EVERY WAKING HOUR
We find ourselves in an OFFICE. The room is very bright as the daylight pours in through the windows and makes the white walls even brighter. Two chairs face each other and one of them is occupied by MAX STONE. He looks around the room. Potted plants. Bookshelves filled with all sorts of important looking texts. One of those old digital clock radios wrapped in that fake wood grain that used to be on everything. The clock flashes 12:00 over and over again.
The door opens and in walks a TALL SKINNY woman dressed quite professionally. She has her jet black hair tied up in a bun. She smiles at Max and takes a seat across from him.
Woman: Hello again. How are you tonight?
Max looks annoyed at her question that she spoke with her soft voice that has just a touch of a Southern accent.
Max: I'm fine… I guess. Nice touch with the clock there.
Max shifts the woman's attention to the flashing clock.
Woman: Yes, I have been meaning to ask you about that. The countdown… the clocks… whatever happened with all of that? The last time we saw your clock was when it struck 12… and then nothing really happened.
Max scoffs and shakes his head.
Max: Nice try. You placed that in a nice convenient location well within sight to get me all wound up.
Woman: Why would I do that?
Max: Because you are an evil, evil woman.
We've seen enough to come to the conclusion that she is some kind of therapist and will now be referred to as such. Max doesn't seem to be the cooperative type.
Max: And I've told you before: you're not fooling me. This is all bullshit.
Therapist: Please elaborate.
Max: If this was real, would I be able to do THIS?
Max holds his hand up into the air and looks at the clock that's behind the therapist.
Therapist: What are you doing?
She grows increasingly nervous. Her eyes keep moving towards the door as if she's waiting for somebody to burst in and come to her rescue. Max extends his pointer finger towards the blinking clock and extends his thumb vertically.
Therapist: Please. I have to ask you not to do this.
Max: Pew.
Max shoots his pretend finger gun and the therapist SCREAMS as the clock radio EXPLODES into hundreds of pieces. Max laughs.
Max: Told ya.
She now just looks annoyed as she brushes little shards of plastic and circuit board off of her clothing.
Therapist: That was uncalled for!
Max places his thumbs in his ears and sticks his tongue out as the therapist deadpans his extremely childish taunt.
Therapist: I see we won't be making any progress tonight. Hopefully tomorrow you'll feel differently. And then you will finally say it out loud.
Max starts whistling a tune and stands up. He waves a sarcastic and animated goodbye then stands up. As he makes his exit from the room, he starts singing to himself.
Max (singing): Ha ha! Charade, you are!
[Max Stone is in the back at an IIW show until Michael Morrison stops him]
Michael Morrison: Max, on March 12th 2023 you will be facing Fred Debonair for the IIW U.K. Championship. He brutally attacked you on the last Monday Night Mayhem. Do you have any thoughts on the upcoming match?
Max Stone: You know, Michael, Fred beat me up real good at the last Mayhem but that makes me even more motivated to go out there and take that United Kingdom title away from him at Keys 2 Success!
Michael Morrison: Fred has been around the IIW for a long time and has been a great UK Champion. It's certainly going to be a challenge. Do you have what it takes to win?
Max Stone: I am more determined than I ever have been to go out there and win some more gold here in the IIW! I made the mistake of thinking Fred could realize that he's been going about things the wrong way and I paid a heavy price for that. Now my body may be broken but my spirit isn't and that's bad news for Fred Debonair!
Michael Morrison: You mentioned that your body is broken. Will that have an effect on how you can perform in the title match?
Max Stone: As all of my long time fans know, I've fought in so many matches where my body wasn't 100% and I've won most of them! Let me tell you something about Max Stone. Max Stone always gives it his all no matter how he's feeling and no matter who he's facing! That will be no different when I beat the crap out of Fred Debonair in front of 80,000 plus screaming fans at Wembley Stadium! Fred will be hurting and begging for the match to end and then I'm going to pick him up and drop him with the:
(the IIW fans join in the chant)
Max Stone: Re-ne-gade SPIKE!!!
Max Stone: But maybe Fred wants to meet someone else when we fight for that title.
(Max closes his eyes for a few moments and then re-opens them and he looks like he wants to fight right now.)
Max Stone| Maniac: Then he better be careful what he wishes for.
{Max stares at Michael Morrison and walks away}
Michael Morrison: Best of luck to Max Stone and we'll certainly be rooting for him to win the IIW UK Championship!
We're once again in the therapist's office. Max looks bored waiting but he's focused on one thing in the room and that's the same clock radio from before. This time it's blinking the time of -- MEMORY LOST -- and is held together by many strips of what looks to be white bandages. Some of the strips appear to have blood soaked through. The door opens up and in walks the Therapist. She points to the clock radio.
Therapist: It's been rough going but it seems to be healing nicely. Even something as fractured as that radio can be bound back together. You should remember that as you move forward.
Max: Duly noted. So where do we have to get to tonight in order for me to be done?
Therapist: All you have to do is speak it out loud and from there you can figure out the rest.
Max sighs and says nothing.
Therapist: I figured as much. How about we talk about that promotional piece you did for your upcoming match?
Max: What about it?
Therapist: You put on a mask pretending to be someone else. You're having some trouble being your authentic self these days aren't you?
Max: I thought it would be fun. The people seemed to like it.
Therapist: The people.. You've been doing a lot to make the people happy. You just have to be the big hero all of the time, don't you?
Max: People need someone to cheer for. Someone they can see some of themselves in as a reminder that we all don't have to be so cynical and negative all the time. You should try it, bitch.
Therapist: Always with the name calling. An outward projection of the anger you try so hard to hide when you dress up as people you're not and pretend to be the big hero. That very anger that manifests into the monster you try to run from. The monster you tried to hide but couldn't anymore and it cost you pieces of your life that you wish you could have back. The sooner you start to face the things you lock away, the freer you will become.
Max: I'm outta here.
Max starts singing to himself again as he makes his exit.
Max (singing): You're nearly a laugh, but you're really a cryyyyy—-eyeeyeeyeyeeeee.
Therapist: Same time tomorrow! Hopefully we make some real progress and you will finally tell me what my name is.
Unknown Location
March 2nd, 2023
—---------
The camera opens up to what looks to be the inside of an old building with walls made of stone. The room is filled with all types of dust covered antiquities. A man in a long black trench coat stands looking out a large window at the dark frigid night. The man taps a baseball bat on the window sill and begins to speak.
"The minutes are counting down until a battle of violent proportions will take place at Wembely Stadium in London. Two juggernauts will take center stage in an attempt to massacre one another with the hopes of walking away with both the IIW United Kingdom Championship as well as the right to say that they are the better competitor. Will that man be the reigning champion Fred Debonair? Or will it be…"
The man in the coat turns around and, in full black and white face paint, reveals himself to be Max Stone.
"Max Stone?"
He continues to tap his baseball bat on the window sill as he speaks.
"From the looks of it, one might say that I don't have a shot in hell of walking out the victor because I made a mistake. A mistake that put me in a situation that allowed me to get the shit kicked out of me. Admittedly it was one of the biggest blunders of my career and important lessons were learned. We all have our own reasons for getting into this profession but for most it begins as a passion. A passion to walk out to that ring and challenge not only your opponent but also yourself in the process. It’s a fire that should burn deep within everyone whose ever laced up a pair of wrestling boots and walked out from the back. It’s the daydreams you have when you imagine your future and all you hope to ever accomplish in this industry.”
Max is hitting the window sill harder and harder as he continues to speak. The echos reverberate throughout the room and down into the streets below.
"I saw a lot of similarities between Fred and myself when I came into the IIW. I saw a guy that was just as good as me, if not better, in the ring. I always thought we could go out there and put on a wrestling showcase the likes of which nobody has ever seen before around here. But in order to do that, I had to make an attempt to make Fred remember that passion and have him reconnect with why he does this in the first place. I had no interest in facing the Fred Debonair that had to rely on Shaun Hart abusing his power to help retain the UK title at Explosion. I didn’t want to fight the Fred whose primary concern was seeing how many shiny gold belts he could fit around his waist. I wanted to fight the Fred Debonair who defied all the odds and made a name for himself in spite of his father who did everything he could to hold him down. Surely we could be lucky enough to see him once again.”
Max sets the bat down on the window sill and takes a deep breath of the cold winter air.
“But that guy doesnt fucking exist anymore and I honestly don’t know if he ever did. I was foolish enough to think that Fred Debonair could have a shred of dignity and he smelled blood in the water then proceeded to play me like a fiddle. Now there will be no five-star technical showcase. There will be no articles written about how two guys in their 40s just showed the kids out there how this is done at this level. Our encounter at Keys 2 Success will be remembered for the pure violence that over 80,000 people witnessed live. Someone is going to walk away from this match with the IIW United Kingdom Championship belt and it will forever serve as a reminder of the deep corridors of hell they had to traverse to obtain it. This is the choice you have made, Fred."
Max picks up the baseball bat and paces around the room. He admires the antique furniture as he speaks further.
"I made the mistake of thinking you were too talented to stand among the Mecca like you so proudly do. Now I realize that at some point your scumbag friends are probably going to come help you out when it gets to the point where it's looking like you're reaching your end. After all, it's what you guys do when you're incapable of getting your shit done on your own. But I'm going to have someone in my corner and it ain't the Celtic Club. You see, Fred… you lock away things when it's inconvenient. Your kids are in that facility, locked away, because dear old dad just can't handle the fact that they might just be better than him. But I've got someone locked away too, only I keep him locked up because he's dangerous. You met him before when he dropped you on your head with that Tombstone but he's so much more dangerous now and he might have to make an appearance in London."
Max lifts the baseball bat and smashes an antique cabinet, breaking the glass facade. He slowly walks to another piece of furniture and breaks that into pieces with a few swings of the bat. He turns towards the camera and the black on his face paint has now turned red.
"And I am stronger than I have ever been in my decline."
Therapist: Do you think you're better off since the two of you started getting along?
Max: I don't hear a whole lot from him. He mostly keeps quiet but he did help get me to Germany a few weeks ago.
Therapist: And you harp so much on your opponents about how they can't get things done on their own and they win with the help of others. You haven't shut up about J Mont winning the rumble with Shaun helping. How is that any different from you tagging in a monster hellbent on destruction?
Max: He isn't "hellbent on destruction." He has a goal and he will stop at nothing to achieve it. And how is that even the same thing? One scenario is a guy who's in the spot he now finds himself in because the guy in charge set it up that way and the other is just me relying on myself….
The therapist starts to clap slowly.
Therapist: AND THERE IT IS! I'm actually shocked you said that. I admire this uncanny ability you have to take all incoming negative feelings and emotions and channel them all into a different person. And you've finally just admitted that the Maniac is indeed you.
Max scoffs and shakes his head.
Max: Wow, you really got me there. Good job… doc.
Therapist: He's been with you for a very long time serving that purpose. The Maniac is the Max that has manifested because you've created a system that allows you to be the happy-go-lucky hero while he bears all the weight. These manifestations are simply amazing. The Maniac, the woman who lives at the end of a mystical highway and cooks you food… and ME.
Max gets out of his seat and makes his way towards the door as he has the past few nights.
Therapist: There it is. Running from realities once again… Maxwell…
That hits him like a punch. He walks over to her seat and crouches down, staring her in the eye for what feels like an entire minute. Max smiles at her and starts singing.
Max (singing): You, fucked up old hag! Ha-ha, charade you are!
[Make sure those seat belts are buckled because you’re about to get knocked on your ass by a force so fast that people will exclaim to each other that it’s a bird or a plane. But this isn’t the hero that made his debut in Action Comics #1 on April 18, 1938. Today is March 3rd, 2023 and you’re about to be treated to another promo by the guy that’s gonna whoop Fred Debonair’s ass up and down the Wembley Stadium and snatch that United Kingdom Title. It’s not a bird! It’s not a plane! It’s Max fuckin’ Stone!]
[But before the big match at Wembley Stadium, the place that is six days from celebrating its 16th anniversary and was designed by architects Foster + Partners and HOK Sport, M Sto walks around the kitchen of his palatial estate butt ass naked because he’s Max Stone and he fuckin’ can, that’s why. M Sto opens up the fridge, which is made of solid gold because if you don’t have a solid gold fridge, you’re a loser and probably homeless anyway and nowhere near as financially gifted as M Sto.]
M Sto: Fuck, I’m awesome.
[Print that shit on a t-shirt and sell it for 30 bucks at the next show. Or since it’s in London, 25.13 Pounds and people will pay it because M Sto moves the needle around here. He shuffles around in his giant fridge filled with all sorts of delicacies a wrestler of his stature should have stocked. M Sto pulls out a carton of eggs so he could get to what’s behind them but he’s suddenly distracted by a ten outta ten broad standing in just a closed up bathrobe.]
Woman: Hey babe.
M Sto: AHOOOGA
[M Sto’s eyes bulge out of his head like a cartoon character and that causes him to drop the carton of eggs. In that instant, he slows down time because when you’re on top of the wrestling world, that’s one of the perks. He now knows what he must do and much like Victor Cruz, Odell Beckham Jr, and David Tyree, M Sto dives to the ground and makes an immaculate catch before the eggs hit the luxurious porcelain slab kitchen floor.]
Woman: Damn, babe. With moves like that, you’re sure to win the UK title!
M Sto: UK? Which one do you mean?
United Kingdom?
University of Kentucky?
Universala Kongreso?
Uttara Kannada?
Woman: What??
M Sto: That one is a district in the Indian state of Karnataka. It is bordered by the state of Goa and Belagavi District to the north, and Dharwad District and Haveri District to the east. Those are places you should be aware of if you wanna roll with the future CHAMP.
Woman: Oh baby, I love it when you talk Indian geography to me. Mix that in with the United Kingdom championship belt and you’ll really know how to drop these panties.
M Sto: It’s a guaranteed damn fact that I’m going to win that title! Let’s just say it will be my…
Ultimate
Konquest
M Sto: I can’t believe I’m this awesome AND I’m rich!
Woman: I’ve got an idea that involves me, you, and a six pack of Magnums.
[About an hour later, M Sto and his sizzling hot lady friend are under the covers and there are Magnum wrappers all over the bed. One is white, the other is almond and there’s even a double caramel. For those of you whose mind is still swimming around in the gutter, we’re talking about Ice Cream here and when you’re a number one contender, you don’t settle for no Klondike or Good Humor kind of bullshit… you go Magnum.]
M Sto: I can’t believe I’m famous, rich, awesome, and have this smoking hot broad next to me. This must be what it feels like to be Michael Jordan in his prime mixed with Wayne Gretsky, Tom Brady, and Tiger Woods mixed together. Those are all the greatest athletes in each sport and before you know it:
MAX STONE WILL TAKE HIS RIGHTFUL PLACE AMONG THE LEGENDS
M Sto: It’s destiny at this point! I prove week in and week out that I am the best goddamn wrestler that the IIW has ever had and if it weren’t for me, there would be no Monday Night Mayhem! There would be no Friday Night Combat! There would be no IIW at all because I’ve SAVED this place from going down the tubes! People are packing up and leaving because they can’t hold a candle to the greatness that I bring to that ring. And that’s a greatness that you can see
EVERY SINGLE MONDAY
EVERY SINGLE MONDAY
EVERY SINGLE MONDAY
EVERY SINGLE MONDAY
EVERY SINGLE MONDAY
EVERY SINGLE MONDAY
M Sto: FUCK I can’t help but amaze myself with how rich, awesome, sexually advanced, and incredible in the ring I am! I’m UNDEFEATED in singles competition and the only losses I have are the ones when third-rate little plebes are the ones getting pinned. I’ve never been pinned or submitted my entire time here in the IIW and I don’t plan on starting at Keys 2 Success!
Woman: Who did you say you’re facing again? Fred…
M Sto: Fred…. Fred…
Fred Flintstone
Fred Rogers
Fred Durst
Fred(die) Mercury
Fred Savage
Fred Jones
Fred Weasley
M Sto: Well YABBA DABBA DOO I’ll grab my caveman club and knock you around like you did to me because I wouldn’t ask you to BE MY NEIGHBOR then you’ll keep ROLLIN’ ROLLIN ROLLIN’ back up that ramp and back to your bitch-ass Mecca friends who are all UNDER PRESSURE after ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST and you’re all group-hugging it out longing for THE WONDER YEARS when your boys club ruled the roost! Then you can hop into your MYSTERY MACHINE and try to figure out if you ever had any real skill or if it was just all MYSTICAL TRICKERY!
[Max shoots out of the bed like Usain Bolt (born August 21, 1986 same birthday as the late great Kenny Rogers, famous singer and star of The Gambler movies) off the starting block. He goes to a mirror with a solid gold frame encrusted in large diamonds, the type of mirror that belongs to the real mother fuckin number one contenders, and admires his own reflection.]
M Sto: Babe, just look at this. This is what a real champion looks like and by this time in a few weeks, I'll have a beautiful title belt to gawk at as well. You know why?
Woman: Why is that babe?
M Sto: Because I'm in an entirely different stratosphere. Because I'm going to define that UK Title in a way that it's never been defined before. Because…
A CHAMPION NEEDS A MOTIVATION ABOVE AND BEYOND WINNING
THE PERSON THAT SAID WINNING ISN'T EVERYTHING NEVER WON ANYTHING
Max stares at the clock radio again but this time with rage in his eyes. It's still covered with bandages that have old blood stains on them.
Therapist: You've regressed. I thought we made such good progress last time where you finally admitted that you and the Maniac are one and the same and then you go off and play pretend again.
Max: Well it turns out I'm a head case, aren't I?
Therapist: And that's why we're here. To address why you do the things that you do.
Max: I'm a head case and you aren't a real doctor.
Therapist: Do you want to talk about it? What I am?
Max taps his foot on the floor.
Therapist: If you won't say my name, how about you start with what I am?
Max says nothing.
Therapist: C'mon, you can do it… Maxwell.
Max: Shut up.
Therapist: Are you gonna get up and walk away again?
Max slaps his hands on his knees.
Therapist: Ha-ha, charade you are!
Max goes to exit the room but the door is locked.
Max: Open the god damn door.
Therapist: We've played this game long enough, Maxwell.
Max: Open. The. Door.
He jiggles the door handle and nothing happens.
Therapist: The Maniac, the mystical highway people, and myself. Are you going to say my name, Maxwell?
Max: I said shut up.
Therapist: What are you going to do, Maxwell?
Just then, smoke starts to rise from a potted plant next to the therapist.
Therapist; Ah, you're going to burn it all down. I thought that was a staple of the Maniac's playbook.
The plant catches fire.
Therapist: But saying my name out loud admits that I am a manifestation of something you're angry about. Saying it makes you admit that you were foolish and short sighted. Say it, Maxwell.
Max PUNCHES the door and all of the books on the shelves COMBUST. The room starts to fill with smoke. The lights in the room shut off and the only light source is from the fire.
Therapist: I was surprised to see that it all took the form of the first person that ever learned about your broken mind. I've haunted your dreams every single night since it happened yet you just won't admit it!
The bookshelves FALL FORWARD and the flames erupt towards the ceiling.
Max whispers something inaudible.
Therapist: Was that it?
The CLOCK RADIO starts beeping loudly. Max looks over at it and the numbers are flashing and displaying garbage. The bandages holding it together are OOZING blood. Max starts coughing from smoke inhalation.
Max: I'M TIRED OF THIS SHIT.
The therapist just stares at him as the fire makes its way closer to her.
Max (yelling): Cindy Lee. Cindy Lee. CINDY LEE.
The therapist smiles and extends her arms out.
Cindy Lee: And it only took 5 nights! Ladies and gentlemen, Max Stone is a fucking crackpot!
Max: Get me the hell out of here!
Cindy Lee: I mean, the Maniac was already well into crazy territory but you get the living shit beat out of you with a baseball bat and that bat becomes a person who lives in your head?
Max: Shut the fuck up! I'm done with this shit!
Cindy Lee: You're angry. You're super pissed that you allowed yourself to get played by Fred Debonair and it got you beaten like you've never been beaten before! What hurt more, the force of the bat or the ripping of the flesh?
The room is now surrounded in flames. Max is covering his face with his shirt to prevent inhaling smoke. He extends his hand out and puts it in the shape of a finger gun.
Cindy Lee: Are you gonna actually do…
Max: Pew.
POP POP POP
Max FIRES three rounds into Cindy Lee and she collapses to the ground. He looks over at the clock radio and shoots that too for good measure. He jiggles the handle of the door once more but it's still locked. Max makes an attempt to shoot the door with his finger gun but nothing happens. He looks down at Cindy Lee but she's gone… replaced by a BARBED WIRE BASEBALL BAT. Max picks up the bat and starts SMASHING the door. With each smash he gets a FLASH of being struck with the bat a few nights ago in Paris and feels the pain throughout his body once again.
SMASH
SMASH
SMASH
The door is splitting apart and finally swings open. Max starts pulling the door apart, forging an exit and then...
Max is JOLTED awake. He looks over at the clock radio on the nightstand that shows that it's 3:33 AM. The radio plays a familiar tune.
Hey you, Whitehouse
Ha-ha, charade you are
You, house proud town mouse
Ha-ha, charade you are
Max hits the radio with the palm of his hand and the music stops. He gets out of the bed, revealing that he's covered in bandages that look to have fresh blood soaking through. He starts to make his way to the bathroom but he slips on something. He catches himself before he falls and sees that he tripped on a Magnum ice cream bar wrapper. He tosses it aside and enters the bathroom.
Max: Bloody hell.
Max has caught his reflection in the mirror. He reaches down on the countertop and picks up a new pack of bandages that are sitting next to accessories that he used to paint his face a few days ago. While looking at his reflection, Max closes his eyes for a few moments. He lets out what sounds like a growl and opens them up again and looks into his reflection.
Maniac: When you see him lying there, unable to move, unable to speak, bruised and broken, just remember that he chose this and you have nothing to feel bad about.