Sticks, Stones, And Words.

(The camera opens in an unknown locker room, perhaps somewhere within the hallowed walls of WrestleWorld Castle, where The Professional sits in the center of the long benches tying his wingtip shoes.)

I'm not interested in your history lessons, Nobi. You think you know me, but you never really did. Part of the reason I accepted Stuffed Crust and Erica's offer was because for awhile I had lost that spark that made me the winner that I was. For a long time I thought the spark could be rekindled if I reconnected with others. After all, Bo and Tye were raising a child and doing the family thing and soon to leave my life forever, Barney M.Bailey had manipulated me from the first day I met him, and HBB had cast me aside and labeled me a failure. By the way, thanks for siding with the biggest asshole in wrestling history. It really shows your true character. I tried, man. I really, really, tried to find that human connection in others despite my bitter resentment toward everyone who either inadvertently or directly left me in the dust. Like I said, I do pity Erica. She caught me right when everything was coming to a head and my last ounce of faith in humanity had been drained. I had nothing to offer her as a tag partner,and because of that I cost her in that tag tournament. I suppose it doesn't matter to you or anyone else that I apologized to her in private and tried to make amends? that shouldn't surprise me, because all that ever mattered to you was how good you looked in front of the camera. When it came to Stuffed Crust I was trying to find that trust, that innocence, that sense of community, but instead all I found was a fat ass who wanted discounts at Bo & Tye's, a has-been, and a never-was pretending to be have a teacher/student relationship. What it boils down to though is that my name was put on the faction. I was The Pizza Boy, and we were Stuffed Crust. If anyone should have an objection to how that stable ended up, it should be me because it was my brand, my reputation ran through the mud by a buncha grab-asses, green horns, and grandpas. So what'd I do,huh? What'd I do to try to raise all of us up the card? I won a battle royal against twenty-nine other men that you and Lioncross didn't even qualify for, so why the hell would I give any of you a shot at the fruits of my labor, huh? What would that do other than raise tension among our ranks when I inevitably spanked that old man in the ring? I'd still be the bad guy to you, wouldn't I? You'd still resent me for succeeding where the rest of you failed, and that's really what this all boils down to. You couldn't see the big picture. You didn't bother trying to understand that I was winning that world title not just for me, but for us! I was Stuffed Crust, Nobi. It ends and begins with me. Otherwise, without me it woulda been called "Lioncross & The Rest", because that's what it would've been back then. It would've been a man on the verge of walking paired up with two goofballs who at that point couldn't score gold even if they tried to suck the fillings out of their opponent's teeth while they were being covered for the three.

(The Professional lifts his jacket sleeve and shines his shoe tip with his dress shirt.)

You wanna know why I told Brian he was the only friend I ever made in wrestling? because it was true. It's still true. There's not a single man, woman, or non-binary in this industry that's ever called me friend and meant it, ya hear me Nobi? AND. MEANT. IT. other than that man. Underworld aren't friends, which is what attracted me to them. They saw the vision that I had in Stuffed Crust and gave it a better spin. They saw the benefit of hitching their wagon to a champion and letting the rest ride her momentum. The only difference is that Claudia Michaels is aware that we're riding her coattails, and we willingly hang on for the ride and contribute to her cause when we're needed. We're copacetic. We're not vindictive about her success, and the few that were have been cut down at the knees and left for dead. As for why I didn't help Brian, well how the hell am I supposed to know that Drake and Jones are going to be dickheads and take things too far? You're quite the hypocrite for even asking that question, you know that right? The reason I help nobody other than the people that employ me is because of you. I learned it from you, Nobi. I learned to abandon those I call friends to the wolves from watching you. How poetic? How dramatically ironic that I get to come in on the night that my friend is crippled and shake down the very man who taught me to treat people like that from the heavens and send him crashing back down to earth? Honestly? Knowing what I know now about Brian's fate? I probably wouldn't change a damn thing just to use the end of his career as an example of why you should've always had my back, but you didn't did you? You didn't have his back either, ya know? I didn't see Nobi running out to save Brian, and odds are you'd be able to take Drake and Jones on your own, but you didn't, so you're no better than me.

(The Professional begins buttoning up his pearl button dress shirt as he continues to speak in an overly annoyed and frantic tone.)

Who says I don't visit Cyclone? Who talks to you about what goes on between me and Cyclone? I know Cyclone doesn't, and I know that I don't either, so keep your assumptions to yourself. Same goes for me knowing Wraith. While true I knew his father,and Tony's had his fair share of run-ins with the Deviones family, before Underworld I barely knew Wraith. I still don't know him. I do know that he didn't consider me a friend, and I do know that I put him down when the woman in charge told me to. That's all that our friendship amounts to. It's not even friendship, we're more like business acquaintances who had to sever ties due to a difference of opinion. Wraith gets that, he also gets that he's the competition now. Nothing was gained or lost from his presence in my life. Nothing changes from me cutting him out of the business equation, other than my bottom line, which is the only thing that matters. That's something you never understood, Nobi. World's Finest is no different. You're colleagues, not friends. If April or Stephanie pull a rabbit out of their ass and somehow wrestle the American Dream Championship away from Claudia Michaels, they'll be the first in line to stab one another in the back. You don't matter to them, Nobi. You're just a number in the ranks, one that they've considered excising on more than one occasion I might add because you've been a liability with your obsession with me.

(The Pro folds his jacket cuffs back down and fastens his platinum cuff links.)

Speaking of, what's with your fascination with my virginity? I'm not a virgin Nobi. Bachelors can have sex. As a matter of fact, studies done by me show bachelors have more sex with more women than married men. I could whip out my little black book and read off a few names and numbers, but I'm a gentleman and a professional. I don't give a shit about when you met your friends or how you met your wife, or if you fucked her and only her. I could care less if you're high school sweethearts or an arranged marriage. Frankly the latter would make sense considering how much she despises you. I could give a damn about your shitty action movie franchise that'll never gain critical acclaim, or the money you earn from them. I'll burn it all in the ring like I did with the other briefcase full of cash you gave me out of desperation. None of that goes with you when you die. None of that luxury or comfort benefits you when you're in a coma. It all melts away when you're retired and can't act, or wrestle, or do stunts anymore. I'm not here for a cut of the riches. I'm here to take everything you have from you. Your wife, your careers, your health, your self-importance, our history; It all goes down the drain when I have you on your knees in that ring and decide to finally cut the crust from my life forever.

(The Pro blows on his fingernails and shines them on his lapel. He then reaches into his suit jacket and retrieves his driving gloves and stretches them over each hand tightly.)

You know that Dream World is only the title of this event, right? You're not actually going to live out some revenge fantasy where you finally get your hands on me and put me out of commission. As a matter of fact, if you even dream that shit you better come and find me to apologize for even daring to think you could beat me in your wildest fantasies. This isn't going to go how you want it to go. This isn't going to end how you want it to end. It's going to go the same way it did the first time we stepped into the ring, in that chamber, against one another. You're going to be at my mercy, but this time April Song wont be there to save your ass. She's busy doing business elsewhere on the card and doesn't have time for you,because that's what this is: a business. Fuck your hangups over me never giving you or LC a title shot, you entitled little prick. Fuck your ego for thinking that I give a damn about your hollow existence. Fuck your beautiful wife with the big sad Disney eyes, because that's all you'll ever fuck Mr. Married Since High School. See? I'm not a virgin. I just fucked three things in this paragraph.

(The Pro's eyes wander up in thought as he mouths '1...2...3' while holding up each coordinating number with his gloved fingers. After a moment, he nods in confirmation of his math and continues suiting up.)

While we're at it, fuck ever knowing you. Trust me when I say that no matter how this match goes, I'll wash my hands with you after I get my pound of flesh. Believe me, I will get my pound of flesh, win, lose, or draw. I do think I'll win though, because I'm the only thing walking in this match that qualifies as a man. The difference between you and I Nobi isn't that you're good and I'm bad. The difference is that I'll tell you what I'm doing when I'm doing it without worrying about your feelings. You? You'll be passive-aggressive and lie to others and yourself about your jealousy and shortcomings. I've made peace with everyone I've ever crossed in this business that had the audacity to call me a friend to my face and then whine about what I've done behind my back. I've come to terms with the fickle bitches from way back when who looked up to me as a hero but never gave a damn about who I was, how I am, or if I wanted to be friends. All that's left to deal with is you,a man who thinks he's so rich that he doesn't have to admit his mistakes. A guy who twists history to fit his narrative. A coward who'd gladly leave his best friend in the world to a pack of wolves, and has at least twice to my recollection, but I'm not busting out CageMatch.com and fact checking my sources like you pal. Pfft...where was I for Brian Daniels? Where were you for your wife? Where were you for Reno Dumont? Where the hell were you when that crumb bum LC ran into my car to commit insurance fraud? How fucking dare you criticize me when I'm openly telling you that I'm not doing anything that The White Knight hasn't done? We're not having this match because you asked for it. I know you think that's how the world works, but we're having this match because I've spent the past six months getting your attention:

I've thrown you from a ladder
I've cost you countless titles
I've tried negotiating but you never bit.
I've hurt your friends.
I've put you down on the canvas, but I didn't get to sign off with my blade and seal the deal.
I've crashed through twisted steel with you because the only way you could stop me was by sacrificing yourself in the process.
I've taken your sponsors
Your tag gold
And your wife.

What makes you think I'm the one with a disadvantage here? What win have you chocked up against me that didn't equate you losing just as much? You think of me as a black pawn serving a dark queen in this battle between worlds, but in truth I've always been the only piece on the board capable of laying the White Knight on it's side.

(The Professional straightens his tie as he stares off in thought with a resentful smile on his face.)

Someone asked me at a press junket if I'll ever revoke my 'evil ways' and become the Pizza Boy once all of this is over, but you and I both know that this isn't possible Nobi. The boy grew up and left his pennies-to-the-hour minimum wage job and became a Professional that burns hundreds to light his cigarettes. I've torn away every shred of innocence and naivety that made me a boy wonder...all but one, and I plan on doing just that when I finally put away my imaginary friend at Dream World and set aside the last childish thing that's weighing me down from being the last man standing. Mark it down on your calendar so that you can save it for the obituaries the following day: August 9th is the day that a boy dies, and a man comes into this world full grown and the scales gone from his eyes.

(The Professional tightens his tie and gets to his feet, revealing the violin case on the bench next to where he once seat. He fixes the cuff on it's handle to his wrist and tightens it up.)

Don't worry about Shizuka. I'll check in on her, float her a check from time to time, and make sure she stays far away from the business that took her husband. That clock's still tickin' in my belly, Captain Nobi. I know you hear it. You heard it before you even laid eyes on me at the foot of that ladder. I keep tearing you down, bit by bit, but it just ain't enough to sate my appetite. I've got a taste for blood on my tongue now. I've tried to quench it with other victims, but it just doesn't quiet my craving. I'm hungry Nobi Hook, and I'm coming for the rest of you.