Hector Venegas versus Adam Stryker

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Stryker's Class

Scene One - Parking lot of Naval Stadion, right after Stryker's match at Sunday Night Assault

The camera rushes to the parking lot, following two security guards who are dragging Adam Stryker out of the arena. A third one is right behind them, with Stryker's gym bag in his hands. The guards let Stryker go and throw the bag at his feet, then leave him alone and return to the arena. Stryker is still breathing heavily, bruised after the brawl with Wild Willey. He looks over towards the arena, catching his breath a little bit before finally looking at the camera. An unexpected smile comes across his face.

"Isn't life funny sometimes? My first match back... and it's a no contest. More of a brawl than a match. And after two decades in the business, I have to change in the goddamn parking lot," he looks down at his bag and wipes a bit of blood off of his face.

"Funny," he repeats as he locks eyes with the camera lens. "Yeah, it's also funny how mine and Willey's words before this match ended up telling tonight's story. Remember what I said about AWS? No bullshit, just violence. He said those exact words too. That should have told all of us that a simple old singles match won't be enough to decide a winner between the two of us."

"You know what's also funny?" he says and spits a bit more blood on the floor. "In another world, me and Wild Willey probably would have been friends. If you strip away all the cowboy bullshit, we're just two dudes who's preferred way of arguing our point is beating the absolute shit out of whoever is in front of us. I respect that. But before that ever happens, before we could ever share a cigar and a drink, we have a score to settle."

Stryker's smile disappears. His look hardens.

"Willey, no matter how hard you tried to slam this old head into every bit of the arena," he taps the side of his head. "You still haven't stopped me. You drew blood, fair play to you, but that genius brain that made me a champion everywhere I went is still thinking clearly. And it knows exactly what's gonna happen next."

Stryker steps closer to the camera.

"At Monday Night Ward, I make an example of Hector Venegas and get my first win in AWS. At Survival of the Fittest, when we meet in the Battle Rumble, I'll give you a little taste of what's coming your way, I'll beat your ass out of that ring and will win the Interstate Championship. And then... then it's just you and me, buddy. This time, there will be no rules. Nobody will keep us apart. The referee will only be necessary there to check your pulse after I beat you to a pulp. This time.."

He grabs the camera with his both hands.

"It's fucking Lafayette Street, Willey. And I ain't afraid of shooting a man when his back is turned."

Stryker pushes the camera away. When the camera man gets back his balance, he sees The Last Standard has grabbed his back and is walking away. The scene cuts to static before we cut back to a few days later.

Scene Two - Stryke Dojo, Monday

The camera enters the Stryke Dojo, Adam Stryker's long tenured wrestling school in Los Angeles, as we open the second scene of the promotional video. It's early afternoon, a few rays of sun shine through the small windows high on the walls. From the distance, past the weightlifting machines, we see the ring in the middle of the main training area, where young wrestlers just finished their drills for the day. As the camera man slowly walks closer, we see them grab water bottles, breathing heavily, still wearing the effort of a demanding training session.

A thunderous single clap brings them all to a halt and turns all their attention to the man who just put them through the drills. Adam Stryker, still in his training gear too, looks over them like a pack of obedient dogs.

"Right kids," he says, his voice carrying through the dojo. "Good one today. But I want to take a minute before I let you go about your day."

The young wrestlers sit in the ring, forming a semi-circle in front of their mentor, as the camera man steps as close to the ring as possible, sticking the lens through the ropes. Stryker doesn't acknowledge the camera and speaks directly at his students.

"I realized my upcoming match at Asylum Wrestling Society can be a lesson for all of you. And not just in the usual way when you watch me wrestle. The story of the match, and my opponent, too."

Stryker folds his arms across his chest.

"Hector Venegas of the Children of the Damned. Forty six years old. Started wrestling a year after me in 2007. What does that tell you about him?" he asks. The students look at one another before one of them, one of the youngest and most eager, slowly raises his hand. Stryker nods at him.

"He's... Well... He's old? I mean... He's been doing this for a, you know, a long time," the youngster says.

Stryker raises his eyebrow and asks "So you could sum it up as, say, experienced?"

"Yeah, uh, I guess that's the best word, yes," the student stutters.

Stryker chuckles loudly. Some of the students are visibly a bit uncomfortable as they thought their friend answered correctly, but now sense the trap they walked into.

"I thought so," Adam says, his tone leveling out. "That's one of the lessons I'd like to leave you with today. Don't mistake age for experience. Doing something for a long time and doing something well are not necessarily overlapping sets."

He begins to pace slowly along the edge of the ring.

"Here's what I know about Hector Venegas. Like many in that AWS locker room, he's a tough son of a bitch. Lived through hard times, raised by the streets. I respect that, I'll give him that. I know he turned to wrestling as an outlet for his rage. And that..." he pauses. "That's what makes him much closer to you all than he'll ever be to me."

Stryker drops down and sits cross-legged with his students.

"Hector Venegas, El Diablo, however he titles himself any given weekend, may be a 46 year old man with almost two decades of wrestling under his belt, but still figuring himself out. Like many of you," Stryker explains and lets that comparison sit for a few seconds.

"But you," he gestures at the group, "chose the right path, and early. You chose order. Discipline. Hard work. You chose to listen to my guidance, and most importantly obey it."

Stryker takes a few short seconds as the students nod in approval. He watches them with quiet satisfaction.

"Hector Venegas has been living in chaos for two decades. Bouncing between promotions, tag partners, friends and allegiances, even versions of himself. At forty six, to me, he's still that scared kid trying to figure everything out, just wearing a grown man's body. And I know scared kids. I train them every day," he glances at the row of young up-and-comers in front of him.

"Even the good ones, the talented ones, who are going to become serious wrestlers one day, still flinch when push comes to shove. When that noise in their head, the one that tells them to go one way and in a few seconds persuades them to go the other, just can't be silenced. And you all know from your personal experiences with me what I do when I face people like this."

"No matter what they try, how much they run circles around me," he points at the canvas under him. "I always wrestle them to the ground."

Stryker gets up in one smooth motion, folds his arms again and takes one more good look at the group of students.

"Tune into Monday Night Ward when I wrestle Hector Venegas. Learn. Take notes. You'll see exactly what I'm talking about play out in real time."

He holds their gaze for a few more seconds.

"Class is over... for now."

Stryker claps and the feed suddenly cuts to black.

The Return from Hell