MAGNET FISHING
The scene opens with a voice, familiar, Samoan, and youthful.
Voice: OK, so we put the magnet behind this wall and when he gets close, he gets stuck and boom, you jump out and yell “perfection” like the meme.
A second, older voice, responds in kind.
Voice 2: But Mr. Brojangles, where are we getting a magnet that strong?
Voice 1: I dunno, Brogan aka Patch aka James Howlett aka Weapon X aka The Wolverine. Amazon?
Voice 2: Do you think they ship Prime to PRIME?
Voice 1: Probably? Maybe we get a discount or something? Hold up… How strong do we go?
Voice 2: Shit, does that say 2600 pounds? We might get both of them with that, Brohemian Rhapsody.
Both of the voices break out in laughter followed by the first voice sighing.
Voice 1: Thanks, I really needed this.
Voice 2: No problem, you know I got your back.
A pause.
Voice 2: But seriously on these magnets… this one says to watch your fingers so they don’t get crushed. Maybe we should get it?
Ominous footfalls. A third voice.
Voice 3: What the fuck are you two nerds talking about?
Unlike the two male voices the third had a strong, feminine quality. The voice of Violent Purple.
The camera pans to the left slowly, and standing behind unfinished sheetrock with a bunch of marker drawings saying “magnet goes here” and an abnormally large stick man followed by one with a billowing, possibly sentient, coat are shown with arrows pointing towards the hastily designed trap, are Eddie Cross and Crash Jackson.
Eddie Cross: Oh, it’s you.
Crash sees Violent Purple and immediately sparkles explode in his eyes.
Violent Purple: Congratulations, Eddie, you’re right, it’s me. I suspected I would catch you both together, good. Two birds, one stone. I’ll get to you later, Crash.
She bats her eyelashes with a sardonic smirk on her face and the clearly twitterpated Crash swoons as she turns her dark eyes back toward Eddie.
Violent Purple: I’m getting tired of having to detox Max’s head every time he hangs out with you. U.N.Couth and I have Max under a very precarious personal plan that doesn’t leave a lot of room for traditional friends like you and darling Crash over there. Max needs structure, he needs guidance and more importantly, he doesn’t need dumb distractions. That said..
She folds his arms across her chest as she looks Eddie up and down.
Violent Purple: He’s clearly not the only one that needs help. So I’m here to offer that, Mister Cross. A guy like you has all the skill and talent in the world, Eddie, but you’re lacking something, that secret ingredient that makes or breaks stars in places like PRIME. Know what it is?
Her coy grin purses out as she waits patiently for Eddie’s reply.
Eddie Cross: Russian horse steroids? Breathtaking anger issues? A lifetime supply of adhesives? It could be anything, really.
She cants her head to the side as he runs through his list. All good choices she had not considered prior to this.
Violent Purple: N-No. Though I’ll keep some of those in mind for the future. Motivation, Eddie. Motivation is the key to success in anything but most especially here in PRIME. Guys like Ivan Stanislav don’t become Universal Champion without being motivated to achieve that kind of success. You’re no different, nor Crash or Max. So that’s what I am here to give you, Eddie.
Waving her arm off screen two PRIME backstage hands roll up an old school Substitute Teacher TV cart complete with a 1980s style block cathode-ray tube television set perched precariously atop. Even Purple seems taken aback by it before shaking off the feeling, looking back towards Eddie expectantly.
Eddie Cross: What the fuck is this? Why does everyone who is trying to teach me something insist on using VCR’s and old ass TV’s?
Violent Purple: Because analog is more horrifying? Pay attention, Cross.
Rolling her eyes Purple grabbed the remote and quickly toggled the TV and VHS on.
The screen displays a dark room with light just barely breaking around the edges of a curtain. The longer we focus on the darkness, the more details begin to emerge. Small red, blue and green lights flicker like stars cast across an empty sky within the room. The low hum of electronic devices join the chorus of tiny beeps and whistles as the tell-tale signs of a hospital room.
A shadow darker than the void that surrounded it seems to shift and move to the window, pulling the curtain up. As light pours across the room the dark figure is revealed to be Max Kael wearing a black three piece suit with his hair slicked back. He looks very much like he’s been watching James Bond movies and is looking to take the place of one of Bond’s nemesis. He turns to look toward the camera, lifting one hand to over his lips in a shushing motion.
Max Kael?: For today’s final story we’re all the way in Charlotte, North Carolina. A human interest story about a boy and his mentor.
Kael slunk from the window like an oily shadow, slipping next to the bed where an unconscious Dave Gibson is revealed. He looks more gaunt and sickly than last he was seen, the strength that once was in his face had gone, replaced with a sallow emptiness. The spider-like fingers of Max Kael? dance over the railing at the side of the bed as he leaned in close to stare down into the face of Gibson.
Max Kael?: A surrogate father? A bygone hero looking to give Eddie one last push toward stardom? A tragedy.
Done with his inspection of Dave’s face, Max looked back up toward the camera. He wasn’t smiling anymore, he didn’t even look particularly happy about the situation. He sighs and stands, moving toward the monitoring equipment keeping track of Dave’s life signs.
Max Kael?: A motivation. Stay tuned next week for the conclusion of Eddie Cross’s story..
The Question Mark Kael reaches out and toggles one of the switches off as the whole feed cuts to dark. The beeps and chirps disappear, swallowed up by the rasping sounds of labored breathing
..heh-heh..
We then cut to ringside for our next match.