Post by Dean Wolf on Nov 30, 2019 5:19:28 GMT -5
Producer: Wolf, you ready to try this again?
Wolf snaps out of his happy stupor.
Wolf: Huh? Oh, yeah. I don’t need to go from the top. Just tell me what the last thing I said was.
Producer: Something about everything since June being a waste.
Wolf: Oh, right, right. I’ll express that thought again and then I’ll keep going.
Producer: You got it, Wolf. Alright everybody, we’re gonna try again!
He counts Wolf down again.
Alright. That’s good news, but it’s for later. Gotta stay focused. Gotta stay in the zone. Gotta keep the eyes on the prize. Gotta keep my mind on beating the shit out of Smith Jones.
The producer points at Wolf.
Dean Wolf: The only thing that matters is me walking away with the World Title. If I don’t, everything I’ve done since June will have been a waste.
That would make me very frustrated.
Frustrated. Heh.
That’s a word I’ve been hearing you say a lot lately, Smitty. Frustrated. You keep saying that you’re frustrated. You’re frustrated that I’m the guy you haven’t been able to beat. You’re frustrated because when you lost to me the first time, it was because you didn’t take me seriously. You’re frustrated that in your first match as a world champion, you got pinned by a guy that you thought was just some sloppy backyard wrestler holding a police-taped title. You’re frustrated that your loss to me on October 14 has been a stain on your title reign just like a skidmark on a pair of underwear.
Well, good for fucking you. You think that you’re the only one who’s frustrated, Smitty? You think you’re the only one who’s tortured by things he can’t change? Well, I’ve got news for you, pal. I’ve got frustrations, too. I’m frustrated that I got myself all hopped up on pain pills and booze just when I was beginning to make a name for myself in professional wrestling. I’m frustrated that I allowed myself to be brainwashed by Bernard Core for three years and acted like his lap dog instead of getting back in the ring and kicking people’s asses. I’m frustrated that in the Sixth Dimension Tournament over in WCF, I worked to get Bernard Core to the finals instead of going for the gold myself. I’m frustrated that I had a comeback in WCF but shit it all away when I had a falling out with the management over there. I’m frustrated that I have no family or friends that want to speak to me ever again. I’m frustrated that I had someone who was the love of my life that I scared away because I didn’t know how to control my anger. I’m frustrated that when my mom was dying, I didn’t come to be by her bedside because I didn’t want to have to face my father. I’m frustrated that my father hates my fucking guts and never wants to speak to me again because I did wrong by my mother. I’m frustrated that I’m a piece of shit. I’m frustrated that I’m all alone, with no one to come home to when I get off the road.
But most importantly, as far as Omega is concerned, I’m frustrated over the fact that I am the BEST wrestler in APW, yet the World Championship belt, the absolute mark of APW’s best wrestler, is around YOUR waist.
So fuck your frustrations. Are your frustrations supposed to scare me? I think that’s what your trying to do. You’re trying to use your frustrations to intimidate me. You know I saw what you wrote on Twitter: “You have no idea how much this frustration of mine is driving me to make an example of you. I'm going to compound fracture your femur and impale you with it.”
Ha! Go right fucking for it, son. You’re looking at the king of using frustration as a motivator. I’ve been doing it my whole fucking life. You think that just because you’re all of a sudden frustrated and showing a little bit more of an aggressive side that I’m just supposed to cower in the corner of the cell at Omega and beg you not to hurt me? Please. Go get fucked. You ain’t fucking special because you just figured out that the thing you need to motivate you is your frustration over the fact that you can’t fucking beat me.
Here’s the thing: whatever you plan on doing to me, I’ll do it to you harder. You want to break one of my bones? I’ll break two of yours. You want to spill an ounce of my blood? I’ll drain you like a fucking bathtub. You try to take my career? You try to take my life? Fuck it. I’ll lose my career and my life while I take away yours. You want to scrape my face across that mesh? I’ll grate your face like a block of fucking cheese. I’ll tear so much skin off of your face that it’ll look like I poured a bottle of acid all over it.
You asked for this match and now you have to suffer the consequences of your decision. When that cell is locked, I’m not locked in there with you. Shit, we’re not even locked in there together. You’re locked in there with ME. You’re MY prisoner. You’re MY bitch. Your best bet of escaping is if I throw you into one of the walls of the cell and the impact is so hard that you go through it. Short of that happening, you ain’t going nowhere. Whatever weapons are available in that cell, I’m using them. I don’t care if it’s a chair, a table, a screwdriver, a drill, a cane, a barbed wired bat, lighter fluid, a fucking can of soda, I don’t give a shit. I’m using it.
I didn’t need this kind of a match to beat you. You need this match to try and beat me, and I think that’s the thing that frustrates you the most. You’re frustrated that you’ve had to resort to hardcore tactics to get the better of me. Yeah, think of that. You spent a lot of hours criticizing hardcore wrestling, but you couldn’t beat the most hardcore of all the wrestlers in APW. Now, in order to get a leg up on me, you’ve had to do what you previously said was beneath you. You’ve had to debase yourself just to try and gain an advantage over me. You’ve had to kick me in the balls, hit me with a chair, stab me with a screwdriver, beat me with a microphone, bust me wide open like and let my blood flow like the Hoover Dam had crumbled. That eats you up inside. You spent hours training, training in the technical style, working on your holds over and over again until you could execute them flawlessly, yet none of that was good enough to pin a guy that you thought was just a carnie who only knew how to hit people with weapons. It kills you to know that while you’ve had to lower yourself for Omega, I, the Hardcore Champion, have already raised my game, met you at your level, and beaten you at your own game- twice.
No matter what kind of situation I’m put in, I adapt, and this situation at Omega is no different. Hell, it’s not even unfamiliar territory for me. Blood, weapons, extreme violence, it’s my fucking home; but, there are two things you don’t understand, Smitty:
1- It’s not enough just to be fucking frustrated. You have to know how to harness that frustration and use it you achieve your objective.
2- Hardcore isn’t about playing outside of the normal rules. It isn’t about using weapons. It isn’t about doing the most dastardly thing to your opponent that you can conjure up. Sure, that part is fun, but that’s not what makes you hardcore. Being hardcore means your opponent does all those dastardly things to you, yet you still find a way to get back on your feet and keep fighting. My proudest moment as a hardcore wrestler wasn’t when I blew ZMAC up at nuclear test site or tied Big Bad Bodacious up with ZMAC’s intestines and beat him with a chair or when I smacked Arthur Pleasant with a thumb-tacked cricket bat or when I shoved elephant shit into Jon Favreau’s mouth and stapled his lips together. No, my proudest moment as a hardcore wrestler was when Spartan gorilla-pressed me and tossed me down two sections of seats in the Allstate Arena. He would lift me, throw me down a few rows and repeat the process over and over again until he finally had me back at ringside. And after all that, after colliding with hard plastic and metal chairs, after being dropped on concrete, after my ribs breaking, I still got up. I still lived to fight.
You see, I’m not gonna stay down for you, no matter what you do to me inside that cell. I think that’ll piss you off to the point of insanity and you won’t know what to do next. You’ll get frustrated and you’ll leave yourself open for an offensive strike from me. How do I know? I’ve let it happen. When I couldn’t put ZMAC down at Alpha Showdown, I let it upset me and leave me confused about what I needed to do in order to shut him up for good, which allowed Spartan to swoop in and spear me to hell, followed by a hellacious Revolutionizer. I had to learn how to harness my frustration and learn to control so that it didn’t control me anymore. At Omega, you’ll run out of tricks and you’ll run out of moves and you won’t know what to do next, and that’s when I’m gonna go in for The Kill. Just like I’ve done every time you’ve dropped me, whether it was with a submission hold or a suplex or finishing move, I’m going to keep getting up and keep getting up until I have my victory and the referee raises my hand.
I already exposed you as the fraud that you were when I said your motivational speaking tour was just a load of bullshit meant to con people. I exposed you as a fraud a second time when I proved to the world that you were no world champion and I was the man who deserved that title more than you. Now, I’m going to expose you for a third and final time when I show the world that the hardcore kick you’ve been on is nothing more than a facade you’ve built out of desperation.
And if by chance you do beat me, this will not be over between us. I may go back to being at the bottom of the ladder, but I’m gonna climb it and have my eye on you the entire time; and even if you lose that belt, you and I are still gonna tangle, because I know it would kill you to see me higher up on the ladder than you, you jealous son of a bitch, but it doesn’t matter. If you beat me at Omega, I’m not going to let that be the end of it. Out of all the people in APW, I’m not going to let you block me from my ultimate destiny.
We’re the two best in APW, but only one of us can be THE best. I’ve worked too hard and overcome too much to be where I am right now, and I’m not going to waste all of that effort and all the progress I’ve made by losing to you. You better say “I love you” to whoever you can and settle any business you have left to settle in the next three days, because I’m going to treat this match like my personal omega. I’m treating it like it’s my last match. Shit, it could be the last match in all of APW. It won’t be Hell in a Cell. It’ll be Armageddon, and if the world is going to end, then I’m gonna go out being the World Champion. I’m gonna go out on top. If I go down, you better be prepared to go down with me, because there’s only three ways I’m leaving Hell in a Cell this Monday at Omega:
A- Dead
B- As the World Champion
Or C…
All of the above.
He stares hard into the camera.
Director: Cut!
The crew, which is usually afraid of Wolf, give him a round of applause. The producer walks up to him and shakes his hand.
Producer: Wolf, that was great, dude!
Wolf: Thanks. You need me to do anything else?
Producer: No, that was great, man. You’re good.
Wolf stands and heads towards his dressing room, but he’s so eager to look at this phone again that he stops in the hallway and pulls it out. He smiles and gets the warm feeling again as he reads the Facebook notification that popped up during his promo:
Mark: What? Is my face that unpleasant?
Chris and Joe realize they unknowingly winced at the first sight of Mark in almost 20 years.
Chris: No, no, not at all, man.
Mark: Don’t fucking lie to me, Chris. I know I’m ugly.
He stands up. He’s gotten chubbier, but he still has those thick arms that could crush a gorilla. He starts pacing around the room with the remote control for the TV in his hand, making Chris and Joe nervous.
Mark: Every day, I stare into the bathroom mirror for like 10 minutes, hoping that maybe these scars will go away or my left eye will go back to being normal but I just looking the fucking same every day. Fucking reconstructive facial surgery didn’t do the whole fucking job, man. And I can't leave the house and go to the store or some shit because people are will fucking look at me!
And then I gotta see that fuckin *******-ass pussy on the fucking TV commercials for that wrestling shit, I just wanna put my foot through the TV. And at night, when I try to go to sleep, all I can hear is that screaming.
Chris: What screaming?
Mark: You know, they way he was screaming after he beat the shit out of us that day!
Screaming?
Chris has a flashback to that painful day. The whole thing started off normally. They cornered Daniel again, but then something new happened: Daniel stood up for himself. As soon as Mark shoved him, Daniel popped him with a right hand. Mark fell to the floor. Joe tried to turn off the light switch, but Daniel got him up against the wall and slammed the back of his head up against it over and over again, leaving a huge bloody mark on the wall. Chris hooked Daniel’s arms and pulled him away, holding him so Mark could get his shots in. Unfortunately, Daniel ducked and Chris went down instead. Then, Daniel gave Mark a spine buster on to the hard tile floor, mounted him, and punched him again and again. You could hear the bones in Mark’s face crunching and breaking under Daniel’s fists. Chris tried to put Dan in a chokehold, but Dan lifted Chris up and slammed him up against a bunch of instrument lockers. Chris let go and fell to the floor. Daniel grabbed his head, opened up one of the lockers, and slammed the locker door into Chris’ head.
Daniel stopped and looked around to survey the damage. Joe was out. Mark groaned, his face unrecognizable. Chris was fading into unconsciousness, but he could faintly hear Daniel laughing to himself. The laugh got louder and more delirious until Daniel was finally screaming.
Chris is snapped out of the flashback by the sounds of Mark throwing his remote control through the TV. Mark’s mother calls from upstairs.
Mrs. Castellanos: ¡Mi hijo! ¡Qué está mal!
Mark: ¡Nada mamá!
He sits in his chair and puts his head in his hands, trying to calm himself down. He tries to fight the tears coming out of his eyes. Chris and Joe kneel down beside him.
Joe: Hey, man, up until a few days ago, I was feeling powerless, too, Chris came to me with this idea of getting our revenge on Dan and it gave me a new purpose in life.
Chris: Yeah, you’ve been in this basement for almost 20 years, hiding from the world because of what he did to your face. Now’s the time to set things right and take from him what he took from you.
Mark stops tearing up.
Chris: Hey, what’s the thing we always said before we beat the shit out of Dan Dexter?
Mark lifts his head and looks straight ahead.
Mark: “Lights out.”
Chris: That’s right, and the three of us are gonna find this motherfucker...and we’re gonna put the lights out on him once and for all.
He stands up. Joe follows suit. Mark looks up Chris and then Joe. He gets a determined look on his face and nods his head. He stands up slowly and looks at the both of them again.
Mark: Lights Out.
He puts his fist out.
Joe: Lights Out.
He puts his fist out, too.
Chris: Lights Out.
He touches his fist to theirs. Mark brings both of them in for a hug. The old friends are back together again. And they’re gonna go hunting...for a Wolf.
Wolf snaps out of his happy stupor.
Wolf: Huh? Oh, yeah. I don’t need to go from the top. Just tell me what the last thing I said was.
Producer: Something about everything since June being a waste.
Wolf: Oh, right, right. I’ll express that thought again and then I’ll keep going.
Producer: You got it, Wolf. Alright everybody, we’re gonna try again!
He counts Wolf down again.
Alright. That’s good news, but it’s for later. Gotta stay focused. Gotta stay in the zone. Gotta keep the eyes on the prize. Gotta keep my mind on beating the shit out of Smith Jones.
The producer points at Wolf.
Dean Wolf: The only thing that matters is me walking away with the World Title. If I don’t, everything I’ve done since June will have been a waste.
That would make me very frustrated.
Frustrated. Heh.
That’s a word I’ve been hearing you say a lot lately, Smitty. Frustrated. You keep saying that you’re frustrated. You’re frustrated that I’m the guy you haven’t been able to beat. You’re frustrated because when you lost to me the first time, it was because you didn’t take me seriously. You’re frustrated that in your first match as a world champion, you got pinned by a guy that you thought was just some sloppy backyard wrestler holding a police-taped title. You’re frustrated that your loss to me on October 14 has been a stain on your title reign just like a skidmark on a pair of underwear.
Well, good for fucking you. You think that you’re the only one who’s frustrated, Smitty? You think you’re the only one who’s tortured by things he can’t change? Well, I’ve got news for you, pal. I’ve got frustrations, too. I’m frustrated that I got myself all hopped up on pain pills and booze just when I was beginning to make a name for myself in professional wrestling. I’m frustrated that I allowed myself to be brainwashed by Bernard Core for three years and acted like his lap dog instead of getting back in the ring and kicking people’s asses. I’m frustrated that in the Sixth Dimension Tournament over in WCF, I worked to get Bernard Core to the finals instead of going for the gold myself. I’m frustrated that I had a comeback in WCF but shit it all away when I had a falling out with the management over there. I’m frustrated that I have no family or friends that want to speak to me ever again. I’m frustrated that I had someone who was the love of my life that I scared away because I didn’t know how to control my anger. I’m frustrated that when my mom was dying, I didn’t come to be by her bedside because I didn’t want to have to face my father. I’m frustrated that my father hates my fucking guts and never wants to speak to me again because I did wrong by my mother. I’m frustrated that I’m a piece of shit. I’m frustrated that I’m all alone, with no one to come home to when I get off the road.
But most importantly, as far as Omega is concerned, I’m frustrated over the fact that I am the BEST wrestler in APW, yet the World Championship belt, the absolute mark of APW’s best wrestler, is around YOUR waist.
So fuck your frustrations. Are your frustrations supposed to scare me? I think that’s what your trying to do. You’re trying to use your frustrations to intimidate me. You know I saw what you wrote on Twitter: “You have no idea how much this frustration of mine is driving me to make an example of you. I'm going to compound fracture your femur and impale you with it.”
Ha! Go right fucking for it, son. You’re looking at the king of using frustration as a motivator. I’ve been doing it my whole fucking life. You think that just because you’re all of a sudden frustrated and showing a little bit more of an aggressive side that I’m just supposed to cower in the corner of the cell at Omega and beg you not to hurt me? Please. Go get fucked. You ain’t fucking special because you just figured out that the thing you need to motivate you is your frustration over the fact that you can’t fucking beat me.
Here’s the thing: whatever you plan on doing to me, I’ll do it to you harder. You want to break one of my bones? I’ll break two of yours. You want to spill an ounce of my blood? I’ll drain you like a fucking bathtub. You try to take my career? You try to take my life? Fuck it. I’ll lose my career and my life while I take away yours. You want to scrape my face across that mesh? I’ll grate your face like a block of fucking cheese. I’ll tear so much skin off of your face that it’ll look like I poured a bottle of acid all over it.
You asked for this match and now you have to suffer the consequences of your decision. When that cell is locked, I’m not locked in there with you. Shit, we’re not even locked in there together. You’re locked in there with ME. You’re MY prisoner. You’re MY bitch. Your best bet of escaping is if I throw you into one of the walls of the cell and the impact is so hard that you go through it. Short of that happening, you ain’t going nowhere. Whatever weapons are available in that cell, I’m using them. I don’t care if it’s a chair, a table, a screwdriver, a drill, a cane, a barbed wired bat, lighter fluid, a fucking can of soda, I don’t give a shit. I’m using it.
I didn’t need this kind of a match to beat you. You need this match to try and beat me, and I think that’s the thing that frustrates you the most. You’re frustrated that you’ve had to resort to hardcore tactics to get the better of me. Yeah, think of that. You spent a lot of hours criticizing hardcore wrestling, but you couldn’t beat the most hardcore of all the wrestlers in APW. Now, in order to get a leg up on me, you’ve had to do what you previously said was beneath you. You’ve had to debase yourself just to try and gain an advantage over me. You’ve had to kick me in the balls, hit me with a chair, stab me with a screwdriver, beat me with a microphone, bust me wide open like and let my blood flow like the Hoover Dam had crumbled. That eats you up inside. You spent hours training, training in the technical style, working on your holds over and over again until you could execute them flawlessly, yet none of that was good enough to pin a guy that you thought was just a carnie who only knew how to hit people with weapons. It kills you to know that while you’ve had to lower yourself for Omega, I, the Hardcore Champion, have already raised my game, met you at your level, and beaten you at your own game- twice.
No matter what kind of situation I’m put in, I adapt, and this situation at Omega is no different. Hell, it’s not even unfamiliar territory for me. Blood, weapons, extreme violence, it’s my fucking home; but, there are two things you don’t understand, Smitty:
1- It’s not enough just to be fucking frustrated. You have to know how to harness that frustration and use it you achieve your objective.
2- Hardcore isn’t about playing outside of the normal rules. It isn’t about using weapons. It isn’t about doing the most dastardly thing to your opponent that you can conjure up. Sure, that part is fun, but that’s not what makes you hardcore. Being hardcore means your opponent does all those dastardly things to you, yet you still find a way to get back on your feet and keep fighting. My proudest moment as a hardcore wrestler wasn’t when I blew ZMAC up at nuclear test site or tied Big Bad Bodacious up with ZMAC’s intestines and beat him with a chair or when I smacked Arthur Pleasant with a thumb-tacked cricket bat or when I shoved elephant shit into Jon Favreau’s mouth and stapled his lips together. No, my proudest moment as a hardcore wrestler was when Spartan gorilla-pressed me and tossed me down two sections of seats in the Allstate Arena. He would lift me, throw me down a few rows and repeat the process over and over again until he finally had me back at ringside. And after all that, after colliding with hard plastic and metal chairs, after being dropped on concrete, after my ribs breaking, I still got up. I still lived to fight.
You see, I’m not gonna stay down for you, no matter what you do to me inside that cell. I think that’ll piss you off to the point of insanity and you won’t know what to do next. You’ll get frustrated and you’ll leave yourself open for an offensive strike from me. How do I know? I’ve let it happen. When I couldn’t put ZMAC down at Alpha Showdown, I let it upset me and leave me confused about what I needed to do in order to shut him up for good, which allowed Spartan to swoop in and spear me to hell, followed by a hellacious Revolutionizer. I had to learn how to harness my frustration and learn to control so that it didn’t control me anymore. At Omega, you’ll run out of tricks and you’ll run out of moves and you won’t know what to do next, and that’s when I’m gonna go in for The Kill. Just like I’ve done every time you’ve dropped me, whether it was with a submission hold or a suplex or finishing move, I’m going to keep getting up and keep getting up until I have my victory and the referee raises my hand.
I already exposed you as the fraud that you were when I said your motivational speaking tour was just a load of bullshit meant to con people. I exposed you as a fraud a second time when I proved to the world that you were no world champion and I was the man who deserved that title more than you. Now, I’m going to expose you for a third and final time when I show the world that the hardcore kick you’ve been on is nothing more than a facade you’ve built out of desperation.
And if by chance you do beat me, this will not be over between us. I may go back to being at the bottom of the ladder, but I’m gonna climb it and have my eye on you the entire time; and even if you lose that belt, you and I are still gonna tangle, because I know it would kill you to see me higher up on the ladder than you, you jealous son of a bitch, but it doesn’t matter. If you beat me at Omega, I’m not going to let that be the end of it. Out of all the people in APW, I’m not going to let you block me from my ultimate destiny.
We’re the two best in APW, but only one of us can be THE best. I’ve worked too hard and overcome too much to be where I am right now, and I’m not going to waste all of that effort and all the progress I’ve made by losing to you. You better say “I love you” to whoever you can and settle any business you have left to settle in the next three days, because I’m going to treat this match like my personal omega. I’m treating it like it’s my last match. Shit, it could be the last match in all of APW. It won’t be Hell in a Cell. It’ll be Armageddon, and if the world is going to end, then I’m gonna go out being the World Champion. I’m gonna go out on top. If I go down, you better be prepared to go down with me, because there’s only three ways I’m leaving Hell in a Cell this Monday at Omega:
A- Dead
B- As the World Champion
Or C…
All of the above.
He stares hard into the camera.
Director: Cut!
The crew, which is usually afraid of Wolf, give him a round of applause. The producer walks up to him and shakes his hand.
Producer: Wolf, that was great, dude!
Wolf: Thanks. You need me to do anything else?
Producer: No, that was great, man. You’re good.
Wolf stands and heads towards his dressing room, but he’s so eager to look at this phone again that he stops in the hallway and pulls it out. He smiles and gets the warm feeling again as he reads the Facebook notification that popped up during his promo:
“Katherine Meghan has accepted your friend request.”
Mark: What? Is my face that unpleasant?
Chris and Joe realize they unknowingly winced at the first sight of Mark in almost 20 years.
Chris: No, no, not at all, man.
Mark: Don’t fucking lie to me, Chris. I know I’m ugly.
He stands up. He’s gotten chubbier, but he still has those thick arms that could crush a gorilla. He starts pacing around the room with the remote control for the TV in his hand, making Chris and Joe nervous.
Mark: Every day, I stare into the bathroom mirror for like 10 minutes, hoping that maybe these scars will go away or my left eye will go back to being normal but I just looking the fucking same every day. Fucking reconstructive facial surgery didn’t do the whole fucking job, man. And I can't leave the house and go to the store or some shit because people are will fucking look at me!
And then I gotta see that fuckin *******-ass pussy on the fucking TV commercials for that wrestling shit, I just wanna put my foot through the TV. And at night, when I try to go to sleep, all I can hear is that screaming.
Chris: What screaming?
Mark: You know, they way he was screaming after he beat the shit out of us that day!
Screaming?
Chris has a flashback to that painful day. The whole thing started off normally. They cornered Daniel again, but then something new happened: Daniel stood up for himself. As soon as Mark shoved him, Daniel popped him with a right hand. Mark fell to the floor. Joe tried to turn off the light switch, but Daniel got him up against the wall and slammed the back of his head up against it over and over again, leaving a huge bloody mark on the wall. Chris hooked Daniel’s arms and pulled him away, holding him so Mark could get his shots in. Unfortunately, Daniel ducked and Chris went down instead. Then, Daniel gave Mark a spine buster on to the hard tile floor, mounted him, and punched him again and again. You could hear the bones in Mark’s face crunching and breaking under Daniel’s fists. Chris tried to put Dan in a chokehold, but Dan lifted Chris up and slammed him up against a bunch of instrument lockers. Chris let go and fell to the floor. Daniel grabbed his head, opened up one of the lockers, and slammed the locker door into Chris’ head.
Daniel stopped and looked around to survey the damage. Joe was out. Mark groaned, his face unrecognizable. Chris was fading into unconsciousness, but he could faintly hear Daniel laughing to himself. The laugh got louder and more delirious until Daniel was finally screaming.
Chris is snapped out of the flashback by the sounds of Mark throwing his remote control through the TV. Mark’s mother calls from upstairs.
Mrs. Castellanos: ¡Mi hijo! ¡Qué está mal!
Mark: ¡Nada mamá!
He sits in his chair and puts his head in his hands, trying to calm himself down. He tries to fight the tears coming out of his eyes. Chris and Joe kneel down beside him.
Joe: Hey, man, up until a few days ago, I was feeling powerless, too, Chris came to me with this idea of getting our revenge on Dan and it gave me a new purpose in life.
Chris: Yeah, you’ve been in this basement for almost 20 years, hiding from the world because of what he did to your face. Now’s the time to set things right and take from him what he took from you.
Mark stops tearing up.
Chris: Hey, what’s the thing we always said before we beat the shit out of Dan Dexter?
Mark lifts his head and looks straight ahead.
Mark: “Lights out.”
Chris: That’s right, and the three of us are gonna find this motherfucker...and we’re gonna put the lights out on him once and for all.
He stands up. Joe follows suit. Mark looks up Chris and then Joe. He gets a determined look on his face and nods his head. He stands up slowly and looks at the both of them again.
Mark: Lights Out.
He puts his fist out.
Joe: Lights Out.
He puts his fist out, too.
Chris: Lights Out.
He touches his fist to theirs. Mark brings both of them in for a hug. The old friends are back together again. And they’re gonna go hunting...for a Wolf.
