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Scoops McGee · (10-20-2025)

The dust that swarmed in the air could choke a man if he breathed in too deeply. Scoops McGee forced his way in through the dilapidated door. Darkness was what greeted him back in the cold Chicago night. He swore under his breath, before grabbing the battery-powered lantern on his hip.

Click.

A world of memories opened itself before him and his cameraman behind him.

Molded hickory floors practically sucked in their feet as they went along. The walls, once painted blue and vibrant, were faded and chipped more and more, revealing an ugly smear of beige underneath.

There were small bits of character that survived through the years. The walls held scattered, small dents, remains of ropes hung from the ceilings that once held sandbags, but most importantly, a ring stood proud in the middle of the Forge. It was a single monument to the wars that had been trained for and fought within, standing proud despite the test of time that ensued within here.

“Sad state, ain’t it?” Scoops chuckled. Noah slowly shut the door behind him before he followed Scoops inside, who sauntered throughout with his arms swaying around him. “This, boah, was where it all started. I remember comin’ off the train in Avalon Park for the first time, half the damn people saw this little Iowan kid and looked at ‘em like he had three damn heads or somethin’.”

Scoops took a deep breath, sitting right in the middle of the ring as he continued to look around. “Think I just… need a couple hours here. Drink it all in again. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in Chicago. Got a lot of memories here, and all.”

“It’s… snug,” Noah hummed as he looked at how the walls were practically ready to cave in here. The thought crossed his mind, wondering how the Hell people were even able to train here. Still, a hidden hole-in-the-wall sure sounded a lot like Scoops’ preference, come to think of it.

Scoops’ last remark, however, caught Noah’s attention as he raised a brow. “So, getting into wrestling, huh? What was that like?”

“I remember, back in… winter of ‘79 when I came here for the first time. I was stretchin’, gettin’ into the feel of it. Hittin’ the heavy bag a bit. In comes this big, walkin’ goliath.” Scoops forced himself up onto his feet, grunting as he did so, before he raised his hand up high to illustrate his point. “Noah, you saw a good chunk of my 80’s matches when we were in Canada up in Johnny’s house from the tapes and all that. Does the name ‘Crusher von Steinberg’ ring a bell for you?”

Noah felt his brow scrunch in recognition, before he felt the answer already flowing out of his mouth. “Vaguely… seven-footer German, aristocrat, called himself the ‘Ruler of the Ring,’ right?”

“Think he always said he was Austrian,” Scoops replied as he scratched his chin, “but that’s sure as Hell the gist of it. Not a bad memory, boah. Anyway, in he walks, big ole’ chip on his shoulder. At this point, he’s a risin’ star around the Great Lakes circuit, undefeated streak and all that jazz. Shoe-in for a later world title match, yeah? He comes into the Forge, gettin’ ready for the next SCW show, and he’s lookin’ for a fight.”

Scoops chuckled as he paced around the ring, before he went to lean against the ropes. The dim glow of the lantern helped to show where Scoops was pointing to, an innocuous spot that was right before one of the hanging ropes that still lingered. It was right before the ring. “I was standin’ right there, workin’ on my boxin’. Not a care in the world at that point. The Crusher sees me, he comes right up to me, and he starts barkin’ at me.”

Scoops took a deep inhale, puffing his chest as he mimicked a roaring, bellowing voice with an abhorrent butchery of a German accent. “What are you doing in my gym?”

Noah felt himself already chuckling at Scoops’ butchery of the Crusher’s voice, but the arrival of a door slamming open set both of their hairs on edge as a vaguely familiar voice echoed throughout the decrepit gym.

“I could ask you the same question right now, you know.”

The air visibly deflated out of Scoops as he slowly shook his head, chuckling. “Y’know, you speak of the Devil, and he shall appear…”

He didn’t turn to look at the door, but Noah kept his camera trained. Two vague shadows entered into the Forge, one far shorter than the other before the door closed behind him. Only one figure came forward into the lantern’s light however, stopping before the ring.

A pale, balding, bulky man whose wrinkles had wrinkles stopped before the ring as he sneered at Scoops. He leaned forward in his wheelchair, taking a good look at him.

“You should have seen the look on my face when I learned you were coming back to Chicago, Terrence.” The man’s voice was even, composed, yet with his harsh eyes, every word he spoke was meant to look down on those around him. “To think you would be foolish enough to step into this city again after what you did.”

“Ain’t you got better things to worry about, ‘old man?’” Scoops jeered, turning around as he faced the wheelchair-bound man. “Been a long time since last we met, you know.”

Noah’s breath caught in his throat as he studied the man, how his calculating grey eyes bored into both men. “So, you’re…”

The man turned to look at Noah as one would look at an ant. He exhaled slowly, before acquiescing. “Reiner Baumann. Formerly the same Crusher you people speak of. Now, a sports agent.”

The Crusher took his wheelchair, circling around the ring like a vulture as he turned his gaze away from Noah, instead looking straight at Scoops. “Are you really surprised that I’m out here, Terrence? After what you did to me the last time we were in the ring together?”

Noah looked to Scoops, brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s he talking about? I don’t remember anything that bad in the matches you showed me…”

The Crusher spilled out a haughty laugh, rolling his eyes as he did so. “Of course Terrence tries everything to make himself look better than he actually is. The match I’m referring to is rather hidden, anyway.”

Scoops glared daggers at the Crusher, not saying a word as he stalked him from in the ring.

“June 17th, 1989. Does that sound familiar to you, Terrence? That was the time you had a world title match in Second City Wrestling… against me. Your last match before you took your hiatus and tried to pretend you were a family man.”

Scoops’ knuckles turned to a ghastly white as he gripped his fists as hard as he could. His jaw was clenched tight, teeth gnashing together. The concentrated look of venom he held was enough to make goosebumps grow like a wildfire on Noah’s skin.

“You had never managed to beat me before, of course. But winning this match wasn’t enough for you, no. You wanted to make a statement. A statement at my expense.”

The Crusher grinned, feeding off of the festering hatred Scoops was radiating. “So what did you do, Terrence? You grabbed my leg in the middle of the ring, twisting it out of its socket for everyone to see. You felt my muscles tearing, yet you continued. The refs and security had to rip you off of me, but the damage was already done. The statement you wanted to make was how much of a killer you truly were. So skilled at killing, in fact, that you killed my career with that one last match we had together.”

He slapped his leg for emphasis, grimacing slightly at the pain shooting through his body. “And it wasn’t just my career you killed, either. The negative press SCW had for the event, coupled with the both of us leaving for different reasons meant it was hard for them to keep going. The losses added up over time, eventually leading to SCW having to close its doors.”

“Do you understand what I’m saying, boy?” The Crusher’s gaze turned back to Noah, to the camera he held with the juicy nugget having been fully unveiled. “For all of Terrence’s talk of wanting to benefit wrestling as a whole, his own past betrays him. He’s a simple, selfish man who thinks of himself. The reason why he’s still going in the ring even in his old age is just because he doesn’t know of any other way to live.”

Noah’s mouth felt like he was chewing on paper towels. The lump in his throat quivered. His gaze turned to Scoops, who hadn’t moved even an inch since the Crusher began talking. A drip brought him out of his thoughts.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Noah turned the camera downwards, looking at the small pools of blood by his feet that rained down from his clenched fists.

“S-Scoops…” Noah shuddered. “D-Don’t tell me… that’s… t-true…”

Scoops was silent, his eyes still locked onto the Crusher’s. Finally, an exhale left him. “I ain’t ever claimed to be a Saint, boah. I sure as Hell ain’t gonna start now. SCW had a lot of problems that led to them closin’ their doors, but I’d be lyin’ if I said that wasn’t one of them.”

Noah’s hands were quaking. It was a Herculean effort just to keep the camera in his hands. He blinked unsteadily, but in that moment, Scoops was already moving towards the Crusher from within the ring.

“But what I ain’t gonna do is let you paint the wrong picture, Crusher. You left out the part where you was tryin’ to be a slick, politickin’ bastard. You went to my farm shortly after my father passed away, went to my pregnant wife, told her my win was gonna be the cause of you givin’ her another visit after all was said and done…”

“Lies!” The Crusher responded, waving his hand as if to shoo Scoops away. “Do you know how many people tried to spread such vile rumors about me? It’s all jealousy, Terrence. They, and you, could never try to hold a candle to me in the ring. So you people turn to excuses, clinging to them like lifelines-”

“Don’t you fuckin’ call me a liar!” Scoops snapped, eyes widened with rage as Noah felt himself step back. This was the first time he had ever raised his voice that high, veins of rage throbbing in his forehead. “Not when I saw my wife comin’ to me in tears! Not after everything I heard and saw in the back! I know you! I know yer’ game! Anybody that was tryin’ to come up through the ranks to get at you for the world title, you made damn sure you were gonna knock ‘em down pegs!”

“Jumpin’ Jack Evans! Greatest high-flier of the 80s and a goddamn chick magnet! You spread rumors that he was the cause of the booker’s girl cheatin’ on him and got his ass blacklisted! Bob Sauce, hardest worker I’ve ever seen, you crushed his damn ankle after you ‘slipped’ off the ropes in a match! And do I even need to tell you about what you did to Johnny Taylor? How you turned my best friend into an alcoholic, gettin’ him to start drinkin’ his life away after his sister got into a car accident?!”

A bottomless pit formed in Noah’s stomach with every accusation levied. All of a sudden, he felt as if he didn’t belong. An intruder stepping onto sacred ground, watching the dirtiest of secrets being dug from the ground and held before him and the camera for all to see.

The camera. The tool that captured everything. Noah looked at the all-seeing lens, knowing his job of having to capture every second of every moment.

In that moment, even the act of holding the camera seemed too much for him. Noah gently placed the camera down onto the ground, before he stepped backwards. He tripped over himself, falling onto his backside as he sat against the bottom turnbuckle to look for support.

The Crusher snorted. “Still, you come up with excuses. Even if those were true, those don’t erase the things you’ve done, Terrence. The blood you’ve spilled in this ring. The careers and lives you’ve shortened by strangling people with barbed wire, throwing them off of cliffs, letting explosives blow up all over them.”

An accusing finger pointed forward at Scoops. “What gives you the right to think you can stand even now and try to chase the glory you’ve killed for so many others?! Even now in your precious little XWF, the same thing is happening. You let Game Girl bear your sins and got her hurt! It’ll be a miracle if she ever steps back into the ring!”

Scoops’ eye twitched, face flushing a crimson red. “You choose yer’ next words carefully, you slimy piece of shit.”

“Oh, please,” the Crusher snorted, wheeling himself around the ring again. “You don’t need to take my word for it. Just take the match you’re in at Savage as proof. A ‘Killer Tub’ match? Fitting, knowing you.”

“Yeah, ‘course you’re so obsessed with me you keep up with the show just to keep tabs on me,” Scoops rolled his eyes back in response. “Guess yer’ just hopin’ the whole motley crew bands together just to make sure I drown.”

The Crusher paused, lips curling into a smile. “Not quite. Long live King Kieran, I say.”

“Oh,” Scoops scoffed. “Yeah. I shoulda figured you’d be gravitatin’ right towards Kieran. Both of you got yer’ heads so far up yer’ asses that shit’s the only thing that ever comes outta yer’ mouth.”

“And why not, Terrence?” the Crusher pressed onwards with his questions. “He’s the man who holds all the power right now, just as I did decades ago. And just like with me, you proved yourself to be a violent little coward with how you attacked him for the Xtreme title. Parading yourself around because you couldn’t handle that you lost a match fair-and-square.”

“Do I even need to explain myself here?” Scoops groaned. “I heard the shit King tried to throw at me. Same shit yer’ spewin’. He knew what he signed up for as soon as he said he was gonna try and take a 24/7 title off of me. If he’s that pissed off that I beat him, then maybe his bitch-ass shoulda tried to make sure I stayed down longer than a three-count.”

“But you know somethin’, Crusher? I’ve thought long and hard about that match. I took the title back because he said he was gonna run off with it and never defend it. King don’t give a damn about the business, the responsibilities of bein’ champion. Everythin’ revolves around only him. But I’m not satisfied with how that night went. That match coulda gone either way, but I messed up. I made the most out of a bad situation, but I’ve been itchin’ to make this right.”

“But guess what?”

Scoops smiled a rueful smile, feeling the wind coming back to his sails.

“I know he’s feelin’ the exact same way. He can’t prance around and say his record since comin’ back with the tournament has been perfect. He can’t get rid of the fact that there’s a stain on his record, somethin’ he can’t get rid of. That this ‘frail shell of a man’ as he put it was the only man to take his ass to school and get the drop on him, somethin’ he’d do to anyone else on the roster if given the chance. And that’s fuckin’ eatin’ him alive.”

“And that’s gonna be his undoing. To be so focused on me that he doesn’t see the others gunnin’ for him. To be so lost in his thoughts that this old dog shows off his new tricks. And this old dog is gonna hunt for gold come War Games.”

“You think you’re even going to make it to War Games?” the Crusher frowned, noting the pep in Scoops’ voice as he was looking forward. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, Terrence. You don’t think you don’t have a target on your own back, do you? The old man who can barely string together some lucky wins?”

“And who the fuck is gonna take advantage of that?” Scoops squinted. “See, I like Betsy Granger. Iowan farm kid, same as me. She’s got her head in the stars and a mind full-o’ dreams. But Betsy ain’t the type of girl for this match. Hell, it ain’t even a match, it’s a scrap for our lives. You think she’s got the killer instinct to do whatever the Hell she has to do? Hell, when she faced Kieran King, the only thing she could do was think about how far in LOVE she was with him!”

“This ain’t the type of game you spend time lovin’ when you gotta fight, Crusher. We both know that. I got a lot to teach Miss Betsy, but that time ain’t now. Not with stakes like these on the line.”

“And speakin’ of stakes on the line, if you think that bastard Isaiah King is gonna be the one to knock me down, yer’ still dead wrong. You know how many times he’s changed his name, thinkin’ that surely this is gonna be the moment for him? I’ve lost fuckin’ count. Really, he’s the exact same as Sebastian. Lives for the glitz and glamour, loves the attention, but instead of actin’ like a proper King and tryin’ to look out over the land he tries to lord over, he’s in his own damn head. Too focused on tryin’ to surpass his own tag partner. Too focused on how to make sure this is the ascension that sticks for him.”

“Isaiah King fears failure. He fears it every damn day of his life. Instead of tryin’ to face his failures head-on, he runs away from it. He retreats into his shell. He changes his name, puts a new coat of paint on himself, sayin’ ‘I’m gonna rise again’ for the twentieth time in a single month instead of actually tryin’ to improve himself. It’s exhausting. It’s tiring. People already had enough of him as Uni champ, and guess what? He lost the damn belt to someone who ain’t even here anymore! All that talent, and he throws it away constantly! Instead of ‘King’ or ‘Prince,’ the motherfucker oughta call himself ‘Jester!’ That oughta humble him for once and teach him to grow as a human bein’ for once in his life.”

“Are you done?” the Crusher asked, unamused. “All I needed to do was say two words about your match and you blather on into a monologue. I’m not interested in hearing about what you think about your opponents right now, Terrence, I need you to answer for your crimes.”

“Always the damn crimes with you,” Scoops frowned. “I got nothin’ to answer for when it comes to you. I’ve made my mistakes, and I’ll take full accountability for ‘em whenever I need to. But you? You had that shit comin’ to you. I’d break yer’ damn leg again if I were able to.”

Sheer instinct overtook the Crusher. Now it was his turn to let irate fury overtake his face as he turned to the nearby wall, punching it as a gaping hole carved itself in. “SILENCE!”

He panted, turning back to Scoops as sweat dripped down his skin. “All you do is lash out in anger. You never see that’s the reason for all your problems. After all… why do you think your wife left you, Terrence?”

Scoops froze on the spot. He didn’t move even a single muscle. Noah stared back at Scoops’ face. It was completely immobile. He leaned forward like a domino, staring into his gaze.

“I’m gonna finish the job now, you stupid fuck.”

Right as Scoops came to the ropes, Noah could see him coming. The second shadow that had entered into the Forge alongside the Crusher. He clearly took after him, with the shape of his eyes and nose, and an impressively tall stature that would have towered over Scoops if he went face-to-face with him.

“What the fuck is this?” he spat at the Crusher.

“My great-nephew,” the Crusher smirked. The raven-haired boy stood silently, his gaze fixed on the old man. “Jonas Baumann. Soon to make his own debut on the independents.”

“So you got yer’ little nepo-baby actin’ as your bodyguard,” Scoops frowned. “You think yer’ tryin’ to make yer’ own little Solomon Kline? Yer’ own little Jennie Nickels? Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumbass right there, ask ‘em how bein’ related to their family’s worked out for ‘em. Kline’s got the bloodline but none of the talent. He lucks his way into title wins and can barely pull out victories against the husk of Tatiana Jolee and Tommy Wish of all people.”

“Kline gets a little big for his britches and thinks he can get big with the Black Rainbow, and that should already tell you how his decision-making really is if he thought that dead weight of a group was gonna last. But then he goes after the one man who tried lookin’ out for him because he tries prioritizing his own life for once? And he goes to join the Corporation as a safety measure?”

“The Corporation ain’t even safe from itself! Young boah don’t even know up from down both in the ring and out of it! He can’t even put together a title defense against some actual competition, and he thinks he’s gonna make it out compared to us?”

“And you know somethin’, the same girl he once complimented is part of the reason the Corporation is siccin’ itself. Jennie fuckin’ Nickels. You wanna talk about a killer, Crusher, that’s a real killer right there. The fact that she’s even here makes me fuckin’ sick. Bad enough we got a serial killer too, but she’s actin’ like a damn baby first and foremost. Attackin’ Charlie for shits and giggles? Goin’ after Peter Principle because she can’t handle the thought of a loss? I hate both of those stupid motherfuckers, but I hate her entitled little attitude even more.”

“She lucked out into getting the ride she’s on right now, but her free trial’s expirin’. Second match and she’s havin’ to face someone who’s gonna knock some damn sense into her skull, just like I’ll knock some damn sense into both of your skulls. I’m gonna-”

“Be quiet, old man,” Jonas sneered, opening his mouth for the first time. His gravelly voice cut Scoops off as he squinted at the man, who raised himself onto the apron.

“The reason my uncle and I are here is to deliver a challenge to you. Make your moves for War Games. I don’t care what you do or how you do there. Afterwards…”

He grinned. His bulky muscles seemed almost terrifying in the light of the lantern. “We will get payback for what happened over 30 years ago.”

“That right?” Scoops asked. “Well, boah. I don’t back down from a challenge, and that sure as fuck ain’t startin’ now. Bring it on after War Games. Bring a whole fuckin’ army if you have to. I beat the shit outta yer’ old man before, and I’ll beat the shit outta you too. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

…

Jonas smiled as he stepped off of the apron and headed to the exit with his uncle. “Be careful what you wish for, Terry McGee.”

“Or you just might get what's coming to you.”

The camera fades to black.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Scoops McGee in… “Sins of the Past”
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