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Thread: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

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    Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    Post promos for the 04/17/2020 Fight Night here. Promos are due Monday, April 13 at midnight Pacific time, which is Tuesday, April 14 at 3 a.m. Eastern time and 8 a.m. British time.

    No extensions.


    "The Golden One" Devin Golden

    3x FWA World Heavyweight Champion
    2x FWA X Champion
    4x FWA Tag Team Champion
    Final record: 94-58-10


    Shannon O'Neal
    2x FWA Women's Champion
    1x FWA World Champion


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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    A video begins to play on FWA.com.

    The video starts off with some static and then opens up to a plain looking backdrop, and soon enough Jackson Fenix walks into the frame. He’s wearing a casual suit and tie, he stands in front of the camera with his hands folded neatly in front of him.

    Vincent Blackbird, can I call you Vinnie? Birdman? Vincenzo? Honestly, now that I think about it, I don’t give a rat’s ass what I call you. You know why? Because clearly you don’t care about a little something called a rematch clause, do you? Obviously you don’t care because why else in that pea brain of yours would you make a match like the one that you did this coming Fight Night in Pissburgh, PA?

    Nate Savage soon joins Fenix and stands beside him, dressed casually and hands folded neatly behind his back.

    It’s actually Pittsburgh, Jackson

    I know Nate, and I’m sorry I know you’re from Pennsylvania…

    No offense taken my friend, I’m from the better part of the state. Well, to be honest that’s not saying much about it either. It doesn’t matter, I digress. Please, continue…

    Thank you Nate, now Nate let me ask you something, can you believe the sheer stupidity of general manager Vincent Blackbird?

    No, I can’t believe it. It’s truly astonishing how unbelievably stupid this man really is, I mean we quite clearly have a rematch clause but instead of our rematch against The Elite being given to us, we now have to earn our rematch by defeating a team compiled of nobodies

    Not only that my friend, but we have to team with the very men that beat us for those titles that they hold.

    Again, truly astonishing how stupid one man can be when the easiest and most fair option is right in front of him.

    Jackson shakes his head in disappointment.

    It’s sad really, but it doesn’t really matter in the end. Blackbird can throw us this curveball, thinking he’s smart when he’s not, and we can throw it right back at him right in his face when we defeat The Valanders and The Wave on our own without the help of The Elite…

    Wait, wait...shut the front door! You mean we have to face The Valanders AND The Wave? The same Valanders that we already beat just last week?

    The very same Nate, those two scrubs get another opportunity handed to them after we wiped the floor with them with ease...

    Didn’t The Elite defeat The Wave last week too?

    Indeed they did. Not as easily as we defeated The Valanders, but they did manage a win. I honestly don’t know why they’re even in this match, pity? Possibly, I mean The Valanders are just two loser brothers they aren’t even in the same league as us and we showed that when we beat them last week. They don’t belong anywhere near this match, let alone in this division…

    What about The Wave?

    What about them? Just as forgettable and average as The Valanders. They’ve scrapped up a few lucky wins here and there, but easily forgettable. What a sad state of affairs this tag team division has become now that we’re no longer the champions, you have average brothers and forgettable teams running around being handed title shots that they don’t even deserve when a team like us that has proven time and time again why we are the greatest tag team to ever step foot in this company.

    The worst part about this is that we have to team with The Elite…

    Honestly, we don’t even need them…

    He turns to the camera.

    Yeah, you heard me right. Elite, why don’t you go ahead and just stay home because we’ll win this match for US and then all will be right when we go ahead and take back our tag team titles, because that’s truly...undisputed

    Jackson smirks at the camera while Nate stares at it menacingly before the scene fades out.


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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    Backstage - Fight Night 20.03.20


    Alyster slumped through the curtain following his victory over Eli Black. He was sweating, frustrated, and annoyed. Thinking about that fan in the front row holding up the Krash sign and how he behaved toward him. He knew how creepy he must have come off for what he did. Staring at this poor fan, so intently, so angrily…so awkwardly. The situation was tense and weird. And worst of all he couldn't figure out why he behaved that way. He hadn't noticed the sign on his way to the ring or even during the match., only as he was leaving. For some reason, he felt a need to walk up to that fan and snatch the sign from them, to tear it up and to berate him. Instead he just stared at him. Like a creepy weirdo. It was odd. Did he have some built up resentment toward his "best" friend that was triggered by looking at that sign? That made no sense. After all he returned to FWA to restore his reputation and to mend some fences; most of all to fix his relationship with his estranged “bestie”.

    He mindlessly walked into the locker room and took a seat on the bench in front of his locker. Other wrestlers were changing and talking to each other. Kevin Cromwell, seated next to Alyster, turned to face the masked man. "Are you okay mate? What the hell was that?"

    Alyster snapped to attention. "Excuse me?

    "You staring down that poor geezer. What'd he do, heckle you or something?"

    "No, he didn't do anything. I just spaced out a little bit."


    "Well it was creepy. Way to make a crappy impression on everyone here by the way. Acting like a loon and being a loner. Riding off the coattails of your old partner. That's probably the only reason they let a geezer like you in here, cause you're Krash's buddy."

    "Sorry." Was all Alyster could say. He wasn't interested in a fight right now. At least not with someone who was about to enter the Chamber, though he did wonder why Cromwell of all people was even acknowledging him. That's when he noticed the slight trembling in Kevin's leg.

    "Are you nervous about the Chamber match?"

    Kevin stared at Alyster, blinked at him and then stood up. He popped the collar of his jacket and had a swagger about him that screamed confidence. That was his answer.

    "I see." Alyster raised a hand to his head, scratching his temple through the mask. "You know, I was in a Chamber once before. I won my first world title in it. Beat Mr. Showtime which you might not find all that impressive, he was a bit before your time. But as a wrestler he was something else. And Krash was in that chamber too, he didn't last all that long but he was there. Can I give you a bit of insight?"

    Amadeus almost burst out laughing at the concept of taking advice from an old CWA reject, but he bit his tongue to be polite. "Sure, old man. Shoot."

    "You're going to die in that chamber. You're in over your head and locked inside literal hell with actual devils. You’re not cut out for extreme matches. You aren’t cut out for the X Championship. You aren’t cut out for the elimination chamber.”

    Alyster grabs his bag and stands up. Getting in Cromwell's face. Cromwell doesn't back down, looking the old man dead in the eye.

    "You’re right, you don’t deserve to be in that chamber. But I hope you prove everyone wrong Kevin. I hope you get your hands on everyone in that match and I hope you squeeze them so hard that their veins burst.”


    Alyster smirks from behind his mask as Kevin shoots him a look that displays how unamused he is.

    “Good luck out there tonight.”

    Alyster patted Kevin on the shoulder and received a hard shove in return. Alyster stumbled a little bit but managed to catch himself before he fell. He shrugged his shoulders then continued on. Not even looking back at Kevin for a brief moment. Leaving the English grappler to his thoughts and an upcoming match that could change the trajectory of his career.


    A few days later – Sunny San Dimas, California – The Home of Alyster Black



    Alyster sat on the floor of his home gym, covered in sweat, panting heavily. He was wearing his signature mask, a plain black t-shirt and a pair of dark tracksuit pants. Freshly finished with his workout for the day and staring into his phone which he had set up on a tripod. Ready to record a promo for his match on the next edition of Fight Night.

    “Gerald Grayson.” He was soft spoken today, there was not a hint of angst in his voice though he did seem to be at a loss for words. Which was a problem he was experiencing as of late, one that was starting to worry him. Perhaps he had taken a few too many shots to the head over his career. Nonetheless he was going to bumble his way through this promo no matter how embarrassing it was going to be.

    “What can I say about Gerald Grayson?” He paused, racking his brain for something to say, not finding anything worthwhile. He wasn't thinking highly of himself. He felt unsatisfied with his match at Back in Business and his last match on Fight Night. For what reason he couldn't understand, he won, why wasn't that enough? He smacked his hand against the mirror in frustration then took his phone off the tripod and deleted the footage. He turned to look at himself in the mirror, grumbling at himself then reached out for a red marker convieniently left by the tripod. He started writing out a list on the mirror behind his head.

    Eli Black
    Gerald Grayson
    Donovan Moore
    Jason Randall
    Kevin Cromwell
    Michelle von Horowitz


    After writing down the names he turned back to the camera and stopped the recording. He adjusted the tripod so that the list behind his head was in the shot then started the recording again. He reached back and crossed out the first name on the list.

    Eli Black
    Gerald Grayson
    Donovan Moore
    Jason Randall
    Kevin Cromwell
    Michelle von Horowitz


    “One down, five to go. On our last edition of Fight Night, Eli Black put up a good fight against me. A good fight, but nothing good enough to beat me. And with that pinfall over the other Mr. Black I’ve come one step closer to my goal. What I did to Eli, I’m going to do the same to Gerald Grayson. On the next edition of Fight Night, April 17 coming at you live with be the hardest hitting lariat in all of wrestling. I’m going to turn you inside out and leave you looking up at the lights seeing stars. Plain and simple. This isn’t arrogance talking, its experience, of which I have over decade more than you. Your daredevil antics aren’t going to work. But if you’re looking for a real thrill Mr. Grayson there isn’t one as intense and scary as staring into this mask from across the ring.”

    Alyster points at his face, staring directly into the camera, letting everyone get a good look as his masked visage. He’s starting to feel the flow again. Reminding himself of that he used to be. A monster, feared and respected by everyone that knew better. Underestimated by others and more than happy to prove them wrong, and he was going to remind everyone of that.

    “I’d like to give you all a little history lesson…you should really pay attention to this one Grayson. In 2009 I won my first world title. Not in CWA of course, my CWA career wasn’t all that great. But before CWA I was scratching and clawing and hungry to show everyone just how amazing Alyster Black is. I got an opportunity to in an elimination chamber, just like the one you all saw last Fight Night. Six men, four of whom eventually found themselves in CWA – Me, Krash, Cesar Pineda, and the legendary defending champion, Mr. Showtime. You all recognise that name, don’t you? The run he had in CWA was a thing of beauty. World champion, Five Star Attraction main event, promo and movie star. He cemented himself as one of the all-time greats. But before all of that you could watch him wrestling in OWW Takedown, as their world champion. Of course. his title reign came to an end at my hands. I dropped him on his head, pinned him and then outlasted, and defeated four other men, including another former CWA World Champion, to become the OWW Takedown World Champion. That was the proudest moment of my life until I arrived in CWA and became the tag team champion alongside my best friend in the whole wide world. In all the time I’ve spent away from the ring, I’ve not been able to replicate that feeling. Truth be told I don’t think I have it in me to do it again. I want to be a champion again more than anything in the world. And I have my eye set on that X Championship. The one held by MvH. The one fought over at Back in Business by the names scribbled behind me.

    He looks away from the camera, feeling a peace in himself for the first time in years. He’s just had an epiphany, one that makes sense to him. He knew why he had left wrestling and knew that something inside him wanted to come back, he thought it was to right all the wrongs of the past but it wasn’t.

    “My return, my redemption. It’s the only thing that matters to me right now. I’ll go through all the names on this list, and every other body in FWA to achieve my goal. As would anyone. But unlike most of them I’m willing to die for my cause. Can you all say the same?"

    Alyster shook his head. “I don’t think you have that conviction. But I do. See you on the 17th Gerald.”





    MESSAGE SENT 13:01PM, SAT APRIL 11 2020

    I’m sorry for messaging you out of the blue, and I’m sorry for ignoring you. We’ve been in the same buildings together on multiple occasions and I’ve avoided you. I’m a coward and a liar and a bad friend. Would be so kind as to find it in your heart to meet with me, just to talk?
    Last edited by Rawr; 05-01-2020 at 08:30 PM.

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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    MVH.
    VOLUME 29.
    "Storyteller."

    The odd glow of several hundred light bulbs made her reflection seem brighter and more vibrant than she herself felt. Before her, encompassing the entirety of one of the dressing room’s walls, was a mirror, and she peered into it with a dispassionate curiosity. Even if she had wanted to appear more animated, her eyes were incapable of life. They were tired, like the rest of her. Heavy bags hung beneath them, and her hair was a dirty blonde mess of tangles and knots. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d showered. After the initial adrenaline of her championship victory had worn off, she’d found herself the not-particularly-proud owner of a menagerie of bumps, bruises, and as of yet untreated wounds. Sleep was impossible, and the idea of being separated from her dreams - her dreams in which the only ‘people’ she encountered were projections of her own subconscious and therefore, by definition, better than their counterparts in ‘reality’ - for the foreseeable future was both very real and thoroughly depressing.


    With a grunt and a groan, she began to pull away at the edges of the large bandage that covered her right shoulder and most of her upper arm. It had been white when she’d first applied it, but now it had become discoloured and browned by old, dry blood. Beneath it was a large bruise that looked like purple-and-black camo print. She stroked the discolouring, wincing at the pain, briefly transported back to the moment where she had thrown herself off the stage at Back in Business, tumbling through the air and crashing through a recently vacated table. Back in reality, she turned around, craning her head to see her back in the mirror. The bruise covered the top right quadrant of it, and the regions of her rear torso that it hadn’t yet spread to were riddled with small cuts that were only just beginning to heal. As she surveyed each of them in turn, her mind relived the moment when she had tried to hook Kevin Cromwell’s arms, going for a second Tiger Driver ‘98. He had thrown her over with a back body drop instead, and she’d crashed down onto thousands of thumb tacks. At the time, she hadn’t felt a thing. But when she’d taken them out each one had hurt more than the last. She remembered watching her own fingers grasp the head of each tack before the point was yanked from her flesh. Each removal was a badge of honour.

    From her bag she fetched a few lengths of fresh bandage and a roll of surgical tape, along with three bottles filled with tiny white capsules and a fourth half-emptied of amber liquid. She poured three pills from each bottle onto the table, scooped them up and threw them into her mouth, forcing herself to swallow them back and give her aching body at least a little reprieve.

    She climbed into the shower and tried to focus on something other than the hard Penssylvanian water (which was intent on being either far too hot or far too cold). She reminded herself of what she was here to do. It hadn’t been a particularly enjoyable day. No day that features a lengthy conversation with any executive - least of all an FWA executive - can be considered enjoyable. But it had been productive, or at least would be by the time it was through. She had always been one for a grand gesture, so long as she was the one who stood to benefit from it. Tonight was no different.

    The executive had been running through a similar instructional stream of consciousness that she’d heard before. This guy, at least, was better put together than the fat, sweaty man who’d accosted her on the night of Back in Business. He wore a blue pinstripe suit with a white shirt and a red tie, his posture immaculate as he sat in a high-backed chair behind a large, mahogany desk. He was eloquent enough and seemed at least outwardly confident in what he was selling, but his fruit was as rotten as all the others'. When he'd finished, she quickly dismissed him and his perception of the inherent responsibilities that the X Division Champion bore. He had seemed surprised, bordering on outraged.

    "You know, a lot of people on this roster dream of doing these things," he had said, whilst trying to affect a casual air. His nerves were belied by the idle tapping of his fingers on the surface of his desk. "Appearing on interviews on national television… Representing the company in our various charitable endeavors… These are opportunities that other performers would kill for."

    For a moment, she had stared at the young, handsome executive, weighing up his words. It seemed he felt her ungrateful, and was attempting to guilt her into appearing on The Late Show.

    "Well, all they have to do is beat me, and take my belt, and then they can fill their boots," she said, leaning back and crossing her legs. The movement, though small, caused ripples of pain to travel across the network of bruises on her upper body. "My own dreams are grander."

    The executive shook his head, somewhat exasperated.

    "You could at least set up a Twitter. Or an Instagram. Your fans want to know what you are doing. All of the time. It's the way the world works now."

    "I don't have a phone," she answered, quite honestly. He couldn't help but scoff.

    "Michelle," he began. She felt he was being overly familiar. She elected to allow the peacock his moment to spread his feathers. "I’m not really sure why you are being so difficult. You could at least do a little bit of promotion. Self-promotion, if nothing else. I mean, you’ve asked for this Open Challenge next week, and we’re only too happy to accom--”

    “That I can do,” she interrupted. She had grown tired of the monologue in its infancy, and reached down to retrieve something from her rucksack. She produced a half-finished bottle of Jameson’s, placing it to one side so that she could find what she was looking for. Eventually, she retrieved a handful of pieces of paper and a USB stick and placed them on the executive’s desk. “I don’t need your ironically-named creative department, or any of your enhancement talent. I’ve arranged for all that myself. I only need your cameras, and people to point them at me. Send them to the address I’ve written down here at eleven tonight. My voice is on the USB stick. I hope that you can remember how to use one. I need that back, by the way. I borrowed it from a librarian."

    The man picked up the papers, his eyes beginning to trace the words that she had scrawled across them, illustrated by the occasional diagram or storyboard. The edges of his lips curled, suggesting something resembling satisfaction.

    Back in her dressing room, she turned the water off and retrieved a towel. She dried herself, and then gently reapplied her bandage.
    Her war-wounds made each minor task an ordeal. She had hung her ring gear up opposite the mirror, and pulled on each item with the growing sense that even getting ready for what she had planned would be too much for her. She took one more pill from each of her bottles and washed them down with a pull of Jameson’s. Her reflection seemed to shake its head at her as she left the room.

    After traversing a long, narrow corridor, she pushed open a door and stepped out onto a stage. She was in the Byham Theater, and staring out into the auditorium she saw rows upon rows of empty seats. Stood half-way down the central aisle was a man with a camera upon a tripod, and behind him were two more stage-hands pointing spot-lights towards her. On the stage was a wrestling ring. It loomed ominously before her, oddly hypnotic in the vivid glow of the spot-lights. She nodded at a fourth man
    who waited in the wings, dressed all in black, and he pulled on a rope that gradually drew a curtain between her and the seats. Two others nearby adjusted their cameras, pointing their lenses at the woman who grew more and more alone. When it was just her and the ring, she climbed through the ropes. A deep breath. Her favoured kokutsu dachi stance.

    -*-*-

    As she lowered herself slowly into her fighting stance, she watched the man pace back and forth a few metres from her. His hands were behind his back, his eyes more interested in surveying the ground in front of him than the twelve year old girl who awaited his attack. He was not threatened.

    "You stand as if you're ready to fight," he said, slowly. It was 2002. They were in Rotterdam. Around then, young boys attended to punching bags or sparring partners. "But I know that you're not. I don't have to look at you to sense it."


    They stood within the ring in the middle of the dojo, and although - from a framing perspective at least - they occupied centre stage nobody paid them any attention. She didn’t bother speaking. He had a way of scoffing at her words, and throwing them back at her in derision. She had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.

    “You look tired, and still hurt,” he said, finally refraining from pacing and facing his young protégé. “It has been three days since you were last here. Rest is important.”

    Finally, he took in a deep breath, and moved into his own kokutsu dachi. His stance was firmer, more resolute and self-assured. They were ostensibly mirror images, but the picture told the story of a student and a master.

    “Very well. We will begin.”

    Silently, she lunged towards him, aiming a spin kick at his midriff. Almost nonchalantly, he caught her foot and threw her to one side, before driving a palm strike into her side. Instantly, like an old building on the receiving end of a wrecking ball, she crumbled to the ground. The bruises existed before her last visit to the dojo. Her master and the older boys had certainly added to them, and so had the seventy two hours of every-day life since then. She couldn’t remember the last time that her body hadn’t been angry with her.

    “You’re just going to lie there?” he asked, his voice laced with surprise and amusement. “Perhaps you’d be happier in your sister’s dancing classes?"

    With her eyes closed, she placed her palms against the ground and forced herself onto her feet.

    -*-*-

    The picture is encompassed by heavy, velvet theatre curtains, deep red in colour. They are drawn tightly together, the classic tragedy and comedy masks embroidered in gold and ivory on either side of the divide. They show no sign of opening and are accompanied by no soundtrack. After a few moments of silence, large silver text appears in the center of the screen.

    MICHELLE VON HORROWITZ
    IN


    We are, of course, used to lo-fi, grainy, hand-cam footage from our new X Division Championship, if we are given any footage at all, and so the obvious high production values are at odds with the name that has appeared. It is soon replaced by the title of the piece.

    “STORYTELLER.”

    Finally, the silence is permeated by the voice of our beloved narrator.

    “Why do you all keep coming back, my dear tulips?”

    We can faintly hear the mechanisms responsible for the slow opening of the curtains, the two spot-lights that had been previously focused on the red velvet now highlighting a woman standing alone in a wrestling ring. She is dressed in black, and around her waist sits the FWA X Division Championship. The camera begins to slowly pan out, revealing the empty orchestra pit and, gradually, the first few rows of unoccupied seats. The shot shifts and now we observe the woman from one of the turnbuckles, and behind her the entire auditorium is revealed. It is not completely empty. Sat in various seats in the stalls are a half dozen masked men. One of them stands up, dressed in black wrestling trunks and a black jacket. Slowly, unsure of himself, he begins to move towards the end of the row, the image of the woman in the foreground blurring as we focus on this newcomer. In the corner of the shot, high above the stage, two shadowy figures occupy one of the opera boxes.

    “You keep coming back, of course, for the stories,” the narrator continues. The camera sits low in the central aisle, the spotlights positioned behind it and illuminating the back of the first masked man who dares approach the ring. “Everybody loves a story. Even if you’ve heard them all before.”

    As the masked man rolls under the bottom rope and deftly rises to his feet, he whips off his jacket and throws it over the top rope. The camera transitions smoothly to ultra slow-motion as he does this, the jacket momentarily blocking out the entire picture before revealing her masked opponent in square wrestling stance. As this happens, silver lettering introduces him.

    'THE WRESTLER.'

    We move to a wide shot of the ring, the man and the woman locked in a stand-off. Slowly, without taking her eyes off her counterpart, she removes her championship belt and lays it in front of her.

    “Every week, you switch on your television. You slide closer to the edge of your seat as Gabrielle and Truth burn each other with words and with fire. Your eyes widen with wonder as the latest mental breakdown of some young, fresh meat unfolds in episodic form in front of you. You roar with laughter as the never-ending comedy that is the career of the Monster of the Midway continues. And, most importantly, you wonder which of the noble heroes are going to stake their claim to Sullivan’s prize. These white knights, these men that you’ve painstakingly convinced yourself are worthy, they will go to war with our resident big bad, and things will turn personal and bloody and violent, and you’ll let yourself believe again that this is the man who will restore order to the FWA. If he does win, it’s a happy ending. We all love a happy ending. And if he doesn’t? Well, it only delays the inevitable another month, and makes the pay-off all the sweeter.”

    The woman and the masked man come together in a collar and elbow tie up. Instantly, The Wrestler transitions into a rear waistlock. The camera picks up the pain that roars through the champion’s body. She manages to manoeuvre into a hammer lock, but The Wrestler is quick to roll out of the hold. She attempts a wild lariat that is easily telegraphed. He moves back into his rear waist lock, and attempts to throw her overhead with a German Suplex. She flies through the air, over-rotating and landing on her feet. After catching her balance, she lunges forward with a chop block. She’s up in an instant, throwing herself off the ropes and taking the masked man down with a busaiku knee kick…

    “Each of these stories are variations on the same theme. In this day and age, it’s all about adversity. Our hero’s eventual victory is only worthwhile if it is hard-fought. We yearn for character growth, for an arc that leads us through a logical string of cause and effect and results in our boy learning a whole lot about himself. For you, my tulips, it is all about the chase, and the obstacles faced along the way are as important as the end goal. This is what you demand. And you demand it because it is what you’ve been given, in some form or another, for centuries. You have been told that the men worth believing in are the ones that can pick themselves up after a defeat, and brush themselves down, and continue down their path. These men are just like you, and their victories are, in part, your own. And why wouldn’t you believe it? It’s a comfortable promise, and it justifies the baron spell of inadequacy that we find ourselves in right now. Eventually, he’ll ride in on a huge white horse, and he’ll lead us into a bright future. The darkness will soon blow over.”

    The woman has put her prone opponent in an ankle lock, wrenching at the joint as he screams out and reaches for the ropes. In a flash, he finds himself in a stretch muffler submission, and the recipient of a series of savage stamps to the back of the head. In a stylistic flourish, she transitions once more into the cattle mutilation, The Wrestler struggling to even tap out under the strange contortions that she is forcing upon his body.

    “And so you keep waiting.”

    The first masked man rolls out of the ring, and the woman is back up to her feet, taking her familiar stance and waiting for the next of them to step up. We cut to the box, within which we see the figures of a man and a woman. They too are masked, and dressed all in black. The man sits with his eyes on the stage, his right hand balancing a large glass of red wine on his knee. Upon his head sits a crown. Behind him and to his left, a woman in a long black cocktail dress has a glass of champagne in her left hand and a revolver in her right. As the man lifts his cup to his mouth, the woman raises her gun and points it at his head. Once more, the footage slows down, until each moment stretches on for seconds. As she stares down her revolver at his golden crown, their roles are revealed to the viewer.

    'THE GODDESS.' ............................................................... 'THE KING.'

    In the ring, the woman has returned to her kokutsu dachi stance. Over her shoulder, a new masked man paces upon the apron. He is wearing black jeans and a vest, and in his mouth perches a half-smoked cigarette.

    “And eventually, after watching other people tell their stories for so long, we want to have our own. In February of 2017, James Guildford woke up in his suburban home in Sacramento and decided that he wasn’t content with hearing other people’s stories anymore. And so, in his limited idea of what adventure means, he determined that he wanted to stand on the top of the world. Such a concept, of course, can be measured, and he flew to India, so that he could stand twenty eight thousand feet above sea level and see what all the fuss was about. This was his story. What could possibly go wrong?”

    Eventually, after convincing himself that it’s a worthwhile endeavour, the new masked man climbs through the ropes and steps towards the champion. He lifts an arm to feign a right hand, but instead takes his cigarette out of his mouth and throws it towards the camera. It rotates towards the lens and time once again slows to a crawl, and he is introduced to the viewer.

    'THE LOOSE CANNON.'

    As we transition back to real-time, the woman is able to throw herself out of the way of the masked man’s projectile, but he is quickly on her with a series of lefts and rights. She stumbles back towards a corner, and The Loose Cannon leaps onto her, biting her forehead and clubbing at her bruised shoulder. She is forced into a seated position against the turnbuckles, the masked man proceeding to stomp a mudhole in our poor narrator’s chest.

    “As James Guildford left base camp and climbed the foothills of Mount Everest, he breathed in the Himalayan air and felt the past pains of adversity slowly wash out of his system.
    On the ascent, he was sustained by the fact that he was no longer a peripheral player. He was an adventurer. A conquerer. He was on centre stage, creating a story of his own.”

    When The Loose Cannon finally affords her some respite and backs off, she begins to tear away at the second turnbuckle, deftly untying its knots and revealing the devilish steel ring that lurks beneath the cover. As he charges at her again, she grasps the top rope with both hands, pulling herself to a vertical base in time to throw him down onto the exposed steel with a drop toe hold. Instantly, blood oozes from a fresh gash on his forehead and onto the mat below.

    “And when James stood at the top of the world, and stared down upon the planet that had thrown so much adversity in his direction, he did indeed see what all the fuss was about. He was contented. He’d found his peace. Or so I like to think. We’ll never know. He died less than eighty metres into the descent. His body just sort of gave up.”

    The woman has dragged the man back to his feet, and holds him up in the centre of the ring with a front face lock. As blood splashes onto her boots, she takes a deep breath, and mercilessly drives him down with a double-arm underhook DDT.

    “But these stories are stories that you’ve heard before. And I’ve promised you, my tulips, that my story is going to be different. It already is different. This adversity that you prize, that you demand, from your heroes: you see a lack of it in my own brief story and that is a ready-made accusation. You point a finger at me and my championship belt and you demand further proof that your saviour is worthy. You struggle and kick and scream when you should simply take my hand, and let me lead you into the future that you've always dreamt off. The one that you thought lay at the end of the path of adversity. But it is here, my tulips, and it is now. You only have to follow me.”

    We cut to the opera box once more, where The King looks on. His expression is unknowable through his mask. Behind him, The Goddess slowly steps back towards the shadows, constantly staring down her revolver at his golden crown. The King leans forward, his hand loosening its grip on his drink, allowing it to fall over the railings. It lands in the middle of the ring, the sound of smashing glass reverberating around the theatre. The red liquid spills onto the mat. We stare over The King’s shoulder as three masked jesters begin to circle the ring. The first wears a singlet with large red hearts embroidered on the chequered black and white lycra. The second has a cat’s face painted on his mask, complete with long, wire whiskers. And the third - whose mask is adorned with large black rabbit’s ears - holds a comically large croquet mallet above his head.

    “Your resistance is both futile and understandable. I am not the hero that you have been programmed to accept. But you should not let yourself be blinded by the Machine. I have spoken of my division as a land of opportunity, where one only has to ask for their shot at the Queen of the X Division. This week on Fight Night, you will see my vision for yourselves, and you have a choice. You can choose to accept me for what I really am, and greet me as you would an old friend. Or you can continue to bury your heads in the sand. This is not a choice that I can make for you.”

    Before this trio of jesters can climb into the ring, the woman takes the rabbit out with a step-up enziguri. The other two leap over the top rope in unison. As the cat steps forward, his legs are taken from beneath him by a monstrosity of a man on the outside. This masked giant unceremoniously dumps him off the stage before effortlessly climbing over the top rope. As the huge masked man steps forward, the third of the thwarted clan charges at him. He grabs him by the throat, lifts him into the air, and throws him down with a vicious chokeslam. The giant lifts his head to face the woman in slow-motion, his hand still around his downed foe’s throat, as his moniker is revealed.

    'THE MONSTER.'

    “But these are the stories you’re used to. It’s much easier to cheer for a thwarted hero than one that is chosen. When we begin to look at things more closely, and we draw back the curtain, we even find a ready-made hero to challenge me. A champion, unbeaten and proud, has his prize ripped away from him. It may have been the merest of his trinkets, but it was his, and it was taken unjustly. But this wronged man is the man you hate, and so none of you people - who so often proclaim to be driven by only the purest of motives - will add your voice to his. And now that this trinket, this merest of trinkets, sits proudly around my waist, even the King himself will think carefully about what he claims is still his.”

    She allows herself a sidewards glance at the opera box, before The Monster charges forward with a roar. His moves are comical and bumbling, and the woman is able to evade his attempts at grappling. When opportunities present themselves, she kicks at his thighs, trying to chop the old oak down. Eventually, she manages to duck a lariat, hit the ropes, and take The Monster down to one knee with a basement drop kick. She gets to her feet, clasps her hands together, and brings a Double Axe Handle down over the big man’s head. When he slumps to the mat, she fishes beneath the ring for a steel chair. It is already stained with blood: the blood of Dominick Dust, and of Gerald Grayson, and Eli Black and Kevin Cromwell.

    “It does not matter in the slightest who steps through the curtain to face me on Fight Night. The Open Challenge is merely a symbol, and my opponent is just a pawn in much greater plans. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that it’s probably Amadeus, and we’ve seen how that story ends before. That’s how we got here in the first place. But whoever it is, and however many Open Challenges I have to issue before someone can even come close to prying my championship away from me, what this match stands for, what it really means, is the elevation of the X Championship beyond the carnival sideshow that the Blackbird wants it to be. And each week that our King looks the other way, and defends his big golden belt as infrequently as he can, more and more of his kingdom will belong to the Queen.”

    The woman rolls back into the ring and walks back over to The Monster. She stares out around the theatre, and over her shoulder we see that there are now a few dozen masked men sparsely occupying the stalls. Two more of them approach the stage. She allows her eyes to wander back towards the box, expecting to see The King’s golden crown glinting beneath the spot-lights. But all she finds is an empty seat.

    She lifts up the chair, and brings it crashing down over The Monster’s head.

    “You all want to think that you are the main character of this story. That you will fight and crawl and drag your way up to the top of the mountain. You wish to return to the summit, or to make it there for the first time. The view from the top will be dizzying, and all of the adversity that fed into that moment will justify the chase. But you don’t think about the descent. That is why you die less than eighty metres from the summit. The chase is not important: it is only a formality. Now, as I stare down from the mountaintop, and turn away from those that slowly climb towards me, I find upon the horizon only taller mountains yet to be conquered. The story is only just beginning. Throw yourselves in. You haven’t got a chance.”

    The curtain is drawn. We fade to black.

  5. #5
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020



    Our scene opens within a beautiful, lavishly decorated room, smooth pale walls accentuating an oddly oval-shaped room. A thick blue carpet graced the floor, feeling like absolute heaven beneath one's bare toes. In front of a trio of ridiculously tall glass windows sat a sleek mahogany desk, lovingly crafted, with a sole plush leather chair behind it. There's a keyhole built into the desk, but no key, yet. And around the room, placed carefully, evenly apart, stood several flags, all bearing different colours and symbols. The scene is vaguely familiar, but everything seems a bit... Faded. Overwashed. Filtered within a sepia tone, achieving both a warm, antique comfort, and a harrowing, uncanny effect.

    Somewhere in the distance, a radio crackled, softly singing an unidentifiable tune of days long gone by.

    A figure approached the scene, clad in a brown three-piece suit. Limping ever so slightly, a trio of thin bandages across his face, the man eased himself down into the seat behind the desk, and let out a brief exhale. The man's smooth, slick black hair seemed to shine, his perfectly waxed moustache straight and true, and despite the vintage off-colour of the scene, the man's piercing green eyes still shone through.

    Reaching into the drawers of the desk, the man raised a title into view. Not just any title, a title known, admired, and desired by many - a familiar golden eagle, beneath the red, white, and blue colours of USA. The FWA North American Championship. The man appraised the title within his grasp with a fond smile, wiping a smudge off of one of the sideplates with a tissue, before the placed the championship belt on his desk, sitting towards us. With that final adjustment, Krash arched his hands on the desk, and smiled warmly.

    "People of North America." Krash began, his voice grainy and tinny through the vintage film. "Of the United States, of Canada, of Mexico, of all the Caribbean states that get overlooked time and time again. Allow me to be the first to properly welcome all of you, as we enter into a new era of our world. A prosperous era, a golden era, an era the likes of which you've only dreamed about before. I shan't call it the Era of Krash, that's a touch too on the nose for my liking, but it is My Era, nonetheless."

    Krash relaxed, leaning back in the comfy chair as he sat his feet upon the table. He's wearing slippers. They look warm. "Now, to preface, I'll be completely candid with you." Krash continued, flailing a hand around absently. "I have no love for any singular country or continent. I am not a blind patriot, nor do I have any patience or longing for jingoistic nationalism, or anything of the sort. My place of birth matters as little to me as what my favourite colour matters to you. Indeed, whilst I am Australian by birth - a fact I'm certain you can tell by my outrageous accent - and whilst I am crowned the Champion of North America, I've always considered myself to be a child of the world, with my home being wherever I set my hat. There's so many exciting, wonderful places across our little blue globe, and it seems so short-sighted to plant my flag in one arbitrarily decided patch of grass to declare it my own. No, as far as I'm concerned, my home is with you. All of you, at home watching this. Not just the people of North America, whom this title entails me to represent to the best of my abilities, but the people of South America, Australia, Europe, Asia, Africa. Antarctica and The Arctic, too. Everyone on our little blue dot, my heart beats with yours. My home is yours, and your home, is mine."

    Lowering his slipper-clad feet back to the carpet, Krash stood, and raised an arm out, open palm, welcoming, inviting. "So, I implore you all to stand up, stand up out of your couches, and take my hand. This is a Dark and Dreary time we live in, but I can help you. I can guide you towards a better and brighter future. Light courses through my veins, and it can course through yours, too. I can lead you to the best person you can be. Regardless of your past, your sins, your various misdeeds. Of all the things you've done in your sordid past, there can still be a bright future ahead of you. And all you'll have to do... Is take my hand."

    A beat. A second of silence. Krash's welcoming smile falters, and his open palm slowly turns into tight grip, before falling onto the desk. "But before I can truly lead us all into the future we deserve, there's something that must be done. While I believe we all have a place in the utopian future I foresee, there is one very important thing that is holding us back from true freedom. One very important thing that, at one point, WAS the future, but it never came to pass. For better or worse, I cannot say. I am of course, referring to my predecessor, the man of whom I overthrew with the support of all of you. None other, than Mike Parr."

    It's odd. The name tastes like vinegar on his tongue, and yet Krash refuses to say it with venom. "Mr. Parr is, obviously, a very talented and charismatic man. Otherwise he would've never achieved a second them in this esteemed office, let alone a historical first one. But Mr. Parr's moral fibre, or lack of it, threatens to sink us back into the lackadaisical nothingness of yesterday. Mr. Parr wishes for nothing more than to achieve his third term in this office, be crowned the glorious leader of Northern America, for nothing more than to pad his own resume and stroke his own ego. Mr. Parr does not care for you, for us. The only person of whom Mr. Parr holds any attachment to is himself. He'll thump his chest and boast that he knows what's best for this land, stroke the nationalist fires until they burn bright and gold, but at the core of his heart, the man is a cold, dark man, whose primary worry is that the North American Championship and all it entails is around the waist of someone that isn't him. Not because he has any desires to lead our world into a brighter future, but because he wishes to drag it back into the dull monotony of yesterday, where he'll promise a better future with a lying heart. Where he'll boast of making the next step to the greater phase in his life whilst he sits on the couch and time passes by him. Where he'll happily and gladly drag the advancement of our society, the potential golden future ahead of us, and the FWA North American Championship back into the dirt, just so no-one can dare overtake his status."

    Slapping a hand onto the desk, Krash throws several newspapers across it - all displaying some sort of disparaging comment Mike Parr made recently. None are pretty. None are nice. Not one even has the tiniest shred of politeness and civility. "Mr. Parr has been one of the more vocal critics of myself, ever since I stepped foot on this land. Perhaps not to the extent of, say, Mr. Garcia, but he's said enough, done enough, to prove that he refuses to let go in spite of himself. We've already waged battles multiple times, beaten each other black and blue in multiple scenes, but this..." Krash paused, feeling the taste of his words on his tongue, and frowning. "This calls for a war. Our upcoming war, locked within yet another steel enclosure, must be our last. This war must end, Mr. Parr, if not for the good of everyone around us, then for the good of yourself, too."

    Reaching a hand behind the desk, Krash procured another item - a pale grey gas mask. He turned the gas mask within his hands, staring idly into the cold, empty eyeholes, running a thumb over the lining. "Perhaps to my own detriment, I like to believe in some sort of... Honour system, when it comes to battle. Honour, sportsmanship, valour. In a battle, you go as far as you need to secure victory, within reasonable limits. If both combatants can walk away under their own power, all the better. But this is not a battle. This, is a war, and in a war, you do whatever it takes to survive. If that means point-blank annihilation... Then so be it."

    Krash gripped the phone on the desk and raised the handle to his head without dialling. "General Dreyer. What's the status on our missiles?" He asked, turning towards the trio of windows behind him.

    "President Krash. Dozens of missiles, all aimed at Mike Parr's position. All ready to be activated, armed, and fired, with just the turn of a key."

    "What of the civilians? Are they being herded into the vaults?"

    "Yes, sir. Vault-Tec assured me they're doing their damndest to get as many people to safety as possible."

    "Good. Good. The things that will blemish the horizon are things people shouldn't see." Krash nodded curtly, and set the phone back in its cradle. Still staring out the large glass windows, into the orange evening sky before him, Krash continued, his voice low, measured, the gravity of what he may be forced to do starting to weigh in. "I don't approve of nuclear warfare, Mr. Parr, but I need you to understand the lengths I will go to end this war between us. The things I will do to get you off my back. The things I will do to save the North American Championship and everything it means from you and your diseased clutches. In times of such crisis, necessary evils mark us all. You'll understand. You won't forgive, but you'll understand."

    He tapped the golden faceplate of the North American Championship, gently caressing the faceplate with a finger. Seconds passed, lost in his own world for the briefest of times, before he let out a sigh, and pulled the gas mask onto his face. Finally, reaching into his pocket, Krash pulled out a thin, silver key. He juggled the key between his fingers, gazing forlornly at it, as he trailed a finger over the keyhole of destiny, built into the desk.

    "With the North American Championship, I can help bring Light into this world. But so help me god, Mr. Parr, I'll burn your entire world to ashes if it means I can lead what's left towards the future it deserves."

    \~I~/

    'Krash comes charging in at Cromwell, but Cromwell catches him in a Wheelbarrow position, and then counters into the Champagne Supernova! But instead of going for the pin, he counters it into the Amadeus Requiem submission! Krash tries his best to hold on, but he just doesn’t have the fight left to counter, and though he doesn’t tap out, Krash does pass out from the hold!'

    Krash awoke with a start.

    A howling wind billowed across the wastes, it's shrieking cry echoing throughout the endless desert. Cold air bit at his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as Krash slowly sat up, eyes squinting in the dark. His palm rested against the open ground, loose dirt and soil crumbling within, and his other hand lay still, clutched around the base of a lantern, where a thin flicker of Light shone within.

    Coughing twice, Krash spat out a dribble of something that was too dark to be blood, before he brought the lantern closer. He gave the fluttering butterfly of Light a careful glance, before patting the faceplate twice, warmly. It soothed him, comforted him, and with a grunt of pain, Krash began the slow and arduous task of getting up. His body ached, crying for rest, for relief, as joints clicked and clacked against one another. His back, lined with welts and bruises, did its utmost to make this journey an impossible one. And his shoulders refused to extend further than necessary, sending sharp jabs of pain throughout his body with every movement.

    But soon, Krash succeeded in his task, and stood. His legs were a little wobbly, his head spinning a bit much, his vision slightly dizzy, but he stood, nonetheless. He held the lantern of Light before him, where it managed to illuminate a short area around him, revealing familiar red sand at his feet and a black, inky Darkness everywhere else. The Dark whistled and whispered, quiet and inviting, and loud and demanding at the same time.

    Krash let out a sigh, and slowly walked forward, into the Dark of the night.

    Almost immediately, the Light of the lantern illuminated a thin, chain-link cage, that seemed to extend into infinity, both horizontally and vertically. He even leaned back and tried to aim the lantern's Light upward, to find some point where the cage stopped, but as far as he could tell, it simply stretched onward and upward, far above into the heavens.

    Was Krash on the inside, or the outside? Without any visible corners, it was impossible to tell.

    A glint of gold caught his eye. Like a magpie to a coin, he approached it, was drawn to it. Laying on the other side of the cage was the FWA North American Championship, discarded in the dirt.

    Krash frowned, squinting, before spying a door, nearly completely hidden, on the side of the cage. And on that cage, was a lock.

    Krash let out a sigh. The Dark swirled and billowed, seemingly sighing in agreement...

    Before a figure on the other side of the cage stepped into view.

    Krash let out a yelp of surprise and stumbled, tripping and falling onto his back. He cast the Light of the lantern onto the figure within the cage, revealing a vaguely human-shaped mass, pulsating and throbbing with the sick, Dark mist that made up the atmosphere of this awful world. The featureless shadow flickered a tendril at the North American Championship, seemingly caressing it beneath its appendage, before it turned to Krash...

    And spoke.

    "How much longer do you wish to play this game?" It whispered, it's voice ragged and cold. "You have accepted your past truth, and yet you still lie to yourself, blowing a straight shot to the top. How much longer will this go on?"

    Krash blinked, his mouth suddenly feeling incredibly dry. He slowly stood, keeping both eyes on the forever shifting mass of a shadowperson, a thin trickle of sweat running down the back of his neck. "What are you?" He finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

    The Dark Figure seemed to shrug. "You know what I am. And I know what you are. I see the way you scurry about, the lies you tell. To friends, to foes, to yourself. A life built upon deceivery is no life worth leading."

    Krash shook his head. "Are you even alive?"

    "Are you?" The Dark Figure shot back, tilting the area where he supposed a head would be.

    Krash stuttered a reply, before finding his voice. "What do you want? What's the point in all this?"

    "You know damn well what the point of all this is." The Dark Figure said, kneeling down to inspect the FWA North American Championship. "Fame. Glory. Success. Everything you desire, and the lengths you'll go to ensure it all plays out in your favour."

    Krash coughed, turning his head away. "These conversations are starting to become increasingly familiar."

    "The more you end up letting chances slip through your fingers like in the Chamber, the more these 'conversations' will happen. You can stop at any time. You know how."

    Krash arched an eyebrow. "Do I?"

    The Dark Figure lifted up the North American Championship with a fingerless appendage, swinging it idly in its grasp. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't. You've always known, deep in your heart, long before we started pushing you back onto your path. You've always had the key to ending these hallucinations and starting the next step in your career - the step you've always been destined to take."

    Grimly, Krash took a step back, shaking his head. "No. I'm a hero. Liar or not, I'm a good person. That might not be very meaningful to you, but-"

    "What about AJ?" The Dark Figure interrupted, slamming a misting tendril against the chains of the cage. Thin, smoky embers bled through the wires, drifting up to join the Dark storm surrounding this place.

    Krash stuttered, taken aback. "What about AJ? That was ten years ago. What-"

    "Ten years on, and you still haven’t apologised."

    The words stuck Krash harder than a steel chair, and Krash stumbled, the lantern in his hand faltering in his grip, nearly dropped to the dirt. "... W-what?"

    The Dark Figure had no visible eyes, and yet Krash still felt its glare burrowing its way through his skull. "Ten years, you've let this guilt and shame fester within you, the horror at your true colours being buried deep, deep in your heart. But never, not once in the past ten years, did you bother to track down the man you stabbed in the back and buried in a ditch. Never did you call him to offer that olive branch. Not in one year, not in ten, not in one hundred, did you even think of apologising. Is that truly the mark of a good person, despite it all?"

    Krash gaped, opening his mouth to reply, before shutting it. He had nothing to say.

    The Dark Figure approached the cage, resting its shape against the wire. “So here's what I want you to do, Mr. Good Guy. I want you to look at me. Look at me and tell me, with all your heart, that you're a good person. And we'll see how fucking meaningful it is."

    Silence. Somewhere in the distance, a storm roared. Lightning struck. The thin visage of Light, trapped within the lantern, buzzed back and forth, silently pleading.

    "... What do I do?" Krash asked, defeat in his voice. He suddenly felt a small weight within his free hand, and uncurled his fist to reveal a thin, silver key. A key that would perfectly fit the lock on the cage that was keeping the Darkest aspects of his soul at bay.

    The Dark Figure let out a groan of ecstasy at seeing the key, a groan that made Krash's toes curl in discomfort. "Open the cage, Jake." It whispered, it's voice cold, yet warm at the same time. "Unlock the door. Step inside, into my embrace. I helped you before. I can help you again. I loved you, Jake. Long before anyone else did. And you loved me. Let me help you. Just unlock the cage, and I'll take you to places you've never dreamed. Take my hand, and I'll show you how much of a success story you can be."

    Despairingly, Krash looked into the forever shifting pitch of black that was the Dark Figure's face, before his gaze shifted towards the North American Championship, dangling helplessly in its grasp.

    "Mike Parr can be nothing more than a roadblock, another name in the list of names you've beaten. A footnote in your history. He'll never threaten you again. You'll never be rendered unconscious by someone like Kevin Cromwell again. With my help, you'll never be put in a position for anyone to stop you from what you want. You'll never lose this title you crave so dear, or any other titles you set sight on, much less to the likes of Mike Parr or his crew of toadies. Mike Parr will become an example, a display piece, a warning to others not to cross you, to treat you with the civility you cherish so much. Isn't that what you want?"

    Slowly, Krash raised the key. Light raced around in the lantern, smashing itself against the impenetrable glass.

    "Let me love you once again, Jake. Let me help you."

    \~I~/

    President Krash's cold, clammy hands slowly inserted the key into the keyhole built into his desk. With a turn of the key, missiles all over his land would be armed, active, and ready to fire.

    \~I~/

    Krash inserted the key into the lock of his soul, and with shaking fingers, he gripped the head of the key, under the watchful gaze of the Dark Figure.

    \~I~/

    President Krash began to turn the key. Across his world, dozens of nuclear missiles blinked with Dark Energy.

    \~I~/

    Krash began to turn the key. With his soul, the icy poison of the Dark began to infect his heart.

    \~I~/

    "God help us all." President Krash mumbled beneath his breath. "You included, Mr. Parr."

    \~I~/

    "God help me." Krash quietly muttered, closing his eyes.

    \~I~/

    DINK

    "You've got mail!"

    Within the suite of the oval office, President Krash paused.

    Within the confines of his inner turmoil, Krash paused.

    The key, halfway through activating its desired purpose, sat within the lock.

    "You've got mail!"

    His mobile phone buzzed with a text message, from a number he didn't think he's ever hear from again.

    His current activity forgotten, Krash stared at the bright screen of his mobile phone, and opened up the message.

    Quote Originally Posted by Alyster Black
    MESSAGE SENT 13:01PM, SAT APRIL 11 2020

    I’m sorry for messaging you out of the blue, and I’m sorry for ignoring you. We’ve been in the same buildings together on multiple occasions and I’ve avoided you. I’m a coward and a liar and a bad friend. Would be so kind as to find it in your heart to meet with me, just to talk?

    ...
    Last edited by Smooth Jazz Wolf; 04-13-2020 at 01:55 PM. Reason: Format error


    Spoiler:



    I'm not good at signatures.


  6. #6
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    Exile Chronicles (Volume 3)
    Chapter 2: Diamond Dust


    Our scene opens in a very upscale jewelry store, surrounded by various other high-end boutiques and shops in what's clearly the ritzy part of town. This particular shop doesn't seem to be terribly busy at the moment, as there's only one client inside speaking with the sales associate, going over a selection of wedding bands. We zoom in behind the counter to the backroom, where the jeweler...an older, hawk-eyed woman...is inspecting a pile of diamonds for cut, clarity, and quality. The diamonds are of various shapes and sizes, but one in particular stands out in the pile, being nearly the size of a golf ball. The jeweler keeps sneaking looks at that large diamond, but focuses on the smaller gems until she hears the sales associate call for her, seemingly to explain something to her client. Grumbling, the jeweler removes her spectacles and wipes her hands with a nearby cloth before heading out of her workstation onto the sales floor.

    The workroom is fairly well-lit and organized, with just a simple wooden table in the middle and various magnifying equipment attached to it for use in identifying imperfections in gemstones. As the camera pans around, we see a gloved hand reach out and grab the large diamond from the pile. The diamond rolls in the figure's hand as the hand raises, giving us a glimpse of the hand's owner...

    "How troublesome..."

    The figure is none other than Cyrus Truth, the former World Champion...The Exile...and the man who's been on a downward spiral ever since losing his World Title months ago. Cyrus is dressed in dark clothing, but you can see hints of bandaging and gauze wrapping wounds underneath his clothing. As if that weren't bad enough, there's a large bandage on Cyrus's head, a memento from his sojourn into the Elimination Chamber.

    Battered.

    Scarred.

    Burned.

    Ruined.

    A lot of the fire in the eyes of Cyrus isn't there anymore. A smoldering ember, maybe...but pain and suffering has replaced the fire in The Exile's gaze. And it's easy to understand why, considering the trials he's faced as of late. The meat grinder that is Trial by Fire and the Elimination Chamber has definitely taken its toll on Cyrus, and the weariness is grinding him down, especially since Cyrus has come so close on both occasions to obtain the victory that has long eluded him. The road to the World Championship and reclamation of his glory...it's now a much longer one, full of its own perils.

    Cyrus's tone as he speaks is heavy with turmoil. Defiance is there, but weighed down with the struggles he's endured. As he rolls the diamond in his hand, he speaks with a frank, pointed voice.


    "I am...tired. For the first time in...years? Decades? I am so very, very tired. That contemptible woman now has a free shot at Sullivan and the World Title. Another opportunity for her to revel in her vanity...assuming she has what it takes to stop Sullivan. Regardless, it's not my concern. It can't be my concern. No matter who takes the next shot at Sullivan, it won't be me. I'm...too far gone. Rematch clause? Nobody cares. And why should they? Why should I be given another shot when all I've done since losing my World Title is stumble and fall?

    "I've said it before that glory is earned. And I have to hold myself to that same standard. Because I am Cyrus Truth. And because I am a man of principle, even as I am. Broken and ruined, scarred and burned. I...don't deserve another shot at the World Title. Not as I am. And I don't know when I will be deserving one again...if I'll ever be deserving again. For now, I must move forward. Always forward. ONLY forward.

    "To claw and scrape after being the king for so long is...exhausting, admittedly. And considering the hell I've gone through in my last two matches, I can't say that I'm even remotely at my prime. I imagine there's quite a few people in FWA that are enjoying seeing me struggle, being thrown into situations where I'm forced to sacrifice more and more of my body and soul just for one fleeting victory, and having that ripped from my grasp...it's abhorrent. But what choice do I have? Step away? Return to nothingness? No...no..."


    Cyrus shakes his head, trying to get the melancholy out of his mind...failing, admittedly, but trying at least. He then turns his attention back to the diamond in his hand.

    "But failure isn't exactly something that I've solely experienced as of late. It seems that, on Fight Night, I face off against the Carnal Contendership winner...the man who had the first chance to dethrone Sullivan. The man who failed. Nova Diamond...

    "Nova...what a boastful young man you are. Winning Carnal Contendership certainly was a feather in your cap and has driven you forward towards the spotlight. In a sense, your passion and hunger are all too familiar to me. It's a drive that I can appreciate. You seek to be the very best, to no longer be ignored and to usher in...what did you call it? The 'Diamond Age?' A rather ostentatious title for simply stating that you want to be the champion, the man in FWA. And if your comments post Fight Night are anything to go by, your loss against Sullivan hasn't at all dampened your fire."


    Cyrus holds the diamond up to eye level as his tone drops an octave, to a low growl.

    "But...you did lose. You lost because you were too focused on taunting a king than destroying him. You had him HANDCUFFED and HELPLESS and you failed. For all of my failings in the past month, nothing I've done can even begin to compare to the shitshow you put on at Back in Business. And you have the gall to say that it's still your time? I'd laugh if it wasn't so pathetic.

    "You had the World Title there for the taking...but instead of doing what needed to be done? You allowed Sullivan to escape. And you don't see any problem with that? Just chalking that up to an unlucky break, an unfortunate mishap...you disgust me. You are abhorrent to me. You had the chance to cut the cancer from FWA, and you dropped your fucking sword at the critical moment!


    Cyrus closes his fist with the diamond in it, and starts to squeeze. The look on his face is a twisted amalgamation of anger, frustration, and exhaustion.

    "For Observers, our names are a promise. A testament to our training...and our desires for what we want to use that training for. So I have a natural predication to judging people by what they choose to be called. I doubt "Diamond" is your real name...rather, it's a name you chose when you decided to enter the ring. Diamond is a very...potent name. It speak of high value, of flawless perfection...but more important than any of that nonsense is the process by which a diamond is made. It's created when a chunk of worthless coal is put under extreme stress, unrelenting pressure...until it emerges stronger than it was before."

    Cyrus's fist is shaking in rage as he continues expounding.

    "Is that what you think you are, Nova? A glistening, priceless gem among the refuse? You foolish boy...you arrogant little punk. If you're going to go around calling yourself a diamond, you have to live up to it. Your name is important, and failing to live up to it makes you less than human. There is no greater pressure than when a wrestler faces the champion for his title. No greater stress than the mantle of destiny and greatness that comes with the title of champion. Some when faced with that pressure falter, some rise to the occasion.

    "But...you did neither, did you? When the World Title was in your grasp and you have the champion literally on the ropes, you didn't go for the kill. You didn't drive the blade into his sickened, blackened heart. The pressure was OFF! You HAD the win! And yet, and YET! You concerned yourself with wounding his ego. You showboated. You gloated. You celebrated a victory that wasn't cinched! And because of that, Sullivan managed to escape. Even as cancerous as he is, Sullivan showed more spine and more fortitude for victory than you did.

    "Nova Diamond..."


    There's a large "crack" as Cyrus's fist clenches tighter. As he opens it and turns his hand sideways, we see that the "diamond" is no more...just a pile of dust pouring onto the table. Cyrus's gaze turns upwards, full of disdain.

    "It seems that you need to be taught a lesson in the dangers of arrogance, boy. And since nobody in this company has the principles to do it, it falls on the shoulders of this ruined, battered Exile. I'll see just how much of a diamond in the rough you truly are. I'll test and see if this "Diamond Age" is nothing more than a farce of a child playing at games. I dare you to step into the ring with me. I dare you to face me with that look of smug confidence you had towards the end of your match against Sullivan...or the look I get from everyone in this roster who sees me as nothing more than a waste, a remnant best forgotten and overlooked. Sullivan had to break his wrist to beat you. But toy with me? I will break your skull, rip the flesh from your bones, and shatter you like the glass you are instead of the diamond you claim to be.

    "I have absolutely nothing left, Nova. Nothing to look forward to, no glory to attain, no legacy to build. All I have left is what little strength I have in my body and resolve in my soul to keep fighting and fighting and FIGHTING until either the Road destroys me or Journey's End finds me. So what will you do? Faced against a wretched monster who looks at you as a feeble excuse of a man who didn't have the discipline nor the drive to finish the job when he had the chance? Are...are you going to be the one to finish me off?

    "I bet you'd like that...

    "...But I don't think I'll let you have that. And if I'm being honest? You'll count yourself lucky if I let you leave that ring whole..."


    In a fit of madness and anger, Cyrus violently slams his hands on the table, shoving the diamonds sitting there and sending them flying. Though Cyrus's words were pointed at Nova, it's almost as if he's frustrated more with himself than anything. Cyrus angrily takes the table and flips it, scattering the equipment and smashing it.

    The jeweler, hearing the commotion, quickly heads back and opens the door to her workshop...and finds it a mess with nobody there. As quickly as he appeared, The Exile has vanished...

    ...and on Fight Night, The Exile will battle once again...to avoid being left to the dust and echoes of history...

  7. #7
    I'm a Stone Cold Lee Guy.
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    The scene opens up with nothing but white. A blinding image, just as if the viewer was staring into the sun on a cloudless day. But of course, that wasn't what we were seeing. The buzz of artificial lighting is heard and the camera begins to spin around slowly. It's a room. White walls. White floor. White ceiling. No windows. A door reveals itself only through sound. The squeak of the bolts could be heard bouncing off the walls, and a slam soon follows. The subtle tone of footsteps soon follow after, and the camera catches a glimpse of the black boots marching onward. Eventually, the steps would stop, and the camera would catch up with the person standing in the middle of this white, reflective room. Slowly the camera would move upward, and very particular defining features would soon be revealed. The kneepads. The wrestling trunks. The union jack leather jacket. The grin of a man who carries nothing but confidence in his heart. The man is, of course, Kevin Cromwell. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. The only noise that could be heard is the faint sound of the light fixture buzz. Kevin cracks a smile and takes another deep breath in the centre of the room before breaking his silence.



    Kevin Cromwell: "What if you gave someone a gift, and they neglected to thank you for it? Would you give them another?



    Cromwell asked genuinely, moving a little closer to the camera. It was safe to say he was fully focused. He took a deep breath, quickly continuing on.



    Kevin Cromwell "Life is the same way. Wrestling is the same way. In order to attract more of the blessings that life has to offer, you must truly appreciate what you already have".


    Kevin Cromwell paused for effect, blinking twice and deciding to lower his hands. Kevin's eyes trailed off, seemingly in deep thought.



    Kevin Cromwell: MVH is a woman without these values. She doesn't appreciate wrestling for its rich history. She doesn't value that belt She doesn't value FWA or the officials like I do. She isn't content where she is, already rushing to another stone, without taking a step. Well, she's gonna fall! She's looking for a challenge? She's throwing out a title shot? I'm in


    Kevin shot right back into the camera view, his eyes focusing in on the camera lenses. Kevin's face told a story of emotion, and his words were simply the shortcut to getting his point across. It's almost time to get his redemption if ya will. Only a few hours away from the greatest and most pivotal moment in history.



    Kevin Cromwell: This? Well, it just may be the last time I get to air how much this all means to me. It may be the very last time you see Kevin Cromwell without what rightfully belongs to him. And I thought I'd take a moment to expand on how much this match was predestined for me. Forget about your MVH's for a second and let's take you down an X timeline. One that's been paved with men with no limits. All leading to the moment where Kevin Cromwell would outdo them all. I say would be, because none of them would ever amount to anything that I set my mind to.


    Kevin let a small smile break on the corner of his mouth. Ever so serious and ready to shoot.



    Kevin Cromwell: Let's take you back to two thousand and seven November the eighteen to the very first X Champion. Lt. Wyoming Great, right? Only, the good L.T. couldn't quite keep the candle lit, and soon found himself dropping the title to James Synch


    Kevin shrugged his shoulders, continuing on with his point.



    Kevin Cromwell: and on and on it went, we had Devin Golden, WOLF, Dave Sullivan, "The King" so on so on.



    Kevin put as much sarcasm as possible on the phrase "The King, but his face remained ever so serious. He tugged on the suit jacket, shaking his head in the process.



    Kevin Cromwell And out of all those names, Want to know the one thing they had in common? They used that belt to be better. They would raise themselves up and at the same time raise that belt up. In their minds? They were all main events. Not some half-ass third match away from the main event. Not tucked before General Managers, and keeping the crowd warm for a champion who hasn't even graduated from diapers yet. I mean, come on, let's be real for a second. I'm stepping into a match where the odds are stacked against me already because for the last year not one man in this company could give a shit about Kevin Cromwell!. No one has ever given a damn about the Amadeus! But tonight, tonight, tonight I have ample opportunity to change the landscape of professional wrestling, to change my own destiny. Tonight, I have my first ever one on one rematch for a belt I never really lost, it's not the main event but for the sake of Kevin's feelings, let's call it the main event! For the X Championship! The prize of all prizes! I look back at those would-be kings, the kids that have no limits and I pass them in succession. Because there's be no road has tumultuous as the road of Kevin Cromwell. "


    There was a brief pause in which Kevin simply drifted off again. Thoughts began to run throughout the head of the young man, Kevin had a million thoughts, but only a few came to surface when it was time to talk. He recaptured himself on camera, slowly raising his arms up a bit.




    Kevin Cromwell:" This belt is all about having no limits? Those men before me, they didn't really have no limits. MVH, she has limits. Kevin Cromwell? I have none. And at the end of the day, that's what matters the most. I mean, you have all those other men, who really didn't amount to anything. And then you look over to the woman I'm facing tonight, and I don't see much standing out from her. You see, MVH is ruled by what I like to call .. fear.


    Kevin nodded his head and would go about tugging at his jacket again. A hand lifted up, which was usual for Kevin, who liked to talk with his hands directing the story.



    Kevin Cromwell: Now, I'm sure you all know what fear is. But for the younger audience? Fear is simply put, an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous. Likely to cause pain or a threat. When I look at MVH, it's written all over her face. She's scared. I don't know if she's scared of being irrelevant after tonight, or if she's scared to not hold a championship? I don't know. And quite frankly, I don't care but it's because of that very thing that I despise Michelle. Not because of what she says, we'll get to that in a minute. But because of what she does. I mean one little thing goes wrong and she wines and complains or attacks someone from behind or runs away Seriously? I'll tell this to her face if I could she can't hack it when things don't go her way. She knows it and it hurts her on the inside. She's trying to box with the greatest of all time, but her arms are just a little too short, just like that pesky fuse of her. But we have to get one thing straight. I'm not just some FWA official. I'm not some jobber she can throw out a challenge too and turn back in five minutes. I'm not here to make her look good. I'm Kevin GOD DAMN Cromwell! She's throwing out a challenge to appease her ego, looking to pad out her record with routine wins, and that's the biggest mistake she could have made because I will go on to show the world why I should have been the champion from the very beginning! And hey, no one thinks I have a chance against her. MVH believes it. And most of the fans believe it. But let me redirect that faith, and have you put it somewhere where it belongs like in Kevin Cromwell. I mean, we should all put our faith in Kevin Cromwell. Because as I've said over and over, I am the greatest thing this company has to offer and everything that has come before has been a test. My only obstacle now is to rise above a champion who still can't see her target, but I don't think she cares.


    Finally, a laugh would be produced by Amadeus. For a long time now, it was all anyone could talk about. All they could mention was how Kevin rode this wave,. Most of his opponents always counted him out because of who he was, where he came from.


    Kevin Cromwell" She thinks she can do the same thing over and over no matter who she's facing I mean, she comes out here each and every week hollering and tells everyone who listens how great she is. But it's all really to make up for the fact that you really have nothing to say. You're latching on to what he said, or what she said. You're stepping into the ring with one of the greatest challenges of your life, but all you can say is... She doesn't matter who she faces, but see that's in her own dream world. In reality Grown men collect paychecks. Grown men drink real fancy drinks. But you want to know something else grown men do? It's WIN CHAMPIONSHIPS!


    Kevin takes the time to flick up his jacket accordingly.



    Kevin Cromwell: So, allow me to lift that rock from over your head. You know, the one you've been living under? And allow me to set the record straight once, and for all, I work my ass off in this company just like each and every other superstar, but I do it ten times better!. Everything I've done in the past three years has all been because of my own doing. My eyes are wide open, Michele. And guess who I'm looking at? You're damn right I'm looking at you.



    Kevin pointed directly into the camera lenses,



    Kevin Cromwell: You see, you had no idea, but when you were calling for an open challenge, you were calling down the thunder, you opened up the gates of hell. You opened up the gates to purgatory. And stepping on out from the portal was none other than the Amadeus The true Kevin Cromwell if ya will. Not the idea you have in your head, Michelle. Not what you dreamed I'd be like. See, I know people like you. You all come a dime a dozen, and you all claim the same thing.


    Kevin shook his head, clearly agitated, but needed the show to go on.



    Kevin Cromwell: There's a reason they say I'm the golden boy, that I'm the future because I threw away the past the same way I'm going to get rid of your ass in a few hours. But hold your horses, because's I'm not even close to done yet.. "


    There happened to be another brief pause, where Kevin recollected himself a bit.



    Kevin Cromwell: "See you're so predictable; You think you can just...CLEAN the entire x division, you're going to slaughter me, oh you're going to kill me, is that it Michelle? Are you coming to kill me for DARING to answer your challenge



    Kevin paused, his index finger raised to his lips, shushing himself for the moment. Kevin shook his head before angling his eyes back at the camera.



    Kevin Cromwell: Michelle, I think you need to come a little closer.



    Kevin stepped forward a bit, keeping his eyes locked with the camera. He wasn't satisfied with his journey, shaking his head.



    Kevin Cromwell: No, don't be so shy. I think you need to come a little closer. There's something I need to tell you, there's something I need to let you know.



    And this time Kevin had waltzed all the way up into the camera lenses. The only thing viewable was his eye. Kevin pretty much grabbed hold of the camera, shaking it as he screamed out those next words.



    Kevin Cromwell: I'M ALREADY DEAD!



    Kevin simply pushed off of the camera, slowly backing away from his original position. The dead silence had fallen for only a few seconds as Kevin was quick to spark up that silver tongue of his.



    Kevin Cromwell, You can talk about how you're going to kill my career, but that would be based upon the fact that I have one at the moment.. Based on the fact that I'm human. But trust and believe, Michelle. I'm anything but human. I'm light-years beyond this mortal coil, and that's just something you've yet to realize. You want to hurt me? How could you ever hurt me more than the night Dave Sullivan pinned me after two minutes?! How could you ever find the necessary capabilities to hurt me that way? The answer is, you can't. You're a mere person, Michelle. A mere woman with mere goals. You want to beat everyone up. You want to stomp on everyone, you want to injure everyone? That's not going to happen this way. Because tonight, you're stepping into the shadow realm, with none other than a man who's unable to be harmed.


    Kevin simply performed another shrug, letting off a small sigh with it.



    Kevin Cromwell: I don't feel the pain, Michelle. I don't operate the same way you and these other people operate. This business? It's the only thing that matters. It's the only thing I have going for me. And it's because of that, that I'm very confident in my abilities. You don't have the wherewithal, outside of your own ego to fight me. Michelle, you're a man of simple taste.


    Kevin allowed another small smile to hit his face, one that quickly erased itself. It was to signal the inner turmoil raging within Kevin. How far he was willing to go, what everything meant to him.


    Kevin Cromwell: You probably want the world to burn, am I correct? You probably want people to know you can beat up this person, and the next person. That's what this about for you. That's where it starts, and that's where it finishes. Because all people like you care about is the next victory. I'm on a whole other wavelength. I care about the immortality; I care about wrestling. I care about this company, the sport, the idea! I'm not out here wrestling for checks, I'm not out here wrestling because this is my life. I'm doing it to feel something. I'm doing it because without me, Cromwell, this company will fall to the ground. SO KEEP THEM COMING, KILL ME MICHELLE, DEATH DOES NOTHING BUT STRENGTHEN ME!



    Kevin tilted his head back, attempting to calm down. One of the hardest tasks of his life, especially considering what was on the line.



    Kevin Cromwell: The Grim Reaper isn't ready for this fight, and neither are you. I can sense it, can't you? "



    Kevin's eyebrows perked up when asking that question. And then his body shifted, turning one way so he could continue to elaborate on what he meant.



    Kevin Cromwell: "You can't sense it, Michelle. And that's because you simply lack clarity. You lack everything going into this match.



    Kevin scoffed



    Kevin Cromwell:And while you've had so much to say about good ol Kev, I figure it's only right that we shine the light back on you. Because you don't really care about that x belt right? Nah. You're not raising it up, you're using it as a stepping stone. A platform, to get the attention of the big boys, I mean; lets not bullshit around, if I said you could have a match with Bell Connelly. The match you REALLY want, and all you had to do was toss that belt in the trash, we all know what you'll do, but me? I actually care too much. I care enough to know that you're a former number one contender. I care enough to know that you couldn't hack it, and you took your ball and went home and sulked for four years that you can't even lose with dignity. That you're only holding that belt until something or...someone better came along.



    Kevin found it funny, but couldn't find himself to bring forth laughter.



    Kevin Cromwell: And, maybe that's why you lash out. You're not used to having things taken from you. Well, you won't have to worry about that, Michelle. There's nothing to take because nothing is actually yours.



    Another pause in breathing and Kevin was back at it.



    Kevin Cromwell, You're this vicious bird that has a chip on her shoulders and wants the world to know that you're as good as you say you are. And I get it, I've been there on and off. It's not something you want to drown in. But, when it's made for you? It's made for you: the shoe fits, Michelle. So go ahead and become the sailor mouth Cinderella.



    Kevin shot a glance on down to his own shoes, before looking back at the camera.



    Kevin Cromwell, You jump on camera, and the world wishes it handed you a script. Nothing you say makes sense, Michelle. Nothing you do makes sense. Your career as a whole has never truly made any sense! Kevin would then raise a free hand, ready to count off reasons on his finger. You were only Television Champion in CWA by chance, and then you threatened to take in back to Holland with you.


    Two fingers were raised.



    Kevin Cromwell: You weaseled your way into a number one contender's match by chance! Got crushed by Jon Snow and,vanished into thin air for four years, until FWA decided to give you a chance. Your whole life has been made up of chances. Let's give Michelle Von Horowitz a chance. Let's see if Michelle Von Horowitz can do this if he can do that. You're nothing more than a bottom barreled monkey, with nothing going for you. Talented, yeah; but so is seven-five per cent of the roster, the difference is your ego the size of Ruud Van Nistelrooy's chin, you talk, and you talk. You talk, and you talk but you never actually have anything to say. You never actually have a point. You never actually say anything worthwhile. And up until now, you've never really had to face the consequences of your actions.



    Kevin's arms folded up for all of seven seconds before that right arm freed itself to continue directing Kevin's words.



    Kevin Cromwell. But that all ends here. Because tonight is the night MVH goes from being a dreamer to living MY nightmare



    Cue a small snicker from Kevin.



    Kevin Cromwell: Let me ask you a question, Michelle. Do you honestly think you're any better than all of those other opponents I've faced? Because if so, like them, you're truly blind. Like them, you don't know what it means to be a wrestler. You don't know what it means to come out of someone else's shadow, and then someone's shadow right after. You have no idea what it's like to be Amadeus, and you never will. My methods are a means to an end, no different than pruning weeds in order to let an orchid flourish. Those who stand in the way of my vision oppose me because they fear me, but more than that they fear what I represent. Change. I'm simply talking about a change so adverse to the FWA universe, that they wouldn't know what to do with it. You've never been that Michelle, you've never had the chops. You've always been this one-trick pony, and I'm going to illuminate that to the world. Because I need to; I have to, like I said before I'm a dead man. My career is flat-lining but when I win that belt? That's me kicking and screaming and punching my way out of that casket



    Kevin was boiling up with passion and intensity for the squared circle. All that was left was for MVH to be silenced, But first, Kev would have to wrap everything up. He'd have to end the promotional video and prepare for the match that was to come. And so he simply let one last sigh out. Kevin took a deep breath, with the camera focusing in on his face now.



    Kevin Cromwell: "There comes a time in every man's life when he's consumed by the desire to spit on his palms, hoist the black flag and start cutting throats. I've been in that position one too many times. And tonight, it's almost like I have to do it one more time. Make no mistake about it, despite what everyone thinks; this is MY moment. MVH might physically be there. We may not even be the headline main event tonight, but rest assured, this is very much so my moment. From this day on, when I look back on the past, I'll smile and say to myself: "They never thought you could do it. But I did. Overcame all the people who tried to bring me down. Proved once and for all you were the Amadeus to all who doubted you."



    Kevin paused for a single moment before giving the sincerest gaze into the camera.



    Kevin Cromwell: With this step, I've done it. I've taken a huge leap over all those who thought they could stop me. This is also as much their match as it is mine. For all the adversities you put me through, I'd like to thank each and every one of you. For helping me recognize the man I am today. I'd like to thank Nova Diamond for pushing me I'd like to thank Dave Sullivan for putting a fire under me Because, without you, I'd have no one to leave behind. Without you as a measuring stick, I'd have no one to surpass. This moment isn't against you, so, the feeling is a little bittersweet. But the end feel remains the same. KEVIN CROMWELL IS STILL THE MAN ON FIRE!



    Another major outburst and Kevin could feel the fire replacing the flesh and blood that he had held claim to.



    Kevin Cromwell: And I do this not just for you, Dave. I don't do it for my girlfriend. I don't do this for Nova I do this for MYSELF! I do this for the EVOLUTION OF KEVIN CROMWELL I DO THIS FOR THE LEGEND OF AMADEUS! I do this for the legacy of wrestling and the legacy of the X CHAMPIONSHIP! It's a culminating moment. The moment of truth. I'm I just another toy for MVH? Or is tonight the night I shake up the world, I'm at a crossroads And now that I'm here, I won't settle for anything less than a victory, and you guarantee every god damn dollar I have on it! So tonight, it won't be another just another open challenge match. I plan on transcending the title of MAIN EVENT! THIS AIN'T THE MAIN EVENT, I.T.'S THE ENTIRE EVENT! And with everything in me, I'm going to kick, touch, scratch, and fight with everything I've got left in me! I'm going to unleash my essence, unleash the inner Amadeus and prove that my story is far from over


    Kevin performed a nod of his head, soon utilizing his thumb to wipe the sweat away from his nose.



    Kevin Cromwell: There's still a lot of you who don't believe in Kevin Cromwell, and that's fine. I'm not here to make you believe in me, I'm here to dominate professional wrestling! This isn't the situation I thought I'd be in. This is not the matchup I had planned; this is definitely not the match type I had planned. But like always, I will turn this piece of coal of a match, and shape it into a diamond. At the end of the day, this is more about the X Championship than it is about Michelle.



    Kevin shrugged his shoulders a final time, before rolling his neck for comfort.



    Kevin Cromwell: There's a certain phrase in this business, that was coined by a man way more comfortable in front of a camera than me. "Hard times" And those two words mean a lot of things to a lot of people but to me? It means when you're in hard times, you got two choices; You can either stay in hard times or put hard times on someone else And it just so happens to fit the bill for the match tonight. Hard times for Michelle that is. So go ahead, go on one of your monologues, scream and shout, tell me all about your dreams. Curse until you have no voice. Be Michelle Von Horowitz, the woman; you can bet I'll be running Hard Times Blues Tour '20. Getting paid to blast your ass ALL the way back to the hole you climbed out of. While I stand in the middle of the ring with my arm raised once and for all! Not as a dreamer, but as your WORST NIGHTMARE; KEVIN CROMWELL. X CHAMPION


    And with those words spoken, K.C. has said all that needed to. The camera would slowly fade out to black, with everything left on the table and gold on the line!


    Kevin Cromwell
    The most amazing thing about this recent conversation is that I've learned AON is even more of a waste of space than I thought he was previously

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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    Nova Diamond proudly presents:
    “IN PURGATORY”

    Grey. Everything is utterly and completely grey at the beginning, like everything else has dissolved in a very dense fog of grey. Loud footsteps can be heard, loud and a lots of footsteps like there is a horde of people walking rather than just one person. Some get even louder, some get quieter, but yet one particular set of footsteps remains at the same level of sound. The environment slowly starts to reveal itself, the fog gradually dissolves and both darker and lighter shades of grey fill the scenery. Darker silhouettes appear, resembling various types of buildings, tall, short, wide, many more. Backstreets seem even darker, while some (what it looks like) street lights are illuminating the scene with lighter shades of grey. On the streets, on the roads there are also lots of people. Their eyes are beaming with pure whiteness while they walk, some in the same direction, some in a different direction, wandering aimlessly as the whiteness in their eyes does appear to reflect their minds. They are like zombies, not saying anything, not doing anything but for walking and just walking…

    In this weird little world, one must think that by now, they can never find a normal thing, or at least something with colour that can at least create a contrast with the bleak shades of grey and occasional white. But one would be wrong as the owner of that particular footsteps make his way amongst all this weirdness, pushing the ‘zombies’ and staring at their faces, looking confused as he does not seem to understand any of this, maybe rightfully so. But that man is in his usual violet and turquoise, with a few words leaving his mouth.

    “Bloody hell?”

    Just milliseconds after Nova asks this question, he feels his arm grabbed by someone -thought at this point he feels like he wouldn’t be wrong if he called it something instead of someone- and he nearly screams. He turns back to see what was grabbing his arm and instead of any mindless zombie, he sees another man, with colour, though in a black hoodie. His face is unrecognizable but Nova is at least glad he is not the only ‘normal’ thing around here.

    “Nova Diamond….or shall I call you Andrew Saturday?”


    Nova starts to feel both more angry that his real name was used, and more scared that this thing knew his real name. Before he can say or do anything though, the man removes his hood and reveals his blonde hair, black eyes and narrow facial structure. The person Nova is looking at is none other than Christopher Manson, a former FWA Tag Team Champion and one half of Sin City Vultures.

    “Before you tire your chin out with your questions, let me answer at least one of them. You’re in purgatory, boy, simple as that. A place for people who weren’t glorious enough to put their names in history with golden letters, also a place for people who weren’t infamous enough to get their names cursed whenever they are spoken. A place….for lost souls. Why don’t you look around and stare at the faces of people who are here?”

    It is fair to say that Nova is still unable to comprehend anything he is hearing at the moment. Regardless of that, he knows his best choice of understanding even a damn thing is to comply with whatever Manson is saying, at least he looks like he knows something, and even if he doesn’t, Nova guessed it was better to be two lunatics lost in this place rather than just one. So he turns to one of the zombies, looking at him…and seeing the face of Viktor Maximus. Nova can’t help but recoil…before doing the same thing with another one. This time it is Danny Toner. Some more familiar faces show up: like XYZ, like Starr, like Ty Johnson. They are all blanked out, roaming around the place with nothing in their minds.

    “What the….?”

    Nova takes a deep breath.

    “Why am I here?”

    He doesn’t comment on anything he sees, just continues to ask, totally normal for a man with probably a thousand questions in his mind.

    “You aren’t totally lost yet. That’s the good news. But you are in the process of it. That is unfortunately the bad news. You see Diamond, people weren’t exactly slow to turn their backs on you after you failed to give them what they wanted. You want to see how?”

    Nova just nods and Manson guides him for a few steps, they stop before what seems like a bus stop. Nova just raises one eyebrow.

    “Are there bus trips in fucking limbo?”

    He then chuckles, though it is painfully obvious that it is a nervous chuckle rather than a more playful one we are accustomed to hear from him. Manson however, doesn’t laugh at his joke, doesn’t even chuckle back. Instead, he just points at a billboard screen, which suddenly starts to play a video with colour. The video consists of several people, mostly other wrestlers, comment on Nova Diamond’s loss against Dave Sullivan in Back In Business. Nova grinds his teeth upon listening to every single one of them, from AJ Drake calling him ‘not ready’, to Gabrielle calling him ‘a failure’. But the montage ends with one single quote, coming from Cyrus Truth.

    “…with Nova Diamond dropping the ball…”

    Nova nearly feels himself snap at that, but he does not want to do something stupid in Manson’s presence, who just doesn’t seem normal at all right now. Instead, he just continues to stand, his breathing sharper and sharper with each breath he uses to suppress his anger. After giving Nova the time he needs to calm at least a little, Manson speaks once again.

    “You are in the verge of getting lost, Nova Diamond. But don’t worry, I am here to get you out of her so you do not become that lost soul everyone expects you to become now that you lost the most important match of your life.”

    Nova waits for a couple of seconds, those seconds pass in silence except for the sound of the wind that blows through the purgatory.

    “Okay, even if this is somehow real, if this isn’t a weird and scarily realistic dream, then why does a person who I didn’t even wrestle at the same time wants to rescue me from this place. Since when a former Tag Team Champion became a ‘purgatory escape artist’? Just what the fuck is going on?”


    That question actually brings a smirk upon Manson’s face.

    “Oh, so you actually think I am Christopher George…or Christopher Manson as it is the name you recognize him. It’s just a form that I took. But if you don’t like it, I can take many other forms.”

    The smirk turns into a chuckle as ‘Manson’ shapes himself into his ‘tag-team partner’ and ‘best friend’, ‘BUCK’.

    “Or perhaps, since I am here to save you from a dark place, I can take the shape of someone who did the exact same to you before.”

    The chuckle gets even more sinister as ‘BUCK’ turns into ‘Min-Su’, the girlfriend of Nova. Nova’s eyes open wide while ‘Min-Su’ quickly takes a phone and types something.

    ‘Maybe it’s just support you need instead of being saved, maybe I can look like someone who is financially supporting you.’


    The daughter turns into his father as ‘Atticus Henley’ appears in front of Nova.

    “Oh, I know! I need you to push your limits to get you out of here. Maybe I do know the exact person who will do that.”

    ‘Atticus’ changes its form again, now turning into the FWA World Champion and the man Nova hates the most in the world, Dave Sullivan. Instantly upon seeing that smug face, Nova goes for a punch which meets with just air as Sullivan vanishes from reality, and Christopher Manson appears behind Nova. Before Nova can do anything else, Manson once again grabs him by the arm.

    “Have you ever asked yourself that how lost souls get lost? Because they were dragged by things they could not let go of. Maybe a person, maybe a memory, or maybe just a failure. They were their shackles, and they drowned further into the sea until they got completely lost and found themselves here, taking their place amongst many other like them. But I don’t intend to let you be like that. I will teach you how to…let go, Nova.”


    Suddenly, Nova’s vision goes full-black before he finds himself in a wrestling ring, a very familiar wrestling ring actually. Nova finds himself back in Citrus Bowl again, back in Orlando, Florida. Thousands of fans are looking at him, he has blood on his hands. The champion Dave Sullivan is once again laying on the floor. Nova Diamond…is once more…holding those damned handcuffs in his hands. But this time, he sees ‘Christopher Manson’ on the ringside, looking at him and asking him one big question.

    “Are you going to do it?”

    Nova stares at him, then at Dave again before throwing the handcuffs away and properly getting Dave in the position for Uncomfortably Numb, dropping the champion on his skull before going for the pin. The referee counts with all those fans. His hand hits the mat once, then it happens again, and the referee smacks the mat one last time, declaring Nova the winner.

    Nova had done it! Pink Floyd is playing once again, everyone is celebrating, he is handed the title he rightfully earned. Nova celebrates as he closes Back In Business as the FWA World Champion….until he realizes everything is fading away. First his title, then Dave, then the fans, then the ring until there is nothing but darkness. Manson doesn’t say anything, instead, snaps his fingers again.

    Nova is once again in the ring, with Sullivan’s blood painting his hands that are holding the handcuffs. Nova throws them away quickly before trying to get Sullivan ready for the Uncomfortably Numb, and he hits it! After hitting his finishing maneuver, he feels a hard punch to his jaw…by ‘Christopher Manson’. Nova is laying on the mat, just looking at Manson who snaps his fingers again.

    Once more, Nova finds himself in front of the Orlando crowd, staring at the handcuffs. The choice comes as easy as breathing to him. The handcuffs get thrown away and he goes for Uncomfortably Numb again…but before he can even get Sullivan up, he feels the same punch, and an extra kick in the gut by two Mansons. Snap.

    The next time, it is three Mansons. Snap.

    The next time, he goes for the 24-Knee Bar. Four Mansons. Snap.

    Tries again, snap.

    Again. Snap.

    Again. Snap.

    This time, Nova looks at Manson again, who asks it again.

    “Are you going to do it?”

    Nova closes his eyes before handcuffing Sullivan to the ropes before getting the King’s possessions into the ring. The crystal sceptre gets smashed on the floor. The crown is now flying to meet its new owner in the form of a wrestling fan sitting in the stands. The robe is cut and destroyed to pieces. Lastly, Nova grabs the title he knows he deserved and before he can carve Sullivan’s name out of the nameplate, Sullivan breaks his wrist, gets out of the cuffs and hits Nova with an RKO, pinning him to the mat for three seconds, retaining his title, mirroring what actually happened in Orlando that faithful day. Dave leaves the ring with his title, and Nova is laying on the mat, his eyes are open…but he is smiling. His head lay softly, looking at Manson, who claps his hands instead of snapping. The ring disappears. They are now back in the bus station.

    “Well done.”

    Manson says without any emotion.

    “You have learned how to let go. That means, you are ready for your test to get out of here.”

    Nova raises his eyebrow at that.

    “A test? I learned how to fucking let go, Manson, now get me out of here.”


    Manson gestures him to calm down.

    “Yes, a test. You will have to prove yourself in the ring once more…against ‘The Exile’ Cyrus Truth!”

    Nova does not take the news with any anger, or relief, or grief…with nothing. Hearing the name of Cyrus Truth actually fils Nova Diamond….with nothingness.

    “Cyrus Truth?”

    Nova asks Manson, with a softer tone than he normally uses. Manson just nods his head.

    “Cyrus Truth….’The Exile’ Cyrus Truth…”

    Suddenly, something inside of him just snaps. A grenade of emotions implode inside him and he can’t do anything but to let out a long, loud and a little bit disturbing laugh.

    “If I’m going to face the man who is only exiled from his high, high horse…then so be it. I’m actually surprised I didn’t find Cyrus when looking at all those mindless zombies on those streets. Let this be my message to the one who seeks the Truth but is yet completely oblivious to the Truth in front of him.”

    Nova turns his gaze to the billboard screen that previously shown him what Cyrus Truth had told about him last week.

    “You have chosen to ignore me for far too long, Cy, at least that was until I finally slipped and lost to Dave Sullivan, and give you some points to hit me with. But before, no mention of my name, no mention of what I’ve accomplished, no mention whatsoever... Instead of being the man he always claimed to be, Cyrus Truth ignored the Truth that there was somebody new in the town, somebody better than him, somebody who crushed his dreams and took the match he wanted to have. But not even once I’ve heard that from him. To him, Nova Diamond was still a non-entity. By choosing to ignore it, Cyrus Truth, let his ego grow and grow. He had Gabrielle to deal with, the bane of his existence, who I beat fair and square. Even when we’ve teamed up, he had chosen to ignore my existence. Like I haven’t made him taste the Truth that FWA wasn’t his playground anymore. It wasn’t his first title loss, but every time before that, he managed to get it back before losing much time. He lost to Rondo, beat him on the rematch. Lost to Shannon, got his title back from Connelly after a very short time. Lost to Kennedy, beat him on the rematch again. But after losing to Davey Sullivan, what did he do? Did he, like he used to do, got it back on the rematch? Of course not, he did what he used to saw as people beneath his heel did and blew chance after chance. At least it was just one match that I lost. To you, I was the 'nGw upstart', the kid that got lucky and prevented you from fulfilling whatever destiny you thought you had, taking your revenge on the king who would probably humiliate you once again. Let's be real Cyrus, you got soft and you had done nothing to find that old self that you may never find again. Sullivan had to sacrifice too much to beat me, and even that won't help him to get completely rid of me. While you can't even win a contendership match to even reach him again. And you thought you were gonna win the Carnal Contendership."

    The billboard opens again, showing Cyrus once more, staring at Nova.

    “Good, it’s good that you’re here because I want you to hear it, Cyrus Truth. I want you to hear every word of it. Yet, despite everything, you started to address your own downfall with saying how you are still Cyrus Truth, the passenger of a long and winding road. But let’s be honest, that road is leading you to fucking nowhere. Now, when you speak, the only thing that trembles is your career. You stand up, and kings kneel so they can see you now. And the thing about you making legends fall when you fight? I might actually agree with you on that, Cyrus, because lately, your fights see your own legend fall again and again.


    Like I said, it started with ‘I’m still Cyrus Truth, reaper of shit and walker of some more fucking stuff, I’m still capable of kicking your ass because I dominated the World Title scene and you are all fucking peasants’, I remember it real good. It was when you decided to address the common folk about how you were going to win the Carnal Contendership, which you didn’t even address me, didn’t consider me as a favourite, a dark horse, no new face, no fucking nothing. Then it bit you on the ass. Another loss after you lost to Sullivan.

    With every loss, your narrative gradually changed, to make yourself appear more…pathetic until it was eventually just this:”


    The billboard shows Cyrus saying things like how glorious it would be if somebody who was broken as him won the Elimination Chamber match. The emphasis is on the adjectives he uses to describe himself.

    “And the worst thing is, Cyrus, you are allowing all of this to happen. You lose and lose again, you accept it, brush yourself off to mend the pain. You accept your downfall, you embrace it. You embrace it. You don't even desire to win, to be better. To you, Truth means nothing anymore. I thought you were a man of principles Cyrus, but I guess even it does not hold up anymore. Because a man of principles would not kick somebody while they were down by saying things like this.”


    The screen shows it again: “With Nova Diamond dropping the ball…”

    "But my principles are a little bit more…lenient. If you of all people can kick people when they are down, I can do it ten-fucking-fold. Cyrus says I dropped the ball when he's been doing nothing but dropping the ball for the last couple of months. But don't worry Cyrus, against me, you won't drop the ball once again. Because at this point I don't even think you have any balls left. Tell me, is Gabby using them as stress balls?"

    Nova lets out a laugh, an arrogant and mocking side he never thought he would unleash again.

    “Still stepping on the same stones you have been stepping on your long and winding road since 2016. You're old, not in age, but in shtick. You're tired from walking that road but still staying in the same place.

    I'm going to punch you in the mouth, Cyrus, not just because I am better than you, but because I'm tired as well. I'm tired of being judged by people like you. You fucking want to shame me for losing in the Main Event of Back In Business? I can already hear Shannon O'Neal laughing her ass off with Chris Kennedy, while Ryan Rondo is calling you a dipshit.

    I’m going to punch you in the mouth Cyrus, and I’m going to do so much more. I’m finally going to make you acknowledge me, I’ll make sure your last words will be: Nova Diamond. And I’ll send your lost soul down here, while I rise up there again. To the top...where I belong...and you don't...anymore.”


    Nova’s ranting is interrupted by the sound of a horn. Nova is shaken from his state and looks at his surroundings. He is still in the ‘purgatory’, but Manson is nowhere to be found. And in front of him, is a bus waiting for him. Nova grins and jumps on the bus.

    And then, the bus takes off...
    Du bindest einen Blumenkranz...
    ...wieso siehst du so traurig aus?

  9. #9
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    The cloudy weather of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania couldn’t be more different than how I was feeling at the moment. Sure, I was still bruised up after that crazy match at Back in Business. But I have a feeling I’m not the only one still affected by that match. But all in all, I felt great. Fight Night is going to be held in the PPG Paints Arena and I promised my brother, Jay, who is also my agent, some tickets so he could go with Jamie, his wife, and Kyle and Rosie, Jamie’s brother and sister-in-law. Jay and Jamie were staying over at Kyle and Rosie’s house as Jay had some business in the area and well, the stars aligned so I offered to get them tickets to the show.

    I swung by the house and Jay was the only one home. Everyone was out getting groceries with the kids.

    “Here you go man.”

    I take out four tickets from my pockets and hand it over to Jay.

    “18th row tickets? C’mon Ger. I could’ve gotten better seats had I contacted my people.”

    “Then you should’ve contacted your people. This is the best I could do at the moment. The show is sold out!”

    My brother looked at me with disappointment but he knew I tried my best.

    “Ah fine. Thanks. I’m sure everyone will still enjoy the show. Come on in.”

    I enter the two-story, brown house. It’s even bigger inside. I took my time looking around and the house was indeed beautiful. Dark, brown flooring with white counter tops and black appliances filled the house. I see the aesthetic Kyle and Rosie were going for. I dig it. As I entered the kitchen, Jay was there already with a beer in hand.

    “Thanks.”

    I open it up and chug it down.

    “Whoa. You okay there, Ger?”

    I let out a refreshing sound and wipe my mouth before setting down the can of beer.

    “Yeah, I’m good. I’ve just been having some pain recently after that match at Back in Business. No biggie.”

    “I know you’re on a losing streak and you’re beat up from the match at Back in Business. But you knew all of that coming into this. You think you took on more than you could?”

    “Hell no. I’m nowhere near my limit, Jay. You should know this. Growing up, I did a lot of stupid stuff but those stupid things have taught me a lot about myself. Not gonna lie, it’s been hard. The FWA medical team said that I should be wearing a wrap around my ribs for at least a month but that’s just going to paint an even bigger target on my back. My next match is against Alyster Black and I know that once he sees my taped up ribs, he’s going to do his best to take advantage of that.”

    “Do it.”

    I look at Jay with a surprised look.

    “What do you mean, do it?

    Jay took a sip of his beer before setting it on down on the counter.

    “Do it. Tape up your ribs. Don’t let it be a distraction. Instead, don’t let your opponent use it to his advantage. You’ve gotta use it for YOUR advantage.”

    I thought about this and surely Jay is a mad man, right? Taping up my ribs like that can only spell destruction headed my way.

    “You’re telling me… to tape my ribs up. Gallivant it around backstage, where I’m prone to backstage attacks and when I get into my match, parade it around like it’s some sort of decoration piece so that Alyster Black can target the area and beat me down?”

    Jay gives me a smirk and shrugs.

    “Jay, you are one mad man. But I can understand your logic behind this. Like I said before, everyone involved in that X-Rules match at Back in Business has got to be hurting. Alyster Black isn’t some dummy. He knows I’m hurting. He has, how sports people say, “read the scouting reports.” He knows I’m banged up. But that doesn’t mean immediate victory for him.”

    “Exactly. Plus, we’re Graysons, Ger. We always get back up no matter what.”

    We indeed have. Our lives weren’t always like this. Other than me, I think Jay has had to have gone through the most in life but look at him now. Jay definitely understood me the most as well when I was getting not just into extreme sports, but FWA. He’s an agent for a lot of wrestlers in the indy circuit and some may say that I’m just here because of who my brother is, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

    I look at Jay and nod at him.

    “You know what Jay, you’re absolutely correct. Us Graysons have never backed down from a challenge before. And just when people think we are out, we’re right back in again. Alyster Black has had some easy matches since coming back to FWA, no offense to his opponents. But I am nothing like his past opponents. Alyster is still getting comfortable in FWA while I have been comfortable since the day I step foot in the ring. I’m a natural. There’s no way he’s going to keep up with me.”

    I see Jay nodding in agreement with my statement.

    “Come Fight Night, I will indeed tape up my ribs and expose my weak spot to Alyster Black. I will already know what Alyster is wanting to do. Because of that, I’ll have every counter in the book waiting for him. But you know what else, Jay?

    “What?”

    “I’m going to have fun doing this. If there’s anything that I’ve learned so far in my FWA career, it’s to have fun with it. This is one of the reasons why I was such a wild child back in the day. You know this. I didn’t give a damn if we were facing an obstacle. I faced it head on. And even if I didn’t go through it unscathed, the important thing is that I went through it and overcame it. I think people take advantage of this FWA gig a lot. Not everyone can be a FWA superstar. Not everyone can handle the intensity of FWA. But I feel right at home in FWA. So yeah, that’s the plan – to have FUN.

    I pause for a bit.

    “I’m going to have fun doing this plan of exposing my weak spot. I’m going to have fun countering Alyster’s every move. I’m going to enjoy having this new thrill be part of my every day. I’m going to enjoy each and every moment in that ring and in FWA. Because at the end of the day, I’m going to have fun putting on a performance that the fans, Alyster Black, and everyone else will never forget.”

    Jay gives me a sarcastic, slow round of applause. After a few moments, the doorbell rings. Jay and I casually walked towards the front door. I open the door and it’s everyone! Jay, Rosie, and my two little nieces, Jana and Mickie, and my even littler nephew, Edison. I gave everyone a hug as they were all happy to see me. I took a step back, admiring the scene of everyone moving to the kitchen and getting the groceries sorted away.

    I then think to myself of all the fun that’s been had in my life. A smile creeps up on my face and I remember why I do all of this.

    “Now THIS is fun!”

    Tough times don't last, tough people do.

  10. #10
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    Of Course He Did



    There's a dark alleyway with barely working, dim lights that reveal vague figures huddled around a door. People pass in and out with glass beer bottles in hand, arms around women, and cigarette smoke emanating from a dark room on the other side of the door. Pushing through the people, we hear the growing noise of people screaming and cheering. Most people are holding money up to the ceiling and pushing their way to the front towards what appears to be a cage.

    Inside this cage is a woman with her fists taped up and held high above her head. She's got a mouthpiece in and blood slowly tricking down her jaw. At her feet stirs another woman, who has blood gushing from her nose. This woman also has her fists taped up, but she's hunched over in the fetal position and obviously writhing in pain.

    The woman standing — and what we believe to be celebrating — shouts, "Who's next now?! WHO?!"

    About six seconds pass before a woman emerges through a door and enters the cage. It's evident that this is some sort of unofficial, amateur fight club. And it's also apparent from the nearby conversations that the woman shouting in the cage is the top dog.



    "She's undefeated."

    "She's untouchable."

    "It's easy money on her."

    "She never stops."



    Now we notice that someone is standing calmly next to us. He has red-tipped bangs, dark eye shadow, a black t-shirt, black pants/jeans, and black shoes. He fits right in with the scene.


    "Zachary Kazadi hasn't been in the FWA for what? Three years? Four years? At least two years. He said repeatedly that he'd only come back for a big match. He poked and prodded the biggest of big bears on the roster. He spewed unofficial challenges on Twitter like he was tossing paper towels to Puerto Ricans.

    So of course ... after multiple years away from the FWA ... after many years of teasing a return for only the 'right match' ... here it is."



    Golden watches as the match inside the cage begins. The prize-fighting untouchable monster circles once with this new challenger. Then it's two quick jabs and a left hook. Then a tackle to the ground as the challenger's head bangs against the cage chain-link exterior. Knees to the sternum and then to the face. Now it's a done deal.


    "She was good, too, but ... she was no match in this one."


    Golden watches as the referee steps in and separates them. He calls it off. The challenger lays in the ground with blood coming from her mouth. The champion has her hands raised yet again. The crowd cheers.


    "Zachary Kazadi returned to accept an open challenge from 'The Golden One' Devin Golden. Kazadi ... returned to face me. I am the big bear he came back for. I'm the person he considers ... worth it.

    I actually like Zachary Kazadi. I shouldn't, I guess. He's sort of the opposite of me. He's all skill and no commitment. He's in it for Zachary Kazadi, and no one else. But even though that's not me, I can respect him.

    I think he's talented. I think he's got the mustard to win a World Championship. Maybe even multiple of them. He could win tag team championships. North American Championship reigns. He could do it all. He's that good.

    But he doesn't love the FWA. He's a pretty selfish little prick. And that's ... well ... that's fine with him and fine with me. I'm not going to spew a company-man line about how the FWA is for committed people who want to better the company. I don't care really. I've left the FWA multiple times, come back each time. I've given more close to a decade in total to the FWA. Others have given longer. Most others have given much shorter. I don't judge time."



    Everyone seems to be leaving. No one else steps in for a challenge. There's no point now. The king of the cage isn't giving up her spot.


    "I don't judge anything Kazadi has done. I wouldn't do it this way. I wouldn't come back from multiple years away and challenge a top guy. I didn't do it this way back in 2014, when I started on Smash. I didn't want to do it this way in 2019, but I was pulled out of retirement by someone else's motives and other people's war.

    Here's the reality. Zachary Kazadi chose me. He chose me ... within minutes. He responded to my open challenge ... within SECONDS. What does that say to you?

    To me, that says something about what 'Devin Golden' means in the FWA. In the wrestling world. I AM the FWA. Facing me is a championship match in and of itself. The 'gold' in 'The Golden One' shines brightest now. I am in the twilight of my career. The second twilight even. Facing me, beating me, it means something real."



    Golden sees one more person enter the cage. She's a young girl, a teenager. The prize fighter turns and sizes her up, knowing she has six inches on her. Maybe 100 pounds, too. A few people laugh and scoff.


    "Michael Garcia tried with everything he had, and took everything from me, but he didn't succeed. He lost. He can still hold his head high knowing how close he came to winning.

    Zachary Kazadi ... will try to be the one now. He waited for the perfect moment, the right opportunity, and he jumped at it. What bigger moment, or more right an opportunity, than facing 'The Golden One' on the heels of a massive Back in Business win?"



    One more match. The bell rings. The two circle. And suddenly, the prize fighter realizes she's in with a legitimate amateur wrestler. This teenager, with shorter and skinnier stature, is able to swiftly maneuver around the cage. She slides and sidesteps and twists her way into frustrating her opponent. And when the time comes, she is able to trip the champion by the ankles. Then she pounces with repeated punches and strikes.

    Now the crowd is interested.



    "Zachary Kazadi wanted me to see him coming. He didn't pull some surprise thing where he shows up unannounced as my mystery opponent. He didn't blindside me from behind on Fight Night. He got right into the ring, right in my face, and told me who he is and what he's here for.

    I respect that.

    But I also will meet his intensity and drive with my own. I meant it when I told him that I hear him and see him. I sense his want and desire. I could FEEL that he has every intention of putting everything he has into beating me.

    And he has nothing really to lose, either. He loses to me? He goes back home. He wins? He can do anything he wants here. He can retire with a massive win over a legend, or he can continue on to one of the many title reigns I predict for him.

    But me? I'm a sitting duck. If I win, then I simply continue on. If I lose, then what happens to my credibility?"



    The fight inside the ring changes. The teenage girl throws a big right hand punch, but she's no fighter. So in her attempt to land a knockout blow, she simply stuns her opponent temporarily. Then she's hammered with a barrage of jabs and hooks. And her attempt, her short-lived momentum and run at pulling off a massive upset ... is done.

    Because the champ is the champ, and even a worthy challenger falls.



    "Eh, nothing. I'm still 'The Golden One' and I'm still immortal in FWA land. But I want to win solely because of this fact: Facing me is like facing a champion. So I want to protect the title. No one gets one over on me. No one.

    Not Cyrus Truth. Not Michael Garcia. Not Krash. Not anyone. Not anymore. I was rusty to begin, but now I'm back. I'm in a groove. And I want to go out there and compete Fight Night after Fight Night. It's like a drug was shot into my veins. I feel reborn, rejuvenated. Hell, I feel untouchable at times.

    People say they feel untouchable, people carry themselves as untouchable, and of course they're a target. They win big matches, get on a roll, and have the glow that I have? Of course Zachary Kazadi will storm through those doors and answer my challenge. Of course he wants to make a name for himself and make people remember.

    Of course."


    "The Golden One" Devin Golden

    3x FWA World Heavyweight Champion
    2x FWA X Champion
    4x FWA Tag Team Champion
    Final record: 94-58-10


    Shannon O'Neal
    2x FWA Women's Champion
    1x FWA World Champion


  11. #11
    All About That Ace

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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    NOVEMBER 8th, 2019
    SESSION #1

    “So, you remembered you’ve got twitter again?”

    Zachary opened his eyes and sat up almost immediately. He’d fallen asleep on the living room couch. He found the source of the voice in his own eyes, sitting on the barside stool with a book in hand. The other Zachary lowered his book and grinned. It wasn’t a grin Zach thought he’d ever made himself. He frowned.

    “I know what you’re thinking. You’re a smart guy. I mean, arrogant of me to say since I’m you, but you’re smart enough, let’s at least say that. So, smart guy, you’re thinking, am I really the kind of person who hallucinates – or dreams, or whatever you wanna call it – another version of myself and has some sort of enlightening conversation with it? No promises on the second part, but yeah, I guess you’re right on the first part. Don’t bum yourself out, deep down you always knew you were as basic as everyone else, right?”

    He slowly swung his feet off the couch, and looked down on the ground, thinking seriously for a moment. “I suppose there’s no point in trying to get rid of you?”

    “You mean that dumb shit people always do? Pinching themselves and that crap. No. You know better than that.”

    “Yeah. Figures.” He looked up at himself. He realized he hated the sight. Not just because it was Zachary Kazadi in flesh and blood sitting on that stool, but also because he hated the obnoxious confidence in his face.

    “Like I said, remembered you’ve got twitter again?”

    “It’s been a couple of days, aren’t you a little bit late?”

    “Not at all. We like to let things fester and rot. I had to give you time to realize how much of an idiot you were being.”

    “I respectfully congratulated a former coworker on his success.”

    “We were jealous. We gave up. He kept going. He did everything we thought we could do but didn’t. It bothers us.”

    “Don’t make this shit confusing. Stop with that we stuff.”

    “I was just trying to make a point but have it your way.”

    “Your way too, if you think about it hard enough.” He shook his head. “Fine, you know what, it was uncalled for. You’re right. But you know I wasn’t jealous. I was angry. I am angry. I know that I’m better than every name on that roster. Sullivan couldn’t hack it as an X-Champ while I was there, and you want to tell me he’s a triple champ. Is the FWA just perpetually falling? Is that it?”

    “Sullivan had his issues, just like you did, but he didn’t run away – well, at least not forever. You can still go back too, you know you can. You can prove you’re just as good as you always promised you were. So why don’t you just say yes?”


    He stood up abruptly from the couch, fist clenched. The moment he recognized the brightening smile in his own face again, he loosened up.

    “It’ll just be the same thing. I’ll be forced to play the game they want. I’ll get pissed off. They won’t like it. We’ll tell each other to fuck off. The end. What’s the point?”

    “You know, I don’t think you really care about changing things anymore. I don’t think changing the FWA is some holy crusade you’re still after. I don’t think that’s why you refuse to go back. And obviously, it’s not because they aren’t giving you that title shot you tried to negotiate on goddamn twitter. There’s another reason you don’t want to go back and nothing the FWA could change would possibly satisfy that.”


    “You’re wrong. You think I wouldn’t take the offer to face Sullivan if I was given it?”

    “Oh, you’d take it. For a second, you’d convince yourself that everything is finally right in the world. You’d go in with all the certainty you’ve ever had in anything you’ve ever done, confident that you could beat him. And then the day would come, and you’d look yourself in the mirror, and you wouldn’t doubt your capacity to win, you wouldn’t feel any nerves, you’d only have one question on your mind: ‘why bother?’ And you’ll realize you can come up with a million reasons why you shouldn’t bother. Those reasons were always there, and you were always aware of them. The difference between now and before is, you had an answer to why bother. You loved it. You loved professional wrestling. That’s all you needed – but now, the thing you’ve dedicated your entire life to, you’re not sure you love it anymore.”

    FEBRUARY 29th, 2020

    SESSION #4

    “They really, really don’t need you anymore, do they?”

    Zachary Kazadi ignored himself. This again. It came infrequently enough that he became used to the idea that he wouldn’t ever have to deal with it ever again between each ‘session’ he’d started to call them. This was the fourth time now. Happened once a month at this point. Back in Business had just wrapped up, he shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d show up now.

    “They never did. They don’t need anyone, really. They’re bigger than that. They’ve always been.”

    “No, no, no. They needed you. They asked you to come back. They gave you everything on a silver platter. God, it was so perfect you hated it. Must’ve been a year or so back, right? They really did need you then.”

    “Let’s use need loosely here. They were insecure, but they bounced back, it was obvious they would. Sure, I could’ve helped them out along the way but eventually they’d remember they were bigger than me.”

    “That’s not right. You think you’re good enough to have stayed at the top no matter who else came along. But staying at the top is always easier than climbing, and you know if you tried to go back now, you’d have to climb. The problem is, you don’t know if you still have the ambition to climb. If you could go back, you think you’d drop the ball again. You’re afraid you’ll realize that I didn’t lie to you, you really don’t love it anymore.”

    “It’s really not the first time anyone’s lied to themselves. What if you’re just convincing me I’ve lost my passion. What if this is the test? This is the moment I realize whether or not I still want to do this.”

    “Don’t be in denial. I’m not testing you. If you wanted to do this, you’ve always had the chance to. If not in the FWA, then all it would take is a call to get you back in the ring by next week elsewhere. You aren’t making that call because you don’t want to.”

    “So why the hell am I watching Back in Business?”

    The end of Back in Business advertised a post-show experience on twitch, and without thinking about it, he swapped applications.

    “I’m not sure. Maybe you thought it would go bad enough for them to call you. Maybe out of habit. Maybe you wanted to see if someone there would convince you you still loved it. Six people cutting years off their careers for the title you claimed you’d innovate might wake something up inside of you. Watching a legend struggle for thirty minutes to put away a man you took out in ten, maybe it’ll remind you that you are better than all of them after all, and you should show it. Perhaps watching Mike Parr compete at Back in Business for the title you should’ve faced him for at the very same event years back, maybe it’ll make you think about could’ve been, what could be. How about Cyrus and Gabrielle? Two people you’ve practically begged to face to the whole world. Maybe watching them at their best- I see the look on your face: a trial by fire isn’t a real match, I know, I know. But even so, a part of you thought that even in the corrupt spectacle that is a trial by fire match, you’d end up unscathed. Or maybe, maybe watching Nova Diamond, the winner of a match you came so short in when you had your chance, maybe watching him against Dave Sullivan, a man you’ve beaten, maybe that would’ve stirred something.”

    “It did. I already told you it did back when you first started showing up. It pisses me off. I know that if I wanted to, I could beat anyone on that roster.”

    “So you don’t?”


    “What?”

    “You don’t want to beat anyone on that roster?”

    “I do.”

    “Then why don’t you?”

    Silence would’ve filled the room if not for the voice of Devin Golden now carrying through the TV. The perfect proclamation, "To anyone in the FWA. Anyone in the world. Anyone watching at home. Anyone at all. I'll be on Fight Night. And..."

    He’d already finished sending a message to Matthew Robinson himself before Golden had finished his sentence. He had to admit, Robinson worked fast. He wasn’t sure if the man might reject his acceptance of the challenge. But a thumbs up from Robinson confirmed it if Todd Salum’s reaction on the stream didn’t.

    He tossed his phone away in rage. It had been a spur of the moment decision. He hadn’t meant to.

    “Does this mean I still love it?” he asked.



    APRIL 17TH, 2020
    Session #5

    Zachary Kazadi looked up in the mirror and he saw the other ‘him’ there.

    “Something on your mind?”

    “Just surprised you’re back. I thought you were gone for good when you didn’t come back around. Thought I’d finally figured things out.”

    “It’s never that simple.”

    “Yeah, of course it isn’t. So whaddya’ think about last Fight Night?”

    “I’m just sad the world has to suffer through Gabrielle and Sullivan flirting to build up their big rematch.”

    “I meant about me and Devin.”

    “What do you want me to say? You were confident, the way you always are. You made your promises. You shat on the company’s good name. You told off another legend. Good stuff. Really.”

    “Really?”

    “Almost made me think you actually miss it.”

    He rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

    “Look, I’m not the one choosing to be here.”

    “Right. I’m making this happen.”

    “Do you really want to beat Devin Golden?”

    “As opposed to, what, losing? I’ve never wanted to lose any match I’ve ever stepped into, whether or not I wanted to be in that match. That’s not going to change with Devin Golden.”

    “It’d be a great way to go out though. To close the chapter, once and for all.”

    “A win could open a new chapter too. To Sullivan or Gabrielle. Whichever.”

    “They’ve got nothing to offer you. But Devin Golden, giving it one last effort against a wrestling hero, at least you’d leave some good memories this time. If you’re up for the fight.”

    “If I’m up for the fight.” He scoffed. “You’ve seen me training. You’ve seen me watch every damn match Devin’s ever had in an FWA ring. You’ve seen me eating. You’ve seen me studying. If I’m up for the fight?”

    “You know, you’ve never really faced someone like him in an FWA arena. You faced guys like PAJ, and Mike Parr. Devin Golden’s different. A man like Devin Golden’s a tank in a small body, he’s got energy that goes on and on. From himself. From everyone around him. From his opponent’s hate. Golden’s not the kind of man you outwrestle.”


    “I’ve never met a man I can’t outwrestle.”

    “You can’t outwrestle a crowd, man. You can’t outwrestle twenty thousand fans pushing that man to win.”

    “What about Bell, then? Didn’t work out for her, what makes Golden different.”

    “You were a different man when you faced, Bell. You really believed the shit you said. I don’t think you do now. You asked why I came back but you know. It’s just the way I said it, you looked yourself in the eyes and you asked yourself why bother. You know that’s a question Devin doesn’t have to ask himself. He’s never had to. They’ve always answered it for him.”

    “I’ve never had a reason to fight but for myself.”

    “And that’s the problem you don’t want to acknowledge. You’ve stopped caring. But those twenty thousand people aren’t going to give up on Devin the way you’re giving up on yourself.”

    “I’m about to step out there in what, an hour or two, to face Devin Golden. I don’t have time to figure out why you’re here. I don’t have time to figure out why I should bother. I don’t have time to figure out how to get rid of you.”

    The other Zach grinned. “I think you know how to get rid of me. Just start being honest with yourself. The way you used to be.”

    “What do you want me to say? That I don’t love wrestling anymore. That I’m doing this match to martyr myself? Give me a break. It’s more complicated than that. Yeah, the passion isn’t as strong as it was before. But that won’t make me want to lose to Devin goddamn Golden. No. I’m going to do to him what I promised I would. I’m going to make him tap out. I’m going to silence those twenty thousand idiots, and the only thing they’re going to hear is Devin Golden quitting. And if I walk out of the arena, and it’s the last match I’ve ever wrestled then that’s alright. But I’m not leaving there with my last memories being pinned by a disgrace to what I once loved. I’m beating the shit out of him. I don’t care about anything else besides that. And if they want to scream his name all match, they can do what they damn well please because I’m not listening anyways. Never have, never will. If Golden wants to get back up over and over again because of that then that’s his prerogative, but I’m willing to guarantee he’s not going to be able to get back up more often than I can put him down. Keep harassing me about passions and reasons to wrestle, it won’t matter when I step in that ring. It’ll just be me and Devin and whoever they got in stripes. No one else. By that point, I won’t need a reason, just a purpose: win.”

    Zachary began heading out from the locker room. He had nowhere else to go and he had little love for the company of the FWA roster, especially as an outsider. Even so, he’d prefer anything else than his own company by this point.

    “Is that it, then? One last hurrah speech before the big fight. You know that bell’s gonna ring eventually, and win or lose, you’ll have to ask yourself if this is or not.”

    “Yeah. Well, I won’t know the answer to that question till it rings.” He shrugged and left, and hoped it was the last time he had to deal with himself. He figured it probably was. He wasn't lying to himself this time, he would know the answer to the question when that bell finally run. He had a feeling he already knew the answer anyways.




  12. #12
    Young Gunz
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    Beating The Elite Vol. 1


    What's the biggest accomplishment that an FWA team can make? Some would say it's winning the tag-titles - they'd be wrong. Others would say it's dominating the other teams in the division - they'd be wrong too. The biggest accomplishment that an FWA team can make would be to defeat Noah Stocke and Trevor Ocean.

    Now, we can already picture a lot of you grimacing at your screens and throwing an internal hissy fit saying to yourself, "How is beating The Elite a bigger accomplishment than winning the tag-titles or running through the division?" Allow me to explain. The Elite reunited as a tag-team in CWA and since reuniting, we have been undefeated in tag-team action for almost two years. The Elite have been the reigning CWA Tag-Team Champions for over a year and managed to conquer the FWA tag-team division in a shorter span of time than any tag-team in the companies history.

    Beating the Elite is the new brass ring for tag-teams to grasp at as they strive for the title of the best. But, those brass rings aren't easily obtainable. Tag-teams will have to breakthrough the polycarbonate glass ceiling that the Elite look down upon you from. But, fret not as are always looking for an opportunity to better those around us. We believe that the division is a reflection it's leaders and it should come as no surprise when we announce that we are the leaders of the the division.

    So, as the leaders of the tag-team division we are proposing an open opportunity. An open opportunity for The Undisputed Alliance to win back their tag-team titles and gain revenge upon us. An opportunity for The Wave and the Valanders to say they asked for and received their tag-team title shot. At the Payback pay-per-view event, we are awarding all three of these teams an opportunity at the tag-team championships. We are awarding all three of those team with the opportunity to defeat the Elite. However, when those teams lose we fully expect for them to fall in line behind us as we lead the tag-team revolution here in FWA and set in motion the next phase of the revolution.

    We ask that you teams don't waste this opportunity and know that alone we are just teams competing over leather and gold. But, together we are a revolution that can't be ignored.

  13. #13
    The Artist of Chaos
    Mr. Franchise's Avatar

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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    The scene opens inside the hotel of Eli black. Only a dim lamp is on and the place is a total mess. Bottles of alcohol are everywhere, food is all over the floor and furniture. There is paint on some of walls and people laying out on the floor passed out. Eli is drunkenly sitting on a stool with a paint brush in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He seems to be painting a fellow attendee of this party in his hotel room who is fully unclothed. Eli and the lady are giggling while he strokes the canvas surprisingly gracefully considering he id heavily inebriated. His phone begins to ring and he sees that it says his associate Laurie Stoudemire name but he ignores it. She calls a couple times but he just lets it go to voicemail. He is finishing up his painting when he hears loud knocks on his door. He stops for a moment stairs at his muse and they both begin to laugh. The knocks continue happen more rapidly until Eli tells his muse to answer the door for him since he done painting her. She answers the door and standing on the other side is his associate Laurie with the camera crew.

    Laurie: Cut,cut, cut, CUT!!!

    The camera crew ignoring her continues to film despite her loudest efforts. She drags the muse out into the hallway. Goes into the room and shuts the door leaving them outside.

    Eli: Hey Laurie! When did you get here? Want a drink?

    Laurie does not even crack a smile as Eli wobbles his way around the room attempting to get to the fridge. Stepping over the other sleeping party attendees. He walks over to Laurie with a beer but she slaps it out of his hand onto the floor. Eli looks at her confused at her frustration. She walks over grabs Eli's phone and connects it to the speakers he must of been using to play music for this party. She unlocks his phone much to the surprise to Eli and blasts Gimme the Loot by Biggie Smalls as loud as she can. The sleeping people in the room all start getting up in confusion. Start screaming at Eli to turn the music down but the way Laurie is staring at him he is scared to even take two steps closer to her.


    Laurie: EVERYONE GET YOUR STUFF AND GET THE HELL OUT!!!! Not you idiot!

    They all start to scatter grabbing their belongings to leave as the camera crew starts to film them all flying out of the room. Eli tries to leave with them but is stopped in his tracks by Laurie's voice. Instead he locks the door in the face of the camera crew. He turns around slowly to a pit-bull like Laurie who starts to tail him around the room. He has his hand up as if he wants to explain his actions but he knows he does not have any excuses. He pleads with her that its not even that late for the party to stop until she drags the curtain to side revealing bright light from outside in which Eli reacts like a Vampire getting hit by sunlight.

    Laurie: You need to get your shit together. The starving, broke, lost artist shtick was cute for a little while but its now getting out of hand!

    Black: What are you talking about i am not....

    Laurie:You brought me on to handle your affairs so you can focus on your art whether that was music, painting, or wrestling. I focus on the business so you can focus on the work. Well I have been holding up my end of the deal while you have been having epic party nights every night. I see no music done, no training for your next match and no *they both side eye the painting in the room* profitable art being made. Do you even know what day it is?

    Black: Monda....

    Laurie: Its Friday. Monday you had an art exhibition to go to. Guess what you did not show up. Wednesday you had a session Travis Scott. You did not show up. And today you have...

    Black: Whats the point?

    Laurie:Huh?

    Black: What is the point?

    Laurie: What do you mean what is the point? You're the one who wanted to take this all on...

    Black: Yes i know. I am the one who decided to take on all the responsibilities. I wanted them. I wanted them all but i work hard and what do i get for it? A fall from a 30 foot ladder to the hard floor. I work and work and work and i don't see the fruits of my labor. Just pain and no gain. Like growi...

    Laurie: Blah, blah, blah, yea i know i heard all about you growing up already. You weren't the only one with a messed upbringing. Go to therapy soon. What i need you to do is to wash up, sober up cause we have a busy day.

    Eli reluctantly starts getting undressed and into the bath. He speaks to Laurie about what the agenda looks like for the day. She explains that they have a FWA superstar meet up to attend at the arena the next Fight Night is being held. After that he has a interview regarding his match at the current Fight Night. In between scolding him and catching him up on all the things going on Eli begins to clean up the room. Laurie explains that he will have to pay for the damages and make the effort to mend all the bridges broken by his absence. Once he finally finished cleaning up Laurie pulls him to sit down at the edge of the bed.

    Laurie: Lets talk

    Eli: About?

    Laurie: Look i know i am tough on you but you do deserve it. You have all the talent in the world. Athletic, have a great ear for music and you can paint feelings and make them look like tangible things but you get in your own way. That is not something i can help you with. You got to figure that out yourself. So i need you to put that uh what you guys call it when you start speak in third person?

    Eli: Persona?

    Laurie: Yea that. I need you to put that persona on and lets kick ass today. We will take it one day at a time until you can figure out your life. Deal?

    Eli: Deal

    They shake hands and head to the door where they see Eli's naked muse standing outside with the camera crew being interviewed. Laurie cuts them off and she rushes into the room to get her clothes. They all leave to head to the arena. They arrive and its packed with FWA fans. Men, women, kids with their parents. Eli, Laurie and the camera crew sit down at a table with a few other up and coming stars in FWA. Fans are coming down to get autographs signed. To Eli's disappointment but not surprise not a lot of fans are coming over to him just yet. Laurie sees that he disgruntled about it but as he is about to get up a parent with a kid comes up. The kid looks really shy. Eli stares at Laurie for a second and she nudges him to stand up and go to the kid. Eli comes around the table, stoops down and puts his fist out for a bump. The kid hesitates but eventually gives Eli the first bump.

    ;Eli: Hey little guy whats your name?

    Kid:Con..con...Connor..

    Eli: Hi I am Eli Black it nice to finally meet you

    Connor: Finally?

    Eli: Yes Eli has known about you for the longest time. My biggest fan. You had the courage come out here with all these people, show your face and put up with...*Laurie nudges him* and come out to meet your favorite wrestlers. You met your favorite one yet?

    Connor: Yea

    ;Eli: Oh who?

    Connor: You...you're my favorite. You dress cool, and you talk funny, you paint and you wrestle really well. Also you took that crazy fall and got back up. I don't think i would ever be able to

    Eli: Oh..... Eli is very happy to hear that Connor well. When Eli was your age i didn't think ELi could either but here Eli stands. Ei worked hard and kept pushing even when it felt like too much. You did that coming here today. You coming to show this week?

    Connor: Yea

    Eli: Well make sure you cheer real loud for Eli so he can feels inspired.The kid hugs Eli then walks off with the parent. Eli turns back to Laurie looking really proud of Eli for how he handled the kid. Camera crew asking Eli a few questions about the interaction with the young fan. They stay and sign a few more autographs and take pictures before heading ringside where FWA interviewer Todd Salum stands waiting.

    Todd: Hi i am here live with up and coming FWA superstar The Arteest of Chaos Eli Black! and his associate Laurie Stoudemire. Glad to have you guys on. So lets get down to it. We have a bunch of questions from our fans that came in today and also some from twitter. Are you guys ready?

    Laurie: Ready as we will ever be...

    Todd: This one comes from alexrox41 from twitter: What has been the hardest sacrifice being part of FWA?

    Eli: Well FWA is the biggest wrestling company in the world. So that comes with a lot of positives but also a lot of pressure and responsibilities. You don't want to be one of the guys that came and went or could not hang in the big leagues. The most talented guys in the world are in this company. So there is a pressure to performs at your best every time you step into the ring. Also when your outside the ring not to embarrass your self. Believe Eli when i say that's not the easiest..... *Laurie nudges Eli*

    Todd:This one from a parent named Samantha that came to the convention. How do you feel about the massive amount of premature death's from other wrestlers & how does this influence you in regards to avoiding these situations happening to you?

    Eli: Wow that is a heavy question. Eli believes it is not only up to the competitors to look out for one another but the company as well. We have to ensure that each man or woman that's putting themselves out there each week is being medically cleared and protected. If each wrestler takes care of their body and the company provides the correct tools we can prevent tragic loss.

    Todd:This one is from clapthetrap on twitter: If you could change anything about the wrestling industry, what would it be?

    Eli: If we could not suffer through KIng Sullivan long indigestible rants that would make everyone more happy *laughs* but seriously i just want wrestling to continue to grow and expand across the globe. Its still seen as a niche sport and i feel like we are on the cusp of it becoming a household event again.

    Todd: This one is from xxxtenstachion on twitter: How do you feel about your opponents Donovan Moore and Orion?

    Eli: Ahh Eli has been waiting for a question like this. Eli wanted to address the Man of the hour and Orion publicly before our match. Eli will start with the man who does not speak many words, The powerhouse Orion. Hes the definition of don't just talk the talk you have to walk the walks. He 6'5, 265 pounds of power. He has been very impressive in the ring despite many losses but seems very hungry just like me. See we are both rising stars in this company with beautiful fire cracker associates by our side guiding us but the one big glaring difference here is i have almost tasted immortality. Eli was put in the spotlight at Back in the business and Eli showed out. Putting the beat down on every competitor in that match especially the victor Michelle. Eli was so close to my goal until things tiled not in my favor. See Orion is fishing for opportunity that he has never had while Eli is starving for opportunity that Eli can smell, feel and taste. Eli desire is stronger then his.He gonna hit Eli hard. Real hard. Knock Eli down, throw Eli around but Eli is going to keep getting back up as long as Eli can taste of gold on my tongue. Now onto the self proclaimed "Man of the Hour". Todd did you know time is a social construct? no? Well time is a social construct because it is actually not a thing. Any calculation involving “time” will show errors as the speed of objects involved in it increases. Normally we can ignore these errors, but best not to include in calculations involving things traveling at high velocities. Sorry for that quick science lesson but it specifically for the man obsessed with not only time but with himself. He is always clocking the time until he reaches his goal of becoming x division champion. Overlooking the competitors put before him because he sees his ascension to the top as a foregone conclusion. Well that as an error he wont be able to ignore because Eli is that speeding object traveling at high velocities. Eli has been living life moment to moment. Soaking it all in not worried about wasting any time. Eli wont waste yours Mr. Moore. Do not overlook Eli because that will be the error that causes your hour in the sand glass to be up.

    Todd: Well that is all the time we have for today. Thank you Eli for coming through and answering questions. We will see you all next time.

    Eli and his crew leaves the arena to head back to the hotel. Laurie tells the camera crew that they can leave as they walk up to the hotel. Laurie explains that she is happy that he pulled through today but that Eli needs to get therapy to help his underlying issues. He agrees and apologizes for being a jack ass the past couple week and vows to do better.
    Last edited by Mr. Franchise; 04-14-2020 at 12:10 AM.

  14. #14
    Chikara Trainee

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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    You know, over the course of time, people have often made remarks that you question until such a point in your life where they become applicable to your given situation. They say things that make a good soundbite but you are pretty sure that there is no substance until it creeps right up behind you and bites you in the ass. Do you know the type of thing that I am referring to? That the real challenge in life is not just getting to the top but in fact staying there. That those at the top have the furthest to fall. Answer me this, how can anyone who has lived such an experience, state that they have completed the easiest part whilst hypothesizing that their most difficult part is yet to come. Casting aside the obvious arrogance, there is the simple fact that they just don’t know. It was a soundbite designed to get people to look at them in awe of the achievements to date, spoken in the misguided belief that they were speaking of a hypothetical forthcoming experience that they would never have to live through. Nobody sees their own downfall coming until it’s too late. Anybody can get wrapped up in the future and think about everything that you are going to achieve but forget about the present, and in one of life’s unique nuances the very future that you are looking after is influenced directly by the lack of attention and detail being paid to the present. Throughout history, those are your success stories. Regardless of genre. Regardless of profession. Regardless of social standing. Regardless of gender. Those that we still look back and talk about fully appreciated the need to deal with the present and keep it preoccupied and looked after whilst shaping the future that of which they dreamed about. But, I hear you ask? What about those that didn’t look after the present, what happened to that future that they envisaged? Short answer is it didn’t. Do you really want to know what the beauty of the future is though? It can constantly be shaped and it can evolve into something greater, or indeed something far less, as long as you focus and you look after the present. At the minute, this future is clouded in uncertainty. To use a basic analogy, if you were to look at of your window at the future what looked like a sunny day with not a single cloud in the sky now is an overcast day with clouds grouping on the horizon. We are on the precipice, we either are going to have more sunny days to come or there’s going to be an almighty thunderstorm that might just never end.


    *******

    “Just one more Uncle Mike, I love your stories”

    Connor remarked, his nose pressed up tightly to the iPad he was holding. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over yet expecting a different result. Mike would beg to differ – yes, he has asked Connor on multiple occasions to sit back so he isn’t seeing what this 6 year old had for dinner tonight, but Mike is pretty sure that the definition of insanity is being promised time locked away on your own because of deadly pandemic only to be introduced to the Zoom app. Mike is a people person occasionally, but some alone time with the person he loves most in this word – himself – was exactly what the doctor would’ve ordered had he gone and seen one after Fight Night. Instead, he’s got a front row seat to determine exactly how many more teeth Connor needs to lose before his adult teeth are complete. The answer is 4, in case you were curious.


    “One more”


    Connor clapped his hands excitedly at another story from who he refers to as Uncle Mike. If you were to listen closely to each of his stories, you would understand why. His stories aren’t any tame stories about the big bad wolf blowing down some shitty cabin (or not, as the case may be) nor are they any rhymes that you might attribute to Dr Seuss. In fact what these stores are – unbeknownst to Mike himself – are the reason why he hasn’t had to go see the aforementioned doctor for insanity. It is his release. But that would require a lot of self-reflection on Mike’s behalf to identify it so he is probably going to stick with the narrative that this time is a considerable inconvenience for the foreseeable.


    “OK, now get into bed it has to be *checks watch* at least 2am over there now, and Uncle Mike cannot sit here and stare at his tablet all night. That’s the price for once more story and …..”


    Mike, who was momentarily speaking with his head resting in his hands facing downwards, has glanced up to see that Connor has jumped on the initiative and is already a safe distance away from his own tablet safely tucked into his bed. Mike exhales deeply, reflecting on the lost time asking him to back away from the screen when this seemed a pretty simple outcome in the end. Not one to back out of the terms of a previously agreed arrangement, Mike begins…..




    Times were tough back in the 1960s for a lot of folk, particularly in the north of England where you tended to find people were more working class compared in relation to those that lived more towards the capital city of London. They were the type of people that would save all of their money, all week, to go and spend it supporting their local football team and the weekend. Down south, as they would call it, they would tend to accumulate their money and spend it on some lavish gatherings or a new frock or something like that. That isn’t to say that the north didn’t have its wealthy, it did, but it certainly made the north a dangerous place.


    There was a well-known criminal in the 80s that had risen through the ranks quicker than anyone had expected. His name was Tommy. He had a solid upbringing and had the potential to be whatever he wanted to be, but at age 14 he decided to cut ties with his biological family and decided to take up residence with this new adopted family. That’s where he met Stan Giannapolous, who they called Gina for short. So Tommy went from potentially being his biological family’s first college graduate to becoming the de-factor second in command for the much old Gina, who had become the head of the gang years before when he and his brother went to war and he was the one who walked out breathing. So from age 14, Tommy had the chance to absorb and learn everything about the business that he wanted to whilst also holding down a job on the docks as a cover to explain some form of income to explain for some of the high end gear he would wear. But absorb it, Tommy did. He was somewhat of a prodigy, pulling off petty cash robberys and looting places with precision and technique not seen in someone 30 years his senior, never mind a kid that fell into this lifestyle.


    Anyways, I digress. Tommy and Gina had an almost son and father like relationship, and their empire expanded the more that they worked together. The young prodigy learning from the old hand, picking up those classic techniques that Gina knew and adding it to his youthful exuberance, meant that it soon became clear that the pupil was primed and ready to step into his mentor’s role. Gina seemed to be getting a bit past his best, he worked at a diner as a front but as the years progressed Tommy seemed to be pulling off the bigger raids whereas Gina lost his bottle and relied more on the steady income as opposed to the income that could leave one facing some trouble with the authorities. The situation ended up at the point where Tommy had his own smaller territory, with the prodigy making his territory and organization one of the most valuable in the entire land whereas Gina maintained the status quo.


    But then, one night, one of the jobs that Tommy had done a thousand times went wrong. And he went from the head of his profitable region to being locked in a cage, we went from being the next big thing in the industry to being just another number - he was inmate #114562 to be specific. For a time, Tommy struggled to deal with his downturn in fortunes, counting down the days until he could escape that cage and get back to his territory and reign like he did before.


    And he did. He got out, and despite the fact that his last job went so badly wrong, he had still built up enough street cred and reputation to be able to waltz back into his position and still be able to justify the Prodigy tag that he had earned all those years ago. That mind was still as brilliant as it once was, although now there was something slightly different. He had reclaimed his territory but he was looking at something else that never occurred to him before, he was looking at Gina’s and wanted it for himself. Before, he was happy to bide his time and treat the bigger region with the respect it had earned but time inside can give you a greater sense of perspective. Why shouldn’t he be entitled to his shot at being the biggest player in the land, after what he did with his region? So he started to think about ways in which he could migrate into becoming the largest player in the largest region as opposed to the biggest fish in the smaller pond, and this is where things started to fall away again and he started to make little mistakes that showed his eye wasn’t on the ball at home and was too worried about away.


    Little mistakes they were, but added together they combined to one big error from Tommy. Gina’s place was in question, he had been there so long that people started to think that it was time for a change, and as such Tommy found himself in a fight with 6 of the other biggest players in the country. Everyone came to try and make a claim, those from the lavish south wanting to enhance their riches even more and those from even further north trying to turn their rags into riches, as the saying would go. But Tommy, Tommy forgot to look after his own house so he didn’t end up taking Gina’s place but he left himself open to the stabbed in the back by his very own. It was a shot he didn’t see coming, taken by somebody who had not long ago moved to the area. Taken by someone who stayed so quiet that he would not have even registered on your radar. So Tommy went from being in a multi person battle for the biggest prize in the region to being in a battle for what he had and now lost twice.


    So the scenes were set for the an almighty battle and th-----




    Mike, engrossed in his tale for so long, glances back at the iPad and can hear the faint deep breaths from Connor that indicate that at long last he has fallen asleep. He will deny this until his last breath, but there was a flicker of a soft grin as he ends the Zoom meet. Guess Connor will just have to wait until next time to hear how that particular story ends. A quick glance at this watch tells him that it is nearly 12am local time and probably time for some rest, has a busy day doing nothing in lockdown to get started on early tomorrow. As he pours a whiskey, sips on it, and settles into an unintentional slumber, he cannot help but be bitter that he didn’t even get a chance to be asked about whether or not it really was THIS Tommy and Gina that were name checked for working in the docks and working the diner all day. A strange final thought as he head dips and he falls into another world.





    Woman: “HEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”


    The woman, in her mid-40s, shrieked as she leaned out of the window of her apartment complex. It was the kind of shriek that would haunt you forever should something happen to her and those actually end up becoming the words that were her last. Unfortunately for her, she could barely be heard of the sirens and barely seen as the flashing red lights aren’t as effective as a spotlight or flashlight at this time of night. Three floors up, just too high to make the jump as well. Jumping. JUMPING? We may have missed out a step or two in this story alright. Although not much more would need to be said as long as the billowing smoke and blazing flames rapping at the door of the room are mentioned. So there you go. The flames were desperately looking for a way in to greet the woman, who was equally as desperate so as to not make their acquaintance.


    Fireman 1: “Lou, quick grab the ladder she’s stuck up there. John, take Dave and Tim and have a look downstairs to see if there’s any other way out for them and make sure some people have evacuated.”


    He then reaches for his megaphone.


    Fireman 1: “STAY CALM MA’AM, HELP IS ON IT’S WAY.


    To say the response was NSFW would be an understatement, the underlying theme seeming to be that he should go have sexual relations with himself until he was in the same position at which point his words and suggestion to remain calm may be looked upon more favorably.


    Lou, as instructed, has managed to get the ladder in place although the woman, instead of trying to start the descent herself, has disappeared from view before a young boy appears at the top of the ladder and makes his way gingerly down the ladder into Lou’s arms. The woman then stares down at the scene below, and starts to hyperventilate. Now that her child has safe, the reality has begun to kick in and she has remembered that above anything else, she is of heights. One would perhaps state that living on another other than the ground floor was perhaps an unwise move but again, that is probably a conversation for another time.


    Back on the ground, John and Dave emerge from the ground floor carrying Tim, the smoke was just too much and some structural damage has started to take place inside the building, something struck Tim in the head so they made an exit. Lou is signaling for the woman to make her way down the ladder, but she is frozen breathing ever deeper, not a good idea with smoke entering the room under the door that the flames are still trying to get through. The woman drops to one knee, gasping and struggling to breath, and all hope looks lost.


    KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK


    Voice: “ARE YOU STILL IN THERE YOUNG LADY?”


    With whatever energy she has left, the woman begins to crawl towards the source of the knocking which, rather inexplicably, appears to be from the door which is separating her from the raging inferno on the other side.


    However, the door to the room suddenly is kicked through as the door flies off of its hinges and across the room and a terrifying rate. And marching through is a familiar figure in not so familiar attire. Blue spandex attire, red underpants on the outside with matching gloves and a big yellow “P” in an octagon across his chest (would be lovely if the octagon meant something other than a way to avoid a copyright lawsuit), The Prodigy is here to save the day!


    Prodigy: “YOUNG LADY? YOUNG LADY? WHERE ARE YOU? I AM HERE TO ASSIST YOU.”


    Prodigy moves around the room and there is nothing, to his bemusement. The flames are started to engulf the room and although Prodigy seems less concerned with that and more concerned about the missing victim to save. He leans out of the window and gives Lou with the ladder the thumbs up, as Lou reports back to his commander that Prodigy is here to help out and save the day again.


    Prodigy: YOUNG LADY?


    Then, it dawns on him, as the door catches his eye. Prodigy ruefully shakes his head as the would-be hero of the hour approaches the hardware and as he shifts it he is meant with the ghastly sight of - - -




    Mike stirs from his slumber, whiskey tumbler still in hand. He gives his head a shake and he gets to his feet and makes his way toward the balcony to give himself some fresh air. Unfortunately, this has been an all too frequent occurrence as of late. Ever since Back in Business, he has been transfixed about the hero and villain alignment in the company and it’s drifted into his subconscious far too often. He grabs his tablet and as he sits on the balcony, he turns on the talk to text feature that he has been encouraged to use as of late. His team have told him to maintain more of a digital footprint, whatever that means. So instead of becoming more active on his dormant Twitter or Instagram accounts, he negotiated starting up a blog in which he promised to post at least once a week from. This talk to text app allows him to dictate his words which will then print and post on there. He inhales the cold fresh air from his balcony deep into his lungs, regaining some composure, before beginning.


    HEROES AND VILLAINS
    Thoughts of “The Prodigy” Mike Parr
    Feb 14 2020


    I have spent a lot of time thinking about what actually matters to me lately. Professionally, I mean. Wins and losses of course matter the most, but then I found myself reflecting about how I wasn’t getting the respect that I felt that I deserved. Or worse yet ,that someone else was getting the respect and adulation that I had earned. Krash, as I’ve touched on many times, is not the hero that you all should be cheering for. And that has consumed me. I thought the problem that I had at Back in Business was the fact that my mind was focused on the World Championship but it was that my mind was filled with questions. I have never lived in a world where I have constant questions running through my head, I have never doubted my next move or my next phrase until recently.


    I wouldn’t piss in any of those people you hold dear mouths’ if they were about to die of dehydration if it would help me get what I want in the end. And I was OK with that, regardless of whether you decided to rally behind me and cheer me or if you decided to rally against me and tell me to go to hell. I lived quite content in the knowledge that I couldn’t go the hell twice, so you can say what you want because that’s where I’m headed after some of the things that I’ve done anyway. But now, I take issue not with you not cheering me, but deciding to cheer someone else who is equally as unworthy, and my brain as brilliant as it is just doesn’t know how to cope.


    I sit here and I cannot understand why people thing that Krash is worthy of their adulation. Why the whole of North America apparently thinks that he is more fitting a representative than I am – or so the internet would have you believe that is the case. Even Krash doesn’t really get it, you can see it at Fight Night or at Back in Business. I am not criticizing him, I’m merely pointing out that he isn’t the hero that everyone thinks that he is. His backstory is flawed. His motives are questionable. His talent his unquestionable but he isn’t some hero fighting the good fight against the big evil force that is Mike Parr – he is the slippery little shit that has weaseled his way ahead of others that have waited for their opportunity. Because why? Because he knows Cyrus. Because he wants us to all think that we should have some sort of great interest in the greatest hits of a defunct federation being relived in 2020, when those hits weren’t even that great to begin with.


    He took my championship and you are all proud of him for it. He will pretend to take the moral high ground, he will praise competition I’m sure, but when it gets down to the crux of it, he’s just trying to distract you from the truth. He is hoping that you get blinded by the glare of my championship belt around his waist so as you cannot see truly what is right in front of you. So that leaves me with one option.


    I am going to take my championship back. And I am not going to do it to be the hero of the hour or to make Krash the villain. I’m not going to do it for the cheers or the boos. I am going to do it in spite of a steel cage, because that’s who I am. Not a hero. Not a villain.


    I’m The Prodigy. And that’s better than any other moniker or label you can throw at me.


  15. #15
     
    Sully's Avatar

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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    Kinder King



    For most of his childhood, Dave Sullivan grew up in some of the not so exquisite areas of suburban Pittsburgh. In fact when he was born, his parents were living in a crummy one bedroom apartment in the middle of Tarentum. He spent most of his young childhood however in West Deer township, a small coal mining area with a population just over 11,000. When he was in 2nd grade, he was removed from the dirty trailer home that he lived in on Dillner Lane in Gibsonia PA, and sent to live a mile down the road at his Grandmother's house. There he stayed for about four more years, until his Grandmother lost her house to the bank. So he and his grandmother bounced around suburban Pittsburgh for a few more years, living in areas like Saxonburg, Shaler, and Ross township. Until finally one day, Dave Sullivan had enough. He left his grandmother behind to pursue a career in professional wrestling...and well, we know how the rest of the story goes.

    Now King Sullivan stands looking out the large bay window of his Sewickley mansion. He's wearing a pair of comfortable lounge sweatpants and a black Under Armor t-shirt. On his wrist is a thin black wrist brace, there to heal his broken wrist from Back in Business. As Sullivan stares out the window, he thinks about how much his life in his hometown of Pittsburgh, PA has changed. He used to drive through Sewickley and scoff at all the, in his words, "generic rich white people" he'd see on the streets.

    But now, with the crown under his head, King Sullivan couldn't be happier.

    But yet this King lives in this apartment alone. For he did not invite his grandmother to follow him from the Pittsburgh suburbs. He didn't invite his father or mother either, being that he has not talked to either of them in about ten years. There is no Ty Johnson, no former lovers. There is nobody but the King and his crown.

    But that won't be the case on Sunday. As the King can be heard discussing his plans on the phone right now.


    King Sullivan (on the phone to an unknown person):

    Oh yeah baby. My birthday bash is going to be the biggest part that this city has ever seen. The return of the King! Everything has lined up perfectly. I return to Pittsburgh, my home town city, as FWA World Champion. My birthday is this Sunday...and two days before it, I get an easy match where I get to humiliate Kayden Knox in front of everyone who adores me. Then, to end an amazing weekend, we get to celebrate my 34th birthday in my brand new mansion. Who would've known beating Nova Diamond would have given me such a huge bonus? Oh wait, I did!

    So have you contacted the caterer yet? And do not make me tell you a fifth time, I DO NOT CARE that there is a pandemic going on. We are having this birthday party.


    Sullivan waits for a response...

    Are you freaking kidding me? You have one job. Literally one job. To plan this goddamn party. And if you're not going to do that right, then I'm going to fire you and hire an agent who can. Aladdin catering...I do NOT want Aladdin catering to be serving food at my party. You might as well just hire the White House caterer and serve Big Macs to all my guests...

    ...

    No Kevin, that was a joke. You know what, I'm starting to think you're just as dumb as that bag of bricks Kayden Knox.

    ...

    No, I'm not underestimating Kayden Knox. I have seen the guy wrestle. And more importantly, he's seen me wrestle. I bet the guy doesn't even show up to Fight Night. Do you really think I'm going to lose to him...in my hometown of Pittsburgh, two days before my birthday?

    You know-

    Suddenly, the doorbell rings.

    Hang on Kevin.

    I don't know who the hell this is, but they're disturbing the King.


    King Sullivan struts over to the front door of his mansion and pulls open the door.

    He looks out into his huge green front lawn, but does not seen anything.

    But then...he looks down, and nearly jumps back three feet. Standing at his front door, is a little girl who looks to be about five or six years old.




    This little girl is standing there with her hair in two pigtails. She is wearing blue jeans, and a Frozen t-shirt with Elsa and Anna on it. She carries just a single small backpack, that has pictures of JoJo Siwa on the back.

    The shocked face on the King's face turns to a smile.

    He then picks up his phone and continues talking to his agent.


    Uh Kevin, what did I tell you about sending Make a Wish kids straight to my house? Hold on a second, let me grab this little rugrat an autograph.

    Sullivan holds the phone down to his side as his addresses the young girl.

    Alright kid. What do you want, just a plain old autograph? Oh...I know...come on in, I got the perfect thing.

    Sullivan directs the little girl inside his mansion.

    She walks in, and looks up at the large ceilings and fancy pictures on the walls. Everything is white. White walls, white marble floors, and a white leather couch. No place for a kid. Her eyes widen as she sees such a huge TV on the wall.

    Suddenly, Sullivan comes out from a different room and throws a pair of black and gold wrestling trunks at her face. She barely catches the trunks. She looks at them in disgust, seeing "King Sullivan" written sloppily over the back end.


    There ya go kid. Those are from my Kevin Cromwell match, the one right after Christmas at the end of the year. Signed and delivered. You'll probably just sell them on the internet, but that's cool. Those will be worth big bucks. Put it towards your college fund, alright Miss...uh...what's your name?

    The little girl quietly responds...

    Grace: My name is Grace.

    Sullivan: Grace? Oh...that's a pretty name.

    Sullivan takes off his wrist brace and shows her his right arm, which has the word "Grace" tattooed on it.

    Sullivan: I uh, I always liked that name.

    Grace: I know. That's what my mommy told me.

    Sullivan looks at Grace with a confused look.

    Sullivan: Uhm...what?

    Grace: Her name was Ann.

    Grace hands King Sullivan a small business card.

    On it reads "Kate Walker, Allegheny County CYF" and has a name and email.

    Grace: This lady was supposed to call you. She told me she is doing what they call "Swan" services or something. She called it...CSR or something. I don't know what that means. But she told me she was supposed to find me a new home. A new mommy and daddy.

    She told me a month ago that she may have found my real daddy. She was going to call you.

    But then this scary virus stuff happened. She told me she wasn't allowed to do anything until it was all over.

    Well I wasn't waiting...

    Sullivan's knees give out and he collapses on his white couch.

    He picks up the phone and puts it to his ear...

    Sullivan: Uh Kevin...I'll call you back.

    Sullivan faints back on the couch.

    He awakens to a different voice now. It's a woman, who appears to be in her mid twenties. She is dressed in a t-shirt, and jeans, and has her brown hair in a pony tail. She also has a cheap medical mask covering her face.

    King Sullivan: Oh thank god. Tell me it was just a dream.

    Sullivan looks over, and on his couch is young Grace who is watching an episode of Sofia The First on Sullivan's huge flatscreen TV.

    The woman appears anxious.

    Kate Walker: Mr. Sullivan, I am so sorry. This is not the way that I wanted to approach this with you. The coronvirus epidemic has changed plans a bit, but we wanted to wait until things cleared up before continuing CSR for all of our kids. However, as you and I both see little Gracie here was a bit impatient. I was not anticipating her eloping from her foster home. But yet here we are. I am her caseworker, and I am doing CSR, or Child Specific Recruitment, for Gracie here. Her mother, Ann passed away back in November. I believe you knew her...correct?

    Sullivan weakly responds...

    King Sullivan: Yes...

    Kate Walker: Mr. Sullivan, we believe that Grace might be your daughter. Do you think that this could in anyway be possible?

    King Sullivan: Well...we did uh...we did...

    Kate Walker: Okay. We would like to run some tests to confirm whether you are in fact her father. But the fact remains, my job is to find Gracie her a new adoptive home. Ideally, her biological father would be the best suitor for her. But, if this is something you're not able to do, I understand.

    King Sullivan: Something I'm not able to do? Of course it's not something I am able to do...

    I am a star athlete.

    I am an FWA World Champion.

    I travel the world. Compete in cities every week. Train, fight, win championships.

    How in the hell could I raise a daughter? Huh?

    Look at her! She's a little kid.

    I am not capable of that.

    I have to fight idiots like Kayden Knox every single week. And on top of all of that, I have to look behind my shoulder no matter where I go and worry that Gabby freaking Montgomery isn't going to cash in her little Willy Wonky Golden Ticket, and try to take my title? And yet on top of all of that, you want me to be a father to some kid I don't even know?

    How?

    Kate looks on disappointed.

    Kate Walker: It's okay, Mr. Sullivan. I understand. If you change your mind, we...

    But Gracie's reaction is much worse. Tears are strolling down her face...

    Grace: But...but I thought I was going to be your princess. Like Princess Sophia....

    And then...the heart of the mean old King melts.

    Just like that.

    King Sullivan: Well...I guess she can stay here, for a little while. Until you find something else maybe.

    Gracie yells out "Yes!" and runs up to hug the King. Kate looks on with a smile.

    Kate Walker: I'll need to do a home assessment just to make sure everything is in order. Thank you Mr. Sullivan.

    The King looks around his empty mansion. And with a smile he thinks to himself...I guess there won't be a big birthday bash after all.





  16. #16
    Hail To The King
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    "Bang Bang"


    There is no AJ Drake. There is no crazy story we simply get Kayden Knox standing in front of a camera. He just looks directly at the camera.

    Kayden Knox: I really just don't know what to say or do now. I come out here week after week and I give it everything I have. I came out there into that ring coming in from different train of though from arrogance to self pity from brashness to having no faith and every single time I feel like I start to get some traction I start to get a footing I get the god damn rug pulled out from under my feet.

    Knox has a little grin that appears that isn't from happiness more of shock and awe.

    Do you know how tiring it is to go out there and do something to think you got it right that you got the shit together to just lose and this isn't the first time either.

    No, you see if it was I would be able to brush off the dirt and try again but, I am driving myself insane I feel like a broken record stuck on the same song stuck in a locked room and the walls just closed in.

    Knox again looks at the camera just shaking his head. His eyes tell the story his voice is serious you can drop a pin needle right now.

    This is torture because I know without a shadow of a god damn doubt where Dave Sullivan sits should be where the fuck I should be it won't ever happen though. It's not from a lack of trying it is simply because I am not apart of the clique. I never have been I never will be.

    There is a fine line between crying about sour grapes and the hand that you have been dealt and then there is playing against the house when they have the loaded dice.


    So what am I really saying?

    Knox moves closer to the camera as he whispers in a mocking fashion.

    I am saying the fix is in.

    Take a god damn look at the track record since I debut on FWA before I even said a word I was told that this was my ceiling and I wasn't going to be any more then that it was better then Passion's is that not what you said?

    Knox seems to be staring directly at the camera as if he was talking to one set person.

    The evidence is enough because have I ever really been featured?

    Have I ever gotten the chance to shine?

    I wasn't even promoted for the first 6 months of my time here and when I was it was because I had to plead and beg to do anything with some sort of meaning then some randomness put together just to get a paycheck.

    When I do get the chance what happen to my partner?

    He no-shows and I am left to eat the pin to take the loss simply because in the future that guy has more to give then I do? Why don't you kiss my ass.

    I learned to accept that Sterling Jagger the persona I tried to show the world wasn't going to go anywhere and the months of hearing yourself get shit on over and over by the fans in the arena, the guys in the back, and management behind your back what else is there to do besides find some sort of vices to numb the pain.

    So I become who I always was Kayden Knox.

    Did it get me notice?

    Knox again speaks with sarcasm. He looks and at the camera not looking away just lasered in.

    Sure for about a cup of coffee and there it goes and still thrown into random matches time after time with no sort of direction. I felt like a dog chasing it's tail hoping I can get it but, doing nothing but chasing myself.

    You dingle chances and promises to me behind close like a horse with a carrot.

    Knox makes a hand puppet with and talks to it in a mocking manner.

    How can you say that Kayden?

    You were in the CC. You were given a chance inside the chamber and your just mad because you lost.

    Knox screams at his hand before looking back at the camera.

    You are fucking right I am upset because it should be me!

    I have done fucking everything I have can to do something in this company and time after time I am overlooked, underappreciated and forgotten to have everything go back to the god damn clique.

    Go on and look both the ones who won those matches were the clique.

    Nova Diamond before he even debut or stepped into the ring was being bred for the world championship and the star light before he even could lace up his boots. BIB, it should of be me! I should of been the one to face Dave Sullivan.

    I should of been! I end up on the card facing some 7 foot nobody and couldn't even get the shot at the X Division Championship. Then last week who went on to win?

    God damn Gabbi who is basically the female version of what Sterling Jagger was and the clique gets the fix in yet again.

    Well... now I get my match with Dave Sullivan the very thing I have wanted all along and now that I got it well it seems like I really don't want it I mean what is the point we all know the outcome Dave Sullivan wins and looks on to go face Gabbi with the title on the line when it should be me. Dave Sullivan in this match has nothing to lose.

    Knox sighs as he seems to just go on.

    I got nothing to lose but, I got nothing worth fighting for why should I give a damn about this fight when I know the outcome and in the hail mary chance I do get the win its hollow it means nothing I don't earn anything. I don't accomplish anything nothing goes forward it just stays in a ever flowing motion of swaying side to side.

    Dave, Drake has told you many times before that you and I aren't so different and I hear you talk about how you been in my position that you know what I am going through please. Why don't you do yourself go fuck yourself because you got to where you are not from hard work not from dedication you got to where you are at by kissing ass and I refuse to do that. You think this shit is over it has just begun.

    A very livid and pissed off and angry Kayden Knox walks off as the camera he is heard slamming the door as the camera just plays on before fading to black.


    Last edited by OMB; 04-14-2020 at 05:37 AM. Reason: formatting


    Spoiler:


    CWA World Heavyweight Champion
    ​Brayden Bridges








  17. #17
    The Maniacal Martyr
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 04/17/2020

    Location: Minneapolis, Minnesota, Uptown Minneapolis
    Date: January 14, 2018 (Minneapolis Miracle against the Saints)

    Announcer: The Vikings are down by a point here in the last seconds of the game.

    At Uptown Minneapolis, Michael Valander (last seen getting injured in England) is watching the last seconds of the NFC divisional playoff game between the Minnesota Vikings and the New Orleans Saints.

    Valander: Dammit Keenum (the quarterback at the time of this game), you brought us this hard into the playoffs now you blew it.

    Announcer: Looks like they're going for a timeout at the last minute.

    *Valander grows a bit more anxious when seeing the timeout*

    Valander: Of course, they pull a timeout at the end of the game, soak up the last seconds of this game and waste another season on failure.

    ???: Well, aren't you all pissed off, its just a game, they might come back.

    Valander: Yeah yeah, they might but that doesn't......

    *Mike starts looking at the chick who's talking to him and his eyes are staring at her beautiful eyes*

    Mike: Come back......uh uh uh.

    *The female starts giggling in a playful way as Mike starts walking to her seat*

    Valander: Hi, the name's Mike Valander, so you uh interested in this game?

    ???: Yeah, but right now, it's coming down to the wire, with seconds left.

    Valander: Yeah who knows if they'll come back.

    Elizabeth: Yeah, they might hopefully, by the way name is Elizabeth, but you can call me Eliza. So what brought you here?

    Valander: Well, a few months ago I wrestled in England, then all of a sudden it ended.

    Elizabeth: Why's that?

    *Mike sips on his Coors while talking*

    Valander: Well this prick decides to injure me, and take me out of this match, and so I got injured. A shoulder injury sideline and I went back home to get checked on, after a while, I stayed and just helped out with the city and all that.

    Elizabeth: Poor you, but me, I have been at work, I work in business management and been hopefully trying to succeed and be higher up.

    Valander: Oh cool, hopefully you do succeed, it's a big business out there.

    Elizabeth: I know, hopefully you can succeed and return to wrestling eventually.

    Valander: Thank you, also finally the game is back from break.

    *The game resumes from timeout ready for the snap*

    Valander: By the way, you doing anything after this? Are you busy?

    Announcer: Keenum with the snap, and he throws it.......

    Elizabeth: Maybe when this game is over, I'm not busy, so sure I like to.

    Announcer: The pass is caught by Stefon Diggs. 40, 30, 20, 10, Touchdown. Unbelievable they came back to win it.

    *The bar erupts as the game is over and the Vikings win the game*

    Valander: Great, the Vikings win and I got a date with a girl in one night, how can things get better?

    Elizabeth: Maybe this could.

    *Elizabeth kisses Mike on the cheek, surprising Mike before they eventually leave the bar*

    Mike: So that was weird but cool, what do you want to do now?

    Elizabeth: I don't know, maybe walk for a bit maybe?

    Mike: I have a car I can drive us in.

    Elizabeth: Yeah but a walk is so romantic, don't you think?

    Valander: You know what? Absolutely they are definitely.

    *After a small walk, they eventually go to Mike's house then doing "private things, a few weeks later Elizabeth has some news to share at Mike's house*

    Elizabeth: Guess what honey?

    *Mike smirks while sipping on his beer*

    Mike: What's that dear? What is the news?

    Elizabeth: Well, Elizabeth Morgan has announced to you, I'm pregnant with your kid!

    Valander (spits beer): What? What?

    Elizabeth (crying): I know, it's fantastic, I'm so happy.

    Valander: I'm happy for you, I get to be a parent.

    Elizabeth: Yeah and a good one at that too.

    *They start hugging one another in response to this news*

    Valander: So when will the baby be due?

    Elizabeth: I think in November, I can't wait this is gonna be great.

    Valander: Yes it will be, it will be.

    *Mike and Elizabeth eventually find out the gender is a girl and things are alright with them*

    *Eventually the day arrived, and the baby was born, both are in tears as they are holding their new child*

    Doctor: What are you naming your new child?

    Valander: How about? You want to do it?

    Elizabeth: How about us both?

    Valander: Yeah, yeah.

    Both: We're naming her Lily Marie Valander.

    *The two hug their new baby and take a picture as the new family, however like the Vikings and the miracle, it all came crashing down weeks later*

    Valander: Hey Elizabeth, I'm finally home. Let's do some things honey?

    *Mike catches Elizabeth with another person in a different situation*

    Valander: What the----- Nooooooo!!!!!!

    Elizabeth: Listen honey, I can explain this.

    Mike: But nothing, what the hell?

    *Mike gets angry at Elizabeth*

    Valander: Bitch, get the fuck out. Grab your things tomorrow when my composure is normal.

    Elizabeth: But honey, what about?

    Valander: I said get the fuck out, and oh by the way.

    *Mike walks over to the guy and decks him in the mouth, knocking the guy out before Mike throws the guy out of the house*

    Mike: Next time knock, homewrecker.

    Elizabeth: What the? How dare you.

    *Elizabeth walks out furiously*

    Valander: By the way, Lily's mine, fucking bitch.

    *A few months after that, the judge awards Elizabeth custody of Lily while granting Mike weekend visits*

    Valander: Goddammit, system is rigged, Lily was supposed to be mine.

    *Mike walks out of the courtroom frustrated while his phone rings, he then answers*

    Valander: Yeah, no I lost her, so what? You want me to what? Go back to wrestling? No way man, I think I'm passed that. What they want me? Well, if it talks, then sure I can come back if you want in this other fed. Count me in.

    *While Mike lost custody, he gained the itch to return to the ring and he returned eventually*

    OOC - I wanted to do a past promo about Mike's reveal that he has a daughter. I wanted this on how Mike became a parent. Btw, the fed wasn't FWA, it was a different fed.

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