Megalomaniacs and Old Timers

[Nick Knight]

{Nick Knight is sitting in his trademark electric chair in the dark room with only a single naked bulb for light. His face is cast in long shadows and it is obvious from the scowl on his face that he is in a very bad mood.}

Maybe it’s because I grew up on the streets, but I’ve never really had much use for billionaires. The only thing that any of them give a shit about is making more money, and everything that they do is in pursuit of the all-mighty dollar. Last week Roberto Verona proved to everyone that he is nothing more than a self-important prick no different from Jeff Bezos or Elon Musk.

You’re a fucking idiot if you think for one second that he gives a shit about the men and women that work for him. The medical care that he provides for the talent has never been out of the goodness of his heart. No, we nothing more than cogs in a machine that he has to keep running if he is going to be able to make a fucking dime every Tuesday night. Roberto knows that without us he doesn’t have a fucking product to sell and the tit of the cash cow that is IWF will just go dry.

Last week he had the balls to say that he is disappointed in the men and women that work for him for being ungrateful, but that’s bullshit. The only thing that he’s disappointed by is the fact that for the past two years, we have continued to be the top professional wrestling company without him. It’s only now that he’s come crawling back into the limelight because his ego can’t stand the fact that we were doing perfectly fucking fine without him.

{Blinds around Knight slowly rise casting him in natural light revealing a sickening yellow-green bruise around his left eye and his left arm in a sling.}

Tell me, does this look like the face of a well-cared-for employee?

{The camera zooms in tight on Nick’s face revealing that there is still quite a bit of swelling and the white of his eye is still blood red.}

It has been ten days since Roberto Verona kneed one of his precious employees in the face and damn near broke his orbital bone. My eye doctor said that had he hit me just half an inch further to the right I would have been blinded for life. Does that really sound like someone that gives a fuck about the people that work for him?

{The camera zooms back out giving a full shot of ‘The Hollywood Butcher’s’ upper body.}

I am wearing this sling on my arm because Roberto’s four thugs separated my shoulder and bruised my ribs when they were kicking the shit out of me. I don’t even know if I’ll be cleared to wrestle when I get to OKC all because some megalomaniac couldn’t deal with me calling him out for his bullshit booking. He had four assholes try to end my career all because I told the entire world that things have been better the past two years while he was off doing whatever the fuck it is billionaires do in their free time.

I was a champion begging to be given matches every damn week, but for some reason that didn’t fit into Verona’s plans. He thought I should be like every other part-time champion in this fucking company so he sent me away for three goddamn weeks. I was even a good soldier and used that time to work some matches in Australia and New Zealand just to give those people a little taste of the IWF action that they crave so much.

Roberto Verona ruined that for everyone because never again will I be a good soldier because I just don’t give a fuck about this place. Hell, I want nothing more than to see Roberto lose every last fucking penny he has and be forced to close this place. There are more than enough other companies out there that the men and women on the roster won’t starve, but I think it’s time that Berty be forced to survive on ramen noodles.

That’s why for the next three months my only focus is going to be keeping the Invictus Championship because the day after NOTI I’m a free agent and I’m signing with another company and taking this belt with me because I want Roberto to know just how badly he fucked up when he attacked me because I am the only reason that anyone gives a shit about this championship.

{Nick holds the belt up for the whole world to see.}

Right now I can’t think that far in the future because I'm about to climb into the ring with one rugged son of a bitch. Logan Sky is a crusty old bastard just like me and our paths crossed many years ago on the Texas indy scene.

He might not be a former TV Champ like Nick Danger or in the Hall of Fame like Vivienne Rodgers, but he just might be my toughest defense yet because Logan is about as hard to kill as a cockroach. Trust me, you don't stick it out as an indie wrestler into your forties unless you're built differently from all of the other weekend warriors.

{‘The Hollywood Butcher’ lets out a long sigh.}

Even at one hundred percent, I know that Tuesday is going to be a fucking battle because Sky hits like a goddamn truck. There isn't a move in his arsenal that can't knock your ass out, and he knows every damn dirty trick in the book. I know that most fans think he's nothing but a fucking jobber, but I’ll tell you from experience that he's the real deal.

Now put a weapon in that man's hands and you're looking at a fucking killer. I honestly fear for my championship simply because I'm not one hundred percent. I'm barely fifty percent, but I have to dig deep and figure out a way to win.

{Knight runs his hands through his short hair.}}

I wish I knew what that would look like, but I honestly don't because I don't know what it will take to put Logan down once and for all. Maybe it will just mean hitting Banned In Memphis for a quick three count, or I just might have to murder the son of a bitch. Either way, I'm leaving Oklahoma still carrying the Invictus Championship.

{The scene fades to black}