Post by PIC on Sept 27, 2022 12:17:33 GMT -5
—September 10, 2022 3:31PM EST | New York, NY—
~PIC sits on the edge of a hospital bed in Room 451 of Presbyterian Hospital. The right sleeve of his long sleeve black t-shirt is rolled up as a young blonde nurse ties a tourniquet around his arm and begins to draw blood. Sarah Abrams sleeps in the other bed in the room, her face now swollen and bruised tremendously from her attack.~
Nurse: You’ll feel a slight pinch at first and a little discomfort. You’re not afraid of needles are you?
PIC: I think I’ll manage.
~The nurse smiles. Under normal circumstances PIC might return the smile or even chat her up. But these aren’t normal circumstances. Sarah was run down two days ago by Burhaan and Diric Awaale, the Somalian brothers who have been out to get PIC since he stopped Burhaan from murdering an innocent Djibouti man back in May. It cost Burhaan the lives of three of his own men that day, and he himself had nearly died. Now PIC is faced with the huge dilemma of sticking around for Sarah or leaving to prepare for his Savage Title defense against Easton Alexander. And then of course, there’s revenge. All these thoughts swirl around in PIC’s head as the nurse finishes up, removing the needle from his arm and placing a band-aid over the entry point.~
Nurse: There you go, all set.
PIC: When will I know if I can be a donor for Sarah? Dr. Nguyen said she’s going to need a kidney transplant.
Nurse: We’ll rush these samples down to the lab to run tests and have an answer as soon as possible. The lab is pretty backed up, as you might expect. Maybe two, three days?
~PIC nods, then turns to look at Sarah who’s beginning to stir. The nurse pauses to check her vitals, and seeming satisfied, leaves the room as Sarah looks at her father.~
Sarah: You heard her. We won’t have the results for at least two days. You don’t need to stay… go do your wrestling thing.
PIC: How long have you been awake?
Sarah: Long enough.
PIC: I don’t know if I should leave. What if they come back?
Sarah: I’m in a hospital surrounded by doctors and nurses. A police officer is posted at my door 24/7. Dr. Nguyen says I’m stable. Go take care of business dad. I’ll be here when you get back.
~PIC knows there’s no arguing with her, especially when she’s right. He sighs, then rubs his hand through her hair as he bends over to gently kiss her forehead.~
PIC: I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything—
Sarah: I love you, dad.
PIC: I love you too, Sarah.
—September 12, 2022 11:54PM MST | Calgary, Alberta, Canada—
~PIC pulls his black rolling suitcase behind him as he exits the Scotiabank Saddledome following Massacre. Willie “Mo Mo” Peterson walks up to him from the opposite side of the dimly lit parking garage.~
Willie: I just got off the phone with the airline. We’re booked on the red eye to New York, but we gotta head straight to the airport now. Let me grab your stuff.
PIC: Nah, I got it. Thanks for getting everything figured out. Between Sarah’s attack and the match tonight I’m just drained.
Willie: Hopefully you’ll get some sleep on the plane.
~PIC’s phone begins vibrating in his pocket. He picks it up and looks to see who’s calling.~
PIC: It’s Dr. Nguyen at the hospital.
~He lets go of the bag, allowing Willie to swoop in and grab it. He pulls it behind him toward the rental car as PIC answers the call.~
PIC: Hello.
Dr. Nguyen: Hello. I’m trying to reach Steve Wilson.
PIC: Speaking. Is everything ok, doc?
Dr. Nguyen: Sarah is fine. As I told you previously, she has sustained irreparable damage to one of her kidneys. She will need to be placed on the donor list as soon as possible.
PIC: Yeah, of course. Take mine. I’m flying back to New York this evening. I can be there and ready for surgery by late morning.
Dr. Nguyen: That is noble of you, for sure. And it brings me to the true reason for my call. I am afraid you will not be able to be Sarah’s donor.
PIC: What?
Dr. Nguyen: When looking for organ donations, we have to look at the blood type of both the patient and the donor, as well as the antigens. If they are incompatible, her body will reject the transplant.
PIC: Yeah, I get all of that. But I’m her father. Our blood types have to be compatible.
~Dr. Nguyen is silent on the other end of the line. After several awkward seconds, PIC’s frustration comes through.~
PIC: What are you not telling me?
Dr. Nguyen: Mr. Wilson, it would be best for us to speak when you get back to town.
PIC: No. If you’ve got something you need to tell me, you can do it right now.
~Dr. Nguyen sighs through the phone.~
Dr. Nguyen: We received the results from the blood sample you gave us the other day. You have Type O blood. Sarah has Type AB.
PIC: Ok… so they’re not the same. Parents and children have different types all the time. That shouldn’t mean they’re incompatible.
Dr. Nguyen: Mr. Wilson, it is impossible for a father to have Type O blood and his child to have AB. Depending on the mother’s type, it can be A, B, or O… but never AB.
~Now PIC is the one who draws silent, letting the information sink in. He tries to speak, then hesitates before regrouping.~
PIC: So, you’re saying—
Dr. Nguyen: What I am saying, Mr. Wilson, is that Sarah Abrams is not your biological daughter.
~PIC is speechless. He drops the phone from his ear as Dr. Nguyen continues to try to speak but PIC can’t hear it. Sarah’s not his daughter? How is that possible? He has no time to process the information as Willie comes running up to him, pointing to the dimly lit area of the garage to his right.~
Willie: Steve… Steve!
~PIC turns to see a dark figure, dressed in black. A lone spotlight illuminates the face of Diric Awaale, The Somalien. He stands facing the ground with both hands in the pockets of his hoodie. PIC’s shock turns to rage in an instant as he drops his phone to the ground. He clenches his fists as he begins running toward Diric.~
Diric: I’m not here to fight. I just came to—
~The forearm smash to the nose doesn’t allow Diric to finish his sentence. Blood splatters everywhere as Diric stumbles backwards into a car. PIC wastes no time, pummeling Diric’s face with right hand after right hand. The back of Diric’s head bounces off the driver side window. The last of the punches lands with so much force that Diric’s head shatters the window. Willie runs over, trying to get PIC to stop, but PIC throws Willie to the ground. He turns back to Diric, his face now covered in blood. PIC grabs him and throws him shoulder first into one of the pillars. He then begins laying in a barrage of knees to Diric’s shoulder and neck area. He stands back to his feet and begins kicking Diric repeatedly, the last smashing him square in the mouth. Diric is out cold as blood begins to pool under his head. Two teeth have been dislodged from his mouth. Willie gets back to his feet and finally manages to get PIC to back off.~
Willie: Steve, Steve can you hear me?
~PIC shakes the cobwebs out of his head.~
PIC: Yeah… Yeah I hear you Willie.
Willie: You’ve got to get out of here. The cops will be here sooner than later. You need to get back to Sarah.
PIC: Wait, what?
Willie: I’ll take the heat. You need to get back to Sarah. She needs you.
~PIC still seems out of it, but Willie thrusts the keys to the rental car into his hands. He walks PIC over to the car, stopping to pick up his now shattered phone. He tosses the phone into the car, puts PIC in the driver’s seat, and starts the ignition for him. Willie snaps his fingers in front of Steve’s face.~
Willie: Snap out of it! You gotta get going.
~PIC nods and manages to put on his seat belt. He puts the car in gear and pulls out of the parking spot and around the garage. Willie walks over to Diric’s motionless body. He rubs a little blood onto his clothes, clenches his teeth, and punches the concrete post to bust up his knuckles. He shouts in pain as two police officers round the corner.~
Officer: Freeze!
~Both officers aim their weapons at Willie, who raises his hands in the air. He stands to his feet with his back to them and puts his hands on the back of his head. One of the officers comes over to cuff him. Once secured, the other lowers his weapon and calls the assault in as the scene fades to black.~
~PIC sits on the edge of a hospital bed in Room 451 of Presbyterian Hospital. The right sleeve of his long sleeve black t-shirt is rolled up as a young blonde nurse ties a tourniquet around his arm and begins to draw blood. Sarah Abrams sleeps in the other bed in the room, her face now swollen and bruised tremendously from her attack.~
Nurse: You’ll feel a slight pinch at first and a little discomfort. You’re not afraid of needles are you?
PIC: I think I’ll manage.
~The nurse smiles. Under normal circumstances PIC might return the smile or even chat her up. But these aren’t normal circumstances. Sarah was run down two days ago by Burhaan and Diric Awaale, the Somalian brothers who have been out to get PIC since he stopped Burhaan from murdering an innocent Djibouti man back in May. It cost Burhaan the lives of three of his own men that day, and he himself had nearly died. Now PIC is faced with the huge dilemma of sticking around for Sarah or leaving to prepare for his Savage Title defense against Easton Alexander. And then of course, there’s revenge. All these thoughts swirl around in PIC’s head as the nurse finishes up, removing the needle from his arm and placing a band-aid over the entry point.~
Nurse: There you go, all set.
PIC: When will I know if I can be a donor for Sarah? Dr. Nguyen said she’s going to need a kidney transplant.
Nurse: We’ll rush these samples down to the lab to run tests and have an answer as soon as possible. The lab is pretty backed up, as you might expect. Maybe two, three days?
~PIC nods, then turns to look at Sarah who’s beginning to stir. The nurse pauses to check her vitals, and seeming satisfied, leaves the room as Sarah looks at her father.~
Sarah: You heard her. We won’t have the results for at least two days. You don’t need to stay… go do your wrestling thing.
PIC: How long have you been awake?
Sarah: Long enough.
PIC: I don’t know if I should leave. What if they come back?
Sarah: I’m in a hospital surrounded by doctors and nurses. A police officer is posted at my door 24/7. Dr. Nguyen says I’m stable. Go take care of business dad. I’ll be here when you get back.
~PIC knows there’s no arguing with her, especially when she’s right. He sighs, then rubs his hand through her hair as he bends over to gently kiss her forehead.~
PIC: I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you need anything—
Sarah: I love you, dad.
PIC: I love you too, Sarah.
.::I used to love watching the Three Little Pigs cartoon in my youth. The mere mention of it gets that “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf” song stuck in my head for hours. In the story, the three pigs each try to build their house out of different materials. The smart pig builds his house of bricks while the other two choose straw and sticks. They take the easy way out, using lightweight materials that are easy to manipulate. They’d rather play than put in the hard work. Then there’s the big bad wolf. The one who does a whole lot of huffing and puffing with a game built entirely on deception. Without it, he’s nothing.
Which are you, Crash? A lazy little pig? Or an all bark, no bite wolf? Maybe it doesn’t matter. I came back to this business naive enough to think that shaking hands and kissing babies would bring success. I found out the hard way that everyone, even those you align with, wants the exact same thing. I learned that firsthand with Easton, and it’s a lesson I won’t soon forget. I’ve been watching you, Crash. You allowed Lou to sully Tamika’s reputation time and again when everyone could see the truth. It was all mind games for you… and it worked. But not anymore.
You see Crash, you can’t fool me with that old sheep skin. This isn’t some two month blood feud where you can weasel your way into my good graces before pulling the wool over my eyes. You don’t have time for a long con. You’ve got a week. One week before you step into the ring with the hottest professional wrestler on the planet. I came to OCW to be the best, and that’s exactly what I’ve become. I’m better than you Crash. I’m faster, smarter, and a helluva lot more experienced. I’ve built my house upon the firmest foundation and haven’t cut a single corner in the process. Huff and puff all you want, it’s not coming down.
But, as certain as I am about that, there’s a few things that are still in doubt. I doubt you’ll have the guts to walk down the aisle to face me this Monday. And I doubt you have the mental toughness to look me in the eyes from across the ring. And maybe the thing I doubt most of all, Mr. Rodriguez, is how you’re going to handle having to let Bash teach you how to walk again after I cripple you for all the world to see. Because I’m going to beat you. I’m going to disgrace you in front of those fans and when you beg for mercy… and Crash, you will beg for mercy, you’ll get none from me. Not by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin.::.
—September 12, 2022 11:54PM MST | Calgary, Alberta, Canada—
~PIC pulls his black rolling suitcase behind him as he exits the Scotiabank Saddledome following Massacre. Willie “Mo Mo” Peterson walks up to him from the opposite side of the dimly lit parking garage.~
Willie: I just got off the phone with the airline. We’re booked on the red eye to New York, but we gotta head straight to the airport now. Let me grab your stuff.
PIC: Nah, I got it. Thanks for getting everything figured out. Between Sarah’s attack and the match tonight I’m just drained.
Willie: Hopefully you’ll get some sleep on the plane.
~PIC’s phone begins vibrating in his pocket. He picks it up and looks to see who’s calling.~
PIC: It’s Dr. Nguyen at the hospital.
~He lets go of the bag, allowing Willie to swoop in and grab it. He pulls it behind him toward the rental car as PIC answers the call.~
PIC: Hello.
Dr. Nguyen: Hello. I’m trying to reach Steve Wilson.
PIC: Speaking. Is everything ok, doc?
Dr. Nguyen: Sarah is fine. As I told you previously, she has sustained irreparable damage to one of her kidneys. She will need to be placed on the donor list as soon as possible.
PIC: Yeah, of course. Take mine. I’m flying back to New York this evening. I can be there and ready for surgery by late morning.
Dr. Nguyen: That is noble of you, for sure. And it brings me to the true reason for my call. I am afraid you will not be able to be Sarah’s donor.
PIC: What?
Dr. Nguyen: When looking for organ donations, we have to look at the blood type of both the patient and the donor, as well as the antigens. If they are incompatible, her body will reject the transplant.
PIC: Yeah, I get all of that. But I’m her father. Our blood types have to be compatible.
~Dr. Nguyen is silent on the other end of the line. After several awkward seconds, PIC’s frustration comes through.~
PIC: What are you not telling me?
Dr. Nguyen: Mr. Wilson, it would be best for us to speak when you get back to town.
PIC: No. If you’ve got something you need to tell me, you can do it right now.
~Dr. Nguyen sighs through the phone.~
Dr. Nguyen: We received the results from the blood sample you gave us the other day. You have Type O blood. Sarah has Type AB.
PIC: Ok… so they’re not the same. Parents and children have different types all the time. That shouldn’t mean they’re incompatible.
Dr. Nguyen: Mr. Wilson, it is impossible for a father to have Type O blood and his child to have AB. Depending on the mother’s type, it can be A, B, or O… but never AB.
~Now PIC is the one who draws silent, letting the information sink in. He tries to speak, then hesitates before regrouping.~
PIC: So, you’re saying—
Dr. Nguyen: What I am saying, Mr. Wilson, is that Sarah Abrams is not your biological daughter.
~PIC is speechless. He drops the phone from his ear as Dr. Nguyen continues to try to speak but PIC can’t hear it. Sarah’s not his daughter? How is that possible? He has no time to process the information as Willie comes running up to him, pointing to the dimly lit area of the garage to his right.~
Willie: Steve… Steve!
~PIC turns to see a dark figure, dressed in black. A lone spotlight illuminates the face of Diric Awaale, The Somalien. He stands facing the ground with both hands in the pockets of his hoodie. PIC’s shock turns to rage in an instant as he drops his phone to the ground. He clenches his fists as he begins running toward Diric.~
Diric: I’m not here to fight. I just came to—
~The forearm smash to the nose doesn’t allow Diric to finish his sentence. Blood splatters everywhere as Diric stumbles backwards into a car. PIC wastes no time, pummeling Diric’s face with right hand after right hand. The back of Diric’s head bounces off the driver side window. The last of the punches lands with so much force that Diric’s head shatters the window. Willie runs over, trying to get PIC to stop, but PIC throws Willie to the ground. He turns back to Diric, his face now covered in blood. PIC grabs him and throws him shoulder first into one of the pillars. He then begins laying in a barrage of knees to Diric’s shoulder and neck area. He stands back to his feet and begins kicking Diric repeatedly, the last smashing him square in the mouth. Diric is out cold as blood begins to pool under his head. Two teeth have been dislodged from his mouth. Willie gets back to his feet and finally manages to get PIC to back off.~
Willie: Steve, Steve can you hear me?
~PIC shakes the cobwebs out of his head.~
PIC: Yeah… Yeah I hear you Willie.
Willie: You’ve got to get out of here. The cops will be here sooner than later. You need to get back to Sarah.
PIC: Wait, what?
Willie: I’ll take the heat. You need to get back to Sarah. She needs you.
~PIC still seems out of it, but Willie thrusts the keys to the rental car into his hands. He walks PIC over to the car, stopping to pick up his now shattered phone. He tosses the phone into the car, puts PIC in the driver’s seat, and starts the ignition for him. Willie snaps his fingers in front of Steve’s face.~
Willie: Snap out of it! You gotta get going.
~PIC nods and manages to put on his seat belt. He puts the car in gear and pulls out of the parking spot and around the garage. Willie walks over to Diric’s motionless body. He rubs a little blood onto his clothes, clenches his teeth, and punches the concrete post to bust up his knuckles. He shouts in pain as two police officers round the corner.~
Officer: Freeze!
~Both officers aim their weapons at Willie, who raises his hands in the air. He stands to his feet with his back to them and puts his hands on the back of his head. One of the officers comes over to cuff him. Once secured, the other lowers his weapon and calls the assault in as the scene fades to black.~
