Kayfabe Flight 78277 to Air Traffic Control

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  1. The crowd in the Exodus arena has come down to almost a faint whisper.
    Vanessa York steps into the ring, microphone in hand, and stands in the center facing towards hard camera.

    Vanessa: Ladies and gentlemen, the producers here at Exodus would like me to ask you all to please divert your attention to the titantron at this time.

    The fans in the arena begin to turn towards the titantron.
    A live feed of the parking lot begins to come on the screen, and a large garage door slowly opens.
    Into the parking lot comes a solid white Rolls-Royce Wraith, with completely tinted windows.
    The car pulls into a parking spot and shuts off.
    The driver side door opens and out of the car comes one of the most decorated men in Sports Entertainment, Hall of Famer, Bryce Frisco.
    He closes the door and smiles at the camera, before walking over to the passengers side door.

    Bryce: Ahem. Good evening Exodus fans and employees alike, it is I Bryce Frisco, the man who to this day, has only ever lost one singles match and retired as a World Heavyweight Champion. You're probably all asking yourselves, "what the hell is Bryce Frisco doing here in Exodus?" Well, I'll tell you why. It's because I couldn't miss the chance to catch up with some friends in the back, and, I couldn't pass up witnessing history here tonight. Now I'm sure you've all been reading up on those crappy wrestling news sites that Exodus was expecting a big surprise tonight. Well, it's not me, because I'm not afraid to admit that I'm the second of two big surprises tonight.

    Bryce reaches down and opens the passenger side door.

    Bryce: You're all lucky to be here tonight, y'know why? Well, because you get to witness the return of the original King...Ladies and Gentlemen...J...E...T...Starr.

    Out of the passenger side door comes the legendary, the infamous, Hall of Famer, Jet Starr.
    Jet closes the passenger side door and hugs his brother Bryce.

    Jet: Thanks bro. Now uh, we've both got some things to do.
    Bryce: That, we do. Catch ya later, aviator.

    Jet and Bryce part ways. Bryce heading towards the locker room area, while Jet makes his way to the stage.
    The titantron cuts to the camera panning the arena.

    Once the music dies down, Jet grabs a microphone from a stagehand.
    He stands in the middle of the ring, with a big smile on his face, that is met with an ovation of boos from the crowd.

    Jet: Did ya miss me?!

    The obviously sarcastic question is met with "No!" chants, but a few members of the crowd can slightly be heard chanting "Yes!"

    Jet: Good, because I sure as hell didn't miss a single goddamn person here either. So, uhm, yeah, let me talk about the crown wearing elephant in the room. Yes I'm back, yes I'm taking my place back in K.O.W, yes I want to beat up ANOTHER person who wears way too much guyliner, and yes the Kings are bad. Oh c'mon, you all can't be as ridiculously stupid as you look?! Well, actually on second thought, you all TOTALLY can. If it wasn't blatantly obvious for the last few years, K.O.W used you all and milked everyone for every penny. How do you think Bryce could afford that Rolls-Royce Wraith?! Hell, how do you think I could afford one too?! Thank you all for buying my merch, his merch, and all of the K.O.W's merch too, our bank accounts appreciate it very much.

    The fans begin chanting "Fuck the kings! Fuck the kings! Fuck the kings!"
    Jet responds with a laugh.

    Jet: Daw, really? I mean, I fully understand you're all angry and want to shred me to pieces, but have some decency people, that chant isn't PG! We're broadcasting to families here, damn it! Oh, this is rich, well not as rich as the kings, but still rich nonetheless. While I've been gone, and while I was being a corporate good boy and training undeserving rookies down in the old performance center because the company desperately needed it, I had to sit back and watch some painfully horrible television. And no, I don't mean Dancing with the Stars, I don't mean The Bachelor or The Bachelorette, not Real Housewives of some crappy city, and I certainly don't mean that other wrestling show that comes on every monday night at 9 P.M. only on the USA Network...No, i'm talking about the most vile, the most disgusting the down right worst thing on television today...Saturday Night Exodus. Errrr, that gives me goosebumps.

    Jet shakes as if he was hit by an extremely cold breeze.

    Jet: But, fear not, for your savior is here to bring this place to glory! I, along with my partners in crime The Amazing H and Lukey, are going to eradicate this place of everything that makes it absolutely unbearable. I'm talking about those three empty skulls known as Des Pierson, Robert Blake and whoever the hell the other guy is. There's actually a list of people, and they're the top three. One person on that list was dealt with already, and that happened to be that annoying college boy Reese MaCleod. I appreciate you being a fan kid, I really do, and I hope that love for the K.O.W helps your shattered knee heal fast.

    Jet makes a heart with his hands, in front of his face, towards the camera.
    He sarcastically smiles and mouths out "You poor thing".

    Jet: The next person on that list was just added today, actually! Because before I came here tonight, I was informed by the horrible excuse for management that I am being forced, yes, FORCED, to compete against and embarrass another Exodus talent. This man goes by the name of Gareth Wolf...listen kid, I ran with wolves once, so a word of advice, it's a very bad idea. I'm fighting a guy that looks like he auditioned for and was rejected from some knockoff Bollywood version of a James Bond movie. My grand return is spoiled by some less than stellar competition, great. Good job on that one Mr. Mystery GM. Hell, I should just buy this place myself, maybe then things'll get better around here, sheesh. Anywho, I'm going to win, there's no doubt about that, but once I'm done with this little exhibition, I promise you all this one thing. The Kings of Wrestling will be taking back our thrones. By hook, or by crook, whatever the hell we feel like doing. Jet Starr, out.

    Jet tosses the microphone over his shoulder, and heads out of the ring, smirking.
    Jet makes his way backstage.

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