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The Hardcore Artist: The Final Act

November 1st, 2019
9:30 PM PST
Alcatraz Island – San Francisco, CA


The press conference at Alcatraz is over… the live camera feed for HOTv is off.  The crew has started to finish up for the night as it is nearly nine in the evening and they still have to take a ferry back to the mainland.  It’s been a long fucking day for everyone as it’s no small feat to put on a wrestling show on an Island.  

 

Mister Scott Woodson has also left for the night… his pinstriped jacket, dress shirt and #97Red tie balled up on the floor of the Chapel.  The Hardcore Artist satnds in front of the large wooden cross the HOW crew members have just set up. His dreadlocks no longer restrained by a simple rubber band Mister Woodson was using.  In his hand he has a much needed beer… a Pliny the Elder to be exact… cause that the first drink all beer snobs have when visiting Cali.

 

“I’ve always claimed that I would die in that ring before I retire.” 

 

It’s a morbid thought that many wrestlers feel.

“This is all I have ever wanted to do… it’s the only place where I have felt at peace… felt normal.”

 

When you give your whole life to something… where you spend every waking minute obsessed with it.  You fear what it will be like without it.

“Well… half normal.  I’ve never truly even fit in with the wrestling world.  Always been a bit like the proverbial red headed dreadlocked stepchild of HOW.” Scott smirks as the untangles a few more of his dreads from when they were pulled back.

 

“But if there has been one thing that could pull me away from wrestling in that ring… is being the man who runs what happens in that ring.  It’s been in my blood since I opened XWF back in the year two thousand…”

In the year two thousand….

Wondering if they beefed up the ABV on Pliny, Scotty looks around and shakes his head.  Thinking maybe Frankie is playing a joke on him… but… ya….

 

“XWF turned into NGW… I opened Hate… I reopened NGW… I opened Encore Entertainment.  It was a crazy eight plus years of torturing myself. Because it’s no easy job to be the man at the top.  Oh it looks like fucking fun… and that is why every fucker upset with their placement somewhere thinks they can do better and opens their own shitfuck fed where they becaome World Champion and a Hall of Famer within the first six months.”

Again Scotty smirks as he set up the softball ptch… but he’s not gonna let it reach the fucking plate.

“I was twenty fucking one years old when I opened XWF.  How the fuck anyone gave me a dollar… how they ever signed a contract to wrestle… or how any fan ever attended a fucking show I’ll never understand.  I wasn’t ready for it all then. I booked myself into spots I should have never been and handed myself accolades I never deserved.”

 

He rubs his face… embarrassed of ninety percent of his pre HOW history.  That shit was pretty fucking bad… and will be a good laugh when it airs some day on HOTv.

 

“Eventually I started to learn.  HATE and Encore were better attempts at it not being the all Scottywood show.  But I still wasn’t ready… neither lasted very long. In the history of wrestling… they were one night stands that barely will be remembered.”

 

He chuckles as he looks down at the tattoo of the HATE logo across his right knuckles.  Likely the only lasting impact that it will have on the wrestling world.

 

“When I joined HOW in 2008… shit was different.  Yes, I positioned myself into a sweet spot… Best Alliance member… Commish… General Manager.  Cause that was the smart fucking route to take. But at the end of the day, Lee Best was always still truly running the show.  But just like in 2008, shit is different now in late 2019. Now… now me and Lee are equals. He has his forty-nine percent… and I have mine.  After over a decade here in HOW… after a decade of pouring everything I had into HOW in and out of the ring… I now can say I actually own it…”

“That’s of course what I want to believe.  That is what Mike… wanted to believe. Mike may have had the fifty-one percent control… but come on.  Did it really matter? Mike and Lee may have fought… well had teams fight for them at War Games… but it was all for show.  Maybe they disagreed here and there… like all fathers and sons do… but at the end of the day, they are family. That is why he held on to his two percent.  So that he… or Lee could still wield that control. I understand that with that 49% and The Bests with 51… I’ll be at a disadvantage if they want to team up… but this is a start.” Nods Scotty as he takes a drink of his Pliny.

Little does he know at this time, but Lee and Mike are already scheming to reverse one of his announcements during his press conference.  That by the time this airs… the ICON title will be regulated back to the first of the two falls in the main event. But it’s a small loss.  It was an idea to push something new and different in HOW. It won’t be the last time he tries this. It won’t be the last time he fails. But fuck… he’s gonna make it a fun ride along the way.

 

Back to the Chapel, runs his hands across the wooden cross, feeling the rough grain of the wood.  He smiles as he can already see himself driving the spike through Stevens’ hand and into it.

 

“But enough about the past from the Stevenspedia… time for the present… the future and this fucking beauty.  Nothing fancy went into making this cross. No stain, no sanding, just simple pieces of rough cut wood nailed together.  Because this isn’t art… not yet. At Rumble at the Rock it will be an implementation for pain… tortue… and triumph. A man will be nailed to this… Scott Stevens… and his blood with stain the light pine wood… and then it will be art.”

 

Picking up the mallet type hammer and the near half inch diameter nails that the HOW crew has provided for this match, Scotty smiles… he remembers the euphoric joy of nailing Ken Davidson to that cross… and the beautiful excruciating pain of when Shane Reynolds did the same to him.

 

“Van Gogh, Picasso, Pollack, Duchamp… none of their art will be able to hold up to what I do to you Stevens inside this chapel.  When those nails pierce your skin and nail you to this cross. One final masterpiece before The Hardcore Artist bid farewell to HOW.  Before Mister Woodson locks him away deep inside to die.” Cringes Scotty as he looks over at the dress clothes crumpled over in the corner of the chapel and plays with the elastic band on his left hand.

 

“This is it for me Stevens… I’ve got nothing left to fight for after Alcatraz.  You… you still have your family… your wife… your children to fight for. And while I know you think they are going to give you the power… the anger… the violence needed to beat me in this kind of match… it will be the reason you fail.  You won’t be willing… you won’t be able to go where I will go. Because while I know you want to honor them Stevens… you also want to be around after this match to see them. A few holes in your hands will be the least of your worries. Because if you really want to go down the path I’m willing to… then neither of us… win or lose… will not make it out of Alcatraz as any resemblance of the man we went into it as.”

 

Scotty closes his eyes and takes a couple deep breaths as he finishes his beer and tosses the empty Pliny bottle into the corner of the Chapel.  

 

“I’ve come to peace with what is gonna happen to me here Stevens.  I don’t care what condition my body is left in. If I can’t walk out.  If I end up more brain dead than Austin Bishop. If every fucking bone in my body is shattered.  It doesn’t fucking matter Stevens. Yes, I wanna be part of Owner of HOW after Rumble at the Rock… but I must win this match Stevens.  There is nothing…. and I mean fucking noithing that is goinmg to kep me from crucifiing your ass to that fucking cross.”

 

Picking up the hammer again he slams it down on the cross as the noise echoes across the chapel.  You can feel the ecstasy as Scotty hits the cross again, and again and again….

 

“I’m sorry, in a sense, Stevens.  Sorry that it has to come down to me crucifying your ass.  I wanted to bring The Scorpion out… and maybe we went too far.  Maybe this was further than we needed to go. But you said fucking no.  You turned me down and I had to escalate this shit to the point where you would say yes.  So now we are here. Now I have to finish this. it didn’t have to be this way Stevens .. we could had battled it out in the Prison Yard… in Gen Pop.  We could have done so many other things. But you forced me to attack your family. You forced me to attack your wife… you antagonized the Hardcore Artist and you brought htis upon yourself.  I’m sorry Stevens… but now I have to do this. I wanted The Scorpion back… I wanted him to go on and take one of those titles from NJ, Cecil, Halitosis… or whoever holds them after Rumble at the Rock.”

 

Scoty bows his head… he doesn’t want to destroy Stevens.  That is never what this has been about. But Scott Stevens… has driven The Hardcore Artist to this.

 

You can see part of Mister Woodson want to come through… the part that wants to see Scott Stevens be a major player in the Refueled Era of HOW… fighting the part of The Hardcore Artist that wants to fucking destroy The Scorpion… crucify him… kill him on that fucking cross and make sure he doesn’t resurect himself on fucking Easter… even though we are in fucking November.

 

“I know you’re taking this too personally Scoty.  Yes, I attacked your family. Yes, I attacked your wife… and I may have cost her a World Title.  But this fight is about more than us. Yes… I will beat you. I will crucify you to that fuckign cross.  But it is about building you back up. HOW needs The Scorpion after I am gone. They need you at one undred fuckign percent.  I don’t want to see another main event between Halitosis and Dan Ryan… where I have to insert Farthington to just make it interesting.  I want a reason to insert YOU into hat fucking spot and not worry about a fucking perception like Mke had to. Burn this fuckign chapel to the fuckign groudn with me… prove to everyone that you still have it.  You will not win… but you will come out a winner in a way that is WAY more important.”

 

Some random fucking PA hand Scotty another Pliny… cause Frankie is… ya… fuck you Stevens…

 

He cracks open the Pliny and toast it to Frankie and Baal.  He understand what Stevens did on Chaos. He isn’t happy about it…why would he be?  But he understands. War means sacrifices… and Frankie is a soldier in that fight…

 

“I will crucify you Scott… that will be a fact at Alcatraz… but the real win for me will be when you are at ICONIC facing off for the World…ICON or LSD Title.  It’s something I will not ever be able to do again as Owner of HOW. I’m not going down that road ever again. But you Scott… you can do what I can’t. If you can fuckign step up and prove that The Scorpion is REALLY back… and it’s not some fake news bullshit.”   Scott smiles and knows that some fuckign newpaper will take that shit the wrong fucking way…

 

“Believe me or not Mike… I will fucking steal the show come Alcatraz.  I know you will hate this, hate to give time to Stevens… and me at a PPV.  This show is all about me … and everyone better be on their best behavior before I put a fucking pen though someone’s eye.”

 

Turning away from the cross he grabs his clothes… Mister Woodson is gone… for now… The Hardcore Artist has full reign til Rumble at the Rock….

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