EXT. BANK - DAY

Birds chirping. The sun shines.

People walk-about, greeting each other merrily. Nothing bad could ever happen on a day like this.

…Or could it?

On the corner, a jet black car with tinted windows pulls up.

INT. GETAWAY CAR

The driver shifts to park.

A deep breath to calm his nerves…

Then, he looks to the bank’s entrance. The camera focuses…

EXT. BANK ENTRANCE

On a troubled, young man. Pain in his eyes. Regret…

He glances back at the car.

The driver nods.

The pointman reaches into his pockets…

In his right, a balaclava mask. He tugs it over his face…

In his left?

…A colt .45.

He runs inside, raising the gun.

BAM! BAM!

The people freeze in place… Their joy turns to horror.

ROBBER
ON THE GROUND! HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD! NOBODY MOVES? NOBODY GETS HURT!

The people comply, taking the criminal at his word.

The robber approaches the teller, who’s stunned to silence. He levels the gun, aiming the barrel square at her forehead.

ROBBER
Everything! NOW!

The Teller stutters, terrifed. As if she felt stuck in a nightmare someone else was having… And she just now realizes… This is HER nightmare.

TELLER
P-p-please… D-d-don’t do this!

…The Robber dry-swallows. He tightens his grip on the gun.

ROBBER
I don’t have a choice. My sister is sick and she nee-…

“WHOA WHOA WHOA! SICK SISTER?!?”

***

At the Conference Table (that Flynn stole from XWF headquarters), a half-dozen writer geeks sit, all reading copies of a script.

Flynn is staring down at this dreck, furiously.

“What the FUCK is this?!?! We’re on page five and I’M NOT EVEN IN IT YET!??!”

Flynn frisbees the script into the wall! It skitters down to the floor clumsily, like a spider with six broken legs..

“Did you even USE my first draft?” Flynn wrenches from his pocket… A messy wet stack of Denny’s napkins… At the to, in red crayon, ‘MARK FLYNN’S HEROIC ROBBERY STOPPING ADVENTURE…’

‘...(working title)’

“I asked you to punch up what I wrote! What was wrong with THIS?!?” Flynn tosses the napkin-wad to the table. It lands with a wet, thick THUD….

One daring writer extends a pencil to prod the… ‘script’?

“First off, it’s covered in…” The writer hives his face over Flynn’s napkin fever-dream, taking a curious sniff.

“…Blueberry syrup?”

“Butter pecan, you fucking tasteless swine.” Flynn snorts! “And I decide what’s ‘first off’! FIRST OFF, YO-”

…Suddenly, a tug at Flynn’s sleeve.

Flynn spins around! His simp right-hand man, Irwin, grasps onto his sleeve.

Disgustedly, Flynn rips his arm away! “What, Irmano?”

…Irwin sighs, summoning all the patience he’s capable of.

“Mister Flynn, remember… why we hired writers for your… fake bank robbery?”

Flynn snorts. “Don’t say ‘fake’. The robbery is pre-determined.”

…

”Still. Remember your last match against Generic Heel?”

Flynn grins. “Yeah, I dropped Jerome Tallman’s oafy ass on GH! Then, I dislocated his arm!”

“And the entire match, the crowd was cheering for… whom?”

…

Flynn sighs.

“Generic Heel.”

“Right. You got booed against a guy NAMED ‘Heel’. Despite your… *ahem* DECISION, that you’re a good guy, the XWF Universe disagrees.”

“WELL, THEY’RE WRONG. I AM A GOOD GUY.”

“You and I both know that, Mister Flynn. But, we need to *convince* them. And, at this point, we need professional help to make you look heroic. Hence, writers.”

“Well, they aren’t DOING THEIR JOBS… This script doesn’t even have my catchphrase! How’s the audience supposed to know I’m doing this for justice, if I don’t SAY ‘This one’s for justice’?!?!?”

“...I mean.” A writer raises his hand. “The act of stopping crime IS typically ‘for justice’. Announcing it feels… clunky.”

“No, I’ll tell YOU what’s clunky!” Flynn scoops the script off the floor with impunity. “What is this shit about the robber’s sick sister? How does that make the crowd love ME?!?”

“I mean, your adversary should have SOME humanizing motivation. Let the people empathize with him a little bit.”

“I don’t want those fucking MOUTH-BREATHERS to EMPATHIZE with the robber. Do you fucking want them to cheer a bank robber OVER ME?!?!”

Flynn stabs the script accustorily, like it’s written specifically to mock him.

“This CRIMINAL needs to be WHOLLY unlikable. So, when I stop him, I AM likable BY COMPARISON.”

Flynn pops the cap off a red pen, scribbling in the scrip’s margins...

“He should be a… TIGER POACHER… Or a… CHILD LABOR ADVOCATE…” Flynn snaps his fingers! “Ah! He forces CHILDREN to POACH TIGERS!”

“...Why would a… child-labor-using-tiger-poacher… rob banks?”

…Flynn bites his lip, thinking. “WELL… he’s got time on his hands! He used to poach the tigers himself, but he’s OUT-SOURCED that work… to CHILDREN. So, he’s bank-robbing! As a hobby.”

Flynn pokes the script once more.

“And another thing! This bank should be sympathetic!”

“...You want the… bank… to be sympathetic?”

“People should LOVE me for stopping the robbery! So, the bank needs to be… an orphanage on the side.”

…

“Run by nuns.”

“…Banking nuns?”

“YEAH! And they need to say ‘But, sirs! This money is for the orphans!’ And then, the robbers’ll say ‘Hahahah, wel-’”

“...Wait, the bank’s money is FOR the orphans? Like, the orphans have accounts with the bank?”

Flynn squints. Now, he’s confused. “...No, like… It’s… See, they use the bank money to… take care of the orphans.”

“So… Wait, the nuns are embezzling money OUT of the bank?”

Irwin coughs again. “Sir, there’s a core problem with the script as-is that we’re… not addressing.”

“You’re DAMN RIGHT, I-man. This script is TOO SLOW! The audience will change the channel before I even save the day! WHERE ARE THE CAR CHASES?”

One writer taps a page twice. “We have one! There’s a car chase when the criminals try to escape the scene of the robbery.”

“We need ANOTHER… No, TWO MORE!”

“...Wait, two more? We have one AFTER the robbery, then you stop them! WHERE would we put TWO more car chases?”

“BEFORE AND DURING THE ROBBERY, OF COURSE!” Flynn shakes his head, drawing an arrow on the script that says ‘CAR CHASE INSIDE OF BANK VAULT’. He slaps the cap back on his red sharpie with disgust. “I mean, do I have to hold your IDIOT hands? What am I paying you people for?”

…

A writer smugly stands up out of his chair.

“Sir, you hired us to make you likable. To smooth your rough edges. And we’re here to do that.”

The writer leans in toward Flynn, with a grin.

“I actually wrote on a season of The Simpsons, so I know a thing or two about likable characters, and may I say, I th-”

“BEFORE YOU START…” Flynn cuts in. “Did you write on a season number greater than 28?”

…

The Simpsons writer sits back down.

“S’what I thought.”

Another writer coughs. “I mean, Irwin is right. There’s a problem here that we’re approaching from the wrong angle.”

He stands.

“Mister Flynn, if we could just put you beside a villainous foil? So, you’d look good by comparison? Fighting Generic Heel would’ve done it. GH’s the most famous villain in all of wrestling! A professional asshole for THREE DECADES. And when he stood beside you, the people were screaming his name and applauding him doing basic wristholds.”

The writer pushes the script to the side, dissatisfied.

“We could make the robbers literally the Devil and a second, bigger Devil. And they STILL might get cheered over you.”

…

…Flynn inhales.

“I’m going to break your arm now.”

Flynn goes to st-

Irwin holds onto Flynn’s arm for dear life. “Sir, he’s going somewhere with this…”

…

“...Right?”

“Correct.”

…Flynn begrudgingly sits back down.

“We need to give Flynn an ally. A collaborator. Someone with a certain… cultural attaché among the ‘good guy’ community.”

Irwin nods along, intrigued.

Flynn’s scrolling on his phone, bored to tears whenever someone besides him is speaking…

“If Flynn works alone, people will be naturally suspicious. They’ll think his good deeds are part of some nefarious scheme to deceive the public. But, if Flynn works WITH a hero…”

Flynn’s phone buzzes in his hand.

“Someone too good-hearted to ever bend towards Flynn’s previously-evil ways…”

Flynn looks at the screen. His eyes widen. He’s almost salivating…

“The viewers would have no choice but to acknowledge that you’ve changed your ways, Mister Fl-”

“EUREKA!” Flynn smashes his fists against the table. He finger-guns around the room, deliriously delighted. “Great news, pencil-neck geeks! Someone in this room is a genius!”

The writer grins, anticipating praise…

“Wait for it…”

“And it’s ME.”

“There we go.”

“WE need a GOOD GUY for me to work alongside. So these fucking MOUTHBREATHERS believe I’m GOOD for helping him!”

“I just sai-... Fine.”

“But, Mister Flynn, what good guy would work with you?”

…

Flynn grins insidiously.

Side-eyeing his phone screen…



“Somone… NOTORIOUSLY good…”

***

“WARGAMES NUMBER ONE DRAFT PICK, BAY-BEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Flynn cackles, sitting in a foldout chair in front of a television showing the draft. On-screen, Kaye walks off stage, having announced Flynn as his #1 pick.

“Surprised Neduardo picked Mark Flynn? Lemme remind you… I’m MISTER FUCKING WARGAMES.”

“...(Look, I PROMISE I’m not the Stats Guy anymore… That said…) CHECK MY FUCKING STATS.”

Flynn flaunts gold on his ring finger.

“I’ve got a 2021 WarGames Championship Ring.”

Then, he extends another ring on his middle finger.

“And I coached four fucking JOBBERS to CHAMPIONSHIP GLORY just last year.”

“Look at that championship squad. Did any of them succeed at ANYTHING without me?”

“Game Girl hasn’t won a match since August.”

“Hanari Carnes lost to MASTERMIND.”

“Calypso had to get carried by a cosplaying bat to win gold.”

“And NK’s dead.”

“Me? TWO MONTHS after I forced those scrubs to victory, I WAS UNIVERSAL CHAMPION.”

“Fuck Bourbon’s WarGames elimination record. If he were so great, how come he’s never once SNIFFED the winner’s circle?”

Flynn grins, lifting his other hand, wearing a “We’re Number One!” rubber foam finger!

“Dolly Waters? Selected Corey Smith as Pick #2. A guy I STOMPED in the Cannabis Cup. Who I CARRIED in the first Denzel Porter Invitational.”

Flynn grins.

“And the sad thing? Corey WAS probably her best option. Because NO OTHER OPTION holds a FUCKING CANDLE to me. At least, Corey has a WarGames ring… From when I was on his squad.”

“True. Dolly got to the very end of WarGames 2021. But, she lost by TWO whole superstars. The most DOMINANT WarGames victory margin… EVER!”

“And the following year? She and the so-called WarMasters almost got swept 4-0. Hell, if NK had kept his mouth shut so Vaughnie would’ve gotten counted out? It would’ve been the FIRST WarGames sweep in XWF HISTORY.”

“And I was the brains behind it.”

“THAT’S WHO I AM.”

“That’s MY record.”

“And if you think I’ll be stopped? From effectively THREE-PEATING as WarGames champion?”

“By Dolly FUCKING Waters?”

“Your circuits are more fried than RoboGravy’s.”

Flynn shakes his head.

“Lemme get this straight. You take Micheal Graves… The most unorthodox competitor in the XWF. A mad genius of offense, who excels in exploiting being impossible to predict…”

“Then, you give him a machine core? Pre-programmed with predictable sub-routines?”

…

“You took all of Gravy’s strengths (creativity) and left all of his weaknesses (terrible hands, awful stamina).”

“You gutted the engine, and left the flat tires and terrible gas mileage.”

Flynn grins.

“I pounded the SHIT outta Gravy.”

“At his best.”

“TWICE.”

“How do you think it’ll play out when he’s piloted by a microchip with less processing speed than Windows 95?”

“In short… Dolly? Gravy?”

“...I’m trying to be a better guy.”

“You two have a feud years-in-the-making. Started with friendship, turned to betrayal and eventually blood-feud…”

“And I hope, after this match, I can help you work out your issues.”

…

“Because, post-match? You’ll have time to talk…”

“Sharing neighboring beds.”

“In the emergency room.”

Flynn cracks his knuckles.

“This one’s for justice.”