Post by rebellion on Nov 2, 2020 22:24:37 GMT -5
Things haven’t been the best in the Parish Home for Lost Souls recently. The main house, somewhat taken as a base of operations for what the IWC has called the Dank Kings, has remained closed off to the residents for what feels like forever. COVID precautions are being taken, obviously, so the residents haven’t been very concerned with this. But the two men within the thresholds of the house tell a different story. One of heartbreak and pain, loss and shame.
Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with ya. The truth of the matter is simply that the team known as Indie Rebellion have been isolating themselves hard since their loss to Skrue Dragon all that time ago. But not because of shame or anything. They just don’t care. You see, when it came to light that their existence within the realms of Action Wrestling was practically unheard of, the two did just what they do best. They sat down and they thought… about what games to play.
Mason Martinez, the former masked wrestler of EWC fame known as Mercury, settled on the mainstream hit of Fortnite, while his streetsmart counterpart Christian Laurens spent his CoronaCation actively attempting to get back into the wrestling scene. As it stands, the two men are still technically under contract with Action Wrestling, but the absence of an exclusivity clause has struck Laurens’ lawyer brain in just the right places. For weeks, Laurens has been desperately trying to get back on the map, occasionally signing he and his partner up for small indie shows, and, of course, trekking back home to Genesis Wrestling whenever asked. But the limited exposure and shitty fairground-hotdog payments weren’t enough to satiate Rebellion’s drive for the sport. So, while Martinez’s ass found itself glued to a gaming chair, Laurens made a call… A call that he’s not sure his partner would be too happy about, but one that he felt necessary nonetheless…
THE CALL
The somewhat annoying sound of his phone ringing drones on as Laurens awaits an answer.
Four rings so far, and nothing.
Six.
Seven.
Just when Christian is about to give up, he hears the voice he’s been waiting for.
“Abbey Runnels, what can I- Fuck.”
“Abbey it’s-”
“What do you want, Christian?”
“Well… Aight look. Merc and I, we in a bit of a slump. Kaine ain’t really helpin’ us out, like, at all, so we really need someone to sweet talk us into a contract.”
“Don’t you two already have a contract? With Action?”
“Shit, when was the last time you seen us on Cruiserclash? Goddamn D-Day is so afraid of ol’ Indie Rebellion, that bitch won’t even book us. Look, I know you’re running the scene down there in Miami, but we need ya. Can ya help a brother out?”
Abbey sighs deeply from the other end of the call. Christian has his fingers crossed, but it’s easy to tell he’s not very hopeful.
“Does Mason know you’re calling me?”
Christian starts to get nervous, hesitating for a moment.
“Of course he knows, girl. It was his idea.”
“Somehow I doubt that. Look, I got a show tonight in Georgia anyway, I’ll drive up to Statesboro right after. Don’t take any bookings, don’t do anything stupid, and Christian?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell Mason I’m coming.”
Without so much as a goodbye, Laurens hears a dial tone. As if on cue, Mason miraculously rises from his chair and enters into the kitchen area where Laurens is setting down his phone excitedly.
“Who was that?”
Mason questions his partner as he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a nice refreshing Mountain Dew Kickstart.
“It was…
Uh…
It was…
Shit, I got nothing. It was Abbey. I called her because we need to get back in the ring, dawg. This doing nothing shit is really getting on my nerves.”
“Bruv, we’re not doing ‘nothing!’ I just finished this season’s battle pass! I can kick people’s asses as Iron Man!”
“Merc, wouldn’t you rather be kicking real people’s asses as Mason Martinez? I mean c’mon Bruh, this shit is getting ridiculous. D-Day ain’t bookin’ us anymore for whatever reason, so we gonna have to look elsewhere.”
“Man, I’m sure D-Day is gonna call any day now. He seemed pretty pissed with us about that tag title match though. I couldn’t even understand that man’s ranting and raving. I’m pretty sure he said something about no-showing the match. Now, I may have been completely stoned out of my mind but I know for a fact that we were actually there. How can you not show when you’re there?”
Mason sits at the bar in the kitchen and starts to down his kickstart.
“D-Day ain’t gonna call us back man. And even if he does, who the hell knows how long it’ll take. Nova’s prices are expensive, and we’re runnin’ out of weed, dawg.”
Mason’s entire demeanour shifts drastically.
“What the fuck do you mean we’re running out of weed?”
“We. Are. Running. Out. Of. Weed!”
Mason gets out of his seat and begins to pace around the kitchen, muttering to himself.
“No weed… we can’t run out of weed… that shit shouldn't be legal… wait, weed isn’t legal… is having weed illegal? If having weed is illegal, and running out of weed is illegal, well then we’re just fucked.”
Christian stands in place, trying to follow his partner’s train of thought, and not making much progress in doing so.
“MERC! We still have our last pound to hopefully hold us over until we can get some sort of payday. But to do this right, we can’t be doing no hotdog and handshake wrestling shows in the middle of bumfuck Egypt. We gotta go big or go home. And going home ain’t a fucking option.”
“You’re right. You’re right. But I can’t think with a clear head, bruv. We gotta go dip into our stock.”
The two look at each other and smile, before leaving the kitchen and going into a room right off the hallway.
The Green Room floor looks the same as the last time we saw it, showing only that these two imbeciles haven’t done any sort of spring cleaning. Blunt wrappers serve as a makeshift carpet, with three bongs on either side of the couch. Martinez and Laurens plop down onto said couch and thus the session begins.
Laurens grabs a box from below the coffee table and opens it up, taking out a rather large bag filled, quite obviously, with marijuana.
As the room quickly fills with the smoke of several blunts, time seems to move faster than normal, until…
“What part of ‘don’t’ do anything stupid’ didn’t you understand?”
Abbey Runnels, known professionally down in Florida as Abigail Rain, enters the Green Room, letting a good bit of the smoke empty into the hallway behind her. She stands before Mason and Christian with an exasperated look of disappointment, and mild annoyance.
“Christian… I hoped you would have realized that when I said ‘something stupid’ I was DISTINCTLY talking about weed.”
“Uh… You had too much faith in me dawg.”
Abigail lets out a sigh, grabbing both men by the arms and hoisting them off of the couch, and dragging them into the next room over. The lingering smoke casts a cloudy haze over the rest of the Main House.
“God, I’m regretting this decision already.”
Mason comes over and places a hand on her arm.
“C’mon Abbey, you know we’re good! Tell us, watcha got?”
“Alright look. On the drive up here, I put in a few calls. I even talked to Damian-”
“Oh no.”
Abbey gives the two of them a very sour expression before continuing.
“I talked to Damian. Apparently, when you told me that he isn’t doing anything for you, it’s simply because you two haven’t said a word to him since your last night on Cruiserclash!”
“Uhhhhhhhhh… We can explain…”
“Can it. Kaine was your golden ticket, you know? He’s the one who’s practically given you two the keys to the factory in terms of pro wrestling, and now you’re not even going to come to him for this? Y’all are fucking useless.”
“Look, Abbey-”
“Don’t. Because Kaine is giving you guys yet another opportunity. Or, rather, he’s pulling some strings. You both have an interview with Jonah St. Remington tomorrow at the Alpha Pro Headquarters. Now, it’s on you two to wow Remi. I can’t help anymore. But, seeing as you two look too fucked up to drive anywhere, and I don’t see that ending any time soon…”
Abbey lets out another deep sigh, almost like she’s regretting her every life decision in the span of two seconds.
“Get your asses in the car, we’ve a lot of ground to cover.”
The two members of Indie Rebellion seem HIGHly taken aback by Abbey’s willingness to help, and they quickly begin gathering belongings for the road trip, before making their way to the 2007 Ford Focus parked in front of the LPHFLS Rec Centre. After loading into the car, they set off.
We find our trio, passing the San Diego border. Abigail sits in the driver’s seat, next to Mason Martinez in the passenger seat and Christian Laurens stretched out in the back, dead asleep. Mason is flipping through the radio, much to the dismay of his chauffeur.
The trio sits in the Green Room, a dark green LED light shining across their faces.
Abbey sits, with a blank expression towards Laurens.
Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with ya. The truth of the matter is simply that the team known as Indie Rebellion have been isolating themselves hard since their loss to Skrue Dragon all that time ago. But not because of shame or anything. They just don’t care. You see, when it came to light that their existence within the realms of Action Wrestling was practically unheard of, the two did just what they do best. They sat down and they thought… about what games to play.
Mason Martinez, the former masked wrestler of EWC fame known as Mercury, settled on the mainstream hit of Fortnite, while his streetsmart counterpart Christian Laurens spent his CoronaCation actively attempting to get back into the wrestling scene. As it stands, the two men are still technically under contract with Action Wrestling, but the absence of an exclusivity clause has struck Laurens’ lawyer brain in just the right places. For weeks, Laurens has been desperately trying to get back on the map, occasionally signing he and his partner up for small indie shows, and, of course, trekking back home to Genesis Wrestling whenever asked. But the limited exposure and shitty fairground-hotdog payments weren’t enough to satiate Rebellion’s drive for the sport. So, while Martinez’s ass found itself glued to a gaming chair, Laurens made a call… A call that he’s not sure his partner would be too happy about, but one that he felt necessary nonetheless…
THE CALL
The somewhat annoying sound of his phone ringing drones on as Laurens awaits an answer.
Four rings so far, and nothing.
Six.
Seven.
Just when Christian is about to give up, he hears the voice he’s been waiting for.
“Abbey Runnels, what can I- Fuck.”
“Abbey it’s-”
“What do you want, Christian?”
“Well… Aight look. Merc and I, we in a bit of a slump. Kaine ain’t really helpin’ us out, like, at all, so we really need someone to sweet talk us into a contract.”
“Don’t you two already have a contract? With Action?”
“Shit, when was the last time you seen us on Cruiserclash? Goddamn D-Day is so afraid of ol’ Indie Rebellion, that bitch won’t even book us. Look, I know you’re running the scene down there in Miami, but we need ya. Can ya help a brother out?”
Abbey sighs deeply from the other end of the call. Christian has his fingers crossed, but it’s easy to tell he’s not very hopeful.
“Does Mason know you’re calling me?”
Christian starts to get nervous, hesitating for a moment.
“Of course he knows, girl. It was his idea.”
“Somehow I doubt that. Look, I got a show tonight in Georgia anyway, I’ll drive up to Statesboro right after. Don’t take any bookings, don’t do anything stupid, and Christian?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell Mason I’m coming.”
Without so much as a goodbye, Laurens hears a dial tone. As if on cue, Mason miraculously rises from his chair and enters into the kitchen area where Laurens is setting down his phone excitedly.
“Who was that?”
Mason questions his partner as he reaches into the fridge and pulls out a nice refreshing Mountain Dew Kickstart.
“It was…
Uh…
It was…
Shit, I got nothing. It was Abbey. I called her because we need to get back in the ring, dawg. This doing nothing shit is really getting on my nerves.”
“Bruv, we’re not doing ‘nothing!’ I just finished this season’s battle pass! I can kick people’s asses as Iron Man!”
“Merc, wouldn’t you rather be kicking real people’s asses as Mason Martinez? I mean c’mon Bruh, this shit is getting ridiculous. D-Day ain’t bookin’ us anymore for whatever reason, so we gonna have to look elsewhere.”
“Man, I’m sure D-Day is gonna call any day now. He seemed pretty pissed with us about that tag title match though. I couldn’t even understand that man’s ranting and raving. I’m pretty sure he said something about no-showing the match. Now, I may have been completely stoned out of my mind but I know for a fact that we were actually there. How can you not show when you’re there?”
Mason sits at the bar in the kitchen and starts to down his kickstart.
“D-Day ain’t gonna call us back man. And even if he does, who the hell knows how long it’ll take. Nova’s prices are expensive, and we’re runnin’ out of weed, dawg.”
Mason’s entire demeanour shifts drastically.
“What the fuck do you mean we’re running out of weed?”
“We. Are. Running. Out. Of. Weed!”
Mason gets out of his seat and begins to pace around the kitchen, muttering to himself.
“No weed… we can’t run out of weed… that shit shouldn't be legal… wait, weed isn’t legal… is having weed illegal? If having weed is illegal, and running out of weed is illegal, well then we’re just fucked.”
Christian stands in place, trying to follow his partner’s train of thought, and not making much progress in doing so.
“MERC! We still have our last pound to hopefully hold us over until we can get some sort of payday. But to do this right, we can’t be doing no hotdog and handshake wrestling shows in the middle of bumfuck Egypt. We gotta go big or go home. And going home ain’t a fucking option.”
“You’re right. You’re right. But I can’t think with a clear head, bruv. We gotta go dip into our stock.”
The two look at each other and smile, before leaving the kitchen and going into a room right off the hallway.
The Green Room floor looks the same as the last time we saw it, showing only that these two imbeciles haven’t done any sort of spring cleaning. Blunt wrappers serve as a makeshift carpet, with three bongs on either side of the couch. Martinez and Laurens plop down onto said couch and thus the session begins.
Laurens grabs a box from below the coffee table and opens it up, taking out a rather large bag filled, quite obviously, with marijuana.
As the room quickly fills with the smoke of several blunts, time seems to move faster than normal, until…
“What part of ‘don’t’ do anything stupid’ didn’t you understand?”
Abbey Runnels, known professionally down in Florida as Abigail Rain, enters the Green Room, letting a good bit of the smoke empty into the hallway behind her. She stands before Mason and Christian with an exasperated look of disappointment, and mild annoyance.
“Christian… I hoped you would have realized that when I said ‘something stupid’ I was DISTINCTLY talking about weed.”
“Uh… You had too much faith in me dawg.”
Abigail lets out a sigh, grabbing both men by the arms and hoisting them off of the couch, and dragging them into the next room over. The lingering smoke casts a cloudy haze over the rest of the Main House.
“God, I’m regretting this decision already.”
Mason comes over and places a hand on her arm.
“C’mon Abbey, you know we’re good! Tell us, watcha got?”
“Alright look. On the drive up here, I put in a few calls. I even talked to Damian-”
“Oh no.”
Abbey gives the two of them a very sour expression before continuing.
“I talked to Damian. Apparently, when you told me that he isn’t doing anything for you, it’s simply because you two haven’t said a word to him since your last night on Cruiserclash!”
“Uhhhhhhhhh… We can explain…”
“Can it. Kaine was your golden ticket, you know? He’s the one who’s practically given you two the keys to the factory in terms of pro wrestling, and now you’re not even going to come to him for this? Y’all are fucking useless.”
“Look, Abbey-”
“Don’t. Because Kaine is giving you guys yet another opportunity. Or, rather, he’s pulling some strings. You both have an interview with Jonah St. Remington tomorrow at the Alpha Pro Headquarters. Now, it’s on you two to wow Remi. I can’t help anymore. But, seeing as you two look too fucked up to drive anywhere, and I don’t see that ending any time soon…”
Abbey lets out another deep sigh, almost like she’s regretting her every life decision in the span of two seconds.
“Get your asses in the car, we’ve a lot of ground to cover.”
The two members of Indie Rebellion seem HIGHly taken aback by Abbey’s willingness to help, and they quickly begin gathering belongings for the road trip, before making their way to the 2007 Ford Focus parked in front of the LPHFLS Rec Centre. After loading into the car, they set off.
We find our trio, passing the San Diego border. Abigail sits in the driver’s seat, next to Mason Martinez in the passenger seat and Christian Laurens stretched out in the back, dead asleep. Mason is flipping through the radio, much to the dismay of his chauffeur.
“Cause I got a blank space, baby,
And I’ll-
*Click*“Havanna oo-na-nah-”
*Click*“I hate that I saw you again last night.
You were with somebody and so was I…”
“Ahh, finally.”
Mason settles on a rap station currently playing Machine Gun Kelly’s “Why Are You Here.” The song plays through, drowning out the awkward silence in the front side of the car, but it is occasionally disrupted by Christian’s snores from the backseat.
As the song ends, the radio seems to cut out inexplicably, letting the awkward silence linger in the air. Mason plays on his phone, but something seems to be nagging at him.
“Whatever happened to us?”
Abbey stays silent for a moment, and a look of anxiety washes over her.
“What do you mean?”
“We were, like, the perfect couple. I mean, you were the only one who ever knew about the Mercury deal. You even risked your own image so I wouldn’t have to talk on live TV. What ever happened to the great Mercury and Abbey Runnels?”
“Mason, listen. After graduation was hard for both of us. You really had nothing, I was in line to go to Yale. But I didn’t really want to. I wanted to stay with you. I passed up Yale. For you, Mason.”
“I know that, Abbey. But you always said it wasn’t really a big deal. Then you just kinda dumped me out of nowhere.”
“Out of nowhere? Mason, you up and left Florida at the first chance you got. You went from wrestling on live TV in EWC to work for some barely known hack who didn’t really do anything in his career. I gave up literally everything for you, Mason. And you just fucking left me. I know what I said. I know I told you that it wasn’t a big deal, but goddamn it it was. It was a huge deal. And I know for a fact that you always knew that.”
Mason sits quietly, thinking through what he was told.
“Damn… Look-”
“We’re here.”
Abigail turns into the parking lot of the Alpha Pro Wrestling Headquarters, parks the car, and gets out, without saying another word on the matter.
Mason turns around and slaps Christian on the stomach.
“Whao adoinse j- What the fuck was that for?!”
“We’re here.”
Mason gets out of the car and dashes to catch up with Abbey. Christian mumbles some curses to himself before getting out and following them.
The trio navigates the maze of the corporate office before finding a door.
Jonah St. Remington
Head of Talent Relations
Abbey knocks on the door, and the Man himself opens the door rather quickly.
“Ahhh, Damian told me you guys would be coming. Please, come on in!”
They make their way into the room, following Remi.
“So, I’m going to be honest with you guys. The demand to be in APW is pretty high. And with all the corporate hooplah going on right now, the higher-ups can’t really afford to have any liabilities. Now, I have seen what you two can do in the ring, and you’re pretty impressive. I mean, you gotta be to have Damian’s endorsement. You know, we both trained under Sebastian Reid. Great man, but he was a damn good teacher, and it seems DK has passed on his training to you folks. But one other thing I’ve noticed is you’re a little flaky.”
“Flaky?”
“You’re not really consistent. You show up, and you can put on a good show when you want to, but that’s not all the time. APW needs all the time, you know. When you step into an APW ring, you need to be entirely there. Do you guys think you can do that for us?”
Mason and Christian seem a bit offended, but ultimately, they understand.
“Yeah… yeah, we got this. You got our word.”
“Okay, good. Now, I have to be honest, there’s a lot of meaningless paperwork to get through, so I’m gonna go ahead and start on that. You two are free to go to the snack bar down the hall. There’s waffles. But, Abbey, I’ll need you to stay and clarify a few things. Just some logistical things that I’m not sure whether or not they would be able to answer.”
Abbey seems a bit perplexed by this but she agrees. Mason and Christian step out and head down the hall, leaving Abbey with Remi.
“What’s this about, Remi?”
“Look. The fact of the matter is, the higher-ups are very reluctant to sign them to APW, given their track record with AW. Basically, Action Wrestling has an image to uphold, and if they were to fuck up here, it may tarnish that, and we can’t afford to lose that partnership. So, we need somebody to keep tabs on them. Keep them in check. That’s where you come in.”
Abbey freezes. She knows exactly where this is going, and she doesn’t know whether to be terrified or afraid.
“We want you to be their manager. We have seen you on the circuit down in Florida. We saw you in EWC. You’re a hell of a valet, and frankly, there needs to be more managers like you in the wrestling industry. We know you can keep Rebellion on the right track. Keep them from saying stupid shit, keep them on the right track in the ring and out of the ring. Do you understand?”
“What if I don’t do this…”
“Then, I’m sorry. We can’t sign them to the brand.”
Abbey sinks in her chair, weighing her options heavily. On one hand, she could just go back to Florida, going show to show, doing what she loves to do. She could be back home with family, only travelling on the weekends. But on the other hand, the man whom she gave up her entire life for has the opportunity of a lifetime, and it all hinges on her. She didn’t care, at this point, that she felt wronged by Mason. She knew, in her heart, that she couldn’t cost him this opportunity. And besides, she’s missed live TV, so maybe this will be good fBrandor her too.
“I’m in.”
Remi smiles at her, and the two get to working on the paperwork.
When the Smoke Settles...
The trio sits in the Green Room, a dark green LED light shining across their faces.
Abigail Rain sits in between the two men, a large blunt pressed between her long nails.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Indie Rebellion Productions would like to present the Hotbox, Take Two!”
Laurens and Martinez both blow smoke rings, while a large logo comes across the screen, letting the smoke rings take the place of the O’s in “The HOTBOX.”
“Now, I’m sure at this point, it’s pretty common knowledge. The Littest Tag Team in America has come to the Alpha Brand of the Professional Wrestling Industry. And we’re not coming to play.”
Laurens leans forward on the couch.
“HELL NAH we ain’t coming to play. Ya see, this shit is our life blood. If it weren’t for green, I may even say this game is the love of my life, bruh. So Indie Rebellion ain’t about to throw out yet another opportunity.”
“Good, C. Now, we got some shit to talk about tonight. There’s a lot going on in the APW world right now, as y’all all know. Some BIIIIIG changes going on, what with a whole new General Manager and all.”
“That Jubei dude? He’s a weird one.”
Mason pipes up.
“I thought the Japanese were supposed to be a peace loving people. Kimonos and shit.”
“Nah, bruh, you shouldn’t racially profile peeps man.”
“I profile you every day man. You keep stealing my weed.”
“You dumbass, you smoke your own weed. I got my own.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“BOYS! Listen, we gotta get on task here. Y’all have a hell of a competition comin’ up this week. APW originals and all, with the Ronins. Y’all gotta get ya damn heads on straight, or you’ll throw away yet another tag title shot.”
“WHOA! Tag titles? It’s about damn time somebody realized Indie Rebellion’s potential and just threw us in a title match.”
“Exactly. Now, some are gonna say y’all don’t deserve it. And they’re probably right, but you just gotta prove them they’re wrong. Y’all get it? Now let’s get to this thing okay? We’re running out of words- I mean time.”
“BRUV I MADE THAT SAME MISTAKE LAST TIME!”
“What?”
Abbey sits, with a blank expression towards Laurens.
“Nothing. Aight look. The fact is, we got this shit in the bag. And I don’t just mean this beautiful beautiful dank we got right here, though that’s a nice little transition into our next segment...
The Hotbox Strain of the Week!”
“YES, folks, it is here! We have the Demonik Cronik’s own legendary strain known as ‘The Wanderer!’”
“A combination of popular strains like Gorilla Glue and Cookies, this week right here is what our good friend Dora the Explorer would call MUY DELICIOSO!”
Abbey and Mason look at Christian, bewildered.
“What, it tastes godly.”
The two shake of their confusion and continue.
“The Wanderer will fuck you up like percocet, man. I know when I smoke it, I can get practically nothing done. I just kinda walk around like a zombie and shit and the next morning I don’t remember anything. It’s actually kinda fun, I wonder if that could hold up in a courtroom.
Martinez’s thoughts get away from him, and Abbey picks up the slack.
“You know, it’s kinda ironic that Nova gave y’all this strain this week though. You see, if you do some digging into it, this very strain has a counterpart in the land of the Rising Sun.”
“Las Vegas?”
“No you dumbass, Japan. You see, they call it something even more ominous. They call it the Ronin. You see, a ronin in Japanese history is a samurai with no lord. Now, there was a time when the Ronins in APW couldn’t fall under this category. For a while, Jason Zurra, famed member of the ASU, was also the general manager of Monday Night Metal. Thus solving the ever-long mystery of how the hell SteveO and Vicent Walker have, you know, jobs.”
“Steve-O?! We’re going up against the dude from Jackass! YES!”
“Jesus fucking Christ... No. Steve-O is a masked no-name who was in that shithole company New Blood Wrestling in Japan. This is allllllll starting to come together now, isn’t it? You know, Mason, his gear kinda looks like your Mercury gear.”
Abbey scrolls through her phone and shows Mason something that we can’t see.
“Holy shit, this dude literally broke into my house and stole my gear. THAT’S where it went!”
“OOooooookay that’s unlikely, but regardless. You boys shouldn’t waste too much time on them. I mean, what do they bring to the table?”
“For realz. One Mercury clone and the runt of his already unfavorable litter. I mean, really. We could have had the Bitter Siblings, but we got stuck wasting energy on the Walker nobody remembers, right? Shit is ridiculous.”
“Exactly. So, Indie Rebellion is going to take a bit of time to, instead, address APW as a whole, and, in particular, Masuda Jubei.”
“Jubei, we’ve never met. But we will. And you think you’re so big and bad, but I promise you you’ve never seen anything like us. You can throw everything you have at us. We will prevail. Jubei, be warned. There is a Rebellion coming. And we’re coming from you.”
“Now, that’s all we got for you today, but remember. Keep your Netflix account open on Monday night, and witness the debut for the history books when Indie Rebellion-”
“With the beautiful Abigail Rain!”
“-enters the Monday Night Metal and kills us some Ronins. And we’ll see you next time on:
THE HOTBOX!”
