The Last Man Standing
With GCW joining the fold, the script had drifted far from its original schedule.
But it had undeniably gotten better.
That was the WWF way.
We always followed whatever path made things better, whenever a better path appeared.
Though it stings a little that the man with the final say on all of it is Bart Maxen.
This time, it had worked out well. With Russell joining, GCW would finally attract mainstream attention, and the storyline itself was good. Tiffany Maxen, the woman trying to build GCW into something great, walking alongside Russell — her former rival and now its champion. It was a story people couldn't help but love, and one with the strength to branch out in a dozen different directions.
Who knew? Maybe next year GCW would become a regular fixture at Ring Survival, just like it had in the future I remembered.
In any case, as things flowed that way, the schedule grew even tighter.
The day after my reunion with my old colleagues, I stood in the parking lot with Russell and Tiffany, waiting on people.
The Rkdawn roster.
We were scheduled to film a backstage segment with them today. Their arrival ran a little late, which naturally steered the conversation toward Russell's interrogation — of me, that is.
"So how long has this been going on?"
"...It's not like that."
Flustered, I glanced sideways, only to find Tiffany deliberately avoiding my eyes.
"Look, I knew the two of you had a certain vibe going. But come on."
This is a moment that calls for a carefully worded answer.
After all, the party in question was sitting right there, listening to every word. What was I supposed to do? I had no desire to firmly deny or confirm anything, but I didn't know how Tiffany felt about it either — and that was the problem.
So I quietly reached over and took Tiffany's hand. I pulled her cold fingers into my coat pocket and shot her a quick look.
When she glared back at me with that haughty, dignified expression, I figured it was safe enough to answer halfway.
"We're just getting to know each other."
"Hmmmm."
Perhaps because I was holding her hand, Tiffany seemed willing to forgive such a vague non-answer.
But Russell was sharp.
"Her hand must run pretty cold, huh."
"...You little—"
"BAHAHAHA! I've never seen you flustered before. This is great!"
He roared with laughter, and I was still scrambling for a comeback when a vehicle rolled into the parking lot.
A massive pickup truck.
Behind the wheel sat Big Joe, my co-star from SNL. Apparently a nasty cold had kept him off last week's Rkdawn.
"Shin! Tiffany!"
"Joe. How's the body holding up?"
"Aw, I'm fine."
Joe was crammed into that enormous pickup like a slab of pressed ham. Most of the wrestlers trickling in behind him looked worn out from the long travel, yet they gathered their luggage and trudged into the arena anyway.
After the bulk of the roster had arrived, one final vehicle rolled in — a giant camper bus. The moment Tiffany saw the face of the man stepping down from it, she stepped forward.
"Uncle!"
...Uncle?
When I looked at him, puzzled, Taker smiled back at Tiffany.
"Miss Maxen. It's been a while."
"Haha! You've been well, I hope?"
"I've been working with pleasure. I rather thought you might come visit Rkdawn again one of these days, but you never did."
"Work's been busy. You'll forgive me, won't you?"
"Oh, Miss Maxen!"
"Miss Maxen!"
The Rkdawn veterans filing out behind Taker greeted Tiffany warmly, their faces all lit up. Unlike the wrestlers who'd arrived earlier, they looked genuinely happy to be here — and watching them, I understood and nodded to myself.
Yeah. A bus like that is absolutely necessary.
And with that, the preparations were complete.
The very first shot was the scene of Taker ambushing me.
Right after that, we'd film the Rkdawn wrestlers swarming in to lay siege to Burning Kong's backstage.
A corridor inside the arena. The camera director walked me and the others through the blocking for the script, going over each beat. The segment featured three people in total: me, Taker, and finally Russell.
"Shin, how's the gear?"
"Solid as it gets."
I was wearing a leather jacket with padding sewn into the lining, cinched tight over my trunks. Underneath my jeans I'd layered leather pants too — preemptive protection for any accident that might come my way.
"So — Shin clocks in. He spots Taker's bike, feels an ominous chill, and stops dead. That's the exact moment Taker strikes from behind."
The director pointed toward the corridor where the bike stood parked. The floor looked nice and cushioned, which was a relief.
"Then he ties your legs with the rubber rope, drags you off that way, and makes one full lap. The cameras are all in position, so let's head in and get started."
And so the filming began.
"Action!"
At the director's call, I stepped slowly through the door.
Cameras, crew, wrestlers — everyone was watching my performance. I tuned them all out and scanned my surroundings. Then, lowering my sunglasses just slightly, I tilted my head.
"What the hell is this?"
A black Harley, parked there like an omen.
I approached it, glancing around nervously, playing up the unease. And then, the next moment—
"GAAHK?!"
Something slammed into my back with crushing force.
As I tumbled to the ground, Taker advanced on me in slow, deliberate strides, fury radiating off him. He hurled the crowbar he'd been carrying — and the sharp CLANG of metal on concrete filled the empty audio track.
"You son of a bitch. MY bike—!"
"KUGH?!"
Dragged up by his grip, I was immediately flung back into the wall. Taker stomped me into the floor without mercy, then quickly wound a rubber rope around my legs.
Lying sprawled and dazed on the ground, I didn't even register what he'd done.
VRRROOOM—!
By the time the ominous roar snapped my eyes open, Taker had already yanked the throttle hard.
"No— wait...!"
The rope went taut across my back. A massive jolt hit me, like being sucked into some gigantic vacuum cleaner, legs first. The leather lining in my pants and jacket began making ominous noises as it scraped along the floor. Gritting my teeth, I lifted my head and stretched out a hand toward the accelerating bike, selling the agony for all I was worth.
The scenery blurred past.
Taker pushed the machine to full speed. Fortunately, the arena's curves weren't sharp enough to trigger the worst-case scenario of my body actually flipping over mid-drag.
"AAAAAAAARGH!!"
I screamed at the top of my lungs, hamming up my suffering with everything I had.
One full lap around the arena later, I came careening back and finally ground to a halt against a prepared wall of mattresses.
"Hkkhh..."
"Cut!"
The director shouted gleefully, and the waiting wrestlers came flocking over.
I couldn't think straight. My head was still spinning — by the end, I'd almost forgotten I was acting. I simply lay there, waiting for the crew to untie the rubber rope from my feet.
Then Taker pushed through the crowd and offered me his hand.
"Good work, kid."
"You were incredible, sunbae. What a ride."
At the very end, he'd braked hard and swung sideways, deliberately angling me to hit the mattresses cleanly. I took his hand and pulled myself up, and Taker — perhaps for once — was smiling.
"Couldn't exactly kill you, could I."
Filming proceeded smoothly from there.
Next, the wrestlers clustered in front of the locker room and we shot a full-on brawl, fists flying everywhere. Amid the chaotic audio, Taker — apparently taken with me — walked me through the roster, one man at a time.
"You watch out for Dudley over there."
He pointed at Bubba Ray Dudley, who was proudly showing off his thick build. A hardcore-obsessed wrestler from the Dudley Boyz, a family tag team.
"That man has never once hit soft in his life. If you ever end up working a match with him, come find me first."
"I'll return the favor someday too, I suppose."
I shot back with a laugh, and Taker silently patted my head. He was exactly the kind of wrestler I'd imagined he'd be.
He wasn't a schemer like Hunter or Punk. He was a man who loved this company and pro wrestling itself. He treasured the bond that formed when men traveled together, and he loved simply being part of that circle.
That was why he'd stayed active for over forty years and built a legend along the way.
True to that nature, the moment filming wrapped, Taker called Dudley straight over. Then he summoned Johnny Ace, the Burning Kong wrestler Dudley had smacked around.
Curious, I hung back for a moment to watch what would unfold.
Taker first fixed Dudley with a look and delivered his warning in a grave voice.
"Dudley. How many times do I have to tell you — your fellow wrestlers are as good as your fortune in this business. Watch yourself out there."
"I'm sorry, Taker."
"Johnny, my apologies. This man meant no malice by it, so don't take it too much to heart."
"Yes, yes sir!"
With Taker standing between them, Dudley and Johnny, who had been eyeing each other warily, shook hands naturally.
What magnificent charisma.
Out of respect for Dudley's pride, Taker had offered the apology on his behalf, smoothing over the tension himself.
That... that's something I need to learn.
So this was what it meant to have a true locker room leader steering the atmosphere. Thanks to him, filming continued without a hitch, even with everyone exhausted.
The camera director meticulously shot each of the wrestlers' attack angles one by one, and then we moved to the final take.
My feet were bound in the rubber rope again, and I lay sprawled where I'd been planted. Outside the door, a mountain of hollow cardboard boxes and industrial aluminum pipes waited in a towering pile. That was what I'd be crashing into next.
"Action!"
At the director's signal, Taker rolled out slowly on the bike. He picked up speed as he rounded the corner and into camera view, but it was manageable.
Bursting through the big door, Taker killed the engine just as he had before.
My body swung sideways with the momentum — and I crashed straight into the stack of cardboard boxes.
Aluminum pipes scattered wildly across my body and the floor, all clattering at once in a deafening cacophony.
Killing the ignition, Taker dismounted and strode toward me. He reached out his hand as before — but this time, my throat was seized.
"You messed with the wrong man."
"KHAK...! GGHK!"
I thrashed with all my might, clawing at Taker's grip.
My moment of utter desperation.
THWACK—!
With a dull, heavy impact, Taker absorbed the blow and dropped to one knee.
Russell's surprise entrance.
I clutched my throat, coughing, and widened my eyes with a shout.
"Russell?!"
"This isn't over! Shin!"
He hoisted a steel chair and brought it down across Taker's back again. In the meantime, I worked myself free of the rubber rope.
But Taker was no pushover either. Enduring the assault, he closed his hand around Russell's throat.
"GHAK?!"
"Who the hell are YOU now?!"
By that point I'd shaken off the rope completely, and I sprinted in to attack Taker's back.
Russell and I worked in sync, staggering the monster with blow after blow — until at last, we brought him down. Taker crashed into the arena's steel framework and went utterly silent.
Gasping for air as if I'd run a marathon, I managed to spit out my line.
"A monster like that..."
"Thank God I showed up, Shin. If it weren't for me, you'd have been wiped out completely."
"Hold on — what are you even doing here? What about GCW?"
"I'm here because of GCW."
"What? Why?"
The instant those words left my mouth—
Russell grabbed me from behind by the neck and drove me into the steel framework on the opposite side.
WHAM!
"KHAK?!"
Blindsided, I writhed in pain and crumpled to the floor. Russell sauntered over, picked up the GCW championship belt he'd left lying nearby, and looked down at me with a smile.
"Sorry, Shin. But this isn't something I'm doing out of any grudge."
The last man standing, in the end, was Russell.
He left Taker and me lying there, completely wrecked, and walked away.
A beat of silence.
"Cut!"
At the director's call, Taker and I raised our heads at the same time.
Our eyes met, and without either of us deciding to go first, we both burst out laughing.
Sprawled on the ground, Taker rubbed his jaw and muttered.
"Damn it, kid. That was harsh."
"You've got to go that hard if you want to put down the Casket-Taker, don't you?"
I got up first and extended a hand to him. He took it and rose to his feet. The director, clearly pleased, came over to join the two of us.
"Excellent. Truly excellent. I end up calling for retakes fairly often around here, but with the two of you, I won't be needing any."
"Even in front of me, this young one works without a hint of fear. It's impressive."
Taker patted my head again. Russell, who had slipped away earlier, drifted back before anyone noticed, and the director praised him too.
"You were great as well. Your character really comes alive when it's with Shin, doesn't it?"
"I enjoyed getting to do my scheming side again after so long."
"Whoa, whoa — easy there. You threw him down awfully hard. That had to sting."
"Hahaha, like I said, Shin — no hard feelings. Considering what we've built together, going easy on you would've felt stranger, no?"
"Fair enough. Can't argue with that."
Taker nodded. He looked back and forth between me and Russell, then pointed at Shin Cena, who was standing off to the side practically vibrating with restlessness.
"Seeing our boy over there this worked up — the Triple Threat of Shin, Russell, and Cena is going to make the finest match of them all."
Sharp instincts, as always.
I smiled to myself. He was right — pulling on the existing drama was definitely the better call.
After all, having shot the segment this way, it only made everything feel more natural.