timers? You know what...they were right. THEN, they were right but I have found diffidence, I have been humbled.
(Warpath snarls for a moment. His eyes piercing through anybody that may dare to watch.)
Warpath: Who am I to look down on anybody Tommy? Maybe I forgot what it was like to be a young buck and crave the moment where he can lower his antlers and charge a speeding set of headlights without fear, for that possibility that he may someday compete on some of the stages that we have. I was a dangerous man then Tommy. Boy was I. However, now that I am waking from a bad dream, I understand my existence more clearly than ever. Eight years ago I was humbled for the first time in my life when I awoke from a coma and had to learn to walk again for Christs sake, much less wrestle but that pales in comparison to the coma that I am awaking from now. In two years I realize that this lifestyle has never been a choice. Putting my body on the line for the masses, being beaten half to death on some nights and beating others ten times worst the next, the adrenaline rush, all of it has never been a choice but it has been the blood that flows through these veins. The heart that pumps that blood. The brain that controls my movements. This IS my life. Without it I am nothing. Without it I know nothing. Wrestling, fighting, competiting is all that seperates me from hermit to celebrity. Homeless to mansion. Walking to driving. My life is that black and white. So you take every man I've hurt, every man I've retired, every man that YOU Tommy have watched me break and understand that now in this moment I realize that any night could be my last. There is no more well if The Wrestling Federation doesn't work out, I can wrestle somewhere else. You see how that has worked out for me. There is no more well the day I no longer can wrestle, I can sell cars. I can repair engines. I can coach football. What these last two years has taught me is without this business I am dead, a wandering spirit. I realize the moment this last ride is all over for me, my life's greater meaning could be over. I don't have a wrestling slash mixed martial arts training academy to go back to, I have nothing. Every night now that I stand in that ring. Every moment I stand between those ropes, I will fight like a dying patient on life support who knows in their deep subconcious behind those closed eyes that the moment that plug is pulled, its all gone, so every image, every memory is critical. Everything that I want to see one last time before I permanently black out nows the time. I will fight like every drop of sweat will be my last. NOW I know what wearing your "heart on your sleeve" truley means, so your not afraid of me huh? Tommy you've never meant the real Warpath. The big, strong, dangerous Warpath that you knew was an imposter to the present Warpath. Believe me when I tell you that you haven't yet been given a reason to be afraid!
(His every breath quickens, gets heavier.)
Warpath: Don't get me wrong Tommy, I respect you. I've known you for a long time. I've battled you. I've shared a lot of locker rooms with you. That in itself earns praise, but I'm going to take this one step further than you. Don't mistake respect for mercy. When I walk down that ramp, I'm going to slap hands with ever hard working man, woman and child that has kept the memory of Warpath alive. I'll give high fives, I may even show a softer side and throw a few hugs out, but when I enter those ropes. When that bell sounds, the walls will close and it's just you, me and this Teague Neiland fellow. In that moment respect becomes futile and every man standing before me becomes my enemy. In that moment I am going to come at you like you just kidnapped my first born baby and Teague Neiland slapped it.
(Warpath takes a deep breath in, not blinking nor taking his eye off camera.)
Warpath: I realize that all of this Tommy and you Teague will reach you both on one of two levels. Either you will understand just how serious I am about kicking your asses and earning my stripes, my confidence and my respect back one punch at a time that I lost the day I died two years ago with the IEW or you will laugh it off with that off-putting arrogance that you both seem to share. Yes Teague, I don't know you, never meant you, but the bio I recieved via mail on you by the The Wrestling Federation the day they released the very first line up painted a clear enough picture about you. I'll get to you in a second though. Tommy you can play up this respectful, honorable persona all you want, but what merit is it when you constantly are preaching how much better you are than everybody else. Is that honor? Talking down to people and building yourself up as this master of technical wrestling and that no one standing opposite of you can lace your boots in that department, you call that honor? Sounds like to me, that you are either in denial or you are yet to find humility in your life. Perhaps you feel that if you say it enough then maybe you will actaully believe it yourself. I want you to imagine a day when you could wake up and your whole life has flipped upside down. Forget for a moment about your training academy. If you lost it all and found yourself scrapping for helpings. Barely living then what would you think of those abilities then? The point Tommy is in the end it really doesn't matter about your technical prowess because you haven't yet seen how far your life can drop and all that confidence that you possess cannot save you then. You talk like you are fighting to prove a point to the world about your abilities but this is why I am more dangerous than you. I have my accolades, the world knows what Warpath can do, this is now about proving a point to myself!
(Warpath grimaces, not a sight of warmth in his expression.)
Warpath: Tommy if you cannot find humility the let me bestow some upon you. The truth about you Tommy is yes, you can do some amazing things in that squared circle and probably the octagon as well. You are a world class athelete. However lets face facts, it is somewhat humorous that you threaten to beat respect into anybody in your promo. For all the renowned strikes, grapples, and jabs that you might be able to throw, you cannot take them just as hard. You have never been what somebody would consider tough. I remember like it was yesterday in the IEW debating you about hardcore wrestling. You disrespected and practically spit on the craft as well as the anarchy title and the united title that represented it. This all coming despite the fact that many whom held those titles went on to become world heavyweight champions, including myself. I could never understand in that moment what your big issue with hardcore wrestling was until the moment in one of our matches when you got smacked once with a steel chair across the back nonetheless and it was lights out for you. Tommy I have been hit with just about every inanimate object known to man at some point or another and I have never been knocked out cold with one little chair shot. I knew in that second that all your hatred for hardcore wrestling came stimmed not from what it represents but it was the one thing that you could not master. The one thing that you could not survive in. I swear I do not know how you became an extreme champion in the IEA for the life of me. Either you have grown soft over the years or that speaks volumes for how pathetic our extreme divison was in the IEA when you took part in it. So taking that into consideration do you really think that you threatening to beat respect into anybody would scare even an unruly ant? The sad fact is Tommy atleast when you cheated more often than a married prostitute you were somewhat threatening. You had a gang of followers that at your will would attack and force many into uncomfortable gang warefare beatdowns. Now though, you by extension of what you were during the closing months of the IEW, mister canonical. You havent been the same. You were barely able to beat anyone worth a squat. Instead you spent night after night apologizing for who you were in the past and concentrated less on who you were in that moment. Face it Tommy, you had declined then and tack two years on to that and imagine how pathteic you could be now. I on the other hand have had nothing to do for two years now other than work out obsessively. I am in the best shape of my life. With that said, I got some good news and some bad news here Tommy. I am not going to hit you with a chair so your safe there, the bad news however is I am going to hit you with something much worse.
(He balls his fists up.)
Warpath: My knuckles. Unlike a chair they will keep coming and the hits will be much more frequent between blows. They will not bend or become useless. They will keep hitting until they bleed if necesarry, all the way up until you are barely concious enough to fart.
(He looks down at the world heavyweight title for a moment, collects his thoughts.)
Warpath: Lastly what I want to say to you Tommy is if I do not intimidate you then imagine how much more YOU do not intimidate me. You see, I'm not perfect. I have always won some and lost some. But I have done it on my own. Unlike you, I do not need somebody constantly around me, introducing me, building me up before I speak. Standing in my corner in my matches. Could it be that you feel you have something to prove to the world because the achievements that you do have, most of them are not your own. When you were tag champion, you had Johnny and when you were world champion you had your little posse of followers constantly getting involved in your matches treating most every match as if it were still a tag team match. Now you still have that damn Philippe Rougeau reinforcing your words and speaking on your behalf in portions as if your not confident enough in what you have to say on your own. Really Tommy putting your whole life out there in the open shows how truley vulnerable you are to an asskicking. Drop this tough guy act because besides the fact that it is a farce, your less scary then the Easter Bunny. You can go ahead and hate me for what I'm saying because in the end I am speaking in facts and I hope this reaches you on a cerebral level where you absolutely snap. If I'm not facing the most motivated Tommy Contour in that ring possible then you shouldn't even show up. You can even bring Philippe Rougeau for support or help, it's not like thats anything new for you. Understand that everything that I have been through these last couple of years has been building to this moment of clarity for me. I am coming in guns blazing and grenades exploding. So when the smoke clears for the first time in a long time I will taste a small emotional release. I say small because The Wrestling Federation cannot possibly be prepared for the newer, hungrier, nastier, version of Warpath based off one night. This place has been marked as my hunting ground and you Tommy and you Teague are just the first pieces of meat.
(Warpath holds his index finger up as if signaling "hold up one second.")
Warpath: I promise that I have not forgotten about you Teague Neiland. I look at you and everything about you sprouts outward just how imitative you are. Completely unimaginative and ordinary. I will atleast say for Tommy that I can pick him out of a crowd but you, whats so different between you and say guys in our very own fed MG3, Downfall, all a bunch of cocky ignorant assholes. I don't know anything about you and guys like MG3 other than what has been disclosed to me at the feds own expense. That however was enough to make me see that your a Waldo in a book full of other goffy looking bastards in red and white shirts. Even your entrance music is as laughable. Atleast MG3 has music, granted he comes out to a theme from Lord of the Rings but you dont even list an entrance song. You are that bland. I guess you feel that your hearing impairment makes you different but I disagree.
(Warpath shakes his head in disgust.)
Warpath: You know people with your condition are genuinely accepted in our society with open arms. Anybody with a lick of sense and sympathy would do anything to help you but somehow it looks as if you have used this to gain a underhanded advantage to your opposition. And that, the use of dirty tactics and deception makes you just as pompus as guys like this MG3 and Downfall. You've probably played up the whole handicaped condition to people and before people even know their in a fight you strike. Well nice try youngin but that stuff doesn't work on me. I'm beyond a point in my life for sympathy or empathy. Do not look to give me pause. Father time has the clock ticking against me so every second counts and every win now is a must. I don't care who I face or what their story is, their a roadblock that needs to be plowed through. Guys like you, the minority in your situation give the majority a bad name and its a shame. It really is. Maybe some could make the case that your playing the hand that you've been dealt. I don't buy that bullshit. Look at Helen Keller. Her condition was worse than yours but she used it as motivation and overcame obstacles in her life without doing it the bitch way. Halle Berry, a very respected actress, eighty percent deaf in one ear. Leslie Neilsen, Sean Forbes, Matt Hamil a real tough guy fighter that doesn't need underhanded tactics to win, Marcus Titus...this list could go on forever. The thing is Teague these people use their condition as an advocate to drive them but it is not used as a weapon. Their spirit is the weapon.
(Warpath takes in a deep breath.)
Warpath: I realize that you think of yourself most likely as a young bull ready to take an endless world as your prisoner. I get it, I was that same young bull once. It has taken me a long time to realize this but a vigourous youth is no match for a seasoned vet. It just simply isn't. You are prone to mistake and being overzealous. A vet calls his shots. He's more calculated and understands the game much better. This meaning...you better strap up for a whippin son because the belt is coming off and the leather is coming for your ass.
(Warpath looks as intense as ever. Ready to go now.)
Warpath: Teague and Tommy. I have learned so much these last miserable years but the most important lesson life has taught me recently while I have had to live in shame and embarrassment is sometimes you have to fall, really fall before you can get back up. Now it is a salome promise that I will never stand straighter. I will never reach higher. To quote Malcom Forbes, "Victory is sweetest when you’ve known defeat." I have seen defeat. I have seen it in its most powerful form but it has not ruled me or left its mark on me permanently. It has only prepared me for the crusade that I now begin in order to restore the morality of my name. Unfortunately in any war there are always casulaties. Prepare for a napalm gentlemen because I am heating up.
(Warpath raises from the table. He grabs his title and duffle bag. Making his way to the door he looks back once more over the diner as if taking in one last glimpse for memory keepsake. He nods, flips the lights shut and exits the door. Outside the rain engulfs him as Warpath begins marching into the dark night downpour. The door swings shut sending the image to blackness.)
Scene ends...........
The camera pans back and we see that were in the midst of a trailer park. Warpath casually cuts across a small yard treading to the front door of a small metal trailer. There are patches of rust spots littered throughout the sides. A small white table resides to the left of the door. Warpath pulls out his keys, pushes them into the lock, turns them and nothing...
He pushes them into the lock again, turns the keys yet again but the lock still resists and nothing...
His faces shows noticeable frustration just as his eyes pan up to catch a dangling note from the top of the door. In big red letters reads EVICTION NOTICE.)
Warpath: Son of a bitch!
(He crumbles the piece of paper in his hand and releases it into the wind. Warpath with purpose heads back to the sidewalk. With a grimace on his face, he gaits to a small building structure nearby. Warpath goes to pull the front door open but it is also locked. On the door hangs a CLOSED sign. Warpath closes his fist and bangs the door frame once until hearing the sound of an car ignition turning over. Warpath walks around the side of the building and spots a small balding man sitting in a red chevrolet cavalier with his driver-side car door still open. He's shuffling some papers into a briefcase, car running and all.)
Warpath: Travis, you got to be kidding me. Eviction? You know my situation.
(The balding man, Travis looks up.)
Travis: I warned you Dave, several times in fact.
Warpath: I admit I'm four months behind, but-
Travis: Correction, you WERE four months behind, now five. It's after the first of the month. Look I know your situation but you have left me no choice. I don't take pride in this kind of stuff Dave, I really don't, but I have a business and there is no room for empathy in it if I am going to make my living.
Warpath: I have a job now Travis. Real money man. No side job bar bouncing bullshit. I'm in, back in the ring, making it happen again. I just need a little more time and I can catch up the bills.
Travis: Look, I'll make arrangements to have your stuff pulled from the trailer, everything will be accounted for, I promise you that. Take my advice, worry about fixing your situation. Go do some touring again, get your life back. My son still has his Warpath action figure he got for Christmas three years back and it's collected less dust than you have for the last two years of solitude you've spent rotting away in this place.
Warpath: Your point.
Travis: My point is, people haven't forgotten what you were and could still be. All you've done for two years now since the IEW closed is sob, lift weights in your trailer and sleep. Crack that shell you are and show the world the man that still lives under it.
Warpath: (sarcastically) nice talk Travis, real nice...I don't need pep talks though. I know what I'm doing and I'm fully aware of how far I've fallen to this bride-gap my life is sitting on. I will get it all back, and I'm not just talking about the money. This still leaves us with a problem. I have important things in that trailer, sentimental attachments. Things I need for the road and things that I need kept safe for storage purposes. You box it all up and where the hell am I going to put it? I can't just lug this stuff along on the road with me to every pit stop for however long this last ride lasts. Give me three weeks and I will have the money for you.
Travis: Sorry Dave but I got my rules and I like a controlled environment, you know that. Thats how I operate. You knew these rules when you moved here. I really do wish you the best of luck and your stuff will be waiting here for you by tomorrow evening.
Warpath: I am scheduled to fly out to Rhode Island in the morning. That will not work for me.
Travis: Sorry Dave, I really am. Leave your keys by the front door.
(Travis shuts the door, buckles his belt and speeds off leaving Warpath looking on through a cloud of dust.)
Warpath: Sorry Travis but I live by my own set of rules as well.
(Warpath eagerly paces back to his trailer. He looks around suspiciously, as he wanders around to the rear of the trailer.)
Warpath: Gotta make this quick.
( He elbows a window frame a couple times with power, dislodging the window a bit. He pulls the window up all the way and climbs inside.)
Warpath: My first order of business was to get that defective thing replaced, guess thats your problem now Travis. I'll send you a couple extra bucks in a few weeks for it.
(The inside of the trailer looks to resemble much of the outside of it. Rough patches fill the walls. The trailer is mostly empty. Theres a weight bench filling the middle of a living space. A non-stopping drip is coming from a nearby sink. There are some dirty bowls scattered amongst a counter top. A small dinner table sits in a corner. On top of it is a huge world heavyweight championship belt. The front of it gold with an IEW emblem stretched across it. At the bottom is the name Warpath etched on it.
Warpath pulls out a large cardboard box from a closet. He sits on a beaten up old couch and unfolds the flaps. Looks of interest and admiration fill his face as he begins pulling out old wrestling attire. He pulls loose a pair of shreded army pants.)
Warpath: Oh the times I've had wearing you. I've bleed on you, been thrown through glass wearing you, been beaten with everything under the sun wearing you, I also won my last world heavyweight title with you. (He glances at the belt laid across the table.) But I think I've worn you enough.
(He folds them back up and sets them aside. He digs out a pair of blue trunks as well as a luchador mask.)
Warpath: Wrestled in my first match ever with you. Never won wearing you but thats ok, I learned some tough life lessons wearing you and I couldn't have had my later success without those lessons.
(He folds them back and sets them aside. He begins rooting through the box again, this time pulling out some dark green pants with strings of fire wrapping down both legs.)
Warpath: Won my first match ever with you. Good ole Japan. Those crazy bastards down there could really steal a show.
(He shakes his head with a smile. He pulls a pair of plain black pants. Nodding his head...)
Warpath: Then there was you. The IEA, where it all began for me in the states. You were the begining of my legacy. I won my first title with you, the IEA extreme title. I led the Disciples of Destruction wearing you. I still believe that was the most dominant faction assembled in recent memory within the business.
(With a sigh, he tosses the pants amidst the growing pile. Warpath looks down, cocking his head with absorption. He reaches down once more pulling out yet another pair of black pants, as well as a folded trench coat. He unfolds the pants. In bold, blue letters, the word LEGEND covers the right leg and the word REBORN on the left. Warpath cracks a small smirk.)
Warpath: I almost forgot you. You were meant to debut with me in the IEW. And you - (unfolds the trenchcoat)
(He turns the coat around. On the back of the coat the words in bold, blue letters with barb wire wrapping the letters spells P-R-O-P-R-I-E-T-O-R O-F V-I-O-L-E-N-C-E highlight it.)
Warpath: Very fitting that I find you now. Ironic really. My career is so far removed from fame, that its ridiculous. The reality is that the man once coined the IEA wrecking machine, later to be adapted into the IEW wrecking machine has been no more for so long now, that I don't even know where to begin anymore to get it all back. Could it be fear for the first time in my life. Fear of losing? Fear of winning?
(He looks to his right spotting a couple pictures set against the wall. In one picture, we see a younger Warpath celebrating with his first world heavyweight championship, the GEW world heavyweight championship. He shifts his focus to the next picture and it is that of Warpath still years younger hoisting with one arm the TCW world heavyweight title. Still holding the trenchcoat and pants, he stands from the couch and heads to a mirror hanging next to the open closet. On the mirror are small print phtotographs, everyone of them depicting a different story. In one, Warpath is being stretchered to the back. His face is crimson red with blood but he's giving a thumbs up to the crowd. In another he is shaking hands with his greatest IEW rival Jason Twisted moments following a grueling house of pain match. He shifts his attire to one arm and lifts another photograph of him burying Chaos alive in a burried alive match, winning his first title in the states, the IEA extreme championship. Warpath puts the picture back and shakes his head as if he's been through this routine of past remembrance one too many times. He holds the pants out once more looking them over.)
Warpath: Come on Dave, why this sudden pause. Let it go. This has gotten old. I have no more time for reflection upon who I was, who I am...what I am.
(He holds his trenchcoat out, his eyes fixated upon it's words. After a brief moment of consideration and thought, he tugs a duffle bag loose from the closet and quickly stuffs his attire into it. He snags a couple of photographs from the mirror and sets them into a side compartment of the bag. He begins pulling a few shirts and pants, stuffing them into his bag as well. He zips his bag shut. Just as he begins to walk away and make a quick exit. Perhaps acting on the impulse to start the new chapter in his life, as if to combat anymore feelings of the constraint he has felt for weeks now prior to faxing over his signature as a dedicated member of The Wrestling Federation , there is an untimely urge. An urge that he cannot overlook. He looks back at the IEW world heavyweight title. In almost a trance now, he lifts it up starring at it with intrigue. His eyes gaze upon a small custom inscription below his name reading an old proverb, " There is nothing noble about being superior to some other man. The true nobility is in being superior to your previous self.")
Warpath: This is like a freaking mindtrap, that I keep falling into. I can't let you go. I stare at you everytime I leave. For fucking two years now. Why are you so hard to let go of?
(Warpath's face grimaces in notable anger.)
Warpath: You are all that remains of a better time in my life and yet you also stand for a reminder of decline. When I won you, my life peaked and since I have slowly crumbled. You were my success and failure as the last IEW world heavyweight champion. If I am to be reborn, I must become more perilous, more unpredictable, above all else I must find more tenacity than ever before, and I can't have you lingering like a fog of doubt, enclosing my mind.
(He rubs his hand through his face, contemplating.)
Warpath: I am going to keep you close by, because when I succeed again. When I become somebody again. When I have MY swansong, I want you there because in that moment I am going to free my mind. In that moment your power over me will become frail. The negativity that I live with every moment, knowing on some level that I wasn't strong enough to keep my home, the IEW alive with you in my hands will be excercised like a demon back into the fiery pits of hell and all that you will stand for then is that one thing that I needed to find the closure to the legacy of Warpath.
(He reaches back in the duffle bag pulling loose the couple of photographs, he had just put in. He takes one last brief stare at the man he knew before, before grabbing a lighter from the table and setting one picture ablaze over the sink. Then the second. He flips the handle washing the ashes down the drain.)
Warpath: The wrecking machine is dead now. I am a man in search of a new worthy feat. A new act of dominance. Time for one last ride.
( A small drizzle begins to drop outside the trailer as the taps of it can be heard striking the metal roof. Warpath takes a deep breath, a smile catches his lips, and he flings the IEW heavyweight title over his shoulder and climbs back out the window from which he ascended. Closing the window, Warpath then takes foot toward the main road. The rain begins picking up it's velocity. Warpath pays it no mind. He continues his stride becoming more and more distorted through watery lens, before becoming an evanescence altogther. )
*********************The scene momentarily concludes*******************
(The scene reopens inside a diner. Small, otherwise it's your normal everyday, casual diner setting. A layer of booths fill the elongated left side, with large windows overlooking each one. There is an old fashioned juke box in the back corner. Parallel to the boothside is a barside, with stools. On the otherside of the bar sits the kitchen. The diner is deserted except for an old waitress doing a nightly sweep. Her hair is bound within a hair net. She is wearing a long dress with pink and white stripes, underneath a blue apron reading "Pearls Diner." Suddenly a bell rings as the front door swings open. The heavy fall of rain can be heard smacking the pavement outside for a brief moment as the door swings back shut. Dripping from head to toe, stands Warpath. He walks quitely to the last booth in the back corner of the diner. He tosses his title belt and duffle bag in the seat and sits directly across the table on the otherside of the booth. The old waitress approaches.)
Waitress: Hey Dave, nasty night out there. I was just about to close up, but I can spare a few minutes. You want the usual. Decaf, two sugars, two creams?
Warpath: You don't have to wait up Pearl. I was heading to the airport. Figured I'd make a pitstop. I got some hours to kill but I don't want to hold you up.
Pearl: Airport, you leaving us?
Warpath: You could say that.
Pearl: Where you headed?
Warpath: Rhode Island.
Pearl: Rhode Island huh? Thats nice. I hear good things, never been though. Look can I offer you something? You hungry?
Warpath:---
Pearl: Don't answer that, the look on your face already has. Your not going anywhere on a empty stomach. Tell you what. I'll get you your coffee and make you my grilled cheese that you like. Then I'll lock up and you can cut the lights out on your way out when your ready to leave.
Warpath: Im really not hungry Pearl, honest. A lil thursty, but you don't need to cook anything. I'm really not hungry at all.
(She shoots him a look.)
Warpath: Honest. Scouts honor. I'll just take a glass of water.
Pearl: Ok sweetie, if you change your mind you know where the coffee maker is.
(She leaves grabbing his water. Warpath stares at his title across the table, emotionless, and thinking. She comes back with a glass of ice water.)
Pearl: There you go hun.
(He pulls his wallet out. Flipping through his last couple bucks, her hand covers his.)
Pearl: It's just ice water. No charge. You just check back in when you return, let me know how your trip was.
Warpath: I may not be back Pearl. If I return, that could mean something. That I failed. I don't see that as an option for me anymore. I'm looking for a new life. Consider this me thanking you for too much kindness.
(She gazes at him. Her eyes catching the seriousness of his.)
Warparth: Before you say anything Pearl, there is something I want to ask you. Something I've thought about for a while now.
(She nods.)
Warpath: Look, I've been coming in here several times a week for over a year and a half now. Each day looking more and more like somekind of a hermit. Yet, you've never pryed. You've never asked questions. You've found me passed out on your deep fryer for crying out loud, yet all you've ever done is treat me with kindness, I can't remember when the last time I paid for a meal was. Why? You don't owe me anything?
(She greets him with a warm smile.)
Pearl: (takes a quick breath) I believe that everybody has a story. Some people live theirs openly, some closed. You've heard the old saying "don't judge a book by it's cover"?
(Warpath nods.)
Pearl: Meaning that it's not my place to read or critique their story. Everybody deserves the same chance. Some authors come from fortune and some not but in the end aren't we all just trying to create a best seller? Every writer needs their resources and help to get there though.
Warpath:--
Pearl: Look let me tell you something. I am 67 years old now. Back when I was 47, my husband and I, Owen was his name, purchased this diner. It was his dream to start a small family business and live our remaining years out in some small town. We'd grow old together in peace and quiet. About a year later, Owen passed. He had a heart attack in his sleep and for the first time in 22 years I was a widow. I spent weeks crying, confused, depressed. I didn't know what to do, where to go. So without reason, I went out one day and purchased a Harley Davidson. I had never driven a motorcycle, but I acted on impulse. I thought that I'd take a stroll cross country and do some sight seeing and somehow that would ease the pain.
Warpath: So what happened?
Pearl: What happened was the motorcycle collected dust in my garage. I spent so many weeks staring at it. Now it sits, never been used. Its just a memento to a life that I never attempted.
Warpath: What are you telling me Pearl?
Pearl: I'm telling you that if your going to make a new life for yourself than there can be no reservations, no doubts. You just do it because if you choose comfort over possibility than one day you may end up an old, lonely owner of a small diner in a small town full of regret. You'll have more time than you want to ponder your what ifs. You can fear the unknown just as long as that fear is used as an advocate to drive you. We'll miss you around here Dave. I'll miss you.
Warpath: You sound so certain that you won't see me again?
Pearl: Because something tells me everything that I just told you, you already know. Something tells me that theres been a time where you were more than a man listening to an old woman's life history rants...Warpath.
(She pats his world heavyweight title.)
Warpath: I didn't peg you for a wrestling fan or is the name on the title the dead giveaway?
(She smiles)
Pearl: I didn't know you had to be a wrestling fan to have heard of Warpath.
Warpath: So you've known this whole time?
Pearl: Like I said, it's not my place to critique.
(She points at a television hanging from the back right corner of the diner.)
Pearl: Gotta love late night television. Looks like theres something that may interest you.
( He turns to see a TWF logo flashing across the screen. With that Tommy Contours latest promo begins to air. Warpath stands interested. He moves closer to the screen not taking his eyes off. Behind him, Pearl unwraps her apron and tosses it on a coat hanger next to the front door. She flings a sweater over her shoulders looking back at Warpath as her right hand finds the door handle.)
Pearl: Don't chase your dreams Dave, make em. You still have the same abilities you always have. Now go show the world one last time. Like I said, we'll miss you.
(Warpath nods back at her. As she begins to walk out the door and perceivably his life for the last time.)
Warpath: Hey Pearl...
(She looks back.)
Warpath: Thanks.
(She smiles flipping an umbrella over her head.)
Pearl: Cut everything off for me, huh.
(He nods then turns back to face Tommy on the screen, a small smile finds the corner of his lips.)
7 MINUTES LATER
(Warpath sits in the booth, hands locked. The IEW heavyweight title placed underneath him, spread across the table. He looks at the camera. His face morphs into an expression of intent that it has not shown for what seems like a lifetime now.)
Warpath: Tommy Contour...I see your spirt of competition has not changed. Nor has your belief that you are technically superior to anybody that dares to step inside the ring with you. You know, a couple of years ago I was a man standing on a mountain of achievement. My elbows covered in the blood of everybody that I went through to become simpily the man in the IEW. I've won titles in my life. Heck I've won world titles in my life, yet none of them more gratifying than the thrill of becoming the IEW world heavyweight champion. The second time more sweeter than the first. The reason was that the IEW was the first place that actually felt like home to me since the IEA. You were there then too, and you know the things that I've done. The people I've beaten, the people I've hurt and simply the people that I've ended...yet after going through all that I have found humility in my life. Humility that wasn't there before. You see I thought I knew emotion then. I thought I understood what fighting with your "heart on your sleeve" truley meant, but I was wrong. It has taken a sad decline in my life, two years of misery that has been full of things that simply cannot fit within one promo to explain. I was a dangerous man then Tommy. Capable of unspeakable acts of violence and I have done both things that I'm proud off in my career and things that I'm not so much. The funny thing though is the whole time I believed that being a professional wrestler and a main event ass kicking, bone crumbling machine was a life I choose to live. It was supposed to be a joy that I used to fulfill two holes in my existence. Both a career and a hobby. However, it was when that all was taken from me, that my eyes were truley opened. When the IEW closed I still believed my career would pass on. I thought to myself... "Well your a champion. You've beaten the best of the best in every fed you've entered, who wouldn't want you?" Yet as the weeks passed bye not a call. Not a letter, nothing! I started to look in the mirror and question what was the problem? The problem was perhaps the world saw what I could not. I was the man, but I was the man in a fed that no longer existed. A bass in large lake full of younger, hungrier bass. I look back and I think was I too confident in myself, in the IEW? Maybe the problem was indeed that I was getting up there a little bit too much in age for these big time feds? No matter, obviously all these big shot promoters no longer saw currency or value in this aging pitbull, regardless of the reason. I still don't know why it took this long to find a new home. Maybe some of the smaller promotion owners felt I would never compete for them. I was the almighty Warpath right? Too much fame and prestige for the small times. Too much pride. Why would Warpath belittle himself to come and fight for the small timers? You know what...they were right. THEN, they were right but I have found diffidence, I have been humbled.
(Warpath snarls for a moment. His eyes piercing through anybody that may dare to watch.)
Warpath: Who am I to look down on anybody Tommy? Maybe I forgot what it was like to be a young buck and crave the moment where he can lower his antlers and charge a speeding set of headlights without fear, for that possibility that he may someday compete on some of the stages that we have. I was a dangerous man then Tommy. Boy was I. However, now that I am waking from a bad dream, I understand my existence more clearly than ever. Eight years ago I was humbled for the first time in my life when I awoke from a coma and had to learn to walk again for Christs sake, much less wrestle but that pales in comparison to the coma that I am awaking from now. In two years I realize that this lifestyle has never been a choice. Putting my body on the line for the masses, being beaten half to death on some nights and beating others ten times worst the next, the adrenaline rush, all of it has never been a choice but it has been the blood that flows through these veins. The heart that pumps that blood. The brain that controls my movements. This IS my life. Without it I am nothing. Without it I know nothing. Wrestling, fighting, competiting is all that seperates me from hermit to celebrity. Homeless to mansion. Walking to driving. My life is that black and white. So you take every man I've hurt, every man I've retired, every man that YOU Tommy have watched me break and understand that now in this moment I realize that any night could be my last. There is no more well if The Wrestling Federation doesn't work out, I can wrestle somewhere else. You see how that has worked out for me. There is no more well the day I no longer can wrestle, I can sell cars. I can repair engines. I can coach football. What these last two years has taught me is without this business I am dead, a wandering spirit. I realize the moment this last ride is all over for me, my life's greater meaning could be over. I don't have a wrestling slash mixed martial arts training academy to go back to, I have nothing. Every night now that I stand in that ring. Every moment I stand between those ropes, I will fight like a dying patient on life support who knows in their deep subconcious behind those closed eyes that the moment that plug is pulled, its all gone, so every image, every memory is critical. Everything that I want to see one last time before I permanently black out nows the time. I will fight like every drop of sweat will be my last. NOW I know what wearing your "heart on your sleeve" truley means, so your not afraid of me huh? Tommy you've never meant the real Warpath. The big, strong, dangerous Warpath that you knew was an imposter to the present Warpath. Believe me when I tell you that you haven't yet been given a reason to be afraid!
(His every breath quickens, gets heavier.)
Warpath: Don't get me wrong Tommy, I respect you. I've known you for a long time. I've battled you. I've shared a lot of locker rooms with you. That in itself earns praise, but I'm going to take this one step further than you. Don't mistake respect for mercy. When I walk down that ramp, I'm going to slap hands with ever hard working man, woman and child that has kept the memory of Warpath alive. I'll give high fives, I may even show a softer side and throw a few hugs out, but when I enter those ropes. When that bell sounds, the walls will close and it's just you, me and this Teague Neiland fellow. In that moment respect becomes futile and every man standing before me becomes my enemy. In that moment I am going to come at you like you just kidnapped my first born baby and Teague Neiland slapped it.
(Warpath takes a deep breath in, not blinking nor taking his eye off camera.)
Warpath: I realize that all of this Tommy and you Teague will reach you both on one of two levels. Either you will understand just how serious I am about kicking your asses and earning my stripes, my confidence and my respect back one punch at a time that I lost the day I died two years ago with the IEW or you will laugh it off with that off-putting arrogance that you both seem to share. Yes Teague, I don't know you, never meant you, but the bio I recieved via mail on you by the The Wrestling Federation the day they released the very first line up painted a clear enough picture about you. I'll get to you in a second though. Tommy you can play up this respectful, honorable persona all you want, but what merit is it when you constantly are preaching how much better you are than everybody else. Is that honor? Talking down to people and building yourself up as this master of technical wrestling and that no one standing opposite of you can lace your boots in that department, you call that honor? Sounds like to me, that you are either in denial or you are yet to find humility in your life. Perhaps you feel that if you say it enough then maybe you will actaully believe it yourself. I want you to imagine a day when you could wake up and your whole life has flipped upside down. Forget for a moment about your training academy. If you lost it all and found yourself scrapping for helpings. Barely living then what would you think of those abilities then? The point Tommy is in the end it really doesn't matter about your technical prowess because you haven't yet seen how far your life can drop and all that confidence that you possess cannot save you then. You talk like you are fighting to prove a point to the world about your abilities but this is why I am more dangerous than you. I have my accolades, the world knows what Warpath can do, this is now about proving a point to myself!
(Warpath grimaces, not a sight of warmth in his expression.)
Warpath: Tommy if you cannot find humility the let me bestow some upon you. The truth about you Tommy is yes, you can do some amazing things in that squared circle and probably the octagon as well. You are a world class athelete. However lets face facts, it is somewhat humorous that you threaten to beat respect into anybody in your promo. For all the renowned strikes, grapples, and jabs that you might be able to throw, you cannot take them just as hard. You have never been what somebody would consider tough. I remember like it was yesterday in the IEW debating you about hardcore wrestling. You disrespected and practically spit on the craft as well as the anarchy title and the united title that represented it. This all coming despite the fact that many whom held those titles went on to become world heavyweight champions, including myself. I could never understand in that moment what your big issue with hardcore wrestling was until the moment in one of our matches when you got smacked once with a steel chair across the back nonetheless and it was lights out for you. Tommy I have been hit with just about every inanimate object known to man at some point or another and I have never been knocked out cold with one little chair shot. I knew in that second that all your hatred for hardcore wrestling came stimmed not from what it represents but it was the one thing that you could not master. The one thing that you could not survive in. I swear I do not know how you became an extreme champion in the IEA for the life of me. Either you have grown soft over the years or that speaks volumes for how pathetic our extreme divison was in the IEA when you took part in it. So taking that into consideration do you really think that you threatening to beat respect into anybody would scare even an unruly ant? The sad fact is Tommy atleast when you cheated more often than a married prostitute you were somewhat threatening. You had a gang of followers that at your will would attack and force many into uncomfortable gang warefare beatdowns. Now though, you by extension of what you were during the closing months of the IEW, mister canonical. You havent been the same. You were barely able to beat anyone worth a squat. Instead you spent night after night apologizing for who you were in the past and concentrated less on who you were in that moment. Face it Tommy, you had declined then and tack two years on to that and imagine how pathteic you could be now. I on the other hand have had nothing to do for two years now other than work out obsessively. I am in the best shape of my life. With that said, I got some good news and some bad news here Tommy. I am not going to hit you with a chair so your safe there, the bad news however is I am going to hit you with something much worse.
(He balls his fists up.)
Warpath: My knuckles. Unlike a chair they will keep coming and the hits will be much more frequent between blows. They will not bend or become useless. They will keep hitting until they bleed if necesarry, all the way up until you are barely concious enough to fart.
(He looks down at the world heavyweight title for a moment, collects his thoughts.)
Warpath: Lastly what I want to say to you Tommy is if I do not intimidate you then imagine how much more YOU do not intimidate me. You see, I'm not perfect. I have always won some and lost some. But I have done it on my own. Unlike you, I do not need somebody constantly around me, introducing me, building me up before I speak. Standing in my corner in my matches. Could it be that you feel you have something to prove to the world because the achievements that you do have, most of them are not your own. When you were tag champion, you had Johnny and when you were world champion you had your little posse of followers constantly getting involved in your matches treating most every match as if it were still a tag team match. Now you still have that damn Philippe Rougeau reinforcing your words and speaking on your behalf in portions as if your not confident enough in what you have to say on your own. Really Tommy putting your whole life out there in the open shows how truley vulnerable you are to an asskicking. Drop this tough guy act because besides the fact that it is a farce, your less scary then the Easter Bunny. You can go ahead and hate me for what I'm saying because in the end I am speaking in facts and I hope this reaches you on a cerebral level where you absolutely snap. If I'm not facing the most motivated Tommy Contour in that ring possible then you shouldn't even show up. You can even bring Philippe Rougeau for support or help, it's not like thats anything new for you. Understand that everything that I have been through these last couple of years has been building to this moment of clarity for me. I am coming in guns blazing and grenades exploding. So when the smoke clears for the first time in a long time I will taste a small emotional release. I say small because The Wrestling Federation cannot possibly be prepared for the newer, hungrier, nastier, version of Warpath based off one night. This place has been marked as my hunting ground and you Tommy and you Teague are just the first pieces of meat.
(Warpath holds his index finger up as if signaling "hold up one second.")
Warpath: I promise that I have not forgotten about you Teague Neiland. I look at you and everything about you sprouts outward just how imitative you are. Completely unimaginative and ordinary. I will atleast say for Tommy that I can pick him out of a crowd but you, whats so different between you and say guys in our very own fed MG3, Downfall, all a bunch of cocky ignorant assholes. I don't know anything about you and guys like MG3 other than what has been disclosed to me at the feds own expense. That however was enough to make me see that your a Waldo in a book full of other goffy looking bastards in red and white shirts. Even your entrance music is as laughable. Atleast MG3 has music, granted he comes out to a theme from Lord of the Rings but you dont even list an entrance song. You are that bland. I guess you feel that your hearing impairment makes you different but I disagree.
(Warpath shakes his head in disgust.)
Warpath: You know people with your condition are genuinely accepted in our society with open arms. Anybody with a lick of sense and sympathy would do anything to help you but somehow it looks as if you have used this to gain a underhanded advantage to your opposition. And that, the use of dirty tactics and deception makes you just as pompus as guys like this MG3 and Downfall. You've probably played up the whole handicaped condition to people and before people even know their in a fight you strike. Well nice try youngin but that stuff doesn't work on me. I'm beyond a point in my life for sympathy or empathy. Do not look to give me pause. Father time has the clock ticking against me so every second counts and every win now is a must. I don't care who I face or what their story is, their a roadblock that needs to be plowed through. Guys like you, the minority in your situation give the majority a bad name and its a shame. It really is. Maybe some could make the case that your playing the hand that you've been dealt. I don't buy that bullshit. Look at Helen Keller. Her condition was worse than yours but she used it as motivation and overcame obstacles in her life without doing it the bitch way. Halle Berry, a very respected actress, eighty percent deaf in one ear. Leslie Neilsen, Sean Forbes, Matt Hamil a real tough guy fighter that doesn't need underhanded tactics to win, Marcus Titus...this list could go on forever. The thing is Teague these people use their condition as an advocate to drive them but it is not used as a weapon. Their spirit is the weapon.
(Warpath takes in a deep breath.)
Warpath: I realize that you think of yourself most likely as a young bull ready to take an endless world as your prisoner. I get it, I was that same young bull once. It has taken me a long time to realize this but a vigourous youth is no match for a seasoned vet. It just simply isn't. You are prone to mistake and being overzealous. A vet calls his shots. He's more calculated and understands the game much better. This meaning...you better strap up for a whippin son because the belt is coming off and the leather is coming for your ass.
(Warpath looks as intense as ever. Ready to go now.)
Warpath: Teague and Tommy. I have learned so much these last miserable years but the most important lesson life has taught me recently while I have had to live in shame and embarrassment is sometimes you have to fall, really fall before you can get back up. Now it is a salome promise that I will never stand straighter. I will never reach higher. To quote Malcom Forbes, "Victory is sweetest when you’ve known defeat." I have seen defeat. I have seen it in its most powerful form but it has not ruled me or left its mark on me permanently. It has only prepared me for the crusade that I now begin in order to restore the morality of my name. Unfortunately in any war there are always casulaties. Prepare for a napalm gentlemen because I am heating up.
(Warpath raises from the table. He grabs his title and duffle bag. Making his way to the door he looks back once more over the diner as if taking in one last glimpse for memory keepsake. He nods, flips the lights shut and exits the door. Outside the rain engulfs him as Warpath begins marching into the dark night downpour. The door swings shut sending the image to blackness.)
Scene ends...........