HI OCTANE WRESTLING.
IT IS ME YOUR FRIEND GREAT SCOTT AKA LARGE DADDY SCOTT AKA SCOTTZILLA AKA THE MAN WITH THE GIRTHIEST BICEPS ON EARTH. BUT YOU ALREADY KNOW ALL THAT BECAUSE THOSE ARE MY CATCHPHRASES AND I AM VERY OVER. PARTLY I AM VERY OVER BECAUSE I AM A PWA MEGASTAR BUT ALSO I AM VERY OVER BECAUSE JERBOI BEAT COWBOB CLAYPANTS AND BECAME THE CHAMPION OF HOT VEE.
I DID IT GUYS I WON MY FIRST REAL TITLE.
THE HOT VEE TITLE IS NOT MADE UP YOU CAN FIND IT ON THE HO WRESTLING WEBSITE AND EVERYTHING. COWBOB WAS THE CHAMPION BUT THEN I ROLLED HIM UP LIKE A BIG FAT DOOBER FULL OF MARIJUANA WEED AND NOW I HAVE ALL THE HOT VEE TO MYSELF. IF YOU WANT HOT VEE NOW YOU HAVE TO GO THROUGH ME GREAT SCOTT.
THAT INCLUDES YOU FRANK DYLAN AND JAMES.
THAT IS RIGHT EVERYONE I AM SUCH A HUGE PWA MEGASTAR THAT THIS WEEK GOD IS MAKING ME DEFEND THE HOT VEE TITLE AGAINST THREE MEN AT THE SAME TIME. I HAVE NOT SEEN A PROMO FROM DYLAN OR JAMES YET BUT I HAVE HEARD FROM FRANK AND HE APPEARS TO BE THE LEADER OF THIS FACTION. AND YOU KNOW WHAT OCTANE WRESTLING I DO NOT LIKE FRANK BECAUSE HE SEEMS LIKE A VERY SILLY PERSON AND IT PISSES ME OFF.
I DO NOT LIKE SILLY PEOPLE.
I AM A VERY SERIOUS WRESTLER AND I DO NOT SAY THINGS LIKE GAWTDAMN BECAUSE THAT IS NOT A WORD. I DO NOT HEE HAW OR YELL I JUST TALK VERY LOUD AND I DO NOT WEAR OVERALLS BECAUSE I AM AN ADULT WRESTLER WHO IS A GROWN UP. HOW DO YOU EVEN POOP IN THOSE OVERALLS FRANK IT WOULD BE SUCH A PROCESS.
AND WHERE ARE DYLAN AND JAMES ANYWAY.
I DO NOT LIKE THREE ON ONE MAN ACTION I PREFER TO JUST FOCUS ON ONE ON ONE HOT VEE. BUT SINCE GOD KNOWS THAT ONE ON ONE YOU ONLY HAVE A THIRTY THREE PERCENT CHANCE OF WINNING HE HAS TO MAKE IT A HANDICAPPED MATCH OR ELSE IT WILL BE OVER TOO FAST. I AM A COMPANY MAN THOUGH SO I WILL TAKE THREE GUYS AT ONE TIME JUST TO PROVE I CAN DO IT. BUT I DO THINK IT IS RUDE THAT MY OTHER TWO OPPONENTS HAVE NOT EVEN SAID HELLO TO ME YET.
DO YOU GUYS WEAR OVERALLS TOO?
BECAUSE “OVERALL” I AM NOT IMPRESSED WITH FRANK AND IF YOU ARE ALL FARM PEOPLE TOO THEN YOU ARE IN THE WRONG PLACE. I KNOW THE WEBSITE SAYS HO WRESTLING BUT WE DO NOT GROW CROPS HERE. YOU LOOK LIKE YOU SMELL LIKE COW POOP AND A CHILD ENDANGERMENT CHARGE. YOU LOOK LIKE THE BAD GUY ON SCOOBY DOO AFTER THEY TAKE THE MASK OFF. YOU LOOK LIKE YOU HAVE A BUNKER WITH A LOT OF CANNED BEANS IN IT AND A BOOK CALLED HOW TO FINGER YOUR SISTER BUT STILL ENJOY THANKSGIVING.
FRANK YOU ARE A REAL MESS.
MAYBE YOU ARE ALL VERY SHORT AND EACH ONE OF YOU IS SITTING ON THE OTHERS SHOULDERS AND THAT IS WHY YOU ARE WEARING THOSE OVERALLS. I DID NOT SIGN UP TO WRESTLE A THREE MAN OVERALL FARMER WITH AN UNMANSCAPED HEAD THIS IS ASSAULT. I SWEAR TO YOU FRANK IF YOU TOUCH ME WITH YOUR HANDS AND THEY FEEL GREASY I AM CALLING A LAWYER. PLEASE WASH YOUR HANDS AND FIND CLOTHES THAT FIT AND WRESTLE ME THREE ON ONE LIKE MEN INSTEAD OF BEING ON EACHOTHER’S SHOULDERS LIKE THREE CHILDREN TRYING TO SNEAK INTO A MOVIE TO SEE BOOBS.
I BET YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN BOOBS.
ME I SEE BOOBS ALL THE TIME BECAUSE I AM A PWA MEGASTAR AND I HAVE ALL THE HOT VEE AND I AM ON THE ASS NETWORK. BUT YOU PROBABLY CANNOT EVEN GET CONSENT TO MILK YOUR OWN COWS FARMER FRANK I BET DYLAN AND JAMES HAVE TO DO IT FOR YOU BECAUSE OF THE RESTRAINING ORDER. BOOBS FEEL AWESOME FRANK AND YOU WOULD KNOW THAT IF YOU DID NOT LOOK JESUS IN A HORROR MOVIE WHERE HE GOT AMNESIA AND STARTING KILLING TOWNSPEOPLE.
DO NOT GET ME WRONG FRANK.
I AM NOT UNDERESTIMATING YOU.
YOU HAVE LIVED A HARD LIFE. YOU PROBABLY HAVE GREAT CARDIO FROM BEING CHASED BY TOWNSPEOPLE WITH PITCHFORKS. I AM SURE THAT ALL THOSE YEARS OF WRANGLING SWAMP PIGS HAS MADE YOU A GREAT GRAPPLER. THIS HANDICAPPED MATCH FOR THE HOT VEE TITLE WILL PROBABLY BE THE GREATEST CHALLENGE OF MY CAREER BECAUSE YOU ARE THREE SMALL CLAY BYRD’S IN ONE LARGE SET OF OVERALLS AND EVERYONE KNOWS THAT THREE BYRDS IN OVERALLS IS WORTH TWO IN A BUSH. SO I AM READY FRANK DYLAN AND JAMES. I AM READY FOR WAR AND I AM READY TO FIGHT FOR MY HOT VEE LIKE A GENTLEMAN. AND WHEN IT IS OVER YOU WILL RESPECT ME FRANK BECAUSE THE ONLY R WORD I CARE ABOUT IS RESPECT.
YOU SHOULD TRY THAT ONE OUT.
ANYWAY IT IS TIME FOR MY STORY NOW SO I HAVE TO GO. EVERYONE HAVE A GREAT DAY EXCEPT FOR FRANK AND DYLAN AND JAMES BECAUSE THEY CAN GO FUCK THEMSELVES. ACTUALLY YOU CAN ALL GO FUCK YOURSELVES.
I’M GREAT SCOTT.
I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL.”
Staring in an awe filled haze, GREAT SCOTT stares at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes fixated on the HOTv Championship over his shoulder. It’s been almost two weeks since he’d managed the upset of the century, beating former champion Clay Byrd with a well timed roll up and putting his name on the record books for the very first time. Not just in HOW, mind you.
This was the first real title of his career.
For years in the wrestling business, and this was the culmination of all of it. Years of staring up at hot lights, wondering where it all went wrong, and now it was all amounting to something. PRIME Wrestling saved GREAT SCOTT’s career, but PWA… HOTv… they’d MADE his career. It feels like a dream that he might wake up from at any time, so for now he’s just taking it all in.
Just staring into that mirror.
GREAT SCOTT: THIS IS THE COOLEST THING IN THE FUCKING WORLD. THIS IS COOLER THAN A HUMMER LIMO OR A HOUSEBUS OR AN IPHONE 16 with 6G. THIS IS SO FUCKING COOL.
The dumbest smile lingers over his face, a stark contrast from the faux-badass look of his short cropped blonde hair and try-hard goatee. He doesn’t look like a man who should be grinning from ear to ear like an idiot, but that’s exactly what he’s doing.
Truth is, he kind of sucked at being a bad guy.
Scott Gratesburgh once literally gave a homeless person the shirt off of his back. Why wouldn’t he? He looks fucking rad without a shirt on, and that poor old bum needed it more than SCOTT did. You can shave your head, you can die 97% of the hair on your body blonde, and you can start calling people marks all you like— guys like GREAT SCOTT were not cut out to be villains.
Don’t tell him that I said that, though.
He has a fucking bear.
GREAT SCOTT: LOOK AT US HOT VEE. WE LOOK SO GOOD TOGETHER. YOU ARE LIKE A HOT GIRLFRIEND WHO WILL NOT STEAL MY IDENTITY AND MAKE ME HOMELESS. AND YOU DO NOT EVEN GO TO A DIFFERENT SCHOOL AND YOU ARE DEFINITELY REAL. I WILL NOT HAVE SEX WITH YOU THOUGH THAT WOULD BE DISRESPECTFUL.
He readjusts the belt on his shoulder, appreciating the weight of the leather and gold. Admiring the detailing in the plates, and the intricacies of the stitching in the leather. It’s possible that no man has ever valued a material item as much as GREAT SCOTT values this championship, and it’s for good reason.
It meant he wasn’t just some goof.
It cemented him as a real wrestler.
When he lost the Five Star Championship match against Rezin in PRIME, it had hurt worse than any loss he’d ever suffered. Not because the man couldn’t take a loss— in his career, he’d taken hundreds, easily. Always picked himself back up. Always looked on the bright side and told everyone to have a great day. But losing to Rezin was another animal.
It felt like a glass ceiling.
After coming back to wrestling like a bat out of hell and going on an unstoppable undefeated streak, the world seemed almost ready to accept Scott Gratesburgh as a real fucking wrestler. Not a jobber. Not a joke. Not a punchline. A real icon of the wrestling business. But as he stared up at those lights, made mortal in the center of the ring by the Five Star Champion, he didn’t feel like an icon. He didn’t feel like a megastar. He didn’t feel like a man who could hold the world of wrestling in his hands.
He felt like a fucking loser.
GREAT SCOTT pulls the title off of his shoulder, placing it carefully around his waist and fighting with the clasps to fasten it in place. It fits him nearly perfectly, like it’s belonged there all along.
GREAT SCOTT: A LOT OF GREAT MEN HAVE HELD THIS TITLE AND ALSO JEFFFREY JAMES ROBERTS. JAY PEEDEE HELD THIS BELT. CLAYBOB HELD THIS BELT. STRONK DADDY HELD THIS BELT. YOU HAVE SOME BIG SHOES TO FILL SCOTT SO YOU HAD BETTER KEEP YOUR FEET VERY SWOLE AT ALL TIMES.
Potentially swollen feet aside, one thing was clear.
He didn’t feel like a loser anymore.
SCOTT pulls his arms up, flexing into the mirror with the championship around his face and replacing the dumb smile on his face with a purposeful, arrogant smirk. Regular old GREAT SCOTT was a fucking dork, but SCOTTZILLA? LARGE DADDY SCOTT? He was the large, malevolent father of butts. The DNA abnormality. There was nothing as hot as GREAT SCOTT, and the world finally gave a flying fuck about him. About his bear. About his glare.
About his HOTv Championship.
GREAT SCOTT: WORLD TITLES ARE COOL BUT EVERY COMPANY SAYS THEY HAVE A WORLD CHAMPION BUT THAT CHAMPION NEVER FIGHTS THE WORLD. ME I FIGHT EVERYONE ON HOT VEE AND MAYBE EVEN THE ASS NETWORK SOMEDAY WHEN MELVIN’S SECRETARY LINDSAY STOPS HAVING BELT PHOBIA. I THINK THAT MAKES IT EVEN BETTER THAN A WORLD TITLE BECAUSE I WILL ACTUALLY FIGHT THE WORLD. EXCEPT FOR OCW BECAUSE THEY DECIDED THAT MOCKING THE DIFFERENTLY ABLED IS BETTER THAN BEING IN A COOL WRESTLING ALLIANCE.
It cannot be expressed enough that there isn’t even a camera present, GREAT SCOTT is just constantly in promo mode. You should see him ordering lunch at a Jimmy John’s or something. It’s wild. And yet in all of this pride and celebration, there’s still that nagging feeling in the back of SCOTT’s mind. The lingering chip on his shoulder. The yucky feeling at the bottom of his tum tum.
What if he loses this title?
What if it was all a fluke? The roll up might be the most devastating finisher in all of professional wrestling, but what if Clay had hit that clothesline? What if he’d just been left staring at the lights, counting another loss when it mattered most? For all the due congratulations that he was allowing himself, winning the HOTv Championship wasn’t the end of the road… it was only the beginning.
Now he has to defend it.
Now he has to prove that he didn’t just win a belt, but in fact earned a championship. That it was more than just leather and gold. That he didn’t just have the title of a champion, but the heart of one too. His flex slowly wilts in the mirror, as GREAT SCOTT gets lost in his own thoughts. He’s no longer staring at his arms, or at the belt, but looking directly into his own eyes.
GREAT SCOTT: DO NOT FUCK THIS UP YOU STUPID IDIOT. YOU ARE THE MAN WHO BEAT SCOTT STEVENS ONCE AND SCOTT STEVENS IS A HALL OF FAMER. FRANK AND DYLAN AND JAMES ARE JUST THREE SMALL MEN IN A PAIR OF OVERALLS THEY ARE NOT EVEN HALL OF FAMERS. YOU DO WHATEVER IT TAKES SCOTT. WHATEVER IT TAKES. REMEMBER WHAT GOD TOLD YOU.
Swallowing hard, the HOTv Champion allows his eyes to wander toward the front of THE GREAT ESCAPE, where there’s a small brown bag sitting on the table near the mini-kitchen. The same small bag that has been sitting in that spot all week.
The bag he’s been avoiding.
GREAT SCOTT: WHATEVER. IT. TAKES.
Taking great care, GREAT SCOTT gently removes the title from around his waist, cradling it in his arms like he’s holding a baby or a very expensive piece of art. He lightly folds the straps in on either side, opening his suitcase and setting it ever so carefully inside.
GREAT SCOTT: I AM SORRY HOT VEE BUT I DO NOT WANT YOU TO SEE WHAT I HAVE TO DO. JUST KNOW THAT I AM DOING IT FOR YOU AND FOR GREAT BEAR AND EVEN FOR MORTY EVEN THOUGH HE IS BEING KIND OF A BUTTHOLE RIGHT NOW. YOU STAY SAFE. I WILL BE BACK.
He softly closes the lid of the suitcase, his eyes glancing nervously toward the brown bag once again. He hasn’t opened it since it was handed to him, and he swore to himself a million times that he never would. He was 97% sure he could beat Frank Dylan James, no matter how many opponents he was… but it was that 3%.
Just the slightest hint of doubt.
Jace Parker Davidson was a champion. A HOW Hall of Famer. He’d been to the show before. He knew how it worked. When he’d handed SCOTT this bag, he told him that no one would ever judge him for using what was inside of it, and that no one would even have to know. And Jace had never steered him wrong before— just days prior to OCW closing its doors to the PWA over one man really wanting to use slurs on television, Jace had even agreed to be a member of GREAT SCOTT’s new stable. They were friends.
Jace would never lie to his friends.
With a deep breath, GREAT SCOTT walks over to the table, unfolding the top of the bag and reaching down into its depths. He grabs hold of the contents, pulling out a small bottle with the large, angry face of STRONK GODSON on the front. The label is loud and boisterous, emblazoned with the name “LIQUID STRONKUMMS” and a large warning that humans should not consume this product.
It’s an energy drink.
A meat flavored energy drink.
A meat flavored energy drink infused with steroids.
A lot of steroids.
Swallowing hard, GREAT SCOTT breaks the seal on the questionably legal meat drink and holds it beneath his nose. It smells absolutely terrible, the odorous equivalent of listening to people read things out loud on OCW radio. Saying a little prayer to PIRATE GOD™, he steels himself, thinking about GREAT BEAR. Thinking about the HOTv Championship. Thinking about how good it feels to be accepted as a real wrestler, and how much it would hurt him if that all went away.
No more fame.
No more fortune.
No more GREAT BEAR with a belly full of meat.
And if one ethically questionable meat drink could keep GREAT BEAR eating prime cuts of real meat for the rest of his life (shit, how long do bears live?), then who was Scott Gratesburgh to deny him that? To be so selfish? He raises the bottle to his lips, trying to ignore the smell wafting into his nostrils. Thinking better of drinking it a sip at a time, though, he quickly grabs a kitchen knife from the counter, cutting a trench into the side and covering the mouth hole with his finger.
GREAT SCOTT: OVER THE LIPS AND PAST THE GUMS WATCH OUT STOMACH CAUSE THIS IS A LOT OF MEAT FLAVORED STEROID JUICE.
He throws the lion’s share of the drink to the back of his throat, shotgunning the LIQUID STRONKUMMS like a college freshman at a meat kegger. It burns on the way down, which is probably not a great sign.
GREAT SCOTT: WELL THAT WASN’T GREAT.
With an enormous belch, GREAT SCOTT tosses the empty container to the side and reaches back into the bag to throw away the receipt. As he pulls it out, though, he realizes that the piece of paper isn’t proof of purchase– it’s a handwritten note:
“Check your fridge. Good luck, champ. – JPD”
Raising an eyebrow, the HOTv Champion grabs the handle and swings the refrigerator open, his eyes growing wide as he sees what is inside. From top to bottom, the entire fridge has been filled up with LIQUID STRONKUMMS, a supply that could last him a whole month.
His stomach turns.
Maybe it’s guilt.
Maybe it’s the LIQUID STRONKUMMS.
GREAT SCOTT: WELL… IT IS A THREE ON ONE HANDICAPPED MATCH.
Throwing caution to the wind, GREAT SCOTT reaches into the fridge, grabbing a few more bottles and scooping them up under his arm. If a single bottle was supposed to be his secret weapon, then what happens if he drinks… all of it?
GREAT SCOTT: FRANK AND DYLAN AND JAMES ARE NEVER GOING TO KNOW WHAT HIT THEM. SEE YOU AT CHAOS YOU JABRONI MARKS IN YOUR STUPID OVERALLS. I HOPE YOU GET CARDED FOR AN R RATED MOVIE WHEN A TEENAGER SEES THROUGH YOUR FACADE.
Cracking into another drink, SCOTT throws it back– you get used to the meaty taste, even if you never quite adapt to the aroma. A month’s supply starts to sound a little optimistic, as he shotguns through a second bottle and tosses the empty aside.
Octane Wrestling beware.
GREAT SCOTT is on the juice.
FUCK I FEEL HYPED RIGHT NOW.
NO LIKE REALLY REALLY HYPED GUYS. I AM READY TO FIGHT FRANK AND DYLAN AND JAMES AND IF THEY HAVE TWO MORE FRIENDS THEY WANT TO BRING THAT IS FINE. I AM LIKE WHATABURGER IN THAT I WILL FIGHT FIVE GUYS IF I HAVE TO. BUT ANYONE PLEASE DO NOT TELL MELVIN OR PRIMETIME THAT I AM ON STEROIDS NOW BECAUSE I THINK THAT IS WHY THEY FIRED DAN RYAN’S DAUGHTER. I DO NOT KNOW FOR SURE BUT I HAVE A TITLE MATCH COMING UP AT THEIR SUPERSHOW CALLED ULTRAVIOLENCE WHERE I COULD BECOME A DOUBLE CHAMPION SO IT IS PROBABLY SAFER IF WE JUST KEEP THIS A SECRET.
FUCK YOU RAISIN GOAT.
I WILL BE THE STAR OF DAVID CHAMPION.
BUT ANYWAY THAT IS ALL PRIMETIME BLUE BUSINESS AND RIGHT NOW I AM ON THE CLOCK HERE AT HOT VEE. I HAVE DONE A LOT OF PUSHUPS TODAY. AND I MEAN LIKE A LOT OF PUSHUPS. EVERY TIME I STOP DOING PUSHUPS I GET VERY ANGRY SO I THINK I WILL JUST KEEP DOING THEM UNTIL THAT FEELING PASSES OR I RUN OUT OF LIQUID STRONKUMMS.
FRANK DYLAN AND JAMES.
I AM GONNA REALLY FUCK YOU GUYS UP.
I AM LITERALLY LIVING MY MOTHERFUCKING DREAM RIGHT NOW FRANK AND IF YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING TO TURN MY DREAM INTO A NIGHTMARE THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD GET YOUR BRAIN CHECKED BECAUSE YOU HAVE GOT A BAD BRAIN. I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT. THE HOT VEE TITLE IS MINE AND I SWEAR TO PIRATE GOD THAT IF YOU TRY TO TAKE IT AWAY FROM ME I MIGHT FUCKING KILL YOU. I KNOW THAT IS MY CATCHPHRASE AND I SAY IT A LOT BUT THIS TIME I REALLY MEAN IT. I MIGHT ACTUALLY FUCKING KILL YOU. I AM IN OCTANE WRESTLING NOW WHERE PEOPLE DIE ALL THE TIME MOTHERFUCKER SO FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT BITCH.
ANYWAY I HAVE TO GO NOW. I AM GOING TO BUY A BIGGER FRIDGE AND I HAVE TO TALK TO JAY PEEDEE ABOUT SOME STUFF DON’T WORRY ABOUT WHAT IT IS EVERYTHING IS FINE. FUCK MAN MAYBE I NEED TO DO SOME MORE PUSH UPS TOO CAUSE THERE IS THIS VEIN IN MY FOREHEAD THAT JUST KEEPS GETTING BIGGER AND I HAVE THE URGE TO START A FIRE AND MURDER THREE GUYS INSIDE OF ONE OVERSIZED SET OF ADULT OVERALLS. GOD THOSE OVERALLS ARE SO FUCKING STUPID. LITTLE OSH KOSH G’GOSH BITCH.
LARGE DADDY SCOTT HAS WHAT YOU NEED.
YELL LOUDLY IF YOUR EARS WORK.