We open in a very curious locale, one that is only vaguely familiar to us as bold letters inform us this is “A RANDALL SCHWARTZ PRODUCTION”…but the man of the hour is nowhere in sight. It’s cold here, a bit of snow still lingering from the long winter months even in the middle of April. After a moment, it becomes clear just where we find ourselves: the clearing where we last saw the Entertainer, before his…excursion, beyond the scope of our understanding.
We don’t dwell on this realization for long before the sound of rushing wind draws our attention to the center of the clearing, where a black hole has formed before our very eyes.
Suddenly, a flash of light blinds us from seeing what happens next…but we soon see Randall Schwartz drop to the ground with a thud, and the black hole disappears just as quickly as it formed. Randall brings himself to his feet, brushing the dust and dirt off his suit when he notices a slip of paper next to his feet. He bends over to pick it up, chuckling as he flicks the dirt off.
“Well would ya look at that…my wrestler’s license.”
He stuffs the paper back into his suit pocket with a smile on his face, only to notice his camera crew have arrived on the scene.
“Oh? What brings you out this way?”
We hear but a mumble from offscreen, but the gist of the message becomes clear with the reaction from Randall, an appropriately confused look on his face.
“What’d you mean, where have I been? Oh, if I got into that I’d be here all night…and I’m far too cold for that. So, if you’ll excuse me–”
Randall is interrupted by further offscreen muttering, which only further perplexes the Entertainer.
“What’d you mean, I’m booked!? I’ve been GONE, man! How would they–”
A little more muttering, this time drawing some frustration from Randall.
“Ah, I see now. Yeah, it sounds like Bobby Dean wants revenge from when I left him high and dry against The Bolts. I don’t regret that decision, by the way. Not with the sights I got to see thanks to Mr. Wehzl. What a fun week I had exploring–”
Some more confused muttering from offscreen.
“Wait, it’s April now!? Well, that just made this match all the more interesting then. My birthday’s coming up soon, and I’d love nothing more than to celebrate with a win over Brunchfast Barry.”
This is met with silence for a moment, before some quiet mutter frustrates Randall even further.
“Look, I don’t care what his name is. I’ve been through a little too much to stress about semantics! Whatever he wants to call himself, the end result is the same. My little excursion has not made me any less capable in the ring, and to make things even better…”
Randall pulls the paper out of his pocket, a grin on his face.
“…I found my wrestler’s license again. That’s great news for me, and terrible news for YOU Mr. Larry. Your buddy Bobby Dean saw fit to keep me from competing in Classic Wrestling, but with this simple piece of paper I will enact my revenge!”
Randall slips the license back in his pocket, shouting to someone in the distance.
“Now please, fetch me a blanket or something! I’m cold as all get out.”
With that, a stagehand rushes onto the scene with a blanket, covering a now-shivering Schwartz up as we fade to black.