What a Gift

Date, Time and Location: Unknown

The scene opens into a dark and grungy room, as a pitter patter of water leaks from the ceiling above. You hear the audible drip in an almost too perfect rhythm.

Drip… Drip… Drip.

The room is enough to have the hairs on your arms stand straight. It feels haunted, sinister and overall depressing. The camera pans around in a smooth 360 before focusing on a figure standing, back turned, staring at a wall. As the scene becomes focused we can see there is writing on the wall, but none of it seems to be readable besides a few words written much bigger than the rest. “TORTURE”, “PAIN”, “SUFFER”, “TWISTED”, “WHY”, and “SOON”, being amongst them, filling the walls in a deranged fashion.

“Isn’t this world cruel. Isn’t this life we are forced to live just bitter to the tongue. To the heart? I’ve always considered it to be so. After all, I’ve been disowned by my own father simply for wanting more than to slum it up in the Mexican indies. Disowned for pursuing a passion my own mother kept me from, simply for her hatred of that man who donated his semen to the young American beauty. Disowned for wanting so much more out of this damned industry, that took my mother’s death to finally break into. I took this love of wrestling and journeyed through a land of which I was not accustomed. I trained in dilapidated warehouses and got mauled by my own father, for to him the importance of the business is beyond that of family. THAT THIS BUSINESS MEANS MORE THAN A SON HE DIDN’T MEET UNTIL THEY WERE 15 YEARS OLD! No time to get to learn about me, instead time to toss me around like a ragdoll to continue a pissant legacy of tight-wearing nobodies, hiding behind masks. Oh indeed, life can be too much.”

The figure turns around, revealed to be Crash Rodriguez, with dark circles under his eyes, and some stubble of a beard. His eyes seem particularly hazy and empty.

“Oh, but I know of someone whose life has been even more dreadful. Who some could argue deserve not the beatings this mortal realm has given him. A man who had things taken from him before they even existed. Whose personal life may as well be a battlefield soaked in blood.”

Crash Rodriguez pulls out a small box and retrieves a cylinder from within, a cigarette, and then lights it and takes a small puff before returning to his speech.

“Noah. Oh, I’ve done some research on you and the TORTURE you’ve faced up to this very moment. However, I must say I envy you.”

Crash brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales, he begins to speak after, with the smoke leaving his mouth and filling the air around him, as his words do the same.

“I envy you. Not because of any accomplishments or accolades. No, no no. I envy you for your PAIN will soon end. For you have been gifted your own personal Grim Reaper. You see, you’ve been gifted your very end. I shall be your merciful angel, ending this existence that brings you to your knees. I’m going to hurt you. Oh, I’m going to hurt you so much. I’m going to leave you a corpse in that ring. You see winning does not matter to me, for that ending bell won’t signify an end to the sickening destruction I’ll put you through. It’ll be a beautiful scene, the wreckage you will be left in. The wreckage you will be.”

Crash drags his hand through his long, knotted, black hair. His hands seem to stick in place half-way through. He grabs a handful of hair and opens his mouth, speaking in a tone that is more of a squealing scream.


Crash begins pulling at his hair, taking a clump out and tossing it to the ground, of which he returns to a soft and ominous tone.

“It may seem cruel to some, but I think we both can agree it’s perhaps for the best. The world doesn’t need more maggots feeding off of it. It may seem God himself is a TWISTED son of a bitch for having to put you against me. To make you live a life so fucked, but fear not, it’ll all end in time. I’ll be your crash, that takes that life from your lungs.”

Crash brings his hands to his face and scratches down it slowly, slightly muffling his next words

“Oh, how I can’t wait to see you lay in the ring, squirming like the worm you’ll soon become. I’m eager, you could say, to leave you in pieces, in shambles.”

Crash, now with his hand back at his side, leans forward with his crooked smile and missing incisor. His eyes seem to stare through you. As if he possesses the gaze of a deadman.

“High Octane Wrestling. I signed with them. I joined this company expecting just that. Expecting “High Octane Wrestling”, but instead I see idiots with eggs, matches barely lasting a minute, and a bunch of “tough guys” wearing suits and scheming about. I simply say, FUCK THAT! It’s time to bring the High Octane, the adrenaline, the god damn ruthless intensity to this fucking place. I care not for winning. I care about decimating every fucking person who enters that ring with me. I don’t give a fuck if the bell rings, ending my match, I’m here to bring this company to their fucking knees. And at Refueled VI, I’ll leave Noah an inch away from taking his final breath. Why? WHY? WHY WHY WHY?!”

Crash leans against the wall behind him and brings his cigarette up to his lips, and takes a couple drags, his screams echoing off of the walls and filling the room before he decides to continue speaking.

“Because I am the moment that’ll change everything. I’m the man who in such a few short years has left ruins of bodies in my wake. I have burned, torn, twisted and mangled my body beyond my own recognition. I am Crash Rodriguez. SOON all of you will see my words aren’t a haunting threat, but rather, a truly bitter truth. A deadly premonition of things to be. SOON I WILL RID THE WORLD OF THESE LEECHES THAT FEED OFF OF THE LIFEBLOOD OF HIGH OCTANE WRESTLING! Starting with you… STARTING WITH THE PAIN FILLED SOUL OF NOAH HANSON!”

Crash slides down the wall behind him, sitting down and lays his head on his knees. Suddenly he starts jerking his head back and forth, smashing it into the wall behind him. He opens his mouth, squealing once again.


Crash suddenly stops the self-abuse, looks into the camera, with his haunting smile and begins to laugh in a low growling tone as the screen fades to a highlight reel of sorts. The montage of violence, including a younger Crash Rodriguez, bleeding heavily, bashing men with chairs and barbed wire ripping his flesh apart. Scenes of him dipping his hands into glue and glass before brutalizing another man with punches. Amongst the violence, videos of car crashes, wreckage, and destruction are intermingled in a twisted video package. When it all comes to a wind we return to Crash slumped onto the ground head held low.

“I never dreamed I would become like this. I thought I’d be a suave suit wearing beauty. Instead, I became the opposite. Something people could call ‘deranged’ or even ‘ugly’. No, I’m no Adonis, instead, I’m an average face with a disfigured body swimming in a pool of has-beens, lard asses, idiots, and flawed comedians. I’m swimming in scummy waters. But luckily, I’ve been gifted with a toy. A body to dissect and dismantle. I’ve been given the soul of Noah Hanson. And I’ll take this gift all the way to hell, where I can smother all the hurt out of it and throw it into the River Styx itself. And when I’ve decided I’m done, I’ll wait for my next plaything. But for now, you’ll do. Oh, you will do nicely. ”

Crash finally lifts his head from his knees, and gives his trademark crooked smile, as the image fades to black it fills with the sounds of laughter and sobs, finishing with a squeal akin to a pig being slaughtered.

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