[Wyatt tosses the wad of dip to a nearby trashcan and gives no attention to the compliments from his peers. The look on his face is one of disdain. In the back of his mind, he knew that he had every intention of going out there and giving it his all. Harper and Rowan continue towering over Wyatt as the three members of the Family faction continue making their way down the long, stretched corridor. The three behemoths take a few more steps before arriving to a door. Hanging on the door is a nameplate with the words “WYATT FAMILY” imprinted on it. Bray twists the knob on the door and pushes the door open. Harper catches the door and holds it open for his stable mates to enter the room first. He looks to his right, as though he had heard someone call out his name. Perhaps he heard an unfamiliar sound in general. He does not linger too long, and he quickly follows his alliance into the room.]
[Bray Wyatt takes a seat upon a wooden bench that has a burgundy padded cushion sewn to the top. The air deflates out of the cushion upon the impact of Wyatt’s bulbous posterior. He grabs a nearby 16.9 ounce of bottled Fiji water. He unscrews the cap and takes a swig of the water, breathing heavily immediately after. He appears to be in pain and agony. However, when he peers at his teammates through the straggly strands of his hair, he smiles and lets out an inauspicious laugh. Harper smiles back at his leader. Rowan’s expression is impossible to see, as the lamb mask remains on his face. Wyatt takes a hefty gulp of the water, nearly finishing its remains. He tosses the bottle across the room, as the empty plastic bounces off the concrete floor. Harper takes a seat on a steel chair, still smirking at his leader. ]
[Wyatt snaps his fingers in Rowan’s direction and motions his hand, palm open, towards Wyatt himself. Rowan gives Wyatt a slight nod and walks towards a black duffle bag, lying on the floor. He rummages through the bag for a few seconds, finally pulling out a pint of Wild Turkey Kentucky straight bourbon whiskey. He walks over to Wyatt and hand delivers the bottle to his leader. Wyatt unscrews the cap to this bottle as well. He inhales the alcohol fumes, which brings another sinister smile to his face. He gives the pint a small shake, swirling the liquor within the confines of the glass bottle. He presses the opening to his lips, tilts back his head, and takes a decent swig from the bottle. After downing what appears to be nearly two shots worth, he pulls the bottle back down to in between his legs. He expresses a snarl, hardly even affected by the bourbon. Once again, he raises the bottle to his lips and is about to take another drink when there is a slight tap on the door.]
[Luke Harper is quick to his feet, not missing a single beat. He snaps his head towards the door and balls his right hand into a fist. Once more, a knock is heard, slightly louder this time. Rowan tilts his head to the side, appearing to be enticed by the sound. Wyatt wipes his mouth with a towel that was sitting next to his seat on the bench. He pulls the unkempt hair from over his eyes and runs his fingers through his beard, not quite sure what to think. Harper extends his left hand to the door and is about to push it open. He looks back to Wyatt for reassurance in opening the door. Wyatt nods his approval, so Harper pulls the door wide open. Harper cocks back his fist, about to swing on whoever stands behind the door. Todd Grisham cringes at the site of the monster, about to wail on him. He stumbles backwards, into the wall, dropping the microphone that was previously in his hand. Wyatt laughs hysterically at the foolish backstage announcer, as Harper simply shakes his head in disappointment. He releases the fist and keeps hold of the door, waiting for Grisham to recover. Grisham attempts to quickly regain his composure and makes his way inside the dressing room. Harper lets the door creak to a close behind him, only fully shutting when the doorknob latch clicks into its fastened position.]
Todd Grisham: “I was just sent back to here to try and get a word in with you after your victory, Mr. Wyatt……”
[Grisham’s voice quakes with fear. Wyatt sniffles and makes his way to his feet.]
Bray Wyatt: “What child is this?!?”
Todd Grisham: “It’s me, Todd Grisham. I’m a backstage intervie—“
Bray Wyatt: LIES!!! [Wyatt cuts off Grisham midsentence.] ”Don’t you feed me your false language in hopes that it will save you now! You are merely another one of them. You were sent by them. You work for them. And you think you can help to stop the inevitable. How foolish you must feel, standing here, where you stand now. Looking up to me, seeing that it is I who is in control! You see the power within my eyes! You let the fear sweat through your pores. I smell it, man. I can feel your fright as it is extracted from with the depths of your physical being!”
Todd Grisham: [gulps] ”Please, no. That is in no way what this is about… I promise. These were strict orders from Mr. Ikeda himself. I swear to you, I wouldn’t intrude on somewhere… It’s just I was unaware I wasn’t even welcomed…. I’m just trying to do my j—“
[Wyatt begins creeping in towards Grisham. With each step, Grisham appears to back down, inch by inch. Within three steps, Grisham is pressed against the door, subtly reaching for the handle behind him, attempting to make an escape. Wyatt cracks the knuckles on both of his hands, still moving in on his seeming target. A knock abruptly ends the intense environment inside the Wyatt family’s dressing room. Wyatt cocks his head to the side, unsure as to who this could be. Grisham lets out a less than silent exhale, feeling as though the weight of the world is off his shoulders. He turns to open the door. He pulls the door open roughly an inch, when from over his shoulder comes a hand wrapped in black tape, slamming the door shut with a loud sound that echoes the hallways.]
Bray Wyatt: [whispering into Grisham’s ear, as Harper and Rowan are seen staring from behind] ”Just… what… in the hell… do you think you are doing?”
[Wyatt lets out a menacing laugh and slowly pulls away from Grisham’s ear. He looks directly at the door and inhales deeply.]
Bray Wyatt: [condescendingly] “Yes? Who is it?”
Man’s voice: “It’s me, Jimmy. I’m one of the roadies. I was just running your entrance items back to you before the next match got started. I was kind of lucky. I just passed Mark in the hallway, actually. I have your lamp, this beach hat thing, and your Jimmy Buffett shirt you left a ringside.”
[Wyatt cracks a smile and runs his tongue across his gritty, stained teeth. At this point his hand is removed from the door. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small, metal, circular can of tobacco dip. He packs the dip between his thumb and middle finger, swirling the canister around, smacking it with his index finger on each turn. He opens the tin and pulls out a pinch of dip then slowly inserts it between his bottom gums and lip. He closes the container and replaces it back into his right back pocket. Gradually, he raises his index finger to his lips and motions for Grisham to remain quiet. All the while Jimmy has been rambling on the other side of the door.]
Bray Wyatt: “Little pig, little pig, let me come in… Not by the hair on your chinny-chin-chin? Well, then I’ll huff… [inhales deeply] ”And I’ll puff…” [exhaling intensely] ”AND I’LL BLOW YOUR HOUSE IN!!!”
[Wyatt snaps the door open and interrupts Jimmy’s chatter by placing his hand on Jimmy’s throat, shoving him into the wall behind him. All of Wyatt’s belongings come tumbling down to the concrete floor below. The lantern clinks and clangs as the two articles of clothing fall in complete silence. Wyatt picks up the roadie, Jimmy’s feet nearly six inches off the floor. Wyatt steadily places his other hand over Jimmy’s mouth in order to cease his talking and choking sounds all at once.]
Bray Wyatt: “Even a fool who keeps quiet is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent. Prudent you were not, my brother. So panic you must. For you will know my name is BRAY WYATT! And you shall know me as the Eater of the Worlds! I am your living, breathing nightmare and the only one you cannot escape!”
[Wyatt releases Jimmy from his grasp, as the young intern tries to regain a normal heart rate. Jimmy does not wait long and takes off as fast as humanly possible down the stretched corridor, towards the entrance vicinity. Wyatt slowly turns his attention to Grisham. He smirks and cracks his neck from side to side. Grisham, not completely content with the absence of his hopeful interview seems rather fearful. It appears as though Grisham will sacrifice the chat with Wyatt for his own safety.]
Bray Wyatt: “Why don’t you spread the word, Todd? Tell the people! Tell them Bray Wyatt is real! And he is here! And here it is he will stay! Don’t you spread your false facts you want to believe is the truth. NO, Todd! You see, THIS is REAL! I AM REAL!!! Undoubtedly you know of my presence and do not wish to get any closer than what we already are I assume. So, don’t make me hunt you down, boy. Because just as the cat will always catch the mouse, every sun will set in the west. Much like every word out of Bray Wyatt’s mouth will be taken with considerable truth.”
Todd Grisham: “Absolutely… Yeah, yeah. I get it. One hundred percent. I’m just on my way out.”
Bray Wyatt: “Oh, Todd?”
Todd Grisham turns around, hesitantly with a worried look upon his face.]
Bray Wyatt: “I don’t believe you.”
[Rowan grabs the door handle before Grisham has a chance to reach it. Rowan pulls the door open with great force, smashing the door against Grisham’s forehead and face in one swift motion. Grisham immediately folds to the floor like a sack of potatoes with a laceration on his head. He thrives in pain for a few seconds before passing out at the sight of his own blood. Wyatt looks at his lifeless body with a half smile stretched to one side of his face. He looks head-on into the camera and immediately switches to his stern expression. He turns away from the camera and taps Harper on the bicep with an open hand. The attention grabber is followed by a head nod, signaling an exit out of the room. Wyatt leads, the other two follow. They walk opposite of the entrance area until they reach a door, apparently at the back of the area with a white sign hanging above it reading “SORTIE”. Wyatt shoves the door open and walks out into the cool, February night.]
[The three men walk towards a burgundy premium passenger van, although the brand is difficult to make out. The van is quite old in its make but apparently will provide enough efficiency to get from point A to point B. Wyatt opens up the passenger door and climbs into the side seat. Rowan slides open the back door and climbs into the middle seat. Harper is the last to get inside the vehicle, taking one last quick look around. Sirens blare around the Family members as an ambulance and several police cars pull into the POPB on 8 Blvd. de Bercy. EMTs exit their ambulance in a hurry, quickly making their way inside the arena. The police are not too far behind. Wyatt laughs chaotically, smacking his hand against the dashboard as Harper fires up the ignition. They back out quickly, throw the transmission into “drive” and speed off into the dark, cold, European night. They begin making their way towards the Paris Airport-Le Bourget, north of the arena.]
[The cameraman was lucky enough to sneak his way into the backseat, sitting next to Rowan in his bizarre lamb mask. The camera is sort of shaky as the operator tries to gather his bearings. Wyatt presses the power button on the radio as a seemingly joyful, yet mistakenly eerie song comes over the stereo speakers. “Dominique” is the song’s title. It is sung by the Belgian recording artist known as Jeanine Deckers. Wyatt, in all of his insanity, acts as though he is orchestrating the track for two minutes. He grows tired of the tune and changes the station to the next preset. It is an American sounding, Southern evangelistic preaching gospel about the Lord.]
Preacher: “It’s the shortest verse in the Bible, yet it is steal the most powerful. Do you know what that verse is? I know you do, and what you’re thinkin’ to ya’selves right now is completely key-rect. ‘Jesus wept.’ That’s right. John 11:35. Why did Jesus weep? He knew Lazarus was goin’ ta die! He was well aware that He could bring this man Lazarus back to life. So, why? Why, then, did Jesus stand back, stand aside and simply weep? Well, that answer and more right after a word from a few of our sponsors…”
Advertisement Announcer: “You know you always have the Lord by your side…”
Bray Wyatt: “Well, thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Lord! I tell you what, Luke, boy. I want you to run the next twenty red lights in his honor, you hear me?”
Announcer: “All you have to do is ten to twenty dollars to the church of the Sacred Bleeding Heart of Jesus located in Los Angeles, California and next day we will say all of your prayers on the radio, and all of your dreams will come true!”
Bray Wyatt: “Enough.”
[Wyatt powers off the radio and pulls his Wild Turkey bottle from his pocket. He opens the pint and takes a large swig. When he pulls the bottle from his lips, it is now evident that half of the liquid is missing. Wyatt picks a few strands of the long cut tobacco from his upper teeth and brushes them onto the seat. He opens the glove compartment and rummages through it. After a few seconds of scavenging, he pulls out a tin box of Altoids from within the compartment. Opening the container, he inhales and releases a sigh of relief. In his hand, he is now holding what appears to be a lit cigarette. He places one end of the cig to his lips. He flips open a Zippo lighter and strikes it once to no avail. Once again he attempts to light the wick ablaze and this time is successful. He puts the flame to the end of the cigarette and takes a long, deep drag off it. The odor of skunk fills the van and a cloud of smoke quickly follows.]
[The odor is pungent, and produces enough harsh fumes to easily put off a contact buzz. Wyatt takes two more long drags from the joint and exhales once more, this time throwing himself into a coughing fit. He washes down the phlegm that makes its way up his throat with another shot of whiskey. He emits a deep breath out, recovering from the bitter liquor. Finally, he takes a last drag off the joint cigarette before passing it to his driver, Luke Harper. Harper inhales four times, the next breath deeper than the previous. He exhales a giant cloud of smoke before passing it off to the third stable mate, Erick Rowan. Rowan shakes his head and passes back to Bray Wyatt, who presses the non lit end to his lips once again, this time letting it linger to the side of his mouth.]
Bray Wyatt: “ You know, it seems strange to Bray Wyatt that this must continue the way it does. I tried to do my best to make a believer out of you all. Some laughed. Some scoffed. However, now they all believe. They all have no doubt about what I am capable of. You see, when Sister Abigail descended from her unearthly realm and kissed you on the forehead, know that I had no control over her decision. She told me you were to parish on that given night, and so follow her orders I did. So, when I left you in Paris, lying cold and naked, what made the genius minds in charge of booking decide, “Maybe this man just needs another shot?!” The machine must be brought down. I fought, clawed, and scratched my way to victory; a clean victory, I might add. There was no question after the bell was rung and a hand was raised, who the better man was! Yet here you are. And we are about to embark on part two of our journey, Justin. I will be standing once again across from you, in that ring, ready and willing to take on whatever you can bring at me this time. You have your friends? Bring them. You need more weapons? Hit me with them. You crave victory? Well, I cannot help you with that. THAT. That will have to be earned.
Standing by and watching an old, washed up, quote unquote “extreme” goon is not my forte. My forte is to spread the word and progress this revelation to its end. Unlike your “hardcore revolution” that came with an expiration date, this revelation will NOT be over until it all has faded to black. You won’t even know it’s over, which is the inspiring portion of this whole fiasco to you. It’ll be like the long sleep that comes with drinking too much the night before. Except, your hangover is dealing with a second loss to the man who made an impact by making an example out of YOU! Two weeks in a row! I guess I am the REAL impact player after all, now ain’t I? Your name will be forever written into ECW history. But in EBWF, only one name will reign supreme when all is said and done. Your time came. Then it went. Life will go by in the blink of an eye, so don’t blink. And the era of the new generation… The Wyatt generation… It continues with the future Breakout champion moving one step closer to capturing gold and the minds of millions upon millions of viewers. But that’s not all it will take, now is it? Beating you once was good enough to gain some recognition. Defeating you twice will be old news. Like an archived newspaper, gaining stains from doing nothing but sitting around and losing its purpose.”
[Wyatt takes two more drags from the joint then disposes its remains out of the window, sending orange sparks into the night. Harper continues the B-line towards the airport, traveling at a slow and steady pace. He keeps his eyes on the road, looking straight ahead the entire time. Wyatt turns his head to the side and lets out a mild laugh. The view of his profile is peculiar with the streetlights shining down in an almost evil and wicked way. He then averts his head another ninety degrees, now facing the camera head-on. His face becomes intense and horrific as he continues speaking.]
Bray Wyatt: “And then there’s The Undertaker. The Phenom. The Dead Man. The Lord of Darkness. Big Evil. THE DEMON OF DEATH VALLEY!!! Boy, I don’t know what has come over you through the years. I used to watch you, man. Baby Bray Wyatt would watch and calculate your every move. You would build caskets, return from the dead, thrive on the energy of golden urn, speak soft but carry the biggest stick, live the occult life, and use mystical powers to gain advantages over lesser opponents. Sometimes the opponents were even greater than you, but you’d still prevail. I used to love that, man! I used to live my life in accordance to everything you were. But you ain’t that anymore. Nah, man, you ain’t, are ya? You turned into a biker and started calling the ring “your yard”. You called MY UNIVERSE YOUR YARD! My, how you had the two confused… But you couldn’t have been made aware. You could not have known what would be lurking, waiting in the darkness for you on down the line. ‘Cause I see what you do now. You put out all of these false attempts towards making fools livin’ their lives in all the wrong ways at hope. But you don’t supply hope. You don’t supply a resolution.
So, enter Bray Wyatt, man. I am the darkness. You called yourself a demon?! A demon?!?! You should be careful who you’re saying those things to. Because you never know who is listening. You can’t take back all of these years of a downward spiral and turn it around through a few meetings at all these various sanctuaries. You tell your people of Bray Wyatt, and you spread my word for me. I could do the same for you, but your likeness goes without saying, now doesn’t it? But in that same token, your time has reached its end. You still think you have some left in the take until I decide to siphon what remains. I’ve never done battle with a walking corpse before. But you’ve never looked so good playing the part as you do now. I’ve seen what you’ve been up to, man. I’ve seen the streak and the toll you’ve taken on other men’s lives. But you ain’t never been up against the size and potential of a monster like me. You’ve traveled all the miles and paid all the dues that it takes to make it within this company—within this industry! So, when your time is over, what are you to do? I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna run.
You stating to the world that you see potential in Bray Wyatt is a favorable move. You are helping the world to prepare for their future. You are pointing them in the right direction. YOU ARE SHOWING THEM THE WAY! But they mustn’t show up to your rented out churches all across the world! They needn’t sit in the confines of your pews and fall asleep during the lengthy sermons in which you preach. They only need to do one thing: arrive. Travel to Italy. I mean book your flight right now. Right at this very moment. Put your body in a seat and be apart of this spectacle. Say you were there, in that sell out crowd, on the night of Fallout 2014 and witness Bray Wyatt do the only thing he has done since making his way back into the EBWF: win. No matter it ‘Taker, Credible, Jerry Lynn, Taz, RVD, Sabu, 911, or the carcass of Louie Spicolli himself, there’s only one thing I intend on doing this Sunday! And when I walk out of Fallout, one victory richer, and one step closer—you will know why I am who they call Bray Wyatt. And that I will follow what was prophesized unto me.” [singing] ”Ti-hi-hi-hi-ime is on… my… side.
The
Buzzards.”
[Wyatt reaches for the power on the radio once more and clicks the knob. “Looking Out My Backdoor” by Creedence Clearwater Revival blares over the stereo speakers as the Wyatt Family member all begin singing along, in unison.]
Wyatt, Harper, & Rowan: “Forward troubles Illinois, lock the front door, oh boy! / Look at all the happy creatures dancing on the lawn. / Bother me tomorrow, today, I'll buy no sorrows / Doo, doo, doo looking out my back door”
[The scene cuts to a shot of an open road in Paris, where the Wyatt van is rapidly approaching. The van zooms by the camera, as the camera follows the passing vehicle. The van keeps its steady pace, the camera just watching it drive off into the night. Suddenly, from the left side of the camera, Erick Rowan in all of his massiveness peaks into view, still wearing the lamb mask. White noise static and a tracking mishap later followed by a tormented scream of a woman later and the scenes fade to black.]