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Thread: Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19

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    Fight Night Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19

    Please post your promos in here. The promo deadline is 23:59 PST on Wednesday, September 4th. This is 2:59 EST and 7:59 BST on Thursday, September 5th. Extensions are available on request up until 24 hours before deadline. Any request made after this WILL be automatically denied unless an emergency occurs. Extensions will also be granted to all participants in a match if one participant receives an extension.

    Rest in power, Flock U
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    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business

    Quote Originally Posted by Ed
    Stop the hating of the E-Feds. If you don't like something, that's fine, just ignore it and let the people who do enjoy what they're here on WC to do. Mocking them to make you feel less of a geek for being on a geek on a wrestling forum is lame. If you want to not read their posts, I can fix that for you.

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    Re: Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19

    We open up to a enclosed set as a couple of reporters for FWA are outside the home of one Sterling Jagger. They are all trying to get a peak inside the home of Jagger that has had the shades closed.

    Interviewer 1: I heard he hasn't come out all week.

    Interviewer 2: For a guy who suppose to be "Perfect Ten Plus" he sure has lost a lot lately.

    Interviewer 1: My guess is that he is having performance issues.

    Interviewer 2: Have you seen his matches I mean I wouldn't be surprised. I wonder how much longer we got to be here?

    Interviewer 1: We really got stuck with the bottom of the barrel this week.

    There is a pause as the door opens and we hear a voice say come on in.

    We go inside the house where the place looks trashed. A man walks out and its not Jagger.

    Interviewer 1: Who are you?

    The man who is in a nice black suit and sunglasses I am his manager.

    ???: My name is Atticus Jackson Drake you can call me AJ or Mr. Drake I am the manager of the man you call Sterling Jagger and I am here to inform you that he is not here.

    He had a mental breakdown over the weekend and has decided that he is in a voluntary rehab center.

    It seems to me that you people really don't know much about my client do you? See my client is just like everyone else he has his issues he has his problems. See my client grew up in a lifestyle that wasn't very glamourous and it wasn't very family friendly.

    He grew up in a broken home and he had a family that he never fit in to. He had a school where he wasn't the very best student in he didn't have very mean friends except for me. Yes me and him we go way back and I saw where he came from. I saw the struggles of someone who just wanted to belong that just wanted to be like everyone else and you people don't seem to accept that.

    My client didn't call himself the perfect ten plus because he was cocky or because he was arrogant he called himself that as a mindset that in your eyes you would accept him. You never did and he fall into the abyss and he was left alone. You people understand what it is like in this business don't you?

    The shit that goes on outside the ring? How you got to travel long distances to get from one place to another. Do you know how it feels to be universally hated? To have both the fans and the wrestlers hate you. He traveled alone... on the road for hours with nothing but the thoughts in his head and the words you people put in it.

    He has done that now for 6 months... He tried to ask for help by teaming up with Tommy Thunder and that was a cry for help because he was alone. He wanted a friend, he wanted someone to be there to teach him to guide him and behind every advance he made to bring a friendship Tommy Thunder turned his back. Tommy Thunder is as much of this blame as any of you.

    Tommy Thunder instead of bringing him closer decided time after time to belittle to ignore to take advantage of my client when he was at his lowest point. You got to ask yourself the question... What did Tommy Thunder do since he came to FWA he became nothing but a bully a user a predator preying on my client who did everything for that team.

    My client was the one who came up with the tag team name, that tried to improve with Thunder my client was the one who got them that title shot and did he ever get a pat on the back a Thank You?


    Instead he got the cold shoulder and that is what cost them the match.

    My client had deep respect for this business he had deep respect for Tommy Thunder but, when a cry for help a cry for a friend goes unanswered what do you do?

    You break,

    You find other vices,

    You allow something else take over your life. Take a damn good look around this place what do you see?

    Empty bottles of alcohol on the floor bottles of pills by his bed.

    Drake: I lived on the otherside of the country. I saw the person on TV and was happy at first because my friend turned his life around. I thought that until I got this call last week after the show at around 3 AM.

    Jagger: A....J...

    Jagger sounds drunk and messed up as he speaks.

    Jagger: A...J... I can't do this anymore. I am all alone and I am sitting in this empty house and I am thinking to myself what...would...happen...if I go away. I am so tired body...hurts... my mind is gone...I hear voices they are telling me things...none of them are very good...last week I cried for help on TV no one give a damn after the show the meeting they had with everyone it started without me....Hell Garcia was even there I mean...fuck...



    Drake: Luckily...he was ok when I got here but next time maybe he doesn't get that lucky.

    He is a human being just like everyone else...

    I will not allow to see my friend end up another statistic another lonely broken man living with the demons in his head because you people think it is ok to treat someone like human garbage.

    Tommy Thunder.... you are the biggest cause of this and know that those thoughts in his heads those demons he is dealing with they need to be dealt with and he is going to release all that shit on you. He is going to be there for your match this week. Except he is not going to be the same person you remember. No! this, man is disturbed and this man is vile and this man my client is going to break you like a twig. So why don't we make it interesting why don't we make this a No- DQ?

    Now the rest of you get the fuck out.

    Everyone leaves with a somber feel throughout the bunch as we fade to black.


    CWA World Heavyweight Champion
    ​Brayden Bridges

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    Re: Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19

    Her eyes…its all about her eyes. A deep brown and full of life, full of passion and eternally flickering with this almost unseen flame. But we all know its there, always there. Those eyes capture the Worlds attention, and none of us can look away. Those eyes captivate us all and hold us there, gazing into them until she smiles, a sickly sweet smile that consumes and radiates from her entire being as she finally releases us from under her spell. The Caramel Coated Goddess Of The Mountain is a Divine feast for the gift of sight indeed…and somehow seems to trigger other senses. We can almost feel the warmth of her soft skin, almost smell the scent of her perfume…there’s just something about the way she stands before us, something about the aura around her being, something about her that transcends this singular window into her World we view her through. Her Divinity shines through. She stands before us today as more than a Goddess, more than a Warrior Goddess, she is a General, OUR General bathed in that hue of Caramel. This is how she is dressed with her long dark brunette hair tied up neatly into a bun and resting under a military green Peaked Cap which is adorned with gold. Her luscious locks being tied away like that exposes her trademark gold hoop earrings, and her slender neck. Her body with those tantalising curves is barely concealed by the military green fabric of her short dress. It’s got a very short hemline, only covering a few inches of her thighs. But the neckline is even more astounding, it plunges low…very low. So low in fact that it shows off her diamond navel ring. Its an outfit that no ordinary General would ever wear, its an outfit that would make most mortal women blush, its an outfit meant for our Goddess. An outfit complimented by her knee-high black boots. An outfit that showcases her figure and reveals a seemingly impossible amount of cleavage. It’d be so easy to get lost in her beauty, to fixate upon her curves and their Caramel Coating, and this is a part of our Goddesses success. To the unwitting, the unknowing she is an astoundingly pretty face, a woman who could make a grand living just strutting around in designer clothing. But she is so much more than that and we know it. Her beauty hides and almost defies the Warrior within her. It’s a contradiction, she is a living contradiction…no one this beautiful should be so devious, so cunning, so deceptively dangerous. But she is, and its why we shower her with praise and adulation, its why we follow her.

    This should not be a Battlefield.

    Our final sense is finally engaged as her sweetly spoken words meet our ears.

    This should not be a War.

    Her words cease for a few moments as she stands before a replica Battlefield. There’s a Mountain reaching up into the figurative Heavens themselves in the middle of the scaled down Battlefield. A beautiful grassy landscape surrounds it, there’s tree’s, there’s streams, there’s even a cute little Castle. This is what our General Goddess is showing us today; the Battlefield that the FWA has become, the Battlefield that she oversees.

    But lines have been drawn, armies have been engaged, and ideologies have been proudly bandied about. Fools, cheats, braggarts, liars and even honourable men alike have worked themselves into this. Have created a War out of nothing, have drawn lines that should not exist. They have created issues that are irrelevant. They have distracted themselves from what matters, from what is the ultimate goal here…the Mountain Top.

    This is all that this truly is, I have people acting like my allegiances should lie one way or the other, when that is irrelevant. People acting like I should stand up and defend the FWA from an imaginary threat. This War is not a true War, what is being fought for doesn’t matter, and is simply nothing more than the insecurities of a few. But I have been dragged into the middle of this, and I fight not for their causes…but for the right to stand atop the Mountain. I will oversee all of this to ensure, and to guarantee that what it means to stand up there is not lessened anymore.

    Because that is the real issue here, I don’t see a war between the FWA and the CWA. I saw a man who didn’t deserve it being handed a chance at glory by his friend.

    But this is the role of the General, to see what others miss. To see what is truly at stake, to see what actually matters, and what must be fought for. It’s my responsibility to limit the casualties, and to ensure that the true goal is achieved. That the true target falls. All of this…its just smoke and mirrors, what matters is the FWA World Championship which is for now around Cyrus Truth’s waist.

    She pauses and surveys the Battlefield before her. Coming in from one side, from where the Castle is we see figures of Chris Kennedy, and Dave Sullivan, with Michael Garcia not far behind them. Opposite to them is a figurine of Cyrus Truth, with Krash off to his side, and Devin Golden further away again. Coming in from a similar angle but coming in by himself. The General Goddess smirks and her mesmerising eyes meet ours once again. Though somehow, someway we can tell she’s not looking at us, she’s just looking at just one of us.

    This isn’t the War they think it is, no matter how hard they try to make it seem so. Kennedy and Sullivan may scream of Betrayals and an Invasion, but don’t let them distract you from me Cyrus. Don’t let them cloud your mind anymore, and don’t let them make a fool out of you anymore. You think all my words are born out of a desire to have what you have…its not that simple Cyrus. Maybe its too complex for a man like you, but what you did was make a mockery out of everything that Championship is meant to stand for, when you handed a shot at it to your friend.

    I’ve been dragged into this mess, this phoney War…Its not my Battle, not my Cause. But Cyrus I haven’t backed down because I can’t let you do what you did and keep twisting your own mind into thinking it was right and justifiable. I cant let you do that, I cant let you keep trying to distract everyone from what you did. I cant let Dave, Chris and Michael keep trying to distract everyone from the real sin you committed.

    That intensity burns in her eyes as she keeps staring at “him”.

    Krash has paid for his hand in your sin, and you will burn soon enough Cyrus…

    She’s interrupted as a second figure joins we scene, we barely acknowledge them, just hear their voice as Gabrielle still holds the World’s attention captive.

    Unknown Voice:
    Goddess, there is someone else coming over the horizon…he’s coming not for the Mountain, but for you, straight for you.

    Gabrielle: It sounds like a Challenge is about to be laid.

    Unknown Voice: It is a man known as XYZ, his appearance on the Battlefield was not expected Goddess, but he does come straight for you.

    That Gabrielle Smirk, that playfully, deviously, sensually, sinfully Divine smirk of hers kisses her lips and greets our eyes.

    A General needs to have their fun. The concerns of overseeing this smoke and mirrors War do weigh upon me. Perhaps the arrival of this XYZ could be fun. Heading straight for me? Not for the Mountain? Not for any of the people waging this absurd War of theirs?

    Unknown Voice: No Goddess, he is coming only for you.

    Gabrielle: This…this could be just what I need. The demands of being a General, the demands of being a Judge, the demands of being a Goddess while the World around you is falling apart can be stressful and can be overwhelming. So X…I welcome your challenge, I accept your challenge…I embrace your challenge.

    I may even go as far as to say I admire you for having the fortitude to oppose me. This Gold all around me, these Medals all over me they’re not just meaningless props. They’ve all been earned…not even one was ever just handed to me by a friend. My accolades tell a history of success at the highest levels over and over again. You don’t become a General by accident after all X.

    I know you see all of this, I know you see men like Krash fall before me. You see men like Dave Sullivan humbled at my feet. You see men like Jason Randall giving everything they have, but it not quite being enough. You’ve seen it all week after week and yet you come to me upon this Battlefield not waving a white flag, but instead brandishing your arms as you attempt to overthrow a Divine General…your Goddess.

    That spell is lifted for a moment as we finally register the other person in a room. Some random man dressed in Military fatigues standing to attention out of the way of our Goddess. And where her gravity defying cleavage had consumed our attention minutes earlier now we finally register all the gold medals pinned to the minimalist fabric of her green dress. There’s a sweetness to her now, a softer edge to her aura once more. The rigours of War no longer consuming her, as her attention has shifted from the nonsense that has enveloped so many onto the challenge of the man known as XYZ.

    Some more insecure people may view this as disrespect, as an insult…a random Soldier daring to come at the General. But I’ve always welcomed the challenges of all those around me. You don’t get to where I am now without them, without people trying and failing to best oneself.

    But I do wonder, man who calls himself XYZ how much thought is put into this particular challenge. I’ve seen enough of you to know that I question your cognitive thinking. I cant help but wonder if you are able to truly process what it means to challenge a General. Do you understand what it takes to withstand the fury of a Goddess?

    Do you?

    Because this is nothing like beating Sterling Jagger. The physicality, the determination, the drive, the resolve, the sweat lost, and the physical toll it takes to best a man like Mr. Jagger…does not even compare to what it takes to simply stand across the ring from me. I have seen doubt consume grown men when that bell rings. Men who have made bold proclamations from afar, men who have dismissed my talents because of the curves of my body. All men who when they actually stand before have faltered.

    I doubt whether you are prepared for this X, I doubt whether you or anyone else around you like Big Al are truly prepared for this. So I ask of you to focus and to prepare yourself completely for what you are getting yourself into. Though I still question if you can. Are you all there?

    She pauses for a few moments, letting us just appreciate the sight of her as her words sink in.

    But do not take any of this as ill will X. I said before I can admire a man who comes for me, a man who surveys all that the FWA has to offer and decides to challenge The Goddess atop the Mountain. But I can also respect a man who strives to be a Hero, who aims to be a positive force, an inspiration. As a now all grown up little girl who dreamed of the life I now have, us dreamers always appreciate those who fight for us. For what can be more beautiful than a dream come true?

    Well…exceeding those dreams a hundred times over is pretty sweet.

    But what about you X; what is your dream?

    What is inspiring you? What is motivating you?

    Do you even know?

    Is it Fame? Fortune? Glory? Women?

    The Caramel Coated Goddess in her green dress and its plunging neckline glances downwards upon her own body. Admiring her own curves in a moment of sheer vanity and ego. She is a Goddess afterall, Divine Beings can engage in the Sins that Mortals cannot. A tantalising little smile forms upon her lips before she glances back up and upon us; her audience through that singular glass lens.

    You know what I just realised X? Your ring gear and what I’m wearing right now…they have the same plunging neckline. I think it’s a look that I pull off a little better than you do though.

    A teasing little giggle saunters forth from between her lips.

    This is exactly what I’ve needed X. This War, this phoney War is consuming so much around us, it is ensnaring so many around us. But you and I will stand on the outside of it all when you finally reach me. It will be like a Training Exercise for your General…but it will feel like the real thing for you X…

    A little wink; playful yet somehow devious is what ends our time with our Goddess as it all fades to black…

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    Re: Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19

    Mike turns over yet another page as he lends increasing support to holding his head upright. As the page thumps down completing the full turn, a cloud of dust forms, rises and trickles off towards the light illuminating the faint text on the page. A closer look at his surroundings indicate that Mike has been there for a considerable period of time. His head begins to drop even in spite of the support he is trying to provide to it but luckily, just when gravity is about to take over and bring his forehead crashing to the canvas, he jostles himself back to life momentarily and tries to focus his attention on the page in front. He rubs his eyes maniacally, murmurs to himself in an ill fated attempt to keep himself somewhat motivated and on point before slapping the literature in front of him which draws another cloud of dust to form which rises and trickles….you get the picture. It’s pretty much been on repeat, that is, until he is interrupted by three knocks at the door.

    Mike: “I told you that I was not to BE DISTURBED”

    As Mike began to speak that sentence, his croaky voice would’ve been lucky to have been heard by someone sitting on his lap but as he neared the end he probably would’ve damaged the ear drum of said person on his lap. Like a petulant child, he slaps his hands on the table as he gets to his feet and he marches towards the source of the knocking, the door that was bolted shut from the inside. He draws back the latch, and flings the door backwards with such force that upon closer inspection you would expect to see that the hinges had become displaced. Mike inhales deeply, ready to deliver his next statement in a tone befitting of the end of the first, before pausing in his tracks as he hasn’t come eye to eye with the disturbance, no, he has in fact come hip to eye with him. Parr looks down and in front of him stands little Connor, barely turned 8 years old. He is in his pyjamas, fittingly wrestling themed but curiously not Mike Parr themed (well…curious to Mike anyway), with a small candle and a cup of tea in hand but a look on his face like he has just seen his favourite cartoon character get castrated.

    “M-Mom s-said that y-you m-might ne-need this, Un-Unc-Uncle Mike?”

    There are two things to point out about this situation. The first, and plainly obvious one for anyone familiar with Mike Parr, is that he doesn’t talk about his extended family. Ever. Inwardly, it is actually a worry for him that he will never settle down and have a family of his own but he is too geared towards professional achievement to even think about bringing someone else that he is responsible for in the world. After all, what baby at home is going to impressed that Dad beat Cyrus Truth. The baby would probably just want a back rub and a burp. So these inward concerns lead to an exterior that screams at anyone that comes close to back away before they get hurt. So this is Connor, Mike’s first cousin, his mother’s sister’s son. Unfortunately for Mike, his mothers sister is far younger than his mother so it’s not like he has genetics in his favor if wanting to plant the family seed later in life when his wrestling career is done. Oh…and the second thing is that Mike truly cares for the child, and that is why he has the worst pang of guilt imaginable as poor little Connor can barely get his sentence out without fear of retaliation for doing nothing but offer his Uncle a cup of tea. For those of you that don’t know, a cup of tea is the answer to life’s problems if the asterisk to the problem is that alcohol isn’t appropriate. Mike ruffles the hair on his head gently as he responds with a smile.

    Mike: “Thank you Connor, come on in”

    That smile was not one of those forced smiles that you will see at any FWA convention that Mike has bene forced to attend, no, that was the real thing. He is fiercely loyal to those that he considers close to him but that, again, is another quality that he keeps well hidden. If people see you have a strong sense of loyalty they will get close to you, break you down, and exploit it when the time is right. The best defence to that is to never let your guard down, but the biggest drawback to never letting your guard down is the aforementioned going through life without any family of your own. Both Mike and Connor have now taken a seat in front of the literature, as Connor tilts his head to the left and then tilts his head to the right, trying to make head nor tail out of the text in front of him. It could be the fact he is only 8 years old or that he was trying to read it from a right angle, but either way Connor could not avoid asking the question.

    Connor: “Why are you reading ab-about the ro-roy-royals, Uncle Mike?

    Connor was slightly more at easy but still a bit hesitant to ask any questions given how his first knock at the door went. He had nothing to fear, however, as this time Mike smiles once more, making eye contact with the boy to re-assure him that he is safe here, before addressing his concerns. First, of course, he takes a sip of the greatest cup of tea this side of the Atlantic.

    Mike: “Because Connor, whether it be in any sport or game that you might play at school or whether it is in what I do for a living, the key to getting the best result is to understand who you are up against. And with that understanding of who you are up against, you need to find a purpose that will drive you forward. If you are playing soccer, you need to know where to get that extra breath to make it to the ball. If you are wrestling, you need to know how to get that extra energy to pick yourself back up and face your opponent down. You know who I’m set to face next week, don’t you?”

    A redundant question, Mike had barely finished the sentence before he got an immediate retort.

    Connor: Dave Sullivan!!!

    Mike: “Yes, Connor, that’s very good, and what does Dave Sullivan call himself?”

    Connor: “The King!!!”

    Mike: “Exactly Connor, very good! So I obviously don’t want to lose to Dave next week, do I? Well….let me tell you a story Connor..”

    Connor shuffles in his seat, as if to sink his ass into the chair if it wasn’t only made of wood, but whatever makes him comfortable will have to do.

    Mike: “Well, in ancient Israel, there was once a man called Jeroboam. He was one of King Solomon’s servants, basically he was not even on his radar. He worked to serve a purpose. He was skilled at his profession no doubt, and one day, the King saw how good he was at his job and he placed him over the labor force tribes. So he was so good at his job that they decided to promote him, a bit like how Coach Shields that teaches you soccer, how he is now manager of the team if that makes sense? So one day, Jeroboam was approached by a prophet, Ahijah, and he basically told Jeroboam that he would one day take the kingdom from Solomon’s hands.”

    "And he said to Jeroboam, “Take for yourself ten pieces, for thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, ‘Behold, I am about to tear the kingdom from the hand of Solomon and will give you ten tribes” I KINGS 12:14

    Mike “Solomon didn’t like this, and tried to kill Jeroboam but he got away and stayed away until Solomon’s death. At this point , his son took over and considered making life more difficult for all the people remaining in the land, so Jeroboam returned leading the ten groups of people like the prophit said he would and took the land from Solomon’s son and became King.”

    Perhaps this was a little to intense for the 8 year old Connor, who, whilst not falling asleep, had that distinct look spread across his face that indicated that there were multiple facets to this story that he was not fully grasping.

    Connor: “So the King dies and the new person, who is good at his work, takes over and saves the people that he used to work with? That’s AWESOME.”

    Despite only being 8 years old and unable to fully comprehend certain complexities, Connor had always shown an appetite for stories, particularly stories about human nature and decision making. This was one of the reasons why Mike was probably so fond of him, there was little chance that he was going to turn out like the next Mike Parr, which, despite being self-aware of how great he is, does lead to a lifestyle that he wouldn’t inflict on anyone unless they choose it. He chose it, but he isn’t about to guide Connor down the same path unless he chooses to follow.

    Mike: “That’s the thing Connor, he came back and he was made King and the prophet had promised countless blessings should he continue to follow the instruction and the path he was taking as a skilled worker. But he didn’t. He came back and he didn’t follow the guidance set by the Prophet when he set Jeroboam off with those ten pieces of cloak. Jeroboam forgot that he was only fulfilling the prophecy of tearing the kingdom from the hand of Solomon, and the prophet’s didn’t like it when he went rogue. He had two golden calves made for people across his nation to worship, but worshiping another was a serious offence and one that he forgot to consider because he was so full of himself he forgot about the principles and the character that brought him to where he was. The didn’t like it at all. Look here Connor….”

    Mike points to a passage of scripture and reads it aloud to Connor.

    therefore behold, I will bring harm upon the house of Jeroboam and qwill cut off from Jeroboam every male, rboth bond and free in Israel, and swill burn up the house of Jeroboam, as a man burns up dung until it is all gone. Anyone belonging to Jeroboam who dies in the city the dogs shall eat, and anyone who dies in the open country the birds of the heavens shall eat, for the Lord has spoken it” 1 KINGS 14:10-11

    Mike: “Everyone associated with him was eventually made to pay for his mistake. He was raised up from nothing, was given to tools to flee and return as a hero, he became a King. Yet, in the end, he didn’t leave a lasting legacy but merely remembered as a footnote on a bigger message to us all.”

    Mike pauses for breath which, on reflection, was a mistake, as it gives little Connor a chance to interject with some language that he must have picked up from somewhere.

    Connor: “Basically, it means don’t be a dick?”

    Connor lets out the tiniest of chuckles knowing that he has said something that he shouldn’t whereas Mike shoots him a glance that initially is more intense that the comment deserved, but he then lets out his own chuckle, before ruffling his hair, taking another gulp of tea motioning for Connor that it’s time to move.

    Mike: “Tell your Mom I said thanks for the tea, and we’ll catch up tomorrow before I go.”

    The door gently closes behind Connor as he, his candle and his empty cup of tea make their way back down to bed. Mike shakes his head, still thinking about that last assessment from Connor, as he takes his place back in front of his literature.

    Mike: “So a skilled worker leaves home and returns as the conquering hero, only to forget his roots and let his pride and his ego be his own downfall. I’ve sat and I’ve looked over many different monarchs, many different reigns in many different religions and there ones that let themselves get carried away with their own sense of self importance and let the power corrupt them are far outweighed by the number that accept the power and responsibility and rule appropriately. But why? Why will this help me? Because to break you Dave, I need to understand you.”

    “How does somebody disappear for months to even a year then return as a mere manager to Ty Johnson, a manager who reportedly has absolutely no intention of focusing on reinvigorating his own, frankly average, career and then, before anyone can shout “What the fuck Dave” you’re suddenly walking around this place with two championship belts and calling yourself a King. And the worst part about watching this from afar isn’t the fact that I haven’t been yet given the chance to knock your head off your shoulders and hopefully some sense into it, but the fact that the more that I watch of you the more I actually believe that you think that you are something special. That you are somehow the King of the FWA.”

    “Unfortunately, Dave, you are one of those Kings that has let your ‘power’ corrupt you. You have let yourself convince yourself that you are too good for most of this division. Hell, you feel so strongly about it that you have put yourself at the forefront of a brand war that only exists in your own head. This isn’t FWA vs CWA Dave, its your ego thinking how great it will be to be renowned as one of the greatest warriors that this company has seen. That years from now, aside from the championship reigns, people will be thinking about the time that Dave Sullivan beat off the CWA invasion. That, unfortunately for you, is not going to be your lasting legacy in this company Dave. No…..the more I sit here and the more I think about it, people used to call me arrogant for calling myself the Prodigy but somehow you are able to parade around here, quoting manuscript and parading yourself like you are ROYALTY and nobody even bats an eyelid?”

    Mike again shakes his head, almost in disbelief. In his defence, it is a fair argument, he was lambasted for years for calling himself a Prodigy when in fact it was a fairly accurate description of his life at that point. He did possess an exceptional ability at an early age and he fulfilled it for a time. He couldn’t turn on a social media account of his, probably the reason he despises it, without being mentioned. He was told he was arrogant. He was told he was cocky. He always said that he deserved a place at the top of the card in the main even lights but he never called himself the king of the company as if he had a divine right to be there.

    Mike: “I’ve been reinvigorated Dave. I’ve got a new purpose in life and that purpose is to shit on everything that the establishment wants to see. It wants to see a CWA/FWA super show well I’m going to shit on it by making sure that everyone remembers that Cyrus is the unbeatable God that everyone would try to paint him as. The establishment want to see the double champion with the most impressive win loss record in 2019 stand beside him as some sort of bastion of hope, well guess what? I’m going to shit on that too. For too long I’ve been stood on the sidelines and I’ve been made to watch as opportunity after opportunity has passed me by as the company gets behind the next big thing in their eyes, and for years I stood and I tried to tackle that threat head on. I tried to show everyone that those ‘stars’ that they saw rising to the top were imposters whilst the real thing languished as third wheel in a two person tag team. But then it clicked……then it all made sense suddenly. The problem wasn’t the promotion that those new wrestlers were receiving, the problem was the bastards in the back who thought that they were worthy of the promotion.”

    “So now… my purpose Dave is to quash the illusions that the company are trying to project. It started last week when they wanted me to be a footnote in the ‘Look at how great Cyrus is’ video package. And I’m going to do it to you when they want to give you creditability by showing that as well as being the guy who beat Cyrus this year, that you can also ‘beat the guy, who beat the guy’. Even now, the establishment are training to shit on my accomplishment from last week and trying to feed it to you, so you can live off of it and make their little dream CWA/FWA feud a reality, so that they can light a spark under it. They think it should be red hot but at the minute it’s a damp stick and broken match. And that’s because of me.”

    “I’ve pressured the company into this, into putting me back where I truly believe I belong, because I’ve gone after the commodities they value most. I’ve put pressure on them that they are making bad decisions, they kept me hidden in tag team feuds for week after week after week on the undercard in the hope that the people would forget what I once was and what I have the potential to be. But in applying this pressure, they’ve relented and they’ve made two mistakes. They made their World Champion look like a fool last week and now they’ve accidentally, in their quest to get as many eyes as possible on this main event showcase for Dave Sullivan and his victory parade, have given me one thing that I’ve never had in this place. They’ve given me a rematch for my North American Championship. The one that I held for a year, lost without being pinned and NEVER got a chance to reclaim.”

    “So after Fight Night Dave, I strip you of your self anointed crown and I take back MY gold. And then you won’t be looking at the King standing over you, you’ll be looking at the wrestler who decided that the establishment can shove their well laid plans up their ass.”

  5. #5
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    Re: Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19

    The scene opens up inside of a room with people sitting in chairs that form a circle, like an AA or NA meeting. It’s a small group of people and there’s a moderator that runs the meeting, helping and encouraging people to speak. The moderator is a middle aged woman that is dressed nicely, she smiles at everyone sitting around before speaking; then the door opens up and in walks a man with a buzz cut haircut, leather jacket with an AC/DC t-shirt underneath, ripped grungy looking jeans and black boots. This man grabs a chair and moves it to the circle, and joins the group as the middle aged woman smiles at him.

    “Well now that everyone seems to be here, how are we all doing today?”

    Silence from the people in the circle.

    “No one wants to speak at all? No one has anything that they’d like to share? We’re not here to judge, we’re here to help and we’re here to listen so please don’t be shy”

    The man that just walked in minutes before raises his hand.

    “Oh yes, please do share…”

    He leans forward in his chair, clears his throat and begins to speak.

    “My name is Jason, and I am an addict”

    “Hello Jason” from everyone in the circle.

    “I’m here today because, well honestly I don’t really need help I’m just here to get some things off my chest I guess. I do admit that I am an addict but I ain’t no addict like any of you in this room, no offense…”

    “What are you trying to say then?” the middle aged woman asks.

    “What I’m trying to say is that my wrestling”

    A few stifled laughs and some chuckles from the rest of the group, but the moderator quiets them down.

    “What about it makes you addicted?”

    “You see...I’m actually in the wrestling business. I wrestle for this company, the FWA. I’ve been wrestling for several years of my adult life now and there was a time that I didn’t know if it’s what I wanted to do but over the last several years I’ve realized that I’ve become addicted to it.”

    He pauses for a moment.

    “Win or lose I still keep coming back to it. Lately there’s been a lot of lose more than win but like I said, I keep crawling back. I can’t help it. I need to feel the rush of going through that curtain and going to that ring knowing that I’m about to kick the crap out whoever is in that ring.”

    “Would you say that you’re addicted to losing?”

    Jason looks at her; perplexed

    “What kind of question is that? I’m not addicted to losing, no. Do I hate losing? You’re damn right I do. I’m sick of it quite frankly but that ain’t gonna make give it all up. I’m gonna keep doing what I do best and go in that ring and fight with everything I have until there’s nothing left. Every week I tell myself to get back up and try again, every week. Before each match I tell myself that this will be the one, this will be the one that gets me back on track. Sometimes I’m right, other times more than most I’m not…”

    “So what you’re saying that your actual addiction isn’t wrestling itself, but the need to win and to not give up?”

    “I guess if you put it like that, then yeah. It is an addiction in a way, putting myself through the ringer every week just to get my fix. That’s why I do it every week. It’s that itch that always needs a scratch, nothing else will cure it.”

    “Who are some of the people you have faced?”

    “Well there’s a guy that thinks of himself to be this king but really he’s just a jackass, and then there’s this woman that sees herself as some sort of goddess, or the new kid that beat me last week that thinks he’s some sort of hot shot. He got lucky on me, but next time and believe me there will be a next time; he won’t be so lucky.”

    “Now there’s this guy, a veteran of the company. He’s been there for years yet we have never faced off, one on one until now. His bio says he’s young but he’s the old dog around the company, loyal but he’s never quite reached that brass ring. Like myself I guess, we’re both trying to reach for it. Just like me, he’s stuck in limbo right now, trying to figure out what’s next.”

    “That’s another part of it I guess, never knowing what’s next until the last minute. I don’t know, I’m just sort of rambling here.”

    The woman smiles, “It’s okay, we’re here to listen”

    “I do look forward to getting in that ring with this man, James Hughes. He’s a bit of a wildcard, like myself. I guess another similarity between him and myself is that we haven’t really lived up to the hype of being a wildcard. I’m trying though, I really am. I am trying to dig myself out of this hole and show the world who I truly am. I can’t speak for James, but he’s probably feeling the same. The difference is though, is that only one of us can walk out the winner and by god I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that it’s me.”

    He stops speaking and the room goes silent for a moment before the woman speaks up.

    “Would anyone else like to share?”

    Someone else eventually does speak as the scene slowly fades out.

    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business

    Quote Originally Posted by Ed
    Stop the hating of the E-Feds. If you don't like something, that's fine, just ignore it and let the people who do enjoy what they're here on WC to do. Mocking them to make you feel less of a geek for being on a geek on a wrestling forum is lame. If you want to not read their posts, I can fix that for you.

  6. #6
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    Re: Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19

    We open up with Cheshire Cat Clan members in The Dark Forest all three looking down into an empty unmark grave.

    Alice: Do you think it is deep enough?

    Crowe: I think we can make it fit.

    Nova: We better hurry it's almost dark soon.

    Crowe: We should say something before we do this...

    Nova: Alice this is all you always been the best with words.

    Alice: Is it faith or fate that we are gathered here tonight. Where we go to put to rest two souls. You two know exactly who you are and you know that old saying that payback is a bitch.

    We are looking for payback because you took our chance to enlighten the world to The Dark Forest, We found your old friends and you didn't seem to care because here we are looking down into the abyss of this unmark grave where your friends well rest forever and yet you just seem not to care.

    This is what it is but, here we are at it again like it was fate. We go down the rabbit hole into Wonderland and we fall into the darkness of the forest.

    I never understood why people were afraid of the dark. I find peace in it...

    We find peace in it and we found ourselves lately learning to be with the darkness because darkness had clouded are minds we felt like we were failures that we had failed him when we couldn't defeat you.

    There is nowhere to go this time other then up for us we got nothing to lose everything to gain.

    Alice lays dirt into the grave as Nova begins to speak.

    Nova: High in the skies where only nothing will survive. Deep inside my head the stars glisten again on the reflection I can see the blood of our enemies.

    There is no love between us you know who you are. You tried to send us crashing like a shooting star. I will watch the light go from your eyes turn to the eclipse a vengeful night.

    You are a joke we are the wicked punchline.

    Crowe: We refuse to be cast aside to be berated to be judged by the likes of others when we all know that we are a family and a family needs to grow you will become one of us and you will see that we don't live in a land of fantasy our minds are strong we are one.

    Crowe lays the final dirt in the ground as we fade to black.


    CWA World Heavyweight Champion
    ​Brayden Bridges

  7. #7
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    Re: Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19

    Exile Chronicles: Chapter 2
    Volume 10: Predators

    Our scene opens in a bleak, haunting forest with a single stony trail cutting through the thicket. The trees are gnarled and knotty, as if they were inflicted by some sort of disease or curse. Despite the trees being alive, they look the complete opposite...barren, greying, lacking any foliage to suggest vibrant verdant life.

    The atmosphere is aggressive and restricting, like a hand wrapping around one's throat. In this defiled forest emerges a lone figure, a traveler in a large hooded coat with his face obscured by the shadows. This traveler follows the broken path through the forest, alone and seemingly unarmed in this frightful place.

    An observation made all the more chilling when it becomes obvious that this traveler is not alone.

    Nothing is ever seen, but the hungry and agitated sounds of howling wolves, growling beasts of all varieties, and the flapping of wings and screeches of various carrion birds is enough to suggest that this man is surrounded by creatures great and small wanting nothing more than to tear him apart and devour him...perhaps because this forest lacks for game.

    Or perhaps because this traveler dared to invade their hunting grounds.

    Still, the traveler pays them little mind as he continues walking. There's no anxiety in his steps, no semblance of panic or fear as he trudges forward, eventually arriving at the end of the path: a clearing in the middle of this haunted wood. In the middle of this clearing stand a massive, thick oak tree with mottled brown bark and auburn leaves. It's the only thing in this forest that looks remotely normal and it stands in sharp contrast to its surroundings.

    The traveler approaches the tree.

    As he gets closer, the sounds of the forest quiet...never going away completely, but it seems that whatever was tailing this man is a bit more wary to pursue near this tree. Once the traveler reaches the tree, we see that the trunk has been carved into with various names...names FWA fans recognize as former champions of the federation.

    But there are others.

    Names of CWA competitors and champions.

    Names of other, lesser known wrestlers from long-forgotten federations past.

    Names that are so obscure that only a wrestling historian could recognize.

    As the traveler's right hand moves over the trunk, seeming searching for a specific name, his left hand lowers his hood, revealing his identity as Cyrus Truth.

    The reigning FWA World Heavyweight Champion.

    The former CWA World Heavyweight Champion.

    The Exile...the Wayward Warrior...the Vagabond King.

    Eventually, Cyrus finds his name on the tree trunk. No bigger or grander than anybody else's, just a name in a sea of them. Cyrus sees this and sighs, a tired smile crossing his lips. After a couple of seconds, the Exile has a seat at the foot of the tree, back up against the trunk.

    While the sounds of the predators have died down and Cyrus starts to talk, the camera pans to a point in the thicket. There, a pair of yellowish-green eyes peer from the shadows...a low snarl clearly evident from this creature.

    "I made a mistake. A mistake I shouldn't have made, but made anyway.

    "The mistake was that I allowed my anger against Dave Sullivan and Chris Kennedy blind me and divert my attention. Because of that, I wasn't focused enough on my match against Mike Parr and underestimated him. I take nothing away from Mike Parr. The man actually returned to form against me, and defeated me fair and square. He didn't come into the match like a buzzard looking to fill his belly, but as a hungry wolf unafraid to put it all on the line. Whether it was to prove himself, earn a World Title shot, or just to get the attention back on him in the middle of this nonsensical beef between FWA and a dead promotion, I don't know and I don't believe it matters.

    "Although, I imagine Dave is going to pitch a fit that the man who beat me now gets a title shot against him. Honestly? I wouldn't have been mad if Rondo decided to give Parr a shot against me. Why should I be? He beat me. That's more than Gabrielle has done, after all, and it seems she thinks she's the one who deserves a World Title shot more than anybody. But either Parr wants to finally cash in his long-overdue rematch for the North American title or Rondo wants to give it to him. Personally, I hope that Parr managed to knock Dave down a peg or two. And if Parr wants to throw his name into the hat for title shots against me? Go ahead."

    We cut back to the eyes in the shadows as the creature's growl gets a bit louder...a bit more agitated. Back at the tree, Cyrus is leaning on the trunk with his eyes closed, seemingly unafraid of the dangers this forest presents.

    "Now, if anybody was expecting me to say that giving Krash a World Title match was a mistake? You may as well get that pipe dream out of your heads. Even knowing now how pissed off it would've made people, I still would have done it. People have made this out to be CWA usurping FWA's pride and honor, but the Truth is that people are upset that someone other than them could've potentially won the title belt before they did. That's all this is. It's never been anything more than that.

    "But fine. I'm through being enraged about this whole mess. It's far too easy to judge my actions, especially since the FWA system never produced me nor did it ever protect me despite claims to the contrary. My match with Krash may have been a bit selfish, but at the end of the day regardless of the outcome? The world would've continued to keep on turning. Those title shots you all clamor about would've still come. Your itch to have your pathetic existences validated by the shiny golden bauble without the wherewithal to recognize what it ACTUALLY means to be a champion would've still been scratched if you had been patient.

    "Still, all that being said, it's not as if I can say that they don't have at least something resembling a right to voice their opinions, no matter how absurdly wrong they are. Sullivan does deserve a title match against me. As does Parr, since he beat me. Krash by virtue of his win over Kennedy and Kennedy by virtue of his rematch clause should have a voice as well, and I suppose it'd be pedantic of me to suggest that Gabrielle shouldn't especially since she did manage to beat Krash. Rhetoric aside, I have a bevy of would-be challengers who all have their own thoughts about how I, as a champion, should conduct myself...but regardless of how justified or outright insane they are, I can't say that they shouldn't at least have the right to voice their opinions about the World Title.

    "But the question I have what reality does Michael Garcia have the right to deride me?"

    Over Cyrus's shoulder, the camera pans to another name carved into the tree...that of his opponent on Fight Night, the newly reinstated Michael Garcia. Behind the tree and in the forest itself, the creature with the yellowish-green eyes starts to move, growling hungrily as it continues to shroud itself in the foliage.

    "Michael Garcia. The Carnegie Carnivore. The man who threw away a nice, cushy job as a commentator because, apparently, the pride and dignity of his beloved FWA was about to be ruined by a match between myself and Krash for the FWA World Title."

    Cyrus cracks a small smile at this, as if this is absurdly humorous to him. He's not speaking with rage like last week. There's some malice in his tone, sure...but it's not overwhelming him.

    "Really, would think that at some point over your long, remarkably mediocre career, you'd have learned that there are some battles you'd do best to avoid. Especially when you contribute no validity to a conversation that was asinine to begin with. You really should've listened to Devin when he tried to bring some sense to this whole ordeal and kept your ass seated at that commentary table, but here we are.

    "What exactly IS your problem, Mike? You'd like us to believe that you're standing in opposition of the CWA transplants because we undermine FWA's history, legacy, and heritage. Despite the fact that I've, at this point, been in FWA for about as long as I was in CWA, I'm still the outsider who threatens to ruin FWA's prestige because, unlike someone like you, I didn't need FWA to make my name for me. How dare I assume that I was capable of being a World Champion just because I was one elsewhere, right?

    "But let's stop with the chest puffing for just a minute and admit to ourselves what's going on here. You're not angry for FWA's sake, Michael. You're upset because FWA is changing, and has been ever since I've shown up. The guys you used to measure yourself against? They're not as untouchable as you once believed. And if they aren't as good as you once thought...why, what does that mean for you? You've always had this chip on your shoulder, bellowing out loud that you are far better than your miserable track record suggests, and that you've held your own against gods and titans of this industry. But they weren't gods. Not a single one of them. And the more they fall, the more your own achievements look pathetic by comparison. You've only held one title in FWA, and that was when your more talented younger brother was carrying you. Any chances you've had to win singles gold? You've squandered. And while a career can't simply be measured by the number of titles one wins? It's not as if you have much else to hang your hat on aside from a victory here or there over a better competitor.

    "But beyond all that, the Truth is that you are an angry, bitter man who was blessed with physical gifts any prospective wrestler has dreamed about but has developed an inferiority complex that has led you astray. You've wasted your gifts and your talents, and instead of owning up to it, you lash out and try to grab the attention for yourself, bellowing and boasting about how "dangerous" and "focused" you are. You want to pretend that you're trying to rally FWA to save itself from the humiliation of new talent...but in reality, you're using CWA to try and build upon your own feeble legacy.

    The beast with the green eyes snarls as, peeking out from the foliage, a long wolf snout emerges. Teeth are bared and lips are curled, either in anticipation of a kill...or in anger due its prey's audacity.

    "I imagine there's a scenario in your head that you've pictured time and again since you were reinstated onto the active roster and you saw this match announced. The scenario where, somehow...someway, you managed to pull off an upset on your return match, beat me, and milk that victory for all it's worth like you did the one time you managed to beat Chris Kennedy. It's a pretty thought, but you and I both know that it's a fantasy. A comforting one, for sure...but it's a fantasy, nonetheless. The reality is far more frightening for you. You've had a shield in the form of that commentary desk to spew your vitriol, but you abandoned that when better men started talking because you couldn't bear to be left even further behind than you've already been. You want to roar about FWA's superiority, but are not the one to champion that feeble mindset. And now, your fragile little ego has put you in the ring with me once again.

    "And that scares you, doesn't it?"

    We see the creature start to move. Only its paws, lean and gaunt, are shown as it slowly starts to walk out of the foliage and into the clearing, making no sound.

    "Superiority is not based on one's promotion, but one's actions. And now, you have to step into the ring against the FWA World Heavyweight Champion and prove that your words should have weight. And if you think for one second that you'll do to me what Mike Parr did to me? Think again. I've taken that anger and righteous indignation that was spilling out of me and honed it. No longer will I allow my rage and desire for retribution rule me...instead, it is HONED. It is the sword that I will take to you, drive it into your gut and slit your throat with. At this point, my one and only focus is the target in front of me. Dave Sullivan will get his. Chris Kennedy will get his. And Krash will get his title shot that was stolen from him. But until then? I'm going to remind everybody in FWA that I've been World Champion more often than not these last few years because I have earned that title...because I conduct myself as a champion should. Anybody who wants a shot and has proven they can earn it are more than welcome to line up and take their shot at The Exile. Anybody who thinks that the title makes the man is in for a rude awakening when I prove, once again, that it's the man who makes the title. I don't run from challenges, despite what Dave wants to think. I CREATE challenges.

    "As for you, Mikey? No doubt amidst the pants-soiling terror you are experiencing having to now back up your rhetoric against a man who's accomplished far more than you and has already beaten you soundly in the past, there's a small part of you. That animalistic, primal instinct that says:

    "'This is my opportunity. There is my prey. I can take him. I can KILL HIM. He doesn't know what's coming...he'll never see me coming. I'll rush him...'"

    The green-eyed creature, a rather mangy and feral wolf, suddenly bursts from the woods, heading full speed towards Cyrus...

    "'I'll tear his throat out...'"

    Cyrus's gaze is completely away. This wolf seems to have caught him unaware as it races towards him...

    However, just before it can pounce, Cyrus's head immediately snaps as he glares down the wolf, saying:

    "'And I'll prove I'm the deadliest predator.'"

    The wolf immediately stops, surprised as it slides to a halt on its haunches. It would almost be comical, but the wolf immediately stands up, arching its back and growling, staring down the human with its green eyes.

    Cyrus, however, doesn't stand up. He doesn't even move. He just looks at this wolf with a rather deadpan expression and says:

    "Well, go ahead. Take your best shot."

    The wolf snarls some more...but strangely enough, it doesn't move. In fact, its snarling seems to quiet down a bit as Cyrus impassively stares it down.

    "What are you waiting for? This is your best chance. What's the problem?"

    The wolf's snarling get quieter and quieter, its posture relaxing. It's still trying to intimidate Cyrus, looking for any sign of weakness or vulnerability. Cyrus offers none.

    "Are you scared? Too afraid to do the deed when your prey looks you dead in the eye?"

    The wolf, as if it understood him, snarls and snaps his jaws as if indignantly...but still, it does nothing.

    Cyrus, finally stands up, staring daggers at this creature...whose snarls disappear, now replaced with a nervous yelp. It stands its ground as Cyrus walks closer...but the more Cyrus approaches, the more its aggressive posture turns into one of nervousness...trepidation.

    "What's the matter? This is your best shot...your last shot. Why hesitate? Strike at me. Rip out my throat. Prove you're not just some carrion eater and STRIKE AT ME. The worst thing that happens is you die in the process. Are you a vulture, or a monster?!"

    Cyrus's voice echos throughout the clearing. There's the sound of rustling from the brush...but it's the sound of something running away. Apparently, none of the creatures in this forest want a piece of this particular traveler.

    As for the wolf, it begins to shudder, fear having taken hold of it. It is frozen in place, whimpering as Cyrus gets within a foot of it. He leans down, getting right into the beast's face, and growls out:

    "If you're afraid of some competition, then you don't belong in this world."

    The wolf, now fully afraid, immediately backs off and darts into the forest, tail between its legs. Cyrus stands up, now alone in a silent forest, and turns back to the giant oak. Producing a dagger from his coat, he kneels down next to the scratched name of Michael Garcia and carves it out, leaving the spot a blank piece of tree bark...erasing his name from the multitude of others.

    Cyrus sheathes his knife and, without another word, heads back down the path, away from the tree...away from the forest...and back to the war...


    Flashback: October 2013

    Our scene opens outside of a board room, the door emblazoned with the emblem of the Clique Wrestling Alliance, the largest and most prestigious wrestling company in the world.

    And if recent news is to be believed, perhaps the last of the major promotions.

    Rumors circulating about rival promotion, the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance, and the downfall of its host and parent company the PWS Network have been running rampant. Scuttlebutt abounds as to what CWA will do, i anything, in the wake of this collapse.

    We head inside the board room where CWA Owner Megan Anderson and her husband, CEO Jimmy King, are in the middle of a very heated conversation...

    "Absolutely not, Jimmy."

    "Why not?! This is a golden opportunity. FWA has the talent, it has the infrastructure..."

    "...It's a rival promotion. If it survives, it threatens CWA...the company my father built from scratch to become the power house it is today. Why should we even consider helping them out? It'd be much cheaper to buy up their assets once they've collapsed."

    "But those talent will go somewhere else, Megan. Sure, we might be able to hire SOME, but not all. Whereas if we keep the promotion as is and use it as a feeder..."

    "The answer is still NO. I will not spend a single dollar to help them out in any way. So forget about it, honey...and get back to work."

    Jimmy King looks like he wants to interject, but his hard-ass of a wife has made it clear she's done listening as she storms out of the board room, leaving her husband to stew.

    As she leaves, however, she sees a figure down the hall. It's too far away to see clearly from our perspective, but it's clear that Megan knows who this is...and is none too pleased.

    "What are you doing here? Don't you have the WrestleRoyale to prepare for or something?"

    The camera shifts to the figure...but is still too close up, focusing solely on the legs. However, the figure chuckles...saying in a familiar voice:

    "If you're afraid of some competition, then you don't belong in this world."


  8. #8
    The Mayor of Slamtown
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    Re: Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19


    “In any story, the villain is the catalyst. The hero's not a person who will bend the rules or show the cracks in his armor. He's one-dimensional intentionally, but the villain is the person who owns up to what he is and stands by it.”

    Quiet. Peace and quiet. An environment that “The Carnegie Carnivore” Michael Garcia was not used to. His home was never peaceful. Many times it was an absolute warzone. He was always arguing with Malik over whom he was hanging out with, or taking care of the other hungry mouths in the house while Theresa tried to provide a living for them. His street was never peaceful. It was never rioting in the streets bad, but quite often Michael remembered being woken up by random gunfire in the streets. How he often times stayed up all night to protect the few that he cared about from the dangers of the outside world. He was in a constant state of worry about what would happen to Malik or Malia if they suddenly were influenced by the wrong people. Without a father in the Garcia household, Mike had to be the man of the house, even when he was still in elementary school. Rest and relaxation were foreign concepts to him. And his life now, was certainly never peaceful. The rigors of working an FWA schedule. The burden of being an opinionated, outspoken color commentary in today’s world. And always, still to this day, worrying about what was going on back at home.

    It had been a long time since Mike had heard from Malik and the fact that he ended Malik’s career may have had something to do with that. He still talked to Malia from time to time, but not nearly enough for his liking. The last he had heard she was living in West Mifflin, PA with her new boyfriend, Trevor, who worked at EQT, a land surveying company. He made good enough money, but ya know, no man was ever going to be enough for his little sister. But most of all, Mike worried about his mother, Theresa. He always knew that his mother was a bit of a spitfire, snd she sure as hell would never back down to anyone…but that was often the problem. Sometimes, she was too tough for her own good. Similar traits that are current champion possess. Always wanting to take on the world. Not knowing that one day, both of them were going to walk into a situation that they couldn’t handle on their own. Their pride and spirit would one day be their downfall. Mike knew that one day his mother was going to take on a challenge that was far too big for her. And he was going to have hope to God he could get home in time to bail her out. It was a constant burden on his shoulders.

    Whether he was working out, conversing with the boisterous Jeremiah Jones, traveling across the country, worrying about who was trying to take his spot from him now, or wondering where or when Devin Golden would show his face next, Michael Garcia was rarely afforded a moment of peace. This place though, this was like a sanctuary of quiet. No, he wasn’t in a church. Michael hadn’t been there in years, unless Theresa was dragging him there kicking and screaming. Michael believed that forgiveness was beyond asking for, and he had accepted his fate. If there was a God, Michael knew repentance was out of reach. He was doomed to an afterlife of suffering. In his mind, he was doing what the world desperately needed. Making people pay for their sins. The Bible says that only God can judge and that he’ll decide people’s fates. That never sat well with him. Michael wanted to make sure people paid the price and that his own brand of justice was served.

    The “sanctuary” as Michael called it was the Pasadena Central Library. One of the most majestic libraries in the United States, “The Monster of the Midway” looked a little out of place in his Sacramento Kings throwback, surrounded by a group of well-dressed college kids. The library’s beautiful oak paneling and iron furniture must have cost a fortune, considering the size of the building itself. Nothing like the libraries in Monroeville, PA, Michael mused to himself, as he rocked back in forth in one of the library’s beautiful Mahogany Rocking Chairs. Next to Michael was a stack of library books, about 6 tall, and an open one lay in his lap. Was Michael honestly going to read through all of these books? And what were they?

    Heroes…and Villains. Every story needs its hero or heroine. And subsequently, every story needs its villain or villainess. Throughout history, we have seen many battles between heroes and villains. Dating back to the very moment when the Bible tells us that Eve took a bite out of that poisonous apple, and subjected mankind to Leviathan….Satan, himself. Whether it be David vs. Goliath, God vs. Satan, Iago vs. Othello, Harry Potter vs. Lord Voldemort, Aladdin vs. Jafar, Simba vs. Scar, Superman vs. Lex Luther, Spiderman vs. Venom…all of these epic wars between good and evil had a defined hero and a defined villain. Protagonist vs Antagonist. Hero vs Villain. Good vs Evil. But none is more appropriate to define this little war than the war between Cyrus Truth and Michael Garcia than Captain James Hook vs “The Boy who never grew up” Peter Pan.”

    And with that, Garcia picked up the book on his lap, crossed his legs, sat back, put a pair of fake glasses on his face and prepared to read from the book.

    Commodore Hook looked out across the wreckage of the Jolly Roger. Years ago, he had scratched the 'HMS' from the bow; he had betrayed his King and left the Empire for his new cause. He had abandoned everything for his mission. There would be no Armada coming to his aid. And now lost to the sea, Hook knew that his daughter now wandered with the other Lost Ones.

    He sailed to every island and searched for every priest, padre and shaman. He cared not whether they were Lutheran or Papist, or some vile heathen; he would save his daughter from her torment no matter what power granted him insight. He knew that his daughter would find no rest until he could end her again. He knew the monster who had stolen his daughter's soul. He had found infernal island that the beast called home. The papists had called it Terra Somnium, the voodoo had an unpronounceable name; Hook had called it Neverland.

    From where his left eye once had been, Hook felt a tear form and soak the rim of his patch. His boat was dashed on the wretched shores of Neverland. His men searched through the wreckage for supplies and armaments. They knew that they would not sail again except across the great four in the afterlife. The Commodore tasted his powder to ensure its quality. There would be no second chances on this island. Hook loaded his hand pistols. He looked at Smee again before taking his coxswain's pistol belt. He wept silently over his friend. "With this," he whispered, "I promise you; with this I will throttle the life from the beast."

    A fire burned within Hook, brighter than any muzzle blast. Any sorrow in him was tempered into sheer anger. He focused his rage to a single unstoppable force aimed at the beast that would die at his feet. He waded into his crew, at the ready. They had followed their Commodore, their brother at arms, from one corner of the map to the other. This hellish island would be no different. His men watched him await his command.

    His first mate Starkey was the only one bold enough to approach. "What are your orders, Commodore?" He asked, his voice shattering at each word.

    Garcia sets the book down and aside, uncrossing his legs, and looked into the camera.

    “I remember hearing the story of Peter Pan many times growing up. Whether I was watching the Disney Animated Classic or reading the J. M. Barrie critically-acclaimed novel, I was always brainwashed into seeing a certain narrative, that narrative being that Peter Pan was the brave young hero standing up to menacing Pirates of Neverland. This idea that Peter was some sort of conquering warrior valiantly battling some nefarious ne’er do wells is quite simply a false narrative. The way I see it Pan The Man is the malefactor in this tragic tale.I can see the puzzled looks on your faces all the way here. Let me explain. If you take the passage that I just read at it’s face value without applying any context, you’d probably see it as Captain James Hook just wanting to persecute a meddling outsider simply for being a pest to him. But only mentioned in passing is Hook’s motivation for wanting to find Peter….Peter Pan actually cut off Hook’s hand and fed it to a crocodile! Yet, Peter Pan is the hero. Later on in the story, Captain Hook and his first mate Mr. Smee are interrogating Tiger Lily when Peter knocks him into the water, in direct contact with that same hungry crocodile. No, Peter Pan is a selfish individual who gets his enjoyment at the expense of everyone else around him, and yet everyone praises him as the hero. That’s you, Cyrus. A child in a man’s world. A world in which you don’t belong, in which you had no business being. Ya walk into this world, take something that does not belong to you and when somebody has the balls to stand up to you, look you in the eye, and tell you the truth..they’re the bad guy?

    You see, Cyrus, just like you Peter Pan is not who he pretends to be. While in Neverland, he claims to be a good-natured hero with nothing but the best of intentions. While in London, he claims to be just an innocent boy, looking for love. But the good Captain and I, we see you both for who you really are. Peter is a boastful and careless boy. He claims greatness, even when such claims are questionable. Peter appears to symbolize or personify the selfishness of childhood. He displays forgetfulness and self-centered behavior. He has an incredibly non-chalant, devil-may-care attitude, and is fearlessly cocky when it comes to putting himself in danger. When it comes right down to it, Peter Pan and you, Cyrus, are both selfish, arrogant, judgmental and pompous fools. You're an annoying little gnat, who keeps buzzing around; looking for someone whose life you can meddle in. Constantly listening to the little Tinkerbell in your ear, Tinkerbell in this case being, each and every single one of those idiots that claim you to be this virtuous choirboy. Tink adores Peter Pan but what Pan doesn’t realize is that Tinkerbell is doing him more harm than good. She’s the one that constantly fills his head with the ideas that what he’s doing is right, while a small part of Peter wants to go back to the real world, find true love, and start a family. Inevitably, you listen to the little fairies in your ear, and they drag your deluded carcass two stars to the right and then straight on till morning. Right…back…to Neverland.”

    Michael takes a swig of his water, before pushing his glasses back up to the top of his nose, before continuing.

    But like I said, Peter, often times got himself into situations that were way too big for him. And this time, Cyrus, you seem to have gotten yourself into quite a pickle. You see the one difference between you and the Pan is…he had allies. He could call upon The Lost Boys or Tiger Lily and the Indians….you on the other hand, are alone. And you’ve managed to piss off a slew of enemies right now, and they all have one goal in mind: Taking back what is rightfully ours. Not just the FWA Championship, no..the entire FWA. Our Neverland. The kingdom that we built. Without you. But hey…kind of hard to do that when you’re only handing out championship matches to your CWA comrades, isn’t it? Why hand them out to the people that actually earned them when you can just give ‘em to unproven buddies in their third match, right? Cyrus, you keep saying ‘ Give me, Sullivan!” “I relish the opportunity to beat him this time!. Yet all you have to do is walk down to that ring and do exactly what ya did with your best bud, Krash. But week after week, you keep running your mouth and tucking your tail. Like the coward that you are.”

    Garcia takes a moment to polish his fake glasses before biting on the ends of them in a true gentlemen fashion.

    “You see, Cyrus, while you pretend to be a hero, and pretend to be a virtuous soul who represents what’s good in the world, all the while mirroring what’s wrong with it…. I stand exactly as I am. You….you lie about who you are. You’re ashamed of when you do something wrong. I admit that I am a bad, bad person. I will sit here and tell everyone that looks me in the eyes that I am a horrible person. I will tell you that I am the Carnegie Carnivore, Monster of the Midway, the Beast of the East, the Reflection of Perfection, the Pittsburgh Player and Steel City Slayer…I stand before you here, telling you and the world that I am the Carnegie Carnivore, Michael Garcia. And do you know what that means?”

    “That means that I am a man that will lie to get what I want. I will cheat to get what I want. I will steal to get what I want. And I will destroy, whoever and whatever stands in between my treasure and me, to get what I want. Just as Captain James Hook never once shied away from admitting that he was a despicable scallywag of the Seven Seas, I have no problem telling you, Cyrus Truth, that I am a heartless bastard. I have no problem telling you that I am selfish. I am cocky. I am selfish. I am arrogant. I am destructive. But I am a very, very proud man and I’m oh so protective of what’s mine. Whether it’s my family, my friends, my championship, or my company, I will fight for what’s mine. If that makes me a villain, then I’ll wear that badge on my chest with pride! But I know the truth. You trespassed into my territory, took something that does not belong to you, and there’s a hefty price to pay now. “

    At this point, Garcia throws his glasses to the side, tosses his book to the floor and leans in close to the camera.

    “You know, Truth, leaving the comparisons aside for one second, talking straight…me to you. I got to say, you’re one tough competitor. Despite all your personality flaws, when you step inside that ring, you always seem to raise your game when you’re competing against the Beast from the East. I can admit that you’ve beaten me in the past, but that was a different monster. I was under the influence of Phillip A. Jackson, who tried to humanize me, if you will. He softened me. I was weak. But this time, this time, I’ve got about a years worth of pent up rage and frustration to unleash on you.Sitting behind that commentators desk, taking every one of Devin Golden’s potshots and holding in the urge to knock his ass out. And yes, I’m sure you’re consumed with this idea that I can’t win the big match. All the United States Championship losses. The fact that I beat Jason Gryphon 13 times, but lost the only time we ever faced for the X Championship.All I know is that for now, this match means more than any of them. So when we both stare into each other’s will understand in that very second, that this Michael Garcia…this monster is unlike any other you’ve seen before.”

    “You may think that Back in Business is your next great adventure, Peter, but in the words of Commodore Hook ‘Death is the only adventure you have left.’”

    With that, Garcia closes the book and with a sly smile says

    Fight Night is the Journey’s End for you and there is no Happily Ever After. It’s back to reality, and it’s gonna come crashing down around you. You’ll crow. You’ll fight. You’ll fly. And then…

    You’ll die.

    Last edited by Sayer; 09-05-2019 at 10:40 PM.

  9. #9
    creatively drained artist
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    Re: Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19

    Nova Diamond proudly presents:

    August 16, 2019 - Enterprise Center, St. Louis, Missouri

    ''Here's the winner of this match, Nova Diamond!''

    The announcement made by Kurt Harrington signaled the end of another match and another victory for the greatest of all generations. Nova didn't feel like celebrating so he quickly broke out of referee's hold on his arm, flashed a brief smirk at defeated Jason Randall, then rolled out of the ring, wasting no time before going on his way through the ramp to find himself in backstage in no time. But a particular fan wearing a Viktor Maximus shirt, booing the shit out of him caught his attention. He stopped, then took one or two steps in the fan's direction, which allowed the fan to shout in a voice that could easily be heard by Nova.

    ''Can't wait until they put your arrogant fucking mug against a real man like Viktor Maximus! I'm sorry, I meant until they feed you to Viktor!''

    The fan then laughed with the most annoying laugh in the history of laughs. Nova just smirked at his face and then went back without paying much attention to anything else. After arriving at the back, he stopped to see that the most of the people there were staring at him. He flashed an arrogant smirk at them, reminding them who he was and who they were. Nova could practically sense their jealousy with his all five senses. The low-life, pathetic, scummy underbelly of FWA could stare at him with sad eyes all they could want. They were not him, they could never be him even in their wildest dreams. He could stand there and remind every one of them exactly that, but he took the high road and went on his way to his private locker-room. He was going to stay there until the rest of the show, hopefully not interacting with anyone until he had to. And to his luck, he could go there uninterrupted. He was immediately greeted by the smell of mint once more, breathing in it fully. It felt good especially after that distasteful encounter he had with that fan.. Nova sat on one of the benches without wasting any time, resting and thinking about what he was told. Viktor Maximus now filled his thoughts. Viktor wasn't some washed-up, pathetic excuse for a monster like Mac. Nor he wasn't somebody who lost his every important match, not as the level of Jason Randall. He took one deep breath, picturing the big Russian locomotive in front of him, angry like a bull that had seen the red tissue being waved in front of his eyes. He sighed again, it would be messy. To get Viktor out of his mind, Nova was going to continue his routine of getting his headphones on and listen to some Floyd until the end of the show, but as soon as he got his phone, he noticed one new message. He broke out a smile when he read the name of the person who sent him that.

    ''From Atticus Henley
    To Nova Diamond:

    'It was a good match against Randall. You can say I'm at least more willing to invest in you and your brand. I think I can begin with providing you some stuff. Ask whatever you need and I'll see if I can help you with that.

    P.S: No private jets.....yet. At least wait until you win your first world championship for that.' ''

    There were finally some good news for Nova. He put on the headphones, opened up some Floyd again. As he listened to Syd Barrett sing about a girl named Emily, his fingers rapidly wrote a reply to Atticus.

    ''From Nova Diamond
    To Atticus Henley:

    'Thank you, Mr. Henley! You won't regret this investment! I know I'm in no position to ask for my own personal private jet. A train would be nice though.''

    A few days later - A train carriage

    ♪I'm an alien.
    I'm a legal alien.
    I'm an Englishman in New York.♪

    Contrary to popular belief, Pink Floyd wasn't the only thing Nova Diamond liked to listen. As one of Sting's many hit songs filled the empty carriage, Nova took a sip of his gin and tonic, a little smile on his face as if he was appreciating the tune he was hearing at the moment. To be honest, Nova didn't really expect Atticus Henley to give him a whole train, despite sending him a message, joking about he wanted his own train. And he wasn't wrong. Atticus didn't, but to his credit, Nova at least could get on a train this sumptuous on such a short notice with his help. As the old saying goes: The destination wasn't important, the journey was. So in order to clear his mind, and hopefully visualise his insight on his next opponent, Nova jumped on the first ride he could afford. The train was moving, so were his thoughts. He put down the glass to the wooden table and looked straight at the camera that was put in an appropriate angle to capture Nova in all his glory, and his more-than-usual dandiness today. With a black trenchcoat, brown waistcoat, light-blue shirt and a red tie, it was safe to say he wanted to go all-in for this special occasion.

    ''You know, it was high time that I started to return to my roots a little bit. There are a few things in life that you can't choose: Being born, your parents and especially your hometown. I was born and raised in Manchester, a city that is famous for things like The Northern Quarter, Oasis, Manchester United, and certainly not being London despite being a city located in England. Did I enjoy every second of living and growing up in Manchester? No, of course. If I was stupid enough to enjoy all of that, you wouldn't be seeing me here today, as the greatest wrestler of all generations. Discomfort is the biggest thing that pushes people to act, to change their situations. But if you don't feel that, like a certain Wildcard doesn't, you are doomed to fail every time you try to do something that's worth a damn thing. Jason Randall should be thanking me, for finishing him up with a basic Inside Cradle that left him a lot of things to say. Believe me, I could always drop him right on his fucking head or tap him out like a little bitch back in that ring.''

    He shrugs before reaching his drink again. He takes another sip, giving another one of his trademark smiles to the camera.

    ''England is my country. I didn't choose it, I can't change that, I can only embrace it. I am an Englishman, simple as that. You can tell that by the accent already, if those other stereotypes I'm trying to show here today didn't already gave it away to you.''

    He laughs at his own joke, obviously since there was nobody else in his carriage that could laugh alongside with him.

    ''I can sense what you guys are thinking, why is Nova suddenly doing this? He's on a random-ass train ride, he's basically stereotyping his country. You guys are more used to see me in fancier places, doing fancier things, maybe listening to some Pink Floyd, living the modern twenty-first century live to its fullest. I must agree with you, my dear Fantasy Wrestling Alliance audience, this is not something I would do normally. But you see, some of the things that I see and some of the situations I found myself in really reminds me the most important thing about the combat sports: You must know your opponent. When I belittled Mac Michaud and Jason Randall, I did that by knowing them, knowing what they can do. I beat them both. And I see people like Randall really lack that awareness that I have. I mean, the guy went and found Devin Golden to rant about me. The same Devin Golden that pathetically wrapped the nGw Openweight title around my waist after trying to screw me out of it for weeks, the same Devin Golden I humiliated back then. Oops, Jason. Choose your mentor more wisely next time.''

    He sarcastically waves to the camera.

    ''But knowing your opponent doesn't always guarantee you success, you must have self-awareness as well. Knowing who you are, what you can do is also important. I am self-aware to realize that there had been people that followed a similar path to me in the past. But I am also self-aware to realize that I am unique in my own way. Still, I look in the past and see people that did things similar to what I did or would do. People like me, but certainly not better than me. I just wanted to look at what they did, where did they failed and what they could've done to not fail. I wanted to look at people who followed that path.''

    Nova takes the drink again and completely chugs it down this time. He chuckles a little after downing the drink.

    ''I'm sorry if what I'm trying to tell you sounds like gibberish to you. Well, I feel sorry for you if you really think it's gibberish. What am I trying to say is this: There have been a lot of Englishmen in the world of professional wrestling. I'm not the first, I won't be the last. But...there was a 'last' before. The man who called himself 'The Last Great Englishman'.''

    He fully smirks this time, making a reference to a certain FWA wrestler.

    ''You remember who he is, right? The all-mighty Phillip A. Jackson. I have no problems admitting I found him more appealing as a wrestler back then than the most of the rest. And I am aware of some of the similarities we might have. We are both decent-looking Englishmen, we are both confident in our abilities to the point of you can call it arrogance, we both like to express ourselves in the ring and blah blah blah. But there is one major difference. I am still here and PAJ isn't. Because Phillip A. Jackson was supposed to be Immortal, but he flew too close to the sun, got his wings burned and faced his own mortality. He's in the ground, broken, unable to fight. The Last Great Englishman is no more. There are no more Great Englishmen. I am better than great, I am the greatest. I wouldn't be content with knowing I am a Great Englishman, nor knowing I am the Greatest Englishman. I can't limit myself to a specific region, even though I put a great effort in preparing all of these today. I am universal, my greatness can be appreciated from Manchester to Istanbul, from Tokyo to New York. There are no limits for what I can achieve. I can fly close to the sun, I can go through the sun twice and come back to the Earth, and I could still look at everyone of you with a smile on my face, showing you guys just how great I am and how great you are not. Unless Phillip, I am really Immortal and all of you will see that after I go through everyone of your heroes, your villains, basically anyone. To think of it, Phillip A. Jackson was just a prototype of mine, a more flawed version who followed the path that I will master eventually.''

    He quietly and politely laughs after that, like he wasn't speaking so intense and loud a second ago. He grabs a teapot under the table and pours some tea into a white porcelain teacup. Nova then grabs the cup by its handle, raises it, pinky finger up like a proper Englishman. He sips on the hot tea, slightly bothered by the heat of it.

    ''Phillip A. Jackson has left our world, but not without leaving behind a legacy that definitely can't be ignored. I'm not just talking about the titles he's won, the stables he was in or his other accomplishments. I'm also and more specifically talking about a 7 feet tall Russian locomotive that is ready to run through everybody that's in his way. I'm just giving him the benefit of the doubt. He's nobody like Jason or Mac. No doubt he will be my greatest opponent in FWA up to this point. But he isn't unbeatable. Everybody knows that. Everybody has seen him lose. I know Viktor Maximus' weakness. And that's motivation or lack there of, at least, under certain conditions.''

    He turns his gaze from the camera to the wide window next to him. It was showing the beautiful landscape around the rails. He points out to the outside with his hand.

    ''This is my motivation. The entire world. I want do do everything there is to do. See everywhere there is to see. Taste every pleasure the world has to offer. I want literally everything.''

    Nova opens the window a bit, letting fresh air into the carriage, all while getting his hair blown by the breeze that he also let in.

    ''Where did I left off? Ah, yes, Viktor Maximus has his certain motivational problems. If you look at his accomplishments here in FWA, you can see a tag team title reign with his mentor Phillip A. Jackson. That's impressive, considering Viktor was just a newcomer, freshly out of Phillip A. Jackson Academy. Also, Viktor also has a huge victory against Mike Parr. A victory that was taken as a revenge for his mentor, Phillip A. Jackson. You starting to see the resemblance? Viktor Maximus claims that he's his own man. That he has his own voice. But if you look at his track record, I don't think anyone would be calling you crazy if you told them that those claims were not one hundred percent true. All his accomplishments had something do to with Phillip. Winning a tag title with him, or gaining a huge victory in revenge of him. But if you were to look at his track record when it's not about Phillip, you can see a lot of failures as well. I'm not just talking about a loss to Dave Sullivan, no, but he also lost to Eyesnsane as well, who is known to not pick up many wins lately, and an overall part of the 'complacency' problem we have here. So, we can say it's not really a good look on Viktor. I don't think any of this stuff I've mentioned is coincidence. Viktor Maximus is still uncertain of himself, still isn't his own man, still haven't found his voice. Despite being that wrecking-ball of a man, Viktor is more fragile than the most. And I will strike to shatter. Show him that his mentor he cherished so much was just a flawed version of yours truly. Break that one motivation he could hold on. When Viktor finds himself unable to hold onto anything, he would have to improvise, and evolve. Phillip A. Jackson died, thinking his project was complete. But it wasn't. Phillip A. Jackson Project isn't complete at all, it's just half-way done without allowing any progress now that the creator is dead. I'll tell you again: I will succeed where Phillip went wrong. I will shatter Viktor's world. Then maybe he can create a new one for himself from the scratch, a new world he can actually grow into his own man.''

    He grabs the teacup once more, and drinks the tea in a proper manner again. This time, it was a little bit less hot, so Nova smiled, clearly feeling its heavenly taste on his mouth.

    ''But I will not do it for Viktor. I will do it for the only person I always do it: Myself. I don't care what Viktor will do after he's eventually defeated by me. I will care for the only person I always care in FWA: Myself. This is for me, my road to glory, my quest to have everything, and leaving others with nothing compared to me. This is my story, ladies and gentlemen, I am the hero of it. It's my world, and you're all living in it.''

    He gets up from his seat, gets close to the camera.

    ''Pip pip, cheerio, motherfuckers.''

    And cut.
    Du bindest einen Blumenkranz...
    ...wieso siehst du so traurig aus?

  10. #10
    Friendship King

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    Re: Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19

    Somewhere within the seedy underbelly of Melbourne, Australia, there sits a warehouse.

    Not a particularly good warehouse, mind you. Clearly run down, in dire need of repair and upkeep, the paint peeling off the walls in a jarringly ugly fashion. Once, it was used to store freight and hardware, wood and nails, but those days have long since vanished. If you asked the right people, you’d get an answer somewhere along the lines of it once belonging to a respectable businessman, who made honest money back in the 70’s shipping various goods and services. They would most likely then say it’s current owner is a disgraceful lunatic, ranking in chump change with blood and violence in only the slightest legal manner, and even then, they’d have their doubts.

    To 99% of Australia, that warehouse was just that – a warehouse. Poorly maintained, stuck somewhere in the industrial sector of Melbourne, indistinguishable from the myriad of other warehouses you’d find all over the world. To 0.9% of Australia, it was a seedy fight club, where those with too much cash could pay and watch those with too little morals beat each other senseless, simply because they were paid to.

    To the remaining 0.01%, it was the training ground and occasional event venue of VCAA – Victorian Combat Arts Association.

    Which, again, means less than nothing to anyone outside of the state Victoria. It’s not a famous training ground by any means, and significantly less prestigious. Really, the only times it would be in the news was when it’s owner, the ever-dour Murphy Dreyer, got into yet another Twitter spat with someone, typically a former student, over ‘unpaid dues’ or such nonsense. And out of few dozen or some alumni who had graduated to go on to bigger and better things, you could count on one hand those who reached any worldwide acclaim, so it’s not like VCAA’s getting recognition for what it claims to be.

    Indeed, some would argue that VCAA – and ergo, Murphy Dreyer – had only managed to produce one true star in professional wrestling.

    That one true star now stood outside the VCAA warehouse, eyeing the decaying building with disdain.

    Krash let out an even breath, casting a glance back at his car. It would be so easy just to turn around and drive away, leaving his past where it belonged. He took a step towards the car, before grumbling beneath his breath and withdrawing. As much as regretted it, he gave his word that he’d pay VCAA a visit. His word held value, and to go back on his word would be going back on who he was trying very, very hard to be.

    And so, with a resigned sigh reserved typically for visits to the DMV, Krash strode towards the thick doors of the warehouse, slipping inside with barely a whisper.

    A wrestling ring, slightly smaller than the average size, took up the majority of the warehouse. A trio of audience stands took up residence on the west, east, and south sides of the ring, leaving the north side to hang a lackluster curtain over in a cheap attempt to create a more impressive entranceway, whilst an office sat between the curtain and the west stands, dusty windows overlooking the ring. Inside and around the ring, about two dozen wrestlers in training stood, listening sullenly as an old, decrepit man in an equally old and decrepit wheelchair shouted something about ‘the realities of this business.’ Too caught up in the old man’s speech, Krash’s arrival went unnoticed, as he took a seat on one of the empty seats in the stands.

    The old man continued his rambling, his voice echoing within the warehouse. “-the odds of any of you being a worldwide star are slim-to-none, and the sooner you understand that, the sooner you can deal with it! You need to take every opening with both hands, be prepared to cut every corner, take every shortcut, leave your morals at the door, because if the world has its way, none of you will ever progress beyond curtain jerking! It’s up to YOU to spit in the world’s face – they’re not going to give you the spot you deserve, so you’ll have to take it by force! And if you don’t? Guess what, the world is an unfair bitch of a place, so if you don’t do it first, someone else will! Beat it to the punch, kick it in the jewels, and spit in its face for daring to imply you don’t have what it takes to be a star! Any questions?!?”

    Several hands were raised. The old man promptly ignored them. “You lot! Run the ropes twice, tag out, and repeat! If I see anyone slacking, I’ll beat you over the head with your own lack of future!” With that, the old man began wheeling his wheelchair away from the trainees, towards the office, pausing briefly to cough and splutter.

    “Twelve years on, and that speech of yours still hasn’t changed.” Krash remarked, as the old man passed him.

    Murphy Dreyer paused, wheeling his wheelchair back to fix his guest with a disbelieving stare. Krash waved a few fingers, whilst Murphy Dreyer’s expression changed from one of surprise, to one of satisfaction. “Well, well, well. Look who finally came crawling back.”

    Krash glanced at his own two working legs, then Murphy Dreyer’s wheelchair, and decided not to go for the obvious retort. “You can thank Violet for that, Murphy.”

    Murphy snorted. “Finally, she does something right. Come, step into my office, we have much to discuss.”

    Krash shot a glance at the number of trainees running the ropes, silently wishing for them to find a different trainer, literally anyone, before sighing and following Murphy Dreyer into his office.

    The inside of the office matches the ruin and grime of the warehouse outside it. Dust covered the windowsills, discarded papers were strewn around the floor, several worrisome cracks in the roof. A mahogany desk stood at the far end of the office, where Murphy Dreyer wheeled himself towards. Murphy motioned towards an empty wooden chair opposite him, which looked about as welcoming and comfortable as a medieval colonoscopy.

    “Alright, Murph.” Krash began, reluctantly sitting down. “It’s been twelve years and you haven’t let up. What the hell do you want with me?”

    Up close, it was obvious Father Time had not been kind to Murphy Dreyer. Actually, it seemed as though Father Time seemed to hold a mighty big grudge against Dreyer. Wizened, wrinkled skin hung off his body with an unsettling amount of slack. Foul, green liver spots dotted the bald head of Dreyer. Pale, tired eyes, having seen far too much in their long life, stared at Krash unblinkingly, before a predatory smile that showed too much teeth bloomed on Murphy Dreyer’s face. “What, no hug or handshake for the guy who got you into the business? I thought you were all about that pansy crap nowadays.”

    Krash arched an eyebrow, but remained silent.

    “Which reminds me. All this... Honour and handshakes, sportsmanship and shit like that. How long are you going to keep this pure and noble charade up?”

    “I beg your pardon?”

    Murphy Dreyer waved a hand flippantly. “This fancy-prancy good guy with a heart of gold act? You might have some of FWA fooled, but I ain’t buying it, kid.”

    Krash slowly shook his head. “There’s nothing to buy.”

    “Says you. We both know a real good guy with golden morals would’ve turned down Cyrus’s offer at the FWA title and gone about it the honourable way, instead of plunging FWA into a FWA-CWA war.”

    “There is no war.” Krash insisted, a twitch becoming noticeable beneath his left eye.

    Murphy snorted. “That’s not Garcia, Sullivan, Kennedy, Toner, or countless others say.”

    Krash let out an irritated sigh. “They’re wrong. It’s tribalism at its worst. Us vs Them mentality, uniting to fight a non-existent enemy. It’s ridiculous. A bunch of inflated egos pushing an agenda. Nothing more, nothing less.”

    “And yet, it’s working.”

    “Is it?” Krash snapped, rising to his feet and pacing around the office. “What’s the endgame, Murph? They band together to give the CWA ‘invaders’ a thorough beating, then immediately break apart to fight each other for the next title shot? If, or when, I get a title shot weeks, months, or years down the line, are they going to draw the battle lines again and sprout this ‘CWA invader’ rhetoric once more? If they don’t, then it’s an admittance that this claimed FWA/CWA war is just that, a knee-jerk claim to save face. If they do, then it’s an admittance that unless you were born in FWA, you’ll never truly be a part of it, and they won’t let anyone who’s not FWA succeed, because it’s a reminder that they’re not as good as they should be. Cyrus has been part of FWA for years now, but he’s still not seen as one of them, so fat chance of myself ever being accepted as one, right? Sullivan and Kennedy said it themselves – They’ll never let Cyrus vs Krash happen, because it’s an admittance that neither Kennedy nor Sullivan have what it takes to transcend companies, nor be above single-minded tribalism. They can be the stars in FWA, sure. But they can’t be more than that. Myself and Cyrus, we’re above FWA or CWA. We’re stars of professional wrestling as a whole, not tied down to the companies we work for.”

    “And yet, they’ve got more people fooled by this ‘war’ than you do with this ‘good guy’ act.” Murphy Dreyer said, slowly, carefully.

    Krash scoffed. “Who do they have fooled? Danny Toner? A man who hasn’t won in more than a year? Sure, they’ve got one guy on the roster drinking the Kool-Aid, congrats. He can blame his lack of success on the Big Bad CWA Wolves, but he didn’t even give a damn about the whole thing until they spoke on Twitter about it. Which is a shame, because I look at Mr. Toner and I see a guy who has so much more potential than he thinks, all he has to do is put his head down and focus! But he’s being led astray by lies and false promises, because Sullivan, Kennedy, and Garcia need a lackey to swallow their tall tales.” Krash shook his head, leaning his palms on the desk. “Allow me to make one thing clear. If they want a war, they will receive a slaughter, and the first casualty will be Mr. Toner served up on a silver platter.”

    Murphy Dreyer licked his lips, the satisfied toothy smirk returning. “Feel better, now that you’ve got that out of you?”

    Krash sat back down, running a hand through his hair. “Not really. Just tired and empty.”

    “I have that effect on people. But now, now I think you’re in the right mindset. Finally, you and I, can discuss business...”


    I'm not good at signatures.

  11. #11
    Sully's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2013
    Pittsburgh, PA
    Rep Power
      Country                    United States

    Re: Fight Night Promo Thread 09/06/19

    One Show, One King

    There is one thing many athletes never anticipate as they become larger in their sports. It isn't the increase of fans who approach them for autographs, or the contract raises they get from the front offices of their organizations, and it isn't the amount of restaurants that give them free meals just because of who they are. No, the biggest surprise for many athletes actually comes down to the amount of companies who want them to be their prime endorsement.

    However, with "The King", that isn't his biggest surprise. No, two years ago Dave Sullivan did not have the million dollar endorsements that he has to today. He wasn't endorsing Smoothie King, or Under Armor, or Old Spice, or even Gatorade. Nobody was asking him to do commercials when he won his first three X Championships.

    But yet to The King, his success is not a surprise to him.

    The thing The King cannot understand, is how despite the success and despite the endorsements and admiration of many of his cult like followers, he still can't seem to get any respect from FWA management. He still cannot get HIS way.

    Which is quite ironic, because today Dave Sullivan is on the set of his own commercial.

    Burger King.

    And it is quite the set indeed. Sullivan appears to be standing in some sort of elaborate cardboard castle. There are velvet red carpets surrounding the area, and a giant plastic throne stands tall in the background. Sullivan is in one of his expensive three piece suits, one he bought from the money he earns from his endorsements. But he isn't the only one on set, as next to him is yet another man of royalty. The Burger King. Who the cheap actor who was hired to be in the Burger King costume is a mystery, but he is there next to Sullivan nevertheless.

    Director: OK, take 12. Just say the lines that we need you to say...

    Dave Sullivan takes a bit out of a huge whopper.

    King Sullivan: Yum. Now a burger for a champion...

    The director seems to take a sigh of relief, until Dave Sullivan keeps going...

    King Sullivan: And not a champion like Cyrus Truth. This burger, is for a real champion. A double champion I might add in fact. A four time X Champion. A champion who has held a title longer than anyone else kind of champion. A champion who is also on track to hold his North American Championship longer than anyone else. Yes, this burger is for THAT kind of champion! Go get it at Burger King. Have it your way!

    The director takes off his glasses, and begins to rub his temples.

    Director: Look, when we signed the contract...we put nothing in there about adlibbing lines. Just say the lines that are on the contract, and we're good to go. We get our commercial, and you get your money.

    And with that, The King begins to lose it. The real King. Dave Sullivan takes the burger, and throws it at the director like a King Felix Hernandez fastball. Ketchup explodes everywhere, as Sullivan's anger explodes with it.

    Many of those in the film crew begin to flee the scene in order to watch from a safer distance, as Sullivan begins tossing various props around the set. Sullivan's own agents attempt to calm him down, but The King has finally boiled over.

    King Sullivan: I am sick and tired of being disrespected by all of these organizations. Not only do I get disrespected by my OWN company, but I get disrespected now but goddamn Burger King? Burger King? No! I am THE King.

    And you people think you can boss ME around?

    That is not how this is going to work. Not any more. I am sick and tired of being told what to do by people. You people, you think I am a bad guy. You think I have a bad temper? A bad ego? You all have NO idea what I have been holding inside of me all this time. The way that I have been treated? A normal person would have blown a gasket a long time ago.

    Imagine if Cyrus Truth was treated the way I was treated. Imagine if he actually had to earn the matches he had to fight. Imagine if he actually had to defend his championship on a regular basis, and not just whenever the hell he fucking feels like? Imagine that.

    Instead, they let Cyrus "The Wannabe King" Truth pick and choose when he defends his title, and who he defends it against. They let him pick his peasant little friends from his peasant company CWA. And then they think I am just going to let that slide? That is criminal. Criminal. And you all know how I feel about criminals...

    Because that brings me to my next rant. The Justice System. It is anything but Just, clearly. Because just a week ago, I was told by someone close that this justice system is letting loose one of the most dangerous criminals there is this month! Oh, have you not heard? Yes that's true. One of the most dangerous criminals in the world, who was locked behind bars for a damn reason, is apparently being released from prison. I'm talking about that little peasant ghetto loser Ty Johnson. For some reason, the courts seem to think he is innocent...and now, after all my hard work, they are going to just let him out and roaming the streets like a free man. Ty Johnson should not be a free man. Ty Johnson...Ty Johnson belongs locked inside a cage for the rest of his life.

    And so while I'm trying to regulate my ANGER on not only The CWA Peasants trying to take over MY company that I worked hard to bring to glory, and while I'm coping with the grief of a CRIMINAL being soon released from prison, I get the news of yet a third tragedy to add on to my victimization. And this one? It's the most insulting of them all.

    Because I was told that in the main event of this upcoming fight night, I am not only defending my North American Championship for the fourth straight damn time, but I was told who I was going to be defending it against...

    Just then, two security guards from the studio come in to aid the film crew with taming the angry Sullivan. Sullivan picks up a plastic table from the set, and hurls it at one of the security guards. The security guard tries to duck out of the way, but the table ends up hitting him pretty good. The other guard attempts to charge at Sullivan and take him down, but Sullivan dodges the attack, and takes this guard down with one blow. Sullivan picks up a plastic sceptre that The Burger King dropped as he ran off with the others earlier.

    King Sullivan holds the sceptre like a baseball bat, and dares the second security guard to come at him.

    Sullivan sticks his hand out, and motions for the guard to come. The guard backs off, and joins the others as the first guard still lays unconscious next to Sullivan's feet.

    King Sullivan: Do you people think this is a game? Huh? What is it with the endless amount of egotistical narcissistic who think they can get in the ring and beat me? What is it? I am 15-1 since coming back to the FWA last July. Of my last seven matches, I have won each of them...and five of those matches had championships on the line.

    And yet again...

    I am asked to defend my championship.

    I will be honest. When I am tasked with defending my championship's glory, I have no problem doing that. That is, when it is against a respectable opponent. Viktor Maximus last week, was probably one of the closest things I have had to a respectable opponent all year. Despite the fact that he has not and never will live up to the glory of his mentor, who he failed to protect, I thought he did better than any of the other peasants who were tasked with bowing down in front of me in the ring.

    In fact, I almost enjoyed sparring with Viktor in the ring last week. slimey little overrated peasant had to get his dirty little loverboys to go into the ring and interfere in MY match. My match, where he and his boys were NOT invited.

    I did not need their help with Viktor. That big giant meathead was nothing to me. Yet, they had to stick their noses where it didn't belong...but I don't know why I am surprised. Because you see, when it comes to sticking their nose where it doesn't belong, well...Mike Parr is his own King there. The Brown Nose King. Mike Parr has his nose stuck SO far up Ryan Rondo's ass, that it isn't even funny.

    Let me tell you a story about "The Brown Nose King" overrated Mike Parr, and he is overrated. This is not the first time that me and good 'ol Brown Nosie are fighting off. No, in fact the year was 2015 when we fought for the first and only time. I was on my second ever X Championship reign after beating Passion at Mile High, and I nobody could stop me. I beat James Hughes, I DEFEATED Stu "The Snake" St. Clair, and I humiliated Mac Michaud day in and day out. So then comes Trial By Fire, where I have to defend the X Championship in a fatal four way tables match...and my opponents? Three peasants. The humiliated Mac Michaud, the defeated Passion, and can you guess the third opponent, fresh out of diapers and now wearing pullups? The Brown Nose King himself.

    And can you guess what happened to The Brown Nose King in that match? Well first thing was first, I'm pretty sure the second he locked eyes with me in that ring fo the first time in his rookie year, he soiled his big boy pants right then and there. But do you want to know what happened next? I tossed him and Mac Micaud threw a table at the same time. Now I'll give that old washed up bastard Michaud some credit, he stuck around and moaned for a solid 10 minutes after that. But Parr? Parr simply stumbled to his feet, and walked off defeated and humiliated. I ended that match but throwing one more loser through a table to retain my championship.

    But that wasn't the best part of the story. No, the best part of the story is a part that NOBODY knows about. Because you see, after that match was over, and I was basking in the glory of my championship reign...Mike Parr came stumbling into the locker room. And this guy's eyes were all red and puffy, with tears nearly still running down them. Here I thought this little noobie bastard came to shake my hand and bow down to his Daddy. But that didn't, do you know what this little punk did?

    After this match was over, Mike Parr came in and he started crying at me! He started going on and on about how I "buried him" and how it was unfair. Specifically, little Mikey was most upset about how none of the fans had any reaction to him at all. No boos, no cheers...they were just totally uninterested in him at the time. They still are frankly. He cried about how even the announcers weren't picking him to win, and even Piers Gallagher who did pick him to win did it out of pity. How I had any control in this was beyond me, but here was Mikey Mike, crying away about how buried he was in this match.

    And buried he deserved to be

    Sullivan appears to have calmed down a bit.

    He is no longer throwing objects around, and some of the crew appears to be getting closer to him.

    The Burger King himself is still there.

    Even the director has stuck around in the hopes that the commercial can still be salvaged.

    The problem however is that Sullivan is still not finished with his rant.

    King Sullivan: I buried Mike Parr at Trial By Fire in 2015, and that should have been the end of it. He was meant to be buried deep in the ground.

    But that didn't happen. What happen was, when I was dominating the X Division with my two X Championship reigns, reigns that lasted a total of eight and a half months...others were competing for bigger titles like the North American Title. And as the story here normally goes, can you guess who got a shot at the North American title before I did?

    That's right, The Brown Nose King did.

    This isn't an old move that was done by the FWA by any stretch of the imagination. At the FWA Revival show last year, while I was stuck defending my championship by the scum of the roster Risky freaking Douglas, do you know who was in the North American Championship match that night? I'll name a few...Kevin Cromwell, Tommy Thunder, and Aaron Kendrick. Three scrubs. Three absolute scrubs, all of whom I defeated. Kevin Cromwell was the man I ripped the X Championship away from, like Child Services taken away an abused child from a horrible parent. And Aaron Kendrick? Aaron Kendrick couldn't even get the X Championship the first time. I beat Cromwell and Kendrick both four different times before that FWA Revival show. They had, by no means earned a shot at the North American Championship...yet there they were.

    Just like years earlier, Mike Parr was there in the same spot. Mike Parr was given a chance at the North American Championship, despite the fact that he never even won the X Championship from me before that. But instead of earning his way, he just jumped right over me and right into the North American title division. Meanwhile, me...who had been dominated everyone else, was skipped right over and kept at the bottom. Explain to me how that makes sense. Explain to me how it made sense in 2015, and explain to me how it made sense back at the FWA Revival show.

    But here's the thing...unlike Mike Parr, I earned my way here. Despite getting passed over time and time again by the likes of Kevin Cromwell, Tommy Thunder, Aaron Kendrick, and Mike Parr...I stuck through it all, and won the North American Championship off of Starr. And unlike Mike Parr, I never lost it.

    You see after Mike Parr got his undeserved chance at the North American Championship, everyone thought he was the next great young star. The great Mikey Parr, future world champion. Yet here we are, four years later...and do you know what Mike Parr has done with himself? How many singles titles has he won since that lucky undeserved North American Championship? The answer is none.

    Because he didn't deserve it then, and he doesn't deserve it now.

    Maybe...MAYBE he deserves a shot at the X Championship. If he could earn that title, then I'd say let him scurry on up to a bigger division. For some reason, it appears like FWA Management has given up on me even losing this title. I've held it for a record breaking 14 months and counting. This reign has been so impressive, that they haven't even had me defend the thing since July. But they sure do hate seeing me with this North American Championship, don't they?

    Let I've got news for them. I am not dropping either title. I am on my path to fighting Cyrus Truth for the World Championship, and I WILL have all three titles. Not only will I be the double champ King, but I will be the Triple Champ King.




    The Burger King has managed to make his way back on set, and is standing next to Sullivan. Meanwhile Sullivan appears to be getting fired up again.

    His face is getting redder.

    His fists are beginning to clench.

    And his nose is scrunching up in his face.

    King Sullivan: I am sick and tired of these people getting the things they have without earning them. I have single handedly earned everything I've gotten in the FWA, and then some. The things I have had to prove in my long time as an FWA wrestler? It's unbelievable. I still have yet to be given a shot at the world championship in my entire career here. I just won the North American Championship for the first time this year, and that was only after I had to absolutely destroy the X Division to do it. If I don't shatter every X Division record there is, I probably get passed up yet again for a North American title shot.

    Yet all around me are loser peasants who get undeserved chances.

    Cyrus Truth walking in here years ago and being undeservedly pushed right to the main events. And his little buddy Krash walking in, and doing the same exact thing years later.

    Ty Johnson, going to PRISON...and now instead of serving his time in restorative justice fashion, is getting undeservedly released from prison.

    And "The Brown Nose King" Mike Parr...with his undeserved shot at the North American Championship in 2016, and his undeserved shot at the North American Championship now.


    Just then Sullivan turns to The Burger King, and gives him a hard kick right to the stomach.

    The Burger King goes to the ground, but Sullivan continues to kick the poor costumed man over and over.

    Dozens of film staff and agents attempt to pull Sullivan away, but the real King appears untameable. He jumps on The Burger King, and begins to punch away at his plastic mask. Sullivan finally is pulled off, but not before giving The Burger King a couple more hard kicks to the ribs.

    The Burger King rolls on the ground in pain, as Sullivan smirks with pride at the despicable act he's done. He continues to scream as he gets dragged away by his own agents and crew.



    I will not stand for these imposter Kings any longer.

    Not the Burger King.

    Not "The Vagabond King".

    And certainly not Mikey Parr The Brown Nose King.

    Mike're right...back in 2015, I did bury you at Trial By Fire. And I am going to bury you again. hen I am going to bury Krash and Cyrus Truth. And unlike you Parr, I going to become the FWA World Champion. And you? You and your two little nobodies are going to be buried back in the ground where you belong. I will throw you threw a thousand tables to make that happen. You are going to regret interfering in my match last week, and you're going to regret not staying buried four years ago.

    Parr, you will bow down like the rest. Because I am The King of the FWA, and...




    “There can only be one King. ”
    ― Pablo Escobar

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