In the near future, America's over zealous government has outlawed professional wrestling, declaring it to be fraudulent. However, just like with prohibition of 100 years ago just because you ban something doesn't mean you kill it. And what doesn't...
Back in his warehouse loft apartment Sawyer sits in the dark, engulfed by the overstuffed armchair. The flickering TV in front of him is from a by-gone age, at almost 18 inches thick it makes the apartment look like a museum. But you need A/V input jacks when you operate what they used to call a VCR. This old technology was the method thought up by "The Genius" to deal with the government's ability to infiltrate cable and even read only media of microfiles and DVD's.
Using the "remote control" Sawyer is able to fast forward through the remaining matches. The minute or two it takes is bothersome, and Sawyer for once does not miss the good old days. Finally when he sees the visage of the sponsor he stops to hear the message again.
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This is the Renaissance of pro wrestling. Sawyer is to be a courier. His instructions are simple, make a copy of this tape and take it to the next...he gives the address in Manhattan. There he will receive another tape. Once he has completed that, erase this part of the message from the tape. Keep only the matches. Of course Sawyer also has an alternate motive.
He stalks to the refrigerator and pours himself a juice. "Those indy guys were good, but still not as good as before the crackdown. We have a ways to go." Sawyer's cat meows at him as if to respond. He goes to pick her up but she darts away. "Typical" he mutters to himself. He puts the matches on again.
Somewhere else in NYC a vivacious looking blonde is submersed in steaming hot bath water. The water distorts and hides her curves. Judging by the black catsuit that hangs behind the door, we have found our catfighting vixen. She examines the barbwire tattoo on her bicep and remembers her compatriots who all had them as a sign of allegiance to the company.
Thinking back she remembers how she left the company, as champion, just weeks before the crackdown began. She remembers the deviant President's hands groping her waist, pulling her towards him. She remembers the satisfaction of slapping him across the face. He was too strong though, and putting her in a full nelson he drove her face first into the office's aquarium. Drowning...she was sure..she was..no oxygen. He saved her. The big muscular long haired dope, who had followed her to the ends of the earth once, but now followed him, and his money. Still there was enough spark left to make this one gesture. "She's not worth it boss. You know they are looking for an excuse, don't give them one." The words, even though spoken to free her, stung harder then any superplex ever had. He escorted her to the alley door, and tried to explain, "listen..I just..." but there was nothing to be said. She slung her bag over her shoulder and left that world behind.
Sitting in front of his media screen Sawyer threw on the special router button to unscramble his end of the matrix connection, and donned his glove. Pointing in the air he opened a channel and looked to see who he knew that might have entered the matrix. His icon (a likeness of Ren McCormack, Kevin Bacon's character in Footloose) made his way into his private room. Sitting down he popped open a coke, and picked up the phone. He chatted with a friend or two, but said no to all invitations to visit. He felt like vegging tonight.
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