The scene fades in from black to a dimly lit room, and a table is focused into view. About twenty black candles of varying heights are scattered throughout the table, along with a number of skulls which appear to be human. Dr. Devastation is shown sitting behind the table, on the floor. All seven-feet, four hundred pounds of him rocks back and forth, but not in a musical or rhythmic way but in the way you may see a psychiatric patient alone in his room alone. Random plumes of smoke explode from the candles on the table as their wicks begin to burn low. The camera pans around the table and focuses on Dr. Devastation’s face. His green pigtails hang over his poorly makeuped face. The red around his lips appears to be applied with his fingers, and the stains still remain on his fingertips.
Dr. Devastation: One match. Only one match to make my mark.
His voice squeals in an unrelentingly high pitch; like a pig cornered in a cage.
Dr. Devastation: Jack Fargo, you’ve been cursed!
His voice rings out loud, echoing off the cold cement walls.
Dr. Devastation: But don’t blame me, no! It was not I, but it was he who came before me. He who dwells below the Earth. He who does not answer to any name. He has given you to me as a gift. A sort of…peace offering. For he knows that I am the present and the future. He has given you to me! He was afraid that I would not accept, but I have! I have accepted you as his sacrifice!
Dr. Devastation snatches a Voodoo Doll from the table and shoves it right in front of the camera lens. The Voodoo Doll wears a brown coat, brown underwear, and black boots. It’s bronze hair hangs down low around it’s shoulders. It has black buttons for eyes, and a smile drawn on with a magic marker. Dr. Devastation shakes the doll ferociously in fron to the camera, his nailless fingers on full display..
Dr. Devastation: THIS IS YOU! HE GAVE YOU TO ME! YOU ARE MINE! I will do with you as I please!
He yanks his arm and the doll back before shoving the undersized doll into his shirt pocket, it’s arms propping the upper half of its body outside of the pocket.
Dr. Devastation: But not yet!
He waves his finger at the camera, his sinister grin stretching almost demonically from ear to ear. Blood trickles down into his decaying teeth from his top lip as he smiles to wide, cracking his lips in the process.
Dr. Devastation: Your time is coming!
Blood spray from his mouth on the camera lens, but the focus of the lens remains on him.
Dr. Devastation: And how fitting that it be on a Sunday…this Sunday. You will be mine, and you will feel the full ramifications of the curse that has been bestowed upon you by him and at long last, my reign of sickness will begin. I will spread my virus throughout Classic Wrestling, but you Jack Fargo. You will be the first contagion.
The sound of a music box playing a child’s tune is heard in the background. Dr. Devastation smiles once again, but this time he begins to rock back and forth. The deranged Dr. Devastation then begin to sing a long with the tune.
Dr. Devastation: One, two, D is comin’ for you!
He laughs maniacally as the tune continues to play.
Dr. Devastation: Three, four…better lock your door!
Again he laughs wildly. The skulls around the table suddenly burst into flame and lighten up the room. Smoke pours out of every orifice of the skulls as Dr. Devastation continues to rock back and forth, humming along with the music. The camera pans up and focuses on the cement walls as the flames flicker orange light onto them. The words “Jack Fargo” are written repeatedly on the walls in no discernable pattern, just violently random and camelcased. The letters are freshly written in what appears to be the blood of some kind of animal. Slowly the blood oozes down the walls to the cement floor as the scene fades to black.