Location: Magness Arena, Denver, Colorado.
Date: July 21st 2019
Time: After Rise Again
“Stop hidin' fam! Where you at?” Skrabal shouts as he walks through the backstage area of the Magness Arena with purpose, his Mile High Wrestling title bouncing on his shoulder with each step.
“Oi Mikes come on fam, I'm right here innit! Come show me what H C Dub all about. Stop being a pussy!” Skrabal continues as he searches the arena for Lance Mikes.
Skrabal throws the door to Robert Macks office open with force and walks inside, he looks around but finds the room to be empty.
He turns to leave and as he exits the door he sees Jessica McDaniel walking towards him. Jessica Rolls her eyes as she sees Skrabz walking towards her, her body language makes her dislike of the Mile High Wrestling Champion clear.
“Allow it fam. You seen Mikes?” Skrabal asks her getting straight to the point.
“Lance Mikes has left the building.” Jessica Tells him matter of factly.
“Seen, seen.” Skrabal replies before walking past Jessica, setting off in the direction of his dressing room.
|-:-:-:-|
Skrabal closes the dressing room door behind him and places his Mile High Wrestling Championship title down on a table and picks up a bottle of beer. He twists of the cap and throws it on the table then lifts the brown glass bottle to his mouth. As he turns around to turn on the shower he catches a glimpse of his face in a mirror and stops for a closer look.
As he gazes at his reflection he acknowledges every cut, bruise and welt that he sees and as his eyes scan each of them his mind flashes back to his match with Bullet. He sees his left eye so swollen it's almost closed, a result of the Dios Es Una Bala delivered by Bullet in the beginning moments of he match. More prominently is the mask of dried blood he wears and the gaping wound it came from, caused by a series of devastating knees driven in to his head by Bullet.
Skrabal raises a hand and runs it over his face, feeling the damage, and as he does he feels the burning in his shoulder, another painful testament to his match with The Sheildmaiden's leader.
Location: Magness Arena, Denver, Colorado
Date: August 4th 2019
Time: During Mile High Wrestling Episode Twenty
“Where Mikes at?” Skrabal shouts as he enters the building a minute after the show goes live on the Stanton Network.
“Mikes you better be here fam!” Skrabal shouts again, his frustration building as he looks for the Hardcore Championship Wrestling legend.
Skrabal rounds a corner and sees Chris Mosh, Ginger Knox, Nathan Fury, Brandon Young, Scythe Bloodline and some Mile High Wrestling staff members and officials watching a monitor.
Skrabal stops on the spot and snaps his head towards the monitor.
"Fuck it, same ting." Skrabal says before walking away in the direction of his dressing room, seemingly giving up on his search for Lance Mikes.
Location: Skrabal's Motel Room, Denver, Colorado.
Date: August 16th 2019
Time: 9:40AM
Skrabal's phone vibrates on the scratched and worn motel room coffee table.
“Allow it fam.” Skrabal says to himself as the vibrations wake him from his slumber. The phone stops ringing and Skrabal settles back down to return to sleep only for the silence to be shattered as his phone almost immediately starts vibrating again.
“For fucks sake!” Skrabal says loudly, sitting up and rising to his feet with urgency. He groggily makes his way across the small rented accommodation and picks up his phone. He looks at it's screen and, not recognising the number that has been repeatedly calling him, he silences his phone and throws it on to the sofa.
Skrabal looks around, taking in the mess around him. Plates and bowls are piled in the small kitchenette, empty beer and vodka bottles lay strewn all around the room, clothes lay scattered on the floor where they fell.
Skrabal sits down on the sofa and picks up a doob tube containing a Moon Rocks Blueberry joint from on top of the coffee table. He takes the joint out and lights it, he inhales deeply, savouring it's flavour and potent fifty one percent THC content. He picks up his phone and opens the twitter the app. Scrolling through his feed he sees several tweets directed towards him by Tyke Index and suddenly the incessant phone calls make sense.
Skrabal thinks about Tyke and laughs quietly to himself then shakes his head as any sign of amusement quickly fades from his expression.
Location: Skrabal's motel room, Denver, Colorado
Date: July 18th 2019
Time:3.05AM
The video begins with a shot of Skrabal Stanzas sitting on the floor of his motel room with his back resting against the smoke stained magnolia painted wall. His Mile High Wrestling Championship title rests in his lap as he sits staring out above the camera, drinking beer from a glass bottle as a joint burns slowly in his left hand. He lowers the bottle and keeps his gaze above the camera as he speaks.
“What's the first ting you gonna say if you me?”
He pauses as if waiting for an answer and takes a long, slow draw on his joint.
“Shit it been a month since anybody heard from ya and they all listenin', so what the fuck is it you say to 'em right now?”
He finishes his beer and places the empty bottle beside him.
“Ya gonna say I told ya so? Talk about catchin' the dub and raisin' the strap at Rise Again? Ya gonna talk about that nonsense and foolishness with Katrina Mack and Lance Mikes?”
He pauses again and continues looking out over the top of the cameras position.
“You gonna talk about Tyke Index"
His eyebrows raise involuntarily as he chuckles slightly.
"You gonna talk about Daddy Mack?”
He shakes his head.
“Nah, none a that fam.”
He takes another long, slow draw on his joint.
“What we talkin' about then? Two words innit..."
He looks intently in to the camera.
"Ricky Stanton."
His face remains expressionless as he continues speaking.
"Yeah... you ain't see that comin' did you?... But the bredda been throwin' his weight around a while now innit. I let him be till now coz he ain't earn my attention yet plus he done kept himself busy on them Lost Child levels but recently he done showed his true colours innit, let that snakey side out. I mean shit they all do if ya pay attention long enough.... What the pretty boy said to me then? That's the ting innit, he ain't say it to me nah, he say it to Tyke. On some nonsense about our match ain't worth promoting. S'what he tweeted innit, yeah.”
An exaggerated look of bewilderment falls over his face.
“Not worth promotin'..."
He shakes his head.
"Why's that fam coz ya friends ain't in the shit? Coz I seen you ain't got a problem biggin up ya gyal's match, Sam whatever the fuck comin' in for some one and done with man like Cain as if her name carry weight when truth told we ain't heard or felt it in Denver, or ya boy there goin' hard on twitter with his pent up mummy issues... That's what you supportin'? That's what ya promotin'? Shit it gets 'em talkin' don't it, we hear that... Look the shit real cute bredrin but dont think I ain't see what ya doin' coz you ain't nowhere near subtle as ya think you are. So I'm a tell ya one time Ricky, man like Skrabz ain't need no guest appearances, he ain't have to wreck a ride or go start some twitter drama to create a lil buzz round his name, nah! All I gots to do is sit right here with this strap or walk down to that ring and handle my bidness, keep catchin' dubs like I been doin' for the past year coz that's all that counts fam, serious! And you done been in this bidness long enough to know that shit promote it's own self, standard!"
He pauses and relights his joint and takes a few quick, relaxing puffs then breathes out a cloud of smoke.
"But shit I'm a stay chill, follow Sam Hamilton advice and let it go on a Elsa vibe, Dinsey ting. Coz it all in the past for now at least and I be sick and tired a livin' in the past. I'm a start livin' in the now and since I'm livin' in the now... shit I guess I can't talk about history repeatin' itself.”
He takes a final toke on his joint and stubs it out in an ash tray then reaches out of the shot for another bottle of beer.
“So I guess I ain't bout to talk about July eighteenth, twenty eighteen. I s'pose I ain't 'bout to say a ting about man like Skrabz bein' forced to team up with Tyke Index and gyal like Azzy Vebbins. Nah, I ain't gonna do that, I ain't gonna say a word about Tyke Index lookin' up at those lights as Forge mounted him for that three count.”
He silently mouths the words "Like a bitch" as he twists the top of the bottle and throws it out of the shot.
“I ain't gonna say a word about none a that, coz that a be in the past and man like Skrabz ain't... ya nah what, fuck it.”
He takes a long drink from the bottle of beer.
“Tyke ya wanna know why I ain't tweet ya back? Ya wanna know why I ain't answer ya phone calls? It ain't coz ya got in my head fam, it ain't coz ya done psyched me out nah, bun that! It's coz ya had a fuckin' year to talk to me blad, and I ain't been hard to find in fact I been right here waitin' at the top for ya! Yeah, ya done know... and jus' to make it easier for ya to find me I been shoutin' out ya worthless name any chance I get... And still it took you a year fam, twelve months, a whole fuckin' year to finally feel like ya dick big enough to swing only ting is ya two balls done shrivelled up at the same time you squeaked out my name.”
He takes another drink of beer.
“I mean really blad, that's how you do it?”
He finishes the beer and slams the empty bottle down on the floor.
“Fuck you fam!... Ya nah I might jus' respect you a smidgen if ya challenged me face to face, if ya called me out to the ring or shit even if ya jumped me from behind and beat me down to the ground... But you ain't do none a that, nah! You the go ask the bossman type.”
He looks in to the camera, his face a contorted with disgust.
“PUSSY!”
He sneers with venom and pauses with his eyes locked intently on the camera's lens. After a few seconds he looks away and leans out of the shot ocne more, this time her returns to the shot with a freshly rolled joint in his hand. He places it in his mouth and lights it then takes a few deep, relaxing tokes.
“But shit it got ya what you want innit, it got you what they all want. It got you a title match with the big strap packin', thick batty slappin', the slut smashin' dub catchin' Mi' High Wrestlin' Champion, me... man like Skrabz... But that's in the future bredrin, and like I done said already man like Skrabz be livin' in the now and we got a lil suttin' else to deal with before we get to the second Spectacular. I jus' beg you ain't let me down again fam. In fact since you ain't feel confident enough in my presence to approach me ya can jus' go stand pon the apron and look at the ground if it make ya feel better, shit bring yaself a comfort blanket if needs be... Coz I'm a handle business either way, take The Foundation apart like a jack hammer and catch us the dub with or without ya.”
He looks smugly into the camera, puffing on his joint as he adjust the Mile High Championship Title that still rests in his lap.
“So Johnny that's where ya little ideas about you comin' out on top coz you a unit fall down. Dont get me wrong fam it's a solid point you be makin' coz man like Skrabz and Tyke Index ain't a team, it just be too bad for you that we ain't need to be. Coz fact a the matter is the two a you together ain't make up one a me so I ain't need Tyke Index to catch this dub. Ya nah it's funny, coz you two had a string a people disrespect ya with they lack a involvement and you held ya own but now ya 'bout to go face to face with the man who a show up jus' to disrespect you in person. Shit fam it's kinda what I do, so you gonna have to speak up Jackson coz where I come from quiet kids get bullied on the daily plus all that whisperin' creepy as shit and I been meanin' to slap some volume in to ya for a while now anyway. I mean come on bredrin ya gotta project ya words, speak from ya stomach innit. Fix ya frame fam, man up for fucks sake.”
He continues smoking his joint, his arrogant glare still dead set on the camera.
“Or dont blad I ain't give a shit, not really... Coz it aint matter how loud man like you shout man like Skrabz ain't ever hear a peep nor a squeak of it coz the gulf between us vast and sound jus' ain't travel far enough.”
He silently mouths the words "It don't" then again puffs on his joint.
“I ain't hold it against the two a you though, I mean I nah you ain't ask for this. You ain't wake up one day and go tell the bossman 'yo bossman'...sorry...”
He smirks and then continues, his voice lowered to a whisper.
“Yo bossman, we wanna... we wanna fight man like Skrabz.”
He laughs before continuing.
“For real I nah you ain't do that, this jus' be one a them wrestlin' tings innit. You been thrown in at the deep end coz the bossman ruthless, he see ya startin' to thrive and he a put ya to the test... That test jus' happen to be me blad, the Mi' High Wreslin' Champion... Ain't nobody passed it yet fam, and suttin' tells me you two ain't gonna be the first.”
He leans towards the camera and the video ends.