Private: Nova
Friday, June 30, 2023
Tropical Turmoil Night One – Crucifixion Match (Hoyt Williams vs. Nova)
Petco Park
San Diego, CA
Richard Parker: CRUCIFIED AND SAVED ON TOP OF THE CRUCIFIX!!!!
Nick Stuart: WOW! HE PLANTED HIM!
Hoyt falls down to his knees. Nova isn’t moving. He’s bleeding, but he’s not moving. Hoyt reaches out and straps Nova’s arms to the crucifix. He then straps down Nova’s feet.
Richard Parker: Just hit the fucking button and it’s over!
Exhausted, Hoyt slowly crawls his way over to the button, reaches out with whatever energy he has left, blesses himself, and then crucifies Nova.
DING. DING.
Richard Parker: THANK HOYT THIS IS FINALLY OVER. I can breathe again.
Nick Stuart: What a match between two legends. Both men left it all out there tonight. Whatever the future may hold, neither of them will be the same when they travel through it…
Hoyt, resting on his knees, looks up at Nova. After a moment, his henchmen slide under the ropes, grab hold of him in adulation, and roll him out of the ring.
Nova’s head lolls about against the backdrop of the cross. Suddenly, his chest heaves and his body sags against the cross and straps holding his limbs against the frame.
Timo runs over to brace Nova’s body, turning back towards the entrance ramp, shouting for help. After a minute or two, medical staff race down the entrance ramp with a stretcher to collect the Risen Star.
Monday, July 3, 2023
The Bowels of Petco Medical, Deep Inside the Park
San Diego, CA
Dr. Fitzsimmons glares at a chart in disbelief, frozen in erudite disbelief before his thought process is interrupted by a breathless underling.
Dodson: DOCTOR! Come quickly, there’s an emergency!
Fitzsimmons slowly cranes his neck around to meet Dodson’s gaze.
Dr. Fitzsimmons: What is it this time, Dodson?
A single bead of sweat alongside Dodson’s left temple betrays his dedication to composure.
Dodson: It’s Nova, sir. He’s…gone.
Fitzsimmons whips his head in the opposite direction..
Dr. Fitzsimmons: Impossible. Take me to him.
Dodson: Yes, sir.
They scurry together through a series of narrow tunnel-like hallways before emerging into a centralized hub with high ceilings. Dodson points down one of the pathways, and Fitzsimmons follows him back into a dark tunnel for a moment before they both round a curve and are bathed in a warm orange glow.
Dr. Fitzsimmons: *Gasps* Triage Room Number Three. Or what was Triage Room Number Three, at least.
Dodson: Yes, sir.
Dr. Fitzsimmons: When we brought him here, there were no signs of life, Dodson. Do you understand me? None.
Dodson: (Nodding) I was there, sir.
Dr. Fitzsimmons: And now he’s apparently defeated not only the tie-downs I authorized when we placed him here on a steady diet of Lofi Hip Hop Girl’s “beats to relax/study to” YouTube channel…
Dodson: You tried, sir…
Dr. Fitzsimmons: …he clearly found his way past the boulder I rolled across the entrance to his cave tunnel.
Dodson: Wait, what? You did what?
Dr. Fitzsimmons: I hired a landscaping company to bring an earthmover down here and roll a boulder over the entrance to Nova’s medical triage room.
The doctor gestures around, where it is clear tracks have been ground into the floor and overhead lighting panels have been damaged. The boulder in question rests against a wall several hundred feet away.
The doctor stares down at his wristwatch, then runs a hand through his flowing blonde mane.
Dr. Fitzsimmons: Three days. It’s been three days, Dodson. What have we done?
Dodson: I honestly don’t know how to answer that, sir.
Dr. Fitzsimmons: We’re doctors, Dodson. We took an oath.
Dodson: I’m a vet tech, sir.
Dr. Fitzsimmons: Not to me, you’re not.
They take a step back together, taking in the scene of a cave entrance where, in the absence of the large boulder that has been cast aside, the edges of the tunnel are red-hot and dripping like magma off the cave walls.
The doctor puts a hand on Dodson’s shoulder.
Dr. Fitzsimmons: Call your wife, Dodson.
Dodson: (Looking up at Fitzsimmons) What do I tell her, sir?
The good doctor stares ahead at the scene in front of him before patting Dodson’s shoulder.
Dr. Fitzsimmons: Tell her whatever the fuck you want to.