"Der Basterd" Shawn Summers

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Comeback Kid

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BIOGRAPHY
Hometown:
Laguna Beach, California
Age: 32 | Height: 6 foot 1 | Weight: 225 pounds
DISPOSITION
Heel
WRESTLING STYLE
American Strong Style (Technical + Strong Style)
When wrestling, Shawn is very close and tight to his opponent. His offense does not allow his opponents to have much space or room for recovery once he begins his assault. Shawn utilizes his amateur wrestling background in addition to strong precision strikes, and submission holds to keep his opponents on the defense throughout the match.

Moveset
Basic Moves
"Wipe Out" - Overhead belly-to-belly suplex
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Lights Out - Springboard knee strike
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Sitout Double Underhook Powerbomb
Bridging/Release German Suplex
Triple Roling Double Underhook Suplex
Bridging Fujiwara Armbar
Penalty Kick
Discus Elbow Smash
Rolling Elbow Strike
Seated Senton ( done on an opponent's leg draped over the first rope)
Headbutt

Signature Strikes
Blitzkrieg
Description:
Shawn mounts the chest of a downed opponent and punches them with right and left-hand strikes, incorporating elbow strikes throughout.
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The Bee's Knees
Description:
Charging double knee strike to the chest of a downed opponent in the corner.
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Signature Submission Move(s)
Ankle Lock
Description:
Shawn will start the ankle lock by standing before dropping down to the ground and grapevine around his opponent's leg to apply more pressure with the intention of breaking their ankle.
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Charlotte's Web
Description:
Figure four leglock - Shawn will perform this move on the ring post to apply additional pressure to his opponent.

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Finishing Maneuver(s)
Midsommar
Description: Gotchstyle Piledriver
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Alpha Male
Description:
Guillotine choke. When in desperation mode, Shawn will wrap his legs around his opponent's body and pull downwards to apply more pressure and take his opponent down to the mat.
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ENTRANCE THEME
Cola by Lana Del Rey


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Entrance Description: Shawn slowly rises through the stage with his head down and eyes closed. The lights strobe between white and red to the drums of the song as fog rises underneath him. Shawn tilts his head up, his face void of emotion as the camera pans around him. He stands in place taking in the moment until the chorus of "Cola" kicks in. He begins to make his way down the ramp mouthing the words to the song, ignoring the hands and verbal assault from the fans as he does. Halfway down the ramp, he takes a visual survey of the arena before slowly walking up the ring steps and slowly ascending the turnbuckle. His eyes closed his head tilted high - he's fully taking in the moment before hopping down into the ring. Shawn makes his way to his corner and crouches down as he awaits his opponent or the signal of the bell from the referee.
 
Last edited:

Comeback Kid

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Shawn Summers Promo
Fallout 01
Summers VS Nova Diamond
Result - Win


A raindrop plunges from the sorrow of the sky above, plummeting atop the towering stalks of grass covering the abandoned patch of land. The stalks begin to slowly part as a hand reaches from in between them. Shawn Summers, dressed in a black cotton zip-up jacket (the hood covering his head) over a white "v-neck" t-shirt, black cutoff denim shorts, white Nike tube socks, and a pair of black and white hightop Chuck Taylor shoes, slowly walks out into the clearing of the field. His eyes, glossy with a red tint, shift towards the sky as the raindrops begin to pick up speed on their descent. He turns his attention back to the clearing, wipes his eyes, takes a deep inhale, and collapses to his knees. Shawn opens his mouth in an attempt to release any emotion, but nothing comes out. Tears stream down from his eyes, following the contours of his face, as he falls to the side into the fetal position. Shawn closes his eyes and sobs uncontrollably as the suppressed memories of days past begin to play out in front of him.

Shawn sits on the couch of a dressing room dressed in a white Oxford button-down, black slacks, and floor shoes. He looks down at his thumbs before sneaking a look up at the older man pacing back and forth, one hand on his hip and the other rubbing the back of his head. He looks over at Shawn and points at him angrily.

"Don't fucking look at me, Shawn," he snaps. "Your face is the last thing that I ever want to see. You're fucking puppy dog face as if you're the one who has to deal with the shit you've caused."

"Dad, I..." As Shawn attempts to get a word in, his father grabs the almost empty whiskey glass that rested on the makeup counter and launches it at him. Shawn narrowly dodges the glass as it shatters against the wall behind him. He looks at the droplets of whiskey crawling down the wall before looking at his father and mouthing "what the fuck" at him as he reaches for another glass, angrily tossing two ice cubes into it.

"We are LITERALLY at the end of this campaign. I'm at the fucking finish line, and YOU (Shawn's father points at him) have to go and FUCK IT UP," he shouts. He sloppily pours the whiskey into the bottle before taking a sip. He begins to pace back and forth in the room as Shawn inhales and exhales, attempting to calm himself down.

"This has nothing to do with you," Shawn shouts at his father. His father laughs to himself and shakes his head at him.

"You think this has nothing to do with me? You think that you, Shawn Summers, the son of Fitzgerald Summers, the Republican nominee for the governorship of California, viciously attacking a woman because she defeated you in a sporting competition, has nothing to do with me?"

"Yeah," Shawn responds dryly.

"IT HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH ME. What have I told you, Shawn? What have I told you?! The one that can't control their emotions in the heat of battle will ALWAYS lose. You have to be methodical. You have to remain cold, be calculated, and remain void of any distractions in your mind!"

Shawn exhales and begins to bounce his leg as his father finishes his drink and sets it down in front of himself instead of launching it at Shawn this time.

"Shannon fuckin' O'Neal. That's the only thing these reporters have been asking me about since you're little 'athletic competition.' We've got the women's rights and domestic assault groups screaming for me to condemn your actions. We've got the dyke organizations trying to say that if I can't stop my son from committing a hate crime against a member of their community, how the hell can I stop anyone else in the state from doing so?

"Why did you have to make this more difficult for ME, Shawn? I'm a progressive Republican running for office in the LIBERAL State of California. Conservative Republicans want me dead because I believe in logical gun control, and we have liberal Democrats hating me because I'm a white, heterosexual man. It didn't need to be more difficult, Shawn."

Silence overtakes the room as the two stare back at one another, father to son. Shawn's father smirks at him before shaking his head and turning to the mirror to adjust his shirt and fix his hair.

"This wrestling thing..."

"Wrestling thing?" Shawn interjects quizically.

"Yes, this wrestling thing, Shawn. I know it's your passion. I know it's always been a dream of yours. I'm glad you're following your dreams. It's something I've always told you and your brothers to do. I just wish that you would realize your limits. Reaching the world championship, that's not your destiny. Being loved and adored by the fans - it's never going to happen. Your career doesn't need to be validated by beating some chick. You don't need that validation, Shawn. You don't need it."

Shawn purses his lips together and nods his head at his father's words. He rises to his feet, grabbing his blazer off the chair next to him and putting it on. Shawn walks toward his father and places his hand on his shoulder, and smirks. His father returns the smirk as Shawn embraces him for a hug.

"You're right, Dad. I don't need it. I want it." Shawn pulls away as a knock is heard at the door, alerting them they are required on stage. Shawn walks towards the door and opens it with a smile on his face. His father laughs to himself and walks out as Shawn follows behind him. As their footsteps echo throughout the hallway, the shouts of 'Summers' can be heard from inside of the auditorium. The two stop at the wing of the stage as a boisterous emcee fires the crowd up for their impending arrival. The emcee introduces the two as the crowd erupts into cheers.

Shawn's father pats him on the shoulder before beginning.
"Let's go watch my political future die because of your "wants."

Shawn whispers "RIP" to his father before they both walk out onto the stage to a chorus of cheers and applause from the supporters. The two stop center stage, smile, and wave at the attendees as they chant and reach out at them. Shawn puts his arm over his father's shoulder in a show of solidarity. The side of Shawn's face begins to feel moist as he continues to wave to those in attendance. His arm begins to grow in weight as his father leans back into him. Shawn turns to look at him and notices a gaping hole on the right side of his father's head, blood flowing out of it. His father looks up at him as another hole expands into the left side of his head, sending blood and fragments of his father's skull into him. Shawn nearly drops his father as the sound in the auditorium fades. He catches the body and looks around in disbelief before focusing his attention on a dark-haired version of himself crouching down next to him.

The dark-haired version of himself shakes his head at him and removes a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the blood off Shawn's face.


"This isn't EXACTLY how I remember things going, but it's close enough." Shawn looks up at his dark-haired self in disbelief as he finishes cleaning
himself up.
"But, then again, maybe this is how YOU choose to remember things. People sometimes like to rewrite history to fit the narrative they want to tell." The dark-haired Summers puts the handkerchief into his pocket again and stands to his feet.

"Get up, Shawn. We've got shit to do."

Shawn opens his eyes and looks at the grass below him in the clearing. The area where he lay is soaked, but all other spots of the clearing are dry. He groggily stands to his feet and looks around as the sun begins to set in the distance. The Parisian lights glimmer in the distance as Shawn wipes his eyes and makes his way onto his knees. He clasps his hands together and closes his eyes as he whispers to himself. Shawn draws a cross over his chest with his fingers before touching the ground, opening his eyes, and rising to his feet. He inhales once more before exhaling, making his way through the towering stalks of grass towards a waiting matte black Triumph Street Twin Cafe Racer motorcycle. Shawn mounts the bike, revving the engine before accelerating down the gravel road towards the horizon.


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The scene opens to the interior of the famous Louvre Museum. The lights dim, and the employees of the gift shops and souvenir stands begin their closing duties as the tourist and art snobs make their way towards the exit. No matter where you are in the world, the traffic patterns are always the same. The outgoing traffic on the left. The incoming traffic on the right. Shawn Summers, dressed in a white Polo shirt tucked into black and grey window-pained pants and white Nike trainers walks into the Louvre - passing through the outgoing traffic. A security guard locks eyes with Shawn as he walks into the museum and begins to approach until Shawn flashes him a laminated FWA Back in Business badge. The FWA managed to secure private viewing hours for their staff during their time in Paris. One of the many perks granted to the company for bringing their premier event to the City of Lights. As Shawn ventures deeper and deeper into the museum, his footsteps begin to echo, signaling that he is now alone. He looks around, searching as the paintings stare back at him. Throughout the years, these paintings have seen millions of faces. They've heard the problems of strangers that spoke in various tongues. They've inspired those who lacked a vision for their own art. Shawn's search stops as he walks towards a small painting hanging on the wall - guarded by a red velvet rope and plexiglass. He stares at the famous Leonardo da Vinci painting, The Mona Lisa.

"She's fucking ugly, isn't she?" calls out a voice. Shawn turns his attention to where the voice came from and closes his eyes, and begins to shake his head. A dark-haired version of himself walks towards him and rests a hand on his shoulder. Shawn yanks his shoulder away, but the dark-haired doppelganger laughs and puts his palms up as if to say, "alright, okay."

"Why are you here," Shawn asks quizically.

"Because YOU'RE here, Shawn. Because YOU need to work out some fucked up shit within yourself, and the only person that can help you with it is...you. Now, tell me that this bitch is fucking ugly, right?" "She's not cute. It's not even that great of a photo. I don't understand why everyone is so enamored by it. Why does everyone hype it up so much as if it's such a great piece of art? I've seen better, MUCH better from lesser-known artists. What's so good about this?"

The dark-haired Shawn moves past the velvet rope and gets closer to the painting. Shawn reaches out to stop him, but his dark-haired counterpart turns back to him with a look as if to say, "seriously, I'm not real. Nothing is going to happen." Shawn pulls his hand back and exhales as his dark-haired self shakes his head at the painting and then turns his attention back to Shawn.

"You should know better than anyone in here why people think this painting is so good."

A look of confusion appears on his face as the dark-haired Shawn approaches him and clasps his head in between his hands.

"THINK, Shawn. If enough people say that something is great, others start to believe it's true due to something that psychiatrists like to refer to as 'group think.' It's the practice of thinking or making decisions as a group in a way that discourages creativity. The art world and history are FILLED with groupthink. How many times have we heard a historian say that da Vinci was this great inventor and an amazing painter? Countless times, right? Now, it's no lie that he was a great inventor, but an amazing artist? That's up for a SERIOUS debate. The Mona Lisa is an ugly portrait, the Statue of David is almost identical to hundreds of other statues, and the Sistine Chapel ceiling painting is homoerotic porn, at best."

"Yeah, but how does that relate to me?"

"WRESTLING, Shawn! The FWA! Back in Business?!!?! Since they announced that stupid card, people have been shouting "oh, it's one of the best cards we've ever seen. The main event is stacked and going to be hard to pick a winner for. Blah, blah, blah. It's all a bunch of groupthink bullshit.

"But that's a subjective thought."

The dark-haired Shawn rolls his eyes at Shawn before beginning.

"You don't believe that, and we both know it. You don't have to lie to, Shawn. I know what you're really thinking. I know how you actually feel about
the card and the people on it."

Shawn snorts with laughter at his doppelganger's comments. He turns his attention away from the painting and stares at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Well, what do I think?"

"I know for a fact that you think that MVH is going to win the title because Sully has had the easiest championship reign in years, Mike Parr always chokes when it truly matters and MVH was gifted this path to the main event. I also know that you think that Chris Kennedy VS Krash is a stupid fucking match thrown together because adding the Gang Stars to the tag-title match would have been too damn logical. I know that you think the Gabby/Nova Diamond match is a waste of space on the card. Oh, and don't even get me started on your thoughts about the garbage wrestling that is the X-Division tournament."

"Wait, I don't have any thoughts on the Gabby/Nova Diamond match."

"NO ONE FUCKING DOES! It's an irrelevant match between an escaped psych-ward patient and the Leonardo da Vinci of the FWA himself. I mean, give
me a break. The motherfucker Nova did ONE thing impressive."


"Hey, winning the Carnal Contendership is fucking impressive"


"He managed not to let his feet hit the ground in an overgrown game of 'The Floor is Lava'. Don't start acting like the idiots on that fucking roster. You're better than them. You're better than HIM. He won the Carnal Conterndership and has been living off the glory of that victory ever since. Let's not forget that he fucking lost at Back in Business. What has he done since? Who has he beaten? What makes him special?"

Shawn opens his mouth to answer but his doppelganger puts his finger to his lips to stop him.

"The answer is abso-fucking-louteley nothing. He's a loser. Riding high off of ONE accomplishment. Hello, Leonardo da Vinci (points at the Mona Lisa painting). (Scoffs) And to think, they actually drafted that motherfucker higher than you. They should be talking about you, Shawn. You should be on that card in a marquee match. Not in some battle royal. Not in some stupid tournament. Not in a match against an unstable woman. An actual match. You're sitting here looking at paintings of ugly broads while some loser is getting cheered because he's proving he's stronger than a female. Biology be damned, we've got Nova Diamond here to prove that men are physically stronger and more adept than women. Get to the stadium, Shawn. The second night is almost over and someone is in the ring RIGHT now wasting an opportunity."

The dark-haired Shawn disappears as the footsteps of a security guard can be heard approaching. Shawn turns around and notices the thin, non-threatening gentlemen approaching.

"Is there any art that I can help you find, sir?"

Shawn stares at the Mona Lisa in all her average glory before turning his attention back to the guard, smirking at him.

"No"



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The scene opens into one of the backstage corridors of the Parc des Princes Stadium. Fireworks light up the night sky above as a physically drained Mike Parr makes his way into view. He winces in pain as he pounds his fist against the brick wall. He is angry with himself. He could have won that match. He should've won that match. This was supposed to be his night. He runs his hands through his hair as he attempts to gain his composure before walking to his locker room where he will certainly be greeted by family, friends, and reporters demanding answers to questions they have no business asking. The sound of metal clanking above draws Mike's attention for a split second. The sound caused him to finally notice the celebratory fireworks. They stung like alcohol in a fresh wound. It stung emotionally, but the baseball bat shot that he was about to receive to his stomach was going to hurt much worse.

Mike bellows over in pain, holding his stomach. He feels intense pain in his upper shoulder blades as he is struck again. He is struck repeatedly in his ribs, each hit stinging more than the last. The hits stop and Mike attempts to look around to identify the source of the hits. He looks and sees a pair ofwhite Nike Trainers. He looks up from the trainers and sees Shawn Summers looking down on him with a look void of emotion. Gripped between Shawn's right hand is a black aluminum baseball bat. He places the tip of the bat on Mike's neck forcing him facedown into the concrete before cracking him once more between the shoulder blades. Mike shouts in pain, but no one hears him as Shawn slouches down beside him. Shawn reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He places it between his lips and removes a lighter from his pocket, lighting the cigarette. As he lights, he takes a deep inhale, holding before exhaling the smoke into the atmosphere.


"Mmmm, I'm sorry Michael. That was rude of me, wasn't it? I didn't even introduce myself. Hi, I'm Shawn Summers (Shawn puts out his hand for a handshake but realizes that Mike isn't in any shape to return the gesture. He pulls his hand back and takes another drag of the cigarette). I managed to get here just in time for your match. You put on one HELL of a performance. It was honestly the match of the night. If I can offer a little bit of advice for you, it would have to be "next time, don't lose".

Mike moans in pain and Shawn puts his hands up to as if to say "I know, I know".

"Easier said than done, right? Well, you're probably wondering why I attacked you. Yeah, I'd be wondering too. We've never met. We have no history with one another. Why you, you're probably wondering. It's simple, I wanted to show the FWA and everyone else on the roster that none of you are that good that you can't be caught slipping on your best day. Well, in your case...this is your worst day. But, you get what I'm saying. You boys here in FWA have gotten to comfortable smelling your own shit and believing the hype around yourselves that you thought you were untouchable by an outsider."

Shawn uses the bat to gently tap Mike on the head.

"You can be touched, Michael. You all can be touched. You're not that special and honestly, you're not that good. You just lost to manic pixie dyke in front of 80,000 people. (Shawn takes a drag from his cigarette). So here's the plan, Michael. I want you to heal up, get back to...ehhh 75%, and then come find me. We can talk about why I think the majority of your FWA wrestlers are shit and you can offer your counterarguments. While you're healing up, I'll be proving my arguments by beating the dog shit out of FWA mainstays, starting with Nova Diamond. Take care, Michael."
 
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Comeback Kid

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Shawn Summers Promo
Fallout 003
Summers VS KDS
Result - Win

Fantasy Wrestling Alliance - 16th Anniversary Show

We fade in from darkness to the backstage hallways of the SEG Geneva Arena. The buzz in the arena from the 16th Anniversary Show has died down and has been replaced by that of the ring crew disassembling things. In the large open space of the hallways, the FWA finishes filming the FWA Fallout post-show program - The Fallout Clears. The hosts of the Fallout Clears, Todd Slaum, Kevin Cromwell, and Anzu Kurosawa, sit on clear barstools behind a newsdesk with the Fallout logo emblazoned across the front.

Todd Salum: Tonight had major implications for the future of the FWA. Nova Diamond showed everyone why he should NEVER be counted out. MVH managed to get her win back from the newly minted Hall of Famer, Belle, and the tag-team division is as hot as ever. The next episode of Fallout cannot come any quicker. I'm Todd Salum, alongside my broadcast partners Kevin Cromwell, and Anzu Kurosawa signing off for the Fallout Cl...

Todd's words trail off as something on the side of the visible screen area catches his attention. Kevin Cromwell stands to his feet and begins clapping as Shawn Summers walks onto the set with his trademark cocky smirk emblazoned across his face. He is dressed in a white muscle-cut shirt emblazoned with a logo that reads "Partime MAFIA" across the front. The shirt is tucked into a pair of black skinny jeans secured by a weight belt around his waist with Der Bastard written on it.

Kevin Cromwell - We're not going anywhere, Todd! We have been graced by the Walking Gold Opportunity himself. The God-King! Der Bastard, Shawn freaking Summers! Welcome to the Fallout Clears, Shawn.

Shawn Summers - Thank you, thank you. You see, Todd, you should take pointers from Cromwell, here. THAT'S how you introduce a guest.


Todd Salum looks around at the cameramen and the producers who are just as confused as he is before beginning.

Todd Salum - You'll have to excuse my shock, but we were not expecting you here on the show tonight, Shawn.

Shawn Summers - Neither was Mike Parr.


The hosts laugh - Salum and Kurosawa nervously.

Anzu Kursawa - Well, Shawn, welcome to the show. It would be an understatement to say that you made an impact on the FWA tonight with you entering the chamber and taking out Mike Parr with a metal pipe. What's the deal with you and Mike Parr? Why attack him again?

Shawn Summers scrunches his face in confusion at Anzu's question. He leans forward to look at Todd and Kevin as if to ask, "Why is she asking this?"

Shawn Summers - I've already answered this, Anzu. I gave you an answer on the last Fallout. If you want an explanation for why I attacked Michael and what my "deal" with him is, I'm sure one of these little producers (Shawn motions to the producers standing behind the camera) can get you a full transcript of what I said. I mean, I thought you were supposed to be a journalist, Anzu. It's VERY unprofessional to come to an interview without doing your homework.

Anzu looks around confused, and Shawn returns the look to her with an eye roll before snorting with laughter. Todd Salum interrupts Shawn's condescending laughter at Anzu with a question of his own.

Todd Salum - Well, Shawn, I think the question that is on everyone watchings mind is what brings you to the Fallout Clears tonight?

Shawn Summers - Yeah, I wanted to come on here to discuss the Fallout Eliminator Tournament.

Todd Salum - Let's discuss it.

Shawn Summers - Alright, so I've listened to you three since the first episode make your little predictions about who you think is going to make it deep into the tournament. I've read the online reports from the "wrestling media" about who has the greatest chances of advancing and who their favorite to win the whole thing is. I've heard you all talk about how you think Danny Toner could take the tournament. I've heard you all talk about how Ramon could finally have his moment with a victory in the tournament. I've read the articles calling this Gabby's opportunity to climb back to the top. But you know who's name never comes up in these discussions about the tournament?

Kevin Cromwell - Well, with all due respect, Shawn,

Shawn Summers (putting up a hand to stop Kevin from continuing) - Stop. Kevin, stop. There's no respect here at all. You all have disrespected me

with the comforting thought that you wouldn't have to address it directly with me. So, that's why I decided to pop up here tonight. I'm allowing you to
tell me to my face why you doubt that I have the ability to win.

Shawn looks at the three hosts quizically as they fumble with the question. None of the trios seem to want to be the first to answer. Anzu opens her
mouth to answer.


Anzu Kurosawa: Well, it seems like your focus has been less on the tournament and more on Mike Parr. I feel like the attack tonight validates that point.

Shawn Summers
(shooting a look of disgust Anzu's way) - What do you mean my "focus" has been on Mike Parr? The only person focusing on Mike
Parr seems to be you, Anzu. This is the second time you've brought him up, by the way. I'm not focused on Mike Parr. I don't care about Mike Parr. I
don't know him from a hole in the wall. Okay? The only thing I know about that man is that he's had multiple opportunities and has failed to capitalize
on them. Mike Parr is the microcosm of all the problems with FWA. But one thing he is not is the focus of Shawn Summers. So, you can trash that
excuse, Anzu.
Todd, I'm sure you're dying to tell us your opinion, so hit us with it.

Todd leans back in his chair, refusing to make eye contact with Der Bastard. Shawn taps his hand on the table repeatedly to get his attention and
motions for him to look him in the eye.


Todd Salum - Well, Shawn, you've only had two official matches here in the FWA. The other competitors in the tournament have lengthy records and careers here with the company. We know them and what they're capable of. We're still getting to know you.

Shawn tilts his head back and lets out a forced laugh. He bangs his hand against the table as he continues to laugh at Todd's response. He pauses to "take a breath" before laughing again.

Shawn Summers - Todd, it's the 21st century. You can Google me. I'm not some fresh kid just getting started in this industry. I've been doing this for a while. You're just getting used to me? That's bullshit. You just haven't taken the time to learn who the hell Shawn Summers is. And why is that, Todd? Is it because I competed in other companies besides FWA? Is it because I haven't faced off against the FWA greats who you all jerk off and scream are the best wrestlers in the world? Hmm?


I've wrestled around the world, Todd. I've faced some of the best that this sport has to offer and let me tell you, those guys weren't in the FWA. Your response is swiss cheese, Todd. It's full of holes. Hopefully, Kevin has got something better for me.

Kevin Cromwell - Well, for me, Shawn, you're an unknown. It's hard for me to accurately place you anywhere in the tournament. You're a wildcard. Anzu nods her head in agreement, to which Shawn mockingly mimics.

Shawn Summers - I'm a wildcard? What the hell does that even mean? More importantly, why the hell am I wildcard, Todd?


Todd attempts to answer but Shawn waves his hand to stop him from answering.

Shawn Summers - It was a rhetorical question, dingus. You're not the first person to call me a wildcard in this tournament. I've read the articles that have said: "Summers is the wildcard" and, you know, I've gotta imagine it's because I don't fit into the plans of the armchair bookers sitting at home arguing on their little forums and exchanging messages back in forth in their discord chats (Shawn winks at the camera with a smile) about how they think things should go. I don't fit into their plans because they think I have a certain role that I should play, so I'm a "wildcard". Go figure.

Todd Salum (attempting to take back control of the show) - Well, let's talk about you and the tournament, Shawn. You're in the quarter finals and
you're facing off against Kleio De Santos.


Anzu Kurosawa - Kleio's proven herself to be a tough opponent. She scored probably the biggest upset of the tournament with a victory over the
former North American Champion Krash. That's not an accomplishment that many people can boast about.

Todd Salum - That's true and let's not forget that she is the protege of one of the most dominant World Champions in quite some time, Saint Sulley. One has to imagine that the training and knowledge that he has bestowed upon her is a huge advantage for her against anyone she faces.

Shawn rolls his eyes and does the "jerk off" hand motion into the air before leaning back in his chair.

Shawn Summers - Yeah, that's all fine but has she beaten Shawn Summers?

Anzu Kurosawa - Well, she hasn't faced you yet.

Shawn Summers - Has she beaten Shawn Summers?

Todd Salum - You two have never been scheduled against one another until now so...


Shawn Summers closes his eyes and pounds his fist on the table.

Shawn Summers - Has (pounds fist on the table) she (pounds fist on the table) beat (pounds fist on the table) en (pounds fist on the table) Shawn
Summers?!?!

Kevin Cromwell - Well, Shawn...

Shawn closes his eyes and allows the microphone to tumble from his hands to the ground. The microphone dances slowly in the air as it careens to the concrete floor below. It bounces up and down in an almost synchronized manner as the sound in the room exits. As the sound exits the aluminum Summer Slugger baseball bat rises from the side of its batter. Shawn opens his eyes and shifts his attention to Anzu before rising off the barstool. He approaches Todd Salum, steps back into a batter's stance, and smacks him across the face with a shot that would have elicited a homerun in any other instance. The sound returns to the scene as Anzu Kurosaw screeches in horror at Todd Salum laying on the floor. Shawn turns his attention back to her and bunts the bat into her mouth before launching a stiff swing into her stomach sending her bellowing down to the ground. Next to Anzu, Kevin Cromwell falls out of his chair in fear as Der Bastard turns his cold gaze towards him. Kevin attempts to scoot away from Summers but is too late as Shawn mounts him, resting the edge of the bat against his throat.

Shawn Summers - Do you doubt me now, Kevin? Am I still the wild-card? Have I given you enough of a demonstration to make an opinion on me or is there still doubt, Kevin?

Kevin is struck with fear, unable to answer as Shawn stares blankly down at him. Shawn removes the edge of the bat from his throat and unmounts him. He looks down at Anzu who whimpers in pain before turning his attention to Todd who lays motionless on the floor. Summers slowly tilts his head towards the ceiling, his eyes shut and a closed mouth grin across his face.

Shawn Summers - Todd'll be fine, Kevin. He's just knocked out. They'll have him out here next week doing the fallout post-show. He can handle the pain.
He's a man. We're built for these types of things.


He opens his eyes and shifts his eyes to Kevin who stares in horror at Shawn as Anzu whimpers in pain next to him.

Shawn Summers - But, I'm afraid you're going to need a new third-person for your team. Women are...just...too damn...fragile.

Shawn viciously slams the bat down against Anzu's head repeatedly as blood spews up at him with each smack, covering his white shirt.


The darkness is broken by the muffled sounds of Todd Slaum finishing his thought as he poses a question to Shawn. Todd Salum, Kevin Cromwell, and Anzu Kurosaw all sit in their respective seats that they were in before. They are unharmed, but just as uneasy as they had been throughout the entire show since Shawn arrived. What the hell was going on?

Todd Salum - Well, Shawn, do YOU think that you can defeat Kleio?

Shawn looks confused at Todd. Was all of that just a dream? Did none of it happen? Shawn looks up from the table and focuses on Todd before gasping
at the figure sitting next to him. Shawn notices himself, his hair, dark brown instead of blonde. His clothes, covered in blood. He smiles back at Shawn
and raises a finger to his mouth.

Dark-Haired Shawn Summers - They're not ready for that, Shawn. Tell them what they want to hear. We'll hold off on "Psycho Summers" for another day.


Shawn's eyes are as large as flying saucers as he slowly nods his head yes.

Shawn Summers - Than...Thank you for having me on the show.





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Geneva Switzerland

The rain cascades from the clouds above to the paved street of Geneva causing the cities inhabitants to run for shelter. The streetlamps bounce light off the wet pavement causing it to glisten under the night sky. The stamp of passersby feet seems to increase in volume as they hit the small puddles that have begun to form on the sidewalks. The white of Shawn Summers Nike trainers almost illuminates in the darkness as he steps in the mini puddle on the sidewalk. He walks with his head down, the hood of his black hoodie pulled over, as to not draw attention to himself. He didn't want anyone to see what he was about to do. In his right hand, he clutches the handles of a duffle bag, as he continues his stroll down the street, noticing the patrons eating dinner inside of restaurants. The smiles and comfort of eating with someone that you love were so foreign to him. He had not experienced this feeling in such a long time.

He turns his attention away from the restaurants and looks for the street signs. He looks around before pausing on his target - the sign that reads Rue Pellegrino-Rossi and Rue Charles-Cusin, together with the streets crossing them - Rue Sismondi and Rue Docteur-Alfred-Vincent. He had reached his destination. The red-light district of Geneva.

He takes a moment before continuing his journey into the area. The neon signs outside of the cobblestone buildings draws his attention to the windows like that of a moth to a flame. The windows have a red tent to them creating an allure as the women behind them whine their bodies, and belly roll, attempting to persuade Shawn. They smile playfully and mention his attractiveness. Shawn stares blankly at the women as they continue to attempt to entice him into coming in. They vary in attractiveness. The less attractive ones doing more to get Shawns attention while those of traditional beauty standards sit unimpressed by his presence. They know that if he doesn't choose them for the night, someone will.

Shawn stares at the women disinterested in what they have to offer. They weren't what he wanted, what he needed tonight. He continued his stroll down the street surveying the women in the windows, none of them possessing what he was looking for. As Shawn stares into the window of one of the brothels, he notices the reflection of a man standing behind him.

The man, no older than 35, with a neatly trimmed close shaved beard, a military crew cut - slightly longer on top with clean sides, lights a cigarette.


Man - I've seen you walk past many of the windows that most men would have certainly settled for. None of these women tickle your fancy? Maybe they are not what you are looking for, no?
He moves closer to Shawn, causing Der Bastard to take a step backward. He sizes the man up concluding that if need be, he could take the man.

Shawn Summers -The women, they are beautiful. It's just, they're all...too white.

The man raises an eyebrow at Shawn's words.

Man - That's interesting. Not many people here are looking for women of the ethnic persuasion.

Shawn Summers - That doesn't surprise me. White seems to be the norm in the world and what many believe is the standard for beauty. The man takes another drag from his cigarette and nods his head in agreement with Shawn.

Man - I think I may have what you are looking for. I have a brothel of my own. Come, I'll take you.


Shawn clinches his bag as the man begins to walk and motions for Shawn to follow him. Shawn hesistates before reluctantly doing so. There was fifty-fifty chance that he would be mugged or find what he was looking for. He needed to find it so it was a risk that he was willing to take. The two approach what appeared to be an abandoned building from the outside. The man unlocks the door to building and waves Shawn in. Shawn enters into the building, the floors creek with age. It smells of body odors. The muffled sounds of moans can be heard in the upper levels. Shawn winces at the thought of the women that he could present to him.

The man pulls out his phone and makes a call in a foreign language. He pauses for a second surveying Shawn before relaying the message to the
person on the other end. The man hangs up and almost on cue, ten women make their way down the main staircase dressed in scantily - bra, panties,
a caftan hanging off their shoulders.

Shawn's eyes lit up with excitement as he noticed one of the women. She was exactly what he wanted. Exactly what he needed. He approaches her,
staring into her eyes. He reaches out before pulling his hand back.


Shawn Summers - May I?

He asks the man who nods "yes". Shawn runs his fingers through her long raven-colored hair allowing himself to trace the outline of her caramel-colored skin. He begins to remove her caftan to inspect her but is stoped by the man.

Man - You must pay before going any further.

Shawn keeps his attention on the woman, he bites his lower lip at the thought of what she could do for him.

Shawn Summers - How old is she?

Man - She's 24.

Shawn Summers - Ahh, she's 18?


The brothel owner looks at Shawn in confusion before shaking his head. Shawn gives him three hundred dollars.

Shawn Summers - She's 18.

The woman nods her head and leads Shawn up the stairs into one of the rooms. She directs Shawn to the bed as she closes the door behind her. She
begins to undress but Shawn immediately stops her.


Shawn Summers - Just...stand there.

She reluctantly stands in front of him as he looks over her body.

Shawn Summers - Where are you from?

Prostitute - Durango, Mexico.

Shawn Summers - No, you're from the favelas of Rio de Janeiro.


She looks confused as Shawn reaches into the duffle bag that he had brought into the room and tosses a sports bra and mixed martial arts gloves at her.

Shawn Summers - Put these on. HURRY!

He watches intently as she puts on the attire. He instructs her to go slower and she obliges as he stands up and inspects her.

Shawn Summers - Stand as if you are preparing to fight someone.

She shoots him a confused look. He shakes his head and he rises from the bed and carefully gets behind her, caressing her body as he affixes her into
a fighting stance.


Shawn Summers - throw a couple of punches for me.

She throws a couple of punches, quick jabs, followed by elbow strikes and kicks all at the instruction of Summers. Her technique was sloppy. She was exactly what he needed to see. He walks behind her and whispers into her ear.

Shawn Summers - Give me a reason, Kleio. I need a reason.

Prostitute (confused) - That's not my name.

Shawn Summers - That's your name tonight I need you to give me a reason. Right now, I have no reason for what I’m going to do to you. The belt isn’t enough reason for me.


He stops in front of her.

Shawn Summers - Punch me.

She hesitates before punching at him as he stares at her with a cold smirk on his face.

Prostitute - Why are you doing this? I want to stop!

Shawn shakes his head and whispers " I need a reason"

Prostitute - I"m uncomfortable.

Shawn Summers - I don't care. You signed up for this. You knew that in this profession there would be uncomfortable moments. This is why you’re not fit for this industry. Women are always screaming about equality until men show them that there never really was an equal playing field for them in the physical world. I mean, look at your punches and kicks. They're as pathetic as you look. Do you think you stand a chance against me?


She finally throws a decent punch and Shawn manages to catch it before she actually connects with him. Shawn jars her arm behind her back and hooks her head inside of his inner elbow with her face resting against his oblique. He reclines back onto the bed as she attempts to scream but to no avail. He closes his eyes and smiles as she struggles hitting him on his side. He releases pressure as she stops struggling – allowing her a moment before reapplying pressure as she struggles again.

There’s a knock at the door and Shawn hears the voice of the man telling him times up.


Shawn Summers - Not now, Michael. I’ll deal with you VERY soon. Just let me finish up here with Kleio.

The man enters the room and see’s Shawn with the woman in the guillotine choke. The unexpected entry surprises Shawn and snaps him back to reality. The woman is able to dig her fingernails into the side of his face causing him to release the hold. The man pulls a gun on Shawn. Shawn smiles

Shawn Summers: Please, please do it.

The man creeped out, grabs the woman and waves the gun at Shawn.

Man- Get the fuck out of here!

Shawn obliges and apologizes to the woman while also thanking her.

Shawn Summers - You gave me a reason – pointing at the slash that she had left on his face.
 

Comeback Kid

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Shawn Summers Promo
Fallout 004
Summers VS Randy Ramon
Result - Loss
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Raindrops dive from the sky onto the concrete below as clusters of thunder rumble the City of Dublin. It's either late at night or early morning, depending on your view of things. We begin inside a hotel parking garage. The sound of rain echoes throughout the empty structure littered with graffiti on the wall and luxury cars lined up in their overpriced parking spots.

Fallout Co-General Manager Rupert Watkins' ebony-colored loafers "clack" against the ground as he walks off an elevator into the parking garage. His head, buried in the work obligations of his phone, tilts up occasionally to survey his surrounding. One mustn't get too careful no matter how safe they think they are. His attention returns to his phone as he grimaces at an email before taping away with what one could only assume is a sharp response.

A large clap of thunder rumbles in the garage, causing the lights to flicker on and off. This abnormality stops Rupert in his tracks as he takes his attention away from his phone, directing it to the lights above. The lights flicker once more before disappearing, leaving only darkness in its place. Rupert squeezes the side of his phone, illuminating the area in front of him with the fluorescent tint from the phone's screen. With a source of light returned to him, Rupert continues his stroll to his parked car - a silver, hardtop, two-door Jaguar F-type.

Rupert reaches into his pocket and removes his keyfob as his phone buzzes with a notification of an incoming message. Someone else is working late alongside the business maverick. He taps the top button of the fob to unlock the doors of his car, illuminating the interior and giving Rupert an idea of where his destination was. He inches closer to his car as the sound of rain hitting the structure's roof intertwines with the sound of metal tapping against the concrete walls.

Rupert pauses and turns to the location of the sound, putting his phone in his pocket as he does so. A single light flickers alive in the distance revealing the silhouette of someone. He was not alone in this garage. The right appendage of the individual appears to elongate as a skinny tubular extension grows from it. Rupert sighs with annoyance as the individual begins to approach. The taps of its feet against the stone floor of the structure echo alongside the pitter-patter of rain. The tubular extension hits against the floor in an almost rhythmic pattern. "Tap-tap- tap tap tap. Tap-tap-tap tap tap," it goes as the figure gets closer and closer to the unbothered Rupert.

As the figure draws closer, another light in the garage flickers to life, breaking the darkness that the individual had cloaked themselves. Under the light stands Der Bastard himself, Shawn Summers. Shawn wears an all-white Adidas tracksuit with three black stripes running down the sides of the jacket and pants.

As he draws closer, Shawn flashes a closed-mouth grin at Rupert - his eyebrows raised high as if he's holding laughter or containing his excitement. He stops in front of Rupert, who rolls his eyes as Shawn rests his baseball bat, the Summer Slugger, on his shoulder.


"When I sent out those tweets earlier today, I expected to hear from a couple of members of the rosters and an overzealous fan or two, but you can only imagine my surprise when good ol' Uncle Rupert ended up in my mentions," Shawn says as he circles the General Manager like a shark in the water.

"I was more impressed than I was surprised to see you try to go word for word with me online." Shawn stops circling to lean in close to Rupert before delivering his message. "We both know that the online world isn't your battlefield. You like to do all of your fighting in boardrooms. Isn't that right, 'boss,' Shawn says with a wink before continuing his circling.

"No, online back and forth isn't your style. But, I guess in your old age, you've become one of those keyboard warriors." Shawn laughs to himself as he taps his bat on his shoulder rhythmically.

"You know, behind a keyboard, everyone feels powerful. But, I have to ask you...In this moment, do you feel powerful? Hmm? Do you...Feel as though you're in control?"

Shawn stops pacing around Rupert and stops in his place, chuckling to himself as he rests his hand on his forehead and shakes his head. He turns his attention back to Rupert with a smile.

"I'm getting ahead of myself here. Those aren't the questions that I want you to answer. No, I'm asking you those questions when in reality, I should be asking you questions like -" Shawn abruptly stops pacing around Rupert and places his chest against his.

"Who the fuck do you think I am? When you sent those messages, did you think you were dealing with some average bitch, boy? You thought you were being so 'cheeky' when you made your little comment about there being plenty of wrestlers on Fallout that would love to take my place, didn't you?" Shawn snarls at Rupert whose expression remains the same as it had from the beginning.

"You think I want your little money that this company pays me every week? Huh?!?! I've got my OWN!" Shawn backs away and laughs to himself before looking back at Rupert with a look of pure distaste. He points the bat at Rupert before beginning.

"I bet it would have put a BIG smile on your face if I had just left this whole little situation alone, right? RIGHT?!? But, you know I can't do that. I couldn't do that. I'm a bad motherfucker with a sick God complex. It's not in my nature to let you get away with something like that! I mean, if I let you get away with something like that then, what's stopping Danny Toner from thinking he can come at me on the internet? What's stopping that platinum rejects Ramon from hitting send on that SICK BURN he has stored away for me, hmmm?" Shawn stops and stares into the eyes of Rupert, who lets out a deep sigh of boredom. Shawn smirks at this action and slowly tilts his head to the side.

"That's why I'm here, in this parking garage, Uncle Rupert. I'm here to motivate your ass into deleting those little tweets you put up and retracting your statement about the match between Mike Parr and me." Shawn cracks his neck and gets a few practice swings in with the 'Summer Slugger' before turning his attention back to Rupert, who checks his watch as Shawn begins to get a little more annoyed with his nonchalant attitude.

"You know, normally, I would just debase and break down this company, you, and everyone else in management online to start a movement. Kind of like I did with the whole Gabby mental health thing I did late last year," Shawn says with a wink.

"But our relationship is...different. We know each other on a different level, and because of that, I'm going to take the Malcolm X (Shawn swings the bat hard at the air) approach to motivate you. By any...means...necessary," he says as he points the bat directly at the tip of Rupert's nose.

Another one of the lights in the parking garage flickers back to life, drawing attention of Rupert. He slowly reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulls out a metal case and a lighter. He pries open the case and removes a single cigarette, placing it between his lips and lighting it. He inhales deeply, shaking his head as he does so before exhaling to the side so as not to blow the smoke directly into Shawn's face.


"You're still the annoying child throwing a temper tantrum when he doesn't get what he wants, aren't you, Shawn? Nothing changed about you mentally from when I knew you as a little boy," Rupert exclaims as he takes another drag from his cigarette.

"You're still the little boy that would scream, hit, and make a scene to get what he wants when his daddy wouldn't give it to him. I fear you've gotten worse since he's passed - may God rest his soul." Rupert raises a finger and slowly pushes the baseball bat away from his face and towards the ground as Shawn seethes internally.

"Shawn, we both know that you're not going to do anything to me. You can't. We both know you want the match with Mike Parr, it's obvious. You want it on your terms, but, my dear boy, as your father must have preached to you, "terms and conditions are only valid if both parties agree to them" Rupert takes another drag from his cigarette before beginning again.

"I'm not calling off the match, Shawn. You will be facing Michael at the pay-per-view, and this is the last that we will speak of it, understood?" The sharpness of his tone sends a familiar tinge down the spine of Shawn. It was reminiscent of how his father would speak to him and his brothers when he had made up his mind. It took everything in him not to instinctively respond with "yes, sir."

"These little intimidation games may work with others, but that's because they see you as an equal. I, on the other hand, do not. To me, you will always be the little boy vying for attention and ignoring the bigger picture for petty squabbles like these. You finally have the opportunity to face one of the biggest names in the company. To prove that you are as good as you think you are, and you're in a parking garage threatening me? Pathetic, Shawn. Simply pathetic. Your focus should be on beating one of the men that mentally and physically damaged your two best friends. Your focus should be on inching one step closer to the world championship. Get your priorities together," Rupert remarks as he enters his car.

Shawn stares at his reflection in the car window and notices the dark- haired version of himself standing next to him. He wears an all-black Adidas tracksuit with three white stripes going down the side of the track jacket and pants.


"You're just going to let him talk to you like that? Like you're some type of CHILD, again," the dark-haired version of Shawn screams.

"He doesn't know the adult you. He doesn't know the man that you've become. He doesn't know who the fuck WE are anymore! Shawn, lift that bat and BASH HIS FUCKING SKULL IN!" Shawn shakes his head and closes his eyes in an attempt to silence the. dark-haired version of himself. The low hum of the engine from Rupert's car brings him back to reality. The co-general manager lets down his window and gives Shawn a once-over.

"Oh, and do something about that hair of yours. The black is starting to show through the blond. You need to look somewhat presentable as a member of my roster, Shawn."

He flicks his cigarette out the window before slowly driving towards the exit as Shawn is left standing. As he stands, the dark-haired version of himself refuses to contain his anger, throwing himself up against the wall, bashing the baseball bat on the ground, and smacking himself repeatedly while shouting incoherently. Shawn shakes his head at the dark-haired version of himself's actions before pulling out his phone and scrolling through messages. He stops on an unsaved number and reads "The Meadows - Wickenburg, Arizona." He closes the app and begins to walk, snapping his fingers at his dark-haired counterpart to follow as the scene fades to black.



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Shawn uses his left hand as a visor as the rays from the sun beaming down on him impairs his vision. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of Uniqlo branded aviator sunglasses that resembled gold-rimmed Raybans. He stared down at his reflection in the water next to him and couldn't help but wonder how it would feel in his skin in this desert heat. A woman, dressed in khaki pants, a navy blue polo tucked into them, approaches him with a smile.

"Mr. Summers, if you would step this way over to the terrace, we can seat you, and he will be out in just a moment," she says. Shawn nods his head and walks towards the terrace where two white wireframed chairs set across from one another, facing off into the distance. Shawn takes a seat and stares off into the vastness of thedesert. It would be easy to get lost in a place like that. To be forgotten by the world.

Shawn notices the shuffling of slide sandals approaching him from behind, causing him to rise from his seat. He turns his attention to the shuffling and sees Noah Stocke approaching with the women from before. He leans on her for balance as he makes his way towards Shawn.


"You're doing much better today, Mr. Stocke. It must be because you wanted to impress your guest," she says with a smile. Noah coldly stares at her before taking his seat across from Shawn.

"I'll call you when we are finished. Thank you, Sarah," he says dryly. She nods with a smile before making her exit as Noah and Shawn stare back at one another. Noah raises an eyebrow at Shawn as if to say "sup." Shawn cracks a smile at his old friend. It was hard to muster that as he stared at the state his friend was in post-surgery.

"Who would have thought that it would take two surgeries on my back to get you out here to see me? Things must be rough for you, ey Shawny?" Shawn shakes his head as Noah continues to stare blankly at him.

"I figured you would have come back to the states with Trevor and me after the CWA tour in Russia but imagine my surprise when I got loaded on the plane and Trevor had told me that you signed with the FWA. I had always known that I was who they considered the smart one of the group, but I had at least thought that you would be wise enough to NOT sign with them after how they did Trevor and me."

Noah spits on the ground as he taps his finger on the edge of the chair in an attempt to contain his anger. His displeasure with Shawn signing to FWA is visibly on display though.

"Noah, look...I had no other choice but to sign with them. I don't have any money since my family cut me off. I couldn't make it taking independent wrestling bookings. The companies ain't around like they used to be. FWA is the last big juggernaut, and I wanted to prove that I belonged. I wanted to prove that I can hang with the guys that claim they are the best."

Noah cackles at Shawn's words drawing a look of confusion. It wasn't often that Shawn had seen him laugh. Noah had always kept his emotions under wraps.

"That's funny, Shawn. You signed with the FWA to prove you can hang with the best. That's comical, Shawn. Tell me something, who is the best in FWA right now?"

"Well, you've got Danny Toner"

Noah smirks with amusement before waving his hand as if to tell Shawn to go on.

"Cyrus Truth, Mike Parr, MVH, Krash, Chris Kennedy, Devin Golden, and Ramon."

Noah's smirk of amusement quickly fades as he hears the names Golden and Ramon.

"You know they're the reason that he's not here, right? You know that they're who the company sent to put us in our place, right," Noah yells at Shawn quizzically.

"Golden and Ramon?"

"Devin Golden and Randy Fucking Ramon. They contributed to THIS,"
Noah points at his lower back. Since leaving FWA and finishing up the most recent tour with CWA, Noah had had two surgeries on his lower back to fix issues caused during his last few matches.

"At Division's Rules, those fuckers jumped us. We didn't even get an entrance at our event because we were going up against the corporate machine. They were strategically placed to put us in our places for speaking out on the treatment of tag teams in the first place. It pisses me off to see people talking about how they brought tag-team wrestling back to prominence when the whole premise was Trevor's idea. He was the one campaigning for a tag-team revolution. But somehow they give the credit to that coked-up one-hit wonder and that emo douche. That company broke him down and made him feel as though he was shit and you willingly went and signed with them," Noah remarks as he shakes his head in disgust at Shawn.

"You should be ashamed of yourself. Putting your body on the line every week for a company that would rather push the narrative of redemption for the crackhead over the true story of two athletes sparking a revolution that they didn't even get credit for. All because we aren't FWA homegrown talent."


Noah spits on the ground again and rubs his hand on his chin as Shawn ponders his words.

"You know he's using again, right?"

"Who??? Ramon?!?!"


Noah nods his head and clasps his hands together as he continues looking out into the distance, occasionally checking his watch.

"You're a recovering addict. You can see the signs. It's obvious. And his partner is his enabler. The motherfucker gets so high and creates these little realities where he can control things. He can make it seem like everything around him is going well and he's not a problem but everyone else is. Everyone else is the problem that he must solve. He creates these little realities because he can't face real life. He can't face the fact that he needs the tag titles and Devin Golden to remain relevant. he can't face the fact that his little Cinderella career resurgence is built on drugs and lies. He can't face the fact that his career highlight is beating Danny Toner and Ryan Rondo - two guys that only got to be where they were because Krash wanted to finish up his solo run before carrying Alyster for another year." Noah pauses for a second as Shawn removes his sunglasses and processes what he's been told.

"How the hell is Ramon the tag-team champion and hasn't competed in a tag-team match since Back in Business? This company is a joke. They're using that tag-team momentum to try and build that junkie up as a singles star instead of using that momentum to keep the tag-team division going. They did what Trevor knew they would do when they announced that fucking tournament. This business is a joke...no wonder he went off to find himself."

The two sit in silence as Shawn fully absorbs Noah's words. Shawn can't help but laugh to himself causing a raised eyebrow from Noah.

"So, you keep up with the goings-on of FWA even though you hate the company," Shawn says with a smile.

"What're friends for, right Shawn?" Shawn laughs to himself before beginning.

"Speaking of friends, where is Trevor? You said he went to find himself?"


Noah looks down at his watch and purses his lips together attempting to think of the words to say to Shawn but they don't come to him. Shawn quizically looks at Noah who finally raises his head to make eye contact with his fellow Elite brother.

"I...don't know...," he answers as the scene fades to black.
 
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Comeback Kid

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Shawn Summers Promo
Carnal Contendership 2021
Carnal Contendership Match
Result - Loss

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THE RED WEDDING

The whisp of the frigid wind emitted creaks from the cumbersome chandeliers fastened to the ceiling of the religious establishment. The pews, filled with patrons, creak as they adjust themselves - huddling closer to one another in an attempt to cast aside the cold that intrudes. The elegance of the patron's attire signifies the importance of this ritualistic religious gathering.

A man dressed in an onyx-colored fitted tuxedo stands at the head of the establishment. A group of similarly dressed men flanks him. They attempt to calm his nerves as he trembles in place. The creek of the large doors opening commands the attention of all inside. A woman dressed in an elegant white gown and a veil covering her face presides in the entryway. A young girl dressed in a white gown of her own rushes to the woman and grasps her hand as music echoes throughout the religious hall.

A man dressed in a black tailored military uniform looks down on the ritual from an office as the woman and child make their way up the aisleway. The lightning-bolt-shaped medallions adorn both sides of his uniform collar, glimmering like his steel-blue eyes as he peers down at the sight of the woman.


"She's beautiful," he mutters as she glides up the aisleway waving and reaching out to patrons on both sides. "This is certainly a day of celebration," he says aloud as he turns his attention from the office window and approaches the mahogany desk where his military cap rests. His eyes linger on the silver-spread eagle embroidered onto the center front of his hat. How fitting that the designers of his military garbs would choose an eagle to be the focus of his attire. How appropriate that the sight of an eagle would be the final thing these rats would see. He picks up his hat and adjusts it atop his head, covering his blond hair, before making his way to the room's exit.

The veiled woman drops to a knee and embraces the young girl that walks her up the aisle. The man, filled with nerves, kisses the young girl as she takes her seat among the other patrons in the pews. He extends his hands to the veiled woman and utters,
"you are the most beautiful woman in all of the land."

The two stand hand in hand before a man of the cloth - a man of truth. The man of truth eyes the two, his face void of emotion, before beginning the ritual. He reads aloud from their sacred text as the patrons follow along. He commands the man to repeat his words as a message to the veiled woman. The man obliges as the man of truth turns his attention to the veiled woman. He commands her to repeat his words as a message of dedication to the man before her. The man of truth concludes the speech of his ritual with a command to the male.

"Remove the veil from your woman," commands the man of truth. The male obliges, removing the veil to reveal the face of the woman. Her skin, a shade of caramel void of blemishes and signs of age, glistens as the lights of the religious hall shine down upon her. The man of truth hands a cloth-wrapped object to the man. "Let the shattering of this glass be symbolic hope that you will spend as many years together in happiness as it would take to collect all the pieces and reassemble them."

The male places the cloth-covered glass beneath his foot. He raises his foot and forcefully stamps it upon the glass to a rousing ovation of cheers from the patrons before embracing the caramel-skinned woman with a kiss - completing the ritual.

A chill fills the religious hall as the man in black military garb pushes open the doors. The happiness and joy that once filled the room transcend into fright and despair. The patrons flinch at the echo of the man's footsteps throughout the hall.


"What a joy marriage is," the soldier exclaims. "It's the ultimate partnership. You raise a family together. You grow old together. You create memories together. You laugh together. You cry together. You prosper together, and you...suffer...together." A smirk creeps across his face as he continues. "But there will be no suffering today. No, we will have none of that because we're here to celebrate a marriage. A union built upon trust. And what is marriage or partnership without truth and faithfulness between the two? Hmm?"

The patrons hide their faces from the soldier, but he has their attention nonetheless. He stops beside the young girl in white from earlier and leans down in front of her.

"Well, it's just two parasites living at the expense of one another."

"Get away from her, now,"
shouts a man from the pews. The man stands to his feet and enters the aisleway, ignoring the pleas from those around
him. Layers of gauze wrap around his face like a mask - only revealing his eyes. The skin around his eyes appears to be charred, but it is too hard to tell for sure. The soldier turns his attention to the masked man and rises.


"Oly is that you, old friend," he wonders aloud.

"You don't call me Oly. We're not friends. It's Oliver to you, Summers," he shouts back.

The soldier taps the medals on his uniform as he approaches Oliver with a chuckle.


"It's Colonel Summers to you and EVERYONE in this establishment, Oliver. I wondered what happened to you after your little accident, but you know what they say. When you play with fire, there's a chance you may end up burnt."

A mustache man reaches up to restrain Alyster as he lunges at Colonel Summers. Colonel Summers sizes the mustached man up, identifying him as no threat. No, the mustache man didn't appear as a threat at all. However, appearances can be deceiving.

"Jake," the Colonel says with a mocking tone. "Oh, I'm sorry. I know you prefer to go by your little nickname, Crash. You better get your partner
in check," he says with a wink. "His temper and unpredictability will cause you many problems in the future, and you'd be wise to abandon him to achieve your greatness. That's just a spot of advice from someone who knows you VERY well."

Crash pulls Oliver back to their seat as Colonel Summers turns to address the other patrons.

"Almost as if on cue, an example of a parasitic partnership reveals itself: Oly and Jake, the co-owners of the optometry shop you have in this town.
Ironically, the two of them own the optometry shop in this town, but they fail to see that they both are selfishly using one another to get ahead. When the time comes, one of these two 'parasites' will reveal itself as the actual 'parasite,' and the 'host' will die. I wonder which of you two will show yourselves as the true parasite first. I'd bet my money that it's Jake. He has all the qualities of a blood-sucking tick waiting to find its next host."


Jake clenches his fist in anger as the Colonel waltzes up to the bride, groom, and the man of truth. He smiles at the bride, who casts a haunting gaze of hate in return. He turns towards the man of truth and imitates the face of the bride.

"The man of truth. Cyrus is your name. Right? No need to answer. I know who you are. Cyrus - a man that is always near the center of attention. A man that would do best by retiring to his books or training someone else in the arts of his rituals. But, if you were to retire, you would no longer get the validation and praise you claim to disdain but secretly enjoy and relish. I'm so glad that you're here today."

Colonel Summers turns his attention back to the bride and cups her face between his hands. She attempts to break free from his clutch, but he raises a finger to warn her against it. He pulls her close as he begins.

"Gabrielle. Your beauty is only matched by the caramel goddesses spoken of in the myths of lands far away from the fatherland. Fitting that you would look this beautiful on the day you finally get what you've always wanted. A day where everyone around you must bow and adore you for the accomplishment you've made. Gaining the title of the bride. A title you've held before but unfortunately had taken away from you. How does it feel to have something within your grasp again, only for someone to take it away? I'd imagine you'd want to eliminate many men and women who dare to interfere with you regaining the title of bride again."

Colonel Summers pulls back from Gabrielle and removes a handkerchief from his uniform pocket. He wipes the makeup residue from his hands, smiling as he does so.

"I guess your beauty isn't as flawless as it seems. Nevertheless, I will not be the one to take the title of bride away from you here today. You can trust me when I say that. I have other intentions. I just wanted to stop by and give you the name of the Irish fellow that alerted me to this forbidden ceremony. David Sullivan. I'm sure you two know one another."

He laughs before beginning his walk down the aisle toward the entrance.

"Protocol states that if an officer, or Colonel in my case, is alerted to the forbidden ceremony of you people, then that person MUST eliminate you all. However, I have never eliminated anyone, and I do not plan on starting today. I refuse to see a bride as beautiful as you suffer on the day of your wedding. So I bid you farewell and send blessings on you two claiming your new title."

Colonel Summers exits the religious hall, reaches into the breast of his uniform, and removes a tin case. He slowly pries the case open and pulls a pre-rolled cigarette that he rests between his chapped lips. A fellow soldier appears and provides a light for the Colonel. The Colonel takes a drag of the cigarette. The smoke swirls within his body before he exhales it through his nostrils.

"Eliminate them all. Make it fast. We've got other targets to take care of."

The soldier obliges and commands the soldiers around him to enter the building closing the door behind them. Colonel Summers enters the back of a military vehicle as gunfire and screams ring out from inside the religious hall. He waves his finger like a conductor leading an orchestra as the screams and gunfire intensify within.



XcZaJa6.png

THE NEUTRAL ZONE

A flake of black ash waltz down from the sky to the concrete pavement below. The ash, created by the fire and destruction, serves as a reminder that not all is right in this world at war. A speck of ash lands on the black leather jacket of Colonel Summers as he takes a final drag from his cigarette. He brushes it off and turns to walk down a corridor of steps leading down. A neon sign signifies that the steps lead to a bar tucked beneath the city's safety. Colonel Summers enters the bar and gazes at the patrons inside.

To the right sits a group of soldiers, American, playing a game of cards and sharing drinks. America, the world's melting pot, ensured its soldiers were an example of that analogy. At the American table sits a stocky, bearded man with a nasty look on his face. To his left sits a cocky-looking prick with long hair pulled back into a ponytail. Across from him sits a man with a tall, intimidating figure and to his left sits a man of unimportance.

Colonel Summers looks to the left corner of the room and notices the British troops assembling. All with the appearance of tough guys. One sits reading a pamphlet about a relatively small group of people with religious beliefs and practices regarded as strange and sinister. A Canadian with the nametag of "Jay" sits at the bar alone. At another end of the bar sits a well-put-together American soldier having a drink next to a strung-out soldier who looks as though he's experienced a lot in his day.

At a table in the center of the room sits two soldiers from the fatherland—two lieutenant colonels with pints of beer waving for the Colonel to sit with them. Colonel Summers smiles, takes a seat at the table, and signals for the red-haired waitress to bring him a pint.


"So many bars in the neutral zone that cater to patrons of the fatherland, and you choose the one bar that welcomes all?" Colonel Summers questions. "This your doing, Noah?"

"Eliminations must occur, Shawn."

"Not in the neutral zone,"
Shawn snaps. "The fighting stops once you're in the neutral zone. Back me up on this, Trevor."

In disagreement, Trevor takes a sip from his beer and shakes his head at Shawn.

"This is war. There is no such thing as a true neutral zone. It's just the center of everything. No one wants to claim the center because they know it's almost impossible to block yourself from being eliminated, so all sides relegate their fighting to the outside corners. It's a strategy."

"It's a gathering point. People think they're safe hugging the middle. They believe that as long as you remain here, you won't risk having your squad eliminated. You won't run the risk of being a casualty of war. I mean, look around you."


Lieutenant Colonel Stocke points around the room at all the groups of soldiers spread out, ignoring the war being waged outside these borders. Colonel Summers looks around the room and slowly begins to gather what Lieutenant Colonel Stocke is trying to bring awareness about.

"They're here attempting to ignore the war outside. Attempting to stay safe while others are out, eliminating their enemies to advance their army toward victory. A room full of cowards if you ask me."

Colonel Summers continues eyeing the patrons of the room. They ignore the three of them in the center of the room, shooting dirty looks at the other country's military members. The red-haired waitress brings Shawn his pint of beer - slamming it on the table, causing most to spill.

Shawn exchanges confused looks with Noah and Trevor as the waitress glares at him from the bar.


"What's her fucking problem," Colonel Summers wonders aloud.

"She was a friend of the bride," answers Lieutenant Colonel Stocke dryly.

"Such a shame what happened to the bride. She put her trust in the wrong people, which cost her everything."

Colonel Summers takes a sip from his beer before pulling out a pocket watch and checking the time. He closes the watch's casing and puts it back in his pocket before leaning forward on the table and furrowing his brow.

"The Japanese Navy Captain isn't here. Do we know her location?"

"Surprisingly, she's actually out attempting to eliminate her targets. They underestimate her but fail to realize that that's exactly what she
wants. She wants us to let our guards down around her so that she can strike. It's why she doesn't come to the neutral zone. When everyone else's guard is down, hers is always up."

"I've heard they've been having a hard time eliminating her. She didn't stand a chance when she attempted to face you two."

"Because we don't underestimate anyone."


Colonel Summers raises a glass to Lieutenant Colonel Stocke's words as the three take a drink. He places his pint on the table and begins again.

"What of the defector?"

"Brigadere General Von Horowitz? She's been unstoppable. Forces have tried to eliminate her, but she's been able to escape all attempts. She's only lost one battle, but no one considers it a loss. They've been calling it a stalemate. We faced her earlier in the war, and...she was strong...but she's started to weaken. She's shown that she can be beaten and has begun to reveal cracks in her strategies. Her elimination will come soon enough, and it will be a great victory for the fatherland."


Colonel Summers smiles and nods in agreement as he finishes the remainder of his pint.

"I'll let someone else worry about her. Her goals and my goal are different. If we cross paths, so be it. But I have other plans."

He knocks twice on the table, making eye contact with both Lieutenant Colonels before "drunkenly" strolling over to the table of Americans playing cards. The American alliance stops their game and stares up at the Colonel. Their stares show apprehension about his appearance at their table, but the Colonel raises his hands in surrender or to show he means no harm.

"At ease, soldiers. I'm not here to stir up any trouble. I wish to join you in your card game. Colonel Garcia, is it? It'd be my honor to play a round of cards with you and the members of your alliance."

"We don't associate with the enemy,"
Colonel Garcia answers dismissively.

"Ahh, but we are friends. What is the saying, the enemy of my enemy is my friend? We both want the chance at capturing the title of the man who captured the traitor Sullivan, no? He betrayed the Allies and has proven untrustworthy to the Axis powers. If anything, in my drunken stooper, you'll learn something of my battle strategy and be that much closer to eliminating me. So, what say you and you're allies?"

Colonel Garcia looks around the table at his allied members and laughs to himself before gathering up the cards and putting them away. He reaches into his uniform jacket pocket and removes a sheet of paper. He scribbles something on it and hands it to the man with his hair pulled into a ponytail.

"You want to play a game with us? Okay, let's play a guessing game. It's simple. You win if you can guess the famous historical figure I wrote on that piece of paper that Private Fenix is holding. You can ask me questions to guess the figure, and once you know, you can guess"

"Sounds easy enough,"
Colonel Summers answers back. His words slurred.

"First question - Are you a man of impeccable character?"

"No"

"Do you have Gold in your possession?"

"No"

"Are you a legitimate threat?"

"No"

"You are someone who is not well-liked."

"Yes"

"You surround yourself with people to compensate for your flaws and failures."

"Yes"

"Your allies are weaker than you."

"Yes"

"I know who you are...You are the President of the United States of America."

"You are correct, Colonel."


Colonel Summers slams his hand on the table and chuckles loudly, gaining the attention of everyone in the bar. He pulls his pocket watch from his breast pocket and smiles at the time before politely excusing himself from the table.

"This was fun, gentlemen. But I must be on my way. Like you all, I cannot remain here in the center of this conflict. I cannot stay safe. My only regret for the night is that we didn't get the chance to play my favorite game."

"Oh yeah? What's that,"
asked Private Fenix mockingly.

Colonel Summers approaches the door, flanked by Lieutenant Colonels Stocke and Ocean. He closes his eyes and smiles at the men and female bartender in the room. He mouths the words "blitzkrieg" before slowly ascending the stairs as soldiers from the fatherland rush down the stairs and open fire into the room. Colonel Summers turns to his Lieutenant Colonels with a smile before beginning.


"Let's play a game. I'll give you one chance to guess what they all are in that room."

"Eliminated,"
answers Lieutenant Colonel Stocke as Colonel Summers smirks with amusement.



CAST
Colonel Summers - Played by Shawn Summers

SUPPORTING CAST

The Bride - Played by Gabrielle
The Man of Truth - Played by Cyrus Truth
Oliver - Played by Alyster Black
Jake - Played by Krash
Lieutenant Colonel Stocke - Played by Noah Stocke
Lieutenant Colonel Ocean - Played by Trevor Ocean
Colonel Garcia - Played by Michael Garcia
Private Fenix - Played by Jackson Fenix
Red-Headed Waitress - Played by Lizzie Rose

MENTIONED CAST NON-SPEAKING ROLE
Brigadier General Von-Horrowitz - Played by MVH
Japanese Navy Captain - Played by Yuna
Canadian Soldier "Jay" - Played by Uncle JJ Jay​
 

Comeback Kid

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Shawn Summers in
Father Strech My Hands


The scene slowly begins to fade in from black to the camera pointed upward at the ceiling of a church. you can tell that it's a church's ceiling due to the various biblical scenes that are painted across it. We scan through the many scenes depicted on the ceiling before focusing on one in particular.

In this scene, the sky is enveloped by a large dark cornered nimbus cloud. The dark sky would set the tone for the painting and the scene had it not been for the ray of light that was painted to pierce through the darkness. Depictions of Angeles spiraling down from the light beam to the earth below share the scene with the depiction of horned hard skinned angry faced creates making their home in the darkness of the painting's corners. The beam of light appears to be shining down on a man laying on his back. His hands reach out to the sky and the angels above, and they reach down to him. Alas, their touch is never to be although they are fingertips away from one another.



The scene shifts to the main event of Back in Business - Night One. Shawn Summers stares up at the lights shining down from the light rig above. His body lay amongst the splinters of the shattered table that Michael had just put him through. Shawn reaches his hand upward, waiting for someone, anyone to help him to his feet. Much to his dismay, no one is there to pick him up as he hears the muffled sounds of the referee shouting, "TEEENN! RING THE BELL."

Shawn smiles and blinks his eyes shut while muttering
"it's over" to himself. As his eyes open again the scene returns to the ceiling of the church.


An individual in the background can be heard coughing and the sound of feet shifting back and forth on the tile linoleum echoes throughout. While our view remains on the biblical scene painted on the ceiling, one can not help but notice the sound of the heel of someone's shoe clipping aginst the tile followed by the calp of their opposite toe hitting the tiles in front of them.

The clap-clop of the footsteps grows louder and louder before stopping. The sniffles and stutters of a high-pitched voice can be faintly heard in the distance. If you listened closely, you could make out that this was the voice of a woman. her voice quivers as she musters the courage to form a sentence between sniffles.


"I won't say a word," she says - her voice cracking as she tries to keep her voice down. "I promise. I won't tell. I won't tell. Please...I beg of you...please, just...just let me go"

There is a low-pitched "shhhhhhh" coming from the direction of the woman. The woman follows the command. The silence is broken as the voice of the woman crack when she mutters, "thank you" to whoever was behind the footsteps earlier. The sounds of heels, presumably belonging to the woman, can be heard moving further and further from our area of sound.

The clop and clap of shoes stepping against the linoleum flooring begin again. The steps grow closer and closer until they stop. A high-pitched whistle echoes throughout the church and is immediately followed by the word,
"wow."

"It's...been a while, Shawnathan,"
says a familiar yet unfamiliar voice of a man. "I had wanted to wait till you finished things with *clears throat* Parr before...starting...our journey. As long as you were preoccupied with Parr, you would never be able to see what we needed for you to see. You would be distracted and wouldn't get the full effect of what this moment truly is. But, now that you and Parr have settled things - you can truly appreciate the lesson that you will learn here tonight, Shawnathan. There is finally nothing to distract you."

The sound of Shawn coughing can be heard as the scene continues to focus on the biblical painting on the ceiling. The scene begins to fade out before fading back into the sight of the painting and ceiling.

"I should've done this sooner. I should have done this right after the Lights Out event. That's the one mistake I made in all of this. For that, I take responsibility. I'll say this though, Shawnathan, my one mistake is nothing compared to the multitude of mistakes that you have made. Our mistakes are very different from one another but they share something in common. Do you know what they are in common, Shawnathan?

Don't try and answer. It'd do nothing but hurt us both to see you try to muster up the strength to respond to a question that only I know the answer to.


Shawnathan, the thing that our mistakes share in common is that other...people...got...hurt because of them. They didn't deserve the hurt that they experienced. But, you? Oh, Shawnathan, trust me when I say that you deserved all of this and more. Look at the four faces around you, Shawnathan. I would tell you to study them, but I know that you've already done that. *Laughing to themselves* I would tell you to remember them....but we know that you could never forget. The four faces looking down on you here, these are the faces of four people you've done incomprehensible damage to."

Looking down at Shawn, we can see four blurred faces of individuals of varying heights and sizes. Shawn looks at one of the individuals and sees them tightly clenching their fists. Dried bits of blood cover their knuckles as they dig their fingertips into the palm of their hand. If given the opportunity, one could assume that they would much rather be digging their fingers into Shawn's face.

"It's funny...I had a completely different way this would have gone down had you succeded at Back in Business. I'd like to think it would have been...more civilized than this because this...scoffs to themself this is just barbaric and wrong. But, you lost at Back in Business - just like I thought you would, Shawnathan.

Make no mistake though, I was rooting for you - like always. I truly wanted you to win because a victory would have allowed you to move on peacefully. We all could have moved on because every reaction that you did leading up to it would have been worth it. But, you were defeated, and defeat brings with it consequences of your actions."

Shawn turns his gaze to one of the smaller silhouettes but is quickly met with the warm splat of spit on his cheek. He groggily turns his attention away from them as they are reprimanded by the familiar yet unfamiliar voice that had been talking to him.

"Shawnathan, I hope you know that I do this out of love, okay? This entire thing was o only meant to hurt you physically and put you on the path to enlightening yourself mentally. I know that at this moment you are angry. Angier than you've ever been. However, I know that you will come to understand. So, I ask that you use that anger as you go into your next match. Visualize us each and every time you get in the ring with your opponents - b because that's what we've done. In each battle we've had against someone, we've visualized you. We visualized making you look like this each and every time we've had to face someone on our journey to you."

The focus shifts from the ceiling of the church to that of Shawn Summers. Shawn's blonde hair is tinted red with his own blood. His right eye is lowly developing a hematoma as the blood underneath begins to collect and pool. The color around his left eye is a mix of black and purple. There is a cut below the lower right side of his lip and splatters of blood (presumably his own) on his right cheek. The far left portion of his face is colored a crimson red as it drips down the side creating a puddle around him.

The camera slowly begins to pan out and we are left with light from the moon shining down onto Shawn's body from the darkened stained glass on the wall opposite him. Standing over Shawn's body are two men and two women. In the pew directly behind them sits an unidentified individual as we slowly fade out.



06/29/2022 | Sonoran Desert

Shawn looks around the sky at the fuchsia-coloring that once adorned it begins to fade into the normal of blue mixed with white. The orange-tinted sand has returned to its golden brown colorway as well as Shawn slowly begins to come down from the hallucinogenic trip that he had been on. he stumbles forward, catching his balance as he transitions his quickened walk into a sprint.

in the distance, Shawn can see Noah, Eli, and the Elder waiting in front of the Cadillac Escalade that they had left him a day before. Shawn reaches out to them but they do not move. He cannot help but wonder if the three are an illusion created by the peyote. He shakes the thought from his head and continues sprinting towards the three until he collapses into the arms of Eli. Eli brings Shawn to his feet as Noah serves him water. Shawn is able to grab the flask and downs the water - spilling most of it on himself in the process.


"Is it done," the elder asks as Shawn wipes his mouth and pants heavily. Shawn nods his head yes as the Elder motions for them to help Shawn to the car. Once in the car, Shawn slowly begins to change into a white t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. He rests his feet on the raised cushioning of his pair of Adidas slide sandals and lets out a sigh of relief. This was a much better feeling than the gravel his feet had begun to grow accustomed to.

As he changes and tries to piece together what had happened in the desert, Shawn can't help but steal glances at Noah's reflection in the rearview mirror. He turns his attention from Noah to that of Eli who he viewed from the passenger side mirror. He grimaces at the thought of the future as the Elder pats him on the leg.


"It'll be okay," he says in a soft cracked voice. "One day. Lucky for you, your journey is not over yet. No, we are far from the end of your journey, SHawnathan. What you are going to go through, I wouldn't wish on anyone - but, it is the only way that you can truly repent and move on."

Shawn blankly stares at the Elder as he laughs to himself and turns his attention to the passing scenery outside. Shawn looks out the window as well and tries to put his focus on the upcoming match with Michael. Michale SHOULD be the focus, but alas, he is not. Shaw's mind is everywhere but focused on the upcoming match.

The four arrive at a local airport where they are waved onto the tarmac by a waiting gate official. Shawn again steals a glance at Noah and Eli through their reflections and curses to himself. He checks the bag of things that Noah had given him once returned from the desert - fumbling around until he is able to retrieve his phone. He powers into n as the car parks in front of tow jets resting on the runway.

Noah hugs his brother Eli, who gives Shawn a reassuring head nod before helping the Elder to one for the jets. Shawn waves at Noah to follow along as he walks toward the opposing jet. As he makes his way towards the jet from CWA broadcast announcer Daniel Oakley makes his way down the tarmac and rushes to Shawn.


"The local media are beginning to ask questions about the incarceration of the children in that native village," he whispers as Shawn freezes in his tracks. He waves Noah onto the jet while continuing his conversation with Daniel.

"Do they know who was behind it, yet?" he asks sharply. Daniel nods his head no before beginning.

"They haven't figured that out yet, but the story making the rounds is that there was a mass kidnapping and false impersonation of police officers. We've managed to suppress the story enough but there are talks of this getting picked up by national networks. Shawn, this shit could become Federal."


Shawn takes a moment and thinks to himself before exhaling deeply. He knew what he needed to do. It had already been spelled out for him. He just needed to do it.

"Danny, I need you to do me a favor. i need you to work with my team to get the deal done with Rupert. Finalize the details of the contract. Get rid of anything that would be damaging to me in the contract, but get it finalized. We need that plane. We.Need.That.Plane. Don't fail me, Danny. Make it happen, before my match."

Shawn pats Daniel on the shoulder and makes his way onto the plane as the one carrying Eli and the village Elder takes off in the distance.



07/01/2022 | Back in Business Night One

The scene opens to the secluded locker room of Shawn Summers. one of the many perks of being the main event of the biggest show of the year is that you get a private locker room. The lights are dimmed and the atmosphere in the room could be described as tense. In the corner, Shawn Summers can be seen crouched down praying. He crosses himself and continues to pray as the door creeks open and Noah Stocke makes his way in. He adjusts the brightness of the light and makes his way toward Shawn.

"I never took you as the type of guy that would pray before a match,"
Noah says as he takes a seat on the bench closest to Shawn. "You praying for yourself or are you praying for Mike?"

"I'm praying for us both, Noah"
Shawn quips back as he finishers. "I praying because I know exactly what each of us is willing to do to the other to walk out of here as the victory."

"Interesting,"
Noah says dryly.

"What's interesting about it, Noah? You don't believe in God?"

"Naw. Religion is bullshit. The idea that some guy is judging you and able t o impact your life based on the choices you make seems like some sciencefiction bullshit."

"So what do you believe, Noah?"


There is silence in the room as Noah takes a moment to ponder Shawn's question. What does Noah believe in? How do you answer a question like that when you've never really thought about it but you know that you don't believe in God or Gods?

"I believe...I believe that we are all born to create the paths in our lives that will establish our legacy for years to come. Some of us will have a legacy that lives on past our own mortal flesh, and some of us will have a legacy that is forgotten before we are no more."

Shawn is fully prepared to rebuttal Noah but a knock at the door interrupts the moment. A production assistant peaks in and announces that it's time to walk. Shawn and Noah look at one another in silence. Shawn mutters the words "okay" to himself repeatedly before rising to his feet and beginning the long walk to the arena.

He can feel his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach as he makes the walk down the corridor with Noah following close behind him.


"You put Noah through...just, so much shit, Shawn. You may not have realized this but he actually gave a fuck about those two and you used that genuine relationship to get back at Mike. He gave that all up for you! I didn't think you could stoop any lower, Shawn, but boy was I wrong. You put Noah through so much just to turn around and again! Is there no level you are willing to stoop to?

As he continues the long walk down the hallway, he notices Daniel Oakley chatting with the backstage interviewers on the show. The two make eye contact and Daniel gives Shawn a reassuring head nod. Shawn nods back to him as he knows that it means the deal has been secured. He continues to walk down the corridor before putting a hand out in front of Noah. Noah looks at him perplexed as the production stops and mildly begins to freak out.

"I love you, man." Shawn gives Noah a long hug before releasing the embrace. "You've done enough for me. I'll never be able to repay you but I will try."

Noah pats Shawn on the shoulder as he quickly turns and signals for the production assistant to continue down the hallway as the scene fades out.



Present Day | Montreal Quebec, Canada

Shawn Summers is sitting at a table near a window overlooking downtown Montreal. The night sky is clear and the moon is high. He scrolls through his phone and stops at the headline of a news story.

Professional Wrestlers Vindicated of Orchestrating False Imprisonment of Native American Women and Children.

Shawn skims over the story and stops at the mugshots of the vindicated professional wrestlers. Noah Stocke's icy cold gaze stares at him in one photo and in the other is the emotionless stare of Elijah Stocke. Shawn laughs to himself as he thinks about how Noah possibly gout out of that situation.


"Voluez-vous diner avec nous ce souir, monsieur?"

Shawn's attention is brought to that of a young brunette standing in front of him with her hand resting on her hip. Her hair is thrown up into the perfect messy bun that allows strands of her hair to rest against her face. She wears a white button-up shirt that she conveniently forgot to button the top two buttons as to draw your attention to her cleavage. The shirt is carefully tucked into a pair of tight pants that perfectly accentuates her curves.

"Voluez-vous diner avec nous ce souir, monsieur?" she repeats.


"I...I'm sorry. I don't speak French."

She raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Shawn's words before beginning.

"You're not going to get far in Montreal if you can't speak French. I asked if you would like to dine with us tonight, sir.

The scene fades to black before fading back in as Shawn hoists the waitress up against a wall and kisses her. She kisses him back as she moves his hands over her - unbuttoning her shirt and fondeling her chest. The scene fades to black again and fades back into the waitress adjusting her pants and Shawn buttoning his.

"It's raining," she announces as what started as sprinkling quickly transitions into a heavy downpour. She points to a local church where the two sprints to. The church is empty except for a Priest who welcomes him out of the rain. The two take refuge in a pew and begin to talk.

"If I could have, I would have made that talk with her last forever. In about an hour, I would be staring up at the very ceiling that was shielding us from rain. She would be close by, but not willingly. No, she'd be crouched in fear between the church pews while I was beaten mercilessly in front of the Lord himself. Eventually, they would allow her to leave and I would be stuck in this church with my very creations.

Later tonight I would pay for my sins. I would pay for the sin of Pride. I would pay for the sin of Wrath. I would pay for the sin of Envy. I would pay for the sin of Lust. And finally, I would pay for the sin of Sloth. You would think that what is going to happen to me tonight would deter me from committing these sins again, but you would be wrong.

See, I am a very prideful man it is because of that that I can not allow any of the men in my upcoming match to claim victory. To know defeat on the grandest stage of them all is one thing but to know defeat against five of the Fallout leftovers I another. My pride won't allow for any of the to become the first or the one to claim another victory over me. I'd do anything to protect my pride and th's where the sin of wrath comes into play.

In this match, the wrath of Shawn summers is something that none of the see competitors brought upon themselves but all of them will experience. Each of them is individually playing the roles and that disgusts me. You don't need to be a character with a gimmick to be the best wrestler. A gimmick is for someone who is not comfortable with the person that they are. It's disgusting to me - but that's not the only reason why they will feel the wrath of Shawn Summers. They get to experience my sin of Wrath because despite all that happened at Back in Business - I'm fucking pissed. I should of won that match just like I should win this match. I should have been the person that everyone was talking about at night's end.

I want that claim to fame as the first. I let victory allude me against Alyster - that's when I should have first won gold in FWA. I won't let it happen again. I will do whatever to whomever to capture the FWA Television Championship and set into paly the most dominant championship ring that this company has seen But first, I must pay for my sins."
The doors to the church burst open as the storm rages outside. The priest can be heard shouting "What the hell" as he is struck down. THe waitress turns her attention to the noise and screams as the scene fades to black
 
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SupineSnake

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Super psyched when I saw this, is it just me or is the title suggestive of a summer return hm. I'll put it in the calendar for Back in Business. Really hyped for this on account of the Summers retirement, at least in kayfabe, being rather sudden and throwing up a lot of questions even outside of the obvious ‘what does he do next?’ ones. Think the most obvious of these are around the decision to retire, what brought that on, and whether it was a snap decision or something he'd been planning. I remember something from some writer rawr once quoted about describing characters clothing and it being wasted description (okay I don't remember it that well but that was the jist of it), but here with Shawn pulling on the suit he expected to be making a victory speech in you have an insight into his mind and his confidence going into Back in Business – though I expect he just wanted to be looking good as he made his victory/retirement speech all the same. Also brought to mind your Karl Lagerfield quote on sweats - you always use what a character is wearing to tell you something about them and their current state of mind, which reminds me of Bret Easton Ellis and Patrick Bateman (parallels you've drawn more obviously before). The doctor mistaking Shawn's moment of clarity as a concussion was good.

I enjoy the second section a lot, particularly the descriptive stretch at the start where Shawn is left to contemplate the emptiness that is left now that his FWA career is over (as well as dwell on back to back losses at Back in Business, which still appear to mean something to him even after he’s turned his back on wrestling). On the Road feels like the perfect book for Shawn to be reading right now for many reasons. Half-expected Shawn to insult the old lady in the bookshop (out loud as opposed to just within his head) and read the whole thing for free – maybe him paying for the book and taking it home is character growth.

The match at Back in Business, as well as his wrestling career in general, fading from memory almost immediately as his new plan of action forms - as if they are insignificance now he’s found this vague purpose - is a nice touch. The pursuit hinted at during the beginning of the third section is something that has run through a lot of my work with MvH (what is this, a crossover episode?) and the idea of Summers on the same futile and vain search during these ‘Renaissance’ pieces is something I’m looking forward to. I also loved that Shawn’s bid to look nondescript and anonymous lasts half the bus ride, by which time he’s telling fellow passengers to Google him. Character growth is important but some things stay the same…

As always with your work, this looks just sumptuous - maybe even more so without the inhibiting urgency of promo deadlines. Thought the flow of this was perfect, really easy to read and a satisfying introduction to what I hope is something more. Seeing Summers away from the FWA is my most hoped/hyped for in 2024.
 

SupineSnake

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Forgot to comment here and it's been a while since I read so details are hazy now, but this was good shit. Loved the dialogue and overall dynamic between Shawn and the police officer. Your writing of reclusive, dishevelled, slightly-broken (but also maybe improved some ways) Summers is incredible. Interested to see where we go with Ocean and Stocke here given the closing sequence. Great job, hope to be able to read Act III soon!
 
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Forgot to comment here and it's been a while since I read so details are hazy now, but this was good shit. Loved the dialogue and overall dynamic between Shawn and the police officer. Your writing of reclusive, dishevelled, slightly-broken (but also maybe improved some ways) Summers is incredible. Interested to see where we go with Ocean and Stocke here given the closing sequence. Great job, hope to be able to read Act III soon!
Thanks, man. I'm glad you got a chance to read it and enjoy it. I'm thankful for Tommy and our feud because that's where I came up with the Sherriff and the relationship between him and Shawn. I had fun writing this one, but I wish I hadn't gotten angsty (that may not be the word) at the end and rushed things during Shawn and Citana's encounter. I plan to make up for that with Act III - in which I've made significant progress on the outline.
 
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