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Monday, July 28, 2025

The Adventures of the Misfits of Mayhem - Episode 4: Ace's Story

 


The Adventures of the Misfits of Mayhem - Episode 4: Ace’s Story

Everyone has a breaking point—and Ace MacDougall has reached his.

Lady Molly confronts the Misfits’ manager with evidence, suspicion… and his own haunted past.

As the truth unravels, a tearful confession reveals: Flippers was more than a mascot… and Ace’s mistake may cost them everything.



Opening Scene

Interior – North Pole Arena, Temporary Investigation Office – Early Morning

The icy winds whistle faintly outside the arena walls, muffled by thick stone and snow. Inside, the air is calm but charged with tension. A modest but organized office has been assembled—an antique desk, a couple of chairs, and a corkboard behind it cluttered with red thread and crime scene photos of Flippers’ abduction.

Lady Molly of Scotland Yard sits at her desk, poised and composed, her gloved fingers gently clasped atop a leather-bound notebook. She wears a deep navy coat with brass buttons and a silk scarf pinned with a gold brooch. A cup of steaming Earl Grey rests beside her case file labeled:

Subject: Ace MacDougal

There’s a knock at the door.

LADY MOLLY
(firm but polite)
Enter.

The door creaks open and in steps Ace MacDougal—a broad-shouldered Scotsman with a rumpled suit, tartan vest, and windswept hair like a man who tried to comb it but gave up halfway. He’s got a warm but harried look on his face, eyes searching the room like he’s still half-expecting to find Flippers curled up on a chair.

ACE MACDOUGAL
(with a wobbly smile)
Well now, this is posh, isn’t it? You Yard folk really know how to set a mood. Hope I’m not late—took me three wrong turns and a ride on a popcorn cart to find this office.

LADY MOLLY
(graciously gesturing to the seat across from her)
You’re right on time, Mr. MacDougal. Please, have a seat.

ACE MACDOUGAL
(sinking into the chair with a sigh)
Call me Ace, luv. Everyone does. Except me Aunt Morag—she calls me “boy” and throws slippers.

Lady Molly allows the smallest of smiles, then opens her notebook.

LADY MOLLY
Ace, thank you for coming. I know this investigation has taken a toll on many, but I appreciate your cooperation.

ACE MACDOUGAL
(sincerely)
Aye, I’d do anything to help. I know I look like a clown in a circus half the time—but I love that wee penguin like he was my own. I just want him back safe… no games, no gimmicks. Just Flippers home, right where he belongs—with us.

Lady Molly studies him for a moment, her expression unreadable.

LADY MOLLY
That’s what we’re all hoping for, Mr. MacDougal. Let’s begin.

She reaches for her pen as the camera pans slowly to the corkboard of suspects, and the quiet tick of the clock grows louder… louder…

Lady Molly lifts her pen, flipping to the first page of her notepad with practiced precision. Ace MacDougal shifts slightly in the chair, folding his large hands over his stomach as he leans forward, eyes earnest. The room is quiet except for the ticking of the clock on the wall behind her.

LADY MOLLY
Let’s begin with something seemingly small—but in my experience, Mr. MacDougal, the smallest pebbles can cause the largest ripples.
Why did you show the Truth Hurts video of Dave Kent before the night’s matches?

ACE MACDOUGAL
(chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck)
Ah, that? Look—I didn’t mean any harm, truly. I just thought it was funny, you know? Dave Kent, always out there ripping folks apart with his words like he's the highland judge of wrestling… and then to see him get roasted on live TV by that smug windbag Truth Wayne? It was poetic!

(He shrugs a bit, then grows more serious.)

But I didn’t realize Hammer was going to pick that exact moment to go full broadcast psychoanalysis on him during Chill Factor, or that Dave would storm off in a full-on hissy fit. Thought he had thicker skin than that, honestly. If I’d known it would throw the show off that much… well… I might’ve waited ‘til after the matches to pass around the laughs.

LADY MOLLY
(gently jotting a note)
You didn’t consider that triggering such a reaction, particularly before the main event, might disrupt the entire backstage rhythm? That it could create… the perfect distraction?

ACE MACDOUGAL
(eyes narrow slightly, defensive but not hostile)
I wasn’t trying to sabotage anything, if that’s what you're fishing for. It was just a joke. Poorly timed, maybe. But not a setup.

Lady Molly regards him carefully, then turns the page.

LADY MOLLY
Let’s move on.

LADY MOLLY
Why did you ask Mr. Scrooge to come to Chill Factor, Mr. MacDougal?

Ace leans back slightly, folding his arms with a mild huff.

ACE MACDOUGAL
Oh, that one’s simple. I asked him to come so I could hand over the signed contract for the Misfits to face the Polar Bears. After that promo on Polar Power—you remember the one, all bluster and ice blocks—I didn’t want anyone accusing us of duckin’ them.

(He raises a brow with pride.)
Madman Mason and Negropolis are champions, sure, but they don’t back down from a challenge. I figured it’d look better if Scrooge got it in person—make it official, like.

LADY MOLLY
(without missing a beat)
Curious then… You told Mr. Mason and Mr. Negropolis that the Polar Bears may have taken Flippers to get a title match. But according to you now… that match was already signed.

The silence tightens. Ace fidgets, his face flickering between confusion and defense. He rubs the bridge of his nose with a big calloused hand.

ACE MACDOUGAL
Aye, well… I took quite the wallop on the head that night, didn’t I? Memory’s been a bit like spilled cocoa ever since.
I must’ve just… got my wires crossed. Wasn’t thinking straight. Between the adrenaline, the shouting, the busted furniture—and Flippers missing—it’s all a bit scrambled, you know?

Lady Molly studies him in silence, her pen still. She doesn’t say whether she believes him… and that silence is deafening.

LADY MOLLY
I see. Let’s continue.

LADY MOLLY
Multiple witnesses backstage confirmed that they saw you handing papers to Mr. Scrooge.
What were those documents?

ACE MACDOUGAL
(without hesitation, a bit too quick)
That contract, of course. The match agreement for the Misfits to face the Polar Bears. Nothing else.

(He holds up his hands with exaggerated innocence.)
No secret memos, no sinister scrolls, no classified North Pole intel. Just a plain ol’ wrestling contract. Stamped and signed. Probably still has a smudge of fish oil on it from Flippers sittin' on my desk earlier.

LADY MOLLY
(arching a brow, unconvinced but saying nothing)
I see.

She scribbles a short note, then flips the page.

LADY MOLLY
Several backstage cameras were mysteriously offline that night. A repairman was seen working near the panels.
Do you know who authorized that maintenance?

ACE MACDOUGAL
(shaking his head slowly)
No clue, lass. I just assumed it was routine arena stuff.
But aye—he was an odd duck, now that you mention it. Big lad, wore a jumpsuit with no name badge. Didn’t say much—just sort of grunted when I said hello, like a man who’d forgotten how to people. But I didn’t think anything of it.

(He shifts in his chair, suddenly more alert.)
Wait a second… are you sayin’ you think he was involved in Flippers’ kidnapping?

LADY MOLLY
(noncommittal, eyes still on her notes)
I’m the one asking questions, Mr. MacDougal. Let’s proceed.

LADY MOLLY
Mr. MacDougal, could you walk me through exactly what happened in the dressing room the night Flippers disappeared—step by step?

ACE MACDOUGAL
(draws in a long breath, visibly rattled as he recalls the night)
Right, so… Flippers was in his wee cage—he had just settled in for his nap, bless him. I was watching the main event on the monitor, cheering the lads on, y’know?
And then—boom!—the door burst open like a blizzard off the coast of Aberdeen.

(He leans forward, gesturing with his hands.)
I barely had time to stand before—whack!—I took a chair right to the head. Dropped like a sack of flour. Didn’t even see who swung it. Think there were two… maybe three figures? I can't be sure—shadows, noise, chaos… I was out cold.

(Ace pauses, rubbing the side of his temple as if it still ached.)
Next thing I know, Mason and Negropolis are shaking me awake. Everything’s smashed up… and Flippers—he’s gone.

LADY MOLLY
(quietly jotting, not looking up)
So to clarify—you never saw their faces? Heard no voices?

ACE MACDOUGAL
Not a one. It all happened so fast. Like ghosts in a snowstorm.

LADY MOLLY
Mr. MacDougal… how did your blood end up on the inside of the dressing room door?

(She gently slides a file across the desk. Ace looks down. The photo shows the doorframe: intact jamb, a crack through the panel, and a small splatter of blood, clearly labeled Sample #1.)

LADY MOLLY (calm but firm)
The door wasn’t broken in, Mr. MacDougal. It was broken outward.
And the blood we collected from it? Yours. Verified by our lab.

(Ace stares at the photo, face blanching. He’s visibly shaken. His mouth opens, then closes again. Finally, he mutters:)

ACE MACDOUGAL
More I think about that night… maybe I didn’t go down clean from that first chair shot. Maybe I was just stunned—dazed.

(He leans forward, as if piecing it together for himself in real time.)
Then—aye… I remember someone grabbing me. Strong grip. Next thing I know, I’m getting slammed into the door. That could've been what broke it… and finished me off. I was out cold after that, I swear on it.

LADY MOLLY (eyes narrowing slightly)
That’s curious. Earlier, you said the door burst open. But now you're saying it wasn’t broken until you were thrown into it?

ACE MACDOUGAL (trying to stay steady)
The door did burst open. I remember that! But it didn’t break right then—it just flew open. Must not have been locked proper. I… I guess I forgot to lock it.

(He looks down, guilt flashing across his face. His voice wavers as he adds softly:)
If I hadn’t forgotten… maybe they wouldn’t’ve gotten Flippers.

(A tear wells in the corner of his eye, but he wipes it away with the sleeve of his coat. For once, the jovial Scotsman is dead serious.)

LADY MOLLY
I see.

(She watches him for a moment, reading every nuance in his body language.)

LADY MOLLY
You claimed to be injured during the abduction… yet the medical team who examined you reported no wounds consistent with a violent attack.
No contusions, no lacerations… not even a proper bump.
Can you explain that?

ACE MACDOUGAL
(shifting uncomfortably in his seat, jaw tightening)
Aye, well—look at me. I’m a big burly fella. Tougher than most. It takes a lot more than a folding chair and a bump on the head to leave a mark on this.

(He tries to laugh it off, but it doesn’t land.)
I was attacked. I was knocked out. Just ‘cause I don’t look like I was tossed down a mountain doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!

(His voice sharpens—clearly defensive now.)
What are you implying, Lady Molly? That I made it up? That I’m in on this?

LADY MOLLY
(cool as snow, voice soft but firm)
I’m not implying anything, Mr. MacDougal. I’m simply seeking the truth.
And truth, you see… leaves bruises.

(A tense silence settles as Ace fidgets in his seat, trying to hold her gaze—but visibly rattled.)

LADY MOLLY
Tell me, Mr. MacDougal… what does Flippers really mean to you?

(For a moment, Ace stiffens, lips pressed tight. Then the bravado crumbles like snow underfoot. His eyes water. He tries to hold it back—but fails. Tears streak down his flushed cheeks as his voice breaks.)

ACE MACDOUGAL
I love that little guy… I really do.

(He presses a large, calloused hand to his heart, voice trembling.)
Flippers—he’s not just a mascot, or some gimmick. He’s the soul of the Misfits.
He keeps Mason steady, even calms old Negropolis at times—aye, believe it or not.
Fans adore him, kids adore him… we adore him.

(He buries his face in his hands for a moment before whispering:)
I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt him. Not ever.

LADY MOLLY
(quietly, letting the silence sit before speaking again)
Thank you for your honesty, Mr. MacDougal.

(Lady Molly reaches into her neatly organized file folder and slides a stapled document across the desk—its cover page reads: “NPCW Talent Contract – Misfits of Mayhem.”)

LADY MOLLY
Let’s talk about this.

(She waits as Ace glances down, thumbing quickly through the highlighted clauses. Then, she leans in—voice calm, yet surgical.)

Tell me about the Misfits’ contract with NPCW…
And how that might have impacted Flippers.

(She taps the clause with her gloved finger.)

It seems Flippers—your beloved mascot—is listed not as a living member of the faction… but as merchandising property.
And what’s more: the rights to his likeness, appearances, and branding were signed over entirely to Ebeneezer Scrooge.

(Her voice doesn’t rise—but her stare sharpens.)
If you truly cared for him… why would you let that happen?

(Ace’s face turns ghostly pale. His fingers tighten around the contract. He swallows hard, as though trying to keep the answer down.)

ACE MACDOUGAL
Well… you see…

(His voice cracks slightly, the confidence gone again.)
I don’t think Mason or Negropolis really understood how big Flippers was getting. The merchandise, the fan response—it was exploding. And… and I thought they were missing the opportunity.

Scrooge—he’s a master of marketing. Of money.
If anyone knew how to take Flippers to the next level—it was him.

(His tone is desperate now, trying to justify the decision.)
It made business sense, Lady Molly. A little short-term discomfort… for a better future. I—I didn’t think—

(He trails off, voice sinking into a guilty whisper.)
It was just business. Just… business.

LADY MOLLY
(quietly, but firmly)
Some souls… don’t survive “just business,” Mr. MacDougal.

(Lady Molly folds her hands, then gently tilts her head—tone polite, but not pulling any punches.)

LADY MOLLY
You were once an adventure pilot, Mr. MacDougall. A man of daring and flight, known across both poles.

So why walk away from the skies…
to become a wrestling manager?

(She gives a small, refined smile.)
Forgive me, but it’s quite the pivot—from clouds to canvas. I wonder what truly grounded you?

ACE MACDOUGAL
(chuckling faintly, eyes drifting as if remembering a wild memory)
Aye… it is a strange story.

See, I met Negropolis and Madman Mason at the South Pole, of all places. I was doing a solo run—supply flight—and ended up grounded during a freak storm. Those two were there on some barmy mission of their own… We bonded over blizzards, bad stew, and borderline frostbite.

(His smile fades slightly.)
But it was after the plane went down—crashed hard in the jungles of South America—that we really saw each other’s mettle.
Survived snakes, swamps, and a giant tag team!.\

That trip north—to the North Pole?
It wasn’t just miles. It was proof. Proof those boys had steel in their bones and fire in their hearts.

When we got here, I didn’t just want to fly anymore. I wanted to be part of something.
So I offered to manage them.

(He shrugs, with that unmistakable Ace MacDougal grin breaking through the stress for a moment.)
The skies will always be there… but friends like those? They don’t come around twice.

LADY MOLLY
(calmly, her tone clipped and precise)
Mr. MacDougal…
What is your relationship with Count Vlad?

(The air in the room chills. Ace blinks, caught off guard. His jovial face falters—shoulders slumping, head lowering as if a weight has just been dropped onto his chest.)

ACE MACDOUGAL
(softly)
How much do you know?

(Lady Molly smiles without malice, her hands delicately folding together atop her notebook.)

LADY MOLLY
Why don’t you tell me…
in your own words?

ACE MACDOUGAL
(takes a long breath, eyes distant)
Then I suppose we start at the very beginning…

I was just a wee lad back in Scotland, dreaming of soaring the skies in an RAF Spitfire. Wanted to be the next Archie McKellar—hero of the Battle of Britain.

(He chuckles bitterly.)
Turns out, I was good… but not quite good enough. Washed out during officer selection. Crushed me.

Started drinking. Making poor choices. My granddad—bless his flinty soul—laid me over his knee like a toddler and spanked the sense back into me.

He passed not long after… left me a modest inheritance. I used it to buy my first cargo plane and started a little outfit: MacDougal’s Aerial Services.
Adventure tours, light freight, you name it.

But, I’m no businessman. Never was. The books bled red. Eventually went bankrupt.

That’s how I ended up in Eastern Europe—flying for whoever had cash.
Medical freight, salvage gear, antiques… some of it dodgy. I didn’t ask too many questions.

(He leans in slightly, his voice growing quieter.)
That’s when I first came across Count Vlad.

At first, it was just an intermediary. Mysterious jobs, Romania to England. The cargo?
Heavy. Bulky. Wrapped in tarps and silence.

But I never looked. Never wanted to.

They liked my work. And eventually… I met him.

Vlad offered me a fat stack to do a few transatlantic runs—from England to the U.S. No questions asked. I took it. That money kept me flying when nothing else could.

After that, I drifted back into adventure flying—South America, Antarctica. Thought I’d left those old ghosts behind.

Then, out of the blue, I got a message. A job offer from Vlad again.
Said he had special cargo waiting at the South Pole.

That cargo… turned out to be Madman Mason and Negropolis.

And the rest—well, you know it already.

LADY MOLLY
(studying him, softly but firmly)
Have you heard from Count Vlad… since then?

(Ace hesitates. Too long.)

ACE MACDOUGAL
No.
Not since he wired me the payment for that trip.

(A subtle shift in Lady Molly’s expression—she senses the deflection and moves in like a bloodhound.)

LADY MOLLY
Are you certain, Mr. MacDougal?

(A beat. Then Ace sighs. His shoulders lower again—but this time, in surrender.)

ACE MACDOUGAL
He… he asked me to stay with them.

To watch over them. Keep tabs.
He said it was important. Said they were meant for something more.

And aye—I agreed.
Not just for the coin… but because I believe in those two. Mason and Negropolis… they’re family to me now. I’d do anything to protect them.

LADY MOLLY

Her eyes narrow ever so slightly, voice calm but cutting.
“What is Count Vlad’s plan for Negropolis and Madman Mason, Mr. MacDougall?”

ACE MACDOUGALL

He leans back in the chair, the jovial mask slipping as a hint of genuine unease flickers across his eyes.
“Ach… now that’s the question, isn’t it?”
He exhales heavily.
“Truth is, lass… the only person who truly knows Vlad’s plans is Vlad himself. The man thinks five steps ahead—and never lets anyone see the whole board.”
He pauses, eyes flicking to the floor.
“But… if I were to hazard a guess… he didn’t expect the boys to succeed. Especially not like this. Champions. Heroes. Bloody fan favorites.”
He laughs bitterly.
“He sent them here to flounder, to keep Dark Dominion off the radar. And they went and built a bloody empire—with a penguin, no less.”

LADY MOLLY

“If Count Vlad believes he’s been betrayed… what would he do?”

ACE MACDOUGALL

The color drains slightly from his face. His voice lowers.
“Those who betray the Count…”
He swallows hard.
“…they don’t get warnings. They don’t get second chances. They disappear. Or worse.”
He locks eyes with her now, tone deadly serious.
“You don’t cross Vlad. Not without bleeding for it.”

Lady Molly rises from her chair as Ace MacDougall stumbles to his feet, his eyes red, his spirit cracked but lighter from confession. She gently places a hand on his arm.

LADY MOLLY
(softly, with warmth)
“You need to tell Negropolis and Mason the truth, Ace… the whole truth. They sound like family. And if that’s true… family can forgive.”

Ace wipes his face with a laugh-choked snort.

ACE MACDOUGALL
“Even after I lost their Flippers?”
He swallows.
“Aye… I’ll tell them. I promise, Lady Molly.”

LADY MOLLY
“Good man.”

Ace nods, then slowly exits the office, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. Molly takes a deep breath and turns back to her desk, her expression sharpening into something far more focused. She flips through her pages of notes and calls out toward the door.

LADY MOLLY
“Constable Jinglemark—if you would, please.”

The door opens quickly, and Constable Noel Jinglemark enters, file folder in hand, eager as always.

LADY MOLLY
“Question one, Noel—were any blood tests run on Mr. MacDougall at the hospital?”

CONSTABLE NOEL
“No, ma’am. His injuries weren’t serious, so the medics didn’t order any.”

Molly nods slowly, her brows narrowing in thought.

LADY MOLLY
“Very well. Question two—did we recover any remnants of the sandwich he mentioned? The sub?”

CONSTABLE NOEL
(brightening)
“Yes, we did! Found it in the wreckage of the dressing room—bits of it under the bench, some inside his duffel.”

LADY MOLLY
“And what happened to it?”

CONSTABLE NOEL
“We bagged and vacuum-sealed it. Logged it as Exhibit B-17. It’s in evidence storage.”

Lady Molly smiles, her eyes lighting with renewed direction.

LADY MOLLY
“Excellent. I’d like it tested immediately. Possible sedatives, tranquilizers, anything suspicious.”

CONSTABLE NOEL
“Right away, ma’am!”

Noel salutes (a bit too enthusiastically) and exits quickly. Molly sits again, pulling out her leather-bound notebook. With a fine-tip pen, she slowly writes two names at the top of a new page.

COUNT VLAD
Underlined twice.
JACK MASON???

She taps the page, then softly speaks to herself.

LADY MOLLY
“It’s time I met this Count Vlad for myself…”

She closes the notebook with a decisive snap as the camera pulls back slowly. A shadow falls across her desk as the hum of mystery deepens.


“Next Time on The Adventures of the Misfits of Mayhem…”
Episode 005 – The Count’s Gambit
Lady Molly calls the leader of HCW’s Dark Dominion, Count Vlad in for an interview. The Count is waiting… and so is the next twist.


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