People in Citysville.
Eating their breakfast in diners. You don't call them breakfasters, but still they eat breakfast in these diners!

The whir of a train car swooping around the track as the time to work nears.

Greeting each other. Reading newspapers.

How are you says one.

Sure is nice outside today, says another in a different conversation with a third.

The government is slowly harvesting our organs to prevent the widespread Bird Flu, which is secretly alien language coursing through our veins, trying to educate us away from a tyrannical government and learn a more self-sufficient communal lifestyle.

…

Thinks no one except for an unkempt homeless man outside of the diner. But no one that any normal person acknowledges as human!

Because today is a fine day.

Yes, truly nothing could go wrong this da-…

A glass of water ripples. A distant crash is heard. The entire packed diner goes silent. Waiting…

ANOTHER CRASH! The patrons run outside to see what’s going on.

When in the distance, they see it!

A FIFTY FOOT TALL CREATURE, CLIMBING FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE SEA! SPEWING SH(AMEFULLY LARGE AMOUNTS OF NONSENSE) FROM HIS MOUTH! THE CONSTANT SPEW SEEMS OVERWHELMING WHILE IN ACTUALITY THIS ATTACK ISN’T PARTICULARLY EFFECTIVE AT INFLICTING DAMAGE ON ANYTHING! BUT STILL, THE PEOPLE PANIC!

“DUKEZIRA!” Cry the people! Terrified. Climbing over each other to safety.

Some hop into their cars and try to drive in the opposite direction. Maybe start over. Maybe live in a city that doesn’t frequently have mentally ill egomaniacs running amok.

When all of a sudden, one of these cars crashes into a GIANT SIX FOOT TALL FOOT!

BELONGING TO A GIANT WINGED INSECT CREATURE!

Hands raise to the sky crying out his name!

“ANGELUS! RUN! HE’LL STEAL YOUR THINGS AND CLAIM THEM AS HIS OWN!”

Angeluzilla swoops down and with a cross kick, swipes a baby from its mother’s arms. Whether or not it plans on taking responsibility for this child? NOBODY KNOWS!!!

What the people do know? To the East from the Sea is the Sh(TUFF) spewing monster Dukezira and to the West from the air is the monster who is just full of Sh(URELY DEBATABLE IDEAS LIKE COMMUNISM AND HEALTHCARE)!

Surrounded by s(HER RECORDS! SEE HER COMEBACK IN PROGRESS AT WITASTICKMUSIC.COM!)

On the city streets, several blocks away from sheer terrifying, probably TV-MA rated carnage, the SWAT team bursts from its offices.

“ALL RIGHT! THIS NINE MAN TEAM IS TRAINED TO DO ONE THING AND ONE THING ONLY! KILL MONSTERS! AND THESE TWO ARE ABOUT…”

A SWAT team member raises his hand. “Sir, Watkins called in sick today, there’s only eight of us…”

“WELL, MEN. WE'RE BONED. IF YOU ALL KEPT YOUR CYANIDE PILLS THAT I HANDED OUT DURING ORIENTATION AT THE SUNDAY FUNDAY SWAT MEET, THEN I GUESS WHEN CAN TAKE THE EA-…”

“SIR! We don’t have to kill ourselves! We’re just one man short!”

“YEAH! RIGHT! WHO COULD WE POSSIBLY GET TO LEARN OUR INCREDIBLY SOPHISTICATED ON-THE-FLY TACTICS! THINGS LIKE ‘RUN AWAY’… AND ‘RUN FORWARD’! THAT DOESN'T COME NAT-“

“SIR! LOOK!”

The Officer points to the homeless man outside the diner. Still, unmoving from his spot.

“PERFECT!”

The Team Leader grabs the homeless man by the shoulder and leads him into the huddle.

“CONGRATULATIONS SON! TODAY IS THE DAY YOU TAKE DOWN TWO GIANT EGOS IN ONE DAY!!”

The homeless man turns into the camera.

It’s Mark Flynn. Horrified face.

“HOW’D I GET MYSELF INTO THIS MESS?!?”

Smile.

Freeze Frame.

Laugh Track.

***
DIAMONDS.



DAISIES.



ROSES.



MARK FLYNN.


***

Before I begin.

Allow me to say it's a pretty fixed racket when Witastick simultaneously chastises me for not being a good champion for his program.

And then uses the colorful word choice in my promos to slide in his subliminal advertisements. As a result. I'm going to do everything in my power to avoid giving him the ad space.

Honestly, working with a handicap won't get me a loss when I'm against this pair of amateurs.

Oh. Angelus.

How do I hate thee? On this glorious commercialized wretch of empty space Hallmark invented to trick buffoons into buying pink paper and heart-attacking inducing confections?

To stay within the spirit of this non-holiday…

Let me count the ways.

1. How even though I beat you, because this business is infinitely more about who likes you then who does well, you won January Superstar of the Month. Congratulations. You've joined Peter Gilmour in that accomplishment. You must be proud.

2. The fact that you show off your record so proudly. When all it really shows is how unconditionally my dominance over you has been since you entered the XWF.

9-3-1?

All 3 of those losses? Matches I won.

But I think most importantly is

3. Your blatant hypocrisy in the face of the truth.

Let me ask you, Angelus. And be honest.

What makes you the good guy here? In this little back-and-forth we've had on a week-to-week basis, why do you think people cheer for you? Is it because you're a noble soul? Is it because in a sea of the mentally ill and the criminally violent, you're the closest to a normal person? Is it because people don't want to see you get hurt?

No.

People cheer for you because they're told to. Because these ignorant morons don't come here for a morality play. They dont want a lesson like don't steal from your co-workers or your boss will fire you.

So Witastick doesn't give them to you.

Witastick tells people to cheer for you. To buy your action figures. So, when you screw a man, a man who beat four REAL opponents in that tournament, and steal his belt...

And the people cheer you and boo the biggest surprise spine buster they've ever seen to that giant goon, Tyrone.

It's because Witastick told them what to do. And can only shrug when they do exactly that.

Now, I can't lie and say people should cheer for me. I hate the people in those stands. Them booing me only means I'm operating on a mental level they can't understand. Above pond sludge's capacities.

Above the mentality of these krill that think just because they have a contract, they have a chance against the standard.

This new group of nobodies riles my stomach into a frenzy... Both nauseous... And starving...

Stonne disappearing after failing to bring in the new era like everyone seems to promise? Good.

If Benjamin Crane gives up this game after failing to take your belt? Good.

They didn't earn it. They didn't struggle through the Hell that is the mid-card before rising to the top.

The only difference between you and I?

Was that last week I had the decency to do the humane thing.

And try to put Stonne out of his misery.

Honestly, Angelus? If you rookies stopped talking about how no one was listening to me and no one cared about what I had to say anymore...

And started listening to my warnings not to enter the ring?

I'd probably have claimed the careers of less rookies.

So, please. Angelus. Call in sick.

Go for the North Korean joke on Saturday's show.

Because if you come after me, the old man who has a 3 wins, Zero losses record against you? The man Witastick is so desperate for you to pick a win against, he’s forced the both of us into a tag match where my partner is PETER GILMOUR!?!


…

The man who has your number locked down?

Unlike last time, I'm not going to release hold after you go unconscious. I'm only going to wrench in deeper.

And snap that leg off like a chicken wing.

See you tonight.

Whippersnapper.

While I've got your attention.

Oh. Duke.

How can I possibly trash your glowing review of my work in the ring? Directly counteracting your opponents, "FLYNN'S NO BIG DEAL" stance.

The only thing more pathetic than your pathetic work trying to bring me down is how the both of you clowns give up halfway through and start swinging at Gilmour.

Of course you can verbally destroy Peter Gilmour!

ANYONE CAN VERBALLY DESTROY PETER GILMOUR!

I've seen John Black burn Peter Gilmour on the mic and I'm certain he doesn't speak English.

But this week. You're not taking on just Gilmour.

You're taking on US champion Mark Flynn.

5-0 in his last five matches Mark Flynn.

FUTURE XWF LEGEND MARK FLYNN.

And if you don’t this match too seriously.

Then, history is going to repeat itself.

And two overrated hacks in that ring.

Are going to lose to a superior wrestler. And Peter Gilmour.

And allow me to guarantee. Something that my partner eloquently guaranteed.

If either of you tries to s(HERRY! COOKING SHERRY! THE PERFECT INGREDIENT FOR ANY DISH! NOW OWNED SOLELY BY WITASTICK EDIBLES! )...

... Wait, I can't say s(CRATCH ADAMS NEW COMEDY ALBUM ON SALE AT MUSIC STORES AND BEST BUYS!)?

...

Ess.

Cee.

Arr.

Eee.

Double you.

Me? Tonight?

And I'll leave you in a pool of your own...

... Heheheheh...

Red mess.

There. No censorship.

You paint the picture in your head.

So when I crack open your skull, I can see what I should paint on the may with you-

(THE FOLLOWING FIVE MINUTE DESCRIPTION NOT ONLY WAS FOUL AND DISTURBING TO TEST AUDIENCES! IT ALSO LACKED REASONABLE MEANS OF ADVERTI- ER, CENSORSHIP OPPORTUNITIES! IT HAS, AS A RESULT, BEEN CUT FROM THE PROMO!

WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING!

***

Mark had been forced into a SWAT outfit.

"OKAY! LISTEN!" The steps of these two giant melted rotting heaps of garbage were deafening. They had to yell in between steps to elaborate on the plan.

"WE'RE GOING TO CHARGE FROM THE NORTH! YOU FIRE A ROCKET AT THE PHONE LINES AT JUST THE RIGHT TIME SO BOTH OF THESE FREAKS GET THE OLD STANDING ELECTRIC CHAIR! YA DIG? BREAK!"

The rest of the SWAT team files out the doors, guns blazing, firing into walls, doors and the odd grandmother.

Tax dollars at work.

Mark Flynn however, raises a concern to the Team Leader eyeing the monsters through a carefully placed scope. Watching them slowly converge at the power plant’s electrical lines.

A tap on the shoulder. A swift turn.

“ROOKIE! WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM?!?”

"I think I left my rocket launcher at home."

"SISSY, EH? DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT! FIRING A ROCKET LAUNCHER IS JUST LIKE RIDING A BICYCLE! YOU NEVER FORGET!"

"... That was sarcasm before, I've never fired a roc-"

"GILMOUR! OPEN THE CASE SO THE ROOKIE CAN KILL THESE THINGS!!"

A man sitting in the corner, not doing much helpful, bearing stunning similarity to the self-described 'king of wrestling', sprints over to the case on the table.

He puts his face to the lock and hits buttons on the side.

Instead of opening, the case presents a speaker. Gilmour clears his throat.

“What’s he doing?”

“THE CASE IS LOCK PROTECTED BY VOICE COMMAND! GILMOUR IS ABOUT TO SAY SOMETHING ONLY AN IDIOT WOULD SAY GIVEN THE CURRENT SITUATION!”

Gilmour leans down to the mike…

“Mark, not gonna do the collab rp ok? But if you want to mention me in your rp I'm ok with it."

"What's an RP?"

"IT'S GIBBERISH! IT DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING!"

"Oh..."

The case creaks open.

All three men look down at the glowing contents within, golden in the shimmering sunlight.

Flynn grins…

***
Mark Flynn hangs off the balcony upside down. His knee wrapped around the bottom rung of an fire escape ladder. Eagerly… Licking his lips…

The team leader watches as his men fire wildly towards both creatures. The creatures slowly back up towards the power plant, while still devastating these forces.

Duke covers three bundled SWAT in his illogical bile and filth.

While Angelus successfully one SWAT’s miniature Sunny Delight obtained from a gas station! His necessary daily Vitamin C intake! RUINED!

“GET READY, ROOKIE! THEY’RE ALMOST IN POSITION!”

Flynn giggles as he keeps his sight in an apartment window. A kitten is playing with the red laser sight he keeps on the wall.

“You’ll never get that laser, kitty. Why do you keep trying? You’re ridiculous. Who’s a ridiculous kitty?”

“You are.”

“You’re a ridic-“

“ROOKIE! NOW!”

Flynn turns 73 degrees on his knee and fires.

“YOU…”

“YOU IDIOT!”

This strikes a low-passing news helicopter trying to cover the story of two monsters attacking the city.

This may have been unintentional.

The scrap metal from the helicopter falls to the earth.

The whirring blade of the helicopter falls, slicing the power lines.

AND THE DEBRIS CRASHES INTO THE POWER PLANT! ELECTRICAL LINES BURST ONTO THE MONSTERS!

BOTH WRITHE FROM THE ELECTRICITY COURSING THROUGH THEIR VEINS!!!!!!!

OH GOD! THEIR SKIN IS BUBBLING! THEIR FLESH IS FRYING!


NO!

NO!








YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!






DUKEZILLA EXPLODES INTO A RAINFALL OF BROWN WASTE!

AND ANGELUS FRIES TO A CRISP!

The people cheer at the death of these creatures. Holding each other. Happy for their freedom from terror. War bond purchases will be made in the future.

Also, a slow fire from the power plant’s chemicals exploding starts burning just out of sight...

***
The Team Leader and Flynn sit on a hill. Looking out in a bright light… Sunset…

“WELL, ROOKIE! I LOST THE MAJORITY OF MY MEN!”

“IN THAT I LOST ALL OF MY MEN! THANKS TO THAT EXPLOSION, THE ONLY MAN ON MY SQUAD IS GILMOUR, AND HE'S LEGALLY A VEGETABLE MENTALLY!”

“…The ends justify the means?”

“I’D KILL YOU RIGHT HERE AND NOW. BUT AS PER THE LAW OF THE SAMURAI, WHICH ALL SWAT OFFICERS ARE REQUIRED TO OBEY, I AM INDEBTED TO YOU!”

“…Oh good. This all worked out then.”

The city burns in front of them. The small fire created by the explosion has now turned Citysville into a blazing inescapable inferno.

“YUP.”

High five.

Freeze Frame.

Applause.