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A folksy little ditty plays in the background over a classic old school model of a town. It looks straight out of the 50’s. Large white text superimposes on top of the image.


The camera tracks and cranes back over the model, as another card displays.

Talks About

The camera dollies in to a flashing yellow light, and instantly we are transported to a sound stage, a normal every day living room. The camera moves across the plaid curtains and light blue walls before coming to a door. Entering the room is Jack Harmen, wearing a white shirt with a red tie and his jacket.

High Flyer: “It’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood.”
He enters, canned laughter ensues, as Harmen waves to the camera.

High Flyer: “A beautiful day for a neighbor. Would you be mine? Could you be mine?”

He walks over to the closet, opens it, throws his jacket inside as tons of tools and a vacuum cleaner come flying out.

High Flyer: Don’t look in there.

Harmen desperately closes the door, shoving all the trash back inside. He then walks over to his ottoman and takes off one shoe, holding it up for the camera. Then, he just throws it without a care.

High Flyer: It’s a neighborly day in this beautywood… and I promise I don’t have a stroke. Would you be mine? Harold will be mine.

High Flyer flashes his pearly whites toward the camera. He then turns his head to the side.

High Flyer: Oh! What is this? We have a visitor. Perhaps it’s… a neighbor?

MLM (O.S): Don’t make me do this.

High Flyer: What’s that boys and girls? Let’s see!

Flyer quickly rushes up from his seat like a toddler, and then rips open the front door. Standing there in a literal ball and chains wearing her best prison yellows is the Tiny Attorney, Mary-Lynn Mayweather.

She is not amused and dead pans, no selling the peril.

MLM: Oh dear. Help me Mr. Flyer. I’ve been in a terrible accident.

High Flyer: Now kids, you should never open the door to a stranger. But I know this woman. She’s my neighbor, Mary-Lynn, and she’s in trouble. And you know what we do to people that are in peril?

High Flyer waits for a response that’s not there.

High Flyer: That’s right! We help them. Mary, come inside. You must be cold. Let me get you a jacket…

Flyer takes one look toward the closet and thinks better of it.

High Flyer: Rather not reveal all the bodies.

MLM: What?

High Flyer: Cocoa? Do you want some cocoa?

MLM: Yes.

A quick transition as Flyer returns with two cups of cocoa. MLM bundles up, shivering as the steam floats off the cups. He sits across from her, and crosses his tweed hemmed khaki’d legs.

High Flyer: Tell me dear Mary, what got you into this perdictament?

MLM: Oh. I was arrested.

Flyer waits for her to continue. She doesn’t. Flyer rolls his eyes.

High Flyer: Arrested you say?! For a crime you didn’t commit?! And now you’ve broken free from your metaphorical shackles but remain physically shackled. That’s a harrowing tale of adversity. Please, tell me more.

MLM blinks. She rolls her eyes.

MLM: Prison.

High Flyer: Yes. I know of it. I’m heading there shortly, just a a visitor, mine you. Which is odd for me I know, but I’ve turned a new leaf! I’m a new man!

MLM: Sure you are.

High Flyer: I assure you, everyone is welcome in my neighborhood, but a Harold especially….

MLM: God Jack, why don’t you just go marry him!

MLM stands to her feet and removes her shackles, no longer having any part of this charade. She can’t help but upturn her nose as she stomps her high heels.

MLM: You say you want me to manage you, but you’re courting Harold…

High Flyer: His name’s not actually Harold.


High Flyer: Jeez.

MLM leans in and grabs Flyer by his tie, lifting him.

High Flyer: Deceptively strong…

MLM: Jack, is your head in the game?

High Flyer: It’s not a game.

MLM: Good.

MLM nods affirmatively.


MLM: Oh… Good.

Sarcasm from the Tiny Attorney.

MLM: Listen, Max Kael has a LITERAL shark cage. There is PROBABLY, a LOOSE SHARK at Alcatraz.

High Flyer: Oh shit, are you serious?

Flyer quickly stands to his feet, dropping the ruse. He quickly removes his tie.

High Flyer: GET ME A JETSKI! I’m gonna call Henry Winkler…

Flyer starts throwing things around the set.

High Flyer: Where are my car keys?

Flyer tosses various props before turning back to Mary-Lynn.


Flyer quickly grabs MLM by the arm and drags her off frame.

That’s when Tony Davis arrives, dressed like a 1950’s small child complete with spinning propeller hat. He walks on his knees as if he’s tiny. He looks to the left. Then the right. Then at the camera.

Tony Davis: Did I miss my cue?

MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC. Interlaced with the RED97 HOW logo. Instead of the usual picture of a dimly lit basement, instead, we see a slide show of various pictures. These pictures have been poorly photoshopped, and showcase High Flyer and Harold the Herald enjoying various events such as:

A rollercoaster.

Sharing an Ice Cream Cone.

Buying property.

Going to the movies.

Laughing at a fallen Scottywood.

A beach sunset walk.

Selling property.

Visting various landmarks, RE: Eiffel Tower, the Roman Colosseum, etc. etc.

High Flyer: Because HOW won’t give me a camera, you instead get all these very real and very candid images of myself along with my bestest and newest friend, the Herald of Harolds, the Harold Herald, the truest Herald a man could ask for… Harold.

There’s an audible cough.

High Flyer: I feel like I said Harold one too many times.

There’s a long pause. We hear murmering, of counting, as Harmen does math in his head.

High Flyer: “NOPE! We’re good. ANYWAY. So, sharks. Cool. I already rented a helicopter. I talked to my contacts at Nickelodeon and acquired twenty gallons of slime. The former MTV VJ Kennedy said she’d make an appearance, and I JUST this moment confirmed Henry Winkler. I’m a stunt man on Barry, we go back to me playing an extra on Arrested Development. And, once I get my jetski… GAME IS ON!

That being said, here comes what amounts to a long block of text if you’re reading this as a transcript, cause HOW is being stingy with their cameras and making me “put down a deposit” because of my “history of violence toward cameras.” Lame. I know. Make sure the air quotes are in the transcript. SO. Max Kael’s cruise ship crash lands into the docks at Alcatraz, and I wonder… when the hell did they build docks at what should be an inescapable prison? That being said, I’ve studied the tapes on Max Kael senior… that’s what we call him here, right? Max Kael SEN~OR! A man of considerable skill and talent, with a record naught to be taken lightly of. The former CHAMPION, of DA WORLD. Key word, former. Just like at War Games, when you got PINNED by MJ Flair, you ain’t walkin’ out with ANY titles.

And it’s why I’m not worried. I pinned Evan Ward in just as much time as it took Halitosis to become champion, and the same amount of time it’s gonna take Dan Ryan to become champion himself. MJF has bested you in the past. Doesn’t matter about our tag match. Cause at the Rumble? It’s not a tag match anymore, you won’t be working together… but MJF and I? We will. Cause while the usual saying is that it’s every man woman and child for themselves…

I have absolutely no intention of striking MJF. I do have every intention of stopping any double teams that occur. I do have every intention of smashing Max Kael Senior with as much weaponry as I can lay my grubby little mitts on. Every intention of bashing Evan Ward’s technically pretty little face into as many stone guard towers as I can find. EVERY, SINGLE, IOTA OF INTENTION to UNLEASH, the inner secrets of Alcatraz, find the Shawshank Redemption of escape routes and drag one of you into the bowels of Alcatraz. And then, it’ll just be MJF, the LSD title, and whoever was lucky enough not to get DRAGGED to the depths of the most hellish prison on earth. Haunted, spooky, scary, isolated… where everyone can hear you scream on international pay per view, all across the world… but NO ONE, CAN HELP YOU.

I already have my lawyer on speed dial.”

The last image is of Flyer playfully jostling what is obviously Tony Davis’ dreadlocks, with Herald’s face super imposed.


We’re in an office room. Poorly maintained. Long time fans of Flyer may recognize a few symbols and trinkets that properly identify this office as the one at his training gym, the Odessa Dungeon. Inherited from his trainer after his ill timed passing, Flyer has maintained it and trained generations of superstars over the course of twenty years.

Flyer kicks up his legs on the edge of his desk, as he tips his cowboy hat forward, obscuring his face. He’s also chewing on a hay straw.

Across his way is Mary-Lynn, dressed as she was before, wearing the same disinterested and “sick of your shit” look she had earlier. She crosses her arms.

MLM: So, what’s going on?

High Flyer: Well par’dner, might be time for me to hit the ol’ dusty saddles.

MLM: What are you doing. Why are you a cowboy?

Flyer gets up from his office desk and walks around to MLM’s side. He takes off his hat and places it onto her head. She is not amused.

MLM: Don’t make me hurt you.

High Flyer: But then you’d have to clean the blood off the floor of your new office.

MLM blinks.

MLM: Wait. what?

High Flyer: I’ve had my share of fun here Mary. I don’t know how many days I have left. This place is yours. Do with it what you will.

MLM: Wait, no. Jack. Your students need you. I need you.

Flyer laughs to himself, and takes his knuckle, playfully striking her across the chin.

High Flyer: You’re gonna do great kid.

Flyer turns around and grabs a jacket from a coat rack.

High Flyer: As for me? I’m gonna go to prison. If it’s the last time I see ya?

Flyer turns back, flashing his cheshire like grin.

High Flyer: Here’s lookin’ at you kid.

Flyer calmly walks out of the office, shutting the door behind him…

… Leaving a stunned Mary-Lynn behind. She only has a moment on confusion before she instinctively shouts.

MLM: You stole that from Casablanca!

Mary-Lynn starts looking around her new office, noticing a large invoice. She lifts it off the desk and takes a look. The camera gets a shot, and we see the invoice is for a helicopter, Nickelodeon slime, numerous fireworks and a slew of tools and violent instruments. The list is huge, unfolding like a scroll as the scene fades to black.

Roleplay Countdown


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