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First episode of Chillin' With Colt with the new set.

The scene fades in on the brand new, never before used ‘Chillin’ With Colt’ set. A modernized desk sits on top of a retro seventies carpet. Attached to the front of said desk is a large LED screen that displays the web shows logo. To the left of the desk is a yellow leather sectional, and a glass coffee table that is centered perfectly in front of it. On top of the table, a large, round fishbowl rests that acts as the residence for a single goldfish.

Thorpe O/S: Pretty fuckin’ fancy.

Colton Thorpe walks into the frame, taking in his new set for the first time. In his right hand, he has a firm grip on the strap to his Wildfire Championship, the other end of the belt dragging across the floor. As he walks past the sectional, he runs his hand across its surface.

Thorpe: Genuine leather too, nice. They really went all out, didn’t they?

Walking past the sofa, he crouches infront the fishbowl. Tapping gently on it’s exterior, he watches the ripple effect he is causing while the fish does frantic laps within. Standing back up, he tosses his Championship onto the top of the desk, taking notice of the LED screen attached to the front it.

Thorpe: This thing have cable? Satellite? Either way, looks pretty expensive.

Walking behind his desk, he plops his ass down into the ergonomical chair. He sits up, then attempts to slouch. He lifts out of the chair, tries to readjust, then finally just settles.

Thorpe: It’s no stack of milk crates, but it’ll do, I suppose.

Pulling the laptop closer towards him, he starts tapping furiously at the keys, horrible form too, using only his index fingers. After a few moments of ignoring the camera recording him while he plays on his new toy, the LED screen on the desk changes from the shows logo too…

Antoine Dodson: Weeeellll, obviously we have a rapist in Lincoln Park. He’s climbin’ in your window, he’s snatchin’ yo people up, trying’ to rape em. So, you need to hide yo kids, hide yo wife, and hide yo husband because they be rapin everybody out here…

As Colt begins to play the famous viral YouTube video on his laptop, it also streams on the LED screen, and booms through the sound system hanging overhead. Colt looks up, slightly startled by the noise from above. Standing up, he leans overtop the desk, looking at the video playing on the screen in front. Sitting down, his shit eating grin emerges.

Thorpe: My, oh my. We are going to have some fun with this.

Colt turns off the video on his laptop, the LED screen switching back to the CWC logo.

Thorpe: Everyone! Welcome to Chillin’ With Colt! Seeing as the Alliance has invested some of their cash flow into the hottest show on the web today, I decided what better way to repay them than by producing my best episode to date. And for it to be the best episode yet, I needed to find the best guest possible as I trek into this new era of Chillin’.

Colt stands from his seat, and readjusts his leather jacket as he does so.

Thorpe: That guest is a man who has physically dominated his opposition since day number one. A man whose success hasn’t hinged on the support system of other superstars. A man who has racked up multiple, impressive accolades during his short tenure here. That man, ladies and gentleman, is our NEEEEEEEW WILDFIRE CHAMPION! COOOOOOLTON THOOOOOORRRRPE!

Colt laughs as he drops down into his chair. Grabbing his title on the desktop, he slings it over his shoulder before kicking his feet up, resting them where it once laid.

Thorpe: You see, this right here is a very special episode, and there isn’t anyone who deserves to sit on that couch tonight. I mean, in all honesty it wouldn’t be too fair to expect anyone to sit in the shadow my grand list of accomplishments has cast, and wallow in their self pity.

Colt points over toward the sofa as he speaks.

Thorpe: Just take a close look at that list. I was gifted this new, luxurious CWC set from the powers that be. I was awarded superstar of the week honors, yet again. And I won this prized possession mere days ago, in convincing, dominating fashion, may I add.

As he finishes his sentence, Colt taps his knuckles on the center plate of his title.

Thorpe: And that was only THIS week's accomplishments.

Colt drops his feet to the floor, his chair springing forward.

Thorpe: But as big of a week as it was, unfortunately this right here is the only chance I've been afforded to celebrate with the world. Unlike Blanca after his big title match, I don’t get to parade around our flagship programs, while everyone else picks of the slack in the ring.

Colt shakes his head disapprovingly.

Thorpe: No, this company simply could not have their marquee star sitting on the sidelines for any length of time. So in place of my much deserved fiesta on Victory, the faithful of the UTA universe will instead be treated to a fatal four way for my title.

The tone in Colt’s voice is void of any excitement as he mentions his upcoming title defense.

Thorpe: Hussain gets his contractually obligated rematch. Hall gets yet another opportunity handed to him, literally a show after squandering one for the now retired tag titles. And Murray will be doing what he does best, piggy backing on the rocketship of success I’ve created, hoping to reach similar heights without any of the hard work or effort.

Colt begins typing on his laptop in search of something, as he does his best to keep an eye on the camera this time. As his words trail off slowly, he appears to have found what he’s looking for, turning his attention back to the camera.

Thorpe: But fear not loyal CWC followers, for our party is nowhere near it’s conclusion. Things may seem bleak, and things may feel dreary, but when that evening comes to a close in Johannesburg, I’ll be dancing in the streets, just like I was in Rio.

Standing from his chair, Colt repositions the title that is draped over his shoulder. He flashes his trademark smile, as he reaches down with an index finger towards his laptop's mouse touchpad.

Thorpe: I want to leave things on a positive note tonight, because there is much to celebrate. I know I have to turn my attention to an impending threat, but there is no reason you, the good people who follow Colt religiously, can’t bask in my glory just a little longer. Thanks for joining, and tune in next time where you might catch Eric Dane, my old buddy Quinlan, or hell, even Santa Claus, Chillin’ With Colt.



The scene fades out on the Chillin’ With Colt set, and after a brief moment of darkness, fades back in on AbH flying off the top rope. The Arabian Knight – a twisting Shooting Star Press – is picture perfect…

… unfortunately, so is Colton Thorpe’s timing.

Fury: OH MY GOD!


Colt pays for his desperate act. The impact on his bum knee is huge, and the pain is sharp and unrelenting. He smashes a clenched fist into the mat and when he sees Abdul’s body, there’s only one option.

Williams: Thorpe starts a slow crawl towards the Champion, but was that his last roll of the dice?!

Fury: It was either that or lose the match there and then, Jen! Colt’s hurt himself, sure, but he’s given himself a chance, and that’s more than he’d have had if Abdul had landed the Arabian Knight!

He eventually reaches AbH, but he doesn’t go for a pinfall. Instead he scrambles up onto the champion, wraps an arm around his head and neck, then leverages AbH backwards and drops his own shoulder to the mat.


Colt pulls back hard, wailing with every little tweak. AbH thrashes violently, clawing for a rope… but he’s too far away, and Thorpe’s got him tied-up too tightly.

Fury: Is this it?! Is this the end!?

Williams: Colt’s forearm is WEDGED into Abdul’s throat, Dick! He might not have a choice!

Abdul Bin Hussain struggles with every fibre of his being.

He tries to wedge his head free of Colt’s grasp and he throws wild shot after wild shot into his ribs, but slowly, ever-so-slowly, the punches weaken in strength.

AbH’s body starts to fail him, and he has no choice.



It takes the referee’s full strength to help the war-wounded Thorpe to his feet, but when he’s up, Colt takes the Wildfire Title belt and hoists it proudly above his head.

Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemen your winner… and NEW UTA Wildfire Champion… COLTTTTTOOOONNNNN THOOOOORRRRRPPPPPPPEEEEEE!

Williams: What a huge, HUGE performance from Colton Thorpe, Dick! I can’t imagine the level of pain he’s in at the moment!

Fury: Colt was a split-second away from winning this match, but a moment of quick thinking – and extreme pain – kept the dream alive! And to submit a man of Abdul Bin Hussain’s resolve? Wow.

Williams: Take nothing away from AbH, who looked utterly dominant at times, but Colt was operating on a completely different level tonight! What a match!

Inevitably, Colt’s thoughts turn to ringside, where Cayle Murray is stood – perhaps surprising, perhaps not – applauding the new champion. A wide grin stretches across Thorpe’s features before he hits the deck, rolls out of the ring and leans against the barrier, holding the belt in Murray’s face.

Williams: Come on now, this isn’t necessary…

Fury: Buy the ticket, take the ride! If he didn’t want to endure this, he shouldn’t have come down.

The new Wildfire Champion edges closer and closer to Murray and holds the Championship mere inches from his rival’s face as he mouths-off. Cayle lowers his hands and clenches his fists, ready for a fight, when two referees arrive on the scene, wedging themselves between the two grapplers.

Williams: Wisely this one is defused before it becomes a real situation, but this rivalry between Cayle Murray and Colton Thorpe is dangerously close to reaching boiling point.

Fury: Dick thinks it’s only a matter of time before these two are smacking each other around a UTA arena, and things are only gonna get worse now that Colt’s a champion!

Williams: Full credit to Cayle Murray for having the restraint not to be goaded into a fight, but it looks like the tension between these two has only grown since Ring King. Goodnight, folks!


The scene fades to black.