Post by jaythunder1 on Apr 22, 2013 13:50:08 GMT -5
OPENING SCENE
Our first scene begins with an overhead view of “America's Finest City,” San Diego. Petco Park, the site of the third annual Battle Finale, the first since PCW's return, rests proudly in almost the center of the picture. To it's left, the San Diego Convention Center, home to the festivities and meet-and-greets for the next two weeks. The sun peers down on everything in sight, baking everything like an oven as people walk along the beaches and streets, careless to the heat. The camera slowly begins to descend to the gate of Petco Park, keeping focus on the large white letters, outlined in bright red. After a few seconds, the camera turns around 180° to face Jay Thunder.
Jay Thunder: Look at me! The “yard-tard” that would never get anywhere, according to critics worldwide! Hey haters, tell ya what, here's my car-keys...
Jay holds up the keys to his dark-purple Audi R8, a smirk on his face.
Jay Thunder: Now listen carefully. I'm going to take these keys, go unlock the trunk, and I'm gonna get out the fucks I give about your opinions. Come on, follow me.
He motions the cameraman to follow close behind him as he walks to the front of the car, clicking a button on the key remote. The trunk opens slowly, revealing itself as empty.
Jay Thunder: What do ya' know? No fucks given! Now, back to the important matters at hand.
Jay slides the keys back into his right-hand pocket, closing the trunk with his left hand. He walks back to the nearest bench, taking a seat with his back turned to the sign.
Jay Thunder: This is it. Where it all comes to a head, where friends become enemies, enemies become friends, and everything in your life either goes backwards, or becomes perfect in every way...
Jay throws his arms out to his sides, smirking as the camera backs up, revealing the large front gate of the stadium behind Jay.
Jay Thunder: Petco Park. Home of the San Diego Padres...and the site of Battle Finale III. Michae- I mean, Syn. How's it feel? We both joined PCW at about the same time, and neither of us have had a main event match in a pay-per-view since we arrived. Now look at us; We're in the main event in the biggest fuckin' show of the year. We went from nothing, to something, in a hurry. How's that shitty song go? “Started from the bottom, now we here?” Whatever, rap fucking sucks either way.
But this match, Syn, it isn't about this...
Jay grabs the PCW World Heavyweight Championship from his backpack, holding it proudly in front of the camera.
Jay Thunder: No, it's not about that at all. It's about beating the living Hell out of each other, beating each other to a pulp in the middle of the very ring that will soon grace the field that sits behind me. We've been at each other's throats for much longer than the time I've held this belt. We've been tearing each other down outside of the ring for God-knows-how-long.
People claim the reason I took that opportunity I had against Cochrane was because you've gotten in my head, corrupted me. I'd like to dismiss that claim with a big “fuck you,” if you don't mind. I went for the chance I was given because, in reality, doing so gives me TWO chances at something I want. One; The World Championship. Two; Beating the shit out of you in front of a crowd, being able to brag about being the one you couldn't defeat, you couldn't destroy.
Your defense as to why you believe wholeheartedly that you will beat me is one I've heard thousands of times; “Better men then you have tried.” I've seen these matches, Syn. None of the competitors I've seen thus far are worthy to even be considered on my level, on our level. Those two World Championship victories of yours were basically handed to you on a silver platter.
In the past months, Syn, you've shown your true self to me. You've stalked me across the United States of America, watching me at every turn. By this point, I'm convinced you're obsessed with me. In fact, you've told me why you're so obsessed with me. You want me to join your little group, the Disciples of Syn. You think, after all of this, I'd even consider joining you and your lacqueys?
Hell no. I'd rather play cards with fucking Satan himself. I've teamed with your little brother Kai before, and that's the closest I'll ever get to you in a friendly manner. Understand me?
But this stalking you've done of me, Syn, has shown me your weaknesses and your strengths. The most obvious weakness you have being that left eye of yours. So torn up and damaged from one of your previous matches. A Taipei Death-match against “The Reaper” himself, Ryan Robinson, in WKF. You were about to lose when your brother jumped the ring-side wall and interfered. You were given the win on a technicality, Syn.
Then, later in that same night, you were given another win on a technicality; You were on the verge of losing, on the edge of that cliff... Until your opponent was distracted. Although this little interference didn't quite succeed, you were given a break. You won this match, and became the first WKF World Heavyweight Champion.
Jay takes a second to catch his breath, producing a slow clap in the process. Once he stops, he begins talking again.
Jay Thunder: If you couldn't tell, I'm not impressed. Syn, I've heard you told your group to stay backstage, that this is none of their business. I highly, HIGHLY doubt that. I doubt you just told them to leave you out there alone. I know what to expect out of you. I refuse to be distracted by outside interference, by the crowd, by anybody.
Syn, I got a date for you; April 27th. To the untrained eye, to the uneducated fan, I'm just repeating the day we meet for the second time in our careers. But no, I'm not reminding everyone, because everyone should know by now. I'm giving you a warning. Bring the best you've got, Syn, because April 27th is the day your life will be turned upside down in a single match.
For once, Syn, you've got the world on your side. You've got everyone expecting you to walk out of Battle Finale III the winner... But know this, Syn. All the doubt I have placed on my shoulders, all the people betting against me... This only fuels me to fight harder. This only fuels me to win. Expect the hardest fight of your life, Syn, because I will win this...
Even if it kills me.
Jay stands up from the bench, taking one last long stare into the camera. His face remains straight as a line as he gathers his backpack and the World Championship belt, heading towards his car. Opening the driver's side door, he tosses his stuff over to the passenger's side, before climbing in and starting the R8 up. He looks at the camera, shooting it a quick smirk, then he drives off to explore the city...
END SCENE
-_-_-_-_-_-
SCENE TWO
The second scene of today begins in a dimly-lit room. The dark room, only illuminated by the moonlight pouring in through the closed blinds, is as silent as can be. So silent you could hear a feather landing on the hardwood flooring. Camera pans around the room 360°, showing the ragged furniture, peeling wall-paper, and other visible evidence that this room has been long abandoned. The door, slightly open, makes a creaking noise each time even the gentlest of breezes catches it. The camera pans over to the door as it creaks open almost halfway. Sunlight pours into the room like water, and a shadow of a human becomes visible on the far wall. The camera backs up a bit, eventually ending up in the farthest corner from the door. As it opens, light continues filling the room while a person walks in. The first being followed by a second, the second being followed by a third, and so-on until a total of five people emerge from the doorway.
? ? ?: Sergeant, we're knee-deep in shit right now. Those fucking “things” have us surrounded, completely, and I don't think this house will hold them back.
? ? ? #2: Shut up, Private. We need to think up a plan, immediately, or else we're gonna be telling St Peter our life stories.
By now it's obvious these five men are infantrymen from the United States Army. The patches on their shoulders vary, indicating they've all been split from their initial units. The largest of the men, a man with a chiseled-and-toned appearance, stands above the rest as the highest ranking; A sergeant. Two of the men lean against the door, keeping it closed shut, as the two others alternate between the four windows in the room, watching outside.
Sergeant ? ? ?: Sitting here for an hour thinkin' up a plan won't do us much good, you maggots... We need to think fast, and get ready for a fight.
Private ? ? ?: Sir, there's hundreds of 'em in the woods outside... We must've alerted them on our way in.
Corporal ? ? ?: That's fuckin' great... Now we've got a hundred more of them to deal with. Do we even have enough fucking ammo?
Corporal ? ? ? #2: If we don't, we're screwed... Royally.
Sergeant ? ? ?: No shit, Hennings. Now, I want you and Reynolds over there to stockpile the ammo we do have, and do it quick. Waylo!
Private Waylo: Yes sir!
Sergeant McBee: You and Private Smith barricade the door while I get the windows. We need to act quick, boys, or we're all dead.
Squad: YES SIR!
After the squad sounds off, they immediately begin working on their given tasks. Corporal Hennings and Reynolds begin to unpack the ammunition boxes from their backpacks while stripping off their own ammunition. As Private Waylo and Smith barricade the door, the horde outside can be heard groaning louder, a sign they're getting closer. The adrenaline flows quickly through the infantrymen, until they finish their tasks.
Sergeant McBee: Good work! Hennings!
Corporal Hennings: Yes sir!
Sergeant McBee: How are we on munitions, soldier?
Corporal Hennings: Fourteen mags and two ACOG sights left for the M4A1s, three boxes left for Waylo's M249, and ten frags left.
Sergeant McBee: Any smoke 'nades for easy escape?
Private Waylo: If those things tailed us through an entire forest, do you think smoke will stop 'em?
Corporal Reynolds: He's right, sergeant. It'll just limit our line of sight... We'll be the ones at a disadvantage.
Sergeant McBee: And noise attracts these fuckers to us. So, with that said, what's the best POA?
Private Waylo: Our best plan-of-attack would be to camp out here until they either bust in, or go away. We can leave when it's clear enough and pick off the stragglers with our combat knives.
Sergeant McBee: Alright, that's the plan, then. Everybody with me and Waylo here?
Squad: YES SIR!
Sergeant McBee: Take up positions, boys! Let's get outta this shit-storm!
The five-man squad quickly takes camping positions away from the boarded-up windows, aiming right for the front door. The barricade keeps the slight creak to a minimum, as the groaning outside gets louder as time passes. Sergeant McBee points at the left-side window, the one closest to Waylo, as he spots two of the “things” walking around. Waylo holds his breath and waits for a few minutes, quiet as he can be, as the “things” walk past him. After about ten minutes, the sound disperses along with the horde...
Sergeant McBee: Waylo, Reynolds, is it clear?
Private Waylo: Looks clear on this end, sir...
Corporal Reynolds: Same over here, sir.
Sergeant McBee: Good. Let's get the fuck outta here. Hennings, take point. Smith, Waylo, Reynolds, follow me and him. Stay close. Only take necessary shots.
Squad: YES SIR!
Sergeant McBee gestures to the door, signaling to Hennings to take up his position. Once he has, McBee lines up behind him, followed by the rest of the mix-and-matched squad. Hennings peers out of the door quickly, taking a look at the surroundings to make sure there's no “things” lurking around. Once he's sure it's safe, he nods to the rest and begins off the opposite direction of where they came. The rest follow behind him, keeping keen eyes on the tree-line as they advance along an old dirt road.
Private Waylo: This shit is freaky, sir.
Corporal Reynolds: I agree... It's way too quiet out here. They couldn't have all gone that quickly...
Sergeant McBee: You better take your ass to that tree over there and knock on it three times, Reynolds. I don't want your shit jinxing us out here.
Private Smith: Yeah, Reynolds, shut the Hell up...
The group continues along the road, staying alert-and-vigilant. When they finally reach the end of this particular stretch, they all look around in horror. They now realize they've been lead down the Highway...to Hell. The scene that stands before them causes Corporal Reynolds to vomit as the rest look on in sheer horror; Downed UH-60 Black Hawks, former infantrymen like themselves laying on the ground, burnt and shot. The group continues forward, now seeing what the world has officially become.
Corporal Reynolds: Oh my fuckin' God, man, what the Hell is this!?
Sergeant McBee: I don't know, but I can only imagine this is what Hell looks like...
Sergeant McBee looks around at the remains of his fellow brothers-in-arms. Some lay motionless, black and unrecognizable from the fire that engulfed them. Others lay on the ground, missing limbs and organs. Sergeant McBee takes another step forward, without noticing the intestines of a downed soldier laying on the ground in a pile of blood and gore. When he hears the sound of it underneath his boot, he reluctantly looks down, only to vomit on the ground next to him. The squad slowly work their way through the mess they've walked into, before Waylo calls for them.
Private Waylo: Guys! I got a live one over here!
Sergeant McBee's eyes open wide when he hears the call from Waylo, quickly turning around and almost running to where he is. The hope McBee had quickly subsides when he spots the “live one.” The man before him lays in a pile of his own blood, holding his internal organs in weakly with his hands. His breathing sounds cracked and ragged as if he's struggling for breath. Blood drips from his mouth and his nose, and his left foot is barely attached to his leg. His intestines look as though they've been piled back into his stomach by hand, his ribs cracked and broken, and his heart pounding, visible through the gash. The man tries speaking, but only coughs up blood. Waylo looks up at McBee, as the sergeant looks away, obviously phased by the sight.
Private Waylo: We can't leave him here, sir... It... It's not right.
Sergeant McBee: I know, Waylo... But look at him... He's done for... He can't speak, he's almost missing his left foot, his guts are visible... If we pick him up, they'll fall out... We can't move him, so we can't help him...
Corporal Reynolds: Sir... I think it's best to show the poor guy mercy. He's in a lot of pain, obviously. We should just end his pain.
Private Waylo: No way... No! Fucking! Way! We can't kill another soldier like that!
Sergeant McBee: What other choice do we have, Waylo?
The private looks down at the soldier, who appears to be looking up at the three men with weakened eyes. Tears drip from his eyes, either from the pain or the sadness of knowing his life has come to an end. Seeing this brings Waylo to tears as well, as he salutes the down soldier one last time, before turning and walking away from the gruesome sight. McBee nods at Reynolds, and the two of them also salute the man. McBee pats Reynold's shoulder as he turns and walks away. As he walks away, a single gunshot can be heard. The sergeant stops in his place, saying a quick prayer, before he continues on, Reynolds and Waylo by his side.
Private Waylo: Was it... Was it the right thing to do, sir...?
Sergeant McBee: There's nothing we could have done for him, Waylo. The world is different today than it was a month or two ago, that's for sure... But we have to adapt. We're alone out here now, and I'm damn sure not going to let what happened to him, happen to us.
Private Waylo: If you say so, sergeant...
Corporal Reynolds: Waylo, dude, you crying?
Reynolds and McBee look over at the young private, who is visibly shaken by the ordeal. Tears run down his cheeks as he walks alongside the two higher-ranks. Sergeant McBee shakes his head, feeling sorry for the soldier. Reynolds frowns, but says nothing.
Sergeant McBee: Tell ya' what, Waylo. When we find somewhere safe, we'll hunker down and get some breakfast. Alright?
The private can do nothing but nod slowly as McBee places a hand on his shoulder. They continue on down the path, followed by Smith and Hennings, who, too, have been shaken up by the scene. The squad continue on past the “graveyard,” to an abandoned town up ahead. They approach the sign, stopping to see what it says. McBee knows the place; Gibbs, Knoxville, Tennessee. He lived less than twenty minutes away as a kid. But the sign before him doesn't read the usual friendly “Welcome To Gibbs!” It reads the rather harsh message, painted in blood over the original one, “Welcome to HELL.” McBee shakes his head, before turning and continuing through the burning town with his four men, his four brothers-in-arms. Passing hotels that have been entirely abandoned, the shattered remains of what was once the windows laying on the concrete below. The groaning of the “things” begins again, further away this time.
Sergeant McBee: You hear 'em?
Private Waylo: I wish I hadn't... The hotel looks safe, sir. Can we wait until morning in there?
Private Smith: Good idea, Waylo.
Corporal Reynolds: I'm up for some sleep.
Sergeant McBee: Then it's unanimous. Let's get in there, hurry. I don't wanna be out here when those fuckers show up.
The four nod as they follow McBee into the hotel. They move through the garbage-littered halls and lobbies slowly and cautiously, looking out for anything that may be a threat. As they're walking, McBee jumps when he hears a thud behind him. He quickly turns around, gun aimed downrange, when he realizes it was only Waylo tripping over something. Upon closer examination, once Waylo is back to his feet, they see the “something” is the remains of another human. This one, unlike the others who died in a helicopter crash, looks to have been eaten. The large torso-sized gash from his stomach to his chest reveals every organ, except for the few that are missing. His intestines look like they were ripped out by hand, and chewed on by an animal. His heart lays in his lap, only half of it remaining. His ribs have been ripped apart like a door off it's hinges. His stomach is missing, along with a few others.
Private Smith: My God...
Corporal Reynolds: What the fuck happened to this guy?
Sergeant McBee: Looks like a cannibal got him...
Private Waylo: ...Or one of those “things”... Look!
Waylo stands by a window, peeking out at one of the “things,” knelt down in the middle of the road. The light-post nearby reveals what he's knelt down next to; A dead woman. They watch as the “thing” rips apart the woman's stomach by hand, feasting on her innards. The horrifying scene reminds them exactly of the dead man behind them.
Sergeant McBee: Christ's sake... These fuckers are cannibals, too?
Private Waylo: This is getting weird, sir...
Sergeant McBee: I agree... Come on, let's try and move this guy over here. Maybe we can get into the room behind him.
Private Smith: Uh, sir...! He's...uh...he's gone!
McBee and Waylo look over to where they found the deceased man, and their eyes immediately bulge almost out of their skulls; The man is gone, as if he got up and walked away. The squad looks around for him, near the point of freaking out.
Private Waylo: What the fuck! He was dead, dude! How could he have got up and walked off?
Sergeant McBee: I don't know, Waylo, but- Oh SHIT! Waylo, duck! Now!
As soon as he gets the command, Waylo dives forward. The man they thought was dead now stands before McBee, his organs in a trail behind him. He begins to groan like the “things,” as he limps towards the private and sergeant. McBee quickly raises his weapon, firing a single shot into the walking dead-man's arm, to no avail. Another to his leg. Nothing. He finally takes aim and fires one into his forehead, dropping the “thing” as soon as the bullet passes through his skull. McBee looks down at Waylo's eyes, wide as oranges, as the rest of the squad calms down. He lets his gun fall to hi side, sighing
Private Waylo: Oh my God, sir... You saved my fuckin' life from that... Whatever the hell THAT was...
Sergeant McBee: Don't mention it, Waylo... Get on your feet, c'mon. We gotta get to the roof. I got a feeling that's the only safe place out here right now... Anyone got flares?
Corporal Reynolds: I got one, sir.
Sergeant McBee: Good, we're gonna need it. Let's go, follow me!
Before the group can respond, McBee sets off for the roof, half-sprinting. They approach the nearest elevator, click the button, and...nothing. They continue down the dark hall-way, checking every elevator; nothing. Finally, they settle on the fire-escape stairwell at the end of the hall-way, walking up the long set of stairs to the roof. Once there, Reynolds lights his flare and tosses it to the middle of the roof, illuminating it almost entirely. The squad barricade the door with anything they can find, before sitting down in a circle around the flare. The journey, long and tiring, is far from over for these five brave infantrymen... The camera pans away from them as it fades to black. Once the screen is blacked-out, snoring can be heard. Jay Thunder is now revealed to be laying in his tour-bus bed during the drive to San Diego, sleeping peacefully. The scene ends with a view from Jay's main window, looking out at the beaches...
END SCENE
-_-_-_-_-_-
SCENE THREE
Our third scene of today begins with “The Fighter” by Gym Class Heroes feat. Ryan Tedder playing over what sounds like a loudspeaker or a surround-sound system. The video begins to start as the music first verse hits. As Travie McCoy begins to rap, the distinct sound of fists slamming into the leather of a punching bag can be heard in the background. As the camera moves throughout the large gym, the thudding gets louder and louder, before it sounds as if it's right behind the camera. The camera swings around 180° to show the source of the sound; A focused and determined Jay Thunder. He stands in a boxing stance of sorts, slamming his fists into the bag as hard as he can, as beads of sweat drip from his forehead, torso, everywhere. He continues to punch the bag, at a steady pace, as the camera pans around the bag, showing him swinging from every angle. Once the camera reaches the sides, the fire in his eyes can be seen clearly as he destroys the leather with his bare-fists. As he continues swinging at the bag, the large metal double-doors towards the front of the gym slam shut, and a familiar voice is heard calling to Jay.
? ? ?: Hey! McBee!
The voice echos throughout the small gym, causing Jay to flinch a tad as he comes back down to Earth. He lowers his fists, takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. Before he turns towards the source of the voice, he backs away a bit then snaps forward, performing a new move he had recently learned; A tornado kick. The thud it creates rings out through the whole building, as he turns towards the person behind him. As soon as he gets a good look at the person, his eyes widen.
Jay Thunder: Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch... How the Hell you get to San Diego?
The camera turns to the person, who stands in front of Jay with a smirk on his face. The person stands about Jay's height, with almost the same build as him. His hair is cut like that of an airman's; Short on the top, little-to-none on the sides and back. As the evidence all stacks up, the person is soon revealed as Jay Thunder's older brother, Aaron McBee.
Aaron McBee: Well, I heard Battle Finale's comin' up soon. I decided to take my leave and bring the family down here for a week to see you compete, little man.
Jay Thunder: Great, now I got another critic in the stands, huh?
Aaron McBee: Fuck no. I'm wanting you to win it.
Jay Thunder: You're not my real brother.
Aaron McBee: Wanna bet? Remember the day I choke-slammed you off our grandparent's back porch? Yeah, it's me.
Jay Thunder: Well, why are you wanting me to win?
Aaron McBee: Because I know that belt means a lot to ya', and this HAS been your dream for so long now. I want my younger bro to be happy.
Jay Thunder: That's a new one, haha.
Aaron McBee: Maybe I've never said it because when we lived at our grandparent's house, you were a total annoyance.
Jay Thunder: How? Half the time I was in the backyard doing shows!
Aaron McBee: And you never invited me back there! I was always standing in my room watching this neighborhood wrestling shit goin' down and you not once asked if I wanted to join!
Jay Thunder: Shit, I'm sorry. You never showed any interest in wrestling aside from watching it on TV, and that was it for the most part.
Aaron McBee: I guess being secretive was my down-side, huh?
Jay laughs a bit and extends his arm forward to his brother. Aaron looks around the gym a bit, before shrugging and smacking Jay's hand away, hugging him instead. Once the two are done with their brotherly hug, Jay grabs a towel and sits on the nearest bench, tired from his extreme workout.
Aaron McBee: You okay?
Jay Thunder: Just fine. You've never seen me working so hard, have ya'?
Aaron McBee: Well, I have actually. Those last few shows of KBW when all sorts of scouts showed up and shit.
Jay Thunder: Don't fuckin' remind me, dude... I worked my ass off that week, for nothing! Douche-bags...
Aaron McBee: Easy, killer.
Jay Thunder: Sorry bro. Thinkin' about them piss me off.
Aaron McBee: I understand why, those guys were douche-bags.
Jay looks up at the roof, taking a deep breath and yawning. Grabbing his cell-phone from nearby, he nods when he realizes he's been at work for almost an hour and a half already. He stands up, wallet in hand, and walks over to the Gatorade vending machine nearby. He turns to his brother, and speaks again.
Jay Thunder: Want anything, bro?
Aaron McBee: A Mountain Dew is fine for me.
Jay Thunder: Alright.
Jay turns back to the machine, getting a Gatorade 03 “Recover” for protein, then a Mountain Dew for his brother. He tosses it to him, and sits down on the bench, opening his own drink.
Aaron McBee: Hey man, you know these things fizz like a motherfucker! Don't toss it like that.
Jay Thunder: Suck my dick, I'll do what I want.
Aaron remains silent as Jay takes a drink from his Gatorade, gulping down almost half of it in about five seconds. He sets the bottle next to him as he throws on his new “Dark Horse” t-shirt, still catching his breath slightly. He looks up at his brother, who still stands in front of him, silent.
Aaron McBee: Show me some respect, bitch.
Jay Thunder[sarcastically]: Sorry, Airman McBee. I'll try to respect ya' next time.
Aaron's face shows a bit of anger, but he blows it off. He sits next to Jay, before finally getting a good whiff of the gym's smell.
Aaron McBee: Goddamn! It smells like dog shit in here, dude!
Jay Thunder: You'll get used to it. After days spent in a gym training non-stop, you forget all about the smell.
Aaron McBee: I sure as Hell hope so.
Jay Thunder: C'mon, I was about to head to the convention center downtown for some autograph signings. You wanna tag along?
Aaron McBee: Anything to get outta this place. Smells like ass in here!
Jay Thunder: Ah shut up and come on.
Aaron McBee: What'd I say about respect, boy?
Jay rolls his eyes, and picks up the Gatorade to finish it. He stands up, walking to the double-doors, tossing his trash in the recycling bin, and heading for his car. Aaron stays close behind, sipping at his drink as they climb into Jay's Audi R8. Jay begins driving towards the San Diego Convention Center as he and his brother catch up and reminisce on childhood memories.
Jay Thunder: So how's the Air Force?
Aaron McBee: You oughta know, dude. I've been in for over ten years.
Jay Thunder: And I've also been traveling the world. It's hard to remember a lot of shit, bro.
Aaron McBee: Point taken, but you're still a forgetful cunt.
Jay Thunder: Whatever helps ya' sleep at night.
Aaron McBee: Damn, I missed these arguments. Fun shit, I tell ya'.
Jay Thunder: Indeed.
Jay continues driving as Aaron looks out his window at the blue sky, then the skyscrapers around the city. Skateboarders roll down the sidewalks on their wooden boards, showing off for any attractive girls they see. One wipes out while attempting a heelflip, causing Aaron to burst out laughing. He watches as the girls laugh at the teenager, who sits on his ass, obviously about to break down and cry. He turns to Jay and the two begin talking back-and-forth as the screen goes black...
END SCENE
-_-_-_-_-_-
FINAL SCENE
Our final scene begins with a shot of a burning warehouse. As the many firefighters continue their efforts to stop, or at least weaken, the blaze, a maniacal laughter begins in the background. After the laugh ends, heavy footsteps can be heard getting closer to the bi-pod on which the camera lays. The laugh continues again, almost as quiet as a chuckle this time around. The camera is picked up and turned around 180° to be directed at a masked face. The man wears the same mask that has been stolen from Syn recently, and blood is visible on his hands and knuckles. This picture slowly fades away, as it changes to a video of Jay Thunder wearing the same mask, sitting in a pitch-black room. The only light comes from a small lightbulb, hanging even barely by a thread from the roof. Extreme anger and hatred is visible in Jay's eyes, his fists clenched tightly, as he begins to speak. The emotion in his voice is tripled that of previous times he's spoke of Syn, even higher than that of when he spoke of Fallon Reeves.
Jay Thunder: Michael. You've done the worst thing you could have ever done. You've just signed your own fucking death note, and you've dug your own fucking grave. What the shell-of-a-man Fallon did, is nothing compared to what you've done today...
Jay removes the mask, showing the emotional look on his face as a whole.
You sent a second clown of yours to Knoxville, my hometown, to do something horrible; Dig up my mother and father's caskets, from their resting place. I don't know if you specifically ordered him to do so, or he did it on his own free will... But the fact that you even sent him. That's enough of a reason for me to want you dead.
You could've told him to do anything, anything at all. You could have told him to find my friends and the living remainder of my family, and kill them all. You could have had him bring them all back so you could torture them... You could have done ANYTHING!
But you know. You know how deeply I care for my mother and father. You know, by doing something like this, you'd get in my head, piss me off, and hopefully cause me to make a mistake. Michael, you're dead-wrong. You can do anything to me right now, my friend. Nothing will get to me to the point that I lose at Battle Finale III.
...I've been accused of saying that old match at THW, against Marina Valdivia, was the most important match of my life, that winning that belt would have been better than winning PCW's World Championship. That's wrong. PCW is my home, my life, and my family, figuratively. This match at Battle Finale is the biggest match of my career thus far, and possibly the biggest match I will ever have in my career.
Michael, I've already made my decision. At Battle Finale III, you will die. Regardless of whether I win or lose, you will not walk out of there. You will not survive. You will be taken out of Petco Park in a Hearst.
Michael Rollins, you're on your way to your next destination; Six feet under. Get ready.
(Good luck Tom, ya' cunt.
)