Sean Pershing's Apartment
20th August 2004
18.15

The room is silent. The room is empty. Scarcely placed around the light-bathed lounge are signs of recent activity. The coffee machine plays host to all manner of spills, on it's top, down it's front and in front, on the marble counter. Besides that, an empty milk carton rests on it's side, white juice still seeping from it's slit top. Teabags and crisp packets have been dumped loosely on top of the bin, no-one taking the effort to open the top before slinging their dispose onto the metal garbage tin. The room exudes the presence of decadence. It is showered in a blinding evening light, the low sun beaming in through semi-shut blinds and spreading yellow rays over the cream carpet, lucky to not bear marks and stains from spilt coffee.

Fawn-coloured sofas create a square in the room, a chesnut glass-topped coffee table the focal point. The leather sofa's suffer the creases in their skin of human backsides having only recently vacted them. The room is idyllic with nobody present, the only noise is visual, that of a muted widescreen television in the corner blistering out images of a wrestling match. On the screen, a familiar logo is clearly visible, a small DRWF. On screen, two men thrash each other about a ring, neither seeming to have the upper hand at this stage of the contest.

A short walk away, a door slams and footsteps near down the thick-carpeted corridor. They approach, and then stop, proceded by a swiping noise and a brisk 'peep'. The handle creaks around, and the door is pushed open. We don't yet see who has entered, the camera instead swinging by his trouser-clad legs and back to the T.V. The rattle of keys being thrown onto a side sounds, followed by that of money being dropped onto marble. After a few seconds, we pick up on the character again, now making his way over to the window. A large black hand reaches up and draws the blinds to the top of the window. Light shoots in, piercing the glass and paling the carpet. The man reaches to the balcony door handle, and gives it a swift pull, releasing it and letting the patio door slide open for the rest. Outside, the sound of water hitting up against rocks and walls sounds. A small-engined boat can be heard picking up speed as it leaves the harbour. Looking out, the view is spectacular from this penthouse apartment. The character steps out on to the balcony, affording the camera it's first proper shot of this muscular figure, albeit a shot of his back. Between the solid shoulderblades, an entwined pair of barbed wires make their way up over his left shoulder, apparently further down onto his front. The man wears his sports trousers hanging off, allowing us a view of Joe Boxer's. He takes two steps further out.

Man: Beautiful, just beautiful. I'ma miss this place.

It was impossible to tell who he was speaking to, it seemed likely just to be himself. For a second it did, at least.

Girl: Hey baby, how you feelin'?

Man: Am good, y'know. I gots such a good feeling about this one. That time-out done worked real well for me. I feel so refreshed, and I got all this power that's done built up inside of me. I definitely think I can comeback good with this one, comeback real strong and do something worthwhile. I mean, let's be honest, FWA was never gonna work - that was a mess around to just get my name on the circuit again. The more people talk about me, the better I become, it's that simple.

Girl: Sean, you're forgetting. That ankle may be healed but you still can't move on it like you used to be able to, honey.

Sean: Look Leyenne, don't you worry about me. You just worry about what you're gonna spend all that precious green on. Have you packed all your stuff yet?

Leyenne: Pretty much, yeh. This is good for you, y'know. I can really see you doing something against that Kelis boy.

Sean: Kalis, yeah that's right. I'ma be headed straight for the top. I'ma fire like a ball from a cannon y'know. These kids got a sentence to serve, and I'm the law enforcer, baby. Kalis vs. me, y'know. That guy's a quarter-pounder, and I'm the Big Mac. I'm the Whopper, y'hear. I been watching him when he took that belt against Ace. Not a bad job, I gotta admit but Ace forget the fundamentals of his game, that's what allowed him the victory. Not if I get a chance though, serious. Give me half a chance and I'ma be scripting his eternity.

Leyenne places a slender dark hand on Sean's waist, giving us our first view of the female. She puts her hand on his waist and offers worried words.

Leyenne: I just don't want you getting hurt again. Do you know how much it scared me when that suplex went wrong? I was in the lounge watching it and I could feel that crack when your ankle came down. I thought you'd have to start a new career, not many wrestlers can come back after that.

Sean: Ya right, and I wouldn't have come back but for Harty. He taught me well. That guy lost a son to wrestling, now that's showing some grit to still be teaching after that. I'd hate the sport if anything like that happened to someone I loved. But Stu has two passions, family and wrestling. I'm lucky to be involved in the latter. He'd never have let me give up after the ankle injury. Appearing at the Academy, like he suggested, was still probably the best thing I've done since the days of DIWA. I ever told you about DIWA? Man, those days were good. Me and the Black Mamba, when we held all but the womens belt between the two of us. That was one intense rivalry. I wonder what happened to Mamba. Last I heard, he moved to South America to see distant relations. Said there was no future in the sport for him, ah well. And then BWC, man that was intense. I never expected McCluskey to offer me the federation! He was a sound dude but, y'know, giving me a two mill dollar federation? That's friends for ya. BWC was good but the competition wasn't. I think that's why McCluskey packed it in after all, it was just me taking World TV after World TV, no-one could touch me. That's not how it's gonna be here and that's what I like about Death Row.

Sean turned to his left, noticing that Leyenne had removed her arm. There she was, lying face down, lapping up the sun and paying no attention to her partner. Sean decided to leave her be, walking through the apartment and onto the corridor. The corridor was long, red carpeted and hide-coloured walls. He walked down it, two feet either side of him and past another door to his left. There, a mirrored wall hid the doors to the elevator, a small lit button opening the doors into a wooden-clad box with a mirrored roof, ambient lights shining down and creating a surreal length to the car. With a 'ping', the doors opened and Sean was out into a marble-floored lobby. There, looking out to the door, were tables with a small seat next to them, and a lamp on their body. The lobby was elegance and decadence expressed at its fullest. This was obviously a wealthy condominium. Sean turned right out of the door and headed for the car park. We pass a Mercedes S-Class, plenty of BMW's and low-end Mercedes', a Ferrari, two TVR's and then the big man stops at a dark blue Jaguar XJ6. The car stood with two empty spaces either side of it, allowing Sean plenty of room to open it's wide and thick doors. The car looked mean, yet ever so gracious. Twenty inch chrome rims adorned the wheel-arches, barely leaving enough room for tyres. The chrome shone beautifully in the scantily-lit car park. Sean pressed on his key, the door slipping ajar with a 'peep peep' to notify him. As he neared it, the dark blue metallic paint reflected his white vest with slight distortion. The car had been polished and buffed wonderfully. A woman could use this car as a vanity mirror. Fawn-coloured calf leather upholstery greeted Sean as he planted his backside in the left-hand seat. He looked around to ensure the perfectly-upheld interior was not dirtied anywhere before pressing a button on the centre console and sitting back in his chair.

Woman: Hello Sean. Where are we going today?

The computer-operated voice coincided with a DVD screen sliding out from the car stereo, and folding up to provide the driver with a 6" display. Sean pressed a few buttons on the screen and the voice responded.

Woman: Unkown destination. Please insert specific address.

A few more clicks of buttons and the voice was now happy to oblige.

Woman: Thank you. Please fasten your seatbelt and start the engine. Have a safe drive.

Sean inserted the key into the ignition and pressed a button to start up the car. With a foot pressed on the brake and ensuring the car was in 'Park', Sean leant on the accelerator, unleashing a furious 'vrrrrroooom vrrrrrrooooom' before letting the engine settle down. He keyed in another couple of buttons on the TV, and music began to burst through the speakers. Turning his front windows down, he released the parking brake and drove away from the car park.

---

Unknown Location
20th August 2004
19.03

Woman: Turn right. Welcome to Death Row.

Sean's destination was finally confirmed by the attractive voice implanted into his stereo. Sean looked out of his side windows to see huge office blocks on either side. 'Surely not Death Row', he wondered. Regardless, he looked for the nearest roadside parking space and pulled the 4.5 metre long saloon into it, giving no opportunity for drivers to park in front of or behind him. As he exited the car, watching the TV retract into it's previous position, Sean saw a brightly-illuminated sign a short walk down the road on the opposite side. The sign read "Welcome To Death Row." He had arrived at his destination. He locked the car, a familiar 'peep peep' signalling it's security. Walking away, Sean noticed that the area was actually well-kept for one that housed 'Death Row'. He was suitably impressed and continued until reaching the facáde of the Death Row building, glass doors and a tall window allowing him a perfect view of reception. Entering, he bypassed the young intern sitting at reception and walked around through the players lounge towards the Directors Boxes. This backstage part of the arena looked very much like a corporate setting, desks and files littering the players lounge and adjacent rooms. It was this which made Sean pay little attention to it, heading instead to the corridor with the directors boxes on it.

As he reached a door with a gold plaque besides it engraved with "Players Box", Sean pulled down on the handle and entered. In front of him, bottles of Champagne lay, set out nicely on white tablecloths, with prawns and caviar beside the bottle. To his right, a tiny kitchen unit hosted a glass-fronted fridge filled with beers. Sean took it upon himself to fish one out, a Corona, and walk back into the box. Facing into the Death Row Arena, the glass provided no glare. This was about the best view of the ring imaginable to Pershing. He stepped onto the balcony and scanned the arena from left to right and then left. It was huge. The size of the arena was like no place he had fought before. The largest arenas he'd previously encountered were 10,000 capacities at FCW. This could easily accomodate 20,000, he thought. Staring to the centre of the arena, a black-clothed ring stared back up at Sean. In only a matter of days, he'd be fighting the crop of DRWF in that very ring, a prospect he very much adhered to.

Sean: Haha. Just right. Just fucking right.