- Event: Refueled LXV
It’s right out of an old movie. Two stools, a pane of bullet proof glass, and the not-a-telephones on the wall.
You know what it looks like. Shut up.
On one side, a prison guard leads a man in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs to the seat. He looks across the glass with a smirk, and picks up the phone. On the other side…
“Lester.”
Lester Moregrimes smirks right back, holding his receiver to his ear. “Good to see ya, Mikey. How’s it been?”
“”Same,” said Mikey. “They’re leanin’ on me real hard to say a name, but I ain’t no snitch.”
Lester nods. “You’re a good man, Mike. You get my packages?”
“Every one of ‘em. Finally makin’ an honest wage, huh?”
“Things heat up, you gotta let ‘em cool off,” replied Lester. “Besides, I think I’m gettin’ the hang’a this.”
Mikey laughs out loud. “Oh yeah, you’re a real terror now.”
“Hey man, fuck you,” said Lester. “I’m a wrestler now, and I’m kicking ass!”
“Yeah, you’re kicking ass. Like you said you would in War Games, right?”
“I wasn’t part of the War Games roster.”
“You weren’t part’a the War Games roster a month ago when you were talkin’ about being in War Games. What changed?”
“I–”
Mikey held up a hand. “It’s cool, man. I don’t wanna blow up your spot. If you decided not to crash War Games cause you didn’t wanna get your ass kicked by both teams, that’s cool. If you were losin’ interest the way you do literally everything else, that’s cool. Just… you play the con, Les. Better than almost anyone I know. But ya can’t con me and ya can’t con yourself.”
Before Lester can say anything in response, Mikey holds up a hand.
“Good seeing you, man. C’mon back soon.”
“Jack Harmen. High Flyer. World Champion. Legend.”
“For a really long time.”
“You were great, Jack. You’ve had a spectacular run and have nothing to be ashamed of in all your decades upon decades of wrestling greatness. And I’m sure, when they write the book of The Wrestlers That Matter To History, Jack Harmen will have a featured position right there on page five.”
“Blah blah. IWO. Blah blah. FWO. Blah blah. Viagra. Blah blah. Champion.”
“Blah. High Octane. War Games. The slide.”
“I tell ya, I’d really be worried about this match if it was taking place five years ago. But it’s not. And this is High Octane Wrestling, not Wrestling For Olds.”
“This company, they kept me out of War Games because they’re afraid of what I can do. Too bad for you, Jack, I’m about to unleash a whole heaping side of War into your face.”
“And it ain’t… no… game.”