Intervention: The Efed Edition

[kidnotorious]

[We open up to a lanky young fellow with big rimmed glasses sitting in front of a news desk. There's a back drop of some random city behind him and a "K-NXWV" logo on the front of the desk.]

Jimmy the Intern: Hello, K-NXWV Anchor Jimmy the News Anchor here with a special editorial.

[Jimmy ruffles some papers on his desk as he readies his next words.]

Jimmy the News Anchor: We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to give you a special interview with one-half of YOUR APW Tag Team Champions, the one and only Brandon Young. Mister Young?

[The camera pans over to another part of the 'studio' where we see Brandon Young sat in a chair in front of a large television set. He isn't speaking, which is odd, for Brandon. Instead he stares ahead at the camera for a long moment. He starts to speak, but then he stops himself again, putting a hand on his chin before glancing around. He opens his mouth to speak, but stops once more. Finally, he takes a deep breath, and looks directly at the camera.]

Brandon: ....BAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAH
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

[The laughing continues, uninterrupted for at least five minutes. The station cuts to commercial and he's still laughing.]

Brandon: HAHAHAHAHA.... Haaaa.

[The next few moments are fairly silent, as the Young Gun attempts to catch his breath. Finally he does so, and resumes talking.]

Brandon: Oh god, my spleen. Anyways, I'm sure everyone out there in TV-land is wondering just what's got me laughing so hard... Though really, if you pay attention to anything around here lately, it shouldn't be too hard to figure out.

[Brandon shakes his head.]

Brandon: I have a feeling this is going to fall on deaf ears here, but I just cannot let this go on if there is any chance at all that somebody, anybody, can put a stop to it.

Since nobody else wants to do it, I guess I'll be the asshole again. It's okay, I'm used to it, really.

[He chuckles, then takes another short moment to compose himself, lest he break into another 10 minute laughing fit. Once he's sufficiently calmed down, he continues.]

Brandon: Pence. Seriously man, get a clue already. In NO way, shape or form are you deserving of a World Title shot. How many matches have you lost in the past 3 months? Shit son, *I* deserve a World Title shot before YOU! Not that I'm looking for one, because I want to earn my way up to that, should it ever happen.

But the point is there all the same.

You wanna invigorate the division with new talent by... putting you into it? How does this make ANY sense at all, oh-so-awesome-guy-who-supposedly-beat-Level-One-a-thousand-different-times-even-though-it-was-only-two-yet-you-still-wont-shut-the-fuck-up-about-it?

[Suddenly, a male figure a little taller than Brandon, wearing a white dress shirt and black tie with black dress pants, belt and shoes walks into the shot, handing Brandon a 5 dollar bill.]

CK Panic: Son of a bitch.

Brandon: Ha! Let this be a lesson to you, never bet me to do things. I'm too dumb to refuse.

CK Panic: That actually seems like a good reason to do it more.

Brandon: ...Point to you.

[CK chuckles and walks out of the shot, Brandon grins as he looks at the five dollar bill before putting it into his pocket and going back to business.]

Brandon: The fact is, you didn't deserve to be "Captain" of Team APW. Look what happened under your "leadership." You spent most of the match getting your shit beasted by James Chambers, and then your team LOST.

Level One and Sally may be stale, but there is NOTHING in this company that is more stale than your sorry ass. You want a title shot? Get in the goddamn line. Earn your way back up to it if you can. And if you can? Then hey, good on ya.

But until then? Please, Pence. Pleeeeeaaaase, I and the entirety of APW are begging you, shut the fuck up about wanting a shot at a belt you do not deserve to be near any time soon. Stop challenging Sally and/or Level One to matches. It's sad. It's old. It's lame and nobody cares but you.

This isn't an attempt to diss ya, man. This is my attempt to help you. It's an intervention, if ya will.

So pretty please with cherries on top, for the love of Raptor Jesus, just stop already.

Thank you.

Sincerely, your pal

Brandon.

[Brandon gives a thumbs up and nods to the camera, and then we return to Jimmy the News Anchor.]

Jimmy the News Anchor: Thank you Mister Young for that rousing editorial. We now return you to your regularly scheduled circle jerk.

[Fade.]

[Kris]

The camera cuts to the living room of the Young-Tanner crash pad. The Angel of the Desert looks at the television in front of her with a blank expression for a moment, processing what she just saw her husband doing... before she sighs and shakes her head.

Kaycee: ...there are times I question your sanity, Donny...

Note how she doesn't say that he's wrong, since he isn't... but still. A soft chuckle escapes her lips as she settles back against the couch, the scene fading to black soonafter.

[Nick Watson]

"Is the camera on?"

Static, the sound of crashing, and banging is heard as another voice comes over the speakers.

"I thought so, give me a second, Pence."

"Take your time...I've got all day."

For a while nothing, but the sound of a stuff being moved, and crunching can be heard as the screen continues to be staticy. Finally, after about a minute the scene unveils itself to be Pence standing across the bay from the Sydney Opera House. Pence is wearing a basic black t-shirt and is shaking his head.

"Sorry, about that. We are on now."

"No biggy, not like I'm in a rush or anything."

Pence leans against the guard rails, grins, and then begins to speak over the sound of seagulls and tourists passing by.

"Let me be the first to congratulate you, Brandon. Once again you surprise me with your irrationality and stupidity. I could do without these little outbursts from you because clearly you don't understand the situation or understand how little you actually mean to this company. There will be other Branden Young's...in fact there is probably a whole bunch of you gagged and bound somewhere in the middle of America...probably Kansas...the only things that come from there are steers and queers after all. You are forgettable at best and after the anales of history are examined by our future children...I want you to realize you will be a blip on a 3-D read out that people will most likely skip. Your opinion, which is grossly consumed with a great deal of penis envy toward me, holds little to no merit seeing as how I am a proven Main Eventer while you are a joke and can't even beat Level One on a good day...let alone in a Main Event at Rasslemania...oh sorry, I forgot.

You don't want me talking about the big point in my career...or maybe the time after Rasslemania where I went undefeated for quite a while until injury sidelined me. After all, who wants to talk about relevant material when we can bitch about how stale facts are. The fact is Brandon...I am a champion...regardless of if I hold a belt or if I win a match, at the end of the night all that matters is if the people had fun watching the match or not. Sure, I've lost a lot and it has gotten the better of me, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is that I seek to better myself by challenging myself. And that is what this is. It is not about titles, it is not about glory, or reputation...it is about getting back on track and showing people I mean business. But to you that doesn't matter...you think I'm just seeking glory or looking for a belt, but I'm not...I want to prove I have it.

We've watched Level One vs. Sally Talfourd for God knows how long and for a year now...I have sat still out of the title picture, I have lost matches, and struggled, and bled for every inch I have gotten. I have been humiliated, spat on, ragged on, and forgotten like an old rag. I watched my career slowly fade from a bright ball of light into nothing more than a flickering candle on window sill...ever closer to extinguishing. This match at Rasslemania was huge...I was the captain and some would say it is my fault we lost, sure. I can accept some blame and I can accept that maybe I was not in the right mind-set to win it for us after losing so much, but don't you dare say that all the blame rides on me. Don't even fucking think for one God damn second I didn't try my hardest to win it.

I put in more effort than Jeff, Clapton, and Knoxville...I researched...I dug deep, I made plans, and I tried to rally my men to a victory. I took punishment, wave after wave of it, and felt like giving up on many occasions. But I kept going...I never said die, I never let go of that hope that we could win, and it drove me to extremes. I wanted to win...I wanted to be the best in that match and drive our team to victory, but in the end...I let everyone down. I let myself down. I left the ring, bruised, cut, and angry, but I didn't want that to get the best of me...I didn't want this loss to effect me any differently than my first few losses to Level One...sorry again for dragging up history. I went in the back, got treated, and made a solemn promise to myself to get better...to fight harder and be who I am supposed to be, after all I am Mr. Main Event.

When I spoke to James...I spoke the truth. I told him I wanted a shot, but I don't want it for the gold, I don't want it for the honor or the prestige...I want the shot to make myself better and only a champion truly does it for those reasons. So while you sit high and mighty with your tag championship after beating a team that is currently in a funk like the Exchange Rate, I want you to realize...that at any moment...I could have snapped at you...I could have hated you...I could have told you to fuck off and eat shit, but I didn't want to do that because you are an opinionated man and I can respect that...even if I don't agree...I can respect that. I respect your team, even if I rooted for the Exchange Rate, and I respect your drive to call me out because not many individuals would want to put themselves in the cross hairs of an angry ex-champion, but you did it. However, in the end...know that I am going to prove you wrong. I'm going to, for the next two months, fight harder than I have ever fought before, and without a doubt crush those who dare say I am not championship material anymore because I feel that everyone needs to be reminded of who I am and what I am capable of.

So, thanks Brandon for the intervention, because it was all the fuel I needed to get right back to where I started...kicking asses and taking names. I will be seeing you around, hopefully as a friend, and maybe as someone I can have a beer with and chill with. Good luck, Brandon and Kris...I hope you can prove me wrong by making your reign re-memorable."

Pence salutes the camera as the scene bursts to static.

*Scene bursts to static*

[Kris]

Again, we find ourselves in the living room of the Young-Tanner crash... and again, Kaycee is looking at the screen with a confused expression.

Kaycee: ...who's Kris?

Fade.