Restoring the British name.

by Miztacular Mon Feb 15, 2016 11:53 pm

The camera opens up to a gritty London evening, it's dark outside, the rain is spitting, streets are empty, with the exception of one man, Sebastian Crawford, who's back in England to spend some time with his family is just off to the local pub for a round with the lads. As he walks through the dark empty streets of London, street lights flicker and odd noises can be heard from the alleyways, Sebastian turns a corner to be greeted by three young hoodlums.

Hoodlum #1:
Oi bruv, give us wos' in you wallet if you wanna walk away from this.

Hoodlum #2:
Yeah and' it over..

Sebastian Crawford chuckles as he pushes through the three teenagers and continues to walk down the street.

Hoodlum #3:
Where the bloody ell' do you think you're goin'?

Sebastian turns round with a smile on his face only to notice that two of the hoodlums have pulled knives out of a compartment in their Nike AirMax Trainers. His smile quickly becomes serious as the teens approach him. Crawford looks to his right and sees a tire iron in the rubbish and picks it up, patting it on his hands as he smiles deviantly. The hoodlums push forward believing that Crawford is simply bluffing, but as soon as one enters his reach, Crawford swings with his tire iron and cracks one of the hoodlums in the face.

Hoodlum #3:
Cor Blimey, I've ad enuff of this..

The remaining hoodlums rush off as Crawford throws the tire iron to the floor and turns around to see five hooded figures.. Before Crawford opens his mouth, the figures part making way for a 6th man to walk through the group, a hood covering his face, he walks up to Crawford and begins to talk.

???:
Ah hell man, you think you was gonna get away with that? Nah homie, I can't be having that in my neighbourhood. You might be a big wrestler now, but yo ass is still little sebby to me fool.

The group surround Crawford who looks around figuring out his odds as the hooded man continues to speak.

???:
I ain't talkin' bout what you did to that kid neither, nah my bruddah. I'm talkin' bout this foreign affairs thing yous got gion' on. You embarrassing us homie. You embarrassing my crib, my livelihood well I can't be havin' that you feel me?

Crawford, sensing that shit is about to get real elbows the tallest of the bunch knocking him to the floor, the man who was speaking steps back as the remaining four men overpower the voice of foreign affairs and kick him to the dirt. The hooded man comes back into the fray with a crowbar and some rope. He gestures at the others to hoist Crawford up and tie his hands above his head around the streetlight leaving Crawford standing defenceless.

???:
It's time for me to fix these wrongdoings famalam, I'm gon' go over to that fatass country an ima eliminate all of your foreign affair buddy's and bring back prestige to the British nation, you feel me?

Crawford spits in the face of the hooded man, who instantly replies by swinging his crowbar against the knee of Crawford, hooking it in, and then wrenching it out, popping the kneecap, Crawford screams in agony as he drops to one knee, the hooded man chuckles under his breath before lighting a cigarette, giving it a cheeky puff and then pressing it against the skin of Sebastian Crawford leading to further screaming, The hooded man turns to the camera and talks momentarily.

???:
Mike Miles, yo ass is next.