OOC: Continued from Part 1: https://xwf99.com/showthread.php?tid=45141&pid=176540#pid176540

A flood light. Hanging above a wrestling gym.

A blue-roped wrestling ring.

Painted on the wall, a blue-and-yellow logo.

‘Battle Creek Wrestling’.

The floodlight’s bulb hangs above the ring, loudly buzzing.

Four stand outside the ring.

On one side, a luchadora and a former Chicago Bulls Legend are stretching their arms in unison. La Payasa de la Muerta lifts her leg against the steel steps, extending her calf muscles…

“Okay, remember your job out there, Rodman! Get out there and Make me look good by comparison!”

“Sure. Just like when I was dating Madonna. Got it. You know she once offered me 20 million dollars for my swimmers?”

“...Yes, Dennis. You’ve told me that story… A number of times…”

…On the ring's opposite end, Kent stares beyond the squared circle…

Embedded into the far wall.

A window.

Well, it looks like a window.

But, it is not.

No. It is, in fact, a mirror.

A one-way mirror.

Whoever let the four excitable young (excluding Rodman) wrestlers into the gym. Gone without a trace…

The door closed behind them… And the man was gone…

But, his words still ring fresh in Kent’s mind…

What would you do for immortality?

Kent stares at the one-way mirror.

Seemingly mesmerized.

“-ember, our biggest advantage is we’ve got experience working together. They don’t!”

Kent dry-swallows and looks over, realizing his partner is talking to him.

	“Wh-wh-what?”

“I said, just because *Gretchen* scratched together her parents’ money to hire The Worm as her tag-team partner, that doesn’t mean we don’t still have this! We just gotta run our playbook and overwhelm them with rock-solid tag fundamentals. Right?”

Kent clenches his fists, determined.

	“Y-yeah…”

“...Wow.”

Timmy shakes his head.

“Real convincing, Kent! C’mon! We got this, right?!? Sound off!”

Timmy turns over to Kent to pump him up…

Then his face contorts in concern.

”Whoa, Kent! You’re sweating BULLETS!”

Kent, in a flash, rubs the back of his forearm against his forehead, trying to hide the flop sweat on his brow… Rapidly being replaced by more sweat.

“Do you have a fever or something?”

Timmy slips the back of his hand against Kent’s forehead. Kent brushes it off.

	“St-stop… I’m f-f-fine!”

Kent shakes his head, closing his eyes, trying to will away whatever sensation this is.

“What’s wrong, boooooooooooys? Is the pressure cookin’ ya?”

Timmy spins 180 degrees. Behind him, La Payasa and Rodman are facing their way. Payasa sneers menacingly. Rodman is expressionless… Like someone zoning out.

La Payasa sneers, pointing and laughing at her two adversaries.

“Too bad! This is THE BIG TIME. If you can’t stand the heat…”

La Payasa strikes a pose, putting her fists against her hips.

“Then, Don’t stand in MY spotlight!”

…Timmy jolts forward, like he’s about to slide under the ropes

“AHHH!”

Reflexively, in terror, Payasa dives behind Rodman.

Payasa peeks behind Rodman and sees that Jarvos remains where he is, and it was a pump-fake attack.

Payasa, several seconds too late to look organic, twists into a backwards somersault… Landing on her feet!

“HA! Just too fast for these chumps, huh, Dennis?”

Rodman disinterestedly scratches his nose.

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Posers…”

Timmy mutters under his breath, before turning back to his tag partner, who still looks like death…

“Talk to me, dude. What’s going through your head?”

…Kent’s breath is shallow and hushed. Like the air around him is thin.

His eyes remain transfixed onto the one-way mirror.

	“...Something… just… feels wrong.”

Timmy is laser-focused on solving this problem… Whatever it is.

“Are you sick? Is it the flu?”

Kent shakes his head, weakly.

	“No… it’s… it’s this place!”

Kent shudders, shutting his eyes to his surroundings….

Tim looks around the gym, curiously. Like staring through one of those pictures for a secret image.

“What are you talking about? It’s just the ol’ wrestling gym… We’ve run the ropes here forEVER. It’s more home than home is, dude.”

Kent… takes a deep breath.

	“...I don’t know how to explain it.”

…Timmy grabs Kent by the shoulder.

“If I had to suggest a method? I’d try ‘with words’, dude.”

Tim tries to force laugh and a smile… To help his friend calm his nerves.

…His easygoing smile vanishes, when he sees Kent remains profoundly troubled.

“Kent.”

Kent opens his eyes. Tim is grimly serious.

“Talk to me.”

…

	“It… It feels, like… Inescapable.”

“What? What does that mean?”

	“It’s like a pit I’ll never climb out of…”

Timmy squints, trying to understand.

“Dude… I don’t know what y-”

*KRSH*

A loudspeaker in the corner of the room breathes itself to life.

All four spin towards the sound, filled with anticipation!

…

……

For a moment, all you can hear is faint breathing…

“...Eerie.”

Suddenly, the breathing stops.

…

“All present talent should now step into the ring.” Beckons a hauntingly monotone voice.

Without a moment’s hesitation, La Payasa and Rodman slide under the bottom rope.

…

Timmy turns back to Kent.

“Dude. I don’t know what’s going on with you. But, if you’re not feeling right… Maybe we should leave?”

…Kent’s face contorts angrily.

	“No… No no no no… No…”

“Excuuuuuuuuuuse me!”

Timmy turns around again. La Payasa is in the center of the ring, resting an elbow smugly against the turnbuckle, cupping her hands around her mouth, calling towards the loudspeaker…

“You asked all present talent to enter the ring? Well, everyone here with an OUNCE of talent is already in the ring!”

La Payasa beckons with both hands.

“So, get out here and bring out a contract for me to sign!”

…Rodman elbows her in the side.

“Oh… uh… also, bring one for Dennis.”

*KRSH*

“All present talent should now step into the ring.” The voice repeats, completely unfazed by Payasa’s arrogant claim.

Payasa’s brow crinkles, enraged.

“HEY! Mister speaker! I said ‘present talent’ IS already in the ring!”

La Payasa, in protest, climbs the top turnbuckle to point and shout directly at the speaker.

“Don’t make me yank you off the wall and tear out your wires, you stupid… thing!”

“Hey, CLOWN!”

Timmy calls from the floor below.

“Are you actually threatening the speaker like its a real person? And NOT to the guy talking into it?”

Pasaya blushes beet-red, getting caught trash-talking an inanimate object like its a person.

“...Yeah! Well…”

…

……

“Shut UP!”

“Great comeback!”

“PLEASE.” Says the voice. The four freeze in place at the sudden uptick in volume…

…

Then right back to the same. “All present talent should now step into the ring.” If it weren’t for the loud, jarring ‘please’, one might think the message was pre-recorded. Each time, delivered exactly the same way…

Monotone. But… There’s a subtle urgency in his tone. Like his time is too valuable for this crap.

“Hey! Just give us a second, we might need to can-”

Whoosh! Before Jarvos can finish that thought, Kent rolls under the bottom rope and into the ring. He scrambles to his feet… Still looking sick to his stomach. He paws himself in the face a couple times, as if smacking away his weakness.

…Timmy stares at his partner from outside the ring… Who still refuses to look away from the one-way mirror…

“WE’RE WAAAAAAAITING.”

“All present talent should no-”

“Step inside the ring…”

Timmy hops up the steps and through the ropes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… HEARD YA…”

…

……

For a moment, it is silent.

The speaker is fuzzy. Clearly turned up too high on the volume dial…

The gym is so quiet, the microphone actually picks up the sound of knuckles cracking.

…

Suddenly, from the ceiling… A panel opens.

And, dangling on a wire… Is an old microphone.

Dangling, silver… Sharp. Eye-catching.

Glimmering in the light above… Like a fishing hook.

Finally, it comes to rest in the center of the ring. In the exact middle of the four competitors.

“Cut a promo.”

…

“...What?”

“Cut a promo.”

Timmy’s nose wrinkles incredulously.

“...You want us to cut a promo to an empty room?”

“What my DIM-WITTED adversary means is…”

…

“You want us to cut a promo to an empty room?”

Rodman itches his crotch disinterestedly.

…Kent’s breath gets heavier.

…

“Cut a promo.” The voice repeats, with the slightest edge to it. As emotionless as this voice is, there is a sense of… impatience.

WHIP! Tim grabs the microphone out of the air.

“Hey ASSHOLE.”

Jarvos calls out, pointing into whoever is watching them on the other side of the one-way mirror.

“You want a promo? How about you come out here so I can tell you to your face why Kent and I are the two best wrestlers in all of Battle Creek?”

Timmy elbows Kent in the arm. Kent… nods, momentarily snapping out of his stupor.

…

“...One moment.”

The speaker… fizzles dead. It’s off.

Wham! Timmy feels a small, stiff miff shove his back. He doubles-over onto the ring ropes.

“You MORON! What if you just cost us the try-out?!? Why couldn’t you just cut a promo like they said?”

Timmy reels back his fist. Payasa dives again behind Rodman… Eventually, peeking out from behind him.

“Why couldn’t YOU? You had the same problem I did!”

KRSH!

The speaker clicks back on…

…

The low breathing has resumed…

“What’s the problem here? Why aren’t I hearing your DOGSHIT trash talk?” Says a different voice from the first one. This one is gruffer… Made of nothing but rough edges.

Everyone in the ring freezes.

“You. Girl with the rubber red nose. Got a problem?”

“Uh… No!”

“No, I’m good! Great, even!”

“My only problem might be that I’m *too* ready to cut to this promo!”

The speaker catches the sound of papers being tossed to the floor.

“What about you, Rodman? Huh? Are you the one raising a stink about having to do fuckin’ WORK to get paid?”

…Rodman reaches a hand into the pocket of his basketball shorts…

“Nah, man. I’m good.”

“Well, who the fuck is it that’s holding this tryout up? Who doesn’t want to taste IMMORTALITY?”

…Kent’s eyes widen. His heart races.

	“I-i-it’s him! IT’S HIM! It’s Mark Flynn!”

Kent murmurs to himself, clenching his fists!

In front of him, Timmy leans over the ropes…

“Hey! Angry Guy. *I’m* the one with the problem.”

…Creeeeeeeeeeeeak.

The four are in awe… As the speaker in the corner…

Seems to twist in place…

Slowly angling away from the wall…

Until it’s pointed directly at Mister Jarvos.

Payasa takes a step behind Rodman for safety.

“All right, punk. Hit me. Why do *you* think you’re too good to cut a promo at a tryout? You want us to just cut you a check and cross our fingers that you’ve got the goods? You think that’s how a MONEYMAKING BUSINESS WORKS?”

…Jarvos frowns, snatching the microphone back out of the air.

“Does your big moneymaking business want to pay us to trash talk at NO ONE?”

Jarvos points around the empty gymnasium.

“This is a live art, dude! We engage with and excite an in-person crowd! We get revved by them and they rev us right back! How the Hell are we supposed to look good yelling at empty chairs…”

Jarvos again points at the one-way mirror.

“And some COWARD hiding behind glass.”

…

Silence hangs in the air.

…

*KRSH*

“...You.”

…

“You got… MOXIE, kid.”

…

“You don’t have an OUNCE of gray matter between your ears. But, you’ve got a certain… gusto. All right. Okay…”

A grasping sound. The microphone being drawn so close to a face, you can hear the scruff of a beard rubbing against the receiver…

“LISTEN UP, YOU CHUCKLEFUCKS.” All the wrestlers in the ring double-over covering their ears!


…Except Rodman, who still couldn’t be bothered.

“I’M ABOUT TO GIVE YOU A VALUABLE LESSON IN HOW THIS BUSINESS WORKS.”

…

“Your information was, at one point, correct. This *was* a live audience business. Back in the territory days, wrestling was a fucking carnival game. A parlor trick. Unpack the ring. Impress the yokels. Sell tickets and t-shirts. Then, roll up the ring into the caravan, pull the same trick at the next town.”

“People came to watch big guys throw each other around a squared circle like a couple drunken bears. Human carnage.”

“But, they STAYED… For a human connection. To watch an underdog with a heart of gold fight from underneath. To watch a brash, arrogant loud-mouth get his comeuppance. The stories were simple, but in their simplicity, they tugged at the heartstrings of people from the biggest city to the town with a population of 14.”

“Everyone has been shoved down and told they aren’t good enough. Everyone wishes they had the single FUCKING opportunity to put the cocky asshole in his place. And wrestling was the opportunity to have that fantasy come to life.”

…

“Then, the goddamned television entered the home.”

“Then, the internet.”

“Then, the high-speed streaming service with hundreds of hours of content starting from 1902 to three minutes ago. STRIKE THAT, the servers just got upgraded, TWO POINT FIVE MINUTES AGO.”

“The age of connecting with an eight-year-old boy, in the front row on a trip with his dad? The era of watching the magic sparkle in his eyes as fantastical characters come to life that he thought were only in storybooks and fairytales?”

“Dead.”

“Nowadays, we’re creating bite-sized content. If your shitty promo can’t be cut up into eight ten-second TikToks, six of which gotta be inflammatory enough to go viral from mouth-breathing nerds hate-sharing them to all of their ONE FRIEND…”

“The fuckin’ 30 people that come to this high-school gym that chant your name? The 80,000 that fill an arena to boo mine?”

“Equally meaningless.”

“What counts nowadays is the millions and millions of people watching at home, drooling as they stare into a screen that they spend sixteen hours a day looking at, that fries the fucking swimmers in their testicles when they set down their phone on their beanbag to look at their OTHER SCREEN in their living room.”

“Ticket sales? PEANUTS compared to monthly subscription to the XWF Network streaming service.”

…

“You wanna be an artist? You wanna travel the world impressing live audiences?”

“Then, Get in a fucking time machine and travel back to the far-gone year of NINETEEN-NINETY-FUCK-YOU.”

“The business CHANGED, kid. And it changed before you were born so you’ve got LESS than no excuse.”

“And it changed for the BETTER, because now you don’t have to cap your revenue stream at the population of a small, dimly-lit town. Now, you can go to the city of BUMFUCK in the state of WHOGIVESASHIT. Flip on the cameras and we’re making enough digital dollars to profit in the smallest circus tent the Bumfuck Chamber of Commerce can afford.”

“The industry EVOLVED to SURVIVE. And if that isn’t what you’re capable of, stay in your shithole town, performing for your parents in high-school gyms and church lock-ins.”

Tim snarls at the condescending mockery.

“This industry you and I love is about hitting your mark, looking down the barrel of the camera so the people watching at home think you’re talking to them and entertaining MORONS…”

…

Click…

The door they came from… The front door of the gym.

Unlocks.

“If you can’t do that, get the fuck out of my ring. Before you waste any more of my fucking time.”

Timmy scoffs.

“You’re not even from here, dude. We wrestle here every night. What makes this *your* ring?”

…

“It became my ring the moment *you* stepped in here looking to impress *me*, kid.”

…Timmy exhales, leaning back behind his shoulder. He grabs Kent by the shoulder.

“Dude, let’s cut out. This guy SUUUUUUCKS…”

“Plus, You’re not feeling good.”

Tim extends his hand towards Kent’s shoulder.

Kent scowls.

	“If you’re can’t handle the truth, maybe you DO belong here in this… this shithole town forever, Tim.”

“...Kent, what are you talking about? We love Battle Creek… This is OUR town.”

	“Not after today, Tim. I’m acing this tryout. I’m getting a contract. And I’m never coming back here again.”

…

	“You can either come with me to the big leagues or you can stay here. A big fish in a small, quickly-draining pond.”

…

It’s Tim’s turn to dry-swallow. Clearly hurt by his friend’s callous words…

“...Dude! What’s gotten into you…?”

…Kent looks beyond his friend… Into the glass of the one-way mirror.

He sees an outline… A silhouette.

He’s sure.

Behind that glass is Mark Flynn.

WHIP! Kent snatches the microphone out of his partner’s hand.

	“SUCCESS has gotten into me. And if you’re not ready for it… Then, get outta my way! Before you hold me back!”

…

Tim clears his throat, glowering at his partner.

Kent holds a steely gaze back.

…

“Not bad for a first *real* promo. I *almost* felt something.”

The ring occupants turn back to the speaker in the corner… Which, while they weren’t looking… Seems to have twisted back to its original position.

“Well, kid? Door’s still unlocked. You wanna stay here and actually shoot your shot at the big-time? Or you wanna go home alone? Maybe lie to your kids some day that you were almost a wrestler, but ended up an accountant because it made more sense for your lifestyle. Instead of telling them the truth that YOU COULDN’T HANG…”

…Timmy exhales.

He side-eyes Kent one more time…

…

Kent refuses to make eye-contact with him.

“...Fine. Let’s do this.”

Tim nods at the mirror.

…Click.

The gym’s front door re-locks.

“Mmmmmmmmmmm. Well, despite a rocky start, *I’m* still excited…”

“We’ve got four tasty samples.”

“But, lemme let you kids in on a secret… Just ONE ingredient is getting added to the main course…”

…SWIP! In a flash, the microphone strikes out of Kent’s hand like a snake! Returning to the center of the ring.

“Now then…”

…

The microphone switches.

And the monotone voice returns…

“Cut. A. Promo.”