Post by gzavadak on Apr 24, 2013 22:59:08 GMT -5
Scene One – Redemption County Jail, Redemption, Alabama – Six Months Ago
“The Shared Origin of Harbinger and Pestilence”
The scene opens to a rural dirt road. The surrounding terrain is very dusty, with a few sneaking shrubs populating each side. At the end of the road, sits an old, dilapidating wooden building. The wood is very weathered, showing the age and abuse sustained throughout the building’s existence. From the first floor roof sits a sign, proclaiming in faded black paint that any travelers have arrived at the “Redemption County Jailhouse.” The building lacks a proper sort of accompanying parking spots, with only a few worn in patches of grass beside the building to indicate their previous use.
Dust begins to kick up down the road, as a familiar white limo with the heavily distinguishable black crucifix is seen over the edge of the horizon. The limo continues moving until it reaches the front of the jailhouse. Upon stopping, the back passenger door opens, and out walks the PCW Platinum Champion, “The Evangelist” Jerry Matthews and his spiritual liaison, Deacon Jeremiah. Matthews is wearing his usual white suit and black shirt, while Jeremiah is wearing his black suit and white shirt and his usual black shades. The two walk up on the front landing of the jailhouse, and walk in through the front door.
Upon entering the jailhouse, the two find themselves in a rather humble office. In the middle of the office sits a metal folding table, which serves as a makeshift desk. Behind the desk, sits a rather rotund man, sporting a gray cowboy hat, and the tan uniforms associated with Georgia state troopers. The man has his feet up on the table, and is currently in the middle of a phone call. Upon noticing the presence of his two new guests, he quickly finishes up his phone call, and sits up in his seat. His chest bears a badge in the shape of a star. The badge is simply marked ‘Sheriff.’
Matthews and Jeremiah grab a seat in two chairs right across the table from the Georgia lawman. The man looks the pair up and down skeptically, before bursting into a series of raucous laughter. Matthews does the same, and soon the two men are up and exchanging a brief hug, and both utter greetings of nostalgia and friendship.
Lawman: My good Reverend, how are you? It has been quite some time,
Matthews: No doubt, brother, no doubt. It’s always nice to know that I can on you whenever I need to deal with the bureaucracy of the state corrections system, I have Sheriff Lee Robert Whitcomb to make things all the easier.
Whitcomb nods his head in agreement.
Whitcomb: I must admit, Reverend, I was a little surprised by the exact nature of your phone call.
Matthews: What exactly about the call did you find surprising?
Whitcomb: Well, it’s not often that someone asks me to go out of the way to obtain the type of men you inquired about. Not that it’s any of my business, but what did you have in mind for these men?
Matthews: Re-education, Sheriff. Re-education. Only then can I have the necessary muscle I need to exercise dominance over Premium Championship Wrestling. What kind of muscle can I count on you for?
Whitcomb: Two real sons of mothers, these two are. Why don’t you see for yourself?
Whitcomb leans over and picks up two rather thick case files off of the office floor. He slides both in the direction of Matthews over his makeshift desk. Matthews takes the files and he opens the one on top.
Upon examination, Matthews comes to look at a prison inmate named Ronald Wilson. Mr. Wilson’s shaven head had clearly caught the gleam of the flash when the picture was taken. Wilson is also sporting a particularly nasty pair of black eyes. The man has been serving a ten to fifteen year sentence for several counts of aggravated assault related to a particularly chaotic night where he needed to be subdued by seven officers.
Matthews looks up to Jeremiah, and nods in agreement. He then proceeds to open the second file folder, the criminal case file of Bertram Hockenberry, Jr. Hockenberry had at one time served overseas in the Second Iraq War as a corporal, and that he had been highly decorated for several acts of bravery. However, the former war hero ended up behind bars within weeks in a mental breakdown that shared many similar symptoms as the post-tramautic stress disorder that marked so many of his comrades. The man had been unemployed, and did whatever odd jobs that he could to get by, until he wasn’t paid one winter evening in what he deemed to be a suitable time by a fragile elderly 75 year old woman for shoveling her walk. Hockenberry proceeded to rob her and beat her to the point where she was knocked into a vegetative state, much similar to the circumstances that would come to Bella Brooks-Robinson a half year into the future.
Matthews looks up with a sick smile on his face. He rubs his hands together with much excitement, and thrust his right hand out to his uniformed friend.
Matthews: Sheriff, you most definitely have a deal. Can I see what condition they are in?
Whitcomb: Of course, my friend. Let me go get the keys.
Whitcomb gets up and walks over to the far wall. He comes to a stop in front of a key hook, on which a single brass ring with two keys hangs currently. He picks the key ring off of the door, and motions for Matthews and Jeremiah to follow him. Whitcomb inserts the correct key into the lock on the door next to the hook on the wall. The lock clicks, and Whitcomb slowly opens the door. Matthews and Jeremiah keep a few feet behind him and follow his lead.
Whitcomb and the Christian duo end up in the next room, which is dimly lit by a few half-burning light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The room consists of one hallway running about 100 feet back. On either side of the hallway sits rows of prison cells, about six on each side. Whitcomb pulls out a night stick, and begins to run the instrument along the metal prison bars, the room becoming filled with the percussive clanging.
The trio comes to a stop in front of two cells standing directly beside each other. The cell on the left contains Ronald Wilson, who is wearing his prison orange and has his ankles chained together. He is seated against the wall and is taking the final hit of a rolled cigarette. He blows the smoke directly in the preacher’s direction, and then follows that up by flicking the butt in the same direction, though he comes up far short of his target. The cell on the right contains Bertram Hockenberry. Hockenberry is curled up on the floor in a fetal position. He is shaking very violently back and forth. Whitcomb smacks his night stick off of one the cell’s bars. In a matter of split seconds, Matthews finds Hockenberry on his feet without seemingly touching the ground. He runs towards the bars, and clutches two tightly with his hands. His eyes scoot around in various directions, indicating a clear sense of mental delusion.
Matthews nods his head again to Whitcomb. Whitcomb walks forward and grabs the pastor’s hand. The pair exchange a strong handshake.
Whitcomb: Will I be able to find your usual campaign donation in my account if I take look?
Matthews: You know it, Lee. The usual, plus a whole lot more. I know you had to go through quite the amount of trouble to acquire these two, so I’ve tripled the donation this time around. Will you still handle transport?
Whitcomb: Of course, Reverend, of course. I assume you know the way out.
Matthews: Yes, of course. And, Lee, you can count on me getting this dangerous duo back to you as soon as they have fulfilled their purpose. I wouldn’t want the press catching wind of our little deal. Both of us stand to lose far too much publicly. Either way, you will have my and Jeremiah’s prayers for a swift landslide of a reelection victory.
Whitcomb: Why, thank you, Jerry. It’s much appreciated.
Matthews and Whitcomb exchange another handshake, and Matthews turns around and heads out of the room with Jeremiah in tow. Whitcomb puts two of his fingers to his mouth, and makes a loud whistle. Four deputies appear as if from nowhere, as Whitcomb unlocks the first cell. The four deputies run in and deliver a harsh beating to Wilson, who screams in pain after his attempts at self-defense are fruitless. Hockenberry is given the same treatment as the scene then fades to black.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scene Two – UC San Diego Medical Center Intensive Care Unit, Room 330, Yesterday
“The Right to End All Misery”
The scene opens to a familiar hospital room in the ICU of the UC San Diego Medical Center. Four men dressed in hospital scrubs and plastic facemasks walk up to the door. The lead doctor peers through the window in the door of the patient’s room, and notices no signs of movement. He then slowly turns the door know so as not to make a sound. The four then silently make their way into the room, which is eerily quiet except for the sounds of abbreviated breathing made by the foursome and the constant rhythmic beep of the machinery currently supplying life to the patient. As the four doctors gather around the patient’s bed, it becomes abundantly clear that as the camera zooms in on the patient’s face that the woman lying in the bed hooked up to machines is none other than Bella Brooks-Robinson. The four doctors then remove their surgical masks and their identities are revealed as the members of the Saints of Veritas.
Matthews reaches into the inside of his scrubs, and pulls out an ornate metal crucifix. He then motions to Jeremiah, Harbinger and Pestilence and asks them to take up strategic positions around the bed. Each man eventually ends up standing at one of the directions as would be marked by a compass. Matthews then begins to speak in a slow and almost contemplative tone.
Matthews: Deacon, Brother Harbinger, and Brother Pestilence, today we are gathered here in the UC San Diego Medical Center to mark the momentous occasion that looms before us this Saturday at Battle Finale III in Petco Park. And, we are also gathered here to mark the life of Bella Brooks-Robinson, and to lament her life’s achievements and happenings. Please, I urge each and every one of you to respect the solemnity that this occasion represents. Especially because we have such an important night of work ahead of us in the near future.
Dear Lord, I, in my professional capacity as one of your most trusted servants, along with my fellow members of the faithful, would ask that you have the fullest mercy on the soul of Bella Brooks-Robinson, a soul that had so much promise and potential until the misfortunate shot to the head she received from her autistic bastard of a husband, Ryan “The Reaper” Robinson. While Bella may not have been perfect, for her spirit proved to be easily corrupted by the questionable and sinful company that she chose to keep, she was cannot be considered responsible for the conduct of her husband the rest of his kin. For, Bella was nothing but a poor, innocent girl that got mixed up with the wrong crowd, one who had the blessing of not coming from Reaper’s cesspool of a bloodline.
Dear Lord, I would like to close this prayer and this ever too brief memorial by leading the four of us to pray, in the way that you taught us in the New Testament of your Good Book:
Matthews, Jeremiah, Harbinger and Pestilence all join hands in a circle over the prone form of Bella. They then begin to utter the words of the Lord’s Prayer.
“Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the power, the honor, and the glory forever. Amen.”
The four conclude the prayer simultaneously. The members of the Saints then each cross themselves slowly. Matthews leans down over Bella’s head, which is wedged upward by a bed pillow, and her mouth is marked by a number of breathing apparatuses supplying her still lungs with air. Matthews brings the side of his hand down and brushes his fingers against Bella’s pale left cheek. He then shakes his head in disgust, and leans down and kisses her icy cold forehead. He then reaches over to one of the machines keeping track of Bella’s heart beat. His left hand goes behind the machine, and he pulls the plug out of its socket, and the lights on the machine go out. The constant hum of the air being supplied to Bella’s lungs stops, and the rhythmic beeping has turned into a constant whine, indicating that Bella’s heart has stopped. The members of the Saints choose this moment to make a timely and hurried exit. Each man puts his surgical mask back on, and head out of the door. A few moments later, a male orderly comes into the room, perhaps seeking to change Bella’s sheets or something of the like. He notices the whining, and quickly checks on the machines next to Bella’s hospital bed. He notices a plug hanging out of the wall, and he quickly seeks to plug it back in. He then shouts for the nearest nurse or doctor to hurry as they are needed. A doctor and two nurses hurry into the room shortly thereafter, and begin to check Bella’s each and every vital sign before she comes to stabilize and the scene fades to black.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scene 3 – Petco Park, San Diego, California, PCW Platinum Championship Match
“Remaining Ever Mindful”
The scene opens to an ongoing match occurring during PCW’s biggest show of the year, Battle Finale III. The thousands of attendees for the event are enjoying quite the warm spring day, and are equally enthralled in the match taking place. The camera pans in to see the prone forms of Ryan “The Reaper” Robinson and “The Evangelist” Jerry Matthews lying on opposite ends of the ring. Both men’s bodies are marked all over by various different bruises and cuts, each having clearly taken quite the beating in the booked Street Fight. Matthews and Reaper’s chests are both moving up and down extremely slowly, each man being extremely fatigued and near the point of running on fumes.
Desiree Miles: What a match these people are witnessing, Taint. Between the insane, delusional preacher and the autistic dark magician, both have thrown everything but the kitchen sink at the other, but neither man has been pinned or tapped out.
Shannon Saint: You’re damn right, Desiree!! This match had all the makings of an instant classic, which I hate to admit given that the retard is in it. But, no matter who wins this one, their name will definitely go down in the annals of PCW history.
Matthews and Reaper both begin to stir. Each begins to reach out for the bottom rope in far and opposite corners. Matthews is slightly ahead of Reaper in getting to his feet first, but he must use the top turnbuckle to prevent himself from collapsing to the canvass. Reaper is in a much similar state, just as worse for wear, but he also succeeds in pulling himself to his feet. Both men come to rest their arms over the top rope of their respective corners, and each shares a look of rugged determination and sheer willingness to continue, even though the body’s willingness may have long ago surpassed that of the mind.
Matthews and Reaper begin to exchange bitter insults as both seek to regain whatever small amounts of energy they can.
Desiree Miles: Even after all of the punishment these two have doled out to each other, these men have not let their personal hatred for the other to be forgotten. The fact that they’re still talking shit to each other exemplifies that reality.
Shannon Saint: You better watch out, Desiree. Matthews is about to put the finishing touches in his final destruction of Raper. Hahahaha..
Desiree Miles: It’s REAPER, Taint. And you had better make sure that you don’t underestimate him. He is the only man to ever cleanly pin the champ, and he is more than capable of pulling this one out.
Saint begins to laugh nervously, showing his fear that Desiree speaks nothing short of the truth. By now, Matthews and Reaper begin to stumble towards each other in the center of the ring. Matthews and Reaper come to stop within a few inches of each other. Matthews rears back and nails Reaper with a hard right hand. Reaper’s head is rocked back on impact, but he shakes it off as best he can and delivers a counter volley to Matthews. Matthews nails Reaper with another right hand, and Reaper is knocked back into the ropes. He bounces off of the ropes and is nailed by a fierce big boot from Matthews, who then falls to his knees and he continues to breath heavily.
Desiree Miles: Matthews might have just succeeded in kicking Reaper’s teeth down his throat!! What a vicious shot there by the champ.
Shannon Saint: Go Jerry, make sure we never have to watch the retard again.
Desiree Miles: Someday, Taint, I will look forward to seeing you burn in hell. Who knows, maybe Jerry himself will make sure you get there.
The loud and unmistakable sound of a nervous swallow plays over Saint’s headphones as he contemplates such a fate.
Matthews sits straight up following his big boot, notices that Reaper is down and motionless, and he raises his arms victoriously. He then brings his right thumb across his throat, in a gesture that may be signaling the near end of the match.
Shannon Saint: Hooray, Matthews signaling for the end here!! Bury him, Jerry, so that Reaper pays for all the evils he’s committed.
Desiree Miles: If you mean providing an unrelenting care to your sister who had to endure the social pressures of living silently as a homosexual, and a constant, undying love for his wife, then sure, I guess Ryan is a real bastard!!
Matthews slowly rises to his feet. He grabs Reaper by the hair, and brings him upright. Matthews picks up Reaper and brings him to rest on his left shoulder. Matthews lets out a deep breath, and begins a running charge and brings Reaper crashing down hard into the mat, nailing him with the Holy Vendetta.
Shannon Saint: That’s it, Desiree. Stick a fork in Reaper, he’s done!!!
Desiree Miles: Come on Reaps, for the love of God, kick out!!!
Matthews slowly goes for the cover and hooks the far leg. The referee quickly goes down to make the count….
1!
2!
……NOOOOOO!!!!
Reaper puts forth any energy he may have left and thrusts his near shoulder up, just narrowly breaking up the pin. Matthews looks up, and can’t believe it. But, he lacks the energy to make a good effort to argue with the referee. Matthews gets back to his feet, and he motions for Jeremiah to join him in the ring. He picks up Reaper by the hair, while Jeremiah throws reaches under the ring and pulls out a steel chair. He then slides into the ring, as Matthews holds Reaper up.
Desiree Miles: Reaper seems to be out cold and unable to defend himself here. It looks like Matthews may finally have him. It can’t end like this.
Shannon Saint: Oh, but it is, Desiree, you said it yourself. Reaper will be eating through a straw once Jeremiah nails him with that chair.
Jeremiah begins to spin the chair. He then winds up and takes a large whack at Reaper. Reaper, however, is able to head butt Matthews under the chin. Matthews drops Reaper and is greeted shortly thereafter by the unforgiving steel of Jeremiah’s chair. Matthews goes down instantly, and Jeremiah brings his hands up in shock at what could prove to be a fatal mistake. Reaper then delivers a low blow to Jeremiah, who goes down clutching the family jewels. Reaper slowly makes his way to his feet and picks up Matthews. He positions him for the Reaping Death Drop, and taunts to the fans. The fans begin to yell their throats out as he nails Matthews with his trademark finisher. Matthews hits the mat with a sickening thud, and Reaper hooks the leg and the referee makes the count.
1…!
2…!
3….!
As the referee’s hand makes contact with the mat to finish the pin, the Petco Park crowd explodes out of excitement for their hero’s victory. Reaper rolls off of Matthews, and the referee is handed the PCW Platinum Championship belt from ringside. He raises the hand of a prone Reaper, and raises the belt in the air, giving the first indicating sign that a new champion has been crowned.
Shannon Saint: Goddammit, Jerry!!! How, oh how, could you let that retard end your title reign?
All of a sudden, a recognizable voice begins to scream, but this one scream is much more audible than any of the chants of the Petco faithful. The scene then fades out, and we pick back up to the sight of what had been a sleeping Jerry Matthews sitting upright in bed. He continues to scream, and he notices that he is sweating profusely, and his body temperature has increased, making him feel like a soon-to-die hot water heater. Matthews eventually stops screaming, and does his best to roll out of bed. He heads for the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom, and he turns on the bathroom light. He rests his arms on the bathroom sink to stay vertical, and then notices his reflection in the mirror.
The Southern preacher is shocked to find that he has very heavy bags under his eyes, which are also as beet red as a newly painted fire engine. He rubs his eyes fiercely, and the sight of his horrible, sleep-depraved condition is temporarily blurred, but only for a second. He turns the cold water faucet, and water begins to run from the spicket. Matthews cuffs his hands underneath the spicket, and a pool of water collects. Matthews then throws the handful of water in his face, and tries to shake away the layers of sleep encumbering his functionality. He stares into the mirror for another few seconds, and then leaves the bathroom.
Matthews walks over to the nightstand that sits beside his bed. Resting on top of the night stand sits the PCW Platinum Championship belt. Matthews quickly grabs the belt and clutches onto it for dear life. Matthews then begins to talk to himself, as if to resolve some of his inner worry.
Matthews: I’ve gone through far too much to lose you now.
He rubs his hands along the golden buckle of the title belt, making sure to take in every last detail of the strap, just on the off chance that Reaper would happen to come out victorious.
Matthews: I’ve become far too accustomed to always having you around, that I would never be able to function effectively without you.
By now, Matthews has brought the belt up to eye level, and with each passing word, his lips breathe heavily on the belt.
Matthews: There is only one way to absolutely make sure that you don’t end up going anywhere.
Matthews turns around and sets the title belt on the bed, whose sheets are still heavily wrinkled from when the preacher lurched awake from his nightmare. Matthews gets down on his knees, and he brings his hands together and closes his eyes. He then begins to utter a prayer with one ultimate purpose in mind.
Matthews: God, the Father, please hear my prayer. Never before have I been so encumbered by worry before a pay-per-view match in my entire career. Through the power of your grace and your grace alone have I been able to hold onto this title belt for four long and glorious months, and only with your blessing will I ever be able to hope to have any further success in this industry. May my almost endless and continuous prayers reach your ever understanding ears, and I would implore that you choose to continue to shower me with your blessing, so that I may effectively train for my contest, so that all the work that I’ve done doesn’t fall and collapse like the ill-fated Tower of Babel. And, may you also extend any and all blessings and protections you’d deem worthy to extend to me to my faithful companions in the Saints. Together, all of us will do everything in our power to properly represent you in San Diego at Battle Finale, and will strike a fatal blow against the sinful forces always conspiring against you on Earth. It is in your name that I pray, forever and ever, Amen.
Matthews opens his eyes, and crosses himself. He leans down and picks the Platinum title belt up. He brings it in tight to his chest, this occasion lasting much longer than the first. He then sets it back down carefully yet again on top of the night stand. He pulls back the blankets on his bed, many of which are nearly soaked through fully with the dreamer’s sweat. Matthews lets this inconvenient fact as he lays his head down on his bed pillow. Within a matter of seconds, the PCW Platinum Champion finds himself fast asleep, yet ever still mindful of the consequences a loss would behold in a matter of days. The scene then fades to black.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scene 4 – The ruins of Redemption Baptist Church, Redemption, Alabama
“Making It All Stand Up”
The scene opens to what is now the gray and ashen ruins of Redemption Baptist Church following the arson committed by Ryan “The Reaper” Robinson and other members of Team Lethality. Part of the building’s frame remains standing, though the wood is entirely dark black, a sign of how the fire destroyed the building so quickly. Matthews is wearing his white suit and black shirt, and he has the PCW Platinum title belt draped across his left shoulder. Matthews is now walking through the shell that had previously served as his church. He kicks blocks of ash in front of him, and is locked in a state of heavy contemplation, having his arms crossed across his broad chest. Matthews takes another quick scan of his former church, and begins to applaud by himself ever so slowly. This applause bites through the silence, and then Matthews begins to laugh as well. The kind of laugh with the ability to send chills down the spine of anyone unfortunate to be within listening distance.
Matthews: Reaper, on Saturday, we will finally butt heads at the biggest show of the year, Battle Finale III. Before what will most certainly be a capacity crowd at Petco Park, you and I will finally meet, in a Street Fight no less. James Baker has made the wisest decision of his career as the General Manager of PCW, because no other match type would be able to contain the sheer amount of personal hatred and personal baggage that both sides will bring to combat.
Reaper, I have done everything in my power to draw out all of the inner rage that you had repressed deep within yourself for so long. The fact that you finally gained the gumption to hit back by burning down my church, while it will set back my ministry temporarily, can only be taken as a sign of the success my psychological warfare has had upon you. No longer are you the same easy-going pitchman who was content to host your weekly talk show and selling your hot sauce and other products to the PCW audience. I have done everything I can to build you up, because at Battle Finale III, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I’m sure by now that many of you are asking why I would go so far to make my match against Reaper that much harder. The answer to that fateful question lies in one word, and that word, brothers and sister of the faithful, is substantiation.
What in the world, though, could a man of my professional standing and capacity seek to substantiate on such a wide level? This answer, is also quite simple. In the near nine to ten months that I’ve been a member of the PCW roster, I have had ever the impressive run. I have beaten countless opponents, broken a record that many thought to be unbreakable, and have left a wide swath of destruction along the path I chose to walk. Yet, while my PCW career has been ever so impressive, there is one thing left that I have yet to prove. And that, friends, is that I can defeat Ryan “The Reaper” Robinson in a one-on-one contest.
A few months ago, prior to my first successful Platinum title defense against Marina Valdivia, I suffered the only clean pinfall defeat of my PCW career. And it came at the hands of Ryan “The Reaper” Robinson. I greatly underestimated the little autistic gnat, and overlooked him in every sense of the term. After all, I had at that point, what was the biggest contest of my professional career. And, Reaper was supposedly nothing more than the next road block, another man that would make a great example of what happens when you mess with a servant of God. Yet, despite my best efforts, Reaper managed to sneak away that night with the victory. And, ever since that night, I have felt empty and incomplete, because of the horrible blemish that he left on me.
Despite the long winning streak, and the successful defenses against Triple M, Reyna Carter, and Kai, as well as the inability of an incumbent World Champion to defeat me, I seemingly lost the ability to eat, to sleep, and most importantly, to think clearly. I became consumed with the need to prove that this man was not the new flavor of the month, that this man simply struck gold, and that lightning had no chance of striking in the same place twice.
This loss only added to the reasoning the Deacon and I came to when deciding who to target in our ongoing war against sinful conduct. And, Reaper, ever since that defeat, I have consistently bettered you again and again and again. From the night I first introduced Harbinger and Pestilence to the PCW landscape and actually made the Reaping Death Show watchable, to the night I tore your lesbian harpy of a twin sister limb from limb, to the kidnapping and failed sacrifice of Aurora Rose and my latest destruction of TJ Parks, and, most importantly, to being the cause of you incapacitating the love of your life for what may be the rest of her earthly existence, I have succeeded in getting under your skin. Reaper, I did this because I want you to be full of rage, to the point where your fury will serve to blind you and cloud your way of thinking.
This match will no doubt be the biggest match of my career to this point. Unless I defeat Reaper, my status as the greatest Platinum Champion in PCW’s history will forever be cast into doubt. That, brothers and sisters, is something that I cannot let come to pass. But, fear not, this servant of God will have the protection of the rest of the Saints of Veritas, as well as the blessing of the Lord God himself. Because of this, Reaper, Team Lethality should not be surprised when your head rolls from the ring, and make you nothing more than the empty, rage-filled shell I’ve made you become. Reaper, I do not fear you, and at Petco Park, God’s Broadsword will strike you down, just as he has so many others before you. And, that, will be a sight that will be burned into the heads of the PCW fans forever. The Word of the Lord, Thanks Be to God.
With that, Matthews crosses himself, and pats the Platinum Championship once more. He then walks off screen and the scene fades to black
“The Shared Origin of Harbinger and Pestilence”
The scene opens to a rural dirt road. The surrounding terrain is very dusty, with a few sneaking shrubs populating each side. At the end of the road, sits an old, dilapidating wooden building. The wood is very weathered, showing the age and abuse sustained throughout the building’s existence. From the first floor roof sits a sign, proclaiming in faded black paint that any travelers have arrived at the “Redemption County Jailhouse.” The building lacks a proper sort of accompanying parking spots, with only a few worn in patches of grass beside the building to indicate their previous use.
Dust begins to kick up down the road, as a familiar white limo with the heavily distinguishable black crucifix is seen over the edge of the horizon. The limo continues moving until it reaches the front of the jailhouse. Upon stopping, the back passenger door opens, and out walks the PCW Platinum Champion, “The Evangelist” Jerry Matthews and his spiritual liaison, Deacon Jeremiah. Matthews is wearing his usual white suit and black shirt, while Jeremiah is wearing his black suit and white shirt and his usual black shades. The two walk up on the front landing of the jailhouse, and walk in through the front door.
Upon entering the jailhouse, the two find themselves in a rather humble office. In the middle of the office sits a metal folding table, which serves as a makeshift desk. Behind the desk, sits a rather rotund man, sporting a gray cowboy hat, and the tan uniforms associated with Georgia state troopers. The man has his feet up on the table, and is currently in the middle of a phone call. Upon noticing the presence of his two new guests, he quickly finishes up his phone call, and sits up in his seat. His chest bears a badge in the shape of a star. The badge is simply marked ‘Sheriff.’
Matthews and Jeremiah grab a seat in two chairs right across the table from the Georgia lawman. The man looks the pair up and down skeptically, before bursting into a series of raucous laughter. Matthews does the same, and soon the two men are up and exchanging a brief hug, and both utter greetings of nostalgia and friendship.
Lawman: My good Reverend, how are you? It has been quite some time,
Matthews: No doubt, brother, no doubt. It’s always nice to know that I can on you whenever I need to deal with the bureaucracy of the state corrections system, I have Sheriff Lee Robert Whitcomb to make things all the easier.
Whitcomb nods his head in agreement.
Whitcomb: I must admit, Reverend, I was a little surprised by the exact nature of your phone call.
Matthews: What exactly about the call did you find surprising?
Whitcomb: Well, it’s not often that someone asks me to go out of the way to obtain the type of men you inquired about. Not that it’s any of my business, but what did you have in mind for these men?
Matthews: Re-education, Sheriff. Re-education. Only then can I have the necessary muscle I need to exercise dominance over Premium Championship Wrestling. What kind of muscle can I count on you for?
Whitcomb: Two real sons of mothers, these two are. Why don’t you see for yourself?
Whitcomb leans over and picks up two rather thick case files off of the office floor. He slides both in the direction of Matthews over his makeshift desk. Matthews takes the files and he opens the one on top.
Upon examination, Matthews comes to look at a prison inmate named Ronald Wilson. Mr. Wilson’s shaven head had clearly caught the gleam of the flash when the picture was taken. Wilson is also sporting a particularly nasty pair of black eyes. The man has been serving a ten to fifteen year sentence for several counts of aggravated assault related to a particularly chaotic night where he needed to be subdued by seven officers.
Matthews looks up to Jeremiah, and nods in agreement. He then proceeds to open the second file folder, the criminal case file of Bertram Hockenberry, Jr. Hockenberry had at one time served overseas in the Second Iraq War as a corporal, and that he had been highly decorated for several acts of bravery. However, the former war hero ended up behind bars within weeks in a mental breakdown that shared many similar symptoms as the post-tramautic stress disorder that marked so many of his comrades. The man had been unemployed, and did whatever odd jobs that he could to get by, until he wasn’t paid one winter evening in what he deemed to be a suitable time by a fragile elderly 75 year old woman for shoveling her walk. Hockenberry proceeded to rob her and beat her to the point where she was knocked into a vegetative state, much similar to the circumstances that would come to Bella Brooks-Robinson a half year into the future.
Matthews looks up with a sick smile on his face. He rubs his hands together with much excitement, and thrust his right hand out to his uniformed friend.
Matthews: Sheriff, you most definitely have a deal. Can I see what condition they are in?
Whitcomb: Of course, my friend. Let me go get the keys.
Whitcomb gets up and walks over to the far wall. He comes to a stop in front of a key hook, on which a single brass ring with two keys hangs currently. He picks the key ring off of the door, and motions for Matthews and Jeremiah to follow him. Whitcomb inserts the correct key into the lock on the door next to the hook on the wall. The lock clicks, and Whitcomb slowly opens the door. Matthews and Jeremiah keep a few feet behind him and follow his lead.
Whitcomb and the Christian duo end up in the next room, which is dimly lit by a few half-burning light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The room consists of one hallway running about 100 feet back. On either side of the hallway sits rows of prison cells, about six on each side. Whitcomb pulls out a night stick, and begins to run the instrument along the metal prison bars, the room becoming filled with the percussive clanging.
The trio comes to a stop in front of two cells standing directly beside each other. The cell on the left contains Ronald Wilson, who is wearing his prison orange and has his ankles chained together. He is seated against the wall and is taking the final hit of a rolled cigarette. He blows the smoke directly in the preacher’s direction, and then follows that up by flicking the butt in the same direction, though he comes up far short of his target. The cell on the right contains Bertram Hockenberry. Hockenberry is curled up on the floor in a fetal position. He is shaking very violently back and forth. Whitcomb smacks his night stick off of one the cell’s bars. In a matter of split seconds, Matthews finds Hockenberry on his feet without seemingly touching the ground. He runs towards the bars, and clutches two tightly with his hands. His eyes scoot around in various directions, indicating a clear sense of mental delusion.
Matthews nods his head again to Whitcomb. Whitcomb walks forward and grabs the pastor’s hand. The pair exchange a strong handshake.
Whitcomb: Will I be able to find your usual campaign donation in my account if I take look?
Matthews: You know it, Lee. The usual, plus a whole lot more. I know you had to go through quite the amount of trouble to acquire these two, so I’ve tripled the donation this time around. Will you still handle transport?
Whitcomb: Of course, Reverend, of course. I assume you know the way out.
Matthews: Yes, of course. And, Lee, you can count on me getting this dangerous duo back to you as soon as they have fulfilled their purpose. I wouldn’t want the press catching wind of our little deal. Both of us stand to lose far too much publicly. Either way, you will have my and Jeremiah’s prayers for a swift landslide of a reelection victory.
Whitcomb: Why, thank you, Jerry. It’s much appreciated.
Matthews and Whitcomb exchange another handshake, and Matthews turns around and heads out of the room with Jeremiah in tow. Whitcomb puts two of his fingers to his mouth, and makes a loud whistle. Four deputies appear as if from nowhere, as Whitcomb unlocks the first cell. The four deputies run in and deliver a harsh beating to Wilson, who screams in pain after his attempts at self-defense are fruitless. Hockenberry is given the same treatment as the scene then fades to black.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scene Two – UC San Diego Medical Center Intensive Care Unit, Room 330, Yesterday
“The Right to End All Misery”
The scene opens to a familiar hospital room in the ICU of the UC San Diego Medical Center. Four men dressed in hospital scrubs and plastic facemasks walk up to the door. The lead doctor peers through the window in the door of the patient’s room, and notices no signs of movement. He then slowly turns the door know so as not to make a sound. The four then silently make their way into the room, which is eerily quiet except for the sounds of abbreviated breathing made by the foursome and the constant rhythmic beep of the machinery currently supplying life to the patient. As the four doctors gather around the patient’s bed, it becomes abundantly clear that as the camera zooms in on the patient’s face that the woman lying in the bed hooked up to machines is none other than Bella Brooks-Robinson. The four doctors then remove their surgical masks and their identities are revealed as the members of the Saints of Veritas.
Matthews reaches into the inside of his scrubs, and pulls out an ornate metal crucifix. He then motions to Jeremiah, Harbinger and Pestilence and asks them to take up strategic positions around the bed. Each man eventually ends up standing at one of the directions as would be marked by a compass. Matthews then begins to speak in a slow and almost contemplative tone.
Matthews: Deacon, Brother Harbinger, and Brother Pestilence, today we are gathered here in the UC San Diego Medical Center to mark the momentous occasion that looms before us this Saturday at Battle Finale III in Petco Park. And, we are also gathered here to mark the life of Bella Brooks-Robinson, and to lament her life’s achievements and happenings. Please, I urge each and every one of you to respect the solemnity that this occasion represents. Especially because we have such an important night of work ahead of us in the near future.
Dear Lord, I, in my professional capacity as one of your most trusted servants, along with my fellow members of the faithful, would ask that you have the fullest mercy on the soul of Bella Brooks-Robinson, a soul that had so much promise and potential until the misfortunate shot to the head she received from her autistic bastard of a husband, Ryan “The Reaper” Robinson. While Bella may not have been perfect, for her spirit proved to be easily corrupted by the questionable and sinful company that she chose to keep, she was cannot be considered responsible for the conduct of her husband the rest of his kin. For, Bella was nothing but a poor, innocent girl that got mixed up with the wrong crowd, one who had the blessing of not coming from Reaper’s cesspool of a bloodline.
Dear Lord, I would like to close this prayer and this ever too brief memorial by leading the four of us to pray, in the way that you taught us in the New Testament of your Good Book:
Matthews, Jeremiah, Harbinger and Pestilence all join hands in a circle over the prone form of Bella. They then begin to utter the words of the Lord’s Prayer.
“Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the power, the honor, and the glory forever. Amen.”
The four conclude the prayer simultaneously. The members of the Saints then each cross themselves slowly. Matthews leans down over Bella’s head, which is wedged upward by a bed pillow, and her mouth is marked by a number of breathing apparatuses supplying her still lungs with air. Matthews brings the side of his hand down and brushes his fingers against Bella’s pale left cheek. He then shakes his head in disgust, and leans down and kisses her icy cold forehead. He then reaches over to one of the machines keeping track of Bella’s heart beat. His left hand goes behind the machine, and he pulls the plug out of its socket, and the lights on the machine go out. The constant hum of the air being supplied to Bella’s lungs stops, and the rhythmic beeping has turned into a constant whine, indicating that Bella’s heart has stopped. The members of the Saints choose this moment to make a timely and hurried exit. Each man puts his surgical mask back on, and head out of the door. A few moments later, a male orderly comes into the room, perhaps seeking to change Bella’s sheets or something of the like. He notices the whining, and quickly checks on the machines next to Bella’s hospital bed. He notices a plug hanging out of the wall, and he quickly seeks to plug it back in. He then shouts for the nearest nurse or doctor to hurry as they are needed. A doctor and two nurses hurry into the room shortly thereafter, and begin to check Bella’s each and every vital sign before she comes to stabilize and the scene fades to black.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scene 3 – Petco Park, San Diego, California, PCW Platinum Championship Match
“Remaining Ever Mindful”
The scene opens to an ongoing match occurring during PCW’s biggest show of the year, Battle Finale III. The thousands of attendees for the event are enjoying quite the warm spring day, and are equally enthralled in the match taking place. The camera pans in to see the prone forms of Ryan “The Reaper” Robinson and “The Evangelist” Jerry Matthews lying on opposite ends of the ring. Both men’s bodies are marked all over by various different bruises and cuts, each having clearly taken quite the beating in the booked Street Fight. Matthews and Reaper’s chests are both moving up and down extremely slowly, each man being extremely fatigued and near the point of running on fumes.
Desiree Miles: What a match these people are witnessing, Taint. Between the insane, delusional preacher and the autistic dark magician, both have thrown everything but the kitchen sink at the other, but neither man has been pinned or tapped out.
Shannon Saint: You’re damn right, Desiree!! This match had all the makings of an instant classic, which I hate to admit given that the retard is in it. But, no matter who wins this one, their name will definitely go down in the annals of PCW history.
Matthews and Reaper both begin to stir. Each begins to reach out for the bottom rope in far and opposite corners. Matthews is slightly ahead of Reaper in getting to his feet first, but he must use the top turnbuckle to prevent himself from collapsing to the canvass. Reaper is in a much similar state, just as worse for wear, but he also succeeds in pulling himself to his feet. Both men come to rest their arms over the top rope of their respective corners, and each shares a look of rugged determination and sheer willingness to continue, even though the body’s willingness may have long ago surpassed that of the mind.
Matthews and Reaper begin to exchange bitter insults as both seek to regain whatever small amounts of energy they can.
Desiree Miles: Even after all of the punishment these two have doled out to each other, these men have not let their personal hatred for the other to be forgotten. The fact that they’re still talking shit to each other exemplifies that reality.
Shannon Saint: You better watch out, Desiree. Matthews is about to put the finishing touches in his final destruction of Raper. Hahahaha..
Desiree Miles: It’s REAPER, Taint. And you had better make sure that you don’t underestimate him. He is the only man to ever cleanly pin the champ, and he is more than capable of pulling this one out.
Saint begins to laugh nervously, showing his fear that Desiree speaks nothing short of the truth. By now, Matthews and Reaper begin to stumble towards each other in the center of the ring. Matthews and Reaper come to stop within a few inches of each other. Matthews rears back and nails Reaper with a hard right hand. Reaper’s head is rocked back on impact, but he shakes it off as best he can and delivers a counter volley to Matthews. Matthews nails Reaper with another right hand, and Reaper is knocked back into the ropes. He bounces off of the ropes and is nailed by a fierce big boot from Matthews, who then falls to his knees and he continues to breath heavily.
Desiree Miles: Matthews might have just succeeded in kicking Reaper’s teeth down his throat!! What a vicious shot there by the champ.
Shannon Saint: Go Jerry, make sure we never have to watch the retard again.
Desiree Miles: Someday, Taint, I will look forward to seeing you burn in hell. Who knows, maybe Jerry himself will make sure you get there.
The loud and unmistakable sound of a nervous swallow plays over Saint’s headphones as he contemplates such a fate.
Matthews sits straight up following his big boot, notices that Reaper is down and motionless, and he raises his arms victoriously. He then brings his right thumb across his throat, in a gesture that may be signaling the near end of the match.
Shannon Saint: Hooray, Matthews signaling for the end here!! Bury him, Jerry, so that Reaper pays for all the evils he’s committed.
Desiree Miles: If you mean providing an unrelenting care to your sister who had to endure the social pressures of living silently as a homosexual, and a constant, undying love for his wife, then sure, I guess Ryan is a real bastard!!
Matthews slowly rises to his feet. He grabs Reaper by the hair, and brings him upright. Matthews picks up Reaper and brings him to rest on his left shoulder. Matthews lets out a deep breath, and begins a running charge and brings Reaper crashing down hard into the mat, nailing him with the Holy Vendetta.
Shannon Saint: That’s it, Desiree. Stick a fork in Reaper, he’s done!!!
Desiree Miles: Come on Reaps, for the love of God, kick out!!!
Matthews slowly goes for the cover and hooks the far leg. The referee quickly goes down to make the count….
1!
2!
……NOOOOOO!!!!
Reaper puts forth any energy he may have left and thrusts his near shoulder up, just narrowly breaking up the pin. Matthews looks up, and can’t believe it. But, he lacks the energy to make a good effort to argue with the referee. Matthews gets back to his feet, and he motions for Jeremiah to join him in the ring. He picks up Reaper by the hair, while Jeremiah throws reaches under the ring and pulls out a steel chair. He then slides into the ring, as Matthews holds Reaper up.
Desiree Miles: Reaper seems to be out cold and unable to defend himself here. It looks like Matthews may finally have him. It can’t end like this.
Shannon Saint: Oh, but it is, Desiree, you said it yourself. Reaper will be eating through a straw once Jeremiah nails him with that chair.
Jeremiah begins to spin the chair. He then winds up and takes a large whack at Reaper. Reaper, however, is able to head butt Matthews under the chin. Matthews drops Reaper and is greeted shortly thereafter by the unforgiving steel of Jeremiah’s chair. Matthews goes down instantly, and Jeremiah brings his hands up in shock at what could prove to be a fatal mistake. Reaper then delivers a low blow to Jeremiah, who goes down clutching the family jewels. Reaper slowly makes his way to his feet and picks up Matthews. He positions him for the Reaping Death Drop, and taunts to the fans. The fans begin to yell their throats out as he nails Matthews with his trademark finisher. Matthews hits the mat with a sickening thud, and Reaper hooks the leg and the referee makes the count.
1…!
2…!
3….!
As the referee’s hand makes contact with the mat to finish the pin, the Petco Park crowd explodes out of excitement for their hero’s victory. Reaper rolls off of Matthews, and the referee is handed the PCW Platinum Championship belt from ringside. He raises the hand of a prone Reaper, and raises the belt in the air, giving the first indicating sign that a new champion has been crowned.
Shannon Saint: Goddammit, Jerry!!! How, oh how, could you let that retard end your title reign?
All of a sudden, a recognizable voice begins to scream, but this one scream is much more audible than any of the chants of the Petco faithful. The scene then fades out, and we pick back up to the sight of what had been a sleeping Jerry Matthews sitting upright in bed. He continues to scream, and he notices that he is sweating profusely, and his body temperature has increased, making him feel like a soon-to-die hot water heater. Matthews eventually stops screaming, and does his best to roll out of bed. He heads for the bathroom adjacent to his bedroom, and he turns on the bathroom light. He rests his arms on the bathroom sink to stay vertical, and then notices his reflection in the mirror.
The Southern preacher is shocked to find that he has very heavy bags under his eyes, which are also as beet red as a newly painted fire engine. He rubs his eyes fiercely, and the sight of his horrible, sleep-depraved condition is temporarily blurred, but only for a second. He turns the cold water faucet, and water begins to run from the spicket. Matthews cuffs his hands underneath the spicket, and a pool of water collects. Matthews then throws the handful of water in his face, and tries to shake away the layers of sleep encumbering his functionality. He stares into the mirror for another few seconds, and then leaves the bathroom.
Matthews walks over to the nightstand that sits beside his bed. Resting on top of the night stand sits the PCW Platinum Championship belt. Matthews quickly grabs the belt and clutches onto it for dear life. Matthews then begins to talk to himself, as if to resolve some of his inner worry.
Matthews: I’ve gone through far too much to lose you now.
He rubs his hands along the golden buckle of the title belt, making sure to take in every last detail of the strap, just on the off chance that Reaper would happen to come out victorious.
Matthews: I’ve become far too accustomed to always having you around, that I would never be able to function effectively without you.
By now, Matthews has brought the belt up to eye level, and with each passing word, his lips breathe heavily on the belt.
Matthews: There is only one way to absolutely make sure that you don’t end up going anywhere.
Matthews turns around and sets the title belt on the bed, whose sheets are still heavily wrinkled from when the preacher lurched awake from his nightmare. Matthews gets down on his knees, and he brings his hands together and closes his eyes. He then begins to utter a prayer with one ultimate purpose in mind.
Matthews: God, the Father, please hear my prayer. Never before have I been so encumbered by worry before a pay-per-view match in my entire career. Through the power of your grace and your grace alone have I been able to hold onto this title belt for four long and glorious months, and only with your blessing will I ever be able to hope to have any further success in this industry. May my almost endless and continuous prayers reach your ever understanding ears, and I would implore that you choose to continue to shower me with your blessing, so that I may effectively train for my contest, so that all the work that I’ve done doesn’t fall and collapse like the ill-fated Tower of Babel. And, may you also extend any and all blessings and protections you’d deem worthy to extend to me to my faithful companions in the Saints. Together, all of us will do everything in our power to properly represent you in San Diego at Battle Finale, and will strike a fatal blow against the sinful forces always conspiring against you on Earth. It is in your name that I pray, forever and ever, Amen.
Matthews opens his eyes, and crosses himself. He leans down and picks the Platinum title belt up. He brings it in tight to his chest, this occasion lasting much longer than the first. He then sets it back down carefully yet again on top of the night stand. He pulls back the blankets on his bed, many of which are nearly soaked through fully with the dreamer’s sweat. Matthews lets this inconvenient fact as he lays his head down on his bed pillow. Within a matter of seconds, the PCW Platinum Champion finds himself fast asleep, yet ever still mindful of the consequences a loss would behold in a matter of days. The scene then fades to black.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scene 4 – The ruins of Redemption Baptist Church, Redemption, Alabama
“Making It All Stand Up”
The scene opens to what is now the gray and ashen ruins of Redemption Baptist Church following the arson committed by Ryan “The Reaper” Robinson and other members of Team Lethality. Part of the building’s frame remains standing, though the wood is entirely dark black, a sign of how the fire destroyed the building so quickly. Matthews is wearing his white suit and black shirt, and he has the PCW Platinum title belt draped across his left shoulder. Matthews is now walking through the shell that had previously served as his church. He kicks blocks of ash in front of him, and is locked in a state of heavy contemplation, having his arms crossed across his broad chest. Matthews takes another quick scan of his former church, and begins to applaud by himself ever so slowly. This applause bites through the silence, and then Matthews begins to laugh as well. The kind of laugh with the ability to send chills down the spine of anyone unfortunate to be within listening distance.
Matthews: Reaper, on Saturday, we will finally butt heads at the biggest show of the year, Battle Finale III. Before what will most certainly be a capacity crowd at Petco Park, you and I will finally meet, in a Street Fight no less. James Baker has made the wisest decision of his career as the General Manager of PCW, because no other match type would be able to contain the sheer amount of personal hatred and personal baggage that both sides will bring to combat.
Reaper, I have done everything in my power to draw out all of the inner rage that you had repressed deep within yourself for so long. The fact that you finally gained the gumption to hit back by burning down my church, while it will set back my ministry temporarily, can only be taken as a sign of the success my psychological warfare has had upon you. No longer are you the same easy-going pitchman who was content to host your weekly talk show and selling your hot sauce and other products to the PCW audience. I have done everything I can to build you up, because at Battle Finale III, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I’m sure by now that many of you are asking why I would go so far to make my match against Reaper that much harder. The answer to that fateful question lies in one word, and that word, brothers and sister of the faithful, is substantiation.
What in the world, though, could a man of my professional standing and capacity seek to substantiate on such a wide level? This answer, is also quite simple. In the near nine to ten months that I’ve been a member of the PCW roster, I have had ever the impressive run. I have beaten countless opponents, broken a record that many thought to be unbreakable, and have left a wide swath of destruction along the path I chose to walk. Yet, while my PCW career has been ever so impressive, there is one thing left that I have yet to prove. And that, friends, is that I can defeat Ryan “The Reaper” Robinson in a one-on-one contest.
A few months ago, prior to my first successful Platinum title defense against Marina Valdivia, I suffered the only clean pinfall defeat of my PCW career. And it came at the hands of Ryan “The Reaper” Robinson. I greatly underestimated the little autistic gnat, and overlooked him in every sense of the term. After all, I had at that point, what was the biggest contest of my professional career. And, Reaper was supposedly nothing more than the next road block, another man that would make a great example of what happens when you mess with a servant of God. Yet, despite my best efforts, Reaper managed to sneak away that night with the victory. And, ever since that night, I have felt empty and incomplete, because of the horrible blemish that he left on me.
Despite the long winning streak, and the successful defenses against Triple M, Reyna Carter, and Kai, as well as the inability of an incumbent World Champion to defeat me, I seemingly lost the ability to eat, to sleep, and most importantly, to think clearly. I became consumed with the need to prove that this man was not the new flavor of the month, that this man simply struck gold, and that lightning had no chance of striking in the same place twice.
This loss only added to the reasoning the Deacon and I came to when deciding who to target in our ongoing war against sinful conduct. And, Reaper, ever since that defeat, I have consistently bettered you again and again and again. From the night I first introduced Harbinger and Pestilence to the PCW landscape and actually made the Reaping Death Show watchable, to the night I tore your lesbian harpy of a twin sister limb from limb, to the kidnapping and failed sacrifice of Aurora Rose and my latest destruction of TJ Parks, and, most importantly, to being the cause of you incapacitating the love of your life for what may be the rest of her earthly existence, I have succeeded in getting under your skin. Reaper, I did this because I want you to be full of rage, to the point where your fury will serve to blind you and cloud your way of thinking.
This match will no doubt be the biggest match of my career to this point. Unless I defeat Reaper, my status as the greatest Platinum Champion in PCW’s history will forever be cast into doubt. That, brothers and sisters, is something that I cannot let come to pass. But, fear not, this servant of God will have the protection of the rest of the Saints of Veritas, as well as the blessing of the Lord God himself. Because of this, Reaper, Team Lethality should not be surprised when your head rolls from the ring, and make you nothing more than the empty, rage-filled shell I’ve made you become. Reaper, I do not fear you, and at Petco Park, God’s Broadsword will strike you down, just as he has so many others before you. And, that, will be a sight that will be burned into the heads of the PCW fans forever. The Word of the Lord, Thanks Be to God.
With that, Matthews crosses himself, and pats the Platinum Championship once more. He then walks off screen and the scene fades to black
