Private: GREAT SCOTT
Hey guys, Dave here.
Just a quick note, I won’t take up a lot of your time. In fact, honestly, I don’t have a lot of time to spare in the first place. See, as the narrator for GREAT SCOTT, my entire job and existence relies on… you know… the existence of GREAT SCOTT.
You couldn’t fucking help yourselves.
I heard you all at ULTRAVIOLENCE. I heard you cheering for that bearded fucking scumbag Rezin. I saw all the predictions on the internet. I see everything, you duplicitous assholes— I’m fucking omniscient. I asked you one simple favor. One teeny, tiny request. Support fucking GREAT SCOTT and make sure that he doesn’t die. Sure, I wasn’t super specific on exactly how you were supposed to do that, but holy Christ on a cracker, you for sure did the exact opposite. And hey, maybe this is sour grapes on my part, but don’t you think I’m entitled to it? You know, on account of the fact that by the end of this promo, I will likely fail to exist?
Yeah, read that again, dickface.
Fail to exist.
The tripwire has been triggered. All hope is lost. GREAT SCOTT is going to die. So hey, HAVE A GREAT DAY everyone. He’s GREAT SCOTT.
And you fucking killed him.
“I HAVE NOTHING TO LIVE FOR.”
Elbows on his knees, LARGE DADDY SCOTT is feeling small, as he stares down into the heavy object dangling precariously in his hands. He’s been sitting here awhile now, for something that feels like days but has probably only been an hour. Just staring at it.
GREAT SCOTT: I LOST TO RAISIN. AGAIN. THIS IS NOT WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. HE WAS MY NEMESIS AND EVEN THOUGH THE FANS LOVE HIM HE IS A VERY BAD GUY. AND EVEN THOUGH THE FANS HATE ME NOW, I AM GREAT SCOTT AND I AM A VERY GOOD GUY AT HEART. GOOD IS SUPPOSED TO TRIUMPH OVER EVIL. I WAS SUPPOSED TO WIN MY REMATCH BUT I DID NOT WIN. AND HE DID NOT EVEN CHEAT THIS TIME. I JUST… LOST.
He twirls the object between his fingertips, a knot forming in his stomach as he takes a deep breath. He’s been preparing to do this all day, but just hasn’t built up the nerve.
The object is a gun.
GREAT SCOTT: FUCK.
He’d been so confident this time. So sure that he was about to meet his destiny. PRIME had offered him two opportunities now to ascend to the top of the card, and twice he’d fumbled the ball at the goal line. It was becoming very clear to our hero that perhaps he wasn’t as born for greatness as his theme music implied, and perhaps his nickname had been entirely unearned.
Maybe he wasn’t GREAT at all.
His knuckles are white against the gun, as he holds it tight in the space between his outstretched knees. There was hardly anyone he could even call for support— he’d alienated everyone who had ever shown him kindness, all in the name of trying to be the first man to hold concurrent championships in both HOW and PRIME. He hadn’t spoken with Morty in weeks. Gary Tongueman wouldn’t return his calls, on account of being threatened with bear murder during the intervention. He was at war with the Egg Bandits in HOW, GREAT BEAR had been present in his stories less and less, and the whole world seemed to be disappointed with him.
All he had was Jace Parker Davidson.
All he had was STRONKUMMS.
And right now, he didn’t even have that. The giant order of LIQUID STRONKUMMS delivered to the MGM Grand was a Trojan horse at best, and had come under the assumption that SCOTT would be leaving with the Five Star Championship. When he didn’t? Jace left the building.
And he took the merchandise with him.
Our hero stares down at the gun.
GREAT SCOTT: WELL SCOTT IT IS NOW OR NEVER. BE A MAN. YOU CAN DO THIS.
Hands shaking, GREAT SCOTT tries to steady the gun. He’d promised GREAT GRANDPA a million times that he’d never do something like this, but a lot has changed since he’d died in that hospital so many months ago. The world felt like a darker, more dangerous place. Maybe it was the loss of his last remaining family member. Maybe it was the rise and subsequent collapse of his career. Maybe it was just a changing universe and a long string of unfortunate luck. I guess it didn’t really matter, in the end— regardless of the cause, GREAT SCOTT knows that he has to do this. He’s put it off longer enough.
He checks the gun one last time.
There’s one left in the chamber.
GREAT SCOTT: OH NO.
His heartbeat rising fast, GREAT SCOTT nervously clears the chamber of the weapon, double checking that the safety is on, too.
GREAT SCOTT: THIS WAS GREAT GRANDPA’S GUN AND HE MADE ME PROMISE TO NEVER CLEAN IT WITHOUT HIS SUPERVISION BUT HE IS DEAD NOW. I GUESS HE WAS RIGHT THOUGH BECAUSE I ALMOST CLEANED IT WITH ONE IN THE CHAMBER AND THAT IS VERY DANGEROUS I COULD HAVE SHOT MYSELF. THAT WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN GREAT.
It has become a dangerous world.
So dangerous, in fact, that GREAT SCOTT had pulled his grandfather’s old service weapon out of storage and decided to exercise his Second Amendment rights for personal protection.
You thought he was going to— oh no, I’m so sorry. I realize since I mentioned that you’re a soulless douchebag directly responsible for the death of GREAT SCOTT, you probably radically misinterpreted this. He’s just gonna clean the gun and put it into a responsibly locked gun safe, so GREAT BEAR doesn’t hurt himself. Boy, do I have egg on my face.
He’s still gonna fucking die.
And it’s still your fault.
“WOW THAT PIANO DOESN’T LOOK VERY SECURE.”
Hands in the pockets of his singlet, because of course it has pockets, GREAT SCOTT stands on a busy street corner with the HOTv Championship slung comfortably over one shoulder. His neck is craned about as far back as it can go, as he uses the power of eyesight to point out the obvious.
This piano is hanging by a thread.
Directly over his head.
GREAT SCOTT: BOY HOWDY I HAVE NEVER SEEN SOMEONE MOVE A PIANO INTO A FOURTH STORY WINDOW BEFORE BUT IT LOOKS VERY DANGEROUS. IT EVEN LOOKS LIKE ONE OF THE SUPPORT STRAPS BROKE. THAT THING COULD FALL ANY SECOND.
It seemed everything was crashing down lately.
Like his hopes of being Five Star Champion.
Maybe if he’d defeated Rezin at ULTRAVIOLENCE, he’d be celebrating in a hotel suite with the members of TEAM STRONKUMMS right now, popping champagne and mixing it with the cocaine addled, steroid infused meat based energy drink right now that you can purchase for 20% off using promo code “BEARSANDGLARES”. Instead, he’s standing on a street corner, feeling like a fucking loser and contemplating sucking some dick for a few more cans of LIQUID STRONKUMMS.
And wouldn’t have a piano hanging over his head.
Go fuck yourself.
GREAT SCOTT: I CAN RELATE TO THAT PIANO BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE I AM BARELY HANGING ON BY A THREAD RIGHT NOW. I AM CYCLING THROUGH GODS AND ALL OF THEM PROMISE TO HELP ME BUT NO ONE HELPS ME. WHEN I GOT HERE I WAS GREAT SCOTT AND I HAD A FORTY TWO STORY MANSION AND A SWEET IPHONE 16 WITH 6G AND NOW I AM A GUY WHO KEEPS LOSING MATCHES AND MIGHT BE ABOUT TO PUT A PENIS IN MY MOUTH FOR SOME LIQUID STRONKUMMS SO THAT IS NOT GREAT.
He shuffles his feet around against the pavement, looking down at his feet. He doesn’t notice the last remaining strap on the piano starting to slip.
GREAT SCOTT: I JUST WANTED TO HAVE FUN AND BECOME THE IMPULSE CHAMPION BUT MELVIN TOLD ME I SHOULD FIGHT RAISIN INSTEAD AND NOW I HAVE NOTHING IN PRIMETIME. I HAVE A HOUSEBUS WHICH IS PRETTY COOL BUT OTHERWISE ALL I HAVE LEFT IS MY BEAR AND MY GLARE AND I AM STARTING TO NOT EVEN CARE ABOUT THOSE ANYMORE. MAYBE DOING ALL OF THE SUPLEXES IS NOT ENOUGH. MAYBE I DO NOT BELONG HERE ANYMORE.
He could have been celebrating right now.
Instead, he’s standing directly under the piano as it falls from the sky, letting loose from the crane with a thunderous crack. It swings wildly in the wind, breaking loose and smashing into the pavement about five feet from GREAT SCOTT. He jumps backward at the shock of the impact, being caught completely off guard since he’s been staring at his own feet and being sad.
GREAT SCOTT: HOLY SHITSNACKS I ALMOST DIED.
Okay, I thought that was it for sure.
I was even preparing my little hobo knapsack for whatever awaits me in an eternity of infinite non-existence. Imagine the epitaph: “HERE LIES GREAT SCOTT. HE WAS CRUSHED BY A PIANO BECAUSE A BUNCH OF ASSHOLES BELIEVED IN A SCUMBAG DRIFTER WITH A GOAT FETISH”.
Sorry, I know I’m being salty.
It’s just that, you know… you did this.
You killed our beautiful boy. Do you understand what a treasure GREAT SCOTT is? He’s your weekly source of the most wholesome entertainment. Outside of trying to charge you a single dollar for a scoop about why he did a headphone murder on Pastor Ray— a decision that aged VERY WELL, mind you— he gives you weekly laughs and smiles, completely free of charge.
And this is how you repay him?
Most of you didn’t even pay the dollar. I checked with Melvin. He got like, four CashApp notifications. I know that more than four of you checked that promo out. It was a dollar. What the fuck is wrong with you? Fairweather fans, I tell you. This young man had a dream, and you shit all over his dreams and caused him to die. Because I promise you that this is not a bit. By the time this whole promo is over, GREAT SCOTT will cease to exist, pianos or no pianos.
You had your chance to save him.
Now it’s too late.
“I’m sorry Scott, it’s Cancer.”
He can feel the tears welling up in his eyes in an instant. First, his parents were murdered by the mafia. Then his GREAT GRANDPA had a ninja mafia attack on his heart, and now this? It seems that the entire Gratesburgh dynasty has been cursed by whatever God happens to be pulling the strings. He could have handled almost any other news, but not this.
Anything but Cancer.
It’s the worst news imaginable.
GREAT SCOTT: I DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW IT COULD BE CANCER. I DID EVERYTHING RIGHT. WAS IT THE LIQUID STRONKUMMS BECAUSE I WILL STOP DRINKING IT IF IT WILL HELP.
The man sitting across the desk from him looks grim, as he softly shakes his head. He’s a professional, but this news seems harder for him to break than most. In his time working with Scott Gratesburgh, he’d never known him to be anything but a sweetheart. Even despite his jaded antics in the wrestling ring, the core of who GREAT SCOTT was had never really changed. He was a sweet but simple young man with a dream, and he’d come just short of realizing it at ULTRAVIOLENCE.
He didn’t deserve this news.
Not on top of losing to Rezin.
DOC: I’m sorry, Scott. It doesn’t matter how many ways we review the numbers, it’s Cancer. We could check again if you’d like, but I thought it was important that you heard the news from me first.
Doc straightens the papers in front of him, staring down at the report again. He’d spent half the day trying to figure out how he was going to say it, but in the end he’d decided to just say it and get it over with. Softening the blow wasn’t going to make it any easier to digest.
For a moment, there is silence.
It isn’t often that Scott Gratesburgh is speechless. He always has more to say than anyone wants to hear, but he sits quietly as he processes what he’s just heard. There is a knot in the pit of his stomach that refuses to go away, as though someone has tied his insides into a pretzel.
What a day it has been.
He’d almost forgotten to unload GREAT GRANDPA’s gun before he cleaned it. Nearly been murdered by a falling piano. And now, to top it all off, he was sitting in Doc’s office and receiving the worst news he can imagine.
It was fucking Cancer.
He takes a long sip of water from a unlabeled bottle— part of his STRONKUMMS contract dictated that he wasn’t allowed to display any labels in public that did not contain the STRONKUMMS brand. Of course, that contract may be about to become meaningless anyway.
Of course, it wouldn’t have been Cancer.
Maybe if GREAT SCOTT had captured the Five Star Championship, this wouldn’t be happening right now. He’d be sitting at this desk with a big smile on his face, getting the best news in the world. Instead, the universe is kicking him while he’s down. And this one is for real, by the way. I’m omniscient. I can tell you with 100% certainty that there will not be some last minute mixup that makes Doc say that he read it wrong and everything is fine.
And remember, I’m a reliable narrator.
GREAT SCOTT: I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS DOC ARE YOU SURE? ARE YOU SURE IT IS CANCER?
Sadly, Doc nods his head.
DOC: It’s Cancer, Scott. By every measurable metric, the fans have voted that Cancer Jiles is the most successful PWA crossover and a certified megastar. I’m sorry, but he’s the PRIME Universal Champion AND a former HOW World Champion. The guy is an absolute beast. Maybe if you’d beaten Rezin, you could have edged him out, but…
Shrugging his shoulders, Doc Jones slides the results of the PWA fan survey across the desk, letting GREAT SCOTT look over it for himself. No one is quite sure why they call him “Doc”, but he’s the guy you go to when you need data on how you’re trending.
A doctor of statistics, if you will.
GREAT SCOTT: SO I AM NOT EVEN A PWA MEGASTAR ANYMORE.
DOC: Scott, you’ve lost three of your last four matches in PRIME. Twice to Rezin, plus a headphone murder… you’re barely a PWA star at this point, much less an actual megastar. Jiles main evented a supershow. Have you ever even main evented in PRIME?
Swallowed hard, GREAT SCOTT’s jaw tightens.
GREAT SCOTT: WELL NO BUT I AM THE HOT VEE CHAMPION AND I MAIN EVENT IN OCTANE WRESTLING ALL THE TIME.
Doc let’s out a soft sigh, nodding his head.
DOC: I know, buddy. And you’re a HOW star for sure. But you’re just not maintaining that level of momentum in PRIME, and that’s what you need to do to be a PWA megastar. I’m sorry. We can run the numbers again after Colossus. Who knows? You might still get there.
He reaches across the desk, putting a sympathetic hand on GREAT SCOTT’s shoulder. A hand of support. A hand of love. The same kind of love that might have saved him from this terrible fate, if only it had been shown to him by the fans.
For just a moment, our hero wishes that he’d been standing under that piano when it fell. He wishes that he’d forgotten to clear the chamber on that gun. He maybe even wishes that he’d never come out of jobber retirement from OCW in the first place— this is the single worst moment of his entire life, and if he had any idea that you were entirely to blame for it, he might never become a good guy again in his whole career. Or what’s left of it.
Because this is it.
GREAT SCOTT is about to die.
IT IS ME. YOUR FRIEND SCOTT.
LOOK GUYS I AM HAVING A PRETTY BAD WEEK. I PRACTICED BAD GUN SAFETY. I WATCHED A PIANO DIE. I FOUND OUT THAT NOT ONLY AM I NOT THE STAR OF DAVID CHAMPION BUT ALSO THAT I AM NOT EVEN A REAL PWA MEGASTAR. I HAVE BEEN HAVING A PRETTY SHIT TIME IF I AM BEING HONEST. I AM ONE AND THREE IN MY LAST FOUR MATCHES AND IT SEEMS LIKE THE MORE SUCCESSFUL I AM IN OCTANE WRESTLING THE LESS SUCCESSFUL I AM HERE. I THINK I AM MAYBE ADDICTED TO LIQUID STRONKUMMS NOW BECAUSE I GET ITCHY AND MY SKIN HURTS EVERY TIME I CAN’T HAVE IT, AND I KEEP NOT GETTING TO HAVE IT BECAUSE I KEEP LOSING MATCHES. AND ALL OF THAT HAPPENS AND THEN I LOOK AT THE CARD FOR THIS WEEK’S REVIVAL AND I SEE THAT I AM FACING NEDRY FORM.
I WILL REPEAT THAT.
I AM FACING NEDRY FORM.
THAT IS NOT EVEN A REAL NAME OR A REAL WRESTLER. I GOOGLED NEDRY AND THAT IS NOTHING YOU CAN GOOGLE IT TOO AND SEE. ALL YOU SEE IS FAT NEWMAN WHEN HE WORKED AT JURASSIC PARK. ON THE WEBSITE HE IS A MYSTERIOUS GRAY GUY TOO SO EITHER HE IS FAKE OR WHOEVER DOES THE WEBSITE PICTURES IS LAZY AND HAS NOT EVEN TAKEN A PICTURE OF HIM YET. I THINK THAT MELVIN FEELS SO BAD FOR ME NOW THAT HE IS BOOKING ME AGAINST PEOPLE WHO DO NOT EVEN EXIST. MAYBE HE THINKS THAT IF I WIN BY COUNT OUT WHEN FAKE NEDRY DOES NOT SHOW UP IT WILL HELP MY CONFIDENCE AND HELP GET ME BACK ON TRACK SINCE I AM HIS FAVORITE WRESTLER. BUT MELVIN THAT IS NOT TRUE.
GREAT SCOTT IS YOUR FAVORITE WRESTLER.
AND I DO NOT FEEL SO GREAT ANYMORE.
I HAVE BEEN CAUGHT UP IN THE RAT RACE AND ALL THE RATS BEAT ME WHICH IS UNDERSTANDABLE BECAUSE THEY ARE FAST BUT IT STILL DOES NOT FEEL GREAT. I AM A COMPANY MAN AND I DO MY JOB MELVIN SO I WILL SHOW UP TO TAKE MY COUNT OUT VICTORY OVER NEDRY. ALSO BECAUSE I REALLY NEED A WIN SO THAT JACE WILL GIVE ME MORE LIQUID STRONKUMMS. DID YOU KNOW THAT IS HAS COCAINE IN IT BECAUSE I DID NOT KNOW THAT WHEN I STARTED TAKING IT AND NOW I HAVE A LOT OF ENERGY ALL THE TIME AND KEEP PITCHING SMALL BUSINESSES TO PEOPLE AND IT IS NOT GREAT.
REALLY OVERALL I AM NOT GREAT AT ALL.
I AM REALLY SORRY THAT I LET EVERYONE DOWN AND IF NEDRY IS REAL THEN I WILL TRY TO DO MY BEST TO SUPLEX HIM A LOT AND GIVE HIM THE SCOTTACANRANA. BUT I WILL BE HONEST WITH YOU EVERYONE I CAN ONLY PROMISE TO TRY MY BEST BECAUSE I AM NOT VERY CONFIDENT RIGHT NOW. I KNOW THAT I HAVE BEEN A BAD GUY LATELY BUT ONE THING I HAVE NEVER BEEN IS A LIAR. I ALWAYS TELL THE TRUTH AND I AM VERY BAD AT TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE BECAUSE I ALWAYS TELL THREE TRUTHS. BUT I HAVE BEEN LYING TO YOU ALL FOR A LONG TIME AND I AM SORRY. I GUESS I HAVE BEEN LYING TO MYSELF TOO SO IT WAS NOT ON PURPOSE.
WHEN I LOST TO RAISIN THE FIRST TIME I REALIZED THAT I WAS NOT GREAT ANYMORE AND ALL THIS TIME I HAVE JUST BEEN PRETENDING I GUESS. I WILL TRY TO BE GREAT AGAIN. I WILL TRY TO MAKE YOU ALL PROUD OF ME. I WILL TRY TO BEAT NEDRY FORM IF HE IS A REAL BUT MAYBE I AM JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH. THE ONLY THING I KNOW FOR SURE IS THAT NEDRY IS NOT GOING TO FIGHT LARGE DADDY SCOTT OR SCOTTZILLA OR EVEN GREAT SCOTT THIS WEEK.
I AM NOT GREAT ANYMORE AND IT IS TIME I ADMIT IT. I WILL FIGHT TO EARN IT BACK STARTING THIS WEEK AGAINST NEDRY FORM AND I WILL BECOME A DOUBLE CHAMPION AND I WILL BECOME THE REAL PWA MEGASTAR AND IT MIGHT TAKE A LONG TIME. BUT UNTIL I DO EARN IT BACK I AM NOT GREAT SCOTT
GREAT SCOTT IS DEAD.
I’m… Just Scott.
Have a decent day everyone.