Welcome Stevens… welcome to a the end of the fucking nightmare that has been your career here in HOW. Welcome to Alcatraz Island, the only place other than New York City… Manhattan to be exactly… that I’d ever feel comfortable calling my home. But not just any home… but like the Home Alone kind of home. Where all kinds of tricks and treats await you, except there will be no comedical violence here. You’re not gonna be able to skirt death like the twenty fucking times Harry and Marv do in each movie.
You’re not gonna be able to skirt death like I did.
Cause yeah, we’ve done this whole exact fucking thing before. A crucifixion match at Alcatraz… where you hammered those stakes through my hands. You fucking crucified me… thinking you rid me from HOW for good… only for me to return.
I didn’t just get powerbombed through some old ass wood at some fucking stone ruins.
I mean how is it possible for one man to suck at everything so badly? You can’t even get being Lee’s puppet right. Shit, do you know how many titles and wins I had when I joined The Best Alliance? Meanwhile you nearly get killed on the some old western set by a man who is barely even engaged with HOW anymore. I honestly don’t think I could be more checked out if I tried, yet I beat your ass and we learned sometimes one is greater than two.
Plus this whole sudo-religious Lee Best worshiping bullshit, taking his nickname of The GOD of HOW into something literal. Because apparently abstract thoughts have never been something they teach in the Texas school system… which I guess tracks.
So what the fuck in your dumb ass Texas mind, makes you think that you are going to do the same thing again and achieve a different result? I’m pretty sure you have dictionaries down there, so you know the meaning of insanity. But then again, here you are, trying to do just that. I will promise you here and now Stevens… even if you somehow… someway… manage to once again crucify me at Alcatraz. You will not rid me from HOW. Win or lose… contract or no contract… dead or alive. There is no HOW without Scottywood. For well over a decade now, my pulse and the pulse of HOW have been linked. Very few can lay claim to that fact because very few have done more for this company than I have.
To kill me… is to kill HOW… and believe me when I say it will never be Scott Stevens that kills HOW. So no matter what you do after you set foot on my island, know it will be for naught. Know that you will never achieve what you have been looking to do and that is to cut me from HOW. I’m a fucking artery of this fed… and you don’t have a knife sharp enough to cut me out. You might think that you are #97Red… but it is I that has that beating through every inch of my body. You will see that come Rumble when I bleed for HOW, where I bleed to expose you once again as just a fake idol, just trying to grasp at the final straws of his career, hoping maybe the name Lee Best can carry you to one last big win.
But not even Lee Best and all his powers as “GOD” is enough to elevate Scott Stevens into a winner.
I’m gonna untwist the reality for you Stevens. I am going to cut you open and bleed you dry, proving to everyone that it isn’t #97Red running through those veins… but instead it is just a bunch of #ZeroTwoBrown Bullshit.
Sitting inside The Chapel at Alcatraz, we see The Hardcore Artist. He is staring at the giant seven foot tall cross that sits in there as he raises a bottle of Pliny the Elder and takes a drink as he looks around at the room that will be “the end” to the feud between Stevens and Scottywood. Yeah, I know you noticed the air quotes around “the end”… because let’s just be honest here, nothing ever ends in wrestling until someone is dead. And in HOW, death is… well… a subjective idea. That and all the religious overtones hovering around this match… it’s safe to say that nothing is beyond the realm of unbelievable.
Turning to Frankie, who has his brand new iPhone 14 Pro Max he just got this week, we see Scotty in a frame of clarity that we have never really seen before in a promo. Maybe both literally… and metaphorically. The Hardcore Artist takes one more drink from his bottle as he runs his hand along the wooden cross.
“This year for Rumble At The Rock is different than any other. I’m not forced into a cell. Deprived of everything but the most basic human necessities. I’ve been locked in solitary so many times here, that it almost feels odd not being locked up in a cell come October. Instead this year I have free reign over MY fucking island. I’ve had numerous weeks off from HOW as we lead up to my favorite event of the year. I’ve been able to game plan. I’ve been able to set things up here on Alcatraz.”
Looking around the room, one can only try and imagine the horrors that he has set up for Scott Stevens inside this Chapel… and even around Alcatraz. Shit… maybe he even went down to the kitchen and hid something for Bobbinette Carey. Hey Siri, set a reminder for Scotty to text Bobbinette about Alcatraz surprise for that shit head JPD.
“While Stevens is running around, attacking people, thinking it is going to have some kind of mental effect on me… I’ve been setting up a living hell for him here at Alcatraz. I honestly can’t believe you have put your focus on everyone but me come our match. Go on and attack Ben, Carey… whoever the fuck you want. Meanwhile I’ve been here at Alcatraz plotting how I am going to murder Scott Stevens and drain all of your blood on this cross in the chapel.”
Again running this hand along the cross, we can see the scars still there from when he was crucified in this very room by Stevens. He stops and looks at them for a moment, reminding himself what happened last time he was in this room.
“The Anti-Christ of HOW versus The Wannabe Apostle of The GOD of HOW. You know what happened here the last time I fought someone that thought they were associated with a GOD? I know you do Stevens, I’m sure you’ve watched the video multiple times of me crucifying “Godly” Ken Davidson right in this chapel. Introducing HOW to their very first crucifixion match. This is my match Stevens… and the fact you beat me in it hurt way more than those stakes going through my hands ever could. Those scars healed, thanks a lot to HOW crack medical resources. But it’s been the emotional scars that are still there, that still hurt me ever single fucking day.”
Turning from the cross, Scotty focuses his attention on the old and weathered pews that still remain in the chapel. There aren’t many, maybe ten rows or so, but Scotty suddenly just kicks out the back on one. The old wood easily snapping from the rusted nails and dropping top the floor.
“I know you wanna be cool Stevens. I mean after all the years of abuse you have taken in HOW, I don’t blame ya. Some of it justified, a lot of it not… it’s been a rough fucking road for you. Now you finally have the chance to be in the “cool” kid’s club. To be sided with Lee Best… instead the target of relentless shit storming from those who are. But the problem with this all Stevens… is that you’re still the same dumpster fire you have always been. Not even a so called blessing from the GOD of HOW himself can change that.”
Picking up the piece of wood, Scotty walks over to the window of the chapel that is on the second floor. Looking out we can see smoke… and then looking down there is a dumpster that has a raging fire in it. He takes the piece of wood and tosses it down into the dumpster. The flames shoot up from the impact of the wood on the burning coals… and years of old ass, probably lead based lacquer thinner on the dried as shit wood.
“I should have made sure I finished the job at Dead or Alive. I should have blown your ass up in that fucking building. My bad Stevens. This time though, this time I plan to end you in the most poetic way to describe your fucking career, in a dumpster fire.”
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ
“Who the fuck is texting me… of course…”
Looking at the screen of his cellphone, he sees the familiar name of Carey on it. He swipes the text open, reading the green non iMessage text.
Scooter, put that fire out over there before you burn the whole island down!
“How the fuck does she know?” Asks Scotty as he starts looking around the room and out the window. He looks at the mainland and then shakes his head.
“Of course, she got a hotel in San Francisco with a view of thea island.” He taps on the reply bubble and starts typing away as he reads it outloud for Frankie and the camera.
“Don’t worry about the island, it can handle a small…ish fire. Worry about embracing the hate and actually killing that fuckwad JPD… or at the least making him wish he was dead.” As he then hits the send button before silencing the ringer and tossing the phone back into his pocket.
“Think she’ll have a problem with the fire if I tell her it’s to burn your fucking ass in it? Don’t think so after all these attacks you felt like you needed to do what? Send me some kind of message. Come one man… after all these years you can’t just be straight up and tell me? I’d say use your words… but I’m pretty sure your Texas education left your verbal repertoire a bit limited. Plus what made you think any of that was gonna get under my skin?”
Scotty kicks off another piece of the pew as he tosses it out of the window and into the dumpster, shooting the flames up again. Smiling out the window towards whatever luxury hotel Carey is staying at instead of bonding with the island.
“I’d wish I could say I expect better from you… but this is who you are Stevens. A trash human who is never going to be able to change who he is. Cause the lipstick on your pig ass doesn’t change the fact that you are Scott Stevens… and Scott Stevens is going to do what he always does… and that is lose at Rumble at the Rock when I actually make you holy by plunging those stakes through your dumbass redneck hands.”