I...I mean we are the champions!

[Malaki Toala]

The scene. A cheap made velvet set which is more akin to a porn film than a Roman epic. Our tireless champion, Malaki Toala, stands somewhat uncomfortably clad in what appears to be a rather tacky Roman fancy dress costume whilst Joey fusses around him, tugging at a belt here and shining a light there. 

I fail to see the point of this. 

Showmanship old boy. 

I look like an idiot. This armour is made of plastic and these sandals are 3 sizes too small. 

Hey, this was the prop budget they gave me for the week, if I blew it all on fancy Roman stuff do you really think I would have had any left for the big after party I booked for when you win this weekend? 

I haven’t won yet. 

Details, Shmetails. This party is important, we need to secure you some sponsorships, then next time I promise we’ll rent out the Coliseum and everything. 

I don’t think you can just rent out… 

Ok fine, we’ll go to Pomepii or something, just, suck it up and let’s get you that contract, then we can splash out on some nice set design. I will sell you to the world and make you a star, I promise. 

Malaki rolls his eyes and re-adjust his rather dated looking toga before thanking his lucky stars that Joey at least allowed him to wear underwear. Joey turns to the camera, his arms out stretch with a golden laurel clutched in his hands. 

So here we are. 

Ready to crown a new Caesar, of maybe an Augustus, ah screw it I always liked the named Octavian. Sorta sounds like a Transformer and lords know they were cool once, that was before they decided to butcher it on the big screen. Note to Hollywood, I told you that you should have cast my client in the supporting role… 

You mean Emma Swallows? 

At least she is meant to suck professionally. 

Joey, can we please… 

Oh alright, if we must. Ladies and Gentlemen may I proudly present to you the first official Gladiator of the Imperial Wrestling Federation, Malaki Toala. What’s that you say, he hasn’t technically won yet? True, but have you seen who he’s wrestling? Michael Moretta, granted, saved us all from a untimely murder-suicide pact with anybody in the vicinity by simply keeping his mouth shut and letting us do all the work, but we’ve seen his quality once already. 

Let’s just say it has Chinese build quality rather than Japanese. 

This week is, as anybody in possession of a brain cell can probably predict, a foregone conclusion. After one week, you voted my client to gain immunity, the second you saw him beat three mean, the third you saw him carry one man whilst defeating two men and this week… 

You’re going to see him collect his guaranteed contract for a title shot at the Imperial Championship. Oh yes gang, don’t think because the rest of the collective Gladiator’s turned out to be more like plebians that we have forgotten what was at stake when this all started. The level of worth, or lack there of, of my client’s opponents is not our fault, I mean I understand why they’d fear him, Lord knows I shit myself when we meet after dark for dinners with potential sponsors but hey… 

We’ve more than earned the prize promised to us. 

And we completely intend to take good ole’ Simon and Roberto up on their offer. They wanted the next big thing and I have delivered it to them, soon to be wrapped up in a leather and gold bow whilst Spike and his Gimpire dissolve as these big factions always do, in time. 

I mean, trusting their removal to Rob Diamond, Alex Jones and Xavier Cross may appear to be lunacy but it’s best to let them ruffle a few feathers before I send in the big gun capitalise. My client doesn’t fight needlessly, that is unless the pay day is large… 

I said I would fight anybody… 

Shhh! Malaki, baby, please, I have your best interests at heart, there’s no point wasting you in pointless endeavours, which would I suppose eliminate this week if it weren’t for the contract on offer. The people need to be starved of you and allowed to nibble occasionally, or they’ll get sick of having you stuck in their throat. 

Sort of like the guys they have on top right now. I mean, I swear they should rename the show Walking With Dinosaurs and just be done with it. 

This company needs shaking up, it needs a new face to bring it into the twenty first century and out of the dark ages. Thankfully this week an Extinction Event will knock off a few fossils and perhaps it is an apt way to start a new era. My client is a beast and make no mistake, he will not be stopped from fulfilling my goal to be a wrestling superstar. 

And the greatest champion of all time, hall of famer, yadda, yadda, all that jazz too. 

Thus far we’ve been fed scraps which are barely fit to grace our table but this week, the banquet will grow. No longer will we starve on meagre rations and keep beating the same old meat, once we have won the first ever Gladiator’s tournament our eyes will be set on much greater things and if nothing else comes of this other than the fact we don’t have to share are ring with this Italian delinquent again, then we’ll call it a moral victory. 

I beg you, join me today, in welcoming a vision for a new future. 

I give you Malaki Toala, the next icon of professional wrestling. 

We’re here IWF, are you ready? 

Joey turns around, his chin proudly up in the air and he places the laurel upon Malaki’s head…well, he tries at least. Muttering under his breath awkwardly he pulls a foot stool over before stepping atop it with tiptoes to finally place it on his head before stepping down and wiping his brow. 

We can edit that from the final cut, right? 

This is live. 

Are you kidding me!? 

Joey suddenly grabs the regal cape from around Malaki’s shoulders and immediately tosses it over the camera, plummeting the picture into darkness, ending the scene.