EXT. REFUELED LXXI: THE EVENTUAL SCENE OF AN ACCIDENT, MILWAUKEE, WI.
As the Sun God barrels out of the back of the moving bus, tucking and rolling away, High Flyer stands there. He closes one eye, the blackened sullen one, squinting, before scratching the back of his head.
High Flyer: D-did… did he just steal a bunch of DVDs and hop out the back of a moving bus?
Bus Driver: What?! OH GOD!
There’s two loud thuds, foot hitting the bottom of a metal undercarriage.
High Flyer: I REALLY like him now…
At this point, the labored breathing of the bus driver takes over, as panic sets in.
Bus Driver: I can’t stop! DID YOU CUT THE BRAKE LINES?!?!
High Flyer: Yeah.
Bus Driver: We’re gonna die!
High Flyer: With that attitude, yeah-
SMASH CUT TO: The bus smashed into a tree. One of the spokes of the wheels spins, creaks with each rotation. After a moment, there’s a lurch, and the back door swings open. Stumbling out of the back of the bus is High Flyer, a large deep gash on the top of his forehead. He starts chewing air, blinking, and then rattles his head with two quick palm strikes. He looks over his shoulder back into the bus, and makes a “Oh that doesn’t look good” face. He shrugs, and starts to walk away. Sirens wail in the distance as Flyer nonchalantly walks down the dark desolate evening road. Occasionally a car will drive up, and Flyer will put his thumb out, only for the car to drive off further. Eventually, he disappears over the horizon, as police lights swirl and ambulance sirens wail.
It’s days later. Not sure exactly how much time has passed. High Flyer, wearing the same exact outfit he wore during the ending moments of Refueled LXXI, saunters up to his farm and encampment.
Things are not how he left them.
The banner that he had unfurled labeling the city as the Harmony Society has fallen, dangling from one tree branch. Fire rages across the corn fields. The roof of a nearby barn as been blown off. Not a single soul in sight.
A literal tumbleweed crosses Flyer’s path. There’s a whistle of the wind through the leaves, that eerie sense of quiet.
High Flyer: Where the hell is everyone? Why aren’t they here worshipping?
Suddenly, rushing up in a sprint is someone who could only be twenty, maybe twenty two. Glasses, short brown hair, Jewish nature and body. He stops a few feet away, huffing and puffing. Clearly he scored straight A’s, except for gym class.
High Flyer: Randy, was it?
Jimmy: It’s Ji-
High Flyer: – Randy, what happened here?
Jimmy takes a deep breath in, looking around.
Jimmy: Cultural uprising? I was in the –
High Flyer: Shut up. Really? They… they weren’t happy?
Jimmy: Oh no, most were terrified.
High Flyer: Oh. Okay. So. No Harmeny then. Harmeny was a failure.
Jimmy: I came willingly. I actually enjoyed everything. A lot. This was the only place I ever felt like home.
High Flyer: Man… I knew it was too good to last. You know, I only did this to get in the head of a literal sun God.
Jimmy: So I heard. Hey… did you… cause I heard you stopped paying the mercenaries…
High Flyer: Oh shit I had to keep paying them?
Jimmy: … and then when the guns left everyone who you forced to stay just started leaving. A few of them started lighting fires. I got this black eye.
High Flyer: I thought it was a one time charge sort of deal. I didn’t know it was a subscription service. Alright. That – that’s on me man. Sorry. I shouldn’t have used Paypal…
Jimmy: I thought we were really headed to something beautiful. I thought we were going to make the world a better place, show the world the way to truth. I gave up college for this. I thought I was headed toward enlightenment. I BELIEVED in you.
High Flyer: Well, if something seems too good to be true… it probably is. Now, are you going to help me get rid of the rest of this evidence, or are you going to go back to Algebra and Chemistry?
After a few moments of contemplation.
Jimmy: I’ll get the gas.
Jimmy walks off.
High Flyer: Good lad. Welp. I guess the God experiment failed. But at least I have a bit of insight into Rah now…
Listen, I’ll respond to whatever Rah says when Rah opens up his own jaw and jibber jabbers at me.
Nobody paid to see Barbie Q. She’s not even a wrestler. SKIP.
Rah, I’m talkin’ to you right now big man. I come bearing gifts to the Sun God. My time as spiritually enlightened, my touch of godliness has left me with lessons unbeknownst to men until now. The world needs warriors, just as much as it needs a party. You my friend, fit both bills like no other. I haven’t felt the pure rush of adrenaline in that ring than I did against you since my war with Maximillion. So, in the end, I didn’t target you because I dislike you. I did it because I liked our war. I wanted more of it. And I wanted the next time for us to fight? Well, I wanted to see you become your BEST self first. I want you to have become a motivated killing machine. And I want you to try to kill me.
See, I know what it’s like to be freshly married. I know what it’s like to push my career aside for a moment and revel in a bit of personal celebration. It’s understandable. Bask in the family you’re creating. Enjoy the woman you’ve married. But there comes a time when you gotta put your game face back on, you’ve gotta provide. You gotta STOP being soft. You’ve got to go and CHOOSE to be a Warrior.
Now, after what I saw Friday from Rah? You CHOOSE to fight me, when you could have gone off and done ANYTHING else. I’m sure of it, at Bottomline, I get to fight the WARRIOR version of the SUN GOD. I can’t WAIT.
That being said, there’s still a little doubt in the back of my head, nagging me, saying that you’d rather be resting with a mohito than fight me. That you’d rather be Buffeting than brawling. It’d be a lot easier to tell how serious you’re taking all of this if you opened up your stupid trap and show me the RESPECT I DESERVE, and talk to me like a MAN would. I don’t need Barbie, I don’t need Dawn, I don’t need any of your harem of prostitutes to talk to me. The only person I’ll give a second a notice to is Sunny, and that’s because I get her. She’s got a devilish trickster inside her. But even then, I don’t need to hear from anyone but YOU. I need to hear from GOD HIMSELF. BURN me with the Sun God’s might, show me the will and strength and POWER unforeseen in HOW until today. TALK TO ME. DEMAND YOUR RESPECT. THEN TAKE IT.
And maybe I’ll let you go and you can finally be your best self in HOW, maybe face my OTHER project Conor for the belt.
But let’s say you ignore me, if you ignore my advice, I can’t be held liable for what’s going to happen to you. I will make it so you can’t ignore me. I will force you to confront yourself, push yourself to become the very best version you could be. To motivate you, through loss, through despair, through pain, through torment and strife. I will take you to the very ends of your world and shove you off the edge. I will push you to a breaking point you didn’t know God’s could have. The last three weeks will feel like the encore at a Jimmy Buffet concert in comparison, and the rest of your life will be nothing but the time between Jimmy Buffet Concerts. The worse part of your life, forever, from here on out, knowing you the furthest you’ll ever be from ever seeing Jimmy Buffet again. Until you stand up and show me the spirit of a GOD DAMN WARRIOR.
Here’s the thing, High Flyer came to HOW for three reasons. Sure, the money, but the main two reasons were — A! Have a HECK of a lot of fun being extremely violent with some of the sickest sociopathic psychopaths the world of wrestling has ever seen… And TWO! Shape the future of wrestling.
You are the future of wrestling Rah. If you only gave as much a shit about HOW as you did about Jimmy FUCKING Buffet.
So, which version of Rah will I face? The future World Champion, with a fire in his gut and two swords for hands, cutting a swath up the ladder of HOW?
Or the one without a voice, who can’t come to terms with the fact that JIMMY BUFFET SUCKS.