Post by predator on Jan 27, 2006 17:57:48 GMT -5
We fade in to a deserted street. The camera closes up on a street sign which reads 'Whyte Ave'. The streets are covered in layers of ice and snow, and almost no vehicles are visible. Many alleyways dwell in shadow, concealing some of our very worst nightmares. Soon, the faint sound of a familiar voice is heard. This sound gets louder, and louder, until finally, the person speaking rounds the corner, talking into a cell phone. This person is dressed in a black leather jacket, trademark Harley Davidson boots, a green toque and a red, white and blue title belt is draped over his shoulder. We know this person immediately to be One Letter, Said Real Loud. The new / old NAPW Champion, D!.
D! - (into cellphone) Freakin' snowstorm. Can't believe how dead it is here. Anyways, we're still on for tonight, buddy, so show up on time. Huh? Yeah, that's right, here on Whyte. Although somewhere indoors. Why? Whadja mean, why? Where are we meeting? What day is it? Now put 'em together . . .
He continues to walk down the street, quickly as though he is supposed to be somewhere. The camera aims up and we see a dark figure peering down at him from a rooftop. The figure turns his head and we see a flicker of reflected moonlight. It appears to be a person wearing a silver mask . . .
D! rounds a corner into the driveway of an apartment building, and the figure lands nimbly on his feet in front of D!, with cat-like agility.
D! - (into phone) Moose? . . . I'm gonna have to call you back.
He wears torn black jeans, a black gauntlet on his left hand, his hair is dreaded in black, and he wears no shirt revealing a muscled chest, even in the light of only the moon and a few streetlights that appear to be flickering their last. He stands slowly, in front of D!, and we see the Canadian version of the NAPW title draped over his shoulder. Of course, he wears a silver mask that glistens in the moonlight.
D! - This is just . . . something. What the Hell do you want?
PREDATOR - I wanted to congratulate you. And, of course, give back to you what is rightfully yours.
Predator takes the belt off of his shoulder, and stretches it out to D!. D! shakes his head and pushes the belt away.
D! - No. I can't explain this enough, apparently. That belt, which I defended so dearly, is nonetheless just a belt.
He taps the American Flag NAPW title on his shoulder.
D! - You might not like it, but this is the title I went through a steel cage Hell to get. And that's the title that goes to the best singles wrestler in our fed. So give it a good home if you want, but do me a favour and just put it to bed.
The Predator looks at the belt, and then at D!, confusedly.
PREDATOR - Well, I only wish to congratulate you, D!. You fought a Hell of a--
D! - Predator, if you want that belt so badly, why don't you make me a challenge? Earn it like everyone else?
Predator shakes his head and stretches out his hand.
PREDATOR - I have made a vow to exterminate the Rat Pack once and for all. And until I fulfill my destiny, I will not claim the ultimate prize.
D! - Oh, hey, someone's been listening to me.
PREDATOR - So count yourself thankful that you are not Evan Cartwright. Because on Monday, that honourless automaton will learn what it means to be the victim of--
Predator leaps for a fire escape.
PREDATOR - THE HUNT!
Grabbing the metal bars, Predator begins to scale the side of the fire escape swiftly, like a spider, and leaves D! standing alone in the alley. He watches him escape to the rooftop, blinks, and then heads out of the alley.
D! - (Leaving.) Plague never had to do this.
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D! appears with permission.
Co-written with D!.
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This has absolutely nothing to do with my match for Monday.
D! - (into cellphone) Freakin' snowstorm. Can't believe how dead it is here. Anyways, we're still on for tonight, buddy, so show up on time. Huh? Yeah, that's right, here on Whyte. Although somewhere indoors. Why? Whadja mean, why? Where are we meeting? What day is it? Now put 'em together . . .
He continues to walk down the street, quickly as though he is supposed to be somewhere. The camera aims up and we see a dark figure peering down at him from a rooftop. The figure turns his head and we see a flicker of reflected moonlight. It appears to be a person wearing a silver mask . . .
D! rounds a corner into the driveway of an apartment building, and the figure lands nimbly on his feet in front of D!, with cat-like agility.
D! - (into phone) Moose? . . . I'm gonna have to call you back.
He wears torn black jeans, a black gauntlet on his left hand, his hair is dreaded in black, and he wears no shirt revealing a muscled chest, even in the light of only the moon and a few streetlights that appear to be flickering their last. He stands slowly, in front of D!, and we see the Canadian version of the NAPW title draped over his shoulder. Of course, he wears a silver mask that glistens in the moonlight.
D! - This is just . . . something. What the Hell do you want?
PREDATOR - I wanted to congratulate you. And, of course, give back to you what is rightfully yours.
Predator takes the belt off of his shoulder, and stretches it out to D!. D! shakes his head and pushes the belt away.
D! - No. I can't explain this enough, apparently. That belt, which I defended so dearly, is nonetheless just a belt.
He taps the American Flag NAPW title on his shoulder.
D! - You might not like it, but this is the title I went through a steel cage Hell to get. And that's the title that goes to the best singles wrestler in our fed. So give it a good home if you want, but do me a favour and just put it to bed.
The Predator looks at the belt, and then at D!, confusedly.
PREDATOR - Well, I only wish to congratulate you, D!. You fought a Hell of a--
D! - Predator, if you want that belt so badly, why don't you make me a challenge? Earn it like everyone else?
Predator shakes his head and stretches out his hand.
PREDATOR - I have made a vow to exterminate the Rat Pack once and for all. And until I fulfill my destiny, I will not claim the ultimate prize.
D! - Oh, hey, someone's been listening to me.
PREDATOR - So count yourself thankful that you are not Evan Cartwright. Because on Monday, that honourless automaton will learn what it means to be the victim of--
Predator leaps for a fire escape.
PREDATOR - THE HUNT!
Grabbing the metal bars, Predator begins to scale the side of the fire escape swiftly, like a spider, and leaves D! standing alone in the alley. He watches him escape to the rooftop, blinks, and then heads out of the alley.
D! - (Leaving.) Plague never had to do this.
--------
D! appears with permission.
Co-written with D!.
--------
This has absolutely nothing to do with my match for Monday.