Post by Admin on May 16, 2022 2:32:50 GMT -5
LIVE FROM THE SILVER STATE BALLROOM at the historic ELDORADO CASINO in RENO, NV MAY 14, 2022 |
EXT. ELDORADO CASINO
KENDRICK KROSS has his headphones on as he is walking back and forth just outside of the casino, trying to get himself focused. After more than a year of chasing the Silver State Championship, he's got a huge opportunity tonight.
KENDRICK KROSS
Can’t lose this match. Got to win.
Kendrick keeps walking back and forth as he hums the song he’s listening to before he starts to hop a little, clearly psyching himself up.
KENDRICK KROSS
I need this W. I just need it.
Kendrick finally turns off his music as he takes his AirPods out and looks up, seeing a camera almost in shock.
KENDRICK KROSS
What the..? How long have you been there? You know what? Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been there; the only thing that matters to me tonight is my match against Crystal.
Kendrick smirks a bit as he sits on the ground, leaning up against the wall. The lights of the marquee flash overhead, advertising for tonight's show and for a moment his attention is drawn there. The moment he sees his own name displayed, he chuckles and shakes his head.
KENDRICK KROSS
You know, it's funny to me how Crystal's little "social media intern" mouthpiece is talking big, thinking that she wants this more than I do. Like I haven’t been going after the Silver State Championship, like that hasn’t been in the forefront of my mind since I came up short on April 3 last year. If she or Crystal knew a damn thing, they’d know that being Silver State Champion has been my only goal here in Uprising. From when this company first opened to my return. It’s been what I’ve wanted.
Kendrick slams his hand against the wall as he rolls his eyes a bit.
KENDRICK KROSS
Honestly, I’ve never had my fair shot at it. There’s always been something, some roadblock in the way. A three-way numbers game. Front office politics. It's a shame that I’ve never gotten a shot at being Silver State Champion. So, becoming the top contender for it isn’t something I can let slip by. Maybe Crystal’s too busy to address this personally, maybe she’s got all sorts of other commitments that matter more – I don’t. This match isn’t one that is going to be easy for you. No. This is going to be the fight of your life. You think you want that title more than me just to add to some collection because your other company’s about to close its doors? This is the big leagues, Crystal. You can’t phone this in, have some mouthpiece show up and do this for you. You’re going to have to make sure you can fight the best you ever have because that’s what it’s going to take. Not just coming at me like I’m one of your other opponents. I’m not.
Kendrick takes a deep breath as he pulls his AirPods out from his pocket.
KENDRICK KROSS
After tonight you’re going to have to get back in line because I’ll be the top contender for it and believe me, when I get my shot, I’m not going to miss. So good luck to you tonight, Crystal. You’re going to need it. Though I’m sure it still won’t be enough.
Kendrick smirks and chuckles as he puts his AirPods back in before pushing up to his feet. He disappears inside the casino and the camera focuses in on the marquee again, the Revolution logo dissolving into the opening video package.
CUT TO:
A classic 1959 Bentley Coupe limousine slows to a stop just outside the VIP entrance to the Silver State Ballroom. The engine purrs for a moment before cutting off. After a beat, the driver’s side door opens and out steps Vega “Minotauro” Montenegro, professional MMA fighter and newly hired bodyguard of the 1%. He buttons his suit jacket before moving to the rear door. He opens it and outsteps Chris Mosh dressed head to toe in Louis Vuitton, starting with a smooth deerskin aviator jacket and matching white sunglasses, to a merino crewneck and Karakoram pyjama pants and ending with a pair of Yeezy 350’s.
Next, Marisol Vilaro slides out from the back dressed like a million dollars in a red Marita scoop-neck belted cotton dress by Emilia Wickstead. Though neither are booked in matches tonight, they are here to support Cliff Morgan in his first title defense against Tyberious Voronin. Cliff must have arrived earlier to begin preparations for his match.
Vega shuts the door behind his employers and begins leading them toward the security door guarded by a large man in a black shirt. They only make it a few feet from the car before someone whistles off screen. All three turn to look.
It came from a dark little corner, out of reach from the circle of light casted down by one of the hundreds of tall lamps scattered across the lot. A fuzzy outline of a person, likely a man, can be made out briefly. There’s a click followed by the strike of a Zippo lighter, and briefly a small flame illuminates features of a familiar face: Reno Nevada.
Vega steps in front of his clients as the flame lights up a cigarette before another click signals the cap slamming shut, dousing the lighter and once again covering him in darkness, except for the burning end of the cigarette.
VILARO
Reno, what are you up to?
As if on cue, a heavy drum beat starts pounding from the PA speakers attached to all the lamp posts. After a countdown, the familiar riff to ELO’s Don’t Bring Me Down starts blasting across the once quiet parking lot. In SUPER SLOW MO, Reno steps out of the shadows with a nail-spiked baseball bat over his left shoulder. And that cigarette he lit? It’s clearly an expertly rolled joint.
CUT TO: The 1%, very much not in slow motion. The three of them exchange a look before Mosh speaks up.
MOSH
Why are you walking like that?
Back to Reno, he drops the slow walk and plucks the joint from his lip.
RENO
C’mon, guys. I was trying to do a cool Tarantino walk. No wonder we never gelled!
VEGA
¿Para qué es el bate?
RENO
I need subtitles for that.
Reno holds up an imaginary remote and clicks a few buttons. CUT TO: Vega. On the screen, a line of text blinks on.
WHAT IS THE BASEBALL BAT FOR?
Vega looks down, clearly not seeing any words magically written across his chest. Reno twirls the bat around as he walks forward another few steps, until he’s next to the classic Bentley.
RENO
This bat? Well, it has two purposes. One is to keep you three assholes standing over there. The second is for this.
He sticks the joint back between his lips then turns, swinging the bat into one of the headlights, sending bits of glass scattering across the asphalt. Mosh puts his hands on his head and yells out.
MOSH
WHAT THE FUCK! Do you know how much that car is WORTH?!
RENO
A whole lot less than it was five minutes ago, and it’s all downhill from here!
He swings the bat again, this time overhead before smashing the hood, driving the nails through the metal. He has to yank it hard to get it back out. The 1%ers are fuming. Marisol looks at Vega.
VILARO
Do something!
Vega rips off his suit jacket, throws it to the ground, and marches forward. Reno sees him coming, turns, and points the spiked end of the bat right at the Spaniard, stopping him dead in his tracks.
RENO
I wouldn’t want to have to use this wonderful toy in self defense if you come at me, bro.
VILARO
You’re going to pay for this!
RENO
First off, you took all my money. Secondly, I’ve been to prison. They tell you what to eat, when to exercise, what to wear, how to speak, who you can interact with, what TV you can watch, what books you can read, and make you pay for everything so you leave just as poor as when you went in. Hm, now that you mention it, it was a whole lot like working for you!
Vega backs up with his hands raised. Reno then turns his attention back to the Bentley. He systematically starts destroying it, breaking every window, putting spiked dents up and down the body, and popping all the tires, all the while forcing the three 1%ers to watch.
When he’s finally finished, Reno walks past them with the destroyed Bentley behind him. He’s covered in sweat and most of the joint has been reduced to a precariously dangling bit of ash. He tips his hat to the three before bidding them farewell.
RENO
Reno Nevada. Audie 5000. Peace.
As Reno approaches the security officer at the door who just stood there and did nothing, Reno slips him some cash before entering the building. Mosh looks over at the officer.
MOSH
What the hell?! Shouldn’t you be calling the police?
SECURITY GUARD
(in a thick Boston accent)
I ain’t seen a thing.
VILARO
(fuming)
This isn’t over by a long shot.
EXT. ELDORADO CASINO PRIVATE PARKING LOT.
A classic 1959 Bentley Coupe limousine slows to a stop just outside the VIP entrance to the Silver State Ballroom. The engine purrs for a moment before cutting off. After a beat, the driver’s side door opens and out steps Vega “Minotauro” Montenegro, professional MMA fighter and newly hired bodyguard of the 1%. He buttons his suit jacket before moving to the rear door. He opens it and outsteps Chris Mosh dressed head to toe in Louis Vuitton, starting with a smooth deerskin aviator jacket and matching white sunglasses, to a merino crewneck and Karakoram pyjama pants and ending with a pair of Yeezy 350’s.
Next, Marisol Vilaro slides out from the back dressed like a million dollars in a red Marita scoop-neck belted cotton dress by Emilia Wickstead. Though neither are booked in matches tonight, they are here to support Cliff Morgan in his first title defense against Tyberious Voronin. Cliff must have arrived earlier to begin preparations for his match.
Vega shuts the door behind his employers and begins leading them toward the security door guarded by a large man in a black shirt. They only make it a few feet from the car before someone whistles off screen. All three turn to look.
It came from a dark little corner, out of reach from the circle of light casted down by one of the hundreds of tall lamps scattered across the lot. A fuzzy outline of a person, likely a man, can be made out briefly. There’s a click followed by the strike of a Zippo lighter, and briefly a small flame illuminates features of a familiar face: Reno Nevada.
Vega steps in front of his clients as the flame lights up a cigarette before another click signals the cap slamming shut, dousing the lighter and once again covering him in darkness, except for the burning end of the cigarette.
VILARO
Reno, what are you up to?
As if on cue, a heavy drum beat starts pounding from the PA speakers attached to all the lamp posts. After a countdown, the familiar riff to ELO’s Don’t Bring Me Down starts blasting across the once quiet parking lot. In SUPER SLOW MO, Reno steps out of the shadows with a nail-spiked baseball bat over his left shoulder. And that cigarette he lit? It’s clearly an expertly rolled joint.
CUT TO: The 1%, very much not in slow motion. The three of them exchange a look before Mosh speaks up.
MOSH
Why are you walking like that?
Back to Reno, he drops the slow walk and plucks the joint from his lip.
RENO
C’mon, guys. I was trying to do a cool Tarantino walk. No wonder we never gelled!
VEGA
¿Para qué es el bate?
RENO
I need subtitles for that.
Reno holds up an imaginary remote and clicks a few buttons. CUT TO: Vega. On the screen, a line of text blinks on.
WHAT IS THE BASEBALL BAT FOR?
Vega looks down, clearly not seeing any words magically written across his chest. Reno twirls the bat around as he walks forward another few steps, until he’s next to the classic Bentley.
RENO
This bat? Well, it has two purposes. One is to keep you three assholes standing over there. The second is for this.
He sticks the joint back between his lips then turns, swinging the bat into one of the headlights, sending bits of glass scattering across the asphalt. Mosh puts his hands on his head and yells out.
MOSH
WHAT THE FUCK! Do you know how much that car is WORTH?!
RENO
A whole lot less than it was five minutes ago, and it’s all downhill from here!
He swings the bat again, this time overhead before smashing the hood, driving the nails through the metal. He has to yank it hard to get it back out. The 1%ers are fuming. Marisol looks at Vega.
VILARO
Do something!
Vega rips off his suit jacket, throws it to the ground, and marches forward. Reno sees him coming, turns, and points the spiked end of the bat right at the Spaniard, stopping him dead in his tracks.
RENO
I wouldn’t want to have to use this wonderful toy in self defense if you come at me, bro.
VILARO
You’re going to pay for this!
RENO
First off, you took all my money. Secondly, I’ve been to prison. They tell you what to eat, when to exercise, what to wear, how to speak, who you can interact with, what TV you can watch, what books you can read, and make you pay for everything so you leave just as poor as when you went in. Hm, now that you mention it, it was a whole lot like working for you!
Vega backs up with his hands raised. Reno then turns his attention back to the Bentley. He systematically starts destroying it, breaking every window, putting spiked dents up and down the body, and popping all the tires, all the while forcing the three 1%ers to watch.
When he’s finally finished, Reno walks past them with the destroyed Bentley behind him. He’s covered in sweat and most of the joint has been reduced to a precariously dangling bit of ash. He tips his hat to the three before bidding them farewell.
RENO
Reno Nevada. Audie 5000. Peace.
As Reno approaches the security officer at the door who just stood there and did nothing, Reno slips him some cash before entering the building. Mosh looks over at the officer.
MOSH
What the hell?! Shouldn’t you be calling the police?
SECURITY GUARD
(in a thick Boston accent)
I ain’t seen a thing.
VILARO
(fuming)
This isn’t over by a long shot.
CUT TO:
INT. SILVER STATE BALLROOM — THE RING.
INT. SILVER STATE BALLROOM — THE RING.
AZURINE VEBBINS vs JOHNNY DODGE
The referee calls for the bell and our opening contest is underway! Vebbins clearly has Dodge scouted and the moment he moves in, she slips out of his grasp and sends him crashing back into the ropes with a standing dropkick before laying into him with some forearm shivers. Dodge looks like he's regretting the decision to come to Reno as Azzy doubles him up with a kick to the guts before taking him over with a half nelson suplex! Looking to make quick work and egged on by the crowd that's overjoyed to see the fan favorite back in action, Vebbins follows up with a leg drop and a forearm choke – quick rollup and Dodge snags the surprise first pinfall.
ONE!
TWO!
REVERSAL!
ONE!
TWO!
THR—NO!
Dodge kicks out with fury and staggers back up. He charges at Vebbins who's happy to sidestep, hook his arm and send him crashing back down with a scoop slam! The crowd is going nuts over the breakneck page as Dodge staggers back up, shaking the cobwebs loose as he's driven back with a sliding dropkick. He swings for the fences, but he's caught out – PEARLY GATEKEEPER (Dragon Suplex Into A Double-Handed Jawbreaker)! Dodge doesn't even know what day it is anymore as Vebbins smothers him for the pinfall, hooking both legs.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
WINNER (VIA PINFALL): AZURINE VEBBINS
CUT TO:
INT. ELDORADO CASINO -- GM'S OFFICE
The view picks up outside the office, finding the door ajar (which isn't all that unusual given Larry Gowan's so-called "open door policy"). What is strange, however, is the racket of slamming drawers coming from within. Whistling echoes down the corridor, something akin to a jaunty ragtime ditty before the aforementioned General Manager steps into view, stopping in his tracks in the doorway.
LARRY GOWAN
(stammering)
What... w-where... how?
A rough chuckle answers his fragmented questions and the camera swings around to show the view over Larry's shoulder, showing the wreckage. There are papers and folders strewn all over the desk, more piled on the chair in front of it. THE CEO, BRAD JACKSON, looks up from the filing cabinet he's rifling through, glancing towards the doorway before shaking his head. The moment he makes eye contact with the camera, the crowd erupts in a huge mixed response.
JACKSON
What'm I doing here?
(shrugs)
We're being audited, Lare... nothing's certain but death and taxes. I need to pull last year's payroll files, the hard copies.
LARRY GOWAN
No, I mean...
JACKSON
Where did I come from? I drove here. I live across town. Literally. Did you forget about that?
LARRY GOWAN
I didn't. It's just wh--
JACKSON
The door was open. Not as though I jimmied the locks.
He rolls his eyes, rifling more pages before slamming that drawer shut. Gowan flinches with the sound and eases over the threshold, heading towards the desk to see there's a takeout coffee cup sitting there with his name on it. He picks it up with a grin, only to find it's empty even though the cup's still warm so he tosses it in the trash with a dismayed look. Looking down at the folders on the desk, he frowns before turning back to look at Jackson.
LARRY GOWAN
Why are these personnel files out?
He bristles, almost taking a defensive stance.
LARRY GOWAN
Listen, when you stepped away, you said I had full autonomy to hire as I saw fit, as long as the roster and salary cap was maintained. I managed to put on successful shows in Toronto and Boston and we didn't go over budget.
Jackson nods, striding across the room.
JACKSON
Relax, Little Buddy. I just wanna go over a few things with you, since I'm here. Not that I'm questioning your decisions or undermining your authority. You've done a great job. It's just... do you really think this Bratton chick was a wise investment? And this fruit loop Scient--
LARRY GOWAN
Don't even say it. They could be listening.
One brow quirks as Jackson cocks his head, meeting Larry's gaze levelly, waiting for the punchline that never comes.
JACKSON
Uhh... sure.
There's a long and awkward pause before he clears his throat.
JACKSON
Well, carry on then. I'll get out of your hair.
He heads towards the door, stopping just before he steps out of frame.
JACKSON
Oh, and that coffee tasted like shit. You really should get a Nespresso machine back here or at least one of those Keurigs. Stop drinking that swill from catering.
He disappears from sight, leaving Larry standing there, his red face betraying his irritation even though he forces himself to take a slow and steadying deep breath as the show moves into our first advertising break, featuring tonight's sponsor: VILARO FITNESS.
_____________________________________________
LARRY GOWAN
(stammering)
What... w-where... how?
A rough chuckle answers his fragmented questions and the camera swings around to show the view over Larry's shoulder, showing the wreckage. There are papers and folders strewn all over the desk, more piled on the chair in front of it. THE CEO, BRAD JACKSON, looks up from the filing cabinet he's rifling through, glancing towards the doorway before shaking his head. The moment he makes eye contact with the camera, the crowd erupts in a huge mixed response.
JACKSON
What'm I doing here?
(shrugs)
We're being audited, Lare... nothing's certain but death and taxes. I need to pull last year's payroll files, the hard copies.
LARRY GOWAN
No, I mean...
JACKSON
Where did I come from? I drove here. I live across town. Literally. Did you forget about that?
LARRY GOWAN
I didn't. It's just wh--
JACKSON
The door was open. Not as though I jimmied the locks.
He rolls his eyes, rifling more pages before slamming that drawer shut. Gowan flinches with the sound and eases over the threshold, heading towards the desk to see there's a takeout coffee cup sitting there with his name on it. He picks it up with a grin, only to find it's empty even though the cup's still warm so he tosses it in the trash with a dismayed look. Looking down at the folders on the desk, he frowns before turning back to look at Jackson.
LARRY GOWAN
Why are these personnel files out?
He bristles, almost taking a defensive stance.
LARRY GOWAN
Listen, when you stepped away, you said I had full autonomy to hire as I saw fit, as long as the roster and salary cap was maintained. I managed to put on successful shows in Toronto and Boston and we didn't go over budget.
Jackson nods, striding across the room.
JACKSON
Relax, Little Buddy. I just wanna go over a few things with you, since I'm here. Not that I'm questioning your decisions or undermining your authority. You've done a great job. It's just... do you really think this Bratton chick was a wise investment? And this fruit loop Scient--
LARRY GOWAN
Don't even say it. They could be listening.
One brow quirks as Jackson cocks his head, meeting Larry's gaze levelly, waiting for the punchline that never comes.
JACKSON
Uhh... sure.
There's a long and awkward pause before he clears his throat.
JACKSON
Well, carry on then. I'll get out of your hair.
He heads towards the door, stopping just before he steps out of frame.
JACKSON
Oh, and that coffee tasted like shit. You really should get a Nespresso machine back here or at least one of those Keurigs. Stop drinking that swill from catering.
He disappears from sight, leaving Larry standing there, his red face betraying his irritation even though he forces himself to take a slow and steadying deep breath as the show moves into our first advertising break, featuring tonight's sponsor: VILARO FITNESS.
_____________________________________________
