The Tire Iron Tapes

[Nightcall]

The Tire Iron Tapes
Nightcall

---

---

---

(FSW #93 | Nightcall Debut Video Vignette)


Grainy analog feed jerks and bounces like VHS tape, briefly spurting out mechanical babble until stabilizing. The video returns to normal for a brief moment, resting on a scenic beach at sunset. A mildly distorted hum overlaps with the sounds of ocean waves. The recording crawls at a snail's pace before bouncing again. A blue screen appears, then an aerial shot of the shore. It pans to a blurry congregation of dark-robed figures. They stand stoically around a large wooden effigy.

The camera cut-jumps to a hooded man carrying a torch. The gathering turns their gaze towards him in mute reverence. He glides over the sandy terrain alone with a purpose, taking his time with every step. The fire wavers and burns brightly enough for the pedestrians on the pier to see. Seagulls scream in the distance.

The torchbearer closes in on the wide circle of shrouded entities. He examines his flock in the soft orange glow of the blaze. Satisfied, he raises the light up into the violet, fuschia-striped sky. With an assertive but joyous voice he hails the beach in evening ritual.

"Take back the night!"

The bonfire is lit — crackling flames engulf the wood in a feverish hunger. The crowd roars their approval and strips their robes off; they are decked in neon swimwear and glow-in-the-dark body paint. A pop tune starts up nearby. Nightcall removes his cowl, flaunting a trim bowtie and vest without an undershirt. One guy in a panda onesie tosses him canned wine. Everyone else helps themselves to coolers and various smoking substances.

Nightcall pops the tab and takes a hefty swig. He shakes like a man possessed before bellowing out for all to hear.

"TAKE BACK THE NIGHT!!!"

Partygoers laugh and cheer. The beat picks up as Nightcall joins in on the fun.

---

---

---

[Nightcall]

---

---

---

(FSW #94 | Part of the Debut RP vs. Jason Rayne)


Harbor Beach
Oceanside, CA



"Can’t believe it brah," Panda sighs. "You ready to leave this paradise behind? Life on the road is no joke.”

As the beach bonfire party rages, Nightcall and the man in the panda onesie find a couple of lawn chairs and pop open some cans of wine. Nightcall answers before taking a chug.

"Gotta see the nightlife out there. I’ve been Cali since I could spell Cali. There’s a big world out there and I wanna know how it parties."

"Word." Panda ponders on that before reaching into his black and white pockets. He pulls out a pack of EWC trading cards.[ "I know we ain't kids no more Night Dude, but I figured for old times' sake I'd get you this." He hands over the pack. "Remember their Game Boy Advance game would come with a few of these? Maybe it'll offer insight on your debut match."

Nightcall tears it open and shuffles through the cards. He chuckles. "Appreciate it man, but none of these are my opponent."

Panda shrugs and drinks. NC stuffs the package in his vest pocket and takes out his phone.

"But hey that's why we got technology."

Nightcall thumbs "INTERNET WRESTLING DATABASE" into the search bar. When it loaded, he typed in "JASON RAYNE" and went to Win/Loss Record.

"Who's that dude again?"

A bulky frat boy takes a squat next to them. Panda tosses him a can.

"What's up, Parker?"

"My boy. Mr. Misdemeanor himself. Howyoudoin?"

Parker snickers. "I'm straight, but you might not be. You're in for some shit with The Viper. The Cerebral Assassin. The Copyright Infringement. You know, Jason Rayne."

They stare at him.

"What? I keep up with the forum boards. Also watched every episode of FSDub. Wanna know how many matches he's had?"

"Only you would know that type of shit off the top of your head. IWD says he's won 7 of like 14 matches. Fair average, but it says here that's counting Draws and No-Contests. Take them out and he's standing at 7/10. He lost a Fatal Four Way Ambulance Match at Wrestlefest XVII, but he didn't get put in the vehicle. He lost a regular Four Way on Episode #84, but he wasn’t pinned. The next episode he fought Stitches but he passed out in the Carnival Pretzel. He didn’t tap. So yeah dude never tapped or been pinned."

"Who the fuck you piss off in your application?"

"Word."

"70% win rate. My debut gonna be somethin' else."

"Helluva mismatch brah."

"Nah I'll be straight. We even got a few things in common. We uh well our finishers go for the head, just mine is a Stunner not a Cutter. Judgin' by his taste in clothes, we both like pink. That's a thing. Probably a palm tree guy too being from Florida and all. Looks like a Miami Bro."

They laugh and chug. Parker notices the cameraman.

"Ayy you gonna cut a promo with us ripping on dude or...?"

"Ha! Nah brah I'll do that at the end of the party. Business after pleasure."

"Aight."

They sit in self-reflection and watch the people dance around the fire. Panda glances down at the rim of his can.

"Gonna miss you brah. Oceanside won't be the same."

"Ditto. None of us got a permit to have beach throw downs like this."

NC grins.

"I'll miss you guys too. Better buy my merch."

---

---

---

[Nightcall]

---

---

---

(FSW #94 | EWC Exclusive Footage)

The scene opens to Lisa Goldrush standing near a blank wall of The Mile One Center. She is with Nightcall, who is decked out in a large pink coat. He gives the camera a nod and directs his attention to the correspondent.

"I'm Lisa Goldrush standing by with the newest member of Future Stars of Wrestling, Nightcall. How are you liking your trip to Canada with us?"

"Eh, it may not have a Steak N Shake, but let me tell you, Canada got some of the chillest people I've ever met. Dude gave me a packet of Skittles when I entered the building. Good folks."

"Loving this pink number you've got going on."

Nightcall raises his arms and gives a slow twirl.

"Show the people somethin' to see, y'know? Sometimes we need a break from the drab, broody types that wander around these hallways. I'm here now and I wanna add some color tonight."

"Speaking of tonight, your upcoming debut match with Jason Rayne. Followers who have kept up with you on Fighter Talk™ and your personal vlogs know that you are not The Viper's biggest fan. Would you like to share some more thoughts on that?"

He grimaces and looks away from her and the camera.

"Dude got skill, but the people deserve the sizzle AND the steak. He's holdin' out or something cuz I haven't seen next level stuff from him. Maybe I'm crazy...I know, I'm new. Who am I to accuse brah of coasting? Or maybe I'm right and I'll show him the next level myself. We'll see."

He turns his attention back to her. His eyes narrow.

"Win or lose I know I'm gonna be tested on a level I'm not acquainted with. That's why I love EWC. Why I love FSW. They're giving me that opportunity. I need a challenge like that, and if Mr. Brock or anybody up top is watching, I want them to know I came to work. I want more challenges like these in the future. No risk, no reward. Toss this snake dude at me again. Give me Mercenary, Killjoy Ito, Stitches with razor blades dangling above the ring — I don't care. I came to take it back, baby. Take it all back."

"...take what back?"

Nightcall grins with warm enthusiasm.

"The night. It's not theirs anymore. Not if I have anything to say about it. Thanks for your time, Miss Lisa. This has been real."

He bundles up in his jacket and turns. Lisa Goldrush watches curiously as he heads down the hallway.

---

---

---

[Nightcall]

---

---

---

(FSW #97 | Part of a 3-on-3 Tag Team RP w/ Southern Express vs. Mean Girlz & El Gran Azul)


Harbor Beach
Oceanside, CA


Nightcall peered out into the predatory waves. A lawless loop of tire tracks marred the sands behind him like a giant intricate knot. The seagulls screeched out into the dark, unseen by all except the pedestrians high on top of the pier.

His convertible rested several leagues away.

He searched his pockets for his phone. With a tap of his thumb he pressed it against his ear.

"Hey Panda, you in town?”

Muffled words. NC nodded to himself, and sighed.

"Oh aight well you take it easy man. Holler when you can.”

He hung up and dialed again.

"Parker brah, you in the neighborhood?"

An indecipherable hum escaped the receiver. The Californian cleared his throat.

"Understood. Holler at me when you get back, okay? I'm in Cali and I miss you guys. Let's get a drink or something."

Nightcall pocketed his phone and inched closer to the shoreline. The pier above him was so bright it illuminated the sea.

He stared out into the horizon. The tide, like black oil, was moving in.

---

---

---

[Nightcall]

---

---

---

(FSW #97 | Part of a 3-on-3 Tag Team RP w/ Southern Express vs. Mean Girlz & El Gran Azul) [Ray Webber Introduction]


The Cow Palace
Daly City, CA


Nightcall had his bags over his shoulder as he left the parking deck. When he reached the rear Exit doors to the stadium, a wisp of a man that strikes an uncanny resemblance to Hunter S. Thompson pressed a slender microphone up against NC’s nose.

"Good evening Mr. Nightcall. Do you mind doing a quick interview with me?"

"Suppose not."

Webber pressed a button near his waist.

"This is Ray Webber reporting for Rope Break TV. I’m here with the colorful rookie Nightcall. NC, your hair. Let’s talk about it!"

The Night Dude glanced down at the reporter. Ray gawked. NC shifted his gaze to the microphone, and to where a camera would be recording if there was one. Instead, the microphone was connected to a dusty voice recorder strapped to Webber's belt like a fanny pack. NC grinned.

"I know. I look funny. I got a wicked hairdo. Should I be ashamed of having style? Nah. Long as folks are talking about me I'm living rent free inside their heads. I win, ain't that what everybody's grandma says? My tag team partners have rocked the mullet since I was a twinkle in my daddy's eye, and you think they have shame? Hell no! They blast their Ted Nugent and got no shame at all."

"Fascinating! How does it feel working with guys that wave around the Dixie flag?"

The rookie exhaled through his nostrils and into the microphone. He shifted his eyes to Ray Webber.

"Well, you may ask yourself: What does a Cali boy with a complexion like mine have in common with two old country boys? Answer is... enough. Enough to take out whatever posse that feels we can’t cut it in this technical-heavy sport."

"Surely you have reservations teaming up with Southern Express. What do you three possibly have in com-"

Nightcall waved him off.

"You know what we got? We got the road, Webber. That may not mean a whole helluva lot to most people, but for guys in this business I can’t think of a more mutual love. An appreciation borderin’ on religious, even."

The wrestler removed his sunglasses and placed them on top of his head. He looked at Ray Webber directly.

"We’re highwaymen. We ride that midnight interstate, baby. Lane crazy, steering wheel caressin’ madmen. Southern Express knows that feeling. Those dudes toured the country route by forgotten route. Look at their faces. Every wrinkle, every cut, every line of crow’s feet tells a story. A travelling epic. An odyssey. That’s Southern Express. One day I hope to have as many memories forged onto my skin. I wanna earn my age too. Burn that gasoline 'til I’ve reached my destination with a tale to tell."

Ray gave a small huff.

"EWC saw fit to have you three face a pair of women tonight. Do you have any thoughts on that?"

NC shook his head and glared up at the sky.

"I'm not diggin' the yellow journalism, brah. There’s always a clout-chaser that wants to focus on the negatives. If you follow me you’ll know that’s not how I roll. You can get that clout without the controversy. I’m sensational enough - I don’t need tabloids, dude."

He rested a hand on Ray’s shoulder.

"We were planning to face Lunch Time and Big. Can’t imagine the questions you’d ask about those guys."

The Night Dude took his other hand and flicked his sunglasses back over his eyes.

"But to answer your question, I know very little about them because there is very little about them. Mean Girlz drew with Diesel Punk on Friday Night Gambit beginnin' of this month. That draw was a double no-show. Now fair enough, maybe they were too busy with high school and couldn’t focus on being wrestlers. But back in April they lost to S.T. Now I don’t want to get a big head, but I think fate is on mine and the grizzly veterans’ side. Why should we win? A: We’re wrestlers unburdened by the hellscape of homecoming committees. They don't even go here...do they? And B: I wear pink every day. Only scrubs schedule outfits."

He cut Ray off before the interviewer could get a word in.

"And as for Azul, I had to do some serious digging, not gonna lie. He hasn’t been in the locker room in ages. He was supposed to fight back in November on FSW #91, but he had travel issues. So I had to keep searching, and I found that he had won a match last time back in September. Eight months ago. Like I said, man, hard not to feel a little hopeful about our chances. My feelings on my opponents are a double-edged sword though. I can’t imagine the amount of ring rust they will suffer through, and Southern Express and I can’t be the easiest crew to figure out on a dime. But I’m also feeling a little tooooo lucky so who knows."

He chuckled and shrugged.

"I’m spinnin’ that chamber, pulling that trigger, and hopin’ the bullet of fame don’t go to my head tonight."

Nightcall pat Ray’s shoulder and removed his hand.

"I’ll give you a story fit for Rope Break TV, brah. But I won’t give you clickbait. I'll give you the night. I'm taking it back!"

He headed inside the building.

---

---

---

[Nightcall]

---

---

---

(FSW #98 | VS. Ezio DeLuca)


Steak N' Shake
San Francisco, CA



Nightcall sat in a booth ignoring his burger; a full Reese's milkshake stood melting by his hand.

"I just don't get it," he muttered. "You feel bad for bullying gays...you come out, you lead by example...by playing into the bullies' hands. For what? Mind games? That don't sit right with me, brah. In a time when we could all use a hero, a redemptive figure that stands up for the rights of the oppressed, someone to bring light to the darkness, you choose to carry on like an old SNL skit. Because mind games. I don't respect you. Fuck, there it is. I wish I did. You could be someone bullies and bigots fear out of respect, not out of fear of being groped. You talk of redemption and I am here for it, but you're about as close to redemption as I am to gold, Ezio. And I got some ways to go."

He stopped in pseudo-prayer as a man came up to him. His voice was familiar.

"Mind if I...joined you?"

Ray Webber, shock journalist and Hunter S. Thompson lookalike, parked a seat across from Nightcall before he could answer.

"You really live the loner life, huh?"

"I don't want an interview."

"Ah, this is all off-record," Ray began, pulling out his voice recorder. He pressed a few buttons and placed it back down in his lap. "So, Ezio DeLuca. Want to share any thoughts about fighting a bisexual man?"

"Nah. I have no problem with sexuality. To me, it's all a spectrum. Sorry I can't give you a hot button topic this week."

"I told you Night Dude, this isn't going to be recorded. Just having a conversation."

"Sure."

Ray Webber waved the waitress over. "Can I get a glass of water? Thanks babe." Ray grabbed at napkins and glanced at Nightcall's plate. "Do you plan to eat, or...?

"Finding it hard to keep an appetite lately."

Ray grinned. "Is it about the turmoil out there right now? Want to talk about the country?"

Nightcall sighed, and drank his milkshake. The reporter eyed him with bated breath. NC locked eyes with him as he reached the bottom of the glass. He gave a satisfied smile and licked his lips.

"You know, there is one thing I don't like," The Night Dude said, getting to his swiss melt. "Netflix makes enough money to have an original series every week, and they still won't do a true wrestling show?" He smacked as he ate. "I mean, the interest is there with GLOW and their documentaries and putting syndicated Lucha on there. Not like indies aren't full of people that could use the exposure." He gave a small burp, and pat himself. "Not like Netflix can't go all out - I've seen Ultimate Beastmasters. Just...give us a taste man. It don't gotta be every week," He licked his fingers loudly. "Season that shit like a Thanksgiving entrée. You know what I'm saying?"

The journalist stared dumbfounded at Nightcall. The wrestler grabbed the napkin that was in Ray's hand and wiped his face with it. He placed it over the finished plate and leaned in.

"Don't come to me asking me how I feel about the world, Webber. I'm far from okay. We are all far from fucking okay right now. We're in debt. We're profiled, exploited, and flat fucking tired of it. If you looked up from your recording equipment you'd see your own sandbagged eyes."

Nightcall leaned back.

"I don't expect you to write something positive about me. Positive don't sell like a crisis does. I'm sure you need the money, but if you're gonna continue to fuck with me, whether I'm going into the arena or having dinner, then please, quote the truth. I am lonely. Haven't seen my friends in ages. It's like they moved on without me. I barely sleep, I just drive around SoCal. Only person I have talked to lately is you and a mobile Siri. I see what goes on out there and fuck man it's enough to drive anyone mad. I feel it...I'm reaching my breaking point. Take back the night. I won't be Ezio with my mantra. Redemption means nothing without action. I will take back the night."

Nightcall reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He placed a tip near the cup and tossed Ray a $20.

"Have a shake or two. They're really good here."

He headed out the door.

---

---

---

[Nightcall]

---

---

---

(FSW 98 | VS. Ezio DeLuca)


Outside Steak N' Shake
San Francisco, CA


Nightcall put his keys into the ignition, gave it a moment, and peered at his reflection from the rear view mirror. He turned the keys counter-clockwise and shut the engine off. He sat there quietly, hands on the wheel.

"I'm far from okay."

The wrestler opened the driver's side door and stepped out. It was another warm Cali night with no rain expected.

"We are all far from fucking okay right now."

Nightcall went to the rear, and unlocked it. The trunk popped open on its own.

Inside was a spare tire, a jack, a jump starter, and a tire iron. He grabbed the iron and slammed the trunk.

"I see what goes on out there and fuck man it's enough to drive anyone mad."

---

---

---