Part 1: CUT
The scene fades in from black as the sound of a Harley Davidson is heard on screen. Sure enough, as the scene fades into the picture, Steve Solex is shown backing his Harley up into a parking spot in front of the Masters of Mayhem clubhouse. Steve gets off his bike, and walks inside. The scene cuts inside and members of the club are shown scattered about. A couple of guys playing pool, a few guys at the bar. Whatever. You know, biker gang shit.
“What’s up fellas?” Steve says as he begins removing his leather gloves.
“Steve-Oh!” A grizzly fellow at the bar announces, holding his mug of ale high in the air. Steve walks over to him and gives him a hard pat on the back.
“What’s up Grizzly?” Of – fucking – course this guy’s name is Grizzly.
“Oh, you know. Hanging and banging!” He spits out a random assortment of words that don’t mean shit behind a heavy slur.
“Whatever you say, brother.” Steve gives him another stiff pat on the back, and leans backward against the bar. A young woman walks to the back of the bar, from a back entrance.
“Get you anything, Steve?” Her mousey voice gets Steve’s attention.
“Shot and a brew, honey.”
She’s quick, almost too fucking quick. She slides the beer and shot down to Steve, who quick takes the shot and takes a swig from the frosted mug.
“Thanks,” Steve winks at the woman, with a charming little smile.
“So, where’s Jace at? We got business to tend to?” Steve’s question is directed to Grizzly, who’s now half asleep at the bar. Steve scoffs at the drunken buffoon and walks out of the back door of the clubhouse.
“What the fuck?!”
Steve notices Jace and another club member outback in the “yard”, with another man. Jace is holding a pistol to the man’s head, who’s down on his knees looking straight down the barrel of the gun. The man’s mouth is duct taped shut, and his hands are tied behind his back.
“What’s up Steve?” Jace is cool as can be as Steve walks into what might be a fucking homicide.
“Hanging and banging.” Steve couldn’t think of anything good, and I for one am disappointed.
Jace laughs at the remark, and pushes the pistol into the man’s forehead.
“This rat, Steve. He ran to the FBI. He told them about the money, about the guns. He told those fuckers everything, and now he’s goin’ to be dealt with.”
Steve can’t believe his eyes, and he begans to pace around frantically.
“You can’t kill someone, Jace.” He tries to reason with his armed friend.
“You definitely can’t kill someone at the clubhouse. It’s in the by-laws.” Steve’s trying what he can to get Jace to put the gun down, without triggering a violent response.
Steve slows walks over to Jace, his hand out. He’s asking for the gun, but you know…without saying shit.
“Back up, Steve. This has to be done.”
“Then take the prick to the junkyard. Don’t do it here.”
Steve figures if he can buy some time, he can get this guy out of here alive.
“There’s no time, the FBI is goin’ to be here soon and we just can’t let that happen.”
The situation just elevated to something Steve was definitely not prepared to deal with today.
Steve back up from Jace, holding his hands up in the air.
“Alright, buddy. Your call. But if the Feds get here, and see a dead guy. We’re going down for sure. Not just you, but all of us.”
Steve continues, “I just made a shit ton of cash at the last Refueled, and I know the club did too. At least we have the fuckin’ bail money, if we need it. Rethink this Jace…”
Suddenly, Steve stops talking. Drops his hands. Jace looks over to Steve, mouths some words, and nods his head.
“CUT!” Steve shouts. Cut? What the fuck?
“I said cut, darn it.” Steve’s tone of voice has changed completely. In fact, everything mannerism about Steve has changed. His posture, the look in his eye. Everything.
“What do you mean cut?” Jace asks, still pressing the gun into the man’s head.
“I mean cut.”
Suddenly, the scene zooms back. It’s apparent now, that this is a staged event. Boon mics, camera equipment, cabling are all over the fuckin’ place.
“We can’t do this anymore.” Steve’s tone of voice is innocent, and odd. Old fashioned even.
Jace looks at Steve, confused.
“Steven,” Jace begins. But wait, Steven? Is this the fucking Twilight Zone? What the hell is going on here. “We have to shoot the scene, like the script says.” Scene? Script?
“We can’t murder someone on television, Jace. Children are watching this programming, and I’ll bet they’re watching without proper parental monitoring.”
What in the actual fuck is going on here?
“I just can’t do this anymore,” Steve continues. “We have to be more responsible. I’m a husband, I’m a father. I just can’t do this anymore.”
Suddenly, a little man walks into view. He’s hold a megaphone, and is escorted by some equally tiny man.
“Steven, we have to shoot the scene. It’s already paid for,” obviously this guy is the director. But what the fuck is going on?
“This has been working, Steven. You’ve given yourself an edge here. You just beat Brian Hollywood, a former World Champion, and now you want to get away from the biker thing? C’mon Steven, get your head back into the game,” the director is persistent, but so is Steve.
“I’m not going to do this anymore. This is just a bunch of Tom-foolery to make people believe that I’m something, that I’m not.”
Steve removes his leather vest and tosses it to the ground.
“Don’t do this Steven,” Jace tries to plead with Steve, but there’s just no chance he’s changing his mind.
“I’m sorry, Mark.” Apparently, Mark is Jace’s real name. This whole thing is fucked.
“I can beat Noah Hanson, but I won’t put myself out there as a criminal anymore. My son is starting to ask questions. Poor Jebidiah is beginning to think that his father is a bad man. And by golly, by gosh…I’m not! I’m a good man, a good husband, and I’m the number-one dad. I will not subject myself, or anyone else to this sort of nonsense any longer.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mark – the actor formerly known as Jace – says, before dropping the presumably fake pistol to his side. The man, once tied up, easily unties himself and marches out of scene.
“I’m sorry, Mark. It’s just not going to happen anymore. Noah Hanson is a for sure tough fudging opponent, and I can’t be distracted with these shenanigans anymore. I need to just be who I am, and if the people don’t accept me for that, then they were never my people to begin with.”
The scene zooms back further, revealing an entire set made for television. There’s crew, catering, and Grizzly is definitely not the man we though he was. The scene fades to black.
Part 2: A Letter
To my most loyal and downright amazing fans,
First off, I would just like to apologize to anyone whom has ever watched me play the character Steve Solex on television, on HOTv, or listened to anything that I’ve said in the past. Truth be told, the man Steven Solex is real, but the character I’ve played on television all of these years is nothing but a farce. A pretend personality that I have kept so that I might be seen as a threat to the gobs of opponents that I have faced over the years.
Truth be told, I am a family man. I’m an old fashioned, well mannered, father and husband. I love God, and I love my country. From this day forward, I pledge to all of you and to the United States of American that I will only represent the man that I truly am. A man of principles and honor, and I will not waiver in my beliefs any long.
To all of the parents out there, that let their children watch me as I committed heinous act after heinous act. You should be ashamed of yourselves! Yes, this is the Land of the Free, and you are allowed to do as you place. But I will not sit idly by while you let your children watch me on television and poison the future of this country. Today, things change.
Noah Hanson, I’ve had this letter delivered to you specifically. Don’t let this sudden change in me, fool you. I’m just as hardnosed and tough as I’ve ever been. When you and I meet at Refueled, you and everyone else will finally see the man that I’ve always been. I love my wife and son more than anything on God’s green Earth, and if taking care of them means beating you in a wrestling match, then by-gosh, by golly that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I know that your confidence must be as high as the Empire State building, Noah, especially after winning your match against Brenton Cross, but that does not mean that you should feel like you are going to win. It absolutely, does not mean that. What it means is that I will be ready for whatever you have to offer, and I will not be put down by you or anyone else. I’m tired of these games we play, these shenanigans we entertain, and these evil webs we weave. I sincerely hope, Noah Hanson, that you had a wonderful time this Christmas season with family and friends, celebrating the birth of our true Savior, and one true God. It just might be, and excuse me for saying this, the last Christmas you spend on this planet. I will put you, excuse my French, through absolute hell come Refueled. You are nothing but a miscreant and I will dispose of you soon enough, I can only hope that I restrain myself long enough to allow you to walk out of Refueled in one piece, and still breathing.
All my love,
Part 3: CUTTO a Fucking Nightmare
The scene fades in from black. A ridiculous 1950s television show begins to play in the background as the front of a house is shown, somewhere in middle country suburbia. This song is the fucking worst, and it plays as the words “Filmed in front of a live studio audience” are displayed across the bottom of the screen. The scene then cuts to the inside of the house as the words fade, into presumably oblivion. In the dining room to be exact. This fucking train wreck of a room is decorated like 1950s white suburbia. Steve…excuse me, Steven Solex is shown sitting at the head of the table. His wife Karen, who apparently has always existed…but we’re just now finding out about, sits to his left. A little boy, outfitted like some kind of Leave it to Beaver reject. I’ll bet he’s a petulant little shit.
“Dad!” The boy exclaims. “There’s someone at the door.”
The door swings open slowly, and a man’s head peaks around the door, lookin’ like a fuckin milkman.
“Well, if it isn’t the neighborhood milkman, Joe!”
All of the Solexes look toward the front door with the biggest of shit-eating grins on their faces. It really is a fuckin’ milkman.
“How are ya doing, Solexes?”
The crowd cheers as the quirky milkman, dressed in old fashioned milkman clothes, enters the front door. Who the fuck has a milkman in 2019? And wait, we have a crowd?
“We’re all doing just fine, Joe!” Steven says, still smiling like a complete fool.
“Ohhh, steaks.” Holy shit, this is terrible.
The crowd laughs.
“Now, Jebidiah,” the outdated, overly jolly Joe says, as he approaches Steven’s son. “I still see a lot of vegetables on that plate.” Joe tousles little Jebidiah’s hair. Jebidiah looks down, and begins to look sad. “You want to be big and strong like your pop, don’t ya?”
“Yes, sir”, Jebidiah mutters under his breath.
“You don’t want to be like that chicken-hearted, chuckle head Noah Hanson do ya’?” Joe drops to a knee to get eye-to-eye with Jebidiah.
The God-awful sound of morality-lesson music begins to play in the background.
“Your father works really hard to put food on the table for you kids, and he expects you to be grateful and eat all your veggies, young man. One day, you’ll have a family of your, and you’ll understand what it means to put in a hard day’s work. And what you’ll expect from your children will be just what your father expects of you.” Since when does a fucking milkman give lessons to a small child of no relation?
“Now, do you understand Jebidiah?” The milkman asks the young boy, as the rest of the family looks on.
“Yes, sir” Jebidiah responds, forcing a piece of broccoli into this mouth. Joe tousles Jebidiah’s hair once more, before he stands up.
The crowd lets out a collective “awe.” I couldn’t cringe any harder.
“I’ll walk you out Joe,” Steven says, as he stands up, and wipes his mouth with his napkin.
The two walk to the front door, but just as Joe’s about to exit he holds up a finger and turns to Steven. “What are you going to do, Steven?”
Steven raises and eyebrow, acting as if he doesn’t know what Joe’s talking about.
“About what, Joe?”
“About that ragamuffin Noah Hanson? He’s a low-down dirty scoundrel, you know.”
The crowd laughs.
“Oh, Joe. Don’t be so concerned. I’ve dealt with far greater opposition than the likes of Noah Hanson. I wouldn’t worry Joe, it’s like I always say. If you wrestle a match against a wrestler, you can expect that you are going to wrestle the best version of that wrestler. Noah Hanson, isn’t the best wrestler in High Octane Wrestler, but he is a wrestler. And I expect to get the best version of that wrestler, it’s just my job to make sure that I’m wrestling the best that I can possibly wrestle, during our wrestling match. Do you know what I mean?”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Joe looks confused as his jaw drops, and appears to be frozen in time. Steven rotates him out the front door, “Now run along Joe. I’m sure there are plenty of neighbors who would like their milk delivered today.” Joe stumbles out the front door, still perplexed. The white screen door from 1950s television or any-town USA slams shut behind him.
The crowd cheers as the milkman makes his exit.
Steven places his hands on his hips and laughs as Joe walks down the front steps.
“That milkman sure is a pistol,” Steven says, leaning back with his hands still on his hips.
The crowd laughs as Steven returns to the dining room table to be with his family. The tables been cleared, and the family has run off. Steven appears disappointed as he looks at the empty table.
“Those silly gooses, I wasn’t finished eating. Oh, Karen!” Steven shouts for his wife, his tone remains pleasant.
Karen comes hustling back into the dining room, wearing an apron and her hair up in a bun.
“Yes, dear?” She inquires, a big stupid fucking smile on her face.
“What happened to my dinner?” Steven points to the empty table, a stern look on his face.
“Why whatever do you mean, my love?”
Steven continues to point toward the empty table.
“Where’s my dinner, Karen? I wasn’t finished eating.” His tone has become more aggressive. In fact, he’s raised his hand. Is he going to slap his wife? What fucking year is this?
Karen begins to look concerned as Steven leans in to smack his wife. He pauses mid-swing, and looks into the camera.
The crowd gasps.
Steven shrugs his shoulders, and begins to laugh hysterically as does Karen, who’s now looking into the camera as well.
The crowd laughs and applauds. Again, what fucking year is this?
“Now, Steven. You save all of your energy for that ne’er-do-well, Noah Hanson.”
“You’re right, my little peach. Noah Hanson has another thing coming if he thinks I’m going to spend one ounce of energy on anything other than focusing on how I’m going to dismantle him. Excuse my French, but I’ll be gosh darned,” Karen and the crowd gasp collectively, as she covers her mouth with her hand, “if I’m just going to sit idly by and let this opportunity pass me by.”
The crowd cheers and applauds. Karen still has a look of disbelief after Steven’s use of colorful language.
“Noah Hanson got the beating of a lifetime from Brent Cross on the last Refueled, but that was until he was booked against me.”
“Slow down Steven, I don’t like it when you’re so violent.”
“I’m sorry, Karen. You’re right. Pray for me sweetheart, because I fear that Noah Hanson will release a demon in me. I’m afraid that what I might do to him will be illegal, and I don’t want you and the children to watch me next week. You just can’t.”
“Steven, you know we would never watch the filth on that program without your approval.”
“Thanks, honey-bunny. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to do my calisthenics before bed.”
“But Steven, it’s already eight-thirty,” the crowd gasps at the stupid fucking revelation.
“I know sweetheart, but I can’t let this ragamuffin beat me, and I must prepare.”
The crowd “oo’s” as if someone just broke the fucking family heirloom.
“Steven, I don’t like that language.”
“I’m sorry, Karen. Now go pray for me, and I’ll be in bed before nine-thirty. I’m promise!”
The crowd cheers as the two embrace with a corny ass hug in the middle of the room. Karen kisses Steven on the cheek and the crowd loses their fucking minds with a ridiculous round of applause and cheers as the scene fades out.