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Thread: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

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    Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

    Post your promos for the Fight Night: Sin City show here.

    Promos are due on Monday May 10th at 11:59 PM pacific standard time, that's Tuesday May 11th, at 2:59 AM EST, and 8 AM British Time.

    Curious or unsure about how much time is left before the exact deadline?
    Click HERE to see a second by second countdown to the deadline.




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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

    "Vegas?"
    We see the signature Saus X van parked outside of a gym. The sky was darkish, you could say 5:50 AM.

    "I'm going to vegas?"

    Screw his visit to Canada. Vegas was where the big boy played. A land full of money, fame, and gambling. X opened his car door and pulled out the 24/7 Title, which was still of his possession!

    "Vegas! The land of opportunity! And I'm given a Gauntlet Title Shot! Not to mention, I have held this 24/7 Title for over a week! But, really? My competitors?"

    X got into the car and shut the door. He pulled out of the gym parking lot and drove onto the road.

    "First off, let's talk about the champion Eli Black. Personally, Eli Black is overrated to me. I just don't see the hype in him! He's trying to hard to make people hate him."

    He turned onto a seemingly empty road, where he continued to drive until he reached the interstate.

    "Next up is Reagan Cole. I have a hell of a lot of respect for the dude, but really? Does he really deserve another Gauntlet Title Shot? Last week, he basically got manhandled by Eli. What's the point in giving him an undeserved opportunity?"

    X drove down the interstate, turning up the radio. 90s Rock played in the background as X drove on the surprisingly busy road.

    "Before I talk about Marcus McClain, let me talk about Rod Sterling. How dare you disrespect my brand? The Saus X name? You disrespected me by not acknowledging my wins over competitors of high prestige like ... Alexandra Marie and Bronco Wells. I'd say I beat the top of the food chain there. But you say I never won? Shameful!"

    There was a random kid looking at him in a car over. The kid was confused why X was talking to virtually no one. He decided to go back to his greasy tablet.

    "Now that that's done, let's talk Marcus. If you think for a single second I will let my guard down around you again, you are mistaken. You may have bested me, but the fact is ... you are just another overrated big dude! Your destiny is simple, you'll float on the midcard for a few more months, lose interest, and then quit."

    X looked at his palms. They were sweaty. He spoke confidently, but he didn't look confident. He talks so high and mighty, but he doesn't feel that way. He feels .... worried. Sure, he was back on his winning ways, but against a nobody of everyone. But a nobody he respected.He arrived at a gas station at one of the exits and parked. He took his palms off the steering wheel and wiped them on his pants. He hopped out of the van and shut it. He began to set up gas in his van as he leaned on it.

    "Now, what do I think will happen? Who knows, Vegas is a land of oppurtunity. I could either iron man this thing, or be the last entrant"

    He pulled the gas pump out and set it back on where it went. He hopped back into the van. He sat his hands on the wheel, turning back into the interstate.

    "Maybe, I'll be the champion. And then be put in some triple threat with Louis and Donovan! Once I defeat all 5 of these guys, I'll have wiped out this unlucky low card! Maybe I'll put the Gauntlet Championship on the map!"

    Empty promises. All empty. No amount of words can fill that void in him. The void of promises. In some shape or form, he's failed every single one. Is it his fault? Maybe. Every promise brought him back to these thoughts. He can't really shake them off.His words felt empty. A facade. A fake mask. His confidence was foax. The world was his enemy. He finally breaks his losing streak, then he's attacked by someone who he thought he shook off. He gets a Number-One Contenders Match, he's toyed with. But he wouldn't let it break him. One by one, his accomplishments, his goals, and his fullfllled promises will fill that void.X gave himself a smile, before staring into the road. The path to greatness.

    Sin City will be the city of X. The crowd would be cheering his name. He would prevail. These promises felt of life. Brightening the void. One day, the void would be filled to the brim. One step at a time, one win at a time.
    Last edited by Blaine; 05-07-2021 at 10:13 AM. Reason: Formatting Issues
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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread



    What Happens in Vegas, Does it Stay?

    Louis Valander is driving all around the strip, wondering which casino to stay around for a bit during his time there before his match with Donovan Moore.

    "Where the Hell is a good hotel for yours truly to stay? Fucking Hell, Vegas has so many casinos and hotels."

    He avoided going to Pittsburgh, nothing against the city of Pittsburgh, but Vegas was a much fun city. The City that never sleeps, don't tell the big apple. Louis wanted to find a hotel that could do something for him.

    "I wasn't given an opportunity to be #1 contender. I have been trying to be champion whether it be tag champs with my brother, could also be 24/7 champ but I wanted a big title, instead I have to focus on Donovan Moore"

    Louis got out and opened his car. He stood outside allegiant stadium and bellowed out.

    "Like the Raiders here, I'm moving out and trying to shine in a different area. I'm like the Autumn wind, I'm swaggering boisterously, and my face is ever beaten, but I'll laugh when I conquer and win"

    He got back into the car, still thinking about Donovan Moore.

    "Donovan Moore, what is your issue? What's your beef with me? Did my match seriously try to bore you, well I'm sorry, that ain't my thing, I don't bore people at all, but if you want a match with me, I'm all for it, I need a challenge"

    Louis is still driving, looking at the casinos, he finally finds one, where everything seems weird but hey, like he said he wants a challenge.

    "When I'm finished with Donovan Moore. Trust me, when I'm done, I'll get back to Saus X and getting back at him when I lost in the first place" Louis says as he enters out of his car and walks inside the weird ass hotel as the promo ends.

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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread


    THOMAS WEST PODCAST: West-DEBUT EPISODE!
    ft. J.J. JAY!


    Here's an irrelevant intro song!


    And here's some word salad!

    Thomas West: Okay, music stops playing. Or doesnít. I donít know. Who knows. Did it even start playing, you tell me. Youíd know better. *imagine me frowning* You can pretend thatís me frowning if I did actually put music at the top and you didnít play it. For shame. This is a pre-recorded icebreaker. This, is a podcast episode, we call this podcastÖ hmm West-*the pre-recorded message is swapped out for a live version of Thomas West*DEBUT EPISODE! Yay! There we go! Big surprise, itís me, Thomas West. You might remember me from CWA circaÖ I donít know 2016 or 15Ö 14? I donít know. Look it up. Check the archives yourselves. Moving on to the important introduction. Today, Iíve got the most special guest possible in the world to start this podcast off, itís*imagine a drumroll* UncleÖ COSMIC HORRORÖ THE NIGHTMARERÖ THE ONE AND ONLY TRIPLE J CHAMPIONÖ MY BEST FRIENDÖ THE GREATEST MAN IN THE WORLDÖ J.J. JAY!. *confetti poof*

    J.J. JAY!: Yeah, thanks. Thanks for the intro man. Iím happy to be here. You pay well.

    Thomas West: You know, if I could get the most interesting man in the FWA on my show, I had to shell out the big doge.

    J.J. JAY!: Oh yeah, this might do more for doge than Saturday Night Elon.

    Thomas West: I honestly think thereís money in a new Uncle gimmick weíre youíre the face of a new Cosmic Horror themed cryptocurrency and youíre like working to get it off the ground through the FWA..

    J.J. JAY!: Thatís a cool idea.

    Thomas West: You can have it for free, man.

    J.J. JAY!: Yeah, Iíll talk it over with the suits. See what they think.

    Thomas West: Unclecoin.

    J.J. JAY!: J.J. JAY!coin?

    Thomas West: Thatíd be tight.

    J.J. JAY!: So this is a cool idea. Podcasts are kinda overdone at this point but you know Iíd check out anything you get up to.

    Thomas West: I know, but I just thought to myself, I have so many stories to tell. So many. I can just go on and on you know.

    J.J. JAY!: I can relate to that.

    Thomas West: You know, I can talk about anything. Iíve got so many interesting stories. You know, obviously my time with the Dark Watch, but our time together too! Weíve been through so much, I just thought Iíd get it all out there. Maybe someone will be interested. Kinda like weird autobiography. Itís about me but not fully about me.

    J.J. JAY!: Hey, I donít know who will be interested, but as long as you have fun, thatís all you got.

    Thats too true. Too true, Uncle.

    It is. Huh. Hey, whyíd do you do that. Whereís your name. Wai-, you did it to me. No, I like my name. Put it back man.

    No, weíve got the rhythm now. We know whoís talking. Weíve got color. I know you like to stress people out with that all black. We want people at ease man. We got color up in here. Easy to recognize. Itís a simple back and forth, Uncle. Weíve got chemistry Uncle. You, me. You, me. Easy structure. Weíve got a flow going. Letís chill. Letís keep it loose. This is the West-DEBUT EPISODE! podcast. We chill here, man. Donít let none of this bother you.

    Come on, bring my name back.

    No. You want to know a random fact?

    Ö

    Here at West-DEBUT EPISODE, the template is flexible, nephews. The template is flexible. Weíre like experimental poets up here, we can like go all lower caps, forget punctuation, I donít know, we can do anything. Flexible template. We leave it loose here.

    Thatís cool I guess.

    Weíll have that every episode. What we probably wonít have every episode, is someone of your caliber. I honestly canít believe I got you here. Youíve got a main event spot light this week, this is like the last episode of Fight Night right, or is there another one?

    I donít know man. We find out where the show is the night they tell us who weíre facing.

    But youíre like a Cosmic Horror. Donít you know everything?

    What?

    Isnít that your gimmick. You travel through space and time, right.

    Well, look. Obviously I have a general idea of whatís gonna happen but Iím not gonna fucking spoil it plus. Itíll just jinx everything.

    Right, right, the moment you tell everyone whatís gonna happen youíre gonna fuck the whole timeline.

    Yeah, youíve seen the movies.

    Butterfly effect. Yeah.

    Yeah, Butterfly effect.

    Yeah.

    Yeah.

    So, Iíve got you hereÖ you are in the main event, theyíve gotÖ whoíve they got-

    Michelle von Horrowitz, my arch rivalÖ the DREAMERÖ

    You guys had a wonderful match together at the Valentineís Day Massacre. Two marvelous pieces there. Headlining your own event. Match of the year some would say and thatís considering some of the high highs weíve seen from MvH. You know that dream sequence and the homage to the train journey. Really well thought out stuff. You know, sheís faced Parr a bunch, CC, all that stuff since. Top stuff. Sheís one of the hottest wrestlers in the FWA. I think a lot of your fans want to see you get another chance at her. I think some even thought we might see you guys team up at some point. Obviously thatís not the case here even though it was a good opportunity. So, when are we going to see you guys together again?

    I donít know. Iím not sure why sheís teaming up with Peacock? Weíre friends, her and I. I donít know why they chose her to partner with Peacock..

    Are you disappointed-

    No. Of course not. I can roll with any partner. Youíre trying to make it weird. Iím not saying I want Michelle as a partner over Parr or Sulley.

    No. Youíre not saying that.

    No. No! No, Iím not saying that. So letís chill with jumping to conclusions, man.

    Okay.

    Okay.

    Alright, so Michelle von Horrowitz, who beat you, is not on your side. You MUST be worried.

    Iím not worried.

    She won the Carnal Contendership, youíve been telling everyone- EVERYONE that you deserved to win that match let alone finish top seven. But you did neither. She won the match.

    She won but I think I really deserved it. I did deserve to win that match. I did something special.

    You did.

    I did.

    You fucking arrogant cunt.

    What?

    Nothing.

    No, I heard what you said.

    Relax. I didnít say anything. Youíre being defensive again. Be cool.

    Iím alright.

    Okay. So sheís teaming with Chris PeacockÖ the guy who beat the guyÖ who beat you? You MUST be worried.

    What the fuck? Iím not worried.

    I would be. Why arenít you worried?

    Well, look. Michael Garcia beat the shit out of Gabby right?

    Right.

    Captain Fantasy, Fantasy K.O. Michael Garcia down, 1Ö 2Ö 3Ö, Right?

    ThatÖ IsÖ correct.

    And then, Gabby, did her move there, I forget what itís called, and pinned Captain Fantasy-

    Wow, thatís a spoiler. Show just came out man. What if people are reading this before that.

    Bold of you to think they would.

    Well, I just believe in your star power, Uncle. They might want to see what youíre up to even more than they want to find out what happened at Steel City.

    Misplaced beliefs.

    Oh, donít be negative. This could be a big hit. Or it might not be. Who knows. But why not just expect the best. No time for self-pity, Uncle, not on the West-DEBUT EPISODE podcast. Iím pretty sure youíre the one that taught me that, actually. Anyways, where were you going with that story man? You sounded like you had a point?

    I did. I did. Alright, so just because 1 beat 2, and 2 beatÖ wait no, thatís not itÖ okay, just because 3 beat 2 and 2 beat 1 doesnít mean that 3 automatically beats 1, you know what I mean?

    You lost your train of thoughtÖ thereÖ for a second.

    I got it in the end.

    Yeah you got it in the end there. Alright, fine, you math kinda checks out. Gabby may have lost to Garcia who may have lost to Cap but Gabby was ultimately able to beat Cap. Youíre right. Happy? You got so defensive just because I said Peacock might give the other team the advantage. Donít get so defensive.

    Shut up, Mr. Oil me up!

    What? Whatís that suppose to mean?

    *provokingly-?* Yeah, Oil me up-*Mockingly!* Oil me up! Oil me up!

    What are you doing? You're coming across stupidly.

    Great. That works. Oil me up was a stupid gimmick

    It wasnít a stupid gimmick. Iím proud of Oil me up. Thatís a good catch phrase. Letís get more catchphrases out here. Thatís a call to the entire FWA roster. And even CWA. Come on! Get a catch phrase. My lineís iconic. Time tested. People still talk about that till this day. In fact. Why donít I give them a treat. Hrmm. Hrmmmmmm. OIL ME FUCKING UP, UNCLE! LETíS GET SOME OIL UP IN HERE. *TONS OF LITERS OF GALLONS ARE POURED ON THOMAS WEST* OIL ME UP!

    Wow.

    Yeah, babe, Oil me up. Itís all love and vibes here, Uncle, all love and vibes. All positivity. Weíre friendly to each other on the West-DEBUT EPISODE podcast. Just relax. We donít need to mock each other or tear each other down. I love you, Uncle, come on man. Weíre family.

    Yeah. We are family. I know you better than anyone else. Call yourself the Master of DI can always tell who you are. So, how did that loss to Gabby feel

    What?

    Come on, I know thatís you under the mask.

    Wow, you just jumped from one thing to a completely unrelated other thing. Iím sure everyoneís lost now. I donít even know what youíre talking about.

    You canít possibly think I wouldnít know, Thomas.

    I have no idea what youíre talking about.

    What? Come on, thisíll make your whole podcast. *grins* Youíre totally Captain Fantasy under the mask right?

    *gives up* You got me. Iím Captain Fantasy. Thomas West is Captain Fantasy, and Captain Fantasy is I. Howíd you know, Uncle? You saw through the whole disguise?

    I told you, Thomas, you might be the master of disguises, but Iíll always know who you are. Iíll always see through it.

    Historically speaking thatís untrue.

    What?

    But weíll leave that for later. So weíve got the Dreamer and Peacock on one side. This here is the opener-

    Wait, did you just say opener.

    Yeah, the opener. You guys are opening the show.

    No, weíre main event. Weíve got the three headliners of Back in Business and three of the guys fighting for the X Title, weíre obviously main event.

    No, dude. Youíre opening. They gave the main event to the Gauntlet Championship.

    Ö

    What?

    You said main event earlier. You said it yourself. You said we were in the main event. Thatís what I was told.

    I did, but I was going off memory, I checked again and youíre now in the opener. They changed it. Itís not surprising really.

    What do you mean?

    Ah, weíll pin that and Iíll explain that later. Weíll get back around to it.

    Canít believe they took me out the main event.

    Weíll get back to it later. So, on the other other side weíve got Mike Parr, the Prodigy, and weíve got Konchu Hao, the Mad Wizard, the man who took the X Championship from you.

    He didnít pin me. He pinned GG.

    No one said anything about who pinned who. Iím just pointing out that you were the champion, then you werenít, and he was.

    Yeah, but he didnít pin me. Thatís all Iím saying.

    You asked Gerald Grayson to be in that match. This is on you, Uncle.

    Ö

    And finally, youíre pairing up with the World Champion, you know, some would say the most dominant wrestler in FWA in a long, long time.

    Iíd argue against that.

    Of course you would.

    I would beat Saint Sulley. You know I would. Iíd beat him if I got the chance. Title or no title on the line. This is what, one of his last matches ever, a throwaway. They couldíve given me the fucking match if they knew heíd walk away. Iíd beat him, Thomas.

    Weíll never know now. If he has another match besides Back in Business, thereís no way itís against you.

    Complete fucking bullshit.

    You had your chance with the Carnal Contendership.

    And I should be in the main event of Back in Business.

    I know itís not how you wanted a match with Saint Sulley and you involved in to be arranged butÖ World Champion Saint Sulley at your side, a three-way tag team matchÖ some people have said its meaningless.

    I said it.

    Donít you think thatís funny?

    What do you mean?

    Youíre the Cosmic Horror, isnít everything kinda meaningless to you, isnít this match the same as any other.

    Yeah, but come on. This match is especially meaningless. No one gets anything from this. Michelle gets her hands on Mike Parr for a bit but really itís not going to do much for her, sheís seeing Parr at Back in Business no matter she does between now and then. And whatís she care about getting her hands on Sulley? Sheíll get that at Back in Business too, where it matters. She wonít care about me or Konchu. So, who else we got. I guess Peacock will want to get his hands on me. And obviously I want to get my hands on him. But thereís like four other guys who want to be in that ring. Itís really not going to happen much. Saint Sulley cruising into retirement. He doesnít even need to show up. Come on. Sulleyís a smart guy, itís why heís high tailing it as soon as he sees heís got real competition now. He knows when to take it easy. Okay. So who else do we have. Weíve got Mike Parr. Mike Parrís going to do what? He did the worst he could do to Michelle when he handcuffed her and guaranteed his spot at Back in Business. He doesnít care about her anymore. He can do whatever he wants to her at Back in Business. Heís gonna be chilling. Who does that leave? Konchu? Konchuís probably as pissed about this match as anyone else.

    Okay, putting your personal motivations aside. Youíve all got big matches set up for Back in Business already, what were you really expecting? Shouldnít you just be grateful you get to team with the FWA World Champion Saint Sulley in one of his final spotlights? You kinda hinted he had pull with the suits, maybe he wanted the chance to team with you in one of his final matches.

    Ö

    Saint Sulleyís a visionary man, I think he saw the appeal in this kinda match. He knows that the appeal of this match was probably for whatíll come out of it. Peacock and Michelle is such a fun combination with such different personalities, and Parr and Hao are actually so much more alike than youíd expect, you know Parr is always willing to poke a little fun at himself, and Hao is such a wild dude, you know those two together is going to produce something thatíll get people buzzing. Sometimes itís cool to just get past the big focused stuff and have a fun harmless match, you know. Something you can experiment with. You donít get MvH and Peacock together many more times after this. You donít get Parr and Hao together again. You one hundred percent donít get Sulley and Uncle together again. Doesnít that make the match special in that sense? And you know, itís too late now, but I think people really wouldíve wanted to see what a Saint Sulley and Uncle combination looked like. You might be disappointing your fans with this appearance on the West-DEBUT EPISODE podcast instead of taking a risk and doing something in collaboration with the World Champ.

    Iím not going to say youíre wrong. Youíre not. Youíre right. Maybe we shouldíve done something. But whatís done is done. Iím here. Am I ever going to get another chance to partner up with Saint Sulley, probably not. Maybe this isnít all a big joke and he really is retiring. This was a cool opportunity to try and do something creative, for sure. But Iím here on the, uh West-DEBUT EPISODE! Show? Did I get that right.

    *laughs* Yeah thatís right.

    Right. Iím on the West-DEBUT EPISODE and Iím happy to be here. Iím sorry there wonít be a Saint Sulley and Uncle collaboration.

    We canít all get what we wonít. And donít get me wrong, Iím obviously grateful you chose to come here.

    Hey, look, itís your big return to the big stage. I think a lot of people have wanted to see Thomas West-

    OIL ME UP!

    Back and if I could be a part of that, why not. A lot of people havenít heard much from you since you joined The Dark Watch.

    Oh yeah, itís been a minute, huh. But I mean, I donít regret. You know as well as I do, Uncle, joining a cult is an experience Iíd honestly recommend everyone undergo. Sure, you might have to vanish for a bit or whatever. And disappear from the face of the earth. And yeah, Itís a bit of a culture shock at first, absolutely, but trust me, and Iím saying that to whoeverís listening, obviously you know what Iím talking about, I donít need you to trust me, but I need our audience to trust me, you havenít really lived until youíve been in a cult. I see guys like Eli Black-

    Yeah, Eli Black for sure.

    Your partner Saint Sulley.

    Yeah, yeah. Eh. Kinda.

    Theyíre going through their own cult phases, and I really canít commend them enough for that. You really become a new kinda person once you go through a cult phase. It effects your whole worldview. Helps you discover who you really are.

    Yeah, of course. Absolutely. Whenever I feel like Iím stagnating, you know, I always get that big yellow book and look for the nearest cult. Time for a fresh start. Letís fuck my brain up. Letís rediscover the world. I totally agree with you.

    Man, that was the greatest life advice you could have given me. It really turned everything around.

    Right. Right. I tell that to everyone. Join a cult. Everyone. And most people donít listen. Give yourself credit, you took that to heart, you went out and you joined a cult. Most people are afraid to take that step. They say ďyeah, sure, whateverĒ and they never go through with it. You went through with. Youíve been following my adventures, Iím sure, you know Iíve got this young wizard, Harry the Sane Wizard, in my ship, and heís like- you know, ever since I got out of Wizarding School, I feel like Iíve been stagnating, Iím not learning as much. I said, dude. Dude. Join a cult. Trust me. Youíll learn way more than you would ever learn at a school. He still hasnít. You know, he could get lucky. You got lucky. Right. Insanely lucky. Iíve never been a part of a cult the magnitude of someone like Lilith. Thatís big, man.

    Yes, she was at the time a CWA World Champion, and those are- not everyone can say theyíve been a CWA World Champion. Thatís not a long list. Lilith was. Being within the Dark WatchÖ it was a huge, huge experience. I think it being Lilith, it kinda made it like I went through ten cults just through her. Just a really, one of a kind cult leader. Absolutely bananas.

    And who the cult leader is really does matter.

    Oh, absolutely. Absolutely. Lilith was a darling. I owe everything to her.

    Yeah, I can imagine. You know, what a great cult leader. You compare that to, uh, to someone like Saint SulleyÖ andÖ big difference, right? And no disrespect to Saint Sulley but obviously his cult lasted only a couple weeks and he probably didnít get the full experience he shouldíve got out of it. I think. It might still be on going. Iím not sure. But you, you mentioned, you know, a cultís a real life changing experience but if you got a bad cult leader, it can kinda be a negative experience. It can ruin your career.

    Youíre talking about someone like Ty JohnsonÖ aka Koju aka Kujo

    Yeah, aka something else. You know, big potential, some would say, but he fizzled out. Heís gone. Whatís he doing now, I think he tried to join the CWA Battle Royal theyíre having up in South Pacific, got rejected.

    Right, he didnít qualify.

    No, he didnít. Heís going to be at the Warehouse show, though, maybe weíll end up teaming with him. Give him some cult recommendations.

    I could put in a good word with Lilith.

    Of course, of course. But going back to what I was saying-

    Saint Sulley wasnít the best cult leader.

    No, no he wasnít.

    Alright but look at whatís going on with Kleio. Sheís on a bit of a roll here, sheís making her BIB debut. Thatís a 50% success rate for Cult Sulley.

    Sure, letís throw him a bone. 50% success rate. I think if we got to see you back in the ring, maybe you could up Lilithís success percentage.

    Iím looking for opportunities to get back in the ring, the phoneís just not ringing.

    As Thomas West and not Captain Fantasy.

    Right, right. As Thomas West and not Captain Fantasy. But you know, if Thomas West canít get back in that ring, thatís fine, I think Captain Fantasy has some big plans for post-BIB so thatíll keep me busy.

    But even that aside, this isnít the last weíll see from you over on the Uncle side of things, we still want to keep you around for more Uncle adventuring shenanigans.

    Absolutely, you know Thomas West is always ready to get oiled up aboard the Octopi. Just hit me up, man.

    You know I will.

    So, talking about this bigÖ uhÖ opener-

    Yeah. Look man. What am I going to say? Itís a fun match on paper. Itíll be chaotic. I love that sort of thing. And the other guys, they love that too. Anyone can win it. And if Michelle and Peacock and Parr and The Hack Wizard all come up with some joint shit, weíll be really lucky if weíre able to pull out a win. But, who gives a shit, I have Peacock at Back in Business, thatís all we need to worry about at the end of the day. Itíll be a cool fun match, but no one is going to talk about it by the time weíre getting ready for Back in Business. I know Iíve got Peacock, Iím kinda looking ahead now. This is just filling up the calendar for me.

    Youíre talking a lot about Peacock here, but I donít think thatís who we expected you to have a big rivalry with. I think a lot of people were expecting a bigger rivalry between you and Konchu Hao. Youíre both so-

    Ö

    Outlandish, you know. There was a lot of potential for things to get over the top. And instead, you lost the title to him, and then you kinda disappeared. And you havenít really wanted anything to do with Hao, you even kinda admitted you werenít good enough to compete against him on twitter.

    Word.

    That kinda makes me worried about Back in Business, if you do beat Peacock, you could be facing Hao.

    Look. Look, I think I tweeted that out, I wasnít in a good mood. They say you should probably wait 24hrs before tweeting out. I dont agree with that. You lose out on a lot of potential viral tweets if you think your tweets over. But going back to Hao, I was in a bad mood. If I could take that tweet back I would. The truth is. Iím not afraid of Konchu. I donít think heís better. I donít think the better man won at Mad Manís Mayhem. Iím NOTÖ absolutely not worried about the Hack Wizard. He won the Madmanís Mayhem, Iíll give him that, I know as much as anyone that ANYTHING can happenÖ but I promise you, get us in another Madman Mayhem match, bring back GG if you want, give me a do over, I would win the match.

    Bold words.

    Big bold words. And I think we need big bold worlds. You know they forgot about me at CC, Iíve been a footnote since my title loss. Thereís a draft coming up and no oneís talking about Uncle anymore. I should be number one pick on the draft list. I gotta remind people Iím a main event quality guy. If you put me in that match against Chris Kennedy, thereís a 50% chance I win. You put me in a title match against Saint Sulley, Iím winning, no question. You canít say the same thing for a lot of guys. But a lot of people duck me. They donít want to face a guy like me. A match with Uncle, thatís a tough night. That ainít an easy ride. Thatís one of the harder matches youíll have all year.

    Itís a big roster now though. Lots of tough matches, really.

    It is. Itís a big roster. You wanna stand outÖ and at Back in Business, Iím going to stand out, Iím going to walk out of there with the X Championship, and thereís just four of us singles champion after that. Thatís going to make me the face of a brand. That stands out. Big roster or small roster. Thereís only one X Champion at any given time. That means I get my pick of guy to hurt. When Iím X Champion. No oneís overlooking the Cosmic Horror anymore. Iím going to be headlining shows, be it Meltdown or Fallout.

    Is that the goal then. Become the face of the brand. Win the X Championship.

    No, no. Itís not. Itís a bonus. Iím the Cosmic Horror, I can get everything done but letís be clear, I have a priority number one for Back in Business, something that matters to me more than anything else. Iím going to hurt Chris Peacock.

    Youíre going to hurt, Chris Peacock?

    Iím going to absolutely hurt, Chris Peacock. Thatís priority number one. Iím going to win the X title. ButÖ maybe not?

    Maybe not?

    Maybe not. Maybe I figure that hurting Chris Peacock takes precedence and maybe that costs me a shot at the second round.

    You would do that, to hurt Peacock.

    Yeah. Without a doubt. Iím hurting Peacock, Thomas. This ainít no exaggeration. Itís number one on my Back in Business checklist. Itís hurt Chris Peacock. Then beat Chris Peacock. Then beat Konchu or GG. Then become X Champion. Then be 2 and 0 at Back in Business. Then check if Chris Kennedy won his match, then if he wins, I challenge him for Back in Business 2022.

    Long check list.

    Uncle always got a plan. But you heard that, you saw all the other big goals I have, but you saw hurting Chris Peacock is task number one. Hurting. If I come away with anything from BIB, it has to be that I hurt Chris Peacock. People have to be talking about how I hurt Chris Peacock. And Iím looking for inspiration everywhere, Thomas, like a true artist. Iím looking everywhere for inspiration on how to hurt Disco Baby. Iím keeping my ears to the ground. When I hear about, you know, Lizzie hurting Dan, I go check that out. Youíve been watching Fight Night, itís been brutal on Fight Nights lately. People are mutilating each other. Theyíre calling each other cunts. Itís getting a bit crazy. And every single crazy shit I see, I pull out my notepad, and I write it down.

    You write it down?

    I write it down. I tell myself, hereís another way to hurt Peacock. How did they do it? How can I do it worse?

    Your big book of torture.

    Thatís right. My big book of everything Iím going to do to Chris Peacock once Iím in the ring with him at Back in Business. And you know, maybe Iíll make Sin City interesting, maybe I try out a few of those things out on him there. I can even play up to the craziness of the match. Maybe I test them out on Konchu. Or Parr. Or, and Iím sorry to say this, maybe Michelle.

    Even Michelle?

    Yeah. You know I consider her an honorary member of Chtlhuís Nephews. She can say no if she wants, I know she hates having friends or stables or whatever, but sheís got that ethos, she does whatever she wants. Thatís that Chtlhuís Nephews ethos. Michelle von Horrowitz only listens to Michelle von Horrowitz. She can say no but the offer is always open, if she wants to join Chtlhuís Nephews, maybe she finds she has some extra friends next time guys like New Breed and Mike Parr come strolling.

    Oh, yeah.

    And youíve got a free offer to Chtlhuís Nephews.

    You already know Iím in. Absolutely.

    I had no doubt. And, youíre familiar with what being a Chtlhuís Nephew is all about. Sheís an honorary member of Chtlhuís Nephews, but that doesnít change what I need to do to her at Sin City. Even if Chris Peacock was a part of Chtlhuís Nephews, it doesnít change anything Iíve said about him here. Iíd still have to hurt him at Back in Business. Iíd still have to end him. Chtlhuís Nephews number one rule is do what you want, and what I do is hurt people, what that means is, whether or not youíre Chtlhuís Nephews, once youíre opposite side of the ring, I still gotta hurt you real real bad.

    Some people question that but thatís why itís the ultimate alliance.

    Oh yeah. It sets us apart.

    Itís no hard feelings out there. You want to win, as meaningless as you say the match is, Michelle wants to win. Chtlhuís Nephews or no Chtlhuís Nephews, you guys are going to do whatís in your best interest. Youíre both going to try to win.

    Absolutely.

    Yeah, undoubtedly. LetísÖ letís go back to Peacock though. Whatís the deal man? I know heís been talking about you a lot since heís come around. Is that all it is? All this animosity over a couple of squid jokes.

    Thatís got a lot to do with it. You know. He definitely had my name in his mouth quite a bit. Yeah. He was laying it a bit thick with the squid imagery. I was seeing all of that and definitely taking note even if I had other things to keep me busy. I kinda just thought it was cute at first. But, the more I thought about it, the more I realized what I felt there was love, I felt some attraction, the more I realized the depth of Peacockís feelingsÖ the more I thought to myselfÖ man, I really, really want to hurt this guy Chris Peacock. Like, I want to make him bleed. I want to tear his skin out. I want to cut his lips up. I want to gouge his eyeballs out. I want to rip his hair out. I want to carve J J J on his chest. I want to handcuff him to the rope while he watches meÖ absolutely helplessÖ take whatís most precious to him. And thatís been driving me one hundred percent since Insurrection, when I told myself that this was my goal. This was what I wanted to do at Back in Business, at the biggest FWA show ever, I wanted to hurt Peacock. Itís been absolute fuel. You gotta remember, this guy called me out first, Thomas. Chris Peacock brought this on himself. He wanted my attention, now Iím giving him my absolute attention. He wanted me to hurt him. Donít feel bad for this man. Donít cry for him. Donít avert your eyes when heís bleeding out. This is what he wants. Smile while he screams. This is what he asked for. Watch him bleed, thatís the end result of his desires. Chris PeacockÖ wants me to hurt him. He asked for this. Thatís gotta be what he was doing when he put my name in his mouth. He was saying, very clearly, in the manner of a professional wrestlerÖ I am provoking you because I want you to hurt me, and I want to hurt you. And I heard him loud and clear.

    Wow, you really pointed out something that goes understated a lot. I kinda want to explore that, a bit. You know, when someone comes outÖ say Shawn Summers at Gold Rush, you know, he takes a shot at Garcia. Whatís he doing there?

    Heís baiting.

    Heís baiting him. You insult someone, you know theyíre gonna get mad. Shawn Summers is a smart guy. Heís trying to get Garcia mad. What do you do when you get mad, you retaliate against whoever made you mad. So youíre baiting someone by insulting them to get them mad so they can retaliate against you. You want them to attack you, to essentially hurt you. Why would you want someone to hurt you?

    So you have an excuse to hurt them back.

    Right, so you have an excuse to hurt them back. You want them to start the war because once the war starts, itís as the saying goesÖ all is fair in love and war. You donít have to hold back anymore.

    All is fair in love and war. I agree with that. I agree with that.

    So Shawn Summers, heís doing that, he wants Michael Garcia to get provoked, to attack him, so he can attack back.

    Right, Shawn Summers versus Michael Garcia at Back in Business.

    A lot of us want to see that.

    Definitely but you know Iím still pulling for that sick son of a bitch Kevin Knox to come back. Heís gotta get his revenge out.

    You think heís going to.

    Maybe. ButÖ does Michael Garcia really want that. Heís dropped the ball two shows straight, I think he wanted this to happen originally then the losses happened and now he probably doesnít want Kevin Knox to make it back in time for Back in Business so he can get some of that credibility back.

    Interesting. You know itís Kayden not Kevin right?

    Oh fuck. Right, Kayden. My bad.

    Happens to the best of us. Okay, okay. So letís go back to Peacock. Youíre saying, Peacock was baiting you because he wanted you to come for him, he wanted the fight.

    Yes, yes. These people were pissed off at me at Insurrection. They were mad at NOLA. They were mad at Steel City. I scarred Peacock and put him out of a commission for a minute there. ButÖ Peacock wanted that. Donít get mad at me. Be happy. Everytime you see me hurt Peacock, be happy. This is what Peacock wants. Heís getting what he wants. They donít understand it, Thomas. Peacock wanted me to attack him. He was happy. Fucking elated, when I chokeslammed him at Insurrection. He was FUCKING ecstatic when I beat the shit out of the Diamond Dogs at NOLA. Fucking ecstatic. More reasons for him to get mad. More reason to want to hurt me more. He loved it. He loved every second of it. You think he wanted Diamond Dogs to win-

    Theyíre his friends.

    Of course, theyíre his friends, thatís why he wanted them to lose. Chris Peacock wanted the Diamond Dogs to get their ass kicked so HE could be the one to get revenge for them. Whatís Peacock got to fuel himself with if Diamond Dogs beat me? Nothing. He doesnít want that.

    Donít you think youíre reaching here.

    Donít talk to me about reaching, Thomas. Youíre the biggest reacher there is.

    Agreed, which means I should know what Iím talking about.

    Ö

    No, no, man. Donít get me wrong, I can see where youíre coming from. Obviously Chris Peacockís not going to run around saying he wants his friends to lose a match against his sworn enemy but you can see the rational for him wanting his friends to lose.

    Of course, of course you can. He had a way bigger moment at Steel City, in a way, because of that.

    Youíre talking about the big reveal.

    The big reveal. For sure. You know. I got the upper hand on him and that fired him up. Heís thinking to himself-Okay, heís got the upper hand on me, Iíve gotta come up with something big. What can I come up with. Right, so Quiet got a lot of hype at NOLA, everyone wanted more of him. They want to know who is under the mask. How can I steal that thunder. How about I dress up as Quiet. He wonít see it coming. Iíll steal the spotlight from Quiet by dressing up as him. No one knows who Quiet is so theyíll never see it coming. Thatís Peacockís train of thought. He was hyped for Steel City thanks to his friends losing. He had reason for giving me my come uppance if I beat the Diamond Dogs. Ergo, he wanted his friends to lose. Just like he wants me to hurt him. You get it? And Iím complying man. Iím complying. I love Chris Peacock so much, you know that. I love him so much, Iím not going into this half assed. He wants me to hurt him, I want him to hurt me. Iím going all in, Thomas. That means nothingÖ no oneÖ is off limits. I was really ready to hurt Allen Price at Steel City. Oh I was going to shred his skull off with that cage. Oh man. I was going rip his fucking scalp out. And you know, at Back in Business, I amÖ I am absolutely going to hurt Peacock as much as I possibly can. I want to make that motherfucker cry. You know. Peacockís a tough Disco Baby. Thatís why he chose me to fuck with. Who else is going to hurt him like I will? Heís a tough Disco Baby man, I know itís going to take a fucking lot of hurting. Peacock knows, I know he knows, if I need to blow him up, I will blow him up. Peacock, you know I will blow you up if I need to. Iím going to bring some C4 if thatís going to put you down.

    Blow him up? That bad.

    Blow him the fuck up. Iím going to fucking hurt him, Thomas. Iím not half-assing this. I canít fucking come up with an analogy for how serious I am. He asked me to hurt him. He did. You agree with that.

    I do, I do. Your logic makes sense to me.

    Yeah. He wants me to hurt him. I canít disappoint him.

    Okay, so I want to go back to something you said earlier. Itís kinda got something to do with Peacock. You saidÖ you said youíll always know who I am, youíll always see through my disguises.

    Right.

    But at Steel City, you had what you thought was me, Quiet, behind you, but it was actually a fake Quiet, it was Chris Peacock, and you didnít know till it was too late.

    Is that how you want to do it?

    Do what?

    The big reveal?

    That Iím Quiet? Sure, you already revealed that Iím also Captain Fantasy, itís not a big deal now.

    I donít know, some people were arguing that Quiet was one of the big mysteries in the FWA.

    No, itís not a mystery. Iím Quiet.

    Yeah, youíre Quiet.

    Iím Quiet. Thomas West is Quiet. Weíre not going to make a big angle about this. Iím Quiet. Thatís all there is to it. Iím the Master of Disguises. Iím Quiet. And Iím Captain Fantasy.

    Big reveal.

    Iím not going to top Donny Toner as Christian Quinn or you know, Leather Boys as Gang Stars, we might as well just get it over with. I mean, Iím only Thomas West, itís not like people are going to go wild once they found out who was under the mask.

    No, maybe not a lot of people.

    Like one or two people.

    Yeah, youíre right.

    Good.

    Weíre good. *going over some papers* I got the whole script done, right?

    Yeah. Weíre good.

    Alright, you gonna send me some more doge, right?

    Iím a man of my word, Uncle.

    Cool.

    So, I think weíre going to end it there?

    On the big reveal?

    Yeah. Yeah. You got any final words. A message to Chris Peacock, or any of the other guys in that match.

    Do I? Yeah, I do. Iíve got more words for those guys. But Iíve got Peacock and Hao at Back in Business, Iíll give them those words then. And soon enough, Iím going to be in that main event facing guys like Michelle von Horrowitz, and Mike Parr week to week. Iíll get my chance. This, this isnít the Cosmic Horrorís only opportunity. They can take this main event away. Have it. Iíll get mine eventually. Not a lot of people believe it can happen, but Cosmic Horror, heís going to be an FWA World Champion. Thereíll be other main events.

    Okay, okay. You heard it here first folks at the West-DEBUT EPISODE podcast. Captain Fantasy and Quietís true identity revealed! Uncleís promises for BIB. Thanks for tuning in! Good luck, Uncle, with Sin City, Iím rooting for you and Peacock to hurt each other, if thatís what yíall want.

    All we want, man.

    And hey, I donít think youíll be mad if I say I hope you and Saint Sulley also pull out the win in the tag match. All that said, Thomas West out. OIL ME UP BABY!



  5. #5
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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

    It's 5 a.m. in Nevada, The weather is brisk, and the sky has a lovely hue as the sun begins to poke through the top of buildings and clouds. A few people are jogging, walking their dogs, and enjoying a cig while reading the morning paper. An out-of-shape middle-aged man in a tight shirt and shorts runs at the best pace that he can. He seems to be trying to push himself harder than he usually would as giant sweat beads run down his face. He looks behind him to see a person heading towards him at full speed. He tries to speed up but to no avail. All he hears in his ear is...


    "On your left."


    "Fuck man"


    The man lets out the expletive as none other than Eli Black has just zoomed past him. Eli is unusually dressed down even for a run as he is only wearing a join the Church of 9 shirt(now available on FWAshop.com), plain black shorts, and no-name black running shoes. Eli looks back at the man he just passed with a smile, knowing that this is the seventh time Eli has lapped the gentlemen. Eli slows a bit down as he is coming around to lap the gentlemen again. They have been jogging on a track field open to the public by a local High school. Eli starts jogging in pace with the man who is starting a conversation.


    "What are you a pro runner or something? Shouldn't you be training for the Olympics somewhere else?"


    "Glad you think my running form is that great, but no, I am not a runner. I'm a pro wrestler."


    "You guys train for that? I thought it was all stunt doubles and CGI that you see in those big marvel movies!"


    "I assure you, there is nothing fake about what I do. Every hit and bump you see is real."


    "That guy that wears the mask got letters carved into his chest?"


    "Yeah, I'm legally obligated not to talk about that. You look like you're on your last legs, come sit here, and ill grab us some water."


    Eli doesn't have to tell the man twice as he limps over to the bench. Eli grabs two empty bottles from his bag and walks over to the water fountain. He begins to fill them up, he starts to think about the past couple of months of how he dug himself out a whole professionally and juggling multiple responsibilities. Ultimately he wants another shot at Cyrus Truth. Since his focus is divided, the water spills out and onto him.


    "Having trouble there, Mr. Pro Wrestler?"


    "Just a bit distracted...."


    "I've been told I am a good listener. Come sit and tell me about it."


    "Usually don't reveal my inner thoughts to total strangers."

    "Well, as long as your not planning on murdering anyone, those are the best kind of people to talk to. No prior judgments based on past actions. Heck, you just told me you're a wrestler, and that could be a total lie."


    Eli has always had an affinity to talk things out with older people. It comes from growing up with different adults guiding him through life as he moved from place to place. He sits with the man on the bench and starts to reveal his thoughts.


    "All I've ever wanted to do is be a great wrestler and be acknowledged for it. Now that I am starting to get acknowledged, the company is putting me in high-pressure situations."


    "Like?"


    "Like facing three men in one night for my championship."


    "That doesn't seem fair at all. What's that about?"


    "Well, long story short, I have unfinished business with a champion whose title I can get an opportunity to if I defend the one I have a certain amount of times successfully. It seems they're trying to test my conviction while also speeding up the process, but all that is on my mind is getting to the other champion."


    "Well, I am not too sure what any of that means, but I can tell you through life experience it's not good to overlook the steps that lead you to the door of success. You have to focus on that first step. You cant even overlook one of those guys you're facing right now...."


    "I get it. See, a year ago, I would have done exactly what you are talking about. Have all my passion and focus on what's above instead of where I am. Cyrus is where I want to be, but Saus X, Reagan Cole, and Marcus McClain is where I am at...."


    "Sauce X? What kind of name is that?"


    "It's pronounced like Shaw, I believe. As I was running, all I could do is think about him. He's fast, creative, and dangerous. On top of all that, he is probably angry as hell. FWA overlooked him. I didn't remember his accomplishments, and I don't have to imagine how that feels; I know exactly how it does. As great as they can be, management let some things slip through the cracks. Now he's out to prove himself like I am. I am his Cyrus Truth, and the Gauntlet title is his North American Championship."


    "So, what's the plan?"


    "As pissed off as he is, Saus X has shown not to be very motivated or to put the time in to be where he wants to be. I'm out here running to increase my endurance for this match while he is probably relaxing in his van with his Crimson Knight buddies. I see a lot of potential in him, like what Cyrus saw in me. So I will beat him, but I hope as we lock up, I can get in his ear and maybe convince him to join me in my cause. Unlocking his full potential at the same time."


    "That sounds a bit like a cult-like those Church of 9 guys."


    "It's not a damn cult! Anyway, thank you... What's your name?"


    "Hank"


    "Well, thanks, Hank. I wish I could runs laps around you all morning, but I have to get ready for some appearances."


    "Good Luck, buddy!"

    Eli collects his belongings and begins to jog towards his hotel.
    "Are you doin' this work to facilitate growth or to become famous?
    Which is more important?
    Getting or letting go?"
    __________________________________________________________

    "The worst part of having a mental illness is people expect you to behave as if you don't."
    __________________________________________________________

    "I rather you hate me for everything I am then for something i am not"

  6. #6
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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

    "Hey guys, it's Ryan; welcome back to Lost in Vegas, the YouTube channel where you get the real! Real reactions, real talk! As many of you guys know, I usually focus primarily on music, but I am also a huge wrestling fan. FWA is coming to town, and fortunately for me, an old friend of ours is a superstar in the company. Everyone welcome our boy Eli Black!"


    The footage pans out and shows Eli seated across from the host. They are in a room the size of an apartment living room. The wall is padded with soundproofing foam, and a small table with their recording equipment is the only thing in-between the gentlemen. Eli is wearing a durag, shades, a designer shirt, and pants with loafers on. The Arteest seems very relax and comfortable in the room with these gentlemen, which is unusual because usually Eli is tensed and anxious.


    "So Eli, we go back to before we even started this channel in 2017. So I know I can get right into it. Is the Church of 9 this underworld entity disguised as a charitable nonprofit? How did you get involved?"


    The comfortable body language that was once seen has now all but disappeared as Eli tenses up. He removes his shades and sits up in his seat.

    "Wow, going for the big stuff right off the bat. I thought we would reminisce a bit before you guys threw out the spicy questions. To answer you no, it's not some secret society. What you see in the commercials is what you get. All that other stuff was propaganda by Cyrus "The Liar" Truth."


    "Oh, that is a spicy answer. A few months back, you guys were just in a team and seemed to be forming a bond. All of a sudden, it seemed like you guys were at each other's throat." What happened there?


    "I've spoken this before. It all boils down to ego. While it may seem that Cyrus took me under his wing. The deeper we got into the tag team tournament he cared less and less. Cyrus felt like I was holding him back. He felt like I was gaining fans and much-needed experience at his expense. When we finally got knocked out of the tournament, he ghosted me in the most important time of need. So I found people who cared about my professional and personal well-being. The 9 is not some cult. It's a life coaching system that's founded on my ancestor's values. Cyrus everything true about the observ...actually never mind."


    "Continue, please the people want to hear!"


    "I rather not continue on that rant. Not now. Let's talk about Fight Night Sin City! We got a hell of a show booked for ya city."


    "Yeah, you guys do, and one of the headlining matches are you defending your Gauntlet Title against Saus x hope I said that right, Marcus McClain and Reagan Cole. One of these guys you beat before, but the other two will be brand new opponents. How do you feel about the prospect of defending your title against three guys in one match?"


    "It's a high pressured situation. This is my first championship, and it has a special place in my heart, even if it's a means to an end. No one has defended it successfully more than two or three times. So defending three times in one night is going to be a feat for me to pull off. I feel confident, though."


    "Hey, and that's amazing, but unfortunately for you, our money on Big Mack Marcus McClain."


    "Oh really, and why is that?"


    "Well, did you see what he did Louis Valander and Claude Savage? He is bigger, stronger, and on a roll. Plus, depending on when he comes out, dude, you might have wrestled one or maybe two other capable competitors. His odds are high even if it was one on one but..."


    "Gonna stop you right their Ryan. I don't expect any special treatment because we have a history, but I also don't expect you to disrespect me. I have had all three of these guys on my radar since Saus x debuted, and the other two were in Ground Zero. Marcus is impressive, no doubt. He's fast, strong, and can give a hit harder than anyone could hit him. All that said, what in the world has this man done since being signed to FWA. Let's run down some of his accomplishments, shall we? He lost to Kujo, who was or is Saint Sulley whipping boy and could barely keep his job. As you can see, he is no longer in the company. He beat Reagan Cole, but that's not an amazing thing to have on your resume. Despite what those stupid announcers say, I barely broke a sweat against him. He then beat The Murder Horse Claude Savage. What does that even mean? Murder Horse? He hasn't been seen since Marcus trampled over him. Don't let me get into Louis Verlander. He is more concerned with chasing women's underwear than actually showing up to work half the time."

    "Well, talk your shit, my brother!"


    "I gladly will. See, I have been very, very, very humble since I've arrived in FWA. I've been humbled by the likes of Krash, Gerald Grayson, JJJAY! and a few others, but losing to any of those guys, no shame in that. I've also held a pinfall victory over Krash; I've beaten Yuna, who was in the main event scene and has held MY title twice, and I've defeated the Great Cyrus Truth. So Big Mack Marcus isn't on my level. Not yet, at least.


    "Well, it's hard to argue against the numbers!"


    Eli and Ryan continue their conversation on various topics, such as the match card for Sin City, Is Gabrielle being Mistreated in FWA, and hip-hop opinions, when Eli gets a text from his father with an address to meet up at. He cuts the interview short and heads out as the scene closes.
    "Are you doin' this work to facilitate growth or to become famous?
    Which is more important?
    Getting or letting go?"
    __________________________________________________________

    "The worst part of having a mental illness is people expect you to behave as if you don't."
    __________________________________________________________

    "I rather you hate me for everything I am then for something i am not"

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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

    It's a late-night in Vegas as we see a car speeding down the highway. It's a black Aston Martin, and the driver is no one other than The Arteest. He is coming from his Lost in Vegas interview, heading towards the address his Father gave him. As he cruises down the street, Eli's mind can only wonder about all the chaos happening in FWA leading into FWA. From Alyster getting his chest carved in, Donny Toner being Christian Quinn, Gabrielle descent into madness, and Saint Sulley announcing his retirement. With everything in such flux, he thinks about how he can take advantage to ascend further in the company. While all that is important, his mind goes back and forth thinking about how he lost rank in the Church of 9. Despite halting his Father's plans, Eli has been completely ignoring any attempt from the Church to contact him. He knows this time in FWA is crucial for him to focus. So he's been training harder than ever. He figures him missing out on some promotional appearances will be made up with his success from the hard work. Or will it? As that thought begin to come to the forefront, his GPS obnoxiously interrupts it by letting him know he has made it to his destination. As he looks at the bright lights of the Vegas strip, he sees his dad standing in front of the Casino. Eli finds parking and heads over to the entrance of the Casino where Frederick stands.

    "Dad, what's going?"


    "Follow me."


    "Where? Into this Casino? No, thank you! I have to be up early to hit the track."


    "Boy, listen and follow me."

    Eli reluctantly follows his Father into the Casino. It's a fancy Casino like the ones you would see in an Ocean's movie. Patrons of all sizes, creeds, and economic status are gambling their life away. As they pass by, their Father flirts with any waitress that would look him in the eye. As they continue deeper into the Casino, Eli notices that he is seeing fewer and fewer people. They go up a few flights of stairs, and Eli's mind starts running wild. Where is he taking him? Is this something to do with the 9? Before he can turn and run, they enter a dark room.


    "What is going on...."


    "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"


    Eli sits there confused as he sees most of his family and friends coming up to him. There are decorations, gifts, and even a big cake.


    "My birthday, not for a couple more weeks."


    "Yes, we know that boy, but this was the only time I could fly all these people out here to see you celebrate. To cheer you on as a defending champion. Don't be upgrade...."


    Frederick's words almost evaporate from his lips as Eli has now crouched down with his arm folded over his face. His mother walks over to him and stoops next to him.


    "What's wrong, baby?"


    Eli lifts his head, and his sleeves are soaked with tears, and his eyes are glassy. Everyone's face are stunned, and Laurie Stoudemire walks over to comfort Eli. He stands up with his mom on his left and Laurie on his right.


    "I, I, I've been so focused on training, Church of 9 bullshit and keeping the title that I've neglected all you guys so much."


    "Yeah, boy, you've been a bit of an asshole for last couple months, but we ya family. We all have been an asshole to each other once or twice."


    "Well, in your case Frederick the whole time we've known you."


    "Yeah, Yeah, I get it, Rosy, I suck, but that's not what tonight is about, Rosy. It's about our boy living another year. Through all his struggles and demons, he has made it this far and is a better person. To Eli!"


    "To Eli!"


    The part ensues as his family starts to dance to 90s and early 2000s classic R&B just like Eli likes it. Eli having a drink with Laurie and enjoying himself, sees a sense of peace as he sees his mom and Father dancing together.


    "How are you, bud?"


    "Better now"

    "You've been working hard. Too hard."


    "Yeah, but I got to get ready for Sin City, Laurie. I've done nothing but choke in big moments in my career so far versus Grayson, Tag Title tournament, against Cyrus. All this stuff I preach about, bragging about I'm a liberator, a role model, a Rep for 9. It will be null if I lose this match and just drop down ladder."


    "I haven't heard you speak like this in a long time. Are you losing confidence in your abilities?


    "Not at all. I am more confident in myself than I have ever been in my life. Yet, overconfidence has been the Achilles heel for many great men, not only in wrestling but in history. So I will rather be over-prepared than be overconfidentósomebody like Reagan Cole looking for his moment to shine. A guy I faced in New Orleans and beat has all the motivation in the world to take me out, but I won't let him. The British Apprentice time is not now. He has globs of potential, but it will have to be realized against someone else because I plan on beating his ass again."


    "Well, you worry about that at Sin City. Tonight you celebrate your life and your loved ones."


    Eli cracks a devilish smile as he drags a reluctant Laurie to the dance floor. They dance the night away as Eli forgets all his worries for now. Is he ready to run the Gauntlet for the Gauntlet Title? Only time will tell. All he knows is that he has his family behind him cheering him on in full force for the first time in his life. He doesn't plan on letting them down.
    "Are you doin' this work to facilitate growth or to become famous?
    Which is more important?
    Getting or letting go?"
    __________________________________________________________

    "The worst part of having a mental illness is people expect you to behave as if you don't."
    __________________________________________________________

    "I rather you hate me for everything I am then for something i am not"

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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

    Do I deserve this?


    This is just one of the questions swarming around in my mind upon reading the news that Iíd be in a fatal four-way for the Gauntlet Championship at Fight Night: Sin City. I feel like I deserve this in a short time since my last chance at fighting for the gold. I donít believe I was ready then, but now with a few more matches under my belt and more wins, I feel like Iím ready.

    I shouldnít be questioning whether I deserve this or not, though. I know my worth; I know what Iím capable of in that ring. I need to quit getting in my head. If Reagan Cole can only win one match, receive a title shot and lose that match, then get another shot again on the next show, then I deserve this. How many rounds did I have to go through before I got my next attempt? Reagan loses his first shot and automatically is given another one. That doesnít sit right with me.

    I need to go out and clear my head, better prepare myself for this match. I find a bar and take a seat on a stool and ask for a beer. Now I know what youíre thinking, how is a bar a good place to clear oneís mind? Especially one as loud and noisy as this. I canít precisely answer that, to be honest. Anyway, I turn around on the stool to see what all the commotion is, and itís three guys throwing out challenges for arm-wrestling matches. Typical bar room behavior is found in movies from the 80s, but itís not something that Iíd expect in todayís day and age. Whatever, I polish off my beer, put my glass down and throw down some money for the barkeep.

    I head over to the three men, and I notice each of them look different right away. I oblige them and let them know that Iím taking them up on their offer. They say that if I can beat the three of them in separate matches, then theyíll each buy me a beer.

    Game on.

    The first guy bears a resemblance to Saus-X. A small, skinny-looking guy. He looks way too young to even be in a bar, 15 or 16 years old at least. Iím not one to judge, but he seems like he lives out of a van that drives around. Whatever. I beat him with ease. He barely put up a fight; well, to be fair, this guy put up more of a battle than Saus-X did in our match, but I also beat him with ease. He was all talk before, but now he wonít even utter a peep and seems discontent.

    Next up is a guy thatís about average height if I had to wager a guess. He has scruffy-looking facial hair; it looks like he hasnít taken care of it in months, to be honest. Again, not judging. This one puts up a bit more of a fight, but again I beat him. This one seems to accept the defeat and sort of takes it in stride.

    Two done and one to go. The final man is a relatively tall African American man. Average looking, but for some reason, Iím getting some strange, cultish vibes from him; I canít explain it. Anyway, this one wonít go down easy. Heís putting up and giving me a run for my money. Can I do it? Can I beat this guy? Of course, I can. Eventually, the pressure becomes too much, and I pin his arm down. This one immediately walks off in a huff, leaving his two friends to pay for my tab, but I tell them not to worry about it. I get them some beers and say itís on me. They need it more than I do.

    The prize that Iím yearning for is much greater than free beer, while that does sound tempting to most, but not me. What I deserve is more of the gold variety with a red strap to go with it.

    This Fight Night is in Sin City, Las Vegas, Nevada. They say that whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Well, what happens at Sin City will be Big Mack walking out with the gold. You can bet on that.
    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business

    Letterboxd

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

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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread



    As the waitress - Margery, according to her name-badge - leant over the table to pour fresh coffee into their cups, the young couple momentarily stopped talking. The young man, who wasn’t unhandsome but had a sort of swarthy look about him, looked up at her and smiled. The waitress didn’t reciprocate. His gaze made her feel something resembling discomfort. Across the table, the young woman - pale and pretty and feigning naivety as she played with an evacuated sugar sachet with the digits of her idle hands - fluttered her eyelids in the direction of her companion to draw his attention away from the waitress.

    “Thank you,” the young man said, his voice dripping with a British accent. The waitress nodded in his direction, and then removed herself from the situation. The young woman leant forward towards the man, stirring her coffee in the meantime.

    “I’m just saying, Tim, that you’re probably going to find a lot more money at a bank than at a diner…”

    The young, British man - Tim, ostensibly - smiled again, chuckling to himself as he lifted up his coffee and took a sip. A significant proportion of his face was adorned with untidy stubble, and his blue Hawaiian shirt was unbuttoned all the way down, revealing a black undershirt, to suggest a casual air.

    “You’ll find a lot more pigs at a bank, too, Amanda. The only pork here is on the fryer. That’s an important point.”

    “Bonnie and Clyde didn’t worry about pigs,” the young woman said, leaning back in a huff. She was eighteen or nineteen and full of impetuousness.

    “Bonnie and Clyde died,” Tim retorted, placing his coffee down in front of him. He turned away from Amanda to once more survey the diner.

    “Maybe,” she conceded, joining him in his reconnaissance. “But they were bad motherfuckers…”

    Dead motherfuckers,” came the correction. The young man allowed his voice to fall to little more than whisper as Margery passed by again. “Besides, we’re the baddest motherfuckers in this place.”

    The declaration drew an eye roll from the woman.

    “In a Brooklyn diner?” she asked. Of course we are.”

    “In this diner, in this city…” the man said, somewhat absently as he looked over at the counter... at the man and three women that were busying themselves around the coffee machines and the cash register. He bit his lip in anticipation. “Look, back in Britain, we have this phrase… biting off more than you can chew...”

    “We have that here, too,” she said, looking across the table at him and folding her arms. He seemed distant. “You’re not that exotic.”

    “Well, then… you’ll know what I mean…” Tim answered back, looking around at the other customers. They didn’t seem much. “Look, we could hit a bank, sure. If my baby wants to hit a bank, we’ll hit a bank. Two banks, even. Three, though? Four? How many banks can you hit before they string you up? No: it’s a mug’s game, baby. Most people bite off more than they can chew. They have exactly what they want in their grasp, or a clear path to it. And they convolute things to the point where it turns to dust. Not me, baby…”

    He turned to the young woman, meeting her gaze again. She was becoming more passive.

    “Besides, in seventy years I want to be holding up Elon Musk’s space diner on Jupiter’s third moon with you, baby,” he said, flashing her a smile. She couldn’t help but reciprocate.

    “And you’ll still fuck me when I’m eighty nine?” she asked.

    “When you’re eighty nine,” he said, continuing to survey the room. “But not if you’re dead.”

    She let out a chuckle, leaning forward again and lifting her coffee to her lips.

    The baddest motherfuckers in this place,” she asserted.

    “And the smartest,” he added, eyes on the cash register. “You ready?”

    “Always,” she said, with a smile. He reached over and touched her hand, squeezing it gently.

    “Everybody BE COOL, this is a robbery!”

    Tim was up on the seats flashing his handgun, whilst Amanda fished in her handbag for her own. She found it and leapt up to her feet in front of her man.

    “Any of you FUCKING PRICKS move, and I’ll execute every MOTHERFUCKING LAST ONE OF YOU!”
    Quote Originally Posted by Nate Savage. Fight Night: NOLA.
    "Nothing is original these days anymore. Someone always finds ways to tie in something about their favorite TV show, book, movie, video game, or whatever to their promos. Everyone is copying everyone."



    I sat with my back against a particularly old and particularly straight oak tree, my legs folded in front of me and a bottle of still water propped up against my thigh. My nose was in a book: For Whom the Bell Tolls by Hemingway, if you’re wondering. It’s not the sort of book that I would usually read: if I’m honest, I was more into adventure stories than ‘the classics’. Not that it was particularly flowery or impenetrable. I was reading it because, well, Michelle had asked me to. She did that sometimes… she would give me the title of a book or a film or a play and tell me that this would be important. It hadn’t happened since the tag tournament, though, which was sort of a shame. I was enjoying this more than the last recommendation (Wilde’s A Picture of Dorian Gray): the style was very direct and up-front, which I found refreshing and raw. The story was about an American who was in Spain for the Civil War with this group of guerilla bandidos. His name was Robert Jordan and he was an explosives specialist and he was there to blow up this bridge that held some strategic significance to both the communists and the fascists. I’d just finished a particularly vivid and poignant section involving the rounding up and killing of a group of priests, unwilling or unable to give up their allegiance to their King and their God. Wide-eyed, I turned the page.

    To be honest, my current engrossed state was born out of two things: the interest that the book held, and my eagerness to turn my mind away from the two people in varying states of disrepair in front of me. I looked over the top of the book at Peacock. He was sitting at the edge of the lake - I had told them both that water was a bad idea, but had been outvoted two to one - using Michelle’s rucksack as a stool. He looked as if he was holding a fishing rod, and intermittently he would twist the reel or hurl the line a little further into the deep. All the while, he kept up a monologue that was easily audible but less-easily comprehensible.

    “You know, when you’re after the big one, all it takes is a little bit of patience and a little bit of, well, I suppose guile, son! It takes a little bit of guile,” he said with a smile to a non-existent companion. With a flourish of his wrists he began to pull his mock-line in. “That’s what fishing is, son. It’s a battle of wits.”

    When he had retrieved the line, he detached a prize-winning carp and handed it over to the boy next to him. I had to draw the carp and the boy into the image myself, but I was reasonably sure that this is what was happening. I looked from the scene to Michelle, who remained quite lucid and coherent. She was sitting against the next tree to mine, though hers was less straight and more gnarled than mine. She looked from Peacock to me and shook her head.

    “I should’ve given you The Old Man and The Sea, it seems…” she said, picking up her own book (Battaile’s Story of the Eye... I’d asked her what it was about and she’d told me it wasn’t for young eyes) and propping her head against the tree. “This acid ain’t shit.”

    Two and a half hours later, Michelle had an expression of rage and despair on her face as she clung to the trunk of the old, straight oak tree under which I had been sitting this whole time.

    “Gerald, you have to hold on!” she was saying, some invisible force pulling her away from the tree and from me. She held out her arm towards me. I placed the book down at my side, summarizing that she would require more of my attention for the next few minutes than usual. Part of me was perturbed. The book was just getting to a good part as I neared the climax, and I think the main character was about to die. The main character always dies at the end of Michelle’s books. “Take my hand!”

    The anguish on her face was unlike anything I’d ever seen, even through all of her tag team battles, and the solo travails during which I was able to observe her. This, whatever this was, seemed altogether more dramatic to her and more comedic to me.

    “What is wrong, Michelle?” I asked. It came out more judgemental than I had intended. I mean, this was my purpose in being here, after all.

    “The storm!” she said, in a bizarre contortion of speech that was somehow both a whisper and a shout. Her eyes were wild and frenzied as she looked back up the hill. “The waves are crashing down, Gerald! The roots go deep but not deep enough! Soon the trees will all be ripped from the ground! And then what will we cling to, Gerald?! What will we cling to when all the trees are ripped from the ground?!”

    Blink. Sigh.

    I turned to look up the hill. I imagined a tidal wave roaring across its green grass, down the gently rolling slope with all of the gusto that Michelle’s eyes seemed to imply. I struggled to muster up the energy for it… it was almost three o’clock already, after all. Fortunately, Michelle didn’t require a response.

    “I’m going to find the plug…” she said, and then she scampered away.

    As I kept my eyes on Michelle, I heard some music begin to play. Peacock had pulled his phone out and was dancing to himself. Whilst Chris's reputation for dancing was well-earned, his singing left something to be desired.

    Somewhat surprisingly, Michelle ran up to Chris and started to try and sing along with him, but as I'd expected, there was no way that she knew the words to this song. Her attempt to sing along was a miserable one, although it was good to see her letting off steam like this. Oh, I also definitely recorded this.

    "Now there was a time,
    When they used to say,
    That behind every great man,
    There had to be a great woman!"


    Michelle had a look of wonderment as Chris pointed to her to imply that she was the "great woman".

    "But in these times of change,
    You know that it's no longer true.
    So we're comin' out of the kitchen,
    'Cause there's somethin' we forgot to say to you!

    Sisters are doin' it for themselves!
    Standin' on their own two feet,
    And ringin' on their own bells, we say
    Sisters are doin' it for themselves!"


    Another full hour and a little bit of another hour later, I found my head nodding and - out of nothing more than sheer duty - did my utmost to prop my eyelids open. I trained my vision first on Peacock, instantly wishing I hadn’t. He had gone to take a leak and had the courtesy to hide himself in the trees but had turned to face me directly whilst doing the deed, exposing himself in the process. Fortunately, Michelle was in another world entirely. She was lying with her back on the ground, her legs raised above her with the heels of her bare feet against the gnarled trunk of her favoured oak tree. She took a cigarette out of her pocket and placed the wrong end in her mouth. I tried to stop her before she lit the filter but she soon realised the mistake herself, spitting out the cigarette, spluttering some tobacco out of her teeth, and then retrieving a joint instead.

    I ways flirt and death… ill but I don't care… face threats and… stand straight tall and up... shou about it… she said, almost singing it but without any of the required melody and confidence to do so. Her eyes were closed and she took long, lethargic draws from her joint in between each butchered line. Another world wiyyou… wiyyou…

    She threw her arms into the air as some sort of implied climactic flourish, and succeeded in knocking her smoke out of her mouth. She rolled over to try and find it, eventually collecting it from the fortunately dry grass in-between us. Afterwards, she locked eyes with me.

    “Gerald!” she said, a little louder than she needed to.

    “Yes?” I asked.

    A long pause.

    “GERALD!” she repeated.

    “Yes, Michelle?” I repeated.

    “What’s that song called?” she asked, in earnest.

    “I don’t know, Michelle.”

    She thought about the reply, and then rolled onto her back again. She replaced the heels of her feet against the trunk of the tree.

    “Find out what that song is called,” she instructed.

    “Okay, Michelle,” I agreed.

    Another forty minutes later, Chris put his arm around Michelle and pulled her towards my direction. I instinctively put my hands out, not wanting to be a part of this, but something which I should take a note of for Back in Business is that Chris's grip is surprisingly strong, and he is able to pull me into this too.

    "Chris, I'm just here to watch. I don't need to be a part of this. Let me go.”

    He doesn't let me go. He boops me on the nose.

    "I like you, Gerald. I like you too, Michelle. Did we have a dance yet? I think we should have a dance, don't you? Yeah! Let's dance!”

    I watch as the man whose championship I am going to try and take wanders off aimlessly across the path, still singing "Sisters Are Doin' It For Themselves" to himself. Michelle meanders into the opposite direction. I decide to follow Michelle, but a loud ruffling of leaves followed by a pained yelp means that I need to help Peacock out of a bush.




    Where do I start? I’ve had quite a sheltered life so far. It’s been quiet. It’s been dark. Not in the sense of “I’ve seen some shit”, more... I haven’t seen anything. Because it’s literally been so dark. There’s no light. I imagine it was different in the factory, but I was too young then to remember any of that now. It's not so different for us as as it is for you, in that regard.

    I’ve not been alone though, so don’t worry about that. I’ve got plenty of brothers and sisters who were also created by our faceless and nameless parents. Well, I’m assuming I have parents - I don’t know. We’ve been passed around from carrier to carrier for quite some time now.

    What is my purpose?

    This is a thought that crosses my mind countless times every single day - it’s not like I have a lot else going on in this bag, surrounded by metaphorical and literal darkness. Why am I here? What do I do? Ever since I was born, that’s what I’ve wanted to know.

    Today might just be the day that I finally find out my purpose, though. I’ve always felt some sort of movement, like a mother pregnant with a child, but today things have really shifted into gear. I’ve heard lots of muffled voices - and they’ve been talking about me I think. Then about something scary and a bird as well I think? I’ve been moved around a lot today.

    In fact, I’m moving around right now. Whoever is carrying me is definitely in a hurry. I can hear several sets of footsteps around those my transporter. Is this what my life has been building up to?

    We stop. This is the most excited that I’ve ever felt in my life. This... could be IT! Suddenly... LIGHT! I CAN SEE LIGHT! I CAN SEE THE SKY!!

    A large hand blackens the skyline once again, but before I know what is happening, my bag has been grabbed... I’m being elevated! Is this what living really is? Those muffled voices, I can hear them more clearly now!


    “Just take one of these each and you’ll be exactly how he was the last time we gave him something? You need to just put in under your tongue.”

    ”I know how it works.”

    That second voice is new. Who was that? As I’m being moved through the air I can see where that voice came from. A woman looks down on me with a small smile... is this my mother? Is she who I’ve been looking for this entire time? Mother reaches out and grabs me - and one of my brothers - and looks down at us in her hand.

    “So... you going to give us our money or what?”

    Mother takes a look down at me again - I can feel an instant connection with her - before diverting her gaze to my previous handler.

    ”I’ll go for “or what”. Call it even for date-raping Peacock. But if this is as good as those newspaper reports seemed to suggest, you might well see me again. Some other time, tulips.”

    A final fleeting look from Mother precedes my return to a state of darkness. Although this was not like any darkness that I had experienced before. This was not just dark, but it was cold too. I was finally in Mother’s care, but this is nothing like what I was expecting. I thought she would be caring, but never have I felt so neglected.

    This new brand of darkness continued for an unknown amount of time. Mother walked for what felt like an age. Occasionally she would remove me from her bosom and glance down at me, but she did not look at me how I expected a mother would. She seemed unsure of me. Was I not good enough for her?

    Finally the walking ended and I once again heard Mother’s voice. It was muffled due to my confinement but I heard another new voice speaking to her. I couldn’t make out who this was. Father, could this be you?

    I was once again exposed from Mother’s darkness and held out in her hand. This time the sky was a much darker hue - it was almost night. I saw a man with a concerned expression look down upon me. Father, is this you?


    ”No fucking way, Michelle. Get that thing away from me right now. I’m not touching that. I think you’re forgetting that I ended up in a jail cell last time I did something like this.”

    I felt a pang of despair. Father, what have I done to upset you?

    ”I know. I need to know that you’re willing to do whatever it takes. This is more than just a match for me. Any chance to get one up on Parr... I can't pass that up... I can’t focus on doing that until I know that you can hold your end. I don’t know if I can trust you yet. That’s because I don’t know you... and I need to know the real you to trust you.”

    ”Woah, woah. I know I’m not Michelle von Horowitz but I’m still the X Champion. The entire time I’ve been in the FWA I’ve had to prove that I’m not just some gimmick, okay? So you can trust me that I’ll hold my end up, alright? I don’t need to do this. This isn’t me. You’re not the only one who wants to prove a point in Vegas.”

    Vegas?! I’m going to Las Vegas! My parents are surprising me with a holiday! Father doesn’t seem impressed though, perhaps he doesn’t want to go?

    ”Gerald, please. Talk some sense-”

    ”Leave Gerald out of this, this is about me and you. He’s just here to keep watch and make sure we don’t kill ourselves. Or end up in a jail cell. Relax... If this is going to work, then I need you to relax. I’m getting on that plane with you and that incompetent fuck you run around with. You have no fucking idea how much of an inconvenience this is to me. I am doing this because you have asked me to, and Gerald has informed me that teammates do these things for each other. Little sacrifices. But I expect reciprocation. You owe me this.”

    Father mulls on those words for a moment. I have something to think about too.. who is Gerald? Do I have a Brother? Is Brother here?

    ”FINE! I’ll do it!”

    Father snatches me from Mother’s hand and considers me properly for the first time. He’s still unsure, but he raises me up towards his mouth. Father is going to show me his love with a kiss! It appears to be a passionate one at that as his mouth is wide open and he places me inside.

    I’ve never felt warmth like it. Father is showing me-

    Wait...

    WHAT IS HAPPENING?

    THIS HURTS!

    I’M MELTING!! I AM MELTTTIIINNNGGG!!!

    FATHER WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS TO ME?!

    _-*-_-*-_

    "9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

    - - - - - - - - - -

    "I'd like to report some suspicious behaviour-"

    - - - - - - - - - -

    "Ma'am this line is for emergencies only. Are you or someone else in immediate danger?"

    - - - - - - - - - -

    "We live overlooking Highland Park and I've just found out from my son that he's not slept all night because he's been busy watching these two crazy people running around the park doing all sorts of crazy stuff. What are you going to do about it?"

    - - - - - - - - - -

    "Ma'am I have to stress that you should not be calling 9-1-1 unless there is an emergency. Have either of these individuals hurt themselves or anyone else?"

    - - - - - - - - - -

    "I have no idea what they've been doing! There's a man and a woman. My son told me he saw them running around the park, taking they clothes off and doing all sorts of crazy shit!”

    - - - - - - - - - -

    "Sorry, did you say they’d taken their clothes off, these individuals? Can you see them right now ma’am?"

    - - - - - - - - - -

    “Oh I see them up in here, alright. They walking past my window! Both as naked as the day they were born! I can almost smell that dude’s junk!”

    - - - - - - - - - -

    "I see. You said your son saw them last night? What were they doing then?"

    - - - - - - - - - -

    “Oh what DIDN’T they do? Jumping in the lake. Climbing trees. Falling down the steps! He saw the man punch a fish to death! Then they just took their clothes off and have been walking around like that ever since... oh wait a minute, they rolling up on this girl!”

    - - - - - - - - - -

    "Ma'am? Is this girl in danger?!"

    - - - - - - - - - -

    “She got a suitcase! They’re talking to her... I think they’re trying to take her shit! Run, girl!”

    - - - - - - - - - -

    "Officers will be on the way, ma’am."

    - - - - - - - - - -

    “Oh wait a minute. Wait a minute! They asking her for some clothes. They got some clothes now. Aw what a sweet girl, she didn’t have to help them like that. They not naked no more.”

    - - - - - - - - - -

    "Ugh... I’ve called off the officers, ma’am. Have a good day."

    - - - - - - - - - -

    “Don’t tell me how to live my life, bitch!”




    Quote Originally Posted by Me in My Journal. Raleigh, North Carolina. 2005.
    My young, impressionable eyes were watching the toy truck as I pushed it along the carpeted floor of my childhood family home. I was seven or maybe eight, and until this age the toy truck had been my favourite possession and pastime, despite the obvious limitations in its application. Back and forth I pushed it, sometimes towards my older brother Jay, who would humour me in rotating it one hundred and eighty degrees before propelling it back in my direction.

    “Gerald, I need you to listen to me.”

    I looked up from the truck into the eyes of my father, who had taken up a position on his haunches in front of me, meeting my eye level with a look that was equal parts nostalgia and hope.

    “I wanted to give you something.”

    Out of his pocket he produced a small toy: perhaps six centimetres in diameter, wrought in gold, and in the shape of a miniature penny-farthing bicycle. The front wheel was four times the size of the rear, and when my father held the ornament by its handlebars and gently rotated the pedals its wheels rotated with a gentle clicking noise born by the mechanisms.

    “This… this is a very special toy, Gerald. As you know, you are my second son, and I am my father’s second son, and he is his father’s second son. Now, my paternal grandfather, he worked in a toy factory that used to make these and things like these. Of course, factory assembly line workers were not particularly well-paid, despite their long hours and the often difficult nature of their work. My grandfather was a skilled man, and after producing hundreds of these things to give to other men’s children his resentment got too much for him. And so, just after his lunch hour, he picked up the final gold penny-farthing from the assembly line and hid it. Up his ass.”

    My father let out a sigh, the memory of his grandfather’s ordeal seemingly fresh despite it residing firmly within the distant past.

    “For five hours, from the end of his lunch break until quitting time, my grandfather… your great grandfather… had this object lodged firmly up his ass. Each movement, of which he was required to make many given his occupation, brought with it the rotation of a pedal or a wheel... the tickling of a spoke against his prostate. Until finally he got home, where he handed it to his second son. My father. In time, he gave it to his second son, which is me. And now, Gerald…”

    With a smile, my father handed me the penny-farthing.

    “Now it’s yours.”
    DING DING!

    I was dragged out of the memory by the sound of my ringtone, which I’d only recently set to a wrestling ring-bell in a fit of professional pride. In honesty, I had grown tired of the drug-addled antics of the drug-addled duo in front of me, and had zoned off into the past as I stared out over the park. The phone had dragged me (rather passively, if I’m honest) into the present, and - after one look at Michelle, who was busy clinging onto a tree as if it were driftwood and she were caught in a tidal wave - looked at its screen, noting that it was my hotel that was phoning and that the time was 04:36 in the A.M. These two facts, when considered together, confused me, and so I felt compelled to answer.

    “... Hello?”

    “Um, Mr Grayson?” the voice on the other end said. It was female, youngish, American. I affirmed. “This is The Park Lane Hotel. I’m sorry, but there’s been an incident involving your room…”

    The voice trailed off, and I turned back to face Michelle and Peacock. They sat back to back, engaged in what appeared to be a conversation in that they were taking turns in alternating speech. The conversations they were having, though, weren’t with each other. Michelle was talking about a mountain in Japan and Peacock was replying with pantomime tropes. Oh no he wasn’t.

    “What’s happened?” I asked, shaking my head and turning from the pair. I took a few steps towards the water, lamenting that my first visit to Highland Park had been burdened from the start by hallucinogens and incidents involving my hotel room…

    “Well, it appears there’s been a security breach. Your room seems to be the only one that was targeted.”

    “What was taken?”

    “We can’t really be sure. Your clothes are everywhere. Money, we think. The safe has been opened.”

    “The safe?” I asked, a certain degree of horror creeping into my voice. I flashed back to the moment where I’d stood in the hotel room, placing the gold object into the presumed safety of the safe (the clue, after all, is in the title) before closing its door and turning its dial. It was a natural thing to want to break into, sure… but I questioned the hotel’s choice of suppliers if it had been that easy. “Is it empty?”

    “It seems that way, Mr. Grayson,” the young woman said, with a sigh. “We’d like for you to come and verify what’s missing.”

    I looked up at the to-be tag team partners. Peacock was busy removing his trousers over his shoes, his shirt already having been readily discarded. He was seemingly transfixed by the lake, and when he finally managed to rid himself of his pants he began to wade into it.

    “No, no! Chris!” I said, covering his phone’s receiver with my hand and taking a few steps towards Peacock. The dancer turned towards me, a look of confusion on his face. “Don’t go into the water. That’s not good water.”

    Peacock looked nervously from myself to the water’s surface, his eyes wild and glazed as he stared into it. Suddenly, he scarpered away from the lake, proceeding to make his way to a tree that Michelle had climbed and sitting at the foot of it.

    I shook my head, feeling the impatience building in my stomach, before turning away and addressing the caller once more.

    “I’ll be right there.”

    ---

    An hour later, I was sitting with the young woman who had called me from the hotel in the reception’s staff area. The woman was the hotel manager and her name was Nina, which brought with it unfortunate and better-left-alone memories of the nurse with which I’d shared a recent winter dalliance. She’d been on duty when the three men had found their way to my hotel room, and I could tell that she felt something resembling responsibility for the theft of a small amount of money, a rolex sports watch, and a gold penny-farthing of immeasurable sentimental value. We were watching the CCTV footage from the evening on a small screen. We being the three of us: there was one policeman left there, too, but most of them had left when the value of the burglary had been enumerated and considered negligible.

    On the screen, three men entered through the service doors, their faces mostly obscured by protective face masks and hoods. They pushed trollies loaded with packages into the kitchens and then took the service elevator up to my room. They made short work of the door, and the time-stamp revealed that they were in and out of the room in less than eight minutes. In two more they were out of the hotel. There was no mistaking who it was. The policeman might have laughed it off, but my eyes narrowed as I saw the comically gormless gait of the tallest of the three men. The last of the footage was in the parking lot. A rucksack was handed to the docile one, who nodded in self-affirmation before climbing onto a motorcycle. It looked like a Suzuki GT 380: the positioning of its parts were all wrong, the exhaust too low, brake issues when the surface isn’t dry… and all by design. Poor taste.

    “You’ll call me if you find it,” Nina was saying as she took my phone out of my hands, entering her number into the keypad and handing it back with a smile. She knew that I had been perturbed by the policeman and his apparent inactivity. His lack of drive. It was as important to her that this professional embarrassment was erased as it was to me that the penny-farthing was recovered. I nodded at her, and then took my leave.

    I rode my Harley Night Train across the city towards the address that I’d got from Yuto, one of the front office workers at the FWA with whom I’d had a couple of games of squash in the week leading up to Desert Storm. The sun began to peer over the lip of the world as I arrived at the apartment, which was small and quiet. At first I thought it empty. I kicked open the door, barging in with nothing but my bare hands to back me up. My movements thereafter were tentative, more out of caution than hesitance. I crept around the abandoned lounge, looking at the television and the mostly-empty bookcase. I couldn’t help but let my mind wander back to Michelle and Chris. I didn’t even know if they were still in the park. They could’ve come to and thought I’d just left them. I wrote a note, of course, but part of me wouldn’t be surprised if they’d forgotten how to read.

    It was then that I noticed an open magazine on the arm of a chair in the corner of the room. And next to it, on the counter, the gold penny-farthing... and a plugged in Shure SM7B black microphone. The stand was missing. The toilet - hidden away at the end of the corridor - flushed. After I’d crept towards it and pushed open the door, Mike Stand’s eyes widened slightly as he turned towards me. But the recognition came too late.

    A few minutes later, I walked outside to find my Harley had been taken, and lamented falling so willingly into what was probably a well-laid trap. I returned to the house and collected a set of keys from Mike’s pocket, emerging into the garage to find the Suzuki GT 380. I winced as I took a few reluctant steps towards it. A press of a button on a second key popped the garage door, which rose gradually and allowed the brilliantly, almost obnoxiously white sunlight into the room. I sat uncomfortably on the GT 380’s saddle, pushed the key into the ignition, and then set off for the hotel again.

    When I arrived, Nina stood at the front entrance to greet me. She smiled as I passed her the names and addresses of the three men responsible, removing my helmet to flash her a smile. I threw the phone that I’d taken from Mike’s apartment into her hands. She looked down at the text messages that I’d left open, implying their guilt in the robbery. Her eyes fell upon the Suzuki, the lack of recognition for the vehicle plane upon her visage.

    “How did you get all this?” she asked, innocently. “Whose bike is that?”

    “It’s Mike’s bike, Nina.”

    “Who’s Mike?” she asked.

    “Mike’s dead*, Nina.”

    “And where will you go now?”

    “Pittsburgh.”

    With that, I turned the throttle of the bike, and rode eastwards. The tall buildings of Manhattan were soon at my back, and I breathed in the relatively fresh air of New York State for the first time in thirty six hours. I soaked it in, washing the city out of my nostrils, and turned my mind to Garcia.

    * Mike is not actually dead.




    Marie looked up at the clock above the counter as the coffee came to a boil, the second hand ticking onwards resolutely (but all-too-slowly). She removed the jug from the machine and placed it next to another, only half-full, on the counter, wiping her hands before surveying the dozen or so people that sat in ones and twos and threes around the mostly-empty diner. She placed three cups and the jug next to the food that was already on the tray and took it over towards one of the twos: a pale and poorly-dressed woman with a European accent and a tanned and poorly-dressed man with an American one. She placed the cups down onto the table and began to fill them, the two only breaking stride in their conversation as the interloper busied herself in her work. Marie chewed her gum and filled up the cups.

    “What happened to Margery?” the woman asked, in passable English but with an accent that Marie couldn’t quite identify beyond its continent of origin.

    “Margery finishes soon,” she answered, simultaneously chewing her gum as she slid the second cup towards the man. Next came the food: pancakes with bacon and eggs for the American man, and a bowl of porridge with almond milk for the European woman. She picked up her spoon and began to push the oats around the bowl. “You’ve got me from now on. I’m on break for fifteen. This coffee should keep you going.”

    The clock reached eleven as Marie placed the jug in the centre of the table and collected the second one from the counter. She sat down at a table in the corner of the cafe and took in the strange couple once again. He was wearing tight pink shorts and sandals, plus a powder blue shirt with a purple tie dye design on the front. The woman had on a luminous green vest and some baggy blue shorts. She had a pair of soaking wet Vans on her feet which were slowly drying out and leaving a puddle beneath her chair. Marie leant backwards and poured herself a coffee, crossing her legs beneath the table as she closed her eyes and allowed their irregular conversation to wash over her.

    "So, I have to ask... how was last night for you? I'll tell you that it feels good to wake up from something like that outside of a jail cell. This thong is killing me, though." The American man groaned, likely as he adjusted his thong, and the European woman quietly snorted through her coffee at the strange sight.

    "You know..." the woman loudly slurped her coffee before continuing. "You didn't have to wear the thong. But last night… it wasn’t what I was expecting at all. Not like any acid I’ve had before… and not what those three idiots promised me when I picked the shit up."

    "Hmmm. What's that? W-what guys?" There was a touch of concern in the voice of the man. Like someone who had clearly had some trauma in their past; he did say that he'd been in a jail cell before, and from the looks of these two, that didn’t come as much of a surprise.

    There was a long pause, the woman not offering an immediate reply.

    "Who did you buy the drugs from?"

    The man spoke in a hushed tone, but due to Marie having her eyes closed and focused fully on listening to this conversation, she was able to make out what he was saying.

    "Please don't cause a scene... after I read about what happened to you before Carnal Contendership... I needed that version of you. Or, at least… I needed to see it, anyway. Like I told you before, I needed to know the real you."

    "Those little bastards!" The clinking of cutlery and crockery against the table indicated that the man may have pounded the table with his fist in response. "Those guys hate me. They gave you a bad batch or something. They just wanted to fuck with me again. I promise you that if I ever see those jackasses again they'll get to see a lot more of me than they ever have before." The man paused for a moment. "That didn't come out right."

    The European woman let out a sigh.

    ”Stop being so fucking uptight,” she said. It was blunt enough to give pause to the man across the table from her, eating his bacon.

    ”Excuse me?” he replied.

    ”Look,” the woman began, placing her spoon down next to her bowl. Marie opened an eye to observe the scene. She was leaning over the table as she spoke, and the waitress noticed that she hadn’t touched her porridge. The man’s bacon and eggs were almost gone, but his pancakes were still to be enjoyed. ”You’re alive, aren’t you?! And I don’t know about you, but I had fun last night.”

    The American man blinked at her, his mouth slightly ajar.

    ”Most of us don’t see still being alive at the end of it as the benchmark of a successful evening!” he answered.

    ”Well, you need to understand, Peacock, that I needed this,” she said, picking up her coffee and taking a long sip from it. ”Do you know how many evenings I’ve spent this year worrying about Sullivan and Parr? Hell, do you know how many evenings I spent last year worrying about Sullivan and Parr? It’s… it’s more than I’d care to admit. You know…”

    A pause here. Marie at first thought it was for dramatic effect, but it seemed that the woman was carefully picking her words before using them.

    ”When I read about your exploits before the Carnal Contendership… and I did read about them, of course… well, to be honest, it was the first time I’d really even considered you. And I was… impressed. Up until then, I’d been worried about Truth… Krash… Parr, of course. But there was something about your disregard for, well, everything... I felt that was worthy of respect. And you proved me right in the match, I guess, to a certain extent…”

    The man didn’t offer a reply. The woman leant back, ready to pick up the conversational slack.

    ”Look… I’m in the ring with Parr again this week. To you, it might seem like some arbitrary and thrown together match. But there’s something that everyone has overlooked: this is the first time that Michelle von Horrowitz and Dave Sullivan have shared a ring. Ever. Parr and Dave… Me and Parr… that is ten-a-penny. Old hat​. But I have waited for a long time for this chance with our saint. That there is four other men in the ring is… regrettable. But…”

    Finally, she lifts up her spoon and places a small amount of porridge into her mouth. Chews. Swallows. She looks dissatisfied, and pushes the rest of the bowl away.

    ”At least I know a little bit about the Peacock now, beneath all those pretty feathers…”

    The young woman continued to sip at her coffee, looking out over the cafe and allowing her eyes to rest on a young man in a Hawaiian shirt at the opposite end of the diner.

    "I understand what you're saying, but I don't know why you came into this whole thing like that. Why would you think that I wouldn't be all in on this? Look, I know it's not on the same level as you and Parr but as much as Uncle says that he loves me, this isn't groovy for me, either.

    I've got a guy showing up everywhere I go to tell me how much he loves me and how much he cares about me, but at the same time he causes me to get forty stitches in my back and takes out two of my best friends. This is personal for me.

    I've spent fucking months trying to show that I am more than just a... dancer! This isn't just about Uncle and Konchu for me. This is about Sulley. This is about Parr. This is about YOU."


    The man pauses for a moment as he takes another swig of his drink, allowing that directed comment to sink in.

    "I want people to see me in that match and realise that I belong there. I should be in matches with the World Champion. I've been the Gauntlet Champion and I am the X Champion now and this is just the start.

    I've got a lot that I need to do, and yeah, that does include beating Gerald at Back in Business. We've got last night - that will stay with me for a long time - but I know which horse you are backing.”
    The woman opened her mouth and let out the beginning of a word, but the man cut her off. "No, no, no. It's fine. You don't need to explain yourself. I get it. I am not going to hold it against you, and I am definitely not going to let it affect what happens in Vegas. I want those guys as much as you do.” He catches himself again. "That didn't sound right, either. But I want you to know that part of my plan involves beating you some day."

    There is a quiet shared between the two now, and the woman starts laughing to herself.

    "Well... that is exactly what I wanted to hear. I was right to have a good feeling about you. Let's both get past Sin City first, but as for your plans, let me offer you a piece of advice... Throw…”

    “Everybody BE COOL, this is a robbery!”

    Marie's eyes jolt open and she straightens up in her seat at the shout from the other end of the diner. The demand came from a man with a British voice, which belongs to a man standing on his seat and pointing a gun at the other customers. A woman, jumps up next to him with a gun of her own.

    “Any of you FUCKING PRICKS move, and I’ll execute every MOTHERFUCKING LAST ONE OF YOU!”

    The pair start pointing the guns in all directions, with the woman in particular being extremely unhinged in her approach. The man trains his handgun on Margery as she is in the process of leaving the restaurant following the end of her shift.

    “Don't do anything stupid, Margery. Get down on the FUCKING FLOOR! NOW!”

    The man's gun follows Margery down as she lays flat on her front, and the man jostles through the tables with his gun now pointed squarely at Marie, who instinctively puts her hands up. He produces a black garbage back from his back pocket.

    “You, empty the register and put all of the cash in here. Don't try anything funny, alright? Just be fucking cool.”

    She fr
    antically opened the cash register and emptied the notes into the garbage bag, not daring to look at the weapon that the young man was pointing at her. There wasn’t much there. Maybe a hundred dollars. It wasn’t worth getting shot over. She backed away from the man and into the coffee machine behind her, lifting her hands and watching on as he moved away and helped the woman collect bags, purses, wallets, laptops, and the like from anyone inside the diner. Her eyes flickered to the door, noting the hockey racket that had been removed from a shelf and placed through the handles. The woman was collecting bags, placing miscellaneous items of value into them, and throwing them towards the door.

    They approached the European woman and the American man, who were just finished with their food. She had pushed her empty porridge bowl away, and the man was picking out bits of bacon from in between his teeth. The woman’s rucksack was on the back of her chair, and she was leant back in it when the British man approached.

    “Your bag, darling,” he said, pointing the gun at the pair.

    “Yes,” the woman said. My bag.”

    The man placed his toothpick down on his plate and unfolded his legs. He had his hands at his side. The young woman, the pale accomplice, was busy stacking their loot around the entrance. The American man looked at her from the table, allowing the European woman to stare at her would-be assailant.

    “We don’t have time for this, baby,” the man said. He reached with one hand to the back of her chair for the bag, and the other - the one holding the gun - he placed palm-down on the table. In a swift but decisive and absolute movement, the woman seated at the table picked up the knife from next to her companion’s empty plate, and drove it down into the outstretched hand of the robber. He let out a yelp, and then a scream, as the knife plunged through his flesh and bit the table beneath. His fingers released their hold on his weapon. It skidded across the table and into the American man’s lap.

    He reclined in his chair and picked the handgun up, proceeding to point it in the direction of the female accomplice. She appeared from around the corner, summoned by his scream, and trained her own gun on the man.

    The British man continued to groan and yelp, the European woman casually twisting the knife further and further into the table below.

    “You know,” she said, slowly and deliberately. “We’ve had quite a long night. Long, and eventful. Haven’t we, Chris?”

    “Yes, we have, Michelle...” the young man, Chris, said.

    “It would be a great displeasure to both myself and my companion here, if… after a night of soul-searching, of realisation, of dramatic and comic and tragic interludes… if this was how our morning was to end. The subject of the attention of two bandidos who favour diners, for some reason, above banks. They have cameras here too, you know. But I guess you don’t.”

    Michelle again twisted the knife, eliciting more whines from the British man. Chris did his best to ignore it, pointing his gun at the accomplice with a passive look on his face.

    “Firstly, tell your girl to be cool,” Michelle said.

    “Amanda…” he conceded, uncertainly. “Amanda, be cool…”

    Amanada frantically pointed her weapon at Michelle, before moving it to Chris, and then back to Michelle. A wild look was in her eyes, and her face was paler than ever.

    “She’s not being cool,” Chris said.

    “Amanda!” the British man continued, a little more sternly. “You’ve got to be cool, baby.”

    “Point the gun at me, Amanda,” Michelle said. Amanda obliged. She was still uncertain, but the European woman sat back in her chair again, her hand still on the handle of the knife. Amanda took in a half-dozen deep, laboured breaths before Michelle continued. “I don’t remember everything from tonight, but I remember some things, Amanda. Enough. And one thing I remember is the sea, washing over me and Gerald, and Chris here, and Danny and Donny or Christian or whoever he is now. Over all of us. I saw it clearly, and I remember it clearly, and it made me think of something I like to say.”

    Amanda momentarily moved the gun over at Chris, but he tells her to be cool, and she trains it back on the European woman.

    Throw yourself in, I’d tell people,” Michelle continued, calmly as ever. You haven’t got a chance. I’d even call them darling, like you did me. But I promise you, it was with less sentiment and kindness than you afforded me, even. Sardonic, perhaps. Maybe I used to imagine my opponents, my rivals… as lost men, clinging to the driftwood. And I was the sea… the storm... coming to wash them away. Or maybe it was just some cool shit from a cult classic hipster movie to say to a motherfucker before emasculating them. I’m not sure.”

    Michelle almost removed her hand from the knife entirely, leaving one finger on the handle as she looked towards Amanda.

    “But that’s not how it is, or even how it was. I see it clearly now. You see, Amanda: the sea and the storm is coming, but they are not me. That is a bold assumption. I am clinging to the driftwood with you. I have thrown myself in already, and it is time for you to come along.”

    Peacock picked up his toothpick and removed a recently-discovered piece of bacon from his teeth.

    “Which is why, my tulips, we are taking this bag with us. You can have the rest, if you can get the knife out. But we’ve a flight to catch, unfortunately.”

    With that, the European woman stood up, collecting her rucksack in the process. The American watched the accomplice rush over to the British man before placing the gun into the back of his trousers. He collected his sunglasses from the front of his shirt, positioning them over his eyes as his partner threw her rucksack over her shoulders. After a brief nod, Chris lead the way out of the diner, Michelle following closely behind.
    Last edited by SupineSnake; 05-10-2021 at 04:24 AM.


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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

    Devious Productions Presents...

    Konchu Hao...

    and Mike Parr in...

    "Devious Minds Unite! Matters of Trust and Desire!"



    Location: Somewhere in Nepal

    We find ourselves outside of a temple, high up on a mountain. It's ornate, if archaic, as we see monks dressed in various colored robes shuffling around pruning, cleaning, and praying.

    As we enter the temple, we find FWA's Mad Wizard, Konchu Hao, sitting cross-legged in what appears to be a meditation chamber of sorts. He's dressed in his trademark mask, but very simply in linen robes, a far cry from his usual get-up. There's no ornaments, nothing flashy or distracting in this chamber. Here, a person can sit alone, contemplating the path ahead of them and the path they've traveled to get there.

    And Konchu has a LOT to unpack. His brief reign as X Division Champion was ended almost as soon as it began at the hands of Chris Peacock, and while he does have a chance to reclaim it at Back in Business? He must win two matches in consecutive nights to do it.

    As the Mad Wizard sits and chants some indecipherable mantra, the doors behind him open as Epsilon rushes in...and stops himself within 5 feet of his master.


    "Jubakara? Ryzek volzuq?"

    Without turning to face him or rising from his meditative position, Konchu replies:

    "Yes, I'm quite all right. Your concern is appreciative, my friend...but wholly unnecessary. I've spent the last several hours reflecting on my loss, and have found balance again."

    The Mad Wizard chuckles a bit as he continues.

    "I let it go to my head, didn't I?"

    Epsilon shrugs, but eventually nods and chirps in acknowledgement.

    "I mean, you can't hardly blame me for that. The overwhelming power of the X was far more than even I had anticipated. It was even powerful enough to allow me to bring the Circus back together for a one-off show. And sweet Tek-Tek...Epsilon, do you have any idea how many phone calls I've taken from animal rights groups about Tek-Tek? They are crying out for my blood even though I made it QUITE CLEAR that I wasn't the one who killed that poor creature. They ought to be thanking me for..."

    Konchu starts to rant a bit, but catches himself before it gets too out of hand and returns to a more even-tone.

    "...Regardless. If I am to be the Overlord that FWA both needs and deserves, I must learn to keep balance within myself so as not to let the overwhelming power of Chaos consume me. And I am quite close to a breakthrough, so unless it's important..."

    It's at that moment that Epsilon snaps his fingers as if he just remembered something and chitters in that incoherent tongue of his. Konchu, hearing this, smiles.

    "Ah, just as planned. Excellent! Epsilon, let him in."

    Epsilon nods as he heads to the door...but before he can open it, the doors FLY open, as a man kicks them open without any sort of regard to tranquility and peace. In the doorframe stands someone who wouldn't know peace and balance if it walked up to him and slapped him in the face, but someone who you would hope have an abundance of both given that he is fresh off his win in the Iron Man match at Fight Night NOLA and in the main event of Back in Business. Mike Parr has arrived and....he looks disheveled at best. Fitted out in a casual pair of slacks and loose fitting t-shirt with sunglasses covering his eyes, his hair is ruffled in a manner that suggests it has been a significant amount of time and at least a couple of impromptu naps in transit since he was able to last look at himself in the mirror.

    As Parr enters the meditation chamber, Konchu rises and turns to face him. The smile on the Mad Wizard's face is placid...or at least, appears to be, as a twinge of mania creeps in at the corner of his lips.

    "Mr. Parr! I'm quite glad you decided to make the journey out here. We have quite a bit to discuss, what with Fight Night..."

    "19 hours."

    "I beg your pardon?"

    "19. Hours. I got into a plane and flew out 19 FUCKING HOURS to meet you out here. You might not have better things to do with your time, but I sure as hell do."

    "So then...why ARE you here?"

    "You paid for my flight."

    "That's not an answer."

    "It's all you're getting. Now, what the hell is this about, Hao?"

    "I would think that's rather obvious. You and I are partners for this upcoming Fight Night in a Triple Threat Tag Team Match. And it's a match where both your enemies and mine are our opposition. As a gesture of good will and an attempt to maximize the opportunity presented to us, I invited you out here for a day or two of self-reflection, strategizing, and centering to ensure that we both come out of this match further ahead than the fools we face."

    As Konchu explains, Mike starts to laugh. Both the Mad Wizard and Epsilon cock their heads quizzically at that as The Prodigy continues.

    "Really? That's it? You had me fly out to the middle of nowhere to talk about one match? Seriously? Goddamn it, I knew this was a waste of my time. Go screw yourself, Konchu. I'm out of here."

    Mike turns to walk out the way he came...but before he can reach the exit, the doors slam shut on their own. This startles The Prodigy a bit as he turns back towards Konchu, who has his hand outstretched. Did he slam the doors shut? Hard to tell. What isn't hard to understand is that Mike Parr is now stuck, as he attempts to open the doors without any success. He turns back towards Konchu with a sour look on his face.

    "Let me out."

    "Whatever do you mean?"

    "Cut the shit, Konchu! I don't want any part of it."

    "So what DO you want?"

    "To leave!"

    "No. I refuse to accept that."

    The way Konchu says that...so pointedly and forcefully...it cuts through the tension in the room like a needle. As the two wrestlers stare one another down, Konchu continues in a far more aggressive, more inquisitive tone.

    "Any fool can look at the situation you find yourself in and think to themselves that you already have everything you could want. You have the spotlight, you have the main event of the biggest show on FWA's calendar, and an opportunity to acquire the greatest prize in professional wrestling. A prize you've been obsessed with ever since you first started crossing paths with Cyrus Truth back during his second reign. This is the culmination of everything you've ever done, both noble and vile, and the opportunity that you've been salivating for is within your grasp.

    "But then again...if you already have everything you want shy of the World Title itself, then you shouldn't be here. Nobody flies out...how did you say it? '19 fucking hours?' Nobody does that unless there's something else. And there is. There always is. And I cannot and will not cooperate with you on Fight Night or EVER until I know what that is.

    "So why don't YOU stop wasting MY time and tell me...why are you here? And what do you want?"

    Parr glare shifts between the closed doors now behind him and Konchu sat before him, as if internally debating an option that doesn’t really exist. As far as he could tell, there was no easy way out of this and…just maybe there’s an element of truth to what Konchu had to say. Nobody chained him to his seat and made him fly 19 hours to get here, so what was he expecting? What did he actually want? Gingerly, oh so gingerly, Parr approaches a more central area of the temple just before there is an ever so slight bend in his knees – one that would suggest that he is about to join Hao in his seated frame and one that Konchu is quick to identify.

    “Progress, Mr. Parr.”

    This stops Mike in his tracks, and he shoots another glare at Konchu who reciprocates with something in between a sly grin and a smile, before inhaling a bit more deep than usual and finally placing himself down cross legged on the floor across from Hao. His head is still facing downwards, akin to a child looking away from its parent when it knows it is in the wrong, as if that someone prevents his current situation becoming his current reality.

    “You can certainly talk a good game, I give you that. What do I really want? I want to go back to Pittsburgh and enjoy the fruit of my labors. I want to prepare. I want to relax. I don’t want to sit in the back ass of nowhere pretending that there’s both something I desire as well as something that I can benefit from sitting here with you. We need each other this week, so I thought I would give it a chance and ignore my gut instinct and that decision has left me here with you and whoever he is and– everyth- …… everything I’ve ever done, both noble and vile?”

    Prodigy finally lifts his head and stares down Konchu seated across from him. A strange end to a paragraph and one that for the first time in this encounter, catches Konchu slightly unawares. He cocks his head to the right but doesn’t lift his gaze from Mike.

    “Indeed Mr. Parr, those were my words.”

    “What exactly have I done that you consider to be vile?”

    Konchu lips crunch together in almost a pout, as he tries to hold in his laughter that was about to be brought on by his bemusement at such a sentence. Common knowledge dictates that Mike Parr is one of the most dastardly men to have graced FWA in recent times, a fact that Hao is all too familiar with having been a particular interested observer since this tag team match was announced. He turns towards Epsilon, and both reach an agreement without having to utter a word to each other that the question posed by Parr is ridiculous.

    “I would kindly retort, Mr. Parr, that perhaps it would be easier for you to highlight occasions in which you conducted yourself in a manner that one may consider to be anything but vile?”

    “So that’s where we’ve got to Konchu, you’re just like the rest of them. Sure, the setting might be different and you might like to give the impression that you aren’t just like the rest of them but when it comes down to it…you’ve got the same narrow closed minded point of view as the rest of them.”

    It would be unfair to say that Konchu has lost his composure, he hasn’t, but there is the first fleeting notion of a crack in his proverbial armor as he certainly appears to be slightly more unsettled than the figure that started this encounter – although he does well to largely cover any obvious giveaways to that fact.

    “A deflection tactic if I ever saw one, Mr. Parr. I am trying to help you to open your mind and examine deep within oneself yet you turn this back at me and accuse me…we have more work to do that I possibly could have imagined.”

    “I’m the one with a lot of work to do, Hao, if you think that anything that I’ve done is vile. It’s heroic. I’ve done unthinkable things for the greater good, I’ve destroyed parts of my soul that I will never recover all in the name of making the FWA a better place for everyone else. Just because I have the stomach to do things that needed to be done that others lack doesn’t mean that the things I have done are vile, they are necessary. Michelle von Horrowitz is a black cloud that was going to cast her shadow over the sunny climbs of the FWA if she went unchecked. I saw it on the horizon, Konchu. I felt the breeze pick up before anyone had even so much as gone inside to grab their jacket. She was the incoming storm that needed stopped otherwise we would be in the eye of it for years. Everything…everything she touches she ruins and her trajectory was taking her towards that aforementioned World Championship that I have been chasing for six years. So I tried everything to stop it….and sure, there may have been bumps in the road. She wasn’t meant to win the Carnal Contendership and she certainly wasn’t meant to get as close to that World Championship as she has done and this was never meant to be the main event of Back in Business….but I stepped up and I did something. I did something that is far from vile, Konchu, and I kind of hoped that you of all people might be able to see that.”

    Konchu has a knowing look plastered across his face, unbeknownst to Mike he has started to engage with himself and that was exactly the purpose of this trip. It’s a fine balance, however, because if Parr realizes exactly what is happening it’s going to send him retreating back to the guarded irate individual that stepped foot in here no more than 10 minutes ago.

    “Mr. Parr, I’m afraid that I don’t believe you.”

    Mike raises an eyebrow as he looks at the Mad Wizard, to Parr’s mind there is nothing that has just been said that could be legitimately disputed.

    “I should say, that I don’t entirely believe you. I believe that you don’t recognize any of your actions as heinous and I believe that you think that you are operating in the name of the greater good. However, what you think you are doing and the cold hard reality of your actions doesn’t quite….equate. Alas, far be it from me to pour cold water on the spark that we’ve just lit. Let me help you out, Mr. Parr. I’m here to find peace and recapture balance after my loss and look…”

    Konchu outstretches his arms and opens up his frame to Parr.

    “I’ve found it.”

    “Recapture balance? That’s the key, is it?”

    Parr sounds distinctly unimpressed with Konchu’s last remark. To him, balance is the type of thing you discuss on a black market yoga DVD, not something that is of particular relevance in the landscape of professional wrestling. Then again, maybe he just never achieved it to appreciate it before.

    “You started by asking me what do I want? I don’t want balance, Hao. I don’t want peace. If I have balance and I have peace, there is nothing to fear. I need to be that rabid dog that will tear your arm off just to make sure that I get every last bit of steak that you are holding in your hand. I need to be on edge, I can’t find balance. You know what balance would do to me, Konchu? I might as well go and neuter myself. If I have balance then Michelle walks all over me. Sulley manages to parade around and patronize everyone from his faux position of strength. If I have balance, Konchu, then I am the one sitting here finding balance instead of having a raging desire to capture back my X Division Championship that I meekly surrendered…”

    Ironically, the outburst almost has allowed Parr to capture his balance as it feels like a weight has been lifted. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, fittingly in a manner that you would expect in a meditation, as Konchu processes Parr’s latest.

    Looking at Parr's face, seeing a small twinge of serenity cross The Prodigy's face as he unloads that on Konchu, the Mad Wizard cracks a small grin as he returns to his own meditation.

    "Kehahaha! I can see you're starting to grasp onto a certain truth, Mr. Parr. Very good. You're making far more progress than I had anticipated. This is most excellent!"

    "The hell are you talking about now?"

    "I didn't bring you out here because I wanted you to find peace. I'm not one of those monks out there preaching brotherhood with one's fellow man. You think for one moment that I'm not absolutely livid with the fact that a retro reject stole my championship from me? That I no longer possess the unlimited power of Chaos that the X Division Championship exudes? That three weak and unworthy foes stand in the way of me recapturing my rightful prize and my reclamation of the throne as Overlord of the X Division?

    "Then why..."

    "'Why am I so adamant about the idea of balance?' Because balance is not finding peace within yourself, Mr. Parr. It's about accepting what it is you really are and what it is you truly want. And being willing to accept uncomfortable truths. Epsilon?"

    Konchu snaps his fingers as Epsilon springs to attention. With a nod and a wave of his hands, Konchu directs Epsilon over to a nearby brazier. Knowing exactly what to do, Epsilon grabs some pouches from underneath the brazier and starts throwing them in.

    "Tell me, Mr. Parr...are you familiar with the story of the scorpion and the frog?"

    "You mean that old parable where the scorpion asked the frog to take him across the river only to sting him halfway there?"

    "Indeed! Very good. I'm most impressed. So many these days forget such tales. But to cut to the point? If I were one of those characters in that story, I would be the scorpion. Granted, I would like to think I was smarter than that particular scorpion and would wait to sting the frog until I was across the river, but regardless! The point is...I am a creature of deviousness and duplicity. Nothing is ever what it seems to be with me and I am unafraid and unapologetic about it. We are what we are, Mr. Parr. And while I may rant from time to time about such noble ideals regarding the X Division as you recently have about why you pursue the World Title...the truth is far simpler. The X Division Championship is a powerful prize and I want it for my own. That is the sole reason I pursue it. Any good that comes from such pursuit is incidental, and most certainly NOT the endgame.

    "I am livid that such a creature like Chris Peacock now struts around with a prize he neither truly appreciates or understands the magnitude of. I am absolutely appalled that a milquetoast boy and a feckless troll are challenging for a title when neither was able to stop me from ripping it from their unworthy hands. And I am more than prepared to send all three of them into the fiery maw of the Abyss and watch them churn and boil as punishment for their impudence. But...if I were to allow that anger to just fester, and if I wasn't honest with myself about what it is I am and what it is I truly want? It's the same as entering a knife fight with a dull blade. It'll only end in pain, death, and disappointment. Balance, Mr. Parr? It is understanding one's nature and honing one's duplicity, rage, and desire to the point where it's sharp enough to split atoms! Kehahaha!"


    Konchu's rant echoes a bit in this empty chamber. Parr is emotionless on the outside, but you can see the gears spinning in his head as he tries to make sense out of what Konchu is saying. It seems almost contradictory...finding peace by honing rage? It doesn't make sense...and yet...the way the Mad Wizard speaks is with an almost otherworldly conviction.

    As Epsilon finishes filling the brazier with incense and scampers off Parr finally chimes in, still seated as he was.


    "So...it's all about what you want at the end of the day?"

    "Of course it is. And I'm certain it's much the same for you."

    "I told you..."

    "You told me what you wanted me to hear, Mr. Parr. Or perhaps you told me what you wish the truth was. Either way, it's all a very lovely veneer...but nothing more than that. You know...Cyrus Truth is a foolish blowhard who has a far-too inflated sense of self-worth and self-righteousness, but he IS right about one thing. Denying what you truly are is a self-destructive path. It leaves you less than what you could be. You can sit there and pretend that your pursuit of the World Title is in the best interests of FWA if you like. I may even agree with your assessment that, out of the three who'll challenge for the World Title at Back in Business, you're the best suited to carry it. I shudder to think of the avante garde garbage that will come with a Horrowitz reign, and Mr. Sullivan has lost something in his so-called "ascension" to sainthood. The World Title needs stabilization...but that's NOT why you want it. You want it because you desire it. You need it because it will define you. And you crave it because it has eluded you time and again and the hunger is becoming unbearable. You are a devious man, Mr. Parr...not unlike me. You do what some consider horrible things to achieve your goals. Most would shame you for that. I? I would ask you to embrace that truth. It is only when we find peace and balance with what we truly are that we become able to evolve past simply being rudimentary creatures of flesh and bone. And it is only upon accepting this truth that you and I can truly achieve what we must with this match on Fight Night."

    Epsilon finally returns and, using a large candle lighting stick, transfers some fire from a nearby candle to the brazier, igniting the incense. The room starts to fill with powerful smells and fragrances, almost overwhelming so. Wisps of smoke surround a seated Konchu and Parr as Konchu breathes deeply. Parr looks at Konchu warily...but eventually he closes his eyes and resumes his measured breathing.

    "When you think about Back in Business...and you see yourself coming out on top in your match...what do you really see?"

    As the two men sit with their eyes closed, legs crossed, and frames closed, we see glimpses of their thoughts.

    "Do you see throngs of FWA fans, wrestlers, managers, et al? Do you see them thanking you for what you did? Praising you for your ascension to the top? Heralding you as a hero?"

    As we see inside the thoughts of Konchu and Parr, we see flashes. Almost indecipherable, just random images of conflict and strife and a bizarre medley of noise.

    "Or perhaps...something else?"

    The images start to clear up...

    We see Konchu, standing in the center of the ring. A battered and broken Gerald Grayson at his feet, almost a repeat of what happened at Madman's Mayhem. The body of Gerald Grayson is soon joined by that of J.J. JAY! and Chris Peacock, motionless and bloody. Only Konchu remains standing...X Division Championship in his iron grasp.

    We see Mike Parr, as the crowd roars around him and confetti drops from the ceiling. The mangled body of Michelle von Horrowitz at his feet, the look of shock on Dave Sullivan outside the ring as a referee rushes over, handing Parr the World Title...Parr's face reflecting in the gold.

    "Only when we admit to what we are can we truly be free to do what is necessary to achieve what we desire. And to claim what is rightfully ours...kehahaha..."

    Parr allows for the image of him, holding the World Title aloft, to resonate for an exaggerated amount of time. After all, wouldn’t you do the same after years of waiting for something only to see it appear, in sorts, right in front of your own eyes. As the image becomes slightly more vague and distorted, the latter scene of the two begins to discernably change from the triumphant and confetti laden celebration we just all bore witness to. Instead, the cheers turn to a shower of boos and the confetti stops flowing. No longer is Mike Parr raising the World Championship belt above his head but meekly placing it over his shoulder as if trying not to draw attention to the fact it is now in his possession.

    “I don’t see them thanking me for what I do, I don’t expect anyone to thank me. I’ve long grown past that. I’ve dealt with these cretins long enough to know that they really don’t get me, they don’t understand what I actually set out to do. The simple option is to sit and judge me, look at my actions and think that I’m what? Just a lost soul. Just someone acting up. Just not a nice guy. They don’t look at why I do what I do, they don’t contextualize any of it so just like the sheep that they are, they follow. Last year they began to cheer for me as I stood side by side with Krash and why? Because I acted any differently or because I some sort of moral epiphany? No. It was because it was the popular thing to do. Just like…the popular thing to do right now is to what? Cheer Michelle? Cheer some guy who has given himself a sainthood? The common perception here that will be lived out is that somehow, I’m the villain of the piece because you don’t understand my motivation?”

    “People are scared of that which they do not fully understand, Mr. Parr.”

    “Well, maybe it is time that I make them understand a few things about me, maybe it’s about time that they look deep within themselves and recognize the truth that they are not the judge of me. They don’t get to sneer at me, boo me, hiss at me. The truth is I expect to be treated like the villain but I’m the hero of this piece. I’m not some idiot that demeans the legacy of the championship by losing it to Michael Garcia or playing hide and go seek for months on end. I’m not the turncoat that made her name in that other place before turning up entitled and feeling like she deserves everything handed to her here, so easily. I am the one that has stuck by this place for 6 years. I am the one that has clawed my way for every opportunity that I have been given and just because I had to break a few bones, cross a few lines to get where I needed to go….that doesn’t make me the bad guy in this story, Hao, it makes me the only one that f**king deserves the fairytale ending.”

    Epsilon makes a motion with his hands that wafts the smoke back in direction of the still fairly vivid scene in front of Parr, the boos reverting back to cheers with the crowd engaging in a ‘THANK YOU PRODIGY’ chant that causes the Parc des Princes to shake to its foundation. Mike Parr, FWA World Champion, holds his prize high in the air once more for his adoring public to crown him as their champion.

    “Konchu, I think I know what I want….”

    The swirls of smoke suddenly dissipate with one grin from the Mad Wizard of FWA, the words that he was waiting to hear drawing said satisfied smirk.

    “Now if that is truly the case, Mr. Parr, as I sense that it might, we may truly be able to achieve exactly what it is that we desire at Fight Night.”

    “I have no particular desire for Fight Night, Konchu”

    There is, for the first time since the moment where the doors swung closed and trapped Parr inside, an awkward pause, Parr reveling in the fact that his comment caused it and Konchu unsure as to how to try and break it.

    “No particular desire, Mr. Parr?”

    “Perhaps I misspoke somewhat, I should say that I have no specific desire for this Fight Night, Hao, I have a desire for Back in Business. This Fight Night is very much less a case of Back in Business and more business as usual. I don’t turn up without wanting to win. I don’t turn up without wanting to beat someone up. Whether or not that unrelenting aggression and copious amount of skill gets me no gratitude from them, whether or not that desire means that I’m dancing on Chris Peacock’s remains or sending J.J.JAY into orbit, or whether or not the world will be getting a Back in Business preview…that aggression, that skill, that desire will showcase to them and to you my desire…it will leave no question as to what it is that I want. It will by MY truth.”

    This...wasn't quite the answer Konchu was looking for, as evidenced by his scrunched face. However, after a couple of seconds of pondering, Konchu nods.

    "Hmm...not entirely what I expected, but not wholly unacceptable. Regardless, I care little aside from Back in Business as well, so on that? We have an understanding. But Fight Night is the first step before the giant leap. To ensure both of us get what we want...it would behoove us to ensure that none of our opposition have any advantage. Given a choice between abject violence or simply coasting on the road to Back in Business, I choose violence."

    "Ruttah verzok quek!"

    "Yes, that's what I'm trying to say, Epsilon. Mr. Parr...I doubt very much that it's wise for me to trust you. No doubt I'm sure you expect that trust will be a hard thing for you to find in FWA. However...I DO trust that you understand that a dismantling of our opponents before Back in Business only benefits us. You and I...we both want something. For me, it was something stolen from me. For you, it's something that you've been denied. But in that desire, comes understanding. And in that understanding, comes a mutual interest. If but for one night...are you prepared to aid me in the destruction of my foes, if I am willing to do the same for you?"

    Parr's glare once again transitions back and forth between Konchu and Epsilon, an inquisitive look spread across his face that if you were to ask would tell you that he is trying to work out whether to take the former at face value and work out if that was indeed what the latter was trying to say.

    "Mutual interest is what brought me here, Konchu. I would not have travelled this far to meet you unless it was in the spirit of mutual self preservation, a spirit I truly believe in which you and I are aligned. I didn't expect to say this but I think you might actually understand me quite well. Whilst I learned a long time ago that I cannot place trust in someone else's hands at the risk of it being abused, what I can do is form the mutual understanding that you so reference. Be it for one individual night where we align to both take back what was stolen from you and give me what I have forever been denied, or indeed be it on any given night to satisfy our respective desires.....that...that is something that I can live with. Respective destruction of our foes? Guess we've both managed to figure out exactly what is that I want."

    With that, Parr rises (again rather gingerly) to his feet, exhales deeply once more before turning and facing the doors that have been slammed shut since shortly after his arrival. Mike, in spite of himself, smirks as he rotates his neck back around so that he faces the seated Konchu. No words required, he cranks his neck slightly to the left as if to ask the question.

    Konchu cackles as he walks up to stand by Parr's side, giving him a wide manic grin. He then walks up to the door and lightly pushes on it, opening it.

    "Kehahaha! Excellent! This meeting has been MOST productive! Mr. Parr, I am quite grateful you took the time to come to this place. But before you leave, you MUST join me for a celebratory meal! You haven't LIVED until you've dined on traditional Nepalese cuisine. There's this lovely little street vendor that serves the most delightful Dal Bhat that you'll ever have! My treat...as a sign of the progress we've made and have yet to accomplish! Kehahaha!"

    Konchu walks off, laughing that laugh of his with his arms crossed behind his back. Parr is a little confused by Konchu's shift of tone...but he has little time to think as Epsilon jabs him in the calf, prodding him to move forward. Any thought of reciprocating the gesture is abandoned, however, as Parr shrugs. However, he does call out:

    "Konchu! Since we spent all this time talking about what I want...I think it's only fair that you answer the question. What do YOU want?"

    Konchu looks over his shoulder and smiles that crazed grin.

    "Mr. Parr, that's a simple question! I want the world, of course...the world, and everything in it! KEHAHAHA!"

    The Mad Wizard says no more and proceeds...and Mike Parr chuckles at that as he follows him out of the temple and down the mountain. An understanding made...an alliance, albeit a temporary one, forged. And perhaps truths revealed, before the battles to come...
    Something Witty!

    Cyrus Truth
    4x FWA World Heavyweight Champion
    1x FWA North American Champion
    2x CWA World Heavyweight Champion
    1x PnH International Champion

    Konchu Hao
    1x FWA X Division Champion
    Ground Zero Winner (Season 2)

  11. #11
    I'm Your Huckleberry
    Sulley's Avatar

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    <Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread


    Katie Baxter: You make a valid point. So this is it, huh? Your last hoorah.

    Saint Sulley: Yup...this is it.

    The camera fades out back to Pittsburgh as the crowd is stunned at the announcement.

    Following Back in Business, Saint Sulley is retiring from the FWA.

    --------------------------------------------------------



    Confession



    With the cameras cut, Saint Sulley gives Katie Baxter a quick nod before immediately pulling off his mic and standing up out of the chair. He gives one last look at his childhood home, before getting in his rental car and driving just two minutes down the road. Still in his three piece suit, he pulls up to 535 Bairdford Road.

    Saint Victors' Parish.

    Or as it's now known to the shock of Saint Sulley, who stands before it in a relatively empty church parking lot...Our Lady of the Lakes Parish. St Victor's Parish had merged with another local church.

    Long gone is the man who ran the church, Father Bob.

    Long gone is the CCD school that Saint Sulley attended as a child.

    But the same building from Saint Sulley's childhood still stands tall.

    He takes a deep breath and goes inside.

    There isn't a soul inside, but the church is still functioning and clean. Sulley takes off his suit jacket, folds it, and sits it on the pew in the back of the church. He then takes off his tie, and lays it over his jacket. He walks around the church, feeling nostalgic of the whole thing. The look, the smell, everything. He chuckles to himself, thinking this might be the first time he's been in a church since he had his Catholic Confirmation in eight grade. The irony of that alone is worth noting.

    What warrants a bigger chuckle is the one that comes from Sulley spotting a confessional booth on the far side of the church.

    Sulley walks over to it, and steps inside...barely fitting inside the wooden box. The door closes behind him.

    The FWA World Champion simply sits down and puts his face in his hands.

    This is the most peace he has had in a long time.

    Suddenly, Sulley is startled by the closing of a door. He can hear someone sitting down on the other side, and suddenly the panic has set in.


    Father: How long has it been since your last confession?

    Saint Sulley chuckles.

    Saint Sulley: I'm sorry...I didn't mean to come in here for this. I was just, being nostalgic Father. The last time I did confession was the first time, and it was only because they made me as a part of CCD class. I remember telling the guy at the time a bunch of broad things that probably weren't even accurate...like...that I was mean to my sister, or that I lied to my parents. I mean...I was ten. I guess, to answer your question, it was 25 years ago.

    Father: Do you remember how it started?

    Saint Sulley: Bless me father, for I have sinned.

    Father: What are your sins my son?

    Saint Sulley: Jesus Christ, I said I wasn't here for that. I haven't been inside a church since I was a child. Father, I remember sitting in the room next door right before my confession, and remembering being told that if we didn't believe in what we were doing, if we didn't believe in God, then to stand up and walk out and not go through with it. I was sitting next my Grandmother at the time, the woman who raised me, and I couldn't do that to her. But in my head, in my head I thought...this is bullshit.

    Father: You don't believe in the lord?

    Saint Sulley: I don't know what I believe, Father. I mean, I have a tattoo of Saint Jude on my arm...I have a tattoo of a rosary too. But I wouldn't call myself Catholic anymore. I'm not going to sit here and say that god doesn't exist, but I'm not going to blindly say he does either.

    Father: St. Jude...do you know what he is the Saint of?

    Saint Sulley: Lost causes and desperate cases. His meaning is deeper to me than anything in this church. I wore his necklace as a child, when my father was in a desperate situation.

    Father: And did it pan out for him? Did praying to St. Jude make it any different?

    Saint Sulley: No. But for some reason, I wear him on my arm anyway.

    Father: What are you sins my son?

    Saint Sulley: I don't know where to even start with that question father. And I don't know if I have the time to answer that. I don't know if you know who I am, or if you recognize my voice, but I am pretty well known. I compete in wrestling matches on live TV, and I have done some horrendous things in them. I don't know if I feel comfortable getting really vulnerable with you, a man who I don't know.

    Plus I have a fight to prepare for.

    It doesn't mean much. It's filler, a match to hype up bigger matches. A match I'll probably lose.


    Father: What you say tonight is between you, me, and God. Nobody else.

    Saint Sulley: Father...I've made a joke about places like this my entire career. I mean Christ, in 2016 I called myself "The Redemption" and pretended like I was a redeemed soul by God. I carried around a bible and acted like I was some redeemed wonder. I acted like I wasn't a total asshole, like I didn't denounce organized religion. I acted as, if there is a God, that he gave a shit if I won my matches or not. That's always something I found funny...

    I wasn't truly redeemed father. I don't think I will ever be truly redeemed.

    But the fact that I did that all as an absolute fucking act. A charade...something about it makes it all feel worse.


    Father: What else have you done?

    Saint Sulley: I betrayed a man who was supposed to be my protťgť. It was my job to be his manager, to make him better than me. He had a lot of potential, he had potential to be better than what I ever was...and I couldn't handle it. I saw him rising through the ranks, I saw his name getting bigger than mine. I saw him about to win the X Championship at Back in Business, despite the fact that I was the face of that title, that I still needed my fourth win in order to break the record that I had tied at the time with Ryan Rondo.

    Was that wrong of me? To be jealous of that? To be jealous of my protťgť?

    I don't know. I don't regret those parts.

    But what I do regret is how I did it. How I betrayed him...I planted drugs in his hotel room, and I had him arrested in Oklahoma. He spent almost two years in prison before he was able to get it overturned and released.

    Betraying him? I can live with that. It's pro wrestling, it happens often.

    But...I could have just gotten him fired from the show. I could have just came back and beat him myself in a match...I could have convinced him to retire, or bribed him, or threatened him...I guess in the grand scheme of things, those are all sins to you. But I feel like, framing a man and sending him to prison is the worst thing one man can do to another man. And I did that to him.


    Father: What else have you done?

    Saint Sulley: Father my daughter is not my own, and she does not know it. Nobody knows it...she came to me over a year ago thinking that I was her father, because I dated her mother many years before that. Then her caseworker caught up to her, and asked me if I'd take her in. I agreed, and I've been a foster parent to her ever since. A blood test needed to be done...to see if she was truly mine, and at that point...I got attached...I don't know...I took a sample of her blood and swapped the results.

    Ann and I never had sex, Father.

    I don't know if her true father is alive, or if he even exists, but I know it's not me.


    Father: What else have you done?

    Saint Sulley: I don't want to keep doing this. Do you know what Chris Peacock, and Mike Parr, and MvH, and Konchu Hao are doing? They're preparing for our fight. Not wasting their time in some confessional box.

    Father: What else have you done?

    Saint Sulley: I attacked Gabrielle! We blindsided her at a show. Put her out of action so she couldn't cash in her briefcase on me. She kept toying with me, threatening to take my title, and I panicked.

    But to make things worse, I am the reason she is how she is.

    I am the reason she's going through a mental health crisis.

    I'm the reason she passed out tonight in that steel cage match.

    I wasn't supposed to win. I wasn't supposed to still be FWA World Champion. Michelle von Horrowitz should be fighting Gabrielle at Back in Business. And now here I am, set to fight Mike Parr and MvH instead of her?

    How is that fair?

    I don't fit into their story at all.

    I don't fit in anywhere.

    I'm just a guy who's only characteristic at this point is being FWA World Champion. I am not a Cosmic Horror doing whacky zany fourth wall breaking adventures.

    I'm not a Disco Warrior dancing all around.

    And I'm no Mad Wizard exploring secret vaults.

    I don't have any of that excitement, father.

    I am just...a guy. A guy who's done a lot of shitty things.


    Father: What else have you done?

    Saint Sulley: Father, I go around literally calling myself Saint Sulley. That's blasphemy 101. I mean...I don't know. I wish I could tell you I would stop. Go back to being Dave Sullivan...but I don't want to be Dave Sullivan. I don't want to be who Dave Sullivan is...or...I don't want Dave Sullivan to be who Saint Sulley is. At least...with Saint Sulley, he can be this bad guy who does the things he does. But at the end of the day I can take Saint Sulley off, and I can try and make Dave Sullivan a better person...a better father.

    A few days ago I called my other daughter, my other adoptive daughter, Kleio...and I told her that I can't be her mentor anymore. I could feel myself again feeling that same feeling I felt with Ty Johnson.

    But I can't hurt her.

    I don't want to hurt her.

    But I always do.

    I hurt everyone who gets close to me.

    I destroyed Gabrielle.

    Sammie doesn't even know I am not her dad.

    Ty Johnson's entire career was ruined because of me.

    Kleio? She's got so much potential. And she's a good soul, and she's been through more than any kid should ever have to go through. But she's still there and still standing. And I can't drag her down. I know I crushed her heart when I told her I didn't think I should train her anymore, but it was for the best...it was for her...

    But still...it's just another thing I feel shitty about.


    Father: Is there anything else my son?

    Saint Sulley: I am giving up father.

    I don't have the strength.

    After Back in Business, I am retiring Father.

    I can't do it anymore.

    I can't keep...being who I am.

    And yet, I feel guilty for that too. I feel guilty for leaving the show. And I know I'll feel guilty if I retain my championship again at Back in Business. I'll feel guilty if Mike Parr and Michelle von Horrowitz don't beat me, and the "The King" never gets dethroned.

    I'll feel guilty for taking that away from then.

    But it'll just be another shitty thing to add to the list.

    You can add me costing J.J.JAY! this win to the list too. He's a rookie, and he deserves something better. I didn't bother calling him, or getting together for a workout, or even planning a single thing. Not like Kleio did...she is already better than me. No, I'm going in there winging it, and we're probably going to lose.

    Again, it's just another shitty thing to add to it.

    I am going to walk away and I am going to retire from being an FWA Wrestler.

    But I'm not going to retire from being a shitty human being. I don't know if I can...

    But I want to try Father...

    Please...help me try.


    Father: ....May God grant you pardon and peace.

    I absolve you of your sins.



    "Confession is like a bridle that keeps the soul which reflects on it from committing sin, but anything left unconfessed we continue to do without fear as if in the dark." --Saint John Climacus

  12. #12
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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

    The video starts quickly as Reagan Cole is only given maybe half a second between the camera start and having to duck the arm suddenly rushing right at him. Reagan still ducks successfully though as he quickly jumps back up, Reagan looks around the ring. To be honest, Itís a very average looking ring. Black ropes surround him connecting to 4 big silver poles on each combatant. Reagan takes notice of all four posts and the exact distance between each of them and himself, before rushing forward at the person opposite himself who we now see and recognise as his good old friend, Alexander Tyler but in his luchador attire of The British Kid. Reagan doesnít seem that distracted by his relationship to his friend as Reagan raises his left leg to trip Tyler over in a classic knee lift and Kid does go over! Except British Kid somehow catches himself in a handstand! Before Reagan can even respond, His opponent springs up and drills his friend with a super kick! Reagan lands hard on the plywood canvas!

    Reagan: ďowÖ.where did you get that from?!Ē

    Tyler: ďWhat? Canít pick up some moves on the road?Ē

    Reagan shakes his head and gets up, slightly slower than normal, obviously selling the effects of the canvas.

    Reagan:
    ďIím fine. Letís go again.Ē

    Tyler looks slightly confused

    Tyler: ďare...are you sure, buddy? Because from what Iíve seen, thatís like what? 4 to 0 now? You having a off day or someth-ď

    Reagan: ďIíve been having A LOT of off days recently if you havenít noticed buddy!Ē

    Thereís a strong sense of just frustration in Reaganís words and Tyler is quick to pick up on it. Tyler looks at Reagan for a long hard second, relating to that frustration. Tyler starts to take off his mask with a massive Union Jack design and putting it on a nearby turnbuckle before turning back to see Reagan resting on the ropes, clearly regretting that bit.

    Reagan:
    ďI shouldnít be taking this on you, sorry. JustÖ.I donít know. I remember when I first got into FWA and my main goal was that I wanted to face the best of the best. The cream of the crop. I didnít care about beating them or not. I just wanted to fight the best wrestlers. And now I feel like I could go out to the ring, pick a random person and I would probably still get beat! I have one win so far in the last five months. And that was in a backstage brawl, not in the ring. Iím not proving myself in that ring to anyone that I deserve to fight the best?Ē

    Tyler: ď.....What do you mean ďnot proving yourself?Ē Is that entirely what matters to you? You show everyone youíve ever beaten, genuine respect but when you get beat, you just automatically you havenít gained their respect. The most recent match against McClain, you lost. And you know something? Judging from his reactions, I think you proved yourself more when he beat you. Especially since he accepted your challenge at BIB. And now you have two title matches in a row? Reagan, you gotta look at yourself. Stop judging yourself already. Thatís the reason youíre not winning. You keep doubting yourself when you shouldnít. You have been claimed to be one of the best wrestling tacticians on earth. Yet who keeps changing their tactics mid match? And you know how I notice that? Because I know way too many of your strategies by now because I had to team with you for like 7 years, buddy. You let the big crowd get to you in the heat of the moment.Ē

    Reagan listens intently to every word, his best friend says. Itís logical advice in fairness. Just not to the right guy.

    Reagan:
    ďI run a fight club, why would I be scared of a crowd?Ē

    Tyler: ďBecause this is a different animal. We both know that. Why I donít do your cage fighting that often.Ē

    Reagan rolls his eyes.

    Tyler: "Listen to me. This Gauntlet match is perfect for you. It allows a break between match ups for you to focus in. I know it's ironic coming from the guy who literally wears a mask and appeals to children but tune everything out when you're in the match. Pretend it's a fight club or the backstage brawl or whatever. You've faced every single one of these people in a one on one. You've defeated two of them. You have this, man."

    Reagan looks directly into Tyler's eyes. Tyler meant every word he said. It's just if Reagan believes it. He knows that he got lucky at even getting this shot to begin with. He just doesn't know if he can capitalise but he'll try.

    Reagan: "
    thanks, man. Appreciate it. Anyway are we doing this?"

    Tyler smiles, puts his mask back on.

    Tyler: "let's go."

    The team formerly named as The UK run at each other proper Rocky 3 style to close this out.

    Last edited by The Other Guy; 05-11-2021 at 03:17 AM.
    " I have this weird self-esteem issue where I hate myself but still think Iím better than everyone else."

  13. #13
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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread








    The Shark Reef Aquarium at Madalay Bay, Las Vegas, Nevada. Our scene opens on the worlds most renowned shark reef in captivity which is reminiscent of an ancient temple submerged at the bottom of the ocean floor, surrounded by 1,300,000 gallons of salt water. The awe-inspiring tunnel, which houses thousands of sharks, rays, large fish and other exotic aquatic animals, is designed to look like sunken shipwreck lost to time and the elements and is incredibly massive in it's structure and astonishing in it's appeal. We find ourselves at the entrance of the large glass tunnel, where we are surrounded by water on all sides, to the left, to the right, and above our heads. The refraction from the rippling waters above creates an array of blue and white lights dancing upon us in rhythm with the water's flow. There is a man in an unmistakable black leather jacket with his back turned to us, his collar popped up and his right hand pressed as against glass as he observes a Galapagos Shark swimming overhead. He doesn't acknowledge us for a few moments, though he knows we're there. Instead, he watches the shark in all it's majesty cutting through the water with all the grace of an airplane gliding through the open air, before charging into a school of fish that immediately parts in two upon the sharks arrival. When the man turns around to face us, we can see clear as day that it's none other than The Astonishing Chris Kennedy, the Five-Time World Champion who'd recently returned to the FWA following a half-year stint in Japan. Around his neck is a black necklace with a shark tooth dangling from it, a faded and worn Notorious B.I.G T-shirt under his black jacket that shows Biggie wearing a crown over his head, standing across stained-plate Church Glass.


    Chris Kennedy: We are truly living in exciting times, Friends and Family. The world is changing every day, and it's changing so fast. We never stop to appreciate how beautiful life is until our life is on the verge of being snuffed out. We take a lot of things for granted.


    Kennedy pauses, closes his eyes and nods his head, exhaling a deep breath.


    Chris Kennedy: When we take things for granted, we get lazy. We get complacent and when that happens, life is meaningless and for us to find purpose, we need to take a step back and find the beauty in this world that keeps wanting us wanting to be a part of it.


    Kennedy smiles before using his hand to rake a few loose strands of hair behind his hear.


    Chris Kennedy: You know, I always make it a point to stop and appreciate something I find beautiful before setting off to destroy something that I know isn't. It's calming, man. It gives me an opportunity to consolidate my thoughts into a bullet-pointed plan of action and put things into a necessary perspective and for a man like me who's entirely methodical in both his thoughts and actions, this process is imperative. Take a look around you, friends and fam, gander at this structure in all it's glory, take it in and then think about the significance of this artificial piece of ocean isolated deep within the driest of deserts; Las Vegas, Nevada. Something so out-of-place, and at the same time, something so very necessary. I want to tell you all a story. In fact, it's a true story, and one you'll find relates to my current state of affairs. Don't worry, this isn't some boring ass Stu St.Clair rocking chair bullshit, it's a pretty good story. Check it out.


    Kennedy walks down the tunnel a bit. To his left, on the other side of the glass, three blacktip reef sharks swim alongside Kennedy, no-doubt completely coincidentally and independently of the man in the glass tunnel beside them but the image gives the impression that the sharks are following their presumed leader in Chris Kennedy, joining him for story time. This isn't lost on Kennedy, and he appreciates them for it.


    Chris Kennedy: Off the Kimberly coasts of Australia, between Australia and Indonesia, large sharks once roamed the waters, laying waste to everything in their paths. Dolphins, swordfish, even whales, if you can believe it. Not a single one was safe, man. Motived by their insatiable hunger that propelled it through the oceans in constant search of sustenance, the sharks were the kings of the reefs. And they played a pretty important role in the ecosystem too, like I said, they would eat the big fish and the smaller marine animals, basically all those predatory fish that fed on even smaller herbivorous fish that kept the coral healthy by feeding on turf algae. They kept the reefs healthy in that regard. But poachers and fishermen drove those big sharks away, killing them for their fins which they would sell to the black market and for their teeth which they'd string onto necklaces to sell to tourists. So eventually those big sharks, they went away, relocating to different waters to avoid mass extinction. And for the other big fish, this was a good thing, they were prospering. They fed on the bottom feeders that kept the reefs clean and they got fat and happy, and everything was good for them. Except now the eco system was suffering, algae was overtaking the coral reefs because without the big sharks consuming the predatory fish, the smaller fish were also facing extinction and couldn't do their job. The ocean was overpopulated with a bunch of pointless, mediocre fish. Without the big sharks, the poachers were forced to look elsewhere before ultimately they were criminalized to the point where they weren't permitted those waters any longer and by 2008 a total fishing ban was introduced in northern Australia with the strictest of enforcement. But then, a few years later, something miraculous happened. Almost as if they sensed a state of decay, as if the ocean was crying out for them to come back, the big sharks returned to these reefs. And when they did, it was open season, friends and family. All those fat, happy fish that benefited from the sharks absence, they were now easy prey, as they had become overgrown, lazy, complacent and devoid of their instinctual survival skills. It was then, at the first sight of the returning shark, that that these inferior creatures remembered exactly what they were once upon a time, and what they were always destined to be whenever the shark came back. They were shark food. Plain and simple. And one by one, these big fish felt the cruel jaws of God's greatest killing machines clamping down on their fat, worthless bodies, they were then reminded of two harsh truths in their final moments. One, that they were completely helpless to the hunger that drives the shark, and two, any ownership or dominance they had over these waters was nothing more than a false sense of security that was afforded to them by the mere fact that shark had one time went away. But the shark never stays away for long.


    A 9-foot Sand Tiger Shark swims above Kennedy and the blacktip reef sharks to Kennedy's left scurry off, almost as if his story resonated with him and the site of the predator above gave them a sense of impending dread.


    Chris Kennedy: And so, an FWA without Chris Kennedy is like an ocean without sharks. An FWA without Chris Kennedy is how you get Dave Sullivan and Michael Garcia as world champions, it's how you get Dollar Store Chris Kennedy knock-offs like Michelle von Horrowitz and it's how you get big fish like Cyrus Truth slumming it in the midcard because they've lost their survival skills. An FWA without Chris Kennedy is how you get an entire ecosystem descending into a state of disarray, crying out for help from God's great killing machine to come and save it. Sure, it's not at all lost on me that there are many out there in that locker room that would argue that the FWA is in a pretty good place right now, those same bottom feeders watching the FWA network at this very moment taking great offense to the words coming out of my mouth, seething with absolute weapon-grade rage at me no-selling the whole damn lot of them as they take to Discord and Facebook to furiously peck away at their keyboards in a futile attempt to discredit what I'm saying, but those would be the same people who were reveling in my absence because for the first time in their pathetic, meager lives, they were someone, they were accomplishing big things, they were finally able to eat, and try as they might to discredit what I'm saying, they know in their hearts that they can't, they know that I'm saying is unquestionably the God's honest truth, and on the last episode of Fight Night when I came back, I forced every one of them to reconcile this truth, and that's hard for them. There's one man so in denial about that revelation that he stepped out to answer my call, and that man was Krash. For that, he has my respect, sure. But earning my respect isn't going to stop me from super-kicking his fucking head off come Back in Business and you know that I will, of course you do. I have a lot to say about Krash, and I could go on and on about The Moustached Maverick but I'm going to save that for Back in Business. Instead, tonight I turn my attention to Krash's tag team partner, one half of the Gang Stars, Alyster Black.



    Kennedy leans his back against the glass and pulls out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, ignoring the aquarium's loosely enforced No-Smoking policy as he brings one to his lips and lights up. After all, this is Las Vegas, and even here in the aquarium, "No Smoking" is more of a suggestion than an outright rule. And even if it was, who would stop him? The aquarium employee who asked him for an autograph five minutes ago, or The aquarium employee who was just smoking one in the lobby before Kennedy entered? The answer is no one. Much like the Great White Shark who isn't held in captivity in any aquarium across the world because they can't be properly contained and controlled, Chris Kennedy does what the fuck he wants.


    Chris Kennedy: Alyster Black is another man upholding the time honored tradition of only having one or two matches at Back in Business and claiming to have a Back in Business undefeated streak. This is something I've always found amusing. Claiming to have an undefeated streak when you've only had one match, while technically true, is a statistic that's about as impressive as his 13-10 Win-Loss record. That's absolutely fucking heartbreaking, man. I could go on and on about how in my first three years in the FWA I only lost small handful of times between Fight Night and PPV's including taggers and multi-man matches, or that I beat the then-FWA Champion in my debut match back in 2010, while Alyster Black choked the moment he found himself in the ring with the FWA Champion when his time came, sure, I could spend an excessive amount of time talking about that but instead of explaining ad nauseam why my dick is significantly bigger than his, I'm going to look at who Alyster Black is, rather than what he isn't, because after all it's painfully unfair to compare him to Chris Kennedy, there is only one Chris Kennedy and after I'm dead and buried there will never be another Chris Kennedy, man. Love it or hate it, admit it proudly or deny it loudly, everyone listening to this knows it's true.


    So then, who is Alyster Black? Is he a fierce competitor who has simply not yet lived up to his full potential? Is he a man who found big success in the small pond that was the CWA, only to flounder in the vast ocean that is the FWA? Perhaps he's both. Perhaps he's neither. Perhaps he's just an insignificant little speck who, despite pushing 40 years old, is just a scared little boy hiding behind a mask because he's afraid to show his cards, afraid to let the world see that ghastly fear in his eyes every time his theme song plays and he walks down the ramp secretly looking like a deer in headlights as he marches towards his impending doom like the lemming that he is. Maybe he wears that mask because he's so ugly that the few friends he actually has abstains from drinking alcohol out of sheer fear that they might end up seeing two of him. And let's talk about Alyster Black's friends, why don't we? There is of course my upcoming opponent Krash, who by the way, for being being someone that identifies themselves as Alyster Black's best friend, is a guy who sure does love beating the absolute dogshit out of Alyster Black every time they meet in the ring, so part of me questions the strength of their friendship in the first place but I've already said all that I wish to say about Krash so let's talk about Alyster Black's only other friend in this whole god-forsaken world, his former tag team partner and the mother of my child, Gabrielle.


    I'm not going to beat around the bush. Gabrielle means a lot to me. She always has, and the fact that there is a whole-ass human being walking around out there that is half Chris Kennedy and half Gabrielle, means she'll always mean a lot to me and she'll always be a pivotal part of my world. Alyster Black has been a good friend to Gabrielle, he's never degraded her in the same manner others around here have and he was there for her when no one else was. For that, in that regard at least, Alyster Black has my respect. But that respect goes out the window when the house lights go out and my theme song hits the arena's PA system, and I strut my ass down that ring. I've entered that squared circle with a ton of men I respected more than Alyster Black and the result is always the same. Superkick. Pinfall. One Two Three. Chris Kennedy wins. And if, by chance, the angel on my shoulder that looks like Gabrielle is telling me "Go easy on him, Chris. He's a friend of your ex-wife and he means a lot to her" then I promise you that the devil on my other shoulder that looks like Chris Kennedy is even louder and he's talking so loudly over her that all we'll hear is him saying "Snuff him out, dude. Kill him on the spot. Superkick is too merciful, lock him in a Kennedy Curse and make him tap or break his fucking neck in the process if he finally decides to show a little resilience." But Alyster Black needn't worry about that devil on my shoulder because I know my own strength, and I know that I don't dislike him enough to hit him with the full barrage of what I'm capable of and instead will offer him some semblance of mercy by way of a Bittersweet Chin Symphony and a pinfall defeat. Alyster Black was fortunate enough to avoid having his face carved up by Devin Golden last week and by the grace of the gods, I will extend the same mercy. The important thing for Alyster Black to remember is that he is going to, without a shadow of a doubt, lose this match, and there is no shame in losing to Chris Kennedy, not at all. Better men than Alyster Black have fallen to me, many of those men, such as your Cyrus Truths and your Dave Sullivans, have lost to me and have taken it on the chin and Alyster Black will learn to do the same, even if it's something that he'll struggle to cope with.



    Kennedy pauses a bit after mentioning Dave Sullivan. Memories of the Anniversary Show start to flood Kennedy's mind, and he's reminded of the gut-wrenching disgust he felt in losing a match to a man that he'd already beaten in the past, a man who had already defeated the best in the business to earn his spot among the top of the card, and Kennedy begins to see the irony in telling Alyster Black to take his impending defeat on the chin when the loss to Sullivan is what renewed Kennedy's focus and vigor.


    Chris Kennedy: And when Alyster Black loses to Chris Kennedy, he'll be better for it, you'll see. He'll have come face to face with true greatness and he'll recalibrate himself to be a better Alyster Black. I'm a firm believer in the old adage, "whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Everything in him, every fiber of his being will tell him to hate me for that when he should be thanking me. It was about 7 or so months ago that I came back for a one-and-done match with Dave Sullivan. Losing that match was a devastating blow to my ego, because I honestly didn't care about that match at the time, it meant nothing to me and in turn I gave nothing in effort. I was so confident in my ability to beat Dave Sullivan as I'd done in the past, that I only gave him 25% and I'll be completely honest with everyone, losing that match was a sobering experience unlike anything I've encountered, but it stands as a testament as to why I can't and won't lose any more going forward, why I can only strive for perfection. As sure as the sun is going to set tomorrow morning, I'm going to win EVERY single match I'm ever placed in from here on out, by hook or by crook I'm going to make good on my promise to run absolutely roughshod over everyone on the roster. It took me going back to Japan, the country where I started my career, to find myself and put my career in perspective. I was foolish enough to think I'd accomplished everything thing there was to accomplish and that I'd had enough, because the reality is that for men like Chris Kennedy THERE IS NEVER ENOUGH. I won't rest until I'm the 6 time FWA World Champion, until I'm 9-0 at Back in Business, 10-0 at Back in Business, 11-0 at Back in Business, and so on and so forth. It's because I now I realize that one, two, five championships isn't enough, it will NEVER be enough, and a great white shark doesn't stop hunting one he's had his meal, he just thinks about the next fucking meal and it's for that reason alone that I am hungrier now than I was when I first stepped foot into the FWA 11 years ago, and that's why Alyster Black has no chance of winning this match. It's why Alyster Black had already lost this match before it started, he's wading through my waters, helpless as can be and it's been a long time since I've eaten.


    But what does Alyster Black have to lose? Sure, beating Chris Kennedy prior to Back in Business will look real good on him going into his match with whoever the fuck the FWA management couldn't find something else to do with at Back in Business, but when he inevitably loses to me, he'll just be another number among the fallen and this loss won't matter to him among his several other losses that seem to keep racking up. The ironic part is, even through Alyster Black is a complete nobody compared to Chris Kennedy, I have EVERYTHING to lose, lest I make myself a liar. Because beating Alyster Black is my first step in stifling the naysayers who keep asking me if I've still got it, the ones who have forgotten what I'm capable of in that ring. And if I can't beat Alyster Black, then how on God's green earth could I hope to defeat Krash at Back in Business? I'm not going to do that to myself, man. I can't.


    Chris Kennedy let's out a pained sigh after saying that last bit. He knows it to be true, he believes every word of he's selling as he takes a long pull from his cigarette.



    Chris Kennedy: No, Alyster Black won't be defeating Chris Kennedy on Fight Night. Alyster Black is going to give a sweet, passionate kiss to the bottom of my boot as a Bittersweet Chin Symphony cracks his fucking neck and separates it from his spinal column. And when it happens, I want Krash watching. I want Dave Sullivan watching. Cyrus Truth, Mike Parr, Danny Toner, Devin Golden, Michael Garcia, the whole locker room, the whole fucking lot of them. I want them all to remember those prosperous times before the shark back and declared open season on every pretender taking residence in his waters because I want them to recalibrate accordingly, because going forward I'm going to need management to feed me bigger fish than whatever hell Alyster Black is, you all have to understand that. Fight Night is just the beginning. Back in Business is just a formality stone and everyone else between me and the FWA Championship is just stepping stone on my path to glory.


    Kennedy cracks a smirk as he envisions himself reclaiming his rightful place atop the FWA. He makes eye contact with us and looks at us like a man possessed, his eyes overcome with such fierce intensity, energy, and enthusiasm that he almost seems to be under the influence of forces supernatural.


    Chris Kennedy: My path back to the top. So that's the long-and-short of it man. Alyster Black, fish food. Chris Kennedy, the big bad shark. And you know, despite what you see in the movies, sharks are not inherently evil, nor are they necessarily good. They are God's great killing machines, no doubt, but their blood rage is simply an evolutionary facet of their survivalist instincts. They are the biggest fish out there, and therefore they must consume everything they come across. Everyone keeps asking "When are we going to see Chris Kennedy snap and revert to his evil ways" and that's so fucking interesting to me because over the course of my career, I've played the hero, and I've played the villain. If this was a world of make-believe maybe that's a question that would hold some sort of relevance but in the real world everything isn't so black-and-white. The reality is, I am who I am and that's all I've ever been. Make no mistake, I'm the good guy, but I'm a very bad man, and any one of you who finds themselves on the business end of a Bittersweet Chin Symphony is going to learn that the hard way when I super-kick their fucking heads off. School is in session, and on Fight Night, eager beaver that he is, Alyster Black will be the first one to show up to class, and as such, his reward will be...bittersweet.

    But in the meantime, Alyster Black, grumpy little cockroach that he is, should learn to appreciate his life. Because after all, it's like I said earlier, we never truly appreciate life until it's about to be snuffed out.


    Chris Kennedy takes a final drag of his cigarette before flicking it toward us and then turning his back to us once more and pressing his hand against the aquarium glass in the exact same position we found him in, watching the beautiful creatures before him go about their business as he prepares to do the same.






  14. #14
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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

    Alyster Black found himself standing in the living room of his family home. Alone, accompanied only by the sound of creaking floorboards, noisy pipes and the occasional scuttering of some small creature. It was a familiar setting in spite of the fact that he hadnít stepped foot there in decades. Everything looked just as he remembered it. The cigarette burn studded couch with a small blanket thrown over it to hide said burns, the shag round carpet that covered the cold warped floorboards. The ugly light ornaments that hung from the ceiling were supposed to look like miniature gold chandeliers but the metal was rusted and bent out of shape and only one of the five globes worked. Overall the house was bland and inspired memories that filled the masked man with indifference.

    He wandered through the halls of the double story family home. Tracing his finger over the wood panel walls. When he pulled his finger away to inspect it was covered in a thick layer of dust. He wiped said finger on his pants and stopped for a brief moment to stare at a family portrait. There he was front and centre, wearing his signature mask, with his father standing behind him, also wearing an Alyster Black mask, mother and sister beside them, also wearing masks. He let out a sigh and moved on.

    Stepping into the kitchen, with a vintage 70s look. Old styled ugly green coloured refrigerator, matching bench tops and oven. A round table with a variety of swears and tags carved into it over the years, though he couldnít quite make them out, they all looked like scribbles to him. In the sink sat piles of dishes stacked high up to the ceiling. Three columns, perfectly stacked in line. Every dish the same. White ceramic with a blue floral pattern adorning the edges of them and each dish had the same chip in it. A perfect triangle right on the edge. Every dish was lined up perfectly, the chips all in a column. He could stick the tip of his index finger in the chip and trace his finger up and down the column. And he did, naturally he lost his finger tip doing so, it had been sliced clean off. There was no blood, it was perfectly healed. A small nub missing a fingernail. But that all seemed perfectly normal to him. It made perfect sense.

    As he inspected his finger his tongue licked the front of his teeth. It wriggled around in his mouth, brushing over all his teeth. Many of them were loose, particularly one of his incisors. It was a worrying sensation, he felt it might fall out at any moment. He turned and stepped to the corner of the room, to an out of place white marble spiral staircase that led directly to his childhood bedroom. He knew that inside his room he could fix his tooth. But as he stepped foot on the first of many steps his tooth fell out. He caught it in his hand and placed it on the nub of his finger, replacing the missing tip. His tongue licked the spot with the missing tooth and found that itís neighbouring teeth were also gone.

    He ascended the stairs and opened his bedroom door. Immediately he was overcome with chills, shivering rapidly. It was cold in there, absolutely freezing. Gale force winds were tearing through the room, which was particularly odd as the windows were closed. He tried to step forward but the wind picked him up and lifted his body into the air. He was trapped, left floating as the wind spun him around and around. He managed to catch the ceiling fan above his bed and held on for a moment. The winds suddenly came to a stop and he fell down onto his bed. He closed his eyes for a moment and felt a wet sensation on his forehead. Droplets, falling from the ceiling. He opened his eyes and stared at the cause, the letters F W A carved into the ceiling and dripping blood.


    Alyster groaned and turned over. His eyes fluttered open and immediately closed again. It was too bright in here, even with the blinds drawn shut. He licked the inside of his mouth and found that all his teeth were still there. Thankfully so was his finger. He couldnít remember where he was, or even who he was. A state one usually finds themselves in after waking up from a long sleep brought on by self-medicating with alcohol. Using some context clues he realised he was in bed which was great as he was oh so very tired right now and wanted to do nothing more than fall back asleep. A pillow beneath his head, one between his legs, and gasp! No covers. He was cold, shivering even as the side of his body not laying on the bed was exposed to the elements. He reached out, trying to find the covers but alas, they were out of reach. He rolled over onto his front and howled in pain as the fresh scars on his chest rubbed up against the bedsheet. He persisted though, the bedsheets were just a fingertip away, laying on the floor. He almost had them in his grasp, he just needed to inch over a little more and got it! He pulled the covers back up over the bed, wrapping himself like a burrito, taking special care not to touch his chest, embracing the warmth

    He wondered why his chest hurt so much though. He racked his brain trying to come up with a solution and slowly but surely it started to come back to him.

    I was sitting down against the ringside steps, out of breath, in tremendous pain and unable to defend himself. Then he plunged a piece of glass into my chest. Devin Golden carved FWA into my chest!

    He traced a finger over the fresh scars, pain jolted through him but he could feel the distinct pattern of the lettering now permanently affixed into his flesh. A big bold red F, W, and A. It had scarred up perfectly, a permanent and painful reminder of what happens when you push Devin Golden too far. He rolled back onto his side and closed his eyes.

    Just forget about it and go back to sleep.

    He tried to will himself to sleep but couldnít, his mind was racing. Thoughts of Golden Rock proudly lording over Alyster, bragging about the trauma theyíve caused him, about the revenge theyíve taken. He grit his teeth and furrowed his brow.

    Yeah, well Krash and I won the match.

    He turned his face back into the pillow, ďFucking asshole.Ē His voice was muffled. Surprisingly the comment wasnít just directed at Devin Golden, no as Alyster lay there and thought about how big an asshole Devin is, another name came to mind. Maskell.

    Dan Maskell had been in the back of Alyster Blackís mind for years now. He owed Maskell a beating, he had promised him one nearly 8 years ago but due to circumstances beyond his control was never able to follow up. He tossed and turned, the bed covers tangled between his legs as he moved. It frustrated him, he tried to smooth them out but only managed to make it worse, he eventually resorted to kicking the sheets off the bed and was left cold and shivering. Fuck....

    The painful and arduous task of retrieving the covers began all over again. This time with Alyster Black muttering under his breath about how big of an asshole Dan Maskell was, and not just Dan. Devin, Randy, Garcia, Summers, Krash (at times). Another name came up in his list and he immediately regretted thinking that way.

    Gabby. Tears welled up his eyes. He hadnít seen Gabrielle in person in weeks. It was really starting to wear thin on him. He tried to reach out, he called her, he showed up at her house, he even waited around the arenas for her post Fight Night. He showed up on a show he wasnít booked on just to try and catch her. But all for naught, she was avoiding him. She was avoiding everyone close to her. But it hurt him particularly, he understood what she was going through. She should know that. She should know that avoiding him would hurt him too. He just wanted to know if she was okay and wanted to be there for her, like she was for him not so long ago. Most of all, he wanted to be able to call Carmella and tell her that her mother was okay.

    Thatís what hurt most of all. Every text and phone call addressed to ďUncle BlackĒ from that little girl, asking where her mother was. Asking if heíd seen her. Asking if she was okay. He couldnít keep telling that little girl lies, that she was fine, that she just had some issues to get through, that sheíd come home soon.

    To make matters worse, there were other texts. Texts about what sheíd seen on twitter. About a raging, misogynistic creep who was attacking Gabrielle non-stop. Who no matter how much he was told to stop, verbally and physically, just would not cease his mindless assault. A great man, a truth speaking man, once called Dan Maskell Ďpure evilí. He was right, Dan is as close to pure evil as any man has ever been. The atrocities heís committed, the complete disregard for others. He was a sociopath, he needed to be put down.

    If only Alyster had the motivation to get out of bed. Then he could get to work on putting Dan down.

    He just wanted to go back to sleep, and after a good long cry he finally managed to.

    Not for long, his phone vibrated just minutes later. He didnít want to check it. It couldnít be more important than falling back asleep was. The phone didnít stop vibrating though. Text after text, then a phone call. It must be urgent.

    Alyster turned over, facing the bedside table upon which sat his signature mask, a half-empty bottle of rum, an unopened jar of ointment, prescribed to him by his doctor, and his phone. The LEDs were flashing obnoxiously, and the rattling noise it made as it vibrated on the wooden table irritated Alyster. He reached out and grabbed his phone, pulling it in close. It took his eyes a short while to adjust before he could make out what the notifications in the top bar were.

    2 missed calls.

    4 text messages from ďCamella Kennedy.Ē

    Shit...Gabby better not have killed herselfÖI just canít right now...fuck...

    His mind raced with thoughts of the worst possible scenario. Immediately he felt awful for the thoughts that ran through his mind. Of course she hadnít killed herself, sheís a dedicated mother and one of the strongest people heíd ever met. Besides, he hadnít seen her in person in so long, how could he make that assumption? It was the mood he was in, it was always due to his mood. The worst possible outcome is the most logical when youíre tired, still drunk, and in tremendous pain.

    Quote Originally Posted by Carmella Kennedy 16:07PM
    ALY! YOUíRE WRESTLING MY DAD!


    Quote Originally Posted by Carmella Kennedy 16:08PM
    Answer the phone!


    Quote Originally Posted by Carmella Kennedy 16:11PM
    Please donít get hurt!


    Quote Originally Posted by Carmella Kennedy 16:11PM
    Please donít hurt him!


    Iím wrestling her dad? Iím wrestling Chris Kennedy!? In his big return match. Thatís interesting. Thatís very interesting.

    A loud groan filled the room as Alyster stretched his arms out. Chris Kennedy, the big return match, live on Fight Night. That is a great opportunity to get out of the rut his singles career had run into. Multiple losses to Krash, a non-stellar showing at CC. The FWA faithful werenít taking the masked man as seriously as they once were. Not like they did after heíd made his debut and went on an absolute tear, before his winning streak ended and before his world championship hopes were dashed at Mile High.

    Wait a minute...Theyíre expecting me to lose.

    The realization had just occurred to him. Why else would they book this match if not to give Kennedy momentum going into Back in Business? A win over the illustrious Krashís tag team partner? Why that would give their underhyped match a whole new edge wouldnít it? Alyster wasnít pleased with this realization. He didnít appreciate FWA using him as a stepping stone for others. Especially for someone like Chris Kennedy, someone who didnít need the rub, someone who can and should coax on his reputation.

    Fuckers...

    He stared at the text messages again.

    Donít get hurt? Even Cammy doesnít have faith in me.

    A pained sigh escaped his lips. The lack of faith in him from one of his biggest supporters hurt more than the fresh scars on his chest. But he understood where she was coming from, her Dad was arguably the greatest of all time. Whilst Alyster was the man who failed her mother in the Divisionís Classic tag team tournament.

    Fuck it all to hell. Golden Rock, the Toners, Dan Maskell, Gabby, Kennedy, CWA!

    All these ongoing threads were starting to wear thin on the masked man. The weight of every story thread was becoming unbearable. He thought back to the last time he felt this pressure. To his last days in CWA, right before the seven year hiatus that kept him out of wrestling. The issues with Krash, Dan Maskell, Shawn Summers, with his spot in the company, with his lack of opportunity. He thought of the final match with Blight. How Krash, his faithful partner, had followed him backstage. He remembered the concern Krash had for him, and the look of utter shock and betrayal as Alyster announced he wouldnít be returning.

    Does Krash see it now? Does he know how close to the edge I am again?

    The phone, held high above his face, slipped from his grasp. It landed square on his chest, right on the scars. He screamed in pain and turned to his side, clutching at his chest, kicking his feet out and hissing through gritted teeth.

    Fuck this, I canít take it anymore.

    Alyster reached for the bedside table and grabbed the unopened jar. An ointment, prescribed by his doctor. It was supposed to soothe the pain from the craving as well as prevent scarring. Alyster, ever the tough man he was, refused to use it. Prevent scarring? No, why would he want to do that? The scars would serve as a constant reminder for what he was willing to sacrifice to achieve his goals. It would serve to show Krash what he was willing to endure for the Gang Stars. And it would serve to show the world what a monster Devin Golden is.

    Alyster thought about these things and relinquished his hold over the jar. He wouldnít open it today, he wouldnít open it ever. He needed the pain, the pain helped him feel alive. The pain helped motivate him. The pain gave him a reason to want to get up out of bed and maul whoever was unlucky enough to be put in front of him next.

    Chris Kennedy.

    Alyster grabbed the rum instead.

    Chris Kennedy was a hurdle to say the least.

    The bottle cap flew off and Alyster turned the bottle upside down, pouring the high alcoholic continent down his gullet.

    Use me to get over will you? Iím not taking it lying down. You want to send Krash a message by beating me? Youíll have to give it your all.

    Alyster pressed his fingers against his chest, inflaming the scars, causing himself more pain as he drank the rum and thought about Chris Kennedy.

    Iím willing to go through this, Chris isnít. I know damn well, no one else is willing to go through what I am. No one is willing to wear the battle scars I am. No one is tougher than me. Not Devin Golden, not Dan Maskell, sure as fuck not Chris Kennedy!

    Chris Kennedy was everything that every wrestler wanted to be right? Multiple time world champion. Franchise player. He was FWA.

    The same brand that was now carved into Alysterís chest.

    To make the pain go away, heíd beat Chris Kennedy into a pulp and ruin his return.

    This made sense to him.

    Quote Originally Posted by Alyster Black 16:25PM
    Sorry Cammy, but I really need this. Iím not taking it easy on your old man. Please forgive me.

    Spoiler:




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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

    THE HERETIC MANIFESTO
    ENTRY 007


    "In the abyss"


    "This shouldn't have happened. Predators do not get beaten by their prey. That girl doesn't get to walk around and say she beat me. I always believed that in order to get where I needed to that I had to overcome some adversity. But this, I don't know what the hell this was. Did I lose sight?"

    Date: April 23rd 2021
    Time: 8:59 PM


    With a literal minute or two having passed since his shocking defeat at the hands of Lizzie Rose. A agitated and livid Dan Maskell stomps through the gorilla position and through to the hallway. His teeth gritted together and fists clenched tight, Dan can be heard muttering under his breath at himself while crew members are quick to move away from the volatile Heretic. Coming to a halt in the middle of the hallway, Dan soon finds a collection of security and officials begin to gather around him in a circle. Taking a moment to crack his knuckles, Dan smirks slightly as he looks at this large assortment of individuals.

    Dan: All of this for little old me. I'm flattered gentleman but let me just put it out here now. If we are going to do this then form an orderly queue and I'll put you down one by one!

    Fired up and seemingly ready to go, Dan's irritability soon subsides as one of the elder members of this group step forward. In his mid to late fifties this silver haired FWA official appears to be anxious as he gets in closer proximity to Dan.

    Official: Look Dan, none of us are here to fight you. We are simply here to do a job. A job which Vincent has tasked us with doing. This isn't personal or some declaration of war.

    Dan: And what job does that pencil pusher have you doing?

    Official: We've been told that we have to escort you from the building... Immediately.

    Dan: Do you really think that is going to happen? Like do you honestly think that I'll allow you to take me willingly?

    While the officials look on, Dan begins to adopt a fighting stance as he readies himself up for his next fight of the evening. As the officials begin to close in however Dan feels a hand reach for his shoulder. Quickly turning round Dan comes face to face with Ashley Martins and he seems taken aback by her presence. Mellowing out slightly as he begins to calm down from his earlier rage, Dan continues to stare at her whilst the security and officials remain present.

    Dan: Why are you here?

    Ashley: I said I'd stick around until we talked. Figured I'd catch the show being that I was waiting on you.

    Looking past Dan and at the guards and officials, Ashley quickly locks eyes with Dan once more.

    Ashley: I take it now isn't the time however.

    Slowly albeit with some clear shame in his eyes, Dan looks away from Ashley and down to the ground.

    Ashley: Will it ever be the right time? Because I can't wait around forever.

    Dan: I know... Give me tonight and I'll text you a place. Meet me there tomorrow and I'll talk. I promise.

    Taking a moment to pause as she gives Dan's request some thought. Albeit with some reluctance Ashley nods her head in agreement. With that she turns away and slowly begins to head to the exit of the building before she comes to a stop.

    Ashley: Tomorrow!

    Dan: I promise.

    While Ashley departs the building, Dan having clearly calmed down from his earlier frenzy then turns to face the officials and security. Having lowered his guard fully, Dan takes a deep sigh before shaking his head almost in a defeated fashion.

    Dan: Right, so where are we going then?

    "Is this what is causing me to lose sight? are these conflicting emotions and feelings making me weak? I suppose time will tell but for now, I guess it's time that I tell some home truths."

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    "Am I actually going to do this? I don't know what I'm personally hoping will come from this. Do I hope this will get me her back? surely that can't be what all this is for. Would she even have me back if she knew the truth about what I am?"

    Date: April 24th 2021
    Time: 9:01 AM


    Erica: Hang on a second... You've invited someone to our session?

    This is the first question asked by one Erica Abernathy out of disbelief as she sits in her office across from her patient Dan Maskell. Erica as always is dressed formally wearing a plain black blouse over a pair of blue jeans. Dan meanwhile appears to be suffering from some sleep deprivation thanks to the bags under his eyes not too mention their bloodshot appearance. Dressed in a grey hooded top as well as a pair of blue tracksuit bottoms. Dan anxiously taps his left heel up and down on the ground while he also chews away at his right index finger.

    Dan: I know it's not the norm but you said for me to open up and talk more about things. Not just with you but people like Ashley as well. I don't know if I can do this, this is so far past my comfort zone and I don't know what's going to come out. I have all this shit inside me, locked down deep and it honestly it's like I'm drowning. Like all this darkness all this rage has put me in deep water and I don't know if I'm swimming for the top or the bottom.

    While an anxious Dan's breathing begins to quicken with every second, a concerned Erica slowly nods her head before she reaches across the desk and hands Dan a small glass of water.

    Erica: It's fine.. It's unethical and definitely far from the norm. But if you really think you need this then I'll trust you. But you need to breathe.

    With that there is a knock at the door before slowly it opens and in walks Ashley. Albeit with a little trepidation on her side Ashley steps into the office and quickly shakes hands with Erica before she takes a seat on the chair next to Dan. Once she's seated Ashley looks round at Dan partly in disbelief.

    Ashley: You never told me this was a therapy session. I shouldn't be here for this.

    Erica: It's fine, myself and Dan were just talking about this. While it isn't exactly the most standard of practice I'm willing to at least give it a try. Especially in this case where we've had our setbacks at times. Isn't that right Dan?

    Having drank most of his water Dan slowly nods his head having settled his breathing down.

    Erica: So are you ready to do this?

    Looking up from the ground at Erica before he then looks to Ashley. Dan slowly nods his head in agreement before he begins to talk.

    Dan: As I'll ever be. If I'm going to do this though we are going to have to go back to that night. The night where I lost everything... I'd fought with Cameron and I'd been arrested. My dad bailed me out and he agreed to take me to the airport. This of course was under the agreement that I'd not comeback.

    "If I'm to tell this story and spill my guts. I have to take us back to the night where I pissed it all away again. Not the greatest memory for any of us I know, but I think it's time that it's out there."

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    "An admission I must make is that while I've never been the most sentimental. This moment really hit me. It was truly the end of a relationship. A family broken into pieces and it was all because of me."


    Date: April 26th 2014
    Time: 3:01 AM


    Having agreed to his father's deal about the ride to the airport. Dan on stepping out the car outside the entrance doors turns back to the car where his father Charlie remains seated. His eyes locked ahead of him with a tear still falling from his face. Charlie still seems distraught at having to say goodbye to his son once again. Dan meanwhile despite his earlier erratic behavior in the evening is now eerily calm if not perhaps in a state of shock. As he goes to the passenger seat he picks up his bag. Once he slams the door shut Dan takes his phone out of his bag and he sees a bunch of missed phone calls and texts from his tag team partner Krash. While Dan erases a bulk of them quickly his eyes quickly lock onto the last one.

    Krash: (Via Text) Hey Danny boy, really sorry to see what happened out there to you tonight. Keep your head up buddy, talk soon xo

    Dan looks at the text with annoyance before he puts his phone in his pocket. As he turns to the airport Dan on collecting himself slowly steps forward when he hears a car door slam behind him. On looking round Dan is surprised as he is snatched in a tight hug by his father.

    Charlie: I can't believe it's come to this.

    Dan: You said it yourself right... You can't bear to watch me self destruct.

    Charlie: It may not seem it as the time before it was for selfish reasons. This time round we simply want what is best for you. For whatever reason this path you are on it only ever ends badly. I don't want that for you, Cameron doesn't want that for you.. None of us want to see you die Dan. But the violence, the drink and the drugs. None of us can see you go through that. You might not right at this moment, but one day you'll understand.

    Dan: Believe it or not I already do.

    Charlie: You do?

    Dan: I always felt something buried deep down. A need which could never truly be satiated. It made me angry and it made me hateful. Things were never enough, no matter how far I come. No matter what I accomplished it always felt like it didn't truly matter. At first I blamed you for that. All the training and all the conditioning but now I know, all you did was give me a purpose. For without competition I'd have fallen into the abyss a long time ago.

    Letting go of his son, Charlie keeps his hands on Dan's shoulders.

    Charlie: I hope you're wrong Dan. I sincerely do. I had my hesitations and reservations when we heard about your comeback. But for a time watching you with Cameron as well as Ashley. It truly seemed like you was at peace. Like for once in your life you'd found happiness. Yet for one reason or another this circle started again, maybe it was us rejoining your life. Perhaps it was that need for violence. This is why I'm hoping that now is your real fresh start. The CWA won't have you back unless you attend rehab, Boxing is done with you.. There is no more fight out there for you to have. So go live your life... Find happiness.

    As Charlie removes his hand from Dan's shoulders, he then slowly steps back in his Lincoln town car before he slowly drives away. Dan meanwhile turns to the airport and slowly he walks inside. Surprisingly the front desk is empty and Dan is quick to approach the lady behind the desk.

    Dan: I'm looking for the first flight out of here. Where will it take me?

    Clerk: Let me take a look.

    The clerk quickly begins to look on her computer screen before she looks up at Dan.

    Clerk: We have one spot left on a flight to Alaska.

    "If there is one thing people will always say about me. It's that I honor my word. For good or bad I standby my conviction. I will not falter in my resolve. So when I said I'd go I truly did mean for it to be forever."

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    "Of course this exile meant that there was no one to save me from my worst self. No one out there capable of stopping my demons from consuming me. It's always daunting when you stare off into the darkness long enough to feel it's cold embrace."

    Date: March 21st 2015
    Time: 18:01 PM


    Roughly 11 months have passed since Dan boarded that flight to Alaska. While at least to his father, this journey was the promise of a fresh start. As we'd see from this cold March evening this exile wasn't fortuitous. Living in a run down, wooden cabin in the woods. Dan as he would spend most of his nights was currently in the middle of a heavy alcohol binge combined with whatever pills he could find from the medicine cabinet. His home bleak with only a sofa bed and a small television in the living room, Dan is in a sorry state with his hair having grown completely out and sporting a full, unkempt beard. Drinking vodka straight out of it's bottle, Dan puts his feet up on a table filled with unopened final notices and warnings of missed payments. On the table his phone vibrates and Dan picks it up. Curiously his home screen is a picture of himself, Cameron and Ashley all together and for a brief moment he looks at it longingly. However this is interrupted by another prompt on his phone. Dan's expression turns to one of irritation as we see him check what the notification was and we see it was another of many unread messages by Krash.

    Krash: (Via Text) Hey Dan the Man, know it's been a while since we last spoke. I'm doing well just to keep you updated on how your fave tag team partner is. Still haven't heard from you. Hope you are living your best life and I'll see you around. xo

    As he glances at the phone it's literal minutes before the phone vibrates again and Dan sees yet another text from Krash. Fed up of the constant prompts or notifications, Dan launches his phone across the room and it hits the wall with force causing the phone to shatter.

    Dan: FUCK YOU.

    As he remains seated in the chair Dan continues to drink from the bottle of vodka. Clearly looking to drink his pain away, Dan soon finishes the vodka bottle and on seeing it is empty he similar to the phone throws it at the wall across from him breaking the glass into many pieces.

    Dan: For fuck sake.

    Stumbling to his feet, Dan walks over to the glass and in his state he begins to try and sweep it up. Soon however this proves costly as Dan trips up and puts his hands out to brace his fall. In doing so one of his hands lands across some of the glass on the ground. With fragments of glass in his hand, Dan lets out a grunt of pain as he slumps with his back against the wall while seated on the ground. In this position Dan slowly begins to pull fragments of glass from his bleeding hand. Blood dripping from his hand, Dan attempts to make his way to his feet as he looks to stop the bleeding. Heading over to the small sink in the corner of the room, Dan puts his hand under the tap as he begins to wash the cut.

    ???: DAN.... DAN... Can you hear me?

    Dan doesn't respond to these calls as he continues to tend to his wound. However going by his reaction he appears to be quite shaken by the sound of this voice.

    ???: I know you can hear me! You can't ignore me forever. We both know that, I'm apart of you after all.

    With an anxious gulp Dan slowly looks up from the sink. Just above the sink is a small broken mirror. Through the broken fragments that remain on the mirror, Dan steadily is able to recognize the reflection that has haunted him for a long while. In many ways resembling what Dan looks like now, the reflection is unkempt and has a look of pure disgust in it's eyes as it focuses on Dan.

    Reflection: So come on Dan are you really going to try and ignore me? We both know that never works.

    Dan: You cost me everything.

    The reflection slowly smirks an evil grim before chuckling.

    Reflection: Did I really?

    Dan: You got in my head. You caused me to make all those decisions. I lost my title. I lost my family and I lost my job all because of you.

    Reflection: Need I remind you of something Dan. I'm apart of you, I didn't cause you to do anything that you didn't already want to do. I didn't put that cocaine in your system, you did! I didn't make you lash out at those you love... YOU DID. So how about you stop trying to find excuses for what you did and simply admit that it was all you.

    Dan doesn't answer while his reflection begins to laugh maniacally.

    Reflection: You're pathetic. Trying to justify all your shit with pathetic excuses. When the simple fact is that you are a cancer to everyone who you get close to. These people don't love you, they never did. They merely tolerated you because you was useful to them. Now look at you, the second you burned out they cast you out. Just like a leper. You're all alone now Dan and you are stuck here with me!

    Shaking his head Dan having before looked away looks back at his reflection and stares into the mirror.

    Dan: I won't let you win.

    Reflection:
    I already have Dan. Look at where you are now. So how about we bring this to a logical conclusion and put this pain to rest.

    Dan: What do you mean?

    Reflection: I think it's time that you end things Dan. All this pain and hatred, you are a rabid dog and you've bitten every master that you have. It's time you be put down.

    Trembling from these words Dan looks down on the ground and spots a large shard of glass. Picking it up in his hands Dan looks back at the mirror and his reflection who is smirking.

    Dan: I won't do it. I won't let you beat me.

    Reflection: Oh but you will Dan. Because there's no one else here to stop me. It's just me and you and I'll eventfully get through.

    "There are moments in life that I have contemplated when enough was enough. I won't hide the fact that this was a moment where I'd have welcomed the end. Because at least then I'd have felt something."


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Erica: You've been hearing voices? How long has this been going on for?

    Ashley: How could you not mention this before?

    Therapy resumes as Dan just stares off into the distance with this revelation. Both Erica and Ashley meanwhile look shocked at this revelation with Ashley in particular shaken. Taking a moment to perhaps compose himself Dan finally looks up at Erica before he looks over at Ashley who puts her hand on his shoulder.

    Dan: It's tough for me to remember, but I think I first started hearing them the first time I went to prison. I was a scared kid who was thrown in a shark tank. It forced me to fight through and survive. But since then it's been different.

    Erica: How so?

    Dan: It's made me push away everyone. It's convinced that it should just be me and it nearly consumed me.

    Ashley: It's never been just you. You aren't alone, you might believe you are but you aren't. Even now both me and my dad care. Others out there care about you. You just have to be willing to see it.

    Erica: Well this does explain some things at least. Why you have pushed away or tried to so many friendships and relationships. I think this is a breakthrough of sorts. Which is why I'd like for us to do another session like this. As it's only through you talking about your issues Dan that you can overcome them.

    Ashley nods her head while Dan remains silent.

    Erica: Now is there anyone else out there Dan could possibly look to reconnect with.

    Ashley: What about Krash?

    Looking up quickly out of irritation Dan is quick to shake his head.

    Dan: Hell no. I will not deal with him again.

    Ashley: I think you have to Dan. The FWA have just announced that's who your next opponent is.

    Dan: That's fine! But I will not look to reconnect with him.. Now can we end this session please? I have a match to get ready for.

    While Ashley nods her head in approval, Erica soon also nods her head in agreement.

    Erica: We can call it there if you like and resume this talk once your match has concluded.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Date: May 14th 2021
    Time: 14:56 PM


    Dan: Are you filming?

    Fan: umm... I think so.

    Dan: What the fuck do you mean you think so? Either you are filming me or you aren't. Look at the phone and tell me!

    With his match with Krash not too long away and with news that Vincent has asked for Dan not to get to the building until match time. Dan Maskell finds himself pacing back and forth in the car park of the building when he happened across a young fan in his early twenties. Albeit using his usual charm and persuasion Dan has managed to convince the fan to hold a camera phone up so Dan can address his opponent for tonight Krash.

    Dan: So I'm outside the building because yet again I'm not being given the respect that I fucking deserve. But it's fine because if there's one thing we know it's that I will not be ignored. I do however find it ironic that I'm out here waiting to be let in when they've gone ahead and lined me up Krash as an opponent for tonight. Because for those of you who know there is no clearer cut case of predator and prey than myself and Krash.

    Dan has a smirk on his face as he looks directly into the lens of the camera.

    Dan: Now our history is quite well known. We got put together in a team as part of the CWA while he was world champion and I was the high voltage champion. We won the tag team titles and we held all the gold. But then things changed when I beat Krash for his world championship. This so called supportive friend soon showed his true colors, he wasn't happy for me. He didn't cheer for me, the only thing he wanted was for me to fall. He couldn't quite get the job done but he was damn sure happy when someone else did!

    Dan's smirk soon fades as he shakes his head out of disgust.

    Dan: When I was at my lowest he'd message me to gloat. Still putting on that fake happy go lucky charade that all you marks love. It makes me sick and any fondness that I might have had in the past for Krash soon died. Luckily for him I wasn't around then to do anything about it, however tonight is a very different story. Because tonight I get to expunge seven years of pent up and built up rage that his gloats festered inside of me. I get to unleash those negative feelings on him for all of the world to bear witness to. That includes his little buddy Alyster Black.

    Pacing back and forth with the camera trailing behind him, Dan rolls his shoulders before he continues to speak.

    Dan: I find it amusing how everyone is talking about our confrontation last week Alyster. How everyone describes us as these two combustible elements just set to collide. Yet the truth is you're just a little bitch thinking with his dick. Trying to appear the big man to Gabrielle by standing up for her. News flash you aren't the only man in the world to stand up for Gabrielle and you won't be the last. However you decided to front up on me. I honestly couldn't give a shit about your petty little grudge towards me. What matters to me however is the gall of what you did. Because let me ask you, how would you react if a rat scurried up to you? How would you respond if a cockroach wandered your way? You wouldn't be scared, you'd be disgusted. Because that is vermin and it should know it's fucking place in this world! So don't you worry Alyster, I'll be sure finish what you started. And I more than hope you are watching what I do to your little boyfriend tonight, because it'll be nothing compared to what I do to you!

    With that Dan puts his hand over the camera as the feed cuts out. In the last few seconds of audio we hear Dan address the fan.

    Dan: Now you can go... Fuck off!

    Codex
    Dan Maskell ~ Michael Bisping
    Ashley Martins ~ Diana Aggron
    Erica Abernathy ~ Holly Willoughby
    Charlie Maskell ~ Sean Pertwee





  16. #16
    Friendship King

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    Re: Fight Night: Sin City | Promo Thread

    February 3rd, 2021

    Somewhere in a quiet home in the middle of nowhere, Australia, a man knelt down in his garage/storage room, carefully rummaging through a dusty cabinet. A familiar cabinet, one that holds the man's greatest treasures in his long and storied career of travelling around the world and kicking people in the mouth. Whereas his many championships titles and trophies hung in a glass case above this cabinet, it was here, hidden away behind lock and key, where the things this man held dearest rested.

    His Connections Cabinet.

    The man trailed a thin, pale finger across the spines of the books and records locked within, searching for one novel in particular. He grazed over a thin black book, avoiding the significant coating of dust on it and ignoring the faded name stitched onto the spine, and instead wrapped his fingers around a dark blue novel. Gently taking it out of it's spot in his Connections Cabinet, the man wiped his fingers over the thin stitching, feeling the bumps and creases from when he originally created the timekeep over six years ago. As he swung the cabinet shut, he glanced at the name on the novel, frowning as years of memories, buried away, suddenly resurfaced.

    DAN MASKELL

    Coughing, the thin man shook his head, rising to his feet and entering the living room. A quick glance at the clock told him he was just in time, less than a minute away, for the release of the latest episode of one of the top wrestling Podcasts, Radio Toxicity, with the hosts of CWA alumni, Toxic Rain & Michelle Kelly. While he didn't usually listen to podcasts - more often than not he usually blanked out at some point and lost track of the conversation during an ad read - the man had been waiting for this podcast to drop ever since the announcement of who the special guest would be. Someone who had all but vanished not just from wrestling, but from the world at large without even a goodbye letter. Someone who had only recently returned to wrestling, in FWA of all places. Someone who the man was very, very familiar with. None other than the man's very own former tag team partner, Dan Maskell.

    Opening up the book of Dan Maskell to a blank page, the man sat himself down at the kitchen table and grabbed a pen, idly writing as the podcast began to play.

    03/02/21

    How long has it been since I've heard Dan Maskell? Feels like forever. Feels like far too long. Then again, Dan has never been the sentimental type - no letters, no emails. He probably changed his number too at some point. That would explain why all my texts to him never got replied to. Though I wouldn't of expected him to reply at all, really. That's not his style. Never was.

    And tonight, I'm hearing his voice for the first time in a very, very long time. How does it make me feel? What emotions do I get from the voice of someone from my past, someone I thought wouldn't come back?

    I suppose I-


    "Okay, what about a blast from your past... Krash?"

    Startled at his name being said by Toxic Rain, Krash dropped his pen, where it clattered against the floor. Quietly swearing, he left his book open as he listened intently, drumming his fingers against the table in anticipation.

    "I'm sorry... Who?"

    The drumming stopped, and the bemused expression on Krash's face turned into a stunned frown. Dan Maskell's voice on the podcast was so careful, so measured, that it was impossible to tell whether Dan was merely playing coy, or had genuinely forgotten. Or, worse of all, the suggestion that Krash mattered so little to Dan, despite everything, that he genuinely had no thoughts about the man he spent over a full year as tag team champion with.

    "Your former tag team partner in the CWA. You guys were tag team champions." Michelle Kelly clarified, ever the voice of reason, with a hint of incredulaity in her voice.

    "Oh... Him. No comment."

    Krash blinked once. Blinked twice. Paused the podcast, rewound it, and played it again.

    "No comment."

    He replayed the moment again, staring at the thumbnail in disbelief.

    "No comment."

    Krash promptly flicked the podcast off, tossing it away. It was the sheer casualness in Dan's voice, above everything else, that really twisted the knife. If there was even a smidge of... of bitterness, jealousy, disgust, literally anything that implied Dan felt something toward him, that would be better. It would hurt, but it would be alright, because if it hurt, that means it meant something. But there wasn't anything to it. A throwaway comment with as much inflection as an announcement that you've run out of milk.

    Krash stared at the unfinished entry in the book, tapping the pen against the table...

    Before closing the book without another alteration.


    Present day.

    It's a cold, bitter night, somewhere in the desert.

    A light gust of wind blew tiny grains of reddish-brown sand across the vast expanse, echoing a faint cry, a terrible whistle, through the empitness of the area, sounding both pained and mournful, yet at the same time, free and relieving. It was a land where old things go to die and young things go to watch. Rusted corpses of cars, empty husks of buildings, things left abandoned by time and life, lay cluttered around the area for miles. The only sign of life in this place was a lanky, thin man, whistling a nameless tune above the wind as he waltzed through the dunes.

    Clad in a pair of brown trousers, a tan shirt, a black waistcoat and a matching black tie, Krash was almost invisible against the equally brown, tan, and black environment. Almost. The Moustache Maverick spun idly, his carry bag thumping against a nearby shell of a sedan, as he gently nudged sand and grains from the earth, before slowly resting himself down onto the ground.

    The cry of the wind lessened ever-so-slightly, as Krash cleared his throat, his lovely moustache fluttering in the wind, his crisp black hair slicked back.

    "Ohhhh, Dannnnnny Boyyyyy..." He sang, not much of a singer, but able to carry a tune good enough.

    "The time, the time is ticking...
    From ashes to ashes, from dust to dust...
    The dream has lost, the reality is kicking...
    It's you, oh Danny, who has returned to his place of rust."

    Krash coughed twice, breaking the tune. The win had fallen silent, temporarily so, as Krash regained his bearings, and smiled a tired, dismayed smile.

    "Been a while, hasn't it, Dan?" He greeted. "How long has it been, since you upped and vanished from the lives of your friends, your family, and myself? Five, six years, right? But who's counting, honestly..."

    Krash leaned back, against the husk of the sedan. Flakes of rust chipped away and fell to the sand beneath his weight. "I remember the first time I met you." Krash continued. "Me, the CWA World Heavyweight Champion. You, my challenger. Me, the friendly, cheerful, heartbeat of CWA. You, the bitter misanthrope. A match made in heaven, some would say." He chuckled once, a listless, humorless chuckle. "I've fought dozens of people like you, Dan. Cold, hateful men, who more often than not turn out to be their own worst enemy. But something was different about you. I never really understood what, exactly. But there was this... Broken charm about you. This feeling that if I could break through your barriers to find what lied beneath, perhaps you and everyone around you would be better for it. I don't know. Maybe I was simply trying to fill the void Alyster left when he got his ankle shattered. I don't know what I was thinking - you're no Alyster, Dan. You never were and you never will be."

    A breath, a sigh of an exhale, carried away in a silent wind. "But at the time, I thought we could've made something, y'know? You and me. The Unlikely Duo. The Odd Couple. Whatever name of the week, it fit. And it worked, didn't it? Despite you openly plotting to take my CWA World Championship away from me, something about us clicked. Just like it clicked with Mike Parr, it clicked with you. And suddenly, we were the biggest thing in CWA. Champions and challengers, alike."

    Krash shifted, adjusting his position and crossing his legs, drumming a finger against his thigh. "Three hundred and eighty one days, Dan. That's how long we held the CWA Tag Team Championships. More than a full year. People were lucky to hold them for a full month, but us? We smashed it. Broke records that still stand today. We were gold, Dan. And I was still CWA World Champion during it. I have fond memories of it all. Fond, but foggy memories. But the thing about memories is they can be... misleading. A crucial component can be pushed aside so the memory serves you better. And for a long time, that's what I did."

    He blinked. Once, twice, three times. "Looking back, I knew exactly what kind of person you were, Dan. Angry. Violent. Bitter. Smug. A grade-A piece of shit who made no effort to hide it. But as time went on, as you and I ran roughshod over the world, I began to think that maybe, we had a connection. Maybe there was something. I can't say it was friendship, per se, but it was close enough to it. I mean, I attended your intervention. You remember that, Dan? When you lost yourself in your vices, your brother Ryan called me and asked me to attend, because if you won't listen to your family, maybe you'll listen to someone who might be a friend. Maybe. I don't think you did, in the end. You vanished off the face of the world without even a goodbye letter. But it was a rough time for you, y'know? I get it. You were in a tailspin. We had lost the CWA Tag Team Championships, and without that extra security blanket, your demons got the better of you, and you lost the CWA World Championship, the same one you won from me halfway through our tag title reign, less than two weeks after. Two pieces of gold, ripped from you in the timespan of two weeks. It was a lot to take in all of a sudden, wasn't it? That you very suddenly weren't Dan The Man anymore. That you were just another name on the roster. That without me trying to lift you up and support you time and time again, you floundered. You sank. And you drowned in a pit of your own vices."

    Krash exhaled a slow exhale. "I sympathize, Dan. Trust me, I've been there. When it got bleak for me, I gritted my teeth and pushed through. I dragged myself through the dirt and came out clean on the other side. What did you do, Dan? Tell me. What did you do, after you lost everything? When your family and the closest thing you had to a friend tried to support you, give you the healthy environment you needed, what happened? You ran. You slammed the door in our faces and walked off into the night, never to be seen again. A night turned into a week. A week into a month. A month into a year. A year into six. All without hearing hide nor hair of you, Dan. I was hurt, but I understood. That's important, Dan, I need you to hear that - I understood. You needed your space. You needed to find yourself. You didn't have to push away all of us to find it, though."

    There was a long pause. The wind waited silently, with baited breath, as Krash shook his head. "And for a long time, I thought that was the end of it. Someone I tried to connect with left me high and dry, again. I'm not surprised. Only disappointed. It happens enough for it to stop being a surprise. And so, I moved on. I kept building my dynasty. From CWA, to FWA, all around the world. I became more of a sensation than I ever was. Loved and praised by millions worldwide. I'm on top of the world!... And then you came back. You dragged yourself into FWA, knowing that you still have enough vile and venom in you to turn competition into mincemeat. That was a fact about you that never changed. I was looking forward to reconnecting with you, Dan. Six years, six years of unanswered messages, questions forgotten in time. But... Honestly, though, I'm surprised it took me this long... But our relationship was always rather one-sided, wasn't it?"

    The wind suddenly picked up with a harsh cry, a screech of dismay. "I was there for you, Dan. I always was. Even when I was CWA World Champion, I was there for you when you needed me. You never asked, but you didn't need to. I was there without question. I was making sure you had a reason to step outside in the morning, making sure you didn't burn the bridges you spend years building. But you were never there for me, Dan. And it's about time I realized it. For every bridge we built, there was another match in your palm ready to burn it down once I turned my back. Because when I heard that you were coming back to wrestling, a very strong part of me began to worry that maybe, you haven't changed. That you're the same bitter misanthrope I spent so much of my CWA career tied to, who can't say 'thank you' without dropping slurs in the middle of it. Who can't go for a simple night out without getting piss-drunk and making a scene. Who can't deal with people offering sympathies, offering a hand on the shoulder, because to you that's a sign of weakness, and you're anything but weak, right?"

    The wind continued to blow, but behind the rusted sedan, it didn't effect the sitting man. "But the truth is worse. I would've preferred you not changed, because I could deal with that. I could pick up where we left off, and try to build a connection once more. But the truth is, Dan, you have changed. You've gotten worse. You're gotten so much more openly toxic that I'm surprised you don't have radiation poisoning. Just look at you, look at your Twitter, look at literally any interaction you've had with anyone in FWA, and you've become an empty shell of a man. Your vices ripped your soul out, and you replaced it with apathic hatred for the world around you. I'm sure there used to be something worth digging for under your skin, some redeeming quality that only I could see. But now? What's there? What's worth digging for? Nothing. I wish I was wrong, Dan. I wish you'll prove me wrong. But I don't think you will."

    Krash sighed, a heartfelt sigh, before rummaging around in his bag, pulling out a familiar blue book, opening it up to a seemingly random page. "Not too long ago, someone asked me what I think the future holds for Dan Maskell. Not as in titles of accolades, but a more personal direction. What awaits Dan Maskell at the end of this journey he's triumphantly stomping down? What will he find after it's all said and done and there's no-one to help pick him back up from the grave he dug himself in? At the end of it all, do you think Dan Maskell will be happy with his journey, happy with the man he found himself to be?"

    Krash gently knelt the book against the rusted sedan, where it stayed open on one page, as Krash lifted himself to his feet. "Well, Dan? Do you think you'll be happy at the end of your story?"

    Krash stretched, his bones cracking, glancing down at the book once again. At the page that had sat waiting to be written on for months, ever since that fateful podcast. A page with only two words on it.

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