RUTHLESS (Ravage RP #1)

[Fade in]

Thick grey smoke plumes from a burning cigar resting in a amber colored-glass oval ashtray. The sound of liquid pouring into a glass, the clinking of ice-cubes hitting the side. A bottle is set back onto a table, with a thud. The camera pans back. Catching the Jack Daniels bottle, and the shirt-less midsection of a massive frame. Muscles taught, scarred. We finally pull back far enough to put a head on the beaten herculean body...His silver shaded "mean gene" hairstyle and "distinguished wrinkles" is an immediate contrast to what proceeded it. A towel wrapped around his impressive 6-pack waist. He lifts the glass and takes a big swig. Setting it down, he picks up a remote control and switches on the small set in, what is most likely, his hotel room. 

*FLICK*

Female Voice: -slight chance of thunder clouds and lightning. Tomorrow, more rain! I know it's been wet these past few-

*FLICK*

Male Voice: -with the score Cleveland 91, the knicks 8-

*FLICK*

Male Voice: But why? What does he have that I don't...

Female Voice: My heart.

*FLICK*

(A blonde woman with long curls a pink business suit sits next to a dark haired, well groomed man in a standard white dress shirt, and black suit complimented with a blue and silver striped tie behind a news anchor desk.)

Male Voice: -in local news, "Ruthless" Russ Riker, who was also known as the Mississippi Mauler throughout various southern territories in the 70's, 80's and early 90's, will be making history this weekend as he will become the oldest known wrestler to make their debut in WWX, one of the biggest wrestling promotions going today and that will be taking place this weekend inside the worlds most famous arena, Madison Square Garden. 


Riker sets the remote down.


Female Voice: The 59-year old and 40 YEAR grizzled veteran will try to shake off that proverbial ring rust, lace up those old worn out wrestling boots, squeeze into those spandex tights once again and step back into the squared circle for the first time in two decades!! (turns to her male correspondent) This seems to be another one of those classic cases of life imitating art John much like the movie "the wrestler" (she says making hand quotes) where the main character didn't know when to walk away and became a washed up has been or never will be shell of his former self.

Riker drinks the rest of the glass and takes his cigar out of the ashtray, breathing a LONG puff. The burning "hiss" is heard over the television's volume.

John: Well Jen (apparently her name is Jen) I, like most kids, grew up watching wrestling and "Ruthless" Russ Riker was not only one of the most notorious heels in his era but also a regular on the television screen on a weekly basis for the better part of 30 years, staying a prominent figure in the sport of wrestling most notably in the greater Mississippi area until 1992 when diagnosed with stage 2 brain cancer. Since that day, The Mauler managed a handful of wrestlers and went on to open up a wrestling school right here in Jackson, Mississippi where he still trains young and local talent to this day. Riker has defied the odds BEATING cancer after a 20 year battle and still isn't afraid to follow and pursue his dreams. I personally find this story to be very inspiring and uplifting not just for anyone who wants to be a wrestler but for anyone in life period.

Jen: It certainly should be something to see. (She smiles into the camera batting her emerald green eyes at the camera as she quickly changes the subject to something she is more familiar with) Coming up next, fall fashions! We'll show you what's in and what needs to go! Plus tonights lucky lotto numbers right after this short commercial break. 

*FLICK*

The television blinks off. The sound of sizzling flesh breaks the silence in the room as the cigar is snuffed out into his open palm. His face shows no emotion or expression. The Mauler stands there, thinking to himself Is this what the fans thought? Is this what he'd become? A washed-up "do-you-remember-when" guy? Without even looking the bottle is picked back up and poured sloppily into the glass. Whiskey spills over the sides as it overflows. Riker sets the bottle back onto the table, picks up the glass and chugs the whole thing. Eyes now fixed on the black television screen. His head lowers, his towel drops. The good parts blocked from the camera's lens by the table. He chuckles to himself and turns to his open bag on the bed. Riker slips on a pair of boxer-briefs then turns back to the television set. 

He takes a couple of steps foreword... Looks right at it, studying every contour of the television screen. He runs his hand down it, then speaks, to whom? We don't know...

Riker: Washed-up? We'll see about that. I'm no has-been... Not a never-was...and damn sure not a shell of my former self. It's going to take more than a some little |BLEEP| on a public-access television show to get under my skin.

A pause.

With a bit of a roar, he launches the glass at the set. BULLSEYE! The glass explodes with the screen, the television drops off it's mounting to the floor.

Riker: NOW THATS WHAT I CALL CANT MISS T.V. HA!

Grabbing the bottle first, he kicks the table over. Takes a long pulls from his bottle, then throws it at the wall where the television used to be. It too explodes into bits of glass and brown. Staining the white wall. Riker stands, half-naked and alone, his chest heaving with rage. It almost seeems as if he's purging 20 years worth of pent up anger and bottled fury. His eyes dart around the room, he sees a chair. Riker picks it up and hurls it at the brown spot. CRASH! The chair splinters and breaks. Stepping up to ground zero, glass crunching under his bare feet, he rears his fist back... Then puts his arm into the wall, up to the elbow. Pulling it out slowly, he looks at the blood pouring from his fist, it runs down his forearm. Slowly, he turns his head to the camera, baring teeth with a predatory grin. He lifts his arm and licks up it, then spits the crimson at the lens. The Mauler pulls a bloody smile.

Riker: This week will mark the first professional wrestling match that i have participated in over 20 years. Many will overlook me and automatically assume i'm some push over who is only here to make them look good, to put them 'over'. They will take me for granted, write me off as some old washed up joke and attempt to use me as a stepping stone for whatever path they choose to take. I know this, i expect it and you best believe that i'll use that to my advantage if given the chance. There's more than a few tricks up these sleeves and i know how to use just about every dirty one in the book. 

As we all know things sometimes things aren't always how they appear to be. Take myself for example. On the outside, you likely see a harmless old geriatric dinosaur with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel but on the inside? I am a cold, cunning, hard hearted son-of-a-|BLEEP| that will stop at nothing. NOTHING. To get what i want. Simply put.

I am RUTHLESS.


He tosses the lens to the side, with a thud and an "Oomph!" Was there a cameraman there? The camera falls to the ground. Hunched like a monster, breathing heavy, muscles flexed all over his scarred and toned frame... The Mauler goes to a black gym bag in the corner. Bloody footprints on white carpet showing his exact route. He pulls out a white rag and wraps it around his hand. Then a pair of black jeans, he pulls them on. A white shirt, pulls it over his head. Grabbing his boots off the ground next to the bed, he tries to pull them on standing up. Which only let's gravity take him and pull him to the floor on his side. Maniacal laughter. Sitting up, he pulls them on, ties the laces and stands. Twisting his head back and forth a series of pops and cracks can be heard starting at the top of his neck and heading down to the middle of his back. 

Riker: There used to be a time when the locker room was filled with real men. Tough wrestlers who could shoot on and stretch anyone when they had to or whenever they felt like it. Not like these prissy prima-donna pansies you see nowadays. Former male escort dancers, geeks stealing lame catch phrases from diet dr. pepper commercials and who knows what else other forsaken "walks of life" some of these boys in the back had before choosing to be a "sports entertaining Superstar". Look inside that WWX locker room and you'll see a bunch of lazy kids and over grown children who are more concerned with playing video games and sending out tweets from their fancy new iphones gadgets Rather than putting in the time and effort that is needed to succeed in the sport of wrestling. These spoiled brats today expect everything to be handed to them on a silver platter just for showing up to work. They think they've got all the answers but they're going to see soon enough that i am the problem to their solution.

The awkward, angry silence is broken by unoiled hinges creaking as the door opens. Riker steps out of the room... Then slams the door. Where was he going? What would he do? That would remain to be seen...

[fade out]