The Island, The New York Times, The Death of Riccardo Ricci.

[Plethora the Perilous]

The screen flashes from darkness to a moment of static to the image of The Big Bifford. He’s not dressed as Plethora. Hell, he isn’t even dressed. The man is entirely naked in the middle of an island jungle. His large stomach lurches downward, covering his naked parts that would make this video X rated, much like a Peter Griffin. His eyes look dead, cold, gray - he stares blankly into the screen.

Bifford: Outcast, your accomplishments cannot be brushed aside or uncounted - you’ve done wonderful things and are a worthy man to hold my Championship.. Yes, mine.. I held it once before and I shall hold it once again. You can talk all you’d like about spilling my blood, about spears, about putting me in the ground. We all know that is folly.

Bifford walks around and motions his head toward the trees of the jungle around him.

Bifford: When I wrestled for the OCW Intercontinental Championship a lifetime ago, part of my schtick was that I was afraid of trees.. or hated trees.. trees were the enemy. It was a good gimmick idea. It sold a lot of t-shirts, made the boss man in the back a lot of money.. I carried through with that gimmick until the day I beat Playboy G and Handy Man for the OCW Championship.. I took a middle of the road schtick and made it World Championship material, Outcast.

Bifford wanders a few steps and comes to a small pond. He looks into it, before looking back into the camera.

Bifford: You’re dark and brooding and you pinned me… after I fought my way through the entire roster. This weekend, there is no roster there to tire me out. There won’t be any big moves hit on me or weapons used on me before we step into the ring, Outcast. It’s just going to be you and me.. and in the end I’m going to make that boss man in the back do the thing he never thought he’d do. He’s gonna strap that belt on me and I’m going to make an Ace out of him.

Bifford stares into the pond and the camera pans to the side to show Kenny the Intern and Earl the Popcorn salesman off camera. They appear to be producers working on the shoot.

Earl (whispering): Dude, I think Biff thinks Dean is still in charge of OCW.

Kenny (rolling his eyes): Dude, Bifford still thinks Bush is president.

Earl (whispering): Which Bush?

The camera pans back to Bifford, who is just standing there naked, looking into the pond.

Bifford: Outcast, it’s nothing personal. I don’t dislike you.. you just have what I want. I will take it from you.. it’s okay, you can go after the Oceanic Title or whatever they’re calling it nowadays. Champion of the OCEAN! While meanwhile I am the Champion of the World and the Champion of this island.. my island.

Bifford walks over to a large rock that is beside the pond. Laid over the rock is Bifford’s robe. He walks over and hoists it up over his head and it falls over his large naked body, covering him finally. The hood comes up and he turns, the dull gray eyes looming in the darkness of the hood. Plethora walks toward the camera and looks into it with his soulless gaze.

Plethora: Outcast, you’re good.. but what have you really been up to? Last Pay Per View, when you were out wrestling the guy who won the Baby Turtle and Goldfish Elimination match, do you know who I wrestled? I issued an open challenge for a World Championship title match - putting something on the line that I didn’t even need to put on the line - and nobody accepted my challenge. Nobody has the balls to walk that ramp and wrestle me. Mario Maurako is a joke who couldn’t man-up to face me. Lurrr is a chicken who hides from me. Duce Jones is a loser who knew he would lose if he took that walk down the aisle. Alice Knight is an owl loving coward. We all knew Silverfreak fears Bifford too much to face him.. but Dangerous Dan? Really? Not answering my challenge? Well.. I don’t blame you.

Plethora clears his throat.

Plethora: Outcast, you’re good.. but I’m a legend, and legends never die.

The camera swings to the side to follow Plethora as he walks through a clearing in the jungle. There Plethora finds himself face to face with hundreds of natives, standing in rows. He climbs on top of a large flat rock that is like a stage before them. Kenny runs up beside Plethora and hands him his scythe. Looking out over the islanders, Plethora gives a dramatic pause before lifting the scythe. The islanders fall to the ground to bow before Plethora as the scene fades to darkness.

PRESENT DAY - NEW YORK CITY

A busy restaurant is filled with people milling about, having a power lunch, meetings, cell phones. A cacophony of noise. At a table we see the interviewer we had met in previous Plethora videos, Riccardo Ricci, the son of murdered corrupt investigator Cocco Ricci. He looks about the restaurant, nervously, as though looking for someone. A man in a well pressed blue suit walks up to his table and the two men exchange pleasantries that cannot be heard over the noise of the restaurant. The camera pans in and the conversation is picked up mid-sentence.

Riccardo: it’s too important to wait a day or more - we have to reveal the truth of this monster.

Reporter: I understand you are upset that he killed your father.. but you honestly think he’s killed that many people? And was turning them into chicken sandwiches?

Riccardo: I know it sounds crazy, but it’s all true. All of it.

Reporter: What proof do you have though?

Riccardo: All of his closest allies seemed strangely okay openly discussing the murder and cannibalism. We have hours of video of them talking about their crimes.

Reporter (blinking): Why would they openly talk about being involved in the murder of thousands of people and serving human flesh to people?

Riccardo: I have no earthly idea.. the whole professional wrestling business seems to be filled with mentally ill people.

Reporter (looking skeptical): I’ll give this to our fact checkers..

Riccardo: I’m not crazy.

Reporter (still skeptical): Uh huh.. I’m sure you’re not.. it’s just..

Pulling out a large manilla envelope, Riccardo hands it over to the reporter.

Riccardo: DVDs of the interviews with his closest allies.. they all tell the same story: of a serial killer who turned millions of Americans into cannibals. Perhaps the most violent monster who has ever walked the face of the earth. Far worse than Hitler.

The reporter just sits there for a moment, blinking, and looking at Riccardo like he thinks he’s probably mentally ill. He takes the envelope and begins to stand up.

Riccardo: You’ll see.. he’s evil and your people will find out.

The reporter nods and walks away as the waiter brings a large plate of pasta and sets it down in front of Riccardo. Riccardo begins eating the pasta and the camera fades to darkness and then comes back to light on the same scene, except the pasta has been mostly eaten. The waiter returns with the check, but Riccardo stops him.

Riccardo: What was all that commotion a few minutes ago?

Waiter: Martha Stewart, who is a partial owner, showed up and was helping in the kitchen! All of the staff was so excited to see her! She helped with several dishes.. in fact, she plated your pasta.

Riccardo: Wow..

Pulling out his wallet, Riccardo threw some money down on the bill and stood up. He stared off into the distance as though thinking.

Riccardo: Martha Stewart.. Bifford’s ex-wife.. what a weird coincidence.. that she would be here not he day I gave incriminating evidence to the New York Times..

Riccardo walks through the busy restaurant and onto the even busier sidewalk. There in the midst of all the business men going about their work, the brooding female lawyers, the hobos and the tourists, Riccardo grabbed his throat and fell to his knees. “Watch where you’re going, idiot,” was one businessman’s response as Cocco Ricci’s son turned an off color of purple. Finally clutching his chest, he fell to the ground, dead.

1994

Outside an upperclass home somewhere in the Midwest, a 15 year old Theodore Bryan Benson, who would one day go on to become The Big Bifford was mowing his front lawn. The beautiful blonde girl named Kate that we met before last PPV walks up to him and the two begin talking.

Kate (horribly annoying voice): Hi Theodore!

Theodore: Hey - I’m just finishing this up. Do you want to go for a walk?

Kate: I would love that..

Peaceful music plays as a drone zooms over the upperclass neighborhood, showing young Bifford finishing up the lawn as neighbors elsewhere all did their yard work. The scene fades out and then back to Theodore and Kate walking in a park.

Kate: I heard there’s going to be a dance at school in two months..

Theodore: Oh?

Kate: Yes.. I wonder who will ask me.

Theodore: Uh..

Theodore looks to the side and sees something in a wooded area beside the park.

Theodore: Could you excuse me for a moment?

Jogging over to the wooded area, Theodore escaped into the trees. He breathed heavily, looking as though he might be having some sort of panic attack. He leans over a tree stomp, trying to catch his breath, however, looking to the side he finds himself face to face with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Buffy seems to be a figment of Bifford’s imagination. Or perhaps a voice he hears? A face he sees? It’s unclear yet what she represents or how real or unreal she is.

Buffy: You cannot go to that dance..

Theodore: Why not? I want to go!

Buffy: You’re not like them, Bifford.

Theodore: I prefer Theodore.. I like the way Kate says my name.

Buffy: Kate is stupid.. have you heard how stupid her voice sounds?

Theodore: Stop it.

Buffy: She’s too pretty for you. If she didn’t have that weird stupid voice, she wouldn’t even be talking to you.

Theodore: Stop.

Buffy: Do not ask her to that dance.

Theodore: But I want to..

Buffy: Nobody cares about your wants, Bifford. You will listen to me.

Young Bifford glares at Buffy and then heads out of the woods toward Kate. “Who were you talking to in there? I could hear your voice..,” Kate asked. “Oh I’ve been memorizing this poem and needed to practice reciting it,” Bifford explained. “Oh a poem! I would love to hear it,” she exclaimed as the scene fades to darkness.

PRESENT DAY - NEW YORK CITY

In a buzzing office, people are running about with papers, tablets, and manilla envelopes. The reporter in the blue suit from earlier arrives at his desk and throws down the manilla envelope from Riccardo Ricci. “Mass murder and cannibalism.. yeah right..,” he said, rolling his eyes and half-laughing. “Why do I always get the nut jobs calling me with tips? Why can’t I get one good one?”

The reporter shuffles through some papers on his desk until the landline phone on his desk begins ringing. The reporter answers, “Jarvis Carlisle, New York Times.”

The voice on the other end of the phone can be heard, “hello Mr. Carlisle.. I found a note telling me to call you..”

Jarvis: A note?

Voice: Yes.. it was scribbled by a man who was dying on the sidewalk. He’s dead now.

Jarvis: What?

Voice: A man dying on the side walk’s last action in life was writing a note that said to call this number and extension. But that’s all it said.. the man’s name was apparently Riccardo.. Riccardo Ricci. The EMTs took him away, but I kept the note.

Jarvis: I work for the New York Times.. could you come down here?

Voice: I’ll be right there.

Reaching over for the manilla envelope, Jarvis Carlisle looked terrified, his life was never going to be the same.