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Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. The clock is warning. The day is ending. The night is starting. He is rising.





Soon.





Can he survive the night?





-TW


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The outside is dark with only a glimmer of the moonlight on this cloudy night. A single lamp post is in view, flickering faintly in the calm night air. The sidewalk is drenched in water as the downpour had just finished it's weekly visit. Footsteps are heard off camera as a dark figure stirs behind a dumpster next to the sidewalk. The figure comes into view with a raggedy and blood stained suit. A black baseball cap covers the figures face as it begins to hack up a lung making no effort to cover it with the finger-less and patchy wool mittens. The footsteps sound closer and a new figure looms in view. The raggedy suited figure steps closer, barefoot, into a puddle paying no notice to the wet ground. A dark smirk comes across the face as it speaks with a raspy, albeit manly voice.


Raggedy Suit: Looking for a fix?


The hooded figure shakes it's head to what can be seen as a nod. The raggedy suit man laughs gleefully and pulls out a suitcase from the dumpster behind him. Tonight he makes a new sale, something he hasn't made in weeks.


RS: It's been a while man, I thought those of your type had left me out to dry. This shit is good, man, real good.


He opens the briefcase and pulls out a small box. The hooded figure reaches out for the box, but raggedy suit slaps the hand away with and gives an angry glare.


RS: You want this shit, you've got to pay. This don't come cheap.


The hooded figure nods again and reaches into it's pocket. In this instance we can make out that the figure is wearing silver pants and a black shirt underneath the hooded cloak.


RS: What are you anyways? Some kind of leper?


The figure ignores the man and pulls out a huge wad of cash. His eyes widen and he drools at the mouth.


RS: Then again you could be a real life Bruce fucking Wayne, so forgive my comment. You just...uh...you're different than you usual junkie. What's that on your head, if I may ask?


The figure throws the money in the man's face who tries to catch it, but after years of drug abuse has lost a lot of motor skills. He quickly jumps down to pick up the money and drops the box. The box opens and 5 syringes are found inside. The figure quickly picks up the box and runs into the bar located not 5 feet from the alley of this drug dealer. The raggedy suit stands up as he counts the money and with a big smile of victory extends his hand to complete the deal.


RS: Pleasure doing business with you-


His hand has no company. The raggedy suit looks to his left and then to his right and sees no figure. He can't enter the bar, not after the last time he tried to bum some coke off a young woman's tits. That was a bad night for him. Doesn't matter now, he got paid. Time to chill out in the dumpster. The raggedy suit takes a leap and gets back in the dumpster with a loud thud completely forgetting his briefcase is on the sidewalk and the fact that it used to break his fall and now hit the metal siding. Goodnight, Mr. Raggedy Suit.


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An hour goes by and the doors to the bar swing open. A man dressed in a black button up, silver dog tags around his neck, silver pants and black boots bursts out singing. It's none other than Scott Charlotte.


Scott: ROLL YOUR LEG OVER!!!! ROLL YOUR LEG OVER!!!


He laughs his ass off and in the process falls back on his ass. He laughs again to push through the pain of ass to concrete. Scott is clearly intoxicated. He stops for a moment and looks up at the moon. He smiles like a teenage kid who just saw his first pair of tits and flips off the moon.


Scott: FUCK YOU MATT LENNOX!!


Barrels of laughter shoot out from his gullet and he falls back on the sidewalk. He stays there for a moment and looks up at the stars.


Scott: Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what Canadians are. Up above America you fly! Like a Canuck in the sky.


He chuckles a bit and takes a moment to compose himself on the ground. This time he talks as if Matt is right in front of him.


Scott: You think you're so damn funny don't you? You say that I am crazy, I'm not crazy you're fucking crazy! I'm just drunk! Fuck you, man! I was just having a bad day, that's all. Stress and shit got to me. Hell, I may have had a bit too much alcohol still in my system who knows. I apologized to that dude I kicked and to the mirror too.


This part Scott laughs at thinking to himself, Mirrors don't talk.


Scott: It's so interesting to me that you go to ALL these utter cuntries.


He bursts into laughter over his mistake.


Scott: Other countries, that's what I meant. You go to places like the US and now Mexico just to shit all other their culture. You're the type of guy that deserves no respect when you do shit like that and you always demand that respect. You won't achieve it, FUCKER!


He sits up and looks down at the wet sidewalk.


Scott: Shit, my pants are probably soaked now.


He rubs his pants legs and wrenches in disgust over the sogginess.


Scott: Ahhhhhhhhhh fuck it! Anyways, Matthew, you and I are going to have a good match I think. Mainly for the fact that it will be good for me and bad for you. Something you said really stuck with me. Does Paul Heyman really want a psychopath running around on his show? You know what, yes he does! You really think I'm crazy so why the fuck not embrace it. Crazy enough to burn the Canadian flag then beat you over the face with it crazy. Crazy enough to then stick the pole right up your ass. THAT CRAZY.


He can't hold it in any longer, Scott bursts into laughter once more clutching at his sides. This guys needs some water before he...forget that, he just blew chunks all over the sidewalk. Scott glares at his dinner from earlier and stands up disgusted.


Scott: You see that, Matt. That right there is going to be you. My after dinner special. Which begs the question. Does Paul Heyman really want the remnants of Scott Charlotte's dinner running around? Survey says....NO!!! NOW GET THE FUCK OUT!!!


He smiles as he looks down at his own waster. Scott is one sick and drunk son of a bitch.


Scott: WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!


He runs off with another laugh as he continues his song off camera.


Scott: ROLL YOUR LEG OVER!!! ROLL YOUR LEG OVER!!!


In this instance, the raggedy suit man rises from his dumpster clutching his head in pain. He looks off towards the direction Scott left.


RS: The fuck? Where's he going? I thought he might want-


He falls back in the dumpster and bangs his head against the metal siding. He has passed out. Eventually someone will find him and realize he has gone into a diabetic coma. There are more questions than answers here after this crazy thing. Scott Charlotte is drunk as fuck and he's loving life, but who was that earlier? Was that Scott?