Post by Kevin Drake on Sept 17, 2013 17:30:05 GMT -5
Your Name: Tyler Tanner
Experience: A year of efeds on and off, 8 years of other RP experience
E-Mail Address: tylertanner95-at-gmail.com
MSN Messenger: none
AOL Instant Messenger: none
Yahoo Messenger: none
Other Messenger: none
Where did you find us?: Wrestling Elite Top-Site list
Superstar Information
Wrestler's Name: Kevin Drake
Wrestler's Nickname: The Scorpion
Billed From: Mobile, Alabama
Manager/Valet: None
Age: 24
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 240 lbs
Face/Heel Status: Face
Theme Music: "Strike Back" by We As Human
Gimmick (Tell us a little bit about your character):
Kevin doesn't really use a gimmick. He plays a lot to his fans because he loves them and wants to make them get what they paid for, but more than that he wants to establish himself and get to the top. Ever seeking to connect with his fans and push his own product, he's very active on Twitter, and has recently picked up Vine, which is interesting to say the least.
Pic Base: Davey Richards
Physical Description:
Kevin is a moderately buff guy. He’s got the body of a professional wrestler without looking like a ‘roided out beefmonkey. He has a tattoo of a scorpion on his left shoulder and a tribal design across his trapezius. His brunette hair is kept trimmed and styled in a frontal cowlick, and often sports a closely-cropped beard.
Detailed Appearance (out of the ring):
Kevin likes to wear t-shirts, cargo shorts, jeans, hoodies, and sneakers. He's an MMA enthusiast, so he'll often be seen wearing MMA Elite or UFC t-shirts. For formal appearances he wears a navy blue jacket, slacks, and often a white formal shirt, but sometimes a dark gray turtleneck.
Detailed Appearance (In the ring):
Black trunks with red tribal design across front, red medieval script "K D" on the back. Black knee and elbow pads, wrestling boots, and wrist tape.
Personality:
Kevin is an extremely goal-oriented person. If he wants something, he gets tunnel vision and doesn’t move his focus off of it until he gets it. This can be, and has been, detrimental to personal relationships and other important aspects of his life. Other than that, Lloyd is a generally happy guy and tries to be friendly and get along with people.
Brief Bio:
Kevin wrestled for four years in high school, followed by college and eventually in the Olympics. He won a gold medal and then broke into the pros.
After a year wrestling for Mid States Wrestling and winning the MSW Championship once from Jacob Gram, Kevin looked at a contract with the International Wrestling Alliance, a short-lived promotion broadcast on Shotime. There he won the INWA Intercontinental Championship and the INWA Television Championship. However, within ten months, the promotion folded, and Kevin was put back into free agency.
Kevin was then contacted by the PWE and signed a contract. Within a few weeks, however, personal disputes with several wrestlers backstage led to him leaving the federation. He went back to the indie circuit for the next two months. Soon after that, he went undefeated in the Frontier Wrestling Federation, winning his first (and ultimately only) match against Johnny the Cable Guy. The company went under soon after, and once again, Kevin was a free agent. Now he is looking for success in the WGWF.
Style: Technical, with a penchant for big slams
Entrance (write it in detail because it will be copied and pasted into our shows when your character enters the ring.):
The arena darkens, and first few notes of "Strike Back" play over the sound system. The music hits, the arena is lit up by the lights and Kevin Drake stands on the stage, holding his right fist in the air as red fireworks from both sides of the stage shoot up into the air three times. Kevin begins his walk to the ring, slapping hands with fans as he goes down the ramp. At the bottom of the ramp, the Scorpion holds his hands in the air again and red fireworks shoot all the way down the ramp like machine gun fire. Kevin runs to the ring and slides in, running over to a turnbuckle and jumping onto the second rope. He waves his hand up, motioning for the crowd to cheer for him. Then, as his music dies down, Kevin hops off the turnbuckle and leans against the ropes.
Finishing Moves:
Bad Luck Bomb
Double Underhook Powerbomb Pin
Signature Moves:
Scorpion Stinger
Screwdriver Slam
Basic Moveset:
Flying Lariat
Suplex
Atomic Drop
Spear
Spinning neckbreaker
Powerbomb
Hip Toss
DDT
Powerslam
Pendulum Backbreaker
Sample RP (Required):
It was difficult for me, as it would be for anybody, to expressly disobey what my dad had told me that night. But how could I not go see the show that night? To hell with my research paper. It was almost done anyway. I was going to see Chris Jericho wrestle, though. I honestly didn’t even care who he was wrestling. I didn’t even care that it was a house show and that it wouldn’t be on TV. Thankfully, my parents both worked at night, so they would never know that I’d sneaked out and gone to the show, right? Besides, I’d leave after the Jericho match and be back home before 9 o’clock, when my mom came home for her break, and I’d be safe.
The show was great, that much was for sure. Obviously, the best match was the Jericho match, the one I was most excited for, but the rest of the card was great. It was so good that I decided, hey, I’ve got plenty of time, I’ll just watch one more match. It was a great one, too. Then the show was over.
Wait… the show was over?! That meant it was almost 10! I hadn’t paid attention to the time at all and now I was positively screwed. I hopped out of my seat and barreled past the people going up the steps to the top of the arena. As I was running, I felt my shoulder bump into one of the bigger guys meandering up the steps. About a second and a half later, I felt a cool splash of water on my shirt. It was a weird amber colored water right before it soaked into my shirt, and as it did, I began smelling something strong, almost like rubbing alcohol. It was really odd water… except that it wasn’t water. I realized when I was sprinting out the door that I had just gotten beer spilled on me. Great. As if the fact that I’d deliberately ignored my dad’s forbiddance of going to the wrestling show wasn’t bad enough, now I had beer all over my shirt and I was definitely going to get my head chopped off by my parents if they found out.
I sprinted the whole three and a quarter miles to my house from the arena, and since it was mid-August in Alabama, the night air was hot, and I was sweating like crazy. The huge lump in my throat and the vise around my stomach both disappeared as I saw that my parents’ cars weren’t in the driveway.
“Thank God…” I muttered between my labored breaths. I took a moment to catch my breath there in the driveway and pulled my shirt off. The breeze across my sweat-glossed skin felt really nice, so before I took my shirt in to wash it, I sat in one of the lawn chairs to cool down. I sunk into the cool plastic chair and closed my eyes, loosing a sigh of relief.
When I opened my eyes, my parents were both glaring at me. The sun was peeking over the trees in my yard, burning my sight, but I could still see that my parents weren’t happy.
“Kevin! What exactly are you doing outside asleep in the lawn chair with no shirt on?!” my mother demanded.
“And why does your shirt smell like beer? Did you get drunk at a party last night and pass out in the front yard?” Dad accosted me. I looked around to get my bearings, to which my dad exclaimed, “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy!”
I put my hands up and muttered in that strange, just-woken-up voice, “Dad, relax...” It wasn’t the smartest thing for me to say, but my frontal lobe hadn’t switched on just yet, so judgment wasn’t my most impressive attribute.
“Relax?! If I had told my father to relax when I was your age he would’ve slapped the taste out of my mouth!” Dad yanked me up out of the chair by my arm. “Now tell me what happened last night.”
I sighed, but this time it wasn’t a sigh of relief; I was preparing myself for the four-year grounding I was about to get. I mentally said goodbye to all of the things I liked, like my MTV (which inexplicably played a bunch of music and Mike Judge cartoons instead of the brilliant reality television shows about pregnant teenagers that some genius came up with), my Nintendo 64… All my favorite things were sure to be gone, but it was better than the alternative of obviously lying that nothing had happened, or, even worse, letting them think that I -had- gone out and partied.
“I went to the wrestling show last night, and when I was coming up the stairs, somebody spilled beer on me. When I got home I sat down to cool off and I guess I fell asleep. I know you told me not to go to the show, but I’m nearly done with my paper anyways and I really wanted to see Chris Jericho wrestle and I probably wouldn’t have gotten the chance to see him again for a long time except on TV so please don’t ground me I want to be able to watch wrestling!”
Dad let go of my arm and rubbed his eyes in exasperation.
“Son, I respect that you told me the truth. But I don’t agree with this obsession you have with wrestling. I realize you’re passionate about it, though, and it’s what you want to do. So I can’t punish you for that. Just don’t make a stupid decision and ruin your life.” Mom and Dad both went inside, and I followed soon after, tossing my shirt in the washing machine. It was then that I realized my parents were behind me. I went up to my room and fell onto my bed with a smile.
I could spend days talking about this guy’s outdated-as-hell outfit. Seriously, Randall, you look like you came straight out of 1985. Instead, I’m not gonna sink down that low and berate the guy because of his ridiculous choice of fashion. I mean really, a tie-dye cowboy hat, kaleidoscope colored sunglasses, tassels coming off every which way? Somebody, run this guy through a washing machine, because he looks like he got my seven-year-old cousin’s fingerpaint set dumped all over him. Nah, I’m not going to do that.
I could go into how Randall Ravage is -way- too old to be a professional wrestler. How old is he again? Fifty-five? Fifty-six? Either way, he’s past his prime in a big way. I’m almost afraid that when I hit my Bad Luck Bomb he’s going to crumble away into dust and fly away on the wind. I’m gonna feel like I’m wrestling my old, rickety, arthritis-stricken dad. And there’s no way Randall -doesn’t- have arthritis, either, for the record. Getting in the ring with me is a very unwise decision for him as far as his health is concerned. But I’m not going to make fun of his age either.
Instead, I’m going to talk about myself. I’m a modern wrestler, in touch with the wrestling world as it is today. Those flashy disco-clothes may have worked back when Randall Ravage was younger, but today the cartoony antics from Saturday morning don’t connect with the fans. Today it’s all about your skill in the ring. Don’t get me wrong, charisma and image are important, which is why I have those fancy looking trunks. I mean, check those things out! Badass, right? But in the WGWF, just because you can come into the ring with smoke and pyrotechnics riding in a chariot carried by angels doesn’t mean you’re going to the top.
Just look at our current WGWF Television champion, Joseph Page. That guy is skilled, and that’s what got him to where he is. He doesn’t have a damn bit of charisma, and, let’s be honest with each other, the guy looks like a gorilla’s day-old turd. But in the ring, Joseph’s got the goods. I, on the other hand, have the goods all the time, which is why I think I’m a better choice for your Television champion. Nudge nudge, bookers. Give me a call.
Randall, you’ve been to the top. I am the top. Randall, you were one of the best wrestlers of your time. I am the best. I’m the best wrestler that’s ever been. And that’s what I’m here in the WGWF to prove. Give me time in this company, and I promise you, I -will- prove it. All my fans that have been behind me since my days in Mid-States Wrestling know that I’ve got what it takes. Everybody that’s followed me through my career has seen me take out top guys. The Rock? Beat him. Twice, actually. And, like Randall Ravage, the Rock was one of the best ring technicians of his time. The thing was, and is on Monday night, I’m the best ring technician of my time. So, Randall, I wanna say one more thing before I let you get back to sorting your pill boxes. I respect what you’ve done, but that’s the past.
I, Kevin Drake, am the future.
Kevin Drake pulls his red Honda into the parking lot at a gym whose large sign reads “3 COUNT GYM”. He steps out of the car, wearing a pair of jeans and a windbreaker. He pops his trunk and pulls out a bag, heading into the gym.
"I'm coming back," he says aloud, partly as a reassurance, and partly to hear how great those three words sound to a former retiree. After his termination from the PWE, Kevin was put back into the indies for two months. Now he is finally signed with a strong company with the promise of existence for quite a while. Kevin didn't plan on being out of a ring for at least a few years.
The scene cuts to Kevin sitting down for an interview. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt and his hair is combed up in one of those ultra-sexy cowlicks.
”3 Count Gym is run by Jared Stryker, and has been in Mobile since 1974, when Jared’s dad Samson opened it. I’ve been training here since I started wrestling.”
Inside the gym, Kevin sees a training ring with a pair of up-and-coming wrestlers practicing their techniques inside. There are seven other men standing around the ring cheering for the wrestlers. A few turn and wave at Kevin, and he returns the gesture. After a minute in the locker room, Kevin walks out in his wrestling trunks. He adjusts his elbow pads and walks to the ring. Inside, a man stands ready to wrestle.
"Long time no see, Jared," says Kevin as he walks up the steel steps. The man known as Jared wears a pair of wrestling trunks, a pair of black boots, and knee and elbow pads. His long brown hair is held out of his face in a ponytail. Jared smirks at Kevin.
"There’s my favorite little punk," Jared snarks. "I was wondering when you were going to get back in the ring.” The two shake hands as he enters the ring.
”Trust me, man, I’m more than glad to be back. I’m really not worried about Randall Ravage. He’s just a bunch of flair. I just wanna work out some kinks before I get in there.”
Kevin Drake’s theme song kicks up and highlights from his training session with Jared Stryker. Drake whips Stryker to the ropes, and hits him with a hard rebound clothesline. Stryker attempts a flying crossbody onto Drake, but he catches Stryker and flips over into a powerslam. Drake executes a heavy STO, then bounces of the ropes, hitting an elbow drop to Stryker’s gut. The last clips are three different angles on Drake’s finisher, the mighty Bad Luck Bomb.
Kevin stares at the camera, speaking defiantly.
”You’re next, Randy!!”
Once again, Drake is seen being interviewed.
”What do I think of Randall Ravage…” he laughs a bit. ”Oh, God… well, for one thing, the dude’s a psycho. Absolutely insane. Like, in a good way, you know? He’s got tons of charisma. I just don’t think at his age he can hold up in the ring anymore. I’m not really scared of losing; if anything I’m scared the guy’s gonna break his hip when he tries to do a move on me or something!” He laughs again. ”Nah, but seriously, I’m sure I’ll put him away. No worries.”
Kevin flashes a winning smile as the camera switches to four consecutive clips of Kevin’s Bad Luck Bomb from MSW and GWA before the shot fades to black.
Experience: A year of efeds on and off, 8 years of other RP experience
E-Mail Address: tylertanner95-at-gmail.com
MSN Messenger: none
AOL Instant Messenger: none
Yahoo Messenger: none
Other Messenger: none
Where did you find us?: Wrestling Elite Top-Site list
Superstar Information
Wrestler's Name: Kevin Drake
Wrestler's Nickname: The Scorpion
Billed From: Mobile, Alabama
Manager/Valet: None
Age: 24
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 240 lbs
Face/Heel Status: Face
Theme Music: "Strike Back" by We As Human
Gimmick (Tell us a little bit about your character):
Kevin doesn't really use a gimmick. He plays a lot to his fans because he loves them and wants to make them get what they paid for, but more than that he wants to establish himself and get to the top. Ever seeking to connect with his fans and push his own product, he's very active on Twitter, and has recently picked up Vine, which is interesting to say the least.
Pic Base: Davey Richards
Physical Description:
Kevin is a moderately buff guy. He’s got the body of a professional wrestler without looking like a ‘roided out beefmonkey. He has a tattoo of a scorpion on his left shoulder and a tribal design across his trapezius. His brunette hair is kept trimmed and styled in a frontal cowlick, and often sports a closely-cropped beard.
Detailed Appearance (out of the ring):
Kevin likes to wear t-shirts, cargo shorts, jeans, hoodies, and sneakers. He's an MMA enthusiast, so he'll often be seen wearing MMA Elite or UFC t-shirts. For formal appearances he wears a navy blue jacket, slacks, and often a white formal shirt, but sometimes a dark gray turtleneck.
Detailed Appearance (In the ring):
Black trunks with red tribal design across front, red medieval script "K D" on the back. Black knee and elbow pads, wrestling boots, and wrist tape.
Personality:
Kevin is an extremely goal-oriented person. If he wants something, he gets tunnel vision and doesn’t move his focus off of it until he gets it. This can be, and has been, detrimental to personal relationships and other important aspects of his life. Other than that, Lloyd is a generally happy guy and tries to be friendly and get along with people.
Brief Bio:
Kevin wrestled for four years in high school, followed by college and eventually in the Olympics. He won a gold medal and then broke into the pros.
After a year wrestling for Mid States Wrestling and winning the MSW Championship once from Jacob Gram, Kevin looked at a contract with the International Wrestling Alliance, a short-lived promotion broadcast on Shotime. There he won the INWA Intercontinental Championship and the INWA Television Championship. However, within ten months, the promotion folded, and Kevin was put back into free agency.
Kevin was then contacted by the PWE and signed a contract. Within a few weeks, however, personal disputes with several wrestlers backstage led to him leaving the federation. He went back to the indie circuit for the next two months. Soon after that, he went undefeated in the Frontier Wrestling Federation, winning his first (and ultimately only) match against Johnny the Cable Guy. The company went under soon after, and once again, Kevin was a free agent. Now he is looking for success in the WGWF.
Style: Technical, with a penchant for big slams
Entrance (write it in detail because it will be copied and pasted into our shows when your character enters the ring.):
The arena darkens, and first few notes of "Strike Back" play over the sound system. The music hits, the arena is lit up by the lights and Kevin Drake stands on the stage, holding his right fist in the air as red fireworks from both sides of the stage shoot up into the air three times. Kevin begins his walk to the ring, slapping hands with fans as he goes down the ramp. At the bottom of the ramp, the Scorpion holds his hands in the air again and red fireworks shoot all the way down the ramp like machine gun fire. Kevin runs to the ring and slides in, running over to a turnbuckle and jumping onto the second rope. He waves his hand up, motioning for the crowd to cheer for him. Then, as his music dies down, Kevin hops off the turnbuckle and leans against the ropes.
Finishing Moves:
Bad Luck Bomb
Double Underhook Powerbomb Pin
Signature Moves:
Scorpion Stinger
Screwdriver Slam
Basic Moveset:
Flying Lariat
Suplex
Atomic Drop
Spear
Spinning neckbreaker
Powerbomb
Hip Toss
DDT
Powerslam
Pendulum Backbreaker
Sample RP (Required):
It was difficult for me, as it would be for anybody, to expressly disobey what my dad had told me that night. But how could I not go see the show that night? To hell with my research paper. It was almost done anyway. I was going to see Chris Jericho wrestle, though. I honestly didn’t even care who he was wrestling. I didn’t even care that it was a house show and that it wouldn’t be on TV. Thankfully, my parents both worked at night, so they would never know that I’d sneaked out and gone to the show, right? Besides, I’d leave after the Jericho match and be back home before 9 o’clock, when my mom came home for her break, and I’d be safe.
The show was great, that much was for sure. Obviously, the best match was the Jericho match, the one I was most excited for, but the rest of the card was great. It was so good that I decided, hey, I’ve got plenty of time, I’ll just watch one more match. It was a great one, too. Then the show was over.
Wait… the show was over?! That meant it was almost 10! I hadn’t paid attention to the time at all and now I was positively screwed. I hopped out of my seat and barreled past the people going up the steps to the top of the arena. As I was running, I felt my shoulder bump into one of the bigger guys meandering up the steps. About a second and a half later, I felt a cool splash of water on my shirt. It was a weird amber colored water right before it soaked into my shirt, and as it did, I began smelling something strong, almost like rubbing alcohol. It was really odd water… except that it wasn’t water. I realized when I was sprinting out the door that I had just gotten beer spilled on me. Great. As if the fact that I’d deliberately ignored my dad’s forbiddance of going to the wrestling show wasn’t bad enough, now I had beer all over my shirt and I was definitely going to get my head chopped off by my parents if they found out.
I sprinted the whole three and a quarter miles to my house from the arena, and since it was mid-August in Alabama, the night air was hot, and I was sweating like crazy. The huge lump in my throat and the vise around my stomach both disappeared as I saw that my parents’ cars weren’t in the driveway.
“Thank God…” I muttered between my labored breaths. I took a moment to catch my breath there in the driveway and pulled my shirt off. The breeze across my sweat-glossed skin felt really nice, so before I took my shirt in to wash it, I sat in one of the lawn chairs to cool down. I sunk into the cool plastic chair and closed my eyes, loosing a sigh of relief.
When I opened my eyes, my parents were both glaring at me. The sun was peeking over the trees in my yard, burning my sight, but I could still see that my parents weren’t happy.
“Kevin! What exactly are you doing outside asleep in the lawn chair with no shirt on?!” my mother demanded.
“And why does your shirt smell like beer? Did you get drunk at a party last night and pass out in the front yard?” Dad accosted me. I looked around to get my bearings, to which my dad exclaimed, “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy!”
I put my hands up and muttered in that strange, just-woken-up voice, “Dad, relax...” It wasn’t the smartest thing for me to say, but my frontal lobe hadn’t switched on just yet, so judgment wasn’t my most impressive attribute.
“Relax?! If I had told my father to relax when I was your age he would’ve slapped the taste out of my mouth!” Dad yanked me up out of the chair by my arm. “Now tell me what happened last night.”
I sighed, but this time it wasn’t a sigh of relief; I was preparing myself for the four-year grounding I was about to get. I mentally said goodbye to all of the things I liked, like my MTV (which inexplicably played a bunch of music and Mike Judge cartoons instead of the brilliant reality television shows about pregnant teenagers that some genius came up with), my Nintendo 64… All my favorite things were sure to be gone, but it was better than the alternative of obviously lying that nothing had happened, or, even worse, letting them think that I -had- gone out and partied.
“I went to the wrestling show last night, and when I was coming up the stairs, somebody spilled beer on me. When I got home I sat down to cool off and I guess I fell asleep. I know you told me not to go to the show, but I’m nearly done with my paper anyways and I really wanted to see Chris Jericho wrestle and I probably wouldn’t have gotten the chance to see him again for a long time except on TV so please don’t ground me I want to be able to watch wrestling!”
Dad let go of my arm and rubbed his eyes in exasperation.
“Son, I respect that you told me the truth. But I don’t agree with this obsession you have with wrestling. I realize you’re passionate about it, though, and it’s what you want to do. So I can’t punish you for that. Just don’t make a stupid decision and ruin your life.” Mom and Dad both went inside, and I followed soon after, tossing my shirt in the washing machine. It was then that I realized my parents were behind me. I went up to my room and fell onto my bed with a smile.
* * *
Here we go again. I swear to God, I’ve jumped around so much these past few years I have as long a list of “previous companies” as Rob Van Dam. I promised all my fans that I was going to make it big this time, and I intend to follow through on that, but there are several rungs in the ladder to the top. The first on for me in the WGWF is Randall Ravage.I could spend days talking about this guy’s outdated-as-hell outfit. Seriously, Randall, you look like you came straight out of 1985. Instead, I’m not gonna sink down that low and berate the guy because of his ridiculous choice of fashion. I mean really, a tie-dye cowboy hat, kaleidoscope colored sunglasses, tassels coming off every which way? Somebody, run this guy through a washing machine, because he looks like he got my seven-year-old cousin’s fingerpaint set dumped all over him. Nah, I’m not going to do that.
I could go into how Randall Ravage is -way- too old to be a professional wrestler. How old is he again? Fifty-five? Fifty-six? Either way, he’s past his prime in a big way. I’m almost afraid that when I hit my Bad Luck Bomb he’s going to crumble away into dust and fly away on the wind. I’m gonna feel like I’m wrestling my old, rickety, arthritis-stricken dad. And there’s no way Randall -doesn’t- have arthritis, either, for the record. Getting in the ring with me is a very unwise decision for him as far as his health is concerned. But I’m not going to make fun of his age either.
Instead, I’m going to talk about myself. I’m a modern wrestler, in touch with the wrestling world as it is today. Those flashy disco-clothes may have worked back when Randall Ravage was younger, but today the cartoony antics from Saturday morning don’t connect with the fans. Today it’s all about your skill in the ring. Don’t get me wrong, charisma and image are important, which is why I have those fancy looking trunks. I mean, check those things out! Badass, right? But in the WGWF, just because you can come into the ring with smoke and pyrotechnics riding in a chariot carried by angels doesn’t mean you’re going to the top.
Just look at our current WGWF Television champion, Joseph Page. That guy is skilled, and that’s what got him to where he is. He doesn’t have a damn bit of charisma, and, let’s be honest with each other, the guy looks like a gorilla’s day-old turd. But in the ring, Joseph’s got the goods. I, on the other hand, have the goods all the time, which is why I think I’m a better choice for your Television champion. Nudge nudge, bookers. Give me a call.
Randall, you’ve been to the top. I am the top. Randall, you were one of the best wrestlers of your time. I am the best. I’m the best wrestler that’s ever been. And that’s what I’m here in the WGWF to prove. Give me time in this company, and I promise you, I -will- prove it. All my fans that have been behind me since my days in Mid-States Wrestling know that I’ve got what it takes. Everybody that’s followed me through my career has seen me take out top guys. The Rock? Beat him. Twice, actually. And, like Randall Ravage, the Rock was one of the best ring technicians of his time. The thing was, and is on Monday night, I’m the best ring technician of my time. So, Randall, I wanna say one more thing before I let you get back to sorting your pill boxes. I respect what you’ve done, but that’s the past.
I, Kevin Drake, am the future.
* * *
Kevin Drake pulls his red Honda into the parking lot at a gym whose large sign reads “3 COUNT GYM”. He steps out of the car, wearing a pair of jeans and a windbreaker. He pops his trunk and pulls out a bag, heading into the gym.
"I'm coming back," he says aloud, partly as a reassurance, and partly to hear how great those three words sound to a former retiree. After his termination from the PWE, Kevin was put back into the indies for two months. Now he is finally signed with a strong company with the promise of existence for quite a while. Kevin didn't plan on being out of a ring for at least a few years.
The scene cuts to Kevin sitting down for an interview. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt and his hair is combed up in one of those ultra-sexy cowlicks.
”3 Count Gym is run by Jared Stryker, and has been in Mobile since 1974, when Jared’s dad Samson opened it. I’ve been training here since I started wrestling.”
Inside the gym, Kevin sees a training ring with a pair of up-and-coming wrestlers practicing their techniques inside. There are seven other men standing around the ring cheering for the wrestlers. A few turn and wave at Kevin, and he returns the gesture. After a minute in the locker room, Kevin walks out in his wrestling trunks. He adjusts his elbow pads and walks to the ring. Inside, a man stands ready to wrestle.
"Long time no see, Jared," says Kevin as he walks up the steel steps. The man known as Jared wears a pair of wrestling trunks, a pair of black boots, and knee and elbow pads. His long brown hair is held out of his face in a ponytail. Jared smirks at Kevin.
"There’s my favorite little punk," Jared snarks. "I was wondering when you were going to get back in the ring.” The two shake hands as he enters the ring.
”Trust me, man, I’m more than glad to be back. I’m really not worried about Randall Ravage. He’s just a bunch of flair. I just wanna work out some kinks before I get in there.”
Kevin Drake’s theme song kicks up and highlights from his training session with Jared Stryker. Drake whips Stryker to the ropes, and hits him with a hard rebound clothesline. Stryker attempts a flying crossbody onto Drake, but he catches Stryker and flips over into a powerslam. Drake executes a heavy STO, then bounces of the ropes, hitting an elbow drop to Stryker’s gut. The last clips are three different angles on Drake’s finisher, the mighty Bad Luck Bomb.
Kevin stares at the camera, speaking defiantly.
”You’re next, Randy!!”
Once again, Drake is seen being interviewed.
”What do I think of Randall Ravage…” he laughs a bit. ”Oh, God… well, for one thing, the dude’s a psycho. Absolutely insane. Like, in a good way, you know? He’s got tons of charisma. I just don’t think at his age he can hold up in the ring anymore. I’m not really scared of losing; if anything I’m scared the guy’s gonna break his hip when he tries to do a move on me or something!” He laughs again. ”Nah, but seriously, I’m sure I’ll put him away. No worries.”
Kevin flashes a winning smile as the camera switches to four consecutive clips of Kevin’s Bad Luck Bomb from MSW and GWA before the shot fades to black.
