Post by PIC on Mar 24, 2023 15:50:07 GMT -5
—March 21, 2023 4:31PM | Sevierville, TN—
~With his eyes clenched tightly and his thoughts fixed solely on those he loves the most, PIC wouldn’t have noticed his parachute finally opening behind him, save for the sudden jolt and subsequent whiplash effect it dishes out. As he startles to attention, he realizes that even with his chute now open, there’s no guarantee for his safety this close to the ground. He braces for impact after clocking the infinite sea of trees below. His body hurdles downward as limbs begin snapping and breaking all around him. He holds his core tightly to absorb the brunt of the blows, arms and legs now both beginning to bleed from the various cuts. The chute gets caught up in the branches above him, stopping his momentum. PIC’s body sways from side to side as he surveys his surroundings. Dangling approximately 30 feet from the ground below, he uses his momentum to swing over to a large branch to his right. Holding on with the least-damaged of his two arms, he removes his backpack, lifts himself up onto the branch, and sighs loudly. He leans his back against the tree to assess his injuries. He has a cracked rib, but everything else seems superficial. He continues to breath heavily.~
PIC: Thank… you… Jesus!
~As the current of adrenaline begins to dissipate, he begins to relax. Through the dense array of foliage over the horizon he makes out what appears to be a large cabin in a small clearing.~
PIC: Almost… there.
—March 21, 1988 10:49AM | Moncks Corner, SC—
~It’s been a year to the day since Amick Dogeron sat in on the prayer meeting with Pastor Greg and Ozzy. Amick had been unsuccessful in persuading Pastor Greg to invest in Vitaco, but his conversation with Ozzy yielded some tainted fruit. He used the root of all evil, Ozzy’s love of money, to draw him away from his congregation. Weeks turned to months, and by June, Ozzy had left the church altogether to follow Amick across the state to Moncks Corner, a small town about 20 miles north of Charleston. There, the next chapter of Vitaco was formed with Amick at the helm and Ozzy by his side.~
Ozzy: Ouch! What the—
~Amick turns to see his partner standing on an ant hill in the yard outside of their apartment. He laughs as Ozzy starts wiggling his leg in the air, smacking at his leg to try to shake the ants loose.~
Ozzy: These little boogers keep nibbling on the back of my knee!
~Amick smiles briefly, then locks the door before walking toward the blue Ford Mustang parked out front.~
Amick: Quit screwing around and let’s go.
~Ozzy limps his way toward the car, pausing twice to knock more ants off his leg. He hops in as Amick starts the engine and a short time later, we find the two driving down Route 52 towards the Holy City. Ozzy smacks and grabs at his arms and neck.~
Ozzy: It still feels like I got ants crawling all over me.
Amick: Were they red or black?
Ozzy: Black, I think.
Amick: The black ones do like to nibble around, but they’re virtually harmless. Now get it together man. This is our biggest meeting yet for Vitaco. If I can land an investment from this guy, we’ll never have to worry about money again.
Ozzy: What’s his name again?
Amick: Dwight Ford. He’s the head of marketing for the Palmetto Nutrition Board. Their stamp of approval on our supplements will triple our sales overnight. But before we get there, I need you to sign some papers.
~Amick reaches in the back and tosses a manilla folder onto Ozzy’s lap.~
Ozzy: What are they?
Amick: Just some contracts to make everything official with you taking over as Vitaco CEO like we talked about.
~Ozzy opens the folder and looks at the documents. It’s times like these he wishes he’d have taken a law class at Clemson.~
Ozzy: Remind me why we have to do that again?
~Amick sighs.~
Amick: Because I’m a former foster runaway with zero education. It’s gotten me this far but with these kinds of big wigs, they need someone more reputable as the face of the company.
Ozzy: But I’m an ex-con.
Amick: Right. An ex-con who made good. Took classes, graduated from Clemson. It’s the perfect redemption story these people love. With you at the front of the company, there’s no way we can lose.
~Ozzy still doesn’t understand, but Amick’s never steered him wrong yet. He signs the papers and hands them back to Amick who takes a quick glance before placing them on his lap.~
Amick: Broderick? Never would have thought that.
~Ozzy shrugs and smiles.~
Ozzy: Family name.
~Amick nods.~
Amick: Over there. That’s him.
~Amick points toward the sidewalk where a tall black man in a tailored suit stands with two similarly dressed white men at either side. Amick pulls the car up to the curb as Ozzy opens his door. Before he can blink, Ford has him out of the car and onto his chest with Ford’s knee firmly pressed into the small of Ozzy’s back.~
Ford: Broderick Jenkins, you’re under arrest.
Ozzy: What? Amick, what’s going on?
~Amick calmly exits the vehicle and hands the manilla folder to one of Ford’s associates.~
Amick: It’s all there, gentlemen.
Ozzy: All there? What are you talking about?
Ford: Fraud. Extortion. Racketeering. Running a pyramid scheme. Take your pick.
Ozzy: But… I… it was him! It was Amick!
~Ford’s having none of it. He cuffs Ozzy’s hands behind his back and hands him over to the two associates. Ford turns and shakes Amick’s hand.~
Ford: I know you’re not exactly innocent here, but you helped us nab the head of the snake, and for that, the FBI thanks you for your service.
~Amick smiles, watching over Ford’s shoulder as the two associates place Ozzy into the back of an unmarked car.~
Amick: He had me fooled too, but when I learned the truth I had to take action. It’s the least I can do.
—March 21, 2023 6:01PM | Sevierville, TN—
~It took PIC longer than anticipated to descend the tree. The pain has begun to worsen on his left side but he’s managed to make it out of the woods and now stands in front of the door to the log cabin. A quick scan on his GPS device confirms these are the coordinates sent to him by his stalker. He takes a deep breath, then goes to knock on the front door where he finds it already cracked. He pushes the door open and peaks in to find the place completely dark inside.~
PIC: Hello?
~Silence. He hesitates for a moment but knows the answers to all of his questions can be found just inside those walls. He pushes the door the rest of the way and steps into a foyer area. A light in one of the far rooms gives off just enough to outline the furniture in his path. He calmly walks toward the light, passing through a dining room and kitchen in the process. Finally, he comes to the light source; a small kerosene lamp in the corner of a living area. Next to the lamp is a high back Victorian chair turned with its back toward him. A person appears to be sitting in the chair, their right hand resting on the arm of the chair.~
PIC: I’m here.
Voice: Took you long enough.
~That voice. Something so familiar about it. Female. Mature.~
PIC: I got… caught up. Who are you?
~She stands and turns, and in an instant, PIC’s entire world turns upside down. She whips her head, causing her long blonde hair to dart over her left shoulder. PIC’s gaze becomes fully immersed in the vastness of her ocean-blue eyes.~
PIC: Jessica? But… how? You died.
~PIC can’t believe his eyes. Staring back at him in the middle of Nowhere, Tennessee is the love of his life; his childhood sweetheart and the mother of his non-biological daughter, Sarah.~
Jessica: Did I?
~PIC looks as though he’s about to faint.~
Jessica: Sit down, Steve. We have so much to talk about.
~She motions to a chair opposite hers, and a few moments later the former star-crossed lovers sit facing each other for the first time in 22 years. PIC wants to speak but seemingly can’t form the words.~
Jessica: I can’t imagine how shocked you must be. And I'm sorry for all the theatrics, it wasn’t my idea.
PIC: I… I just don’t understand.
Jessica: I’ll make it simple. I needed money, Steve. I had gotten myself into a bad spot and didn’t have a way out. Sarah was twelve. I’d never told her who her father was, and well… honestly I didn’t know myself. I thought it was you. So I sent her to you. I told her I was sick and you’d take care of her. And you did. You did take care of her, Steve. And I used the money she got from you and ran away. I pretended I was dead. Maybe I really was.
PIC: You could have just asked for the money. I’d have done anything for you… for Sarah.
Jessica: Maybe, but I did what I thought was best. I was in a bad place. I wasn’t a good mother.
PIC: So why come back? Why stalk me? Why post lies about me and Amick in front of the whole world?
~Jessica tears up.~
Jessica: That wasn’t me. He found me. He somehow knew who I was and what I had done. He threatened me. Told me if I didn’t play along with this stupid game that he’d tell them where I was.
PIC: Who?
Jessica: I told you. I was in trouble. If I hadn’t made myself disappear, they would have.
PIC: So who is he? Who’s the guy that made you do all this?
~Jessica nods to her left, toward the opening to the room. There in the midst of nothingness is the silhouette of a man. He laughs and immediately PIC knows.~
Man: Hello PIC. It’s been a long time.
~PIC nods.~
PIC: It sure has, ODJ.
~He pauses briefly, overcome with a whirlwind of emotion as he now stares into the face of the man who gave him his big break in the business. The man who ran ICWF, a wrestling promotion with even more acclaim than OCW in the early 2000s. The man, it would seem, that still has a huge score to settle.~
PIC: It sure has.
~With his eyes clenched tightly and his thoughts fixed solely on those he loves the most, PIC wouldn’t have noticed his parachute finally opening behind him, save for the sudden jolt and subsequent whiplash effect it dishes out. As he startles to attention, he realizes that even with his chute now open, there’s no guarantee for his safety this close to the ground. He braces for impact after clocking the infinite sea of trees below. His body hurdles downward as limbs begin snapping and breaking all around him. He holds his core tightly to absorb the brunt of the blows, arms and legs now both beginning to bleed from the various cuts. The chute gets caught up in the branches above him, stopping his momentum. PIC’s body sways from side to side as he surveys his surroundings. Dangling approximately 30 feet from the ground below, he uses his momentum to swing over to a large branch to his right. Holding on with the least-damaged of his two arms, he removes his backpack, lifts himself up onto the branch, and sighs loudly. He leans his back against the tree to assess his injuries. He has a cracked rib, but everything else seems superficial. He continues to breath heavily.~
PIC: Thank… you… Jesus!
~As the current of adrenaline begins to dissipate, he begins to relax. Through the dense array of foliage over the horizon he makes out what appears to be a large cabin in a small clearing.~
PIC: Almost… there.
.::My grandpa used to say “almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.” Being a World War II veteran who enjoyed a good church picnic, I imagine he had his fair share of run-ins with both.
To say I grew up idolizing the man would be an understatement. The annual visits to West Virginia for our family reunions are some of my most cherished memories. He sure did love that woman. He called her Nibbles. I didn’t need to know why. They tell you to never meet your heroes, but James Wilson was a hero to myself and many others. He never let anyone down.
I’ve tried my entire life to live up to his lofty example. I’ll never equate what he did at Iwo Jima to the wrestling ring, but I have had my fair share of adversity. Sometimes I’ve made wise decisions, and other times I’ve allowed myself to go down paths that left me worse for wear.
Vhodka, you were right to point out that the landscape of OCW has changed. It’s a fact. But your analogy began to fall apart the moment you suggested I expect the house to be just as I left it.
You see, I haven’t left anything. OCW isn’t a house I used to live in. It is my house. Just because I lost the wildest match in the history of the company doesn’t mean I went anywhere. In fact, I used that loss as a catalyst to run headlong into battles with some of the best this company has to offer.
And I won.
I won them all.
I do appreciate you, Vhodka. I admire what you bring to the table and if I’m being truthful, I’d love to see you stick around OCW and cause a little mayhem in the process.
Just don’t get it twisted. You’ll likely score a couple of near falls and I might only squeak by with the help of a rope break or two. But at the end of the night I’ll be the one thrusting the OCW World Title high in the air. All you’ll have are horseshoes and hand grenades.
Vhodka the world champ?
ALMOST::.
—March 21, 1988 10:49AM | Moncks Corner, SC—
~It’s been a year to the day since Amick Dogeron sat in on the prayer meeting with Pastor Greg and Ozzy. Amick had been unsuccessful in persuading Pastor Greg to invest in Vitaco, but his conversation with Ozzy yielded some tainted fruit. He used the root of all evil, Ozzy’s love of money, to draw him away from his congregation. Weeks turned to months, and by June, Ozzy had left the church altogether to follow Amick across the state to Moncks Corner, a small town about 20 miles north of Charleston. There, the next chapter of Vitaco was formed with Amick at the helm and Ozzy by his side.~
Ozzy: Ouch! What the—
~Amick turns to see his partner standing on an ant hill in the yard outside of their apartment. He laughs as Ozzy starts wiggling his leg in the air, smacking at his leg to try to shake the ants loose.~
Ozzy: These little boogers keep nibbling on the back of my knee!
~Amick smiles briefly, then locks the door before walking toward the blue Ford Mustang parked out front.~
Amick: Quit screwing around and let’s go.
~Ozzy limps his way toward the car, pausing twice to knock more ants off his leg. He hops in as Amick starts the engine and a short time later, we find the two driving down Route 52 towards the Holy City. Ozzy smacks and grabs at his arms and neck.~
Ozzy: It still feels like I got ants crawling all over me.
Amick: Were they red or black?
Ozzy: Black, I think.
Amick: The black ones do like to nibble around, but they’re virtually harmless. Now get it together man. This is our biggest meeting yet for Vitaco. If I can land an investment from this guy, we’ll never have to worry about money again.
Ozzy: What’s his name again?
Amick: Dwight Ford. He’s the head of marketing for the Palmetto Nutrition Board. Their stamp of approval on our supplements will triple our sales overnight. But before we get there, I need you to sign some papers.
~Amick reaches in the back and tosses a manilla folder onto Ozzy’s lap.~
Ozzy: What are they?
Amick: Just some contracts to make everything official with you taking over as Vitaco CEO like we talked about.
~Ozzy opens the folder and looks at the documents. It’s times like these he wishes he’d have taken a law class at Clemson.~
Ozzy: Remind me why we have to do that again?
~Amick sighs.~
Amick: Because I’m a former foster runaway with zero education. It’s gotten me this far but with these kinds of big wigs, they need someone more reputable as the face of the company.
Ozzy: But I’m an ex-con.
Amick: Right. An ex-con who made good. Took classes, graduated from Clemson. It’s the perfect redemption story these people love. With you at the front of the company, there’s no way we can lose.
~Ozzy still doesn’t understand, but Amick’s never steered him wrong yet. He signs the papers and hands them back to Amick who takes a quick glance before placing them on his lap.~
Amick: Broderick? Never would have thought that.
~Ozzy shrugs and smiles.~
Ozzy: Family name.
~Amick nods.~
Amick: Over there. That’s him.
~Amick points toward the sidewalk where a tall black man in a tailored suit stands with two similarly dressed white men at either side. Amick pulls the car up to the curb as Ozzy opens his door. Before he can blink, Ford has him out of the car and onto his chest with Ford’s knee firmly pressed into the small of Ozzy’s back.~
Ford: Broderick Jenkins, you’re under arrest.
Ozzy: What? Amick, what’s going on?
~Amick calmly exits the vehicle and hands the manilla folder to one of Ford’s associates.~
Amick: It’s all there, gentlemen.
Ozzy: All there? What are you talking about?
Ford: Fraud. Extortion. Racketeering. Running a pyramid scheme. Take your pick.
Ozzy: But… I… it was him! It was Amick!
~Ford’s having none of it. He cuffs Ozzy’s hands behind his back and hands him over to the two associates. Ford turns and shakes Amick’s hand.~
Ford: I know you’re not exactly innocent here, but you helped us nab the head of the snake, and for that, the FBI thanks you for your service.
~Amick smiles, watching over Ford’s shoulder as the two associates place Ozzy into the back of an unmarked car.~
Amick: He had me fooled too, but when I learned the truth I had to take action. It’s the least I can do.
.::I can see that you’re a real go-getter, Vhodka. You strike me as one of those ‘I can do anything I put my mind to’ types. And with a pay-per-view titled You Can Do It!, you might even succumb to the notion that you can, in fact, do it.
But this is not your underdog story. We’re not talking about Globo Gym. It’s the OCW World Title. You can’t just win it with some elbow grease and a little can-do attitude.
There’s simply no path to victory for you. No mystery third judge in the form of Chuck Norris to turn the tides in your favor. I’ll dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge every move you throw at me and still find my way to the winner’s circle to celebrate in front of a worldwide audience on THE OCHO.
You can smack me. You can hit me. You can punch and you can kick me. But Vhodka… you just can’t beat me.
I’m winning on Sunday. That you CAN count on… that is a promise!::.
—March 21, 2023 6:01PM | Sevierville, TN—
~It took PIC longer than anticipated to descend the tree. The pain has begun to worsen on his left side but he’s managed to make it out of the woods and now stands in front of the door to the log cabin. A quick scan on his GPS device confirms these are the coordinates sent to him by his stalker. He takes a deep breath, then goes to knock on the front door where he finds it already cracked. He pushes the door open and peaks in to find the place completely dark inside.~
PIC: Hello?
~Silence. He hesitates for a moment but knows the answers to all of his questions can be found just inside those walls. He pushes the door the rest of the way and steps into a foyer area. A light in one of the far rooms gives off just enough to outline the furniture in his path. He calmly walks toward the light, passing through a dining room and kitchen in the process. Finally, he comes to the light source; a small kerosene lamp in the corner of a living area. Next to the lamp is a high back Victorian chair turned with its back toward him. A person appears to be sitting in the chair, their right hand resting on the arm of the chair.~
PIC: I’m here.
Voice: Took you long enough.
~That voice. Something so familiar about it. Female. Mature.~
PIC: I got… caught up. Who are you?
~She stands and turns, and in an instant, PIC’s entire world turns upside down. She whips her head, causing her long blonde hair to dart over her left shoulder. PIC’s gaze becomes fully immersed in the vastness of her ocean-blue eyes.~
PIC: Jessica? But… how? You died.
~PIC can’t believe his eyes. Staring back at him in the middle of Nowhere, Tennessee is the love of his life; his childhood sweetheart and the mother of his non-biological daughter, Sarah.~
Jessica: Did I?
~PIC looks as though he’s about to faint.~
Jessica: Sit down, Steve. We have so much to talk about.
~She motions to a chair opposite hers, and a few moments later the former star-crossed lovers sit facing each other for the first time in 22 years. PIC wants to speak but seemingly can’t form the words.~
Jessica: I can’t imagine how shocked you must be. And I'm sorry for all the theatrics, it wasn’t my idea.
PIC: I… I just don’t understand.
Jessica: I’ll make it simple. I needed money, Steve. I had gotten myself into a bad spot and didn’t have a way out. Sarah was twelve. I’d never told her who her father was, and well… honestly I didn’t know myself. I thought it was you. So I sent her to you. I told her I was sick and you’d take care of her. And you did. You did take care of her, Steve. And I used the money she got from you and ran away. I pretended I was dead. Maybe I really was.
PIC: You could have just asked for the money. I’d have done anything for you… for Sarah.
Jessica: Maybe, but I did what I thought was best. I was in a bad place. I wasn’t a good mother.
PIC: So why come back? Why stalk me? Why post lies about me and Amick in front of the whole world?
~Jessica tears up.~
Jessica: That wasn’t me. He found me. He somehow knew who I was and what I had done. He threatened me. Told me if I didn’t play along with this stupid game that he’d tell them where I was.
PIC: Who?
Jessica: I told you. I was in trouble. If I hadn’t made myself disappear, they would have.
PIC: So who is he? Who’s the guy that made you do all this?
~Jessica nods to her left, toward the opening to the room. There in the midst of nothingness is the silhouette of a man. He laughs and immediately PIC knows.~
Man: Hello PIC. It’s been a long time.
~PIC nods.~
PIC: It sure has, ODJ.
~He pauses briefly, overcome with a whirlwind of emotion as he now stares into the face of the man who gave him his big break in the business. The man who ran ICWF, a wrestling promotion with even more acclaim than OCW in the early 2000s. The man, it would seem, that still has a huge score to settle.~
PIC: It sure has.
