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Post by Shaun Hart on Sept 5, 2022 20:28:54 GMT
(Sebastian Hamilton must defend his newly won Hardcore Championship against a field of competitors that could dethrone him in a competitive match like this. Who will walk out as the King of the Hardcore division when these competitors collide?)
Match Two
Hardcore Championship
Falls Count Anywhere Match
Lenny Diego vs Max Stone vs Eoin O'Rourke vs Sebastian Hamilton (c)
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Post by Max Stone on Sept 9, 2022 23:09:27 GMT
CONSEQUENCES
JULY 21ST, 2022
We find ourselves following a POLICE OFFICER holding a flashlight at night time. He's walking around as he moves the light around on the ground. He picks up an object off of a blue fuzzy surface on the ground. He unfolds the object and looks through it.
Officer (yelling): Found his wallet!
He yells towards another group of officers. We see that we are at a MINIATURE GOLF COURSE and there are three police cars, an ambulance, and a fire truck all with their lights on. A CRASHED CAR with a non-existent windshield is smashed up against a brick wall that forms a perimeter around the course. The Officer with the wallet jogs over to the others.
Officer: His name is Morris Callahan. The bastard really went out in a unique way… a real hole in one if you ask me.
He looks over towards a large CLOWN fixture on the golf course.
Female officer: I thought that was him! We always used to get called down to that warehouse on Lafayette where they did that wrestling shit and he was always there walking around dripping blood everywhere.
Officer: Is that the warehouse where they would light each other on fire and stuff like that?
Female officer: Yeah. Real savage stuff they were doing down there but they all seemed to like it. Fuckin' weirdos, man.
Bastard Callahan, zipped up in a bag, is loaded up into an ambulance. An EMT closes the back doors, hops in the front, and the ambulance takes off.
NOW
Now we find ourselves in the podcast recording studio we've previously seen Max Stone in. He's once more a guest of the STAN AND WILLY Z SHOW. We hold on a shot of his face while the sound is muffled. The look on his face indicates that something is bothering him but that turns to a smile as he begins to speak and the muffled sound becomes clear.
Max: It's been really great so far. I couldn't have asked for a better start in this company.
Max blinks and we see a QUICK FLASHBACK of him in a dingy smoke filled room in the middle of a wrestling ring getting a chair CRACKED over his head before reality sets back in.
Stan: You've come into the IIW and in back to back shows you've made your opponents pass out with the Kata hatahami… I always butcher that name. I'm losing credibility as a wrestling fan by the minute here!
Max: Kata ha jime. It's a chokehold that comes from judo. I used to use it every now and then but ever since I've come to IIW, the opportunity has come up to snatch a couple victories with it.
Willy Z: I gotta say it's been good seeing you on TV again. It had been a long, long time since that's happened. What's different this time around?
Max takes a sip of coffee as he contemplates his response.
Max: This time around I know who I am. My first go around I was way younger and I achieved success a lot quicker than I had anticipated. I wasn't ready for it and I really messed it all up to the point where I'm 43 years old now and just starting to recover from past mistakes.
Crowd (voice over): HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
Max, in flashback, is lifted into the air with a vertical suplex from the ring apron and is HURLED into a table wrapped in barbed wire. The table breaks and he screams as he lays on top of the heap of wire. Back to reality.
Max: I want to come out to the ring and leave every man, woman and child remembering the part of the evening where Max Stone gave them a hell of a show. I feel like I've been able to do that so far in an interesting way and I will continue to keep doing it my way.
Max is SPEARED through another table. His face is covered in blood. He rolls around in the ring trying to gather the strength to get to his feet.
Stan: Well keep doing what you're doing because it's working!
Max: Thanks brother.
Stan: So you've won a singles match, you've won a triple threat match, and at the next pay-per-view show, Red Alert, you've got a four way match for the Hardcore championship. Falls count anywhere, no holds barred, probably gonna be pretty violent. How are you feeling heading into this one?
The look of worry appears on Max's face again. He hits another sip of coffee then begins to speak.
Max: To be 100% honest, I really don't know how I feel. I'm here in IIW and I want to win. Period. But what I don't want to do is hurt people more than I'm required to so that's my conundrum. Hardcore is a whole other level and you gotta get yourself in a crazy head space to pull it off well.
Willy Z: You have a bit of experience in this area though, yeah?
Max: I do but I wouldn't say I'm proud of it. It was mostly out of necessity to keep this insane wrestling dream alive. If I hadn't done the hardcore stuff, I wouldn't be here talking to you guys and I wouldn't be in IIW.
Stan: It's your first shot at winning some gold though. That has to be tempting, right?
Max: It absolutely is. Don't get me wrong, this isn't a challenge I'm backing down from. I'm going out there and I'm going to get into that fucked up head space you need to be in to go hardcore and I'm going to wreck those three guys and walk out of there with that championship and I'll have to live with whatever consequences arise from that.
Stan: Consequences?
Max: You guys know Bastard Callahan, right?
Willy Z: Rest in peace.
Max: For the people listening here who might not, Bastard Callahan was affectionately known as "Hardcore Jesus." That man went out there every match and put himself through absolute hell.
BASTARD CALLAHAN is holding a BARBED WIRE BASEBALL BAT. He smiles maniacally and rubs the barbed wire against his face. He then SWINGS it at the torso of Max Stone. With his face covered in blood, Bastard looks up towards the sky and laughs.
Max: Barbed wire, fire, broken glass. You name it and this dude did it regularly. What people didn't see was the stuff he had to put in his body when he got backstage to take that pain away. Chugging Jack Daniels straight out of the bottle and popping a bunch of pills as he taped his flesh back together night after night.
Willy Z: Jesus.
Max: And how did his Hardcore tale end? He drunkenly crashed his car into a putt putt golf course and died in a fuckin' Clown's mouth. The hardcore hero who mutilated his body for the amusement of the bloodthirstiest fans being pulled out of a smiling clown. So yes, there are consequences that can happen from going down this road and those are mine to deal with after I raise that Hardcore championship high in the air.
We cut to a wide shot of the podcast studio as the three continue speaking inaudibly. The scene fades to black.
LATER
We rejoin Max at a vending machine in a hallway. He's trying to get a two pack of Reese's peanut butter cups but the candy gets stuck.
Max: Son of a bitch.
He grabs the sides of the machine and shakes. Nothing. He looks around the hallway to make sure nobody is watching and he quickly nudges the machine with his hip. Nothing again.
Lady: Try this.
Max is startled by a woman who looks to be in her sixties wearing a Guns n Roses t-shirt and smoking a cigarette. She hands him a baseball bat.
Max: Thanks!
He wraps the baseball bat in a wet rag, snatches the cigarette away from the woman and uses it to IGNITE the baseball bat in flames. The lady claps excitedly and jumps up and down with a huge smile on her face. He SMASHES the glass of the vending machine with the FLAMING BASEBALL BAT. Broken glass litters the floor. As he reaches in to grab the candy he desires, the lady begins to YELL.
Lady: POLICE! POLICE! I found him!!
Max: What gives?
A HORDE OF POLICE OFFICERS turn the corner with guns drawn. Max drops the bat and runs down the hallway. He turns the corner into a hallway that looks identical to the one he just left.
Officer (yelling): WE KNOW YOU WERE THERE!
Max comes across a door and opens it up and ducks inside. In this new room, he flicks on a light switch and pulls a DESK in front of the door to block it. He pushes it with all his weight and holds it. No sound from the other side. A big metal table in the center of the room catches his eye.
On the table are two ZIPPED UP BODY BAGS. He cautiously approaches this table and starts to unzip the left one.
Max: What?
The body bag is filled with small OLD CLOCKS all set to the 3 O'CLOCK hour. He dumps the bag on the ground and they all start ticking loudly. He looks at the other body bag and starts to unzip it.
He opens the top portion and stumbles backwards. Inside the body bag is MAX STONE. He unzips the bag further to see that his torso is covered in scars. A look of terror falls upon his face.
The clocks all start to CHIME LOUDLY and…
Max JOLTS AWAKE in his recliner chair in the middle of his lifeless living room.
Max: God damn what the fuck.
He kicks his chair vertical and stands up. He makes his way over to the bathroom and splashes some water on his face trying to bring himself back to reality.
Max: What a dream.
Max looks at himself in the bathroom mirror for an extended moment. He puts his hand into his hair and lifts it up to reveal a BIG SCAR on his scalp. He continues looking at the scar as we fade to black.
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Post by Eoin O'Rourke on Sept 16, 2022 0:43:20 GMT
-Eoin O'Rourke enters his office room sweating from his head, arms and legs, holding a glass bottle of Guinness and takes a sip of it as he enters the room.-
Eoin: Whew. Another hard day of working out the muscles, the pecs, the legs... *snap* Yup... Ah. That's the spot I was looking for. Not a bad day for having to fight four guys. Which... Where the- Where the fuck are my folders?!
-Eoin shouts, looking around his office for some folders of his, that he had set somewhere. He looked at his desk and shoved papers around and sent some flying off as he growled in anger as nothing that was on the table was what he was looking for. He looked in a metal file cabinet, and groaned, louder and louder as each cabinet didn't have what he was looking for neither. Then he opened up a liquor case that housed some fine alcohol, including a vintage 1936 wine, even that did not cheer the Irish Hitman up as he looked and loudly whined as it wasn't the folders.-
Eoin: God Fucking Damnit! Where are they?! I had this whole skit planned out, even hired a bloody camera crew to make this shite even more dramatic than it already is and I can't find my fucking paper works! The files I had sent to me by my own head hunter who knows the value of em, tips n' tricks and all that other good shite. Where the fuck- You know what, I'm done. I'm done I'm calling it a day, and just not in the mood for all this. Okay, it's bloody stupid to put on a show, for a wrestling company, thats all about making wrestling SHOWS! I like that Shaun Hart lad but if this keeps goin' I'm gone, and done. Fuck this...
-Eoin walked back to his office door and opened it only to see one of his house-aid's Garland holding stacks of folders-
Garland: Oh Master O'Rourke?
Eoin: Not now Garland, I've had a very rough... What are you holding?
Garland: Well sir I do believe these belong to you? Something about this, how you call it... "Wrestling"? Where people in tight clothing get physical and do harm one another?
Eoin: I- Yes, yes yes Garland that's exactly what they are for uh... Where did you find them?
Garland: Oh, sir, I procured them by the pool sir. They were sitting with your lunch, which I also cleaned up for you. I believed you were going to do something with them, but then you left and assisted the missus with something you said, what was it? Helping her with the bed?
-Eoin stared blankly back at his house aid and reaching and taking the files and smiling at Garland-
Eoin: Thank you Garland.
Garland: You're perfectly welcome sir.
-Eoin held on to the folders looking at them then shut's the door looking back up at his office as a camera flash goes off and Eoin audibly gulps-
Eoin: RIGHT!
-Eoin slams the folders down on the desk with a smile on his face-
-Eoin then spread his arms out wide before clapping them together and wiping his hands with glee and sitting down at his desk-
Eoin: So! Come September eightieth I'ma be fighting three other lads for a championship already. Which is a surprise, already crushed one lad, and gold is flying my way. It's a nice change of pace. Let's see whose got prices on their heads starting with...
Eoin: Lenny Diego. Len- What? What the hell is this? What the absolute shite is this? Why is the dude I just wrecked getting a title match too? I mean credit where credit's due he gave it his all but good God, you could've at least put someone who I don't know in this match! Bloody hell- and look! His bounty went up! Me BEATING this guy improved his pay, that I collect. Let me be clear, just because I beat this schmuck doesn't mean I hate him, I don't dislike the lad at all. That being said, I'm just flabbergasted! Fucking stunned, that I'm sharing the ring with him again, and it's for a title belt. OUR FIRST title match together here in this lovely company! I'm sorry Lenny old boy, but I'm going to kick the shit out of you again, and collect your new seven-hundred and fifty bucks. NEXT!
Eoin: Okay, now THIS is a contract that I'm interested in. This Max Stone person is a guy of interest to me. Fella's had a long career in the show and as good as he may've been, he has that look of hard times. Which is the problem I have with him, because he's been winning more than he looks. Stone has some accolades to prove his worth, being a former world champion and all. That said, he is the biggest question mark in this fight I have to worry about. I can't tell if he'll be Max Stone, or Rex Renegade! One way or another, I have my respect for the fighter, but I have the desire, the drive and the potential to win this match. He does not. Even then, his bounty isn't nearly as big as this guy.
Eoin: This motherfucker. Sebby Hamilton. The Hardcore champion of IIW. Head of Hamilton Establishment. That's all well and good, I'ma put this all into my playlist in my iDon'tGiveAShit. This fella, has a posse, couldn't beat the last Hardcore champ, Raines, on his own. Had to have his brothers help him out. Sure no DQ and fall happen anywhere bullshit, whatever. It proves that this slimy no good son of a bitch will go to any and all lengths to try to win that piece of blood and gold. I'd do the same but I'm a one man army. I don't require help to beat the piss out of that English snob. Hell I'll take on his whole fucking family if it comes to it! I won't stop! And if he thinks I won't take an opportunity to smash his pretty face with a steel chair, he's wrong. I'll put a target on me back just to take the belt from him because holding it means history, and I'm here to etch my name in history.
-Eoin slams shut Hamilton's folder and stands up cracking his neck-
Eoin: You know, I started here just on the last show. Beating one of these fellow competitors, Leonard, and I take this match quite seriously. Very seriously in fact. It doesn't matter to me, where or why this kind of matches take place, or why they are considered curtain jerkers or whatever. It's the fact its a champion. Being a champion means something. It means something to the company, it means something to the people who watch, who read on the internet, who does fuck all when someone like Knox is on TV. A championship matters, no matter where or what kind of championship it is. Hamilton is a fraud. A con-artist who used his own business to help him win that title. That's less credibility than Leonard, at least he faced me alone. Hell Stone has more credibility than both of em. At least he cares enough for this business to still be here, after sixteen years!
Me? I have one goal, one direction, and one desire on September Eightieth. That is me, winning, and becoming the Hardcore champion!
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Post by Max Stone on Sept 16, 2022 5:22:19 GMT
THREE O'CLOCK
DETROIT, MI
We find ourselves outside a LARGE DECREPIT BRICK BUILDING in the middle of the day. A chain link fence separates the sidewalk from a jungle of overgrown grass and weeds leading up to the entrance.
We CUT TO the inside of the building in a hallway that provides us enough evidence to make the connection that this was once a school. Holes in the ceiling allow for sunlight to illuminate the room enough to see just fine. Broken desks litter the hallway.
A clock on the wall has been stuck at 3 O'CLOCK position for god knows how long. We see a classroom door open and MAX STONE enters the hallway.
Max: Detroit, Michigan. A once thriving city now filled with relics of the past such as this institute of learning that is plagued with rot and taken over by the elements.
Max slowly starts walking down the hall and the camera follows him talking with the wall behind him.
Max: Quite the sad state of affairs. A physical embodiment of societal failure. Young minds stepped into these classrooms to form foundations of the people they would become and now it's a shock that this building still stands.
Max walks by a school mural that is covered in so much graffiti that it's beyond recognition.
Max: This very type of decay bubbling under the surface is one that I have seen for a long long time in the world of wrestling. Before we know it, the decay will have eaten away at the framework and everything will come crumbling down. But I will let you in on a little secret: It doesn't have to be this way.
Max stops walking and smiles.
Max: The Stone Age is here and that provides a light that shines over all nooks and crannies of this industry. The bleak and dreary present will soon be replaced by one of endless opportunity and those who choose to accept it will prosper in this new era. Together we will walk hand-in-hand on roads paved with gold and that first taste of gold will be presented this Sunday.
Max starts walking again and comes across a broken trophy case. Some old damaged photos of sports teams of days gone by still hang on by a thread.
Max: It has been decided that there will be a four way falls count anywhere match at the upcoming Red Alert show for the IIW Hardcore Championship and yours truly will be a part of it.
A look of concern falls upon Max's face.
Max: But there is something I have to admit. I lied to you the last time we spoke and I feel awful about it. I had said that change happens in slow increments and, before you know it, you're in a new world. That is no longer the case because after this match at Red Alert, there will be a sudden shift in the tide here in the IIW as I go to the violent place I need to go to in order to win the Hardcore title. This championship requires a type of brutality that I do not WANT to unleash but sadly it is one that I MUST.
Max holds up three fingers with each hand.
Max: Three opponents have so far humbly been defeated but what they've experienced will be nothing like what Lenny Diego, Eoin O'Rourke, and the short lived champ, Sebastian Hamilton will face this Sunday.
Max waves the three fingers on his left hand as he mentions the names of his opponents. He reaches down and picks up a brick from the ground. He begins to do curls with it and mockingly exerts himself.
Max (in a bad, bad Irish accent): Gotta pump the iron. Gotta work up a sweat. Gotta throw out all kinds of fuckin' shite shit ass swear words to make myself look like a big toughie!
Max THROWS the brick down the hallway and we hear it thud off camera.
Max: Gotta need subtitles turned on to get through anything Eoin O'Rourke spews out. He's a tough guy, I gather that. I also gather that Mr. O'Rourke is new here, much like myself, and is looking to prove that he is the hungrier one of this bunch. He had an impressive win a couple of weeks ago and is under the impression that the luck of the Irish will carry over into this Sunday. O'Rourke, like quite a few talents I've seen around here, gets all worked up and goes on about hitting people with blunt objects and smashing faces in and blah, blah, blah. I could also come out here and speak in such ways but the things I plan on doing and the lows I plan on sinking to should not be spoiled here with mere trash talk. So Eoin, you can look through your folders, you can look through the Bible, you can look through the goddamn phone book if you like but you will not find what you're searching for.
Max leans back against the wall. The camera dollies back to reveal another WALL CLOCK. The hour hand moves to the "4" position.
Max: And then we have the mystery man himself, Lenny Diego. A man so mysterious he seems to have no official information out there about him and that's intriguing. Here is Lenny Diego in a hardcore match two weeks after coming up short in his IIW debut. It didn't go the way you wanted it to, Lenny. You made it clear you were above hardcore matches yet here you are walking into Red Alert getting an opportunity at the Hardcore title and leaving everyone else scratching their heads. But that's okay with me, Lenny. You have a purpose. A glorious purpose. A victory over you wraps my waist in gold and moves our clock ahead another hour.
The same wall clock moves into the "5" position.
Max: And that brings us to the Hardcore Champion himself, Sebastian Hamilton. It takes a lot of determination and grit to become a champion but all I see in you is someone who has to take the coward's way out. Big congratulations to you on winning a championship with no rules that allowed your brothers to come in and win it for you. There's no honor there. There's no glory. The Stone Age rewards those who treat this business with respect and the Stone Age has no tolerance for such acts of cowardice. Enjoy the last few hours you have with that title because when it becomes mine it will be purified and purged of the stink you've smothered all over it.
Max smiles a devilish smirk and the wall clock advances to the "6" position.
Max: We will advance to Six O'Clock come Sunday night at Ford Field and that takes to the halfway point on our journey towards something truly indescribable. But in order to get there, my mind must go to a dark place to prepare the body for the horrors it may encounter. The hallways of my consciousness may very well have to become as dark and rotten as those of this decrepit old building. A darkness that precedes a new dawn for all who embrace it.
The camera pans up the rotten wall and towards a large CEILING CRACK where the daylight pours in. The scene fades to black.
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