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Post by Shaun Hart on Jan 16, 2023 19:23:51 GMT
( Max Stone looks to get some revenge against The Mecca when he goes one on one with The Slayer Bam Miller in a hardcore match but Bam looks to send a message to Stone that The Mecca is not to be messed with. Who will win when these two collide?)
Match Five Hardcore Match Max Stone vs Bam Miller
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Post by Max Stone on Jan 25, 2023 0:38:57 GMT
EVERYBODY KNOWS
"I say we walk out there with a can of gas, soak the ring, and light the mother fucker on fire. They're gonna ruin it all anyway so why let them have the satisfaction of nose-diving the plane?"
"You remember what happened last time we did that. We gotta give this a shot."
"It's ambitious. Gonna take a lot of legwork."
"It's the only way we take them down. Every. Last. One."
We fade into footage of the IIW Ice Crown Rumble that looks like it's coming from a camera pointed at a TV screen.
Everybody knows that the dice are loaded Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Shaun Hart struts down the ramp at number 30 in the Ice Crown Rumble.
Scott James: Looks like he’s joining the rumble as the final participant.
Mike Fisher: No! He can’t do this.
Everybody knows the war is over Everybody knows the good guys lost
Alice Goldier: MAX STONE HAS BEEN ELIMINATED AND WITH THAT ELIMINATION, YOUR WINNER JOE MONTOURI
Mike Fisher: Damn it! Shaun still got his way in the end.
Confetti rains from the skies as Jmont’s hand is held high. He takes a seat on a throne made of Ice and the Ice Crown is placed atop his head.
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
Andy Donahue stands outside of a steel cage and celebrates his fresh win when he’s attacked by Goliath. Moments later Andy is being attacked by Fred Debonair and Bam Miller.
That's how it goes Everybody knows
Trigger Cavanagh storms out ready for a fight but is stopped in the middle of the aisle by a female fan. He’s then attacked from behind with a steel chair and laid out by the returning Justin York.
Everybody knows that the boat is leaking Everybody knows that the captain lied
Shaun Hart smiles a huge shit-eating grin and looks around at everyone standing beside him with total elation.
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died
Max Stone emerges from the entrance way with a steel chair in hand ready to take it to the group that’s assembled in the ring. He joins Axel Shaw ready to do battle and they enter the ring. Max goes to take a SWING at Fred Debonair but has the chair snatched by Axel. Axel whacks Max across the back with a steel pipe and he goes down.
Everybody talking to their pockets
Everybody wants a box of chocolates
Axel stands Max up and Fred gets in his face and talks some trash before DECKING him with the UK Championship belt. Max goes down and JMont looks down upon him and the other fallen wrestlers and talks his trash.
And a long-stem rose Everybody knows
THE MECCA proudly stands over the fallen Max Stone, Andy Donahue, Trigger Cavanagh, and Crush.
Shaun: Everyone in this ring is The Mecca of Pro Wrestling and going forward there will be nobody that can stop us from achieving our goal of total domination of not only IIW but the whole sport of pro wrestling…
“Do you think the Connecticut thing went well?”
“Hard to tell.”
NEW YORK CITY
We now find ourselves in a pretty nice hotel room in the evening time. Max sits at a table and attaches a bow to a SKINNY WOODEN BOX.
Max: Hope everything works out well…
His PHONE buzzes on the table. It does that a lot since he’s started live streaming and more and more fans are interacting with him. Max gets up and turns some lights on around the hotel room and then attaches the phone to a tripod on the table. He fires it up and jumps in front of the camera.
Max: Never would have thought I’d be one of these guys but here we are. I gotta admit it’s been fun interacting with you guys and getting a new perspective on the work that I do. Time is precious and you deserve to spend yours watching a show where the men and women in the ring are giving it their all. I can assure you that's what you're getting when it's time for a Max Stone match. Unfortunately, the state of wrestling is becoming one where you're not getting that and instead you're getting hit over the head with wrestlers who would rather cheat and take shortcuts rather than test themselves. You work hard all week and want to relax with some IIW action but Shaun Hart has hijacked the show and plans to completely tank it with his pack of muddy little pigs.
Max sighs.
Max: I foolishly thought I could come out and make a difference last Monday Night and I let myself get played. I was blinded by my desire to inflict pain on each and every one of those assholes in the ring that I let my guard down and let Axel Shaw bait me into doing something stupid. That will not happen again. There is a fire burning inside of me that The Mecca has added fuel to and it's spreading rapidly.
So why do I care? I could easily show up to each show, do my job, collect a check, and go back home to a Penthouse apartment in Los Angeles. Let's look back.
Max takes a moment to look at how many people are tuned in to the stream. He acknowledges the viewers and then launches into story mode.
Max: We're gonna take a quick trip to the past… all the way back to the year 2005 where a young wide eyed kid named Max Stone signed his name to his first long-term contract. I had been all over the world getting into battles with some real tough sons of bitches but now I was back in the states and finding a new home in the Honorable Wrestling Alliance. It was there that I really started to learn who I was and quickly captured the "Honorable" championship. This championship was one that rewarded those who pushed their own limits and fought with integrity. It was my time as Honorable Champion that really solidified the foundations of who IIW fans get to see in the ring night in and night out. When I step into that ring, I give it my all and my victories are a result of my skill and determination. Now everyone is probably familiar with my story and how everything went down there so I don't need to go into details but needless to say, I abandoned that honor that had allowed me to achieve that initial success and it damn near killed my career. I spent every day since that company died regretting how I handled myself and how much different things could have been had I not taken low roads.
That couldn't be the end.
Max: Fast forward to 6 months ago and I'm getting ready to step into IIW and re-ignite the dream I thought was long dead. I looked around the roster and saw guys fighting with that same honor that I had and felt that this was a place I could feel good about calling home. As my clock progressed, I grew closer and closer to figuring out who Max Stone is in this decade and now I know exactly who I am. IIW has some incredible competitors here who fight with every core of their being to prove why they deserve to be here but there's a disproportionate amount of those who are quite the opposite. You see, there's a storm that's been brewing for a long time now and it's been growing stronger and now it is upon us. Corruption and ego placating has become commonplace and now it has hit the IIW with full force. Flagrant flaunting of abuses of power and open collusion and cheating are the new normal and that's some fuckin' bullshit.
Max clenches his fists as he gets angrier.
Max: First it was called CCPE but whoever and wherever Chris Page is, he doesn't even want to be associated with this shit anymore so now this disease has been rebranded as The Mecca. It makes sense that Shaun Hart names his new group after a place people face when they're down on their knees. Shaun couldn't hack it in Hollywood so now he surrounds himself with people who would barely be hacking it in wrestling if it weren't for his handouts and blatant disregard for everything that makes wrestling great in the first place.
Fucking shameful.
Max: Now I've made mistakes and I've done some regrettable stuff in the past but none of that was ever as vile as what's been going on under Shaun Hart's watch. He decided to start this war when he set his sights on me at the Ice Crown Rumble by manipulating the rules to get his gutless fraud of an International Champion the win. He doesn't get the courtesy of me even saying his name right now because I'll be cursing it plenty when I get to him after tearing apart Mecca limb to limb. Shaun Hart might be used to getting what he wants but this grand plan of his will not have the Hollywood ending he's hoping for because taking him and his little bitches down has become my fucking PURPOSE. And we begin with Bam Miller…
The ALARM on Max's phone starts to sound.
Max: But we'll talk about him tomorrow because I've got somewhere I've gotta be.
"You know they're just gonna ambush us. We can have the blowtorch ready for when they do."
"I think we've got a good shot of making this work."
MADISON SQUARE GARDEN
We're in the world's most famous arena as the New York Knicks play the Cleveland Cavaliers. A timeout is taken and the arena video board starts showing different celebrities in the crowd. Max looks up to see himself on the screen.
MAX STONE IIW WRESTLER
There are a bunch of cheers in the arena. Max smiles and waves.
LATER THAT NIGHT
Max walks around under the lights of Times Square being a complete tourist. The night progresses and we see him grabbing a slice of Pizza and having a beer in a bar. He walks down the streets of New York City with a sense of happiness. He's allowing himself to really live for the first time in a long time.
Some more time passes and Max is sitting on a bench looking at his phone. He browses through comments of adoring fans on Instagram photos. Max had long been doubtful that he would ever see this type of admiration again.
He navigates away from his own profile and searches for a new one: his former girlfriend Leena. He scrolls through her photos. They're mostly photos of her costume work but a few of her. He comes across a photo that she's kept up of the both of them where they're sitting on a bench after Max had just accidentally ingested an abnormal amount of THC. They smile goofy smiles. Max laughs to himself and sighs at the memories of good times past.
THE NEXT DAY
Max sits in a TAXI CAB gazing out the window. The gift he was previously preparing sits on the seat next to him. The cab moves at a snail’s pace through New York City traffic.
Max: So…. how long have you been driving cabs?
The MIDDLE EASTERN driver pays no attention to his question.
Max: Alright, then. I guess I would have found out by now if I was on Cash Cab.
Seeing as this cab won’t be reaching its destination any time soon, Max pulls out his phone.
Max: Do you mind if I go on IG Live? That’s what the kids call it.
Another no-sell from the cab driver. Max points the phone at himself and starts to talk.
Max: Hey all. I’m in a cab right now on my way to conduct some business and thought I would pick up where I left off yesterday. I came on here talking about how I’m going to rip Shaun Hart’s group of cronies to shreds and that all starts when I face Bam Miller next Monday night in Dublin, Ireland. Much like the rest of his friend group, Bam is one of the biggest cowards this industry has to offer. A real man would walk up to someone, look them in the eye and then strike. Bam Miller instead chooses to be contemptible little sneak and attack people from behind time and time again.
Maybe at one point Bam was respectable. But now?
He is absolutely nothing. A speck of shit on the bottom of the shoe of professional wrestling. Bam is a living breathing example of how this industry I love so much has lost its way. How can a guy with almost no worth get on TV on a regular basis? How can a guy who sprays piss all over this industry get a match against the most EXCITING pro wrestler in the game today? Bam Miller deserves no accolades and he offers nothing to professional wrestling. He can't wrestle to save his life and he sure as hell can't do anything of impact without a weapon or two in his hand. Bam attacks people with bricks and chains and thinks he's a real tough son of a bitch. There's nothing tough about you, Bam. You're a disgusting little rat scurrying around the floor of the dinner table nibbling on the crumbs dropped by the rest of the Mecca fuck heads as they laugh at Shaun Hart's dumb jokes so they can continue to reap the rewards that they don't deserve.
The Cab Driver perks up at the mention of Mecca.
Max: Last Mayhem I had a match against Maverick Tatum. I had questions about Maverick's motivations and if his heart was really in this. I got my answer when he got in the ring with me and showed me that he was for real. Maverick was a hell of a competitor and fought with honor and integrity after I had doubted him. I have no such questions about Bam Miller. There is no chance of me becoming pleasantly surprised about anything Bam can do. We can all expect Bam to be Bam and rehash the same old dirty tricks and it looks like it will all be legal this time because, of course, it has to be a hardcore match. Bam isn't capable of a straight wrestling match so Shaun sets it up so he can use his tire irons and golf clubs and cinder blocks and whatever the hell else he wants to use to make himself feel like a badass. I was the Hardcore Champion and I still would be if I had any interest in rolling around down in the mud any longer with the Bam Miller's of the world. I tossed that shit aside because I was better than that. But now it looks like I have no choice but to put the Hardcore hat back on and head down to the sewer Bam calls home. I will begin my long march towards dismantling the Mecca by taking out the guy they have the least confidence in. We all know that Bam's just the guy that Mecca is sending out so he feels like he's useful but he's really just there on paper so they can get me out to the ring to jump me like the big group of badasses they think they are.
Max looks out the windows and realizes that they’ve barely moved in the last ten minutes.
Max: Looks like I've got a while before I'm getting to where I need to be.
Max reads through the comments on the stream.
Max: Someone here is asking how I plan on dealing with Mecca. Stay tuned for that.
The Cab Driver perks up again at the mention of Mecca.
Max: "Do you think Osh Vaughn is really dead?" I'd be shocked if he wasn't… "Have you set your sights on the UK Title?" Maybe I have, maybe I haven't.
Max laughs as he reads the next question.
Max: This is a good one… "Mecca will soon control the wrestling industry. Would you ever join them?"
Hell no. HELLLLL no.
Fuck Mecca!
The Cab Driver SLAMS the brakes and serves over to the sidewalk.
Cab Driver: FUCK MECCA? FUCK MECCA? No, FUCK YOU!!
Max tries to explain himself.
Max: No, no… I'm talking about wrestling.
Cab Driver: I don't give fuck! I don't disrespect you and your religion and you come in my cab and disrespect mine? Get the fuck out!
Max: Wait, wait… I can explain.
Cab Driver: GET. FUCK. OUT.
The Cab Driver unhooks his seat belt.
Max: Jeez, I'm leaving!
Max grabs the gift from the seat, exits the cab, and continues his journey on foot.
LATER
Still on foot, Max strolls through the city. He takes a look up at a street sign and realizes that he's gotta be close. A HORN rapidly honks and Max looks over at the street and it's the Cab Driver with his middle finger in the air pointed at Max. Another PEDESTRIAN takes notice.
Max (to pedestrian): Friendly driver.
She shrugs him off and keeps walking. Max surveys the area and his destination catches his eye. He starts jogging and crosses the street. He stops in front of the door of what looks to be a bar. He looks up at the sign.
THE BLARNEY STONE
Max pushes open the bar door and steps in.
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Post by Max Stone on Jan 28, 2023 20:25:23 GMT
EVERYBODY'S TALKIN' (feat. The Celtic Club)
We find ourselves inside THE BLARNEY STONE PUB AND GRILL in Hell's Kitchen, NY. Daylight creeps in through the windows of the bar and cuts in through a thin layer of smoke that permeates the air. The big wooden door opens and in walks MAX STONE with a gift in hand. ANDY DONAHUE takes notice and hastily walks over to Max. Andy: What the hell are you doing here?
The big ass Irishman looks like he's ready to throw fists.
Andy: If you want a shot at the champ, you do it like everyone else and wait 'till the cameras are rolling. Now we reserve the right to beat the ever loving piss outta you for showing your face here.
Max puts his free hand in the air to indicate that he comes in peace.
Max: I'm not here to fight anyone. Just here to talk if that's OK with you.
Andy stares down Max. Max looks back at him for a moment and then breaks the silence.
Max: If I had any beef with the Celtic Club, things would have gone a lot differently last Monday. Fred Debonair could have done more damage if I hadn't come out and put an end to that shit.
Andy looks over across the bar and we see a billiards game in progress. The cue ball lands in the corner pocket as the 8 ball comes flying across the table. TRIGGER CAVANAGH yells out some choice expletives and pulls a cigarette out of a pack of Kools and lights up.
Trigger: When's the last time anyone checked if this fucking thing is level?
Trigger slams the palm of his hand on the edge of the pool table and takes a drag of his smoke. He expels a cloud and we follow its journey as it makes its way over to the IIW World Champion JOHN CAVANAGH. He points to Trigger with his index finger and looks as if he's about to say something to him when he notices Andy and Max standing by the door. Andy points to Max and raises his eyebrows as if he's asking a question. John nods his head and Andy lets Max walk into the bar.
Andy: What's in the box?
Max: A gift.
John grabs his IIW World title belt off of a tall table near the pool area and walks over towards a table at the middle of the bar. He motions for Max to have a seat. Max pulls out a chair and sits down after handing John the gift.
Max: A gift for you.
John removes the bow attached to the side of the wooden box to reveal a logo: JAMESON RAREST VINTAGE RESERVE.
John: One of you grab some glasses.
Andy heads over to the bar to fulfill John's request. Trigger takes a seat at a table a few feet away from where John and Max are and finishes up his smoke. John takes a seat and places the title belt on the table with the front facing Max. John looks at Max in the eyes. Max looks back and doesn't stray his focus. Andy returns with three shot glasses and John removes the bottle from the wooden box and cracks it open.
John: Shame to drink a bottle that looks so pretty but it's been a good while since we've had one of these.
Trigger approaches the table and John pours three shots. Andy and Trigger each pick theirs up.
John: To the Celtic Club.
Trigger and Andy (in unison): The Celtic Club!
They shoot the premium Irish Whiskey and slam the glasses down on the table.
John: Now that's the good shit right there! That's not an easy bottle to get one's hands on so I imagine you're walking into my bar with a huge ask. What is it?
Max: Mecca.
John: Yeah, what about 'em?
Max: They need to get what they deserve.
John: Did you come all the way to New York with a 3000 dollar bottle of whiskey to tell me some pricks need to get what's coming to them? Could have saved yourself some money and some miles because that ain't exactly a revelation you're bringing to the table.
Max: I propose we work together to exterminate the vermin.
John laughs.
John: Yeah… and The Celtic Club will do just that. The picture is starting to clear up here. You got your ass beat by the Mecca and you figure Andy and Trig here were blindsided by those assholes so that means we would just jump at the opportunity to be your protection.
Max: Protection? No, I'm not here for protection. You guys are tough sons of bitches. In a fair fight, a bet on The Celtic Club is a smart bet on any day of the week. But there are no more fair fights. There's at least eight of them in The Mecca and they're probably only going to keep growing.
John: So there's us three, you, and Eoin… and I'd cast doubts about Eoin wanting to fight alongside you. I seem to recall you putting yourself somewhere you didn't belong and that didn't sit well with him. You should hear the curse words that he throws around when he talks about you!
The three Celtic Club members laugh.
John: So by your logic, the sides are a bit lopsided. Don't you think?
Max: You agree to work with me and the number of seats around this table will grow. Shaun Hart has made it abundantly clear that they're going to do everything in their power to fuck you out of that.
Max points to the IIW World Title without looking at it.
Max (continued): And it wouldn't hurt to have some more people looking out for you when that day inevitably arrives.
John picks the belt up off of the table and looks into it.
John: Because at the end of the day, this is what it's all about, right? Don't think you're the first to try to cozy up to a world champion in hopes of getting closer to the prize. I've seen it time and time again. You sit at my table and refuse to even glance upon this belt but we both know this is the end goal.
Max smiles and has a small laugh.
Max: John, I'd be lying to you if I said that I don't imagine myself holding that belt high over my head. That day will hopefully come someday but as of right now we got more pressing shit to deal with.
John pats the table as if he's doing a quick drum roll and starts to stand up.
John: Well I think it's time you hit the road. Thanks for the bottle. Me and the boys will enjoy every last drop.
Max looks baffled. He doesn't get up. John takes notice and his demeanor changes to one that could be perceived as aggressive if it continues down this path.
Max: Do me a favor, John. Close your eyes.
John gives Max a "what the fuck?" look. Andy and Trig get up out their seats and and prepare to hand out an ass kicking.
John: Excuse me?
Max: Close your eyes and imagine that belt over the shoulder of fucking Joe Montouri. Confetti rains down from above as him and Shaun Hart and the rest of the stooges celebrate how they just got one over on you. They stand above the broken bodies of The Celtic Club.
Like what you see?
Max (continued): I sure as fuck don't and that's the most likely outcome here if you decide to send me walking out that door right now.
Max stands up and makes his way over to the bar. He walks behind the bar and picks up a shot glass. Andy and Trig follow him over and they look like they really want to beat his ass but John stays at the table. Max comes back to the table and sits down once again. He grabs the three shot glasses from earlier and begins pouring more Jameson Rarest Vintage Reserve, filling four glasses in total. He talks as he pours.
Max: But take me up on my offer and you'll have an army behind you to even the odds.
John looks as if he can't believe Max had the balls to walk behind his bar and pour a shot of his whiskey. Max hands each Club member a shot then raises his shot glass into the air.
Max: Slàinte Mhath!
Andy and Trigger look at John to see how he responds. John nods and takes the shot and the others follow suit. John sits back down at the table.
John: What's in it for you?
Max looks at the IIW World Championship belt for the first time.
Max: You said that it's all about this right here. If you respect this belt and this industry as much as I think you do, you'll agree that this title will be forever tainted if J Mont and Shaun Hart get their grubby paw prints all over it. You're a fighting champion and this title should forever hold a long lineage of those who are willing to bust their asses and give every ounce of effort into propelling its legacy. I came within one throw of being next in line for this Championship and I'd like to think the both of us would have beat the living hell out of each other for it and then shake hands at the end of the match because that's what real fucking competitors do. It didn't happen at the Ice Crown Rumble so now I'm going to make sure that those three letters…
Max points to the IIW logo on the belt.
Max (continued): That those three letters don't represent rampant corruption and dog-shit wrestling that the Mecca strives for. I want this belt to be worth a damn when it's my time to fight for it.
Max stops talking and the Celtic Club are each looking at him intently. John reaches for the bottle of Jameson and we CUT TO the outside of The Blarney Stone, not privy to how this conversation progresses. A NEON GUINNESS BEER SIGN in the window flickers on and off.
THE NEXT DAY
We find ourselves watching a Guinness beer being perfectly poured into a pint glass. The foamy head barely creeps above the rim of the glass. The bartender hands the pint to Max and he admires the perfect pour.. We look around and see that we are inside an AIRPORT. The Dublin International Airport to be precise. Max takes a sip of the Guinness and some of the foam gets stuck in his mustache. He wipes it off and then goes into his bag on the floor and pulls out his cell phone. He puts it on the bar as he waits for it to complete the process of turning on.
Max: Excuse me.
The bartender turns around.
Max: Do you guys have Lyft out here?
The Bartender: Lyft? No, we don't have anything fancy like that here. We have Uber though.
Max looks confused.
Max: Alright, thank you.
The phone comes to life and is buzzing like crazy after being off for seven or so hours. Max notices that there is an abnormal amount of notifications on his phone. Upon seeing one of them, he starts laughing.
Max (to himself): Of course he did.
Max laughs some more and we see what he’s looking at on the phone. Wrestling articles.
Max browses through the gossip, rumor, and innuendo and he continues to drink his Guinness.
LATER
We find ourselves with Max in the back of a sedan. The DRIVER can’t stop smiling. Max takes notice.
Max: Good day, huh?
Driver: Sorry. When I heard IIW was coming to Dublin I was secretly hoping I’d be able to pick up one of the wrestlers and here we are.
Max: Right on, man. Glad you’re a fan. Are you going to the show?
Driver: I’m in the third row! Me and my friends are gonna be piss drunk screaming the entire time.
Max: I’ll see what I can do about moving you up a couple rows then.
Driver: No way! If you need help fighting off anyone, I’ll be in there man.
Max: No, no. Just enjoy from behind the rail. I got that part covered. Things might get messy.
Driver: Your call. I’m just saying if 8 blokes come out to try any funny business me and my friends can be in there in 2 seconds to even out the odds.
Max laughs.
Max: Actually it sounds like it’s 7 blokes now. You know Axel Shaw?
Driver: Oh yeah. Hell of a talent but he picked the wrong side. A bit of a shame he took that huge fall. The entire ring just fell apart when he hit it!
Max: Must have knocked some wires loose in his brain then. On the internet, everybody’s talking about how he threw a temper tantrum and quit the promotion.
Driver: Really? He looked like a rising star.
Max: Yeah I saw a lot of potential in him until he blindsided me. He showed a glimpse of his true colors when he did that and then now he’s shown the full fuckin’ rainbow spectrum.
The driver laughs.
Driver (to himself): This is so fucking cool.
Max: But you know else sucks? I said a few days ago that Bam Miller was the biggest coward of the group and now I’ve been proven wrong. A guy comes into the promotion, wows everyone, and then quits at the very first moment things don’t go his way? That’s some cowardly shit right there and apparently he’s done it before. But if you think about it, uh… sorry man I didn’t get your name.
Driver: Name’s Ronan.
Max: Ronan… strong name. I like it. A guy named Ronan wouldn’t do the yellow bellied shit that the Mecca prides themselves on.
Ronan laughs.
Max: Anyway, the more I think about it, the more it makes all the sense in the world. Axel made many mentions of being mentored by Joe Montouri and how he had been taken under his wing. I’ve been calling out J Mont as a fraud for months now and have long suspected that he would do something like this when the time comes where he doesn’t get his way. Maybe we’ll see it on Mayhem when one of the ATG boys takes the strap off of him and J Mont fades away, leaving a stain on the IIW that’s gonna take a long time to wash away.
Ronan laughs again in delight. This is the best day he’s had driving Uber.
Ronan: You really hate those guys, don't you?
Max: Can’t say I’m a fan.
Ronan: I know you hate Bam, Axel, J Mont, and Shaun… do you hate Fred as well?
Max: The way I feel about Fred will be revealed in due time. I beat him once but there’s still work to be done there.
Ronan: Well you gotta start with Bam, right?
Max: Gotta start with Bam. Bam ain’t a walk in the park. I have a feeling there’s gonna be a lot of blood spilled in this hardcore match and we’ll have to take ourselves to a place of brutality. If the Mecca vermin don’t get involved, I think Bam and I should give you and your friends something memorable. I’ve got a pretty good idea of who Bam is inside of that ring so I know that he’s gonna try to hit me with every weapon under the sun but the good thing is that I get to do the same.
Ronan: You were a great hardcore champion.
Max: Ronan, my friend… you’re probably the only one that thinks that but I do appreciate the sentiment.
The car pulls up in front of a hotel. Ronan gets out and pulls Max's bag from the trunk and hands it to them.
Ronan: Thanks for riding with me, man. Give ‘em hell on Monday!
Max: One down, seven to go…
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