MANIC STREET PREACHER
Nick Stuart: I’ve been informed Don Winters is outside, and we’re going to take a look at what’s going on there.
Richard Parker: The Revelator is revelating, baby!
The live feed cuts to the main entrance of the KFC Yum! Center. Don Winters stands on an upturned wooden crate, dressed in his usual all-white, with a crimson button-down, and the Roman collar prominently hugging his neck. The property’s fountain has been set to spout water in tune to each wrestler’s theme music, and is momentarily dormant. The lion’s share of the crowd has long since filtered inside the arena, but a few stragglers are still wandering around.
Don Winters: There is no word but His Word! No light but His Light!
He clutches at golden colored papers in one hand, quickly trying to pass one off to a fan, but they ignore his attempts.
Don Winters: You have been brainwashed to part with your hard earned money, and for what!?
Another fan passes by and stops for a moment, Winters senses an opportunity.
Don Winters: You there!
The fan looks up at Don Winters while halfway through a pull on his cigarette. He’s confused, but decides to give him the time.
Fan: Yeah?
Winters hands one of the papers in his hand to the fan. The man reluctantly takes it and quickly glances at it, turning the golden paper over in his hand. He seems quite nonplussed about the entire exchange.
Don Winters: Do you realize what filth and sin you are watching by supporting these wrestlers each and every week? A Godless and Communist champion. Another man who uses shock collars on others without a second thought. Men and women who are freely using illicit drugs, setting a terrible example for children! Have you ever stopped to think for a moment how this is damning your eternal soul?
The fan exhales a puff of smoke from his lungs and sighs, looking up to meet Don Winters’ intense gaze.
Fan: Look man, I’m just on a break, walking by, I have no idea what you’re talking about.
He drops the golden piece of paper and it flutters harmlessly to the ground, leaving Winters alone with the slight stink of nicotine in his nostrils.
Don Winters: And you will be damned, too! By His Word and His Light, you will be damned!
The Revelator grits his teeth and recomposes himself. This is not a place to feel or show defeat.
Don Winters: I stand before you all today, a humble man. I stand before you as a man who has found clarity and purpose, and I aim to offer that to all of you. Peace of mind for today, tomorrow and the rest of your life. Freedom from sin and the satisfaction of knowing what truly waits for you at the end. Absolution.
He’s still alone, nobody is left around to lend him an ear, but he feels something rising within him.
Don Winters: From Crash Jackson, who put up a commendable fight, to Cancer Jiles and beyond, it is my duty to provide PRIME with the faith they are so sorely lacking. For too long PRIME has decided to spare the rod and spoil the child. Well, I am that rod and it’s time for the children to learn their place.
He licks his lips after the last sentence, as if he’s tasting something incredible. The Revelator’s fist clenches the paper and punches the sky.
Don Winters: The Revelator is here to write the book of PRIME, and they are not ready for their reckoning.
Winters throws the papers from his hand to the sky, watching as they flutter all around him. The camera zooms in on one of them, a copy of the Golden Ticket. Just before the camera can cut elsewhere, that zoomed in on Golden Ticket is snatched out of thin air. The camera hastily zooms out, and reveals it’s not Don Winters who grabbed it, but none other than Cancer Jiles himself.
Thee, Golden Ticket.
Cancer Jiles: I think you might have dropped this.
The Revelator is a touch taken aback from the startling surprise. Jiles, of course, is not. As for the rotund Beautiful Bobby Dean who is also in tow, well he simply snickers in the background.
Or it’s just the sound of his breathing.
Don Winters: Keep it. Your pride will befall you much like it did Crash Jackson.
The booming obnoxiousness of Jiles’ laughter would lead one to believe he genuinely thinks what Don said is funny. Granted, for all the wrong reasons. The frosting over of his T-shades, and the peacock posturing might tell a different story.
Cancer Jiles: Good one, Dan.
Don Winters: It’s Don.
Cancer Jiles: Whatever. Say Dim, before I forget I wanted to ask you something. Tell me, how do you like your eggs?
Time stops.
Well, the blowing of the wind does at least. Winters glances over at Bobby, who just so happens to be lofting an egg up and down while a big, devious looking grin covers his face and presumably belly button.
Don Winters: Much like yourself, I prefer them all in the same basket, you cromb.
Time stops.
For real this time.
Bobby, maybe for the first time ever, or today, or this hour even, drops the egg. Splat. He is so dumbfounded he commits a cardinal sin. Jiles is no better; with his mouth paused in the vastly agape position. There’s no telling if it’s like that because of what Winters said to him, Bobby’s bad luck botch, or if he just realized Coral is still in cryostasis.
Could be a combination of all three.
Don Winters: That’s what I thought. At 38, I will grant you absolution and your Golden Ticket will be mine. He demands it.
The production trailer lingers for a moment, the camera focuses on ground, capturing the splattered egg. Yolk and bits of shell cover one of the Revelator’s golden tickets as the segment cuts to the backstage area.