Title: Conquest for the Crown: Episode II
Featuring: Big Bear
Date: Holiday Season 2006-2007
Location: Big Bear's Haunted Wrestling Past

Present Day
"Mike Munson?" the voice on the other end is scratchy and harsh.

Mike tries to buckle his jeans while pinching the phone against his shoulder, "Yeah, who's this?"

A long deep breath "Oh, goody. I've been looking for you for a long time, Mikey. Should I call you Big Bear? I'll call you Big Bear, for old time's sake."

Mike comes to standstill as his brain scrambles for a few seconds. He shakes his head, slowly batting his eyes with sorrow and takes a deep breath himself.

"Fletcher?" Mike is unsure and hopefully unlucky. "Is that you?"

"Relax, Mike," Fletcher chuckles. "I just wanted to tell you that everyone's forgot all about the whole Reaper thing. They totally understand why he OD'ed, after you called him a junkie and broke his will to work and live. It was a bold move but-"

"Fuck you," Mike's tone cuts through the phonelines.

The voice laughs on the other end, "Just take a step back, old friend. I'm not calling to open up old wounds. I'm actually calling to wish you luck. Everyone here in Alaska remembers you as a hero and hopes you do well. Alaska Wrestling Circuit... rookie mistakes, ya know?"

Mike stares dead ahead, lost in thought, and slowly closes his phone. Something from that phone call cut him like a knife and glazes Mike's eyes over.

"Rookie mistakes..." Mike echoes, drawing himself back through his buried memories.



EPISODE II - The Rookie



October 2006…

"I just… I just gotta rest my eyes."

Mike knew the kid was just trying to play cool but he found it overly passive to say that, "Bullshit kid. Some Reaper you are. Ya can’t even hang with the Big Bear! Ahhh, whatever. Get some shuteye."

Known best as Reaper around the Alaskan Wrestling Circuit, Brandon Folk nods his head and collapses in the chair of the hotel room. Empty bottles litter the floor and it’s no secret what these two have been up to, celebrating Folk’s first successful performance.

After a few years on the grind Mike Munson knows the drill. Give the fans another unforgettable night, get paid, buy some booze, and enjoy the night. He’s not upset his new buddy zonked out on him, he’s more or less pissed that now he sits alone, drunk, and looking for something to do. He grabs the TV remote and begins flipping through the channels.

Mike shrugs, looking at the bottle, and then throws his head back. After letting the remaining whiskey drain into his throat, he leans back with a deep breath. The clink of the bottle hitting the floor echoes as Munson’s head slumps forward. His body begins to drift forward and after his shoulders pass his knees, Big Bear falls on his face and begins to dream under the fluorescent flame of the lunar spotlight high in the sky.

November 2006…

The curtain draws back as Reaper jumps through and turns on a dime, stopping before Big Bear steps through. They meet eyes; Mike’s normal, cautious and Brandon’s wide, filling with hopes and dreams.

"That was fuckin’ awesome," Reaper slams his palm into Big Bear’s. "They love us!

Big Bear grins and looks around as the rest of the crew watches the two celebrate. He wraps his arm around Reaper and his grin grows wider.

"That was just the beginning, broseph," Mike jabs Reaper softly in the gut. "Wait until we get our shot at those belts!"

The pair passes by a crowd made mostly of ACW volunteers and technicians, who begin to applaud the pair. Both men bask in their newfound partnership and they pose for a few cameras. Big Bear folds his arms and puffs out his chest, giving a wide-eyed glare. Reaper sticks his tongue out, crouching down just below his partner’s chest, and stretches his arms out like long, flapping Reaper wings.

December 2006…

The familiar sight of Action Packed (the cool combo of Big Bear and Reaper) celebrating a win backstage takes place as the show comes to a close. Most of the staff is once again congratulating the pair of showstoppers and clapping as they round the corner. Big Bear stops when he smells something foul and spots longtime rival Fletch McVay.

"Ahh, if it isn’t the dynamic duo," he hisses. "Yogi and Boo Boo."

The crowd laughs a little bit but some are sincere in their hate for the darkest, most sinister man AWC has ever seen. A rumor began when Fletch’s first opponent came up missing. Sources say he covered him in concrete and dropped him in the Pacific. Fletch practically admits to it without ever saying it.

"Get lost, Fletch," Big Bear snarls. "Don’t you have some diabolic scheme to concoct?

Fletch grins, "Oh, that’s actually what brings me here, Mikey. You see, I noticed that you have something I could use. Him."

Both men lock eyes on Reaper. The young man waits in silence as the bigger men continue the confrontation.

"Get the fuck out of here, Fletch," Big Bear’s voice picks up. "If ya leave now, I promise I won’t smash your face in… all the way."

Fear doesn’t flow in Fletch McVay’s veins, "Oh? I was hoping you’d let your sidekick here do that for you. Look at how many times you’ve been able to do it on your own…"

McVay purses his lips, pitifully, and holds up a closed fist, "Zero."

"Sidekick?" Reaper interjects, timidly.

Big Bear turns quickly to his partner, "Don’t worry about this, Reap. Let’s get outta here."

"That is what they’re calling you, Boo Boo Brandon," like a slithering snake; Fletch works his way back into the kid’s head with each manipulative word. "When really, you’re the better of you two. This guy would be nothing without you, Reaper. Don’t forget that. If you want those Tag Belts… come see me."

"That’s it," Big Bear lunges forward, smashing his fist into Fletch’s jaw. Security is quick to separate the two as Fletch cries out in false agony, claiming he’d been accosted and that Big Bear be arrested. Meanwhile, the shuffle pushes Brand Folk to the back of the crowd and on his own to think about whether or not he wants to be a sidekick or a champion.

January 2007…

Big Bear’s head slams into the mat. He bounces up with force, lands on his feet, and flexes to the crowd. He displays another pose just before Fletch connects with a forearm smash over his back. Reaper watches from the corner but doesn’t seem pleased to see either man winning.

"Face it, Mike," Fletch calls out over the crowd. "You should just throw in the towel now."

"Let’s go, Reap!" Big Bear shouts.

Mike’s budding superstar partner seems distant as he climbs through the ropes. Something behind his eyes keeps him from doing his signature Reaper pose, as he always does when he enters the ring. Mike makes it to his feet as he notices Fletch and Folk exchanging a polite, business-like smile just as Mike finds himself the victim of a double clothesline. Fletch picks him up and drops him down with a powerbomb as the arena begins booing incessantly.

"Do it, Brandon," Fletch’s words are cold. "Show him that you’re better than him."

Fletch accepts a steel chair from one of the fans and hands it to Reaper. The boo’s grow louder and louder with each passing second. Mike can barely lift his head but hears his night getting worse. Fletch lifts Greg, pinning him against the ropes, and tangles his arms between the third and second ropes. Mike’s left eye is swollen shut but he catches a glimpse of his attacker and former friend just before the loud clang of steel smacking bone echoes through his brain.

February 2007…

Big Bear steps out of his locker room, looking around to see if he can spot anybody worth hanging out with after the show. He wears a black t-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and a white and red bandage on his head. Reopening the wound that his one-time-friend gave him was bound to happen, he just wasn’t planning on it being the same young man and backstabber.

"Evening, Mike," the familiar ring of Fletch McVay’s voice spins Big Bear around.

The big man grinds his teeth and cracks his knuckles, "Get outta my fuckin’ face, McVay. The cameras aren’t rolling, I’ll kill you and forget all about it."

"Now, now, big Boy," Fletch’s condescending tone echoes through the empty arena halls. "That’s actually why I’m here. I wanted to invite you to a party I’m throwing. Me and Brandon â€" you remember him don’t you? â€" are having some of the other wrestlers over to celebrate the big Tag Title win. You should come. Have some fun, for once."

Big Bear’s blood boils as every possible way to kill this guy and get away with it flies around his mind. He turns around and blows off McVay’s idea of a joke. He is almost around the corner when Reaper pops out in front of him.

"Brandon…" Mike notices something different. "You alright?"

Insane to do so, Brandon is walking around with half open eyes, a pair of black leather pants, a giant silver necklace, and his half of the ACW Tag Titles around his waist. In his left hand is a half-gone bottle of gin and a cigarette in the opposite hand. Mike also notices the trail of track marks up and down his arms. Mike shakes his head at the man Brandon has become as tries to push through.

"Whoa whoa whoa," Reaper’s speech is slow. "Take it easy, big fella. You sure you wanna be remembered as the guy Reaper sent to the grave, three times? Heh. Fuckin’ stepping stone."

Mike’s eyes lower, fighting back every urge to smash the weak little rookie. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to collect himself, and steps to the left to pass by and get on with his night. Folk mimics the move, sticking his face right into Big Bear’s, teasing the fighter to fight. Big Bear goes right and the scene plays the same.

Mike finally takes a step back and looks toward Fletch, "Hey, bitch. Do ya think ya could call off your attack dog? I’m gonna go find somethin’ to do…" Big Bear turns back at Folk and flinches in his face, "WITH MY FRIENDS."

Folk takes a long swig off the bottle and a drag on his cigarette before he slides out of the way. His long, now tattoo laden arm gives Mike his free pass to the parking lot. Mike just shakes his head, thinking about how cool the guy he now wants to kill used to be.

"You’re a fuckin soft bitch!" Brandon shouts down the hall.

March 2007…

Reaper stands against the cinderblock wall, admiring his golden belt, and reads the latest issue of FWrestling Weekly. He flips through the pages, obviously not reading but merely enjoying the visual stimulation with his black aviators still on. The curtain peels back, exposing those in the back to the deafening roar inside the Juneau Recreation Arena. Big Bear steps through and stops when he sees his former partner.

"Evening Mike," Folk’s tone is impersonal. "How’d it go out there?"

Mike chuckles and shrugs, "We both know how they’ll treat you, Creeper."

"Oh hardy-har-har," Folk tosses the magazine on the ground. "Real fuckin’ jokester, aren’t ya Mike? Well talkin’ about another joke… how’s that World title lookin’ for ya lately?"

Reaper glances down at his waist, "Oh, nevermind. It’s mine."

"You know what, Brandon?" Mike’s finally gonna get real. "You think this means anything to me? If you do, you’re a lot dumber than I could wish. You might be some young bully’s favorite wrestler or some misguided punk’s only hero but to me… you’ll never be nothin’ more than a piece of shit bottom-feeder who stabs his friends in the back for a mediocre championship. Fuck off, boy. I’m gonna go get ready for AlaskaMania X, where I plan on beat the living shit out of you."

Reaper rips his glasses off, showing the world the dark circles swallowing his once bright green eyes. Mike turns his head, nearly sick at the thought, but finds his stomach twist and turn even more when he gets a glimpse of the pinhole scars covering the twenty-something’s arm.

Reaper sticks his finger directly into Mike’s breast bone "I’m gonna-"

Mike hauls off and clocks Brandon. Not for satisfaction or for revenge but mainly out of pity for the junkie champ. Mike kneels over Brandon, lifts him up with both hands, and brings the kid’s face inches away from his own. Sweat beading up and dripping on Brandon Folk is just how this scene should end.

"You’re nothin’ but a fuckin’ junkie, Brandon," Mike says, cutting right to the chase. "That’s a fact."

Mike storms off as Reaper stares at the big man storm away off camera. He tries to reset himself and can’t help but think about his pick me up, ready and waiting. He dives into his locker room. The door doesn’t shut all the way and the cameraman is quick to get a shot between the cracks, pushing it open slightly.

With his ACW Championship around his waist, Brandon Folk bends over and takes a long line of cocaine into his system with a loud, long, lazy snort. Fletch McVay pats his friend on the back just as he notices notices the camera, walking over to the door and shutting it softly.

April 2007…

AlaskaMania X
Big Bear stands in the ring and glares at the ring announcer. He mouths something inaudible that seems angry before the ring announcer simply shrugs.

"INTRODUCING NEXT… YOUR ACW CHAMPIOOOON…" the ring announcer looks back at Big Bear who urges him on. "REEEEEEAPERRRRRR…"

Just as the three tries before, no movement after blasting the ACW Champ’s theme song. The fans begin to boo and throw shit all over the ring. It becomes Hell on Earth for the ACW announce team, who can barely shield themselves.

"Excuse me," a familiar voice slithers over the PA system as the video screen comes to life. "Hi there Big Bear. All set for your big time, championship match tonight?"

The trash stops flying for a few seconds enough to notice Fletch McVay on the big screen, standing in the backstage area. He smiles and waves, like a schmuck.

"I bet you are, aren’t you?" McVay offers another false smile. "Well, unfortunately… I saw this one coming and, well… how do I say this? You’re opponent, the late, great Reaper, is in no condition to much of anything, nonetheless wrestle. Therefore… neither will you and that also would mean there will be no Title match."

Big Bear’s teeth grind, physically expressing how much he wants that belt, and he flips off the big screen. The arena begins to boo the screen and launch trash and debris at it, too. Big Bear tromps around the ring as Fletch clears his throat.

"In fact," the camera pans back as Fletch steps aside to reveal Brand Folk convulsing on the ground behind him.

An eerie silence hushes the crowd as Big Bear’s eyes burst. He leaps over the ropes, crashes to the ground and storms to the back, shouting to the crowd to call 911. He storms through the curtain and straight ahead, plowing over a dozen or so people. He lowers his shoulder and turns the door into splinters.

"Hero of the day," Fletch welcomes Big Bear.

Mike glares at Fletch, who doesn’t seem to worry about the dire situation a few feet away, then pounces to Brandon’s side. Mike grips Brandon Folk’s hand -- not Reaper’s hand, not his enemy’s hand â€" Brandon Folk’s hand. A young kid just playing the heel, winning a belt, being himself but then... Fletch leans in over Mike’s ear.

"I did this to prove one thing Mike," Fletch has a lighthearted, chipper tone in his voice. "I can fuck you up beyond the ring. I will fuck you up, fuck your life up, and fuck the lives of the people you enjoy up. I sure hope you never find a wife or have children-"

Mike turns around and wraps his huge hands around Fletch’s throat, crashing him down through the end table nearby. As Brandon’s young life empties out as white foam through his mouth and blood pouring from his nose, Mike slams his fist repeatedly into McVay’s face, nose, eye, and mouth. Too many long seconds pass by with the only sound of a mourning man smashing his blunt fists into another man’s defenseless face.

EMTs and security finally rush the scene and tackle Big Bear off of Fletch, whose eyes roll in the back of his head and look like white marbles. Mike can’t help but notice the damage he’s doing and throws his arms up, surrendering to the guards. One young EMT stands up, removes his stethoscope and shakes his head, "He’s not gonna make it."

Mike turns back and sees Fletch throwing up chunks of his teeth with blood. He just shakes his head in disbelief as everything unfolds on what was supposed to be a wonderful night, for everyone. Now, a young man is dead, another is going to need reconstructive surgery, and Mike is probably facing expulsion, if not prison time.

In the blink of an eye, Big Bear is gone, storming down the hall much like the tears streaking down his face. He makes it to the parking lot where he spots a cab and makes a B-line for it. He gets in, pulls out most of his money, and holds half of it up.

"I gotta get outta town, amigo," Mike tries to say calmly.

The cabby turns around when he hears how serious Mike’s expression is. He gets a good look at the wrestler and notices he’s covered in blood, his fists are bloody, and he looks like he’s been crying. He grabs the money, both men holding on to it and meeting one another’s gaze to express the circumstances.

"Whatcha want me t’do?" the cab driver mumbles.

Big Bear looks around and shrugs, "The train yard."
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