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Thread: Winter Wasteland promo thread

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    Winter Wasteland promo thread

    Promos are due Thursday, February 26 at midnight Pacific time, which is Friday, February 27 at 3 a.m. Eastern time and 8 a.m. British time. That gives each person seven (7) full days, and some change, to get promos in. No extensions!


    "The Golden One" Devin Golden

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


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


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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    A sacrifice... A gift... two men... they stand and they will fall... Pain, pain is a welcome distraction and it is the food of our TRADE. Can you take it? Can you take more than you can give? Can you be twisted and turned and cut open to bleed... And carry on? Do you like it? Live for it maybe? Like the cheers of the crowds, your screams will fill the air, will darken the doorstep of FWA and then, you will know...

    That pain is your friend, as misery is mine... it is not me, not I, but them who come for you. And they are cruel, they are dark and deeds of theirs are worse than any word every written, any line ever spoken... they want to hear it snap, your bones, your will... Doesn't matter in the end... But you will hurt... you will fall...

    So take it, enjoy it... Adapt to it... this is where pain lives, with me and I bring it to you, like a gift... So you will know, yes boys, you will learn that pain, like pleasure, is best inflicted slowly.

    The Man: What have you done...

    The Mask: What is required.

    The Man: You have taken from him...

    The Mask: He was willing to give.

    The Man: You were home...

    The Mask: This is where I live.

    The Man: What have you become...

    The Mask: This is who I always was.





    The Movement vs. Executive Excellence


    “We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.”


    Fade in from darkness to a straight-on look at the front of The Nameless' mask. A mask resting on a stand, the eyes dark and lifeless while a warm white light shines its countenance down from up above. It is a mask that has seen a great deal of action in Fantasy Wrestling Alliance, one that has tasted the salty crimson of blood, one that has felt the gutting effects of bitter defeat, but also the dizzying highs of success. As we pull back slowly, we find two more masks, each resting on its own display stand on either side of the first. We continue to pull back and we find two more, each differing in colors and patterns and each lined up carefully in what is soon seen to be a large glass case, a small shrine to one man. He is the owner of those masks... a man without a name... a man whose voice we soon hear. Heavy and aching for battle, the voice speaks in a strangely calm tone. One that speaks of something far worse shrouded beneath it.


    The Nameless: Masks...we all wear them. Some more literally than others, but each of us wears a mask at some point or another. You wear it to project the you that you wish was real onto the big screen, you wear it to portray a much more powerful and courageous you to someone that has you in their sights. You wear a mask because you wish to hide the truth of yourself from friends, family, even those that may hate your guts. You put on these false faces to protect yourself and each of them has seen a much different side of the world...of YOUR world. Our opponents at Winter Wasteland, each of them carries with them a mask, ready to slide it on at the first sign of insecurity or indecision. I too wear the mask and mine have seen much in their time. They have seen me in different light, different situations, they have been who I am against different enemies. This Sunday, I will don yet another, I will step into ring and I will show them that all they believe they know of me is drastically about to change.


    The man himself steps into view, his back turned to the camera, with only the lighted outline of blonde hair as a clue to his true identity. He stands in full war regalia, black trousers and gloves, which he places against the glass case as he looks inside.


    The Nameless: Every man has something that drives them. Something that pushes them above and beyond their normal efforts and encourages them to go to great lengths to satisfy this condition. For some it's personal satisfaction, for others it's the chance to prove someone else wrong. Now I've been around the block more than a few times and I've seen a great deal in my travels. And what I've found to be true is that more often than not, what drives the human condition more than anything is possession. The acquisition of material things. Some people collect stamps, some collect jewelry, some celebrities even collect children from third-world countries. [ a smirk ] In wrestling, men and women struggle and fight their hearts out to collect title belts. Not so much to win them or to be heralded as the best, but more so to just collect the belt itself. To use it in the future as a statistical reference in an argument over who's better than who. The simple fact is, as Madonna once put it in song, we live in a material world.


    He chuckles ever so slightly, his breath visible on the glass as the camera catches a glimpse of his mouth and jaw, then cuts back behind him.


    The Nameless: But perhaps none more so than the two men who will meet him us at Winter Wasteland. They'll step into the ring and fight to determine who gets to challenge the ReVelution. One look will tell you which of these three truly deserves to challenge for the gold, a chance to become the number one team in FWA. Not the unnaturally pretty Christian Quinn. [ he shook his head ] I can appreciate Quinn's frame of mind. Here's a man that comes from a very proud background. Someone who's probably used to having people cater to his every need, used to being called "sir" and "mister" by everyone around him. A man who's very comfortable in his position, mostly because the position itself is a comfortable one. I mean, he took his place next to Thomas Princeton right after returning to action...it all points to the face that Quinn's accustomed to being the big man on campus. And that attitude has come to the FWA along with him. You can hear it in his words, hell you can see it written all over his face everytime he gets in front of a camera. So when he looks at someone like Humanity or myself, he doesn't see someone who's on the same level as he is. He sees somebody that ought to be beneath him, somebody who ought to be kissing his boots just like all the other people in his little world. The Movement dominated Crossfire week after week and yet all Christian Quinn can do is turn his pointy little nose up at the thought of stepping into the ring with someone like Humanity and myself. But that's not the response he should have. The correct response when setting foot in the ring with The Movement is simple...be afraid. If you want to make it in the FWA, you have to get down and dirty. You have to be willing to get your own hands dirty in order to succeed, willing to become the most ruthless individual you possibly can so that you can survive to fight another day. Sometimes you can do that with this...


    He points to his head.


    The Nameless: Other times, you need to be willing to step down into the thick of it and leave it all out there for the entire world to see! Like him or not, you have to respect the fact that Humanity has gone through more pain and physical torment than possibly anyone else in this company's history. And I guarantee, there's not a single person in that locker room that doesn't know that HE would be the first one to get good and bloody if the situation calls for it! That's what makes him the most dominant force in wrestling today. PERIOD.


    The case slides open slowly and his gloved hand reaches inside, lifting one of the masks from its display. He then slides it on, smoothing it down on the sides and back, before turning to face the camera directly. Intense eyes burn through the mask as he glares down the barrel of the camera, his hands slowly coiling into fists.


    The Nameless: Take Danny Toner. A man who has worked hard for the things he owns and clearly, takes great pride in that fact. His personal life is filled with expensive cars, more expensive women, the finest things that MONEY can buy in this world. It's a collection of things that would immediately make most men envious, something that he himself is counting on. And while I'll admit that his collection is an impressive display of his many accomplishments, it also becomes a completely pointless exercise in the face of someone like Humanity. Because quite honestly, the number of cars in your garage or the number of designer names in your closet doesn't change the fact that he'll be going up against the most violent, demented, twisted individuals in wrestling. He'll be facing a man who's accomplishments aren't counted in material items, but rather in the looks on men's faces when they hear his name mentioned. His effectiveness is displayed by the number of men who have long since left this industry for more docile shores..simply because all their tough talk and boasting didn't prepare them for the destruction that roams these hallways. It didn't prepare them for Humanity!


    His stare curls into something of an arrogant smirk as he lifts his hand and points a single finger into the air.


    The Nameless: Toner's a man fighting for the possession of another material thing, something to stick in a trophy case somewhere next to a pricey watch or a trophy girlfriend. [ another smirk ] The Movement? We are fighting for blood. We are fighting because tearing opponents limb from limb and shortening CAREERS is what we do! That's ALL we do! That's why we are whispered in certain circles like a phantoms, like some unholy plague waiting to descend upon those unfortunate enough to find themselves across the ring from us.


    He lowers his hand, then holds the other out.


    The Nameless: Barb wire, fire, thumbtacks, glass, you name it and it's been used on Humanity at some point in time. That's his collection! The collection of scars marks that cover his body, the distortions in his face ...as a man once said, his body is a road map of pain. Something that a man with Danny Toner's complexion probably wouldn't understand. But maybe that's the whole problem with Toner. Maybe he's spent a little too much time surrounded by things that he's bought and paid for. Maybe he's spent too many hours sparring against opponents who know not to push him too hard, lest they be fired for their trouble. Danny Toner's a man that's used to winning, a man that's used to getting what he wants in life. But this time he's going to get a lot more than he bargained for when he steps into the ring against the Movement.


    He turns his back to the camera again, looking back to the glass case housing his many masks. He leans forward, pressing both hands against its smooth glass surface gently.


    The Nameless: It is THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST. Survival should be the only thing on your mind right now, gentlemen. The Movement is a force of nature, it is a walking disaster just waiting to befall anything that gets in its path. And We are the next FWA Tag Team Champions. Danny Toner backs up his claim with his possessions. Christian Quinn, with his obliviousness to the world around him. They both carry themselves like schoolyard children seeking to find their way in the world. And all the while The Movement is lurking within the shadows, ready to strike from the darkness. Ready to destroy, to brutalize, to maim both of them in one agonizing moment of violence the likes of which FWA hasn't seen in quite some time! And our claim is backed by the bodies we have left in our wake, it's backed by the men and women who have felt our rage for themselves and have been changed ever since! And after Winter Wasteland, the names of Danny Toner and Christian Quinn will be added to that list. They'll know what it means to suffer, to understand that there's far more to pain than just a word or an idea. No, there's a whole understanding beyond such terms. Pain has a name, gentlemen. It has a living, breathing face. And The Movement will be more than happy to show it to you. There's no denying the potential that Danny Toner and Christian Quinn possess. They could be diamonds in the rough just waiting to blossom. But that magical transformation? It's not happening at Winter Wasteland. What's happening is that the Movement is going to wreck shop on everything in it's path. This week, we demonstrate why the Movement is the team to be feared on FWA! Why we're the most destructive team in wrestling! Our ability is well documanted. Our talents are known throughout the wrestling world from rookies to legends and it's always the same story! Destruction... evisceration... chaos... all the good ones are there for you to choose from! And after they've finished with them, and there's nothing left but the frail broken forms of two once-promising FWA talents...we'll do what we've always done. We'll move on to the next set of victims. God help you both.


    His head lowers, pressing his forehead against the glass as well. The camera backs away, leaving The Nameless standing in front of a quickly fading square of light from the display case.


    Fade to black.
    "You only need to hang mean bastards, but mean bastards you need to hang."


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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread




    *Band Up, blasts through the P.A. system, the crowd’s reaction are mixed, and as the music plays, we don’t see anybody at the top of the ramp. After a few moments, Alessandra comes out of the back, with a huge smile on her face. Noise from the crowd dies down. As Alessandra makes her way to the ring, she takes the time to high five the fans as she walks the aisle, once reaching the ring area she high-fives the fans surrounding the ring, before climbing the stairs and stepping into the ring between the top and middle ropes. A staff member hands her a microphone.*



    Hello everybody! I want to first thank all the great people here in Moscow, I have received such a warm welcome, and everybody has been so friendly.


    *This gets a fair amount of cheers from the crowd.*


    For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Alessandra Allure, and yes, Alana is my sister. Let me just say, that only means we are related, she is not who I am. To set the record straight, I did not come to the FWA, to be her. I’m not going to sing and dance. I don’t want to work in an office, or be a manager.

    While there is nothing wrong with any of those things, it’s just not how I’m built. I have my father’s competitive spirit. That is something I can assure all of you. I love this sport, and would not have any other career. I’ve wrestled for years now, and have been in other companies, and when my shot at the big leagues finally came calling, there was no way I was going to let the opportunity pass me by to work for the best wrestling company in the industry today.



    *As the bronze skinned woman talks into the microphone, while walking along the red ring ropes in here teal and black striped wrestling outfit with black boots and her hair pulled back into a pony tail.*

    Don’t worry; I did not come out here to read off my resume to all of you, or to run down my list of accomplishments achieved in other companies. I realize today is a new day, and the first day of a new beginning, and a new chapter in my life and career.

    I want all of you to know that I intend on being a woman you all can believe in. A woman who will set out and blaze her own trail, in her own right. The FWA is full of competition at each and every level, and I look forward to measuring myself against the best this business has to offer. I don’t back down from any challenge, and that’s to say that fighting men is not a problem for me.



    *She pauses her walk on the side of the ring that faces the announcers table. Looking out upon the entire crowd and then at the announce team for a moment. Her eyes are open wide and the lighting seems to make them sparkle. The crowd seems to be giving her a bit more of a positive reaction. Although the arena is still not even half way full, and we can see people heading to their seats, the further back you look into the crowd*


    All I can tell any of you about the future is that right here later on in this very ring, you all are going to see me wrestle my first FWA match, and I am already excited. I’ll be taking on Olga the Ogre, an FWA veteran. Now I am sure this will be challenging as veterans usually are. You don’t last as long as Olga has in this business by being a no talent hack or run of the mill jobber.

    Now please don’t confuse my confidence for arrogance, but I have a feeling in my gut, that I am going to be victorious here tonight. I know what I am capable of in this ring, and I am going to come out here and fight for all of you like you have never seen a woman wrestle in this company before. Believe me when I tell you I hold nothing back, when I step in this ring, I take nothing for granted and fight every single match like it could be my last.



    *Switching the microphone from her left hand to her right, Alessandra competes her walk around the ring, and heads back to the center of it.*


    This is how I prove to myself, that I am every bit as good as I think I am. That’s how I prove to each and every great FWA fan out there, that my matches are must see and memorable. I don’t want to be a model or an actress; no I want to be a world champion wrestler. Tonight I take my first step here in the FWA. Knowing full well that this company has a long storied history of women achieving greatness is exactly why I could not pass up the opportunity to be here. I’ve been the big fish in the small pond, now I’m a big fish, finally set free in the ocean, allowing me to properly feed on bigger and better game.

    I hope you all enjoy tonight’s show; there are a lot of great matches lined up. A few even I can’t wait to see. There is always so much fun and excitement when it comes to these kinds of events. We have a woman world champion fighting two men, and I’ll let you all guess who my pick is to win that one. I certainly intend on keeping an eye on the women’s title match as well. I really love the fact that I can compete and continue to be a fan, right along with you all. Thanks again to all of you guys and I hope you all have a great time.



    *Walking closer to the side of the ring where the announce table is, she bends at the knees and places the microphone down on the ring apron. Rising she makes her way across the ring while waving and smiling at the fans. She once again steps through the top and second rope to climb back out onto the apron before making her way down the steel steps as she high fives fans as she heads back up the ramp. With Band Up, once again playing loudly through the speakers*











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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread



    San Antonio International Airport…
    2300 hours 16 February 2015



    *We see a Boeing 737 sitting just outside a large picture window, and this one looks special. The color of the plane is solid black with a red stripe down the side, which is overlaying the windows of the plane. While on the tail of the plane, we see three letters, “OTE” in white painted on the tail.

    As the scene cuts we see black boots walking over concrete, and after a moment or two we see metal steps. It then becomes clear that we are watching James climb the stairs to the awaiting open door of the plane, where a woman is standing in a navy blue outfit with a red scarf around her neck and a very big smile on her face as she sees the man approaching her.

    Attendant: Welcome aboard, Eyesnsane. We will be departing shortly now, and my name is Angelica, please let me know if you need anything.

    James smiles at the attendant as he steps in the plane, ducking his head a bit and begins to walk down the aisle of the plane. Passing Alana first who is seated close to the front and has a table in front of her and is reviewing documents of all sorts, glancing at him for only a moment, she holds up her right hand, with her palm facing James. As he passes, a grin comes over his face, as they exchange a high five, without exchanging words.

    A few rows back, but on the opposite side of the plane, James sees a familiar face, he has not seen in quite some time. Alessandra is reclined in her seat, with a powder blue blanket covering her up to her neck and is already fast asleep. James pauses here, taking time to gaze upon her, when his attention is drawn to the rear of the plane, where a flushing sound is briefly heard as a door opens and Ted steps out of the door. Ted quickly takes a seat, right at the back of the plane, and straps on his seat belt. Another smile appears on James’ face as he heads toward Ted and sits across from him at the rear of the plane.*


    James: I know this is not your first time on a plane. Are you doing ok over there?

    Ted: Yeah man, but I ain’t never been on a flight this damn long before.

    James: Awe, it will be ok and I think Alessandra has the right idea; this is the perfect chance to catch up on some sleep that will probably help you out some.


    *A mono toned ding is heard, followed by the voice of the attendant.*


    Attendant: Please fasten your seat belts as we have just been cleared for takeoff, we will only be stopping briefly in Fo Shan, China, before reaching our destination. Please use the call button if you should need anything and as a reminder, please keep your seat belts fastened as long as the captain keeps the fasten seat belt signs illuminated. Master Wong, will not be able to see you on the lay over, however he sends his best wishes, and would like you all to know that he is proud of you.


    *As the voice fades out, the plane begins to slowly roll across the tarmac as it taxis out to its runway for take off.*




    The Red Square

    28 February 2015



    I am not a lot of things. I am not the most popular guy in the company, never have been, and never will be. I’m not the strongest, but I’m not the weakest. I’ve never been a lackey or stooge for any suit walking the offices. I’ve never asked for special treatment, or any kind of hand out. Ask the bosses, and I am sure you will find I am nobody’s favorite.

    I explain things like this, because week after week. I hear one guy after another judge my career. Most of the time, I pay the rhetoric no attention what so ever. Let’s face it, win or lose we all talk our fair share of trash. The past few months being back in the FWA almost make me feel as if I have gone full circle.



    *Standing in the middle of the square, James slides his hands into the pockets of his long heavy black coat. Vapor can be seen rhythmically escaping from his nose as he breathes and from his mouth as he speaks.*


    There are guys in this company who will tell you they started from the bottom and worked their way up. They say it, because it sounds good when they do. I’m sure nobody remembers how when I started in FWA, I arrived with the ring crew, helped set up and stayed after to help break down.

    I came back a few months ago, and so did quite a few other people. The big difference is that I knew better. I knew better than to just come walking through the door acting as if I had never left. You know half the guys that came back just think they hit the pause button and that they can just pick up where they left off.

    Not me, I knew what I was coming back to as soon as they informed me I would need to put Mac over in my return match, and well we see how that worked out. That aside, Mr. Jolson thought he was going to be able to come back to fanfare. Trust me, I know a guy who is seeing something that’s not really there, when I see one.



    *As James slowly walks through the square, most people ignore him. Although there are several that glance at him awkwardly. Perhaps because they rarely see a bald man walking around outside with no hat on his head in these cold temperatures. While others are likely trying to recognize him.*


    Oh I heard all that banter, all that big talking you do, and have done. Going out of your way to ingratiate yourself to the new staff. As if your name was enough to slide back into place. As if you left some kind of lasting impression that is favorable. Drew, we did not take you all that seriously before, why would we or should we now?

    Roll this whole thing back, and when last you talked about me, you compared me to thugs and drug dealers, oh not that you are racist, right? You see, I’m working my way back up from the basement of this company. You think that you can just place yourself at the top. This is why we are here; this is why we are going to have this fight.

    Like I’ve said since before they locked that cage door a few weeks ago. My motivation goes further back, than your return. You likely do not even recall speaking to me when I first signed with the company, but I remember you. You know you were the first person I spoke to in management in this company. You also have the distinction of being the most disrespectful and condescending. Back then I put my hands on you, and I’m fired or fined or whatever little game you come up with is one I have to deal with.



    *James feels a tap on his back and turns around to see a middle aged boy standing behind him with a black sharpie maker, and an old promotional picture of Over the Edge. In fact it is so old, the picture includes, Alana, James, Killemall, and Dinorah. A huge smile appears on the face of James as he looks at the picture.*


    Boy: Простите, мистер Eyesnsane . Вы можете Пожалуйста, войдите это для меня? Я люблю FWA через его край мой любимый . Спасибо, что пришли в Россию.
    (Excuse me, Mr. Eyesnsane. Can you please sign this for me? I love FWA and Over the Edge is my favorite. Thank you for coming to Russia.)


    *Having no idea what the boy just said, James smiles and takes the marker and the picture, turning the photo over and writing on the back, “I do it all for you! Never stop believing, James”. James then hands the boy his belongings back and the boy turns with excitement and rushes back to his parents standing just a few feet away. The boy shows the autograph to his parents and they both smile and wave at James, who returns the gesture.*


    In case you’ve missed it, this business can be one hell of a teacher. Your name maybe Drew, but when fans hear the name they are not thinking of you. You walk into those corporate offices and get told to take a number. Welcome back to being just another guy on the roster. Oh, and if you still have not figured it out yet, you being a former champion is more like a bad memory, rather than a happy reflection.

    I heard the words you carefully chose those weeks ago, more importantly, I heard what you were really saying, and in part it was because you knew better. Unlike most of these snot nosed brats running around shooting their mouths off; you were fortunate to see me do it the first time. You saw me lose my first ever title shot, and then beat the hell out of everybody you tried to put between me and getting another shot. You were there when I won the title, and you saw with your own eyes each time I defended the title until you and the suits took it away.
    So you have pushed harder and harder these past few weeks, knowing full well that I am not one of the guys who talks empty words that cannot be backed up. Through it all, the most pathetic thing, is your willingness to hide behind your woman. You are so scared of me; you had her hit me in the head with a roll of quarters. You are so scared of what I may do to you when I’m pissed off that you set her up to throw coffee in my face.



    *Making a fist with his right hand he slams it into his left, heavy plumes of vapor come out of his nostrils while at the same time we see slow and steady vapor rising off of his bald head, and the veins in his neck and head seem to be bulging, and his normally hazel colored eyes almost have the look of a blazing fire.*


    Now I can take a lot. I can deal with a lot of crap, but at a certain point, you cross a line. See you have moved from being some pudgy punk in a suit trying to relive days long since gone. Two weeks ago, you became the first jackass stupid enough to decide in his head that he wants to get famous by putting me out of the business. You want to be the guy to end my career. That must be the case, but as I have maintained you should have known better.

    Sure you think all of your plans are just going to work, but did you stop for a second and say to yourself what if? How did it feel two weeks ago, when I left you laid out? While you were down there, did you think I was going to stop? Let me be clear, you may have started this fight, but I am the one, who will make you beg for it to stop.
    We all know how good I am when focused and motivated to win a match, but my plan is different tonight. You and I are past the W’s and L’s. After beating your ass three times, this is not even about pride. Tonight, is going to be an example of what happens when ego meets heart. You are one of the egos, but it past time I remind this company where its heart is.



    *He pulls open his coat, and at the same time rips open his burgundy colored button down shirt. Exposing his chest and poking himself at his own heart. On lookers and passersby, have stopped and are looking at the man almost screaming in English, in the middle of Red Square.*


    It lives and it beat right here in this chest, you must have me all ******* up in your head. I’m the man who challenged Wolf to a Lion’s den match, I’ve gone to war with Kennedy, and earned at least the in ring respect of the Snake. Yet somehow through all of that, you seriously think you are equipped to take me out. Better men than you have tried, and as you can see, I’m still here. And as long as this heart still beats, this body still fights!











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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    I'm God... Your God...
    At Least The Only One That's Listening




    Brian: Wh-what... Where am I...? Why does my head hurt..?

    T
    he next thing he knew he was at the bottom of the pool... red streams were flowing from the back of his head upwards. He was groggy, and couldn't move. He soon realized what has happening and screamed mightily, but no one could hear... he was underwater. The only thing that came out were air bubbles. Brian didn't know how to swim, was bleeding, and was drowning. He was beginning to be desperate, but his body simply wouldn't move... he began to grow cold... The last thing he saw was a shadow coming at him...

    Brian:
    Death...............................?

    A faint voice was in his head... he thought he was dead... but this voice nagged at him... it sounded like himself... but a darker version...


    ???: No. I'm not death. Well, I am, but that's not the point. You aren't dying, so open your eyes.

    Brian slowly opened up his eyes slowly. He looked around him in utter shock... there was nothing... just... darkness. The only light came from small specks, and the only object he could see was a stone picnic table... and a cloaked figure wielding a Scythe.

    Brian:
    What the hell!? Where am I!?

    The voice got closer, seemingly inside of him, yet outside him... The figure turned its head to him and motioned at him.

    ???:
    Well, putting it bluntly, you're in hell. You aren't dead so don't worry... well not yet at least. Right now you're in an ambulance.

    Brian shook his head furiously. What!? HELL!? How was that even conceivable for Brian! He didn't do any wrong... he didn't... but... what...? Maybe it's a dream, he was thinking in his head. Yeah, a dream. He's not dead, because he's dreaming! Yeah...

    Brian:
    This has to be some sort of dream! Hell can't exist and you know it!

    The voice grumbled indecipherable words and sighed loudly as the figure shook its head silently and solemnly.

    ???:
    You aren't the sharpest tool in the drawer, are ya... Tell me, have you ever wondered why it is that people come back from death? Oh yeah, there's something at play, and it's because whichever god you choose to believe in is listening.

    Brian took a few steps back, holding his hands on his face and shaking violently. He just couldn't believe his ears. He knew some people got lucky, but that explanation had to be a lie, it had to be! God doesn't exist... or...

    Brian:
    W-wait... th-then does th-that mean you are... n-no fucking way! You're j-joking!

    Brian couldn't believe his ears and eyes. Was this truly hell? Is the voice talking to him really God or is this all just a fantasy and a dream? Brian couldn't decipher it. He just couldn't comprehend what was happening to him. The figure stood and towered over the teenage boy like a house against a skyscraper.

    ???:
    You were going to say God? Well, in some men's eye, yes; I am God. In other people's view? I'm Death. Would you believe me if I told you there's people that think I'm both? Haha, of course you wouldn't. But here I am, plain as day; I'm God. Well... Your God...

    At least the only one that's listening to you, so at least cheer the fuck up and put a smile on that damn mug of yours. Sit down.


    (Humanity: It's true... I was the only "God" listening to him. He needed someone there for him... and lookie who it was who came to his aid. Not the Lord, not Brahma, not Zues, not Baha, not Waheguru... Me.)

    Brian was quiet. He didn't understand anything that was happening. He only did what was asked of him and sat down. The figure shifted forwards, its bony hands clasping the hood of his cloak.

    ???:
    Now then. I'm here... because I need you, and you need me. We need each other you see.

    Brian gave a look of doubt and disbelief at the figure. Why would God need help? Or is it death? Or is any of this fucking shit happening!? Brian just couldn't understand anything that was going on... But that statement the voice made, he didn't trust it especially.

    Brian:
    B-bullshit! You just said you were death! What the hell do you need me for!?

    The voice chuckled loudly at his statement. The figure sat back and nodded its head, as if eager to give an explanation for itself.

    ???:
    Remember, I told you some call me Death, some call me God. I'll even entertain you as to why I need you son. But let's be frank. You need me more than I need you. Without me you're dead; plain and simple, that's out in the air, and you definitely want to be alive don't you? You *just* made a new friend after all! And your parents... poor fellows... losing a son in a horrid car accident... now losing another son in a drowning. Sure would be a shame.

    The voice sounded like it was mocking him, but... Brian remained quiet, he looked down, thinking about Wendy and what would happen if he actually died... What about his parents even? They would have a fit! Not only that they'd be losing yet another son! Brian didn't want to have to put them through that again... The voice decided to continue, as the figure leaned in closely.

    ???: Now what do I need you for? Well, simple really. I need to get out of here. This place, Hell, it's not for me. I need an escape dammit. This is the only way, son. I use you as a harbinger, and you use my powers to stay alive... and you don't need to be afraid of bullies anymore... you'll be stronger, more powerful, tougher than before. I guarantee it.

    Brian didn't know what to think, on one hand he didn't want to die... but on the other he couldn't trust this voice, this figure... What choice did he have though...

    (Humanity: What I've done with Brian is truly an act of my powers. I turned him from death, and I made him the most dominant force you will ever see... Rondo learned it, even if he sneaked a lousy victory. He could not face us directly, instead, he had to sneak a roll up... now doesn't that reek of desperation? Here though... Brian couldn't sneak anything on me... I'm all knowing, but a human body holds my powers back, but that doesn't mean I can't give life, just the same as it doesn't mean I can't... take... life.

    Where is Rondo now however? His partner has forsaken him. It appears the same might just happen to Executive Action. Both of you have selfish desires behind that mask of teamwork... but you are simply waiting for the chance to get ahead of your partner... I know how it works... Just you see...)


    ???:
    What's the price for your life?

    The figure points at his chest with its bony fingers. Brian looked down, but saw nothing... what was the figure and voice getting at?

    ???:
    Simple... your soul... but at the price of my true freedom, I will be stuck within you... but at least it beats being here... right?

    Brian widened his eyes in shock, nearly falling off the bench, the figure standing and looming over him. It stuck its hand out, as if wanting to help him up.

    ???:
    Come on... it'll just be us two... together you can live and be strong, and I can be free...

    Brian sat there, on the ground for a moment, he didn't know what to do... but he knew there was only one thing he *could* do... The figure leaned down, grasping the hood of its cloak and pulling it off from itself...

    Brian:
    Y-you're me!

    Brian crawled away quickly in fright, the figure was indeed Brian... a much older and darker version of himself, much like... we see now...

    ???: Yes, I'm you. You shouldn't be surprised my boy... after all, I'm a reflection of what you can be if you join me... I'm man-made after all...

    (Humanity: Man-made. That's a very important thing to remember, FWA. God's and Effigy's of Death are all created within the helm of the creative mind. There are those that choose to worship them, and those who wish to despise them, but you know what? Either way, you are creating facsimile's of what God and Death is. I am reality, plain and simple.

    Just like Quinn and Toner, I have my own rules, my own codes to live by... However... There's people who will bunch me in with the rest of my Movement... They will call me the leader of the freaks. Lord of the Flies, it would seem. However, those in my group, Syn and Nightmare... they were born that way... Lucian was pushed into that spot by the Nameless, but I..?

    I was created by you people. Every single one of you had a part in my birth, and Brian is my harbinger. You could say he lost his mind, but that isn't quite true... the fact is... He gained a mind. My mind. What am I? I'm more than just Brian. I'm what he became. I'm what you've done to him! So don't you sit there and say that we brought this on ourselves!!! We came together because people were cruel and unjust to the poor boy... just as they are now, with you "fans" and fellow workers doing it to him...)


    People see me and either bow down or cower in fear, but either way, they created me, but I must escape this place. Together, we can do great, great, things.

    Brian's older self held out his hand again, smiling in a very dark manner.

    Brian: . . . So I'll keep on living?

    Brian's old self nods very slowly.

    ???:
    And you'll be stronger than ever.

    Brian hesitated. He didn't know what he was about to get into, nor did he want to know, but he had to. For his family, friends, and himself. He wanted to live! He took his hand and clasped it against his older self's paw. The older self laughed whimsically as a bright white light flashed, blinding Brian. He couldn't see a thing, but voices were filling his head, he screamed as he suddenly felt like his heart was being torn from his body. Suddenly... all the pain stopped...

    (Humanity: That was when my plan came to fruition. You see, Brian was such a weakling back then... but I made him stronger. What was his price though? His soul. I however cannot completely escape. I'm stuck with him, and what you see now is a mere fraction of my power. Pity you people see me as Brian. He and I... are different, yet the same body. I am not Brian. I... am Humanity: The Effigy of Death. I am God, and Death, and both. I am your nightmares, but you shrug me off like I'm nothing until it's too late. That is how Executive Action will roll of course. I pity them... They will continue to try and be with "the boss" in order to gain what they wish, but Brian? he had no dreams, no wishes, no wants... he just was here... What kind of existence is that? To be created with no purpose...

    That's the life Brian lived... now there is a purpose... My wish, my want, my dream, is to show everyone Brian's pain... Winter Wasteland is very much accurate... For Brian's heart is cold not from himself, but from what others have done to him.
    Here, is a major battlefield... however...

    It's the little battlefields, a pond, the bedrooms, the school yard, that leave the biggest scars...)


    Brian opened his eyes slowly... He saw white. A white ceiling, actually. Noises starting fading in, as a beeping machine could be audibly heard right next to him. He looked down at his arm, feeling slight discomfort, only to find an intravenous needle stuck in him, pumping fluids into his body. It was at that moment he realized where he was... in the Hospital...

    To Be Continued...

  6. #6
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread


    The Fighting Irish

    The embedded video is a hype video package. The screen is black and it’s just a spot-light on Adam Bonnie in his fighting trunks. “Rocky Road to Dublin” plays softly as the music for the video. It shows him shadow boxing and throwing impressive kicks as a voice-over becomes the main audio in the video.

    *ADAM*BONNIE*

    “Ye know wha? I don’t need some fancy bleedin’ press conference. I don’t need some lil tart of an interviewer standin’ here askin’ me boring questions, tryna fill the air-time. I know what questions are bein’ asked and I know what yis wanna hear. I made a promise when I signed for FWA, sorry, not a promise, a vow. A vow that I would rid Crossfire of all the monsters and fiends runnin’ a muck around here. I made a statement that I was the best fighter in the World. I said nobody was better than me and that no man, woman or anything in between would be safe from the wrath of The Infamous Adam Bonnie. Well I can stand here today, a man and say I haven’t made good on any of that. I haven’t done any of the things I said I was goin’ to do. Let’s have a little look at the career, thus far, of Adam Bonnie. It all started against that albino freak, Lucian Ace. An’ let’s not lie about things here lads, I actually beat him. I kicked him so hard in the face that he couldn’t get up for a five count, never mind a three count. Then, all the monsters came crawlin’ out from the dark, slithering to the ring, you know who I’m talkin’ about, The Movement. They cost me my debut and I wasn’t goin’ to be quick forgettin’ it. Then, surprise, surprise, it comes to light that Lucian is knockin’ around with The Movement, they are buds. Go figure. The followin’ Crossfire, that lil weirdo Lucian had a match with Alistair A. Williams – a strange fella in his own right – and The Movement again brutally struck, throwin’ Williams into the production zone. I’d a little bit of measure there for the takin’ that night against Humanity but he was eventually able to keep me down. I can hold me hand up and say I didn’t know what to expect fightin’ with weapons involved and he was able to brutalize me enough to get the win. At the house show, poor old Alistair got screwed over by The Movement again but this time I knew what it was like to be hit with a steel chair, have your face grinded against a grater and get put through a table, so this time, Humanity couldn’t keep me down. He couldn’t beat me when it came to a fight I fully understood the implications of. Nobody can beat me in a fight when I know what the rules are.”

    Adam Bonnie says the last line with conviction, as if he’s sending a direct message. In the video package he sniffs, clearing his nostrils, before spitting on the ground in disgust. We get a close-up of his face and we see his steely eyes, small scares dancing around them and the wonky bridge of his nose. The voiceover plays once more.

    *ADAM*BONINE*

    “I’d shown Humanity that if he wants to get inovled in the affairs of The Infamous, he’s going to get his teeth kicked down his throat. Anyone gets involved with me and they have to know they are going in for a rock, they have to know there WILL be a fight. This is where my issue arises with you Mister Williams. Are ye thick? Or are ye just lookin’ to give your dentist a bitta work? Cause one way or the other, you’re lookin’ for me to readjust your teeth for ye bud. The first time I seen Lucian Ace after he screwed me in my debut, I was always gonna go for him. Surely ye knew that? And surely ye knew if you got in me way, ye were gunna be trampled over! I saw Ace with his stupid bleedin’ hair all over the place fightin’ you and I came down to handle a bit of business. A bit of MY personal business. I started hookin’ the head off Lucian Ace - like we all know he deserves – when you decided to put yer filthy hands on me. You little tattooed covered freak! Do you not know what happens when ye lay a finger on Adam Bonnie? It means yer entering into an agreement. An agreement to pick one of three options. But this Sunday? At Winter Wasteland? Yer options have been drastically cut. At Winter Wasteland we go face to face in The Octagon. Mano y mano, and you’ve two options. You’ll submit or I’ll knock you the fuck out. You aren’t lasting three minutes, never mind three minutes bud. That’s a fact.”

    Adam Bonnie seems completely confident in what he’s saying, not an ounce of doubt in his mind despite his less than stellar record thus far on Crossfire. In the video he cranks his neck and cracks his knuckles. His rough Dublin accent again fills up the audio-bytes as “Rocky Road to Dublin” reaches its climax.


    *ADAM*BONINE*

    “Listen up Alistair, this isn’t that personal, I don’t outright hate yer guts but if I need to go through you to get at Lucian and The Movement, yer just goin’ to have to be alright with bein’ another casualty of war, something my country and your country with is all too familiar with. I’ll try and make it quick bud.”


    The screen is replaced with a split-screen image of Adam Bonnie and Alistair A. Williams, both in fighting stances and attire. A deep Bruce Buffer-esque voice comes over as a narration.

    NARRATOR

    “Bonnie versus Williams, Ireland versus England, Winter Wasteland pre-show, LIVE in The Octagon.”

    *ADAM*BONINE*

    “You’ll never beat the Irish. The hunt is on.”

    The camera zooms out and Adam Bonnie is in a fighting stance, more ready than ever to take on Williams in the arena he feels most comfortable in – The Octagon.



    Fade to black with voice-clips of fans chanting “Ole! Ole! Ole! Ole!”
    Last edited by Tig; 02-24-2015 at 03:15 PM.

  7. #7
    Striving for a B+ in life
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    Four months were needed to go from unknown potential to household name.

    Four minutes was all it took for the world's best wrestler to take it all away.

    They say it's lonely at the top. It's worse after falling to the bottom.

    The bottom is where we find Shannon O'Neal.










    Dead Champ Walking
    By THE MASKED MAN



    Most wrestlers groomed themselves in gymnasiums, dungeons, under the expertise of former champions in the business. They learn not only the perfectly timed moves, the power mixed with speed and technicality, but charisma. They learn how to connect with those watching in person, and through a 1,000-pixel screen. They learn how to walk, how to talk, how to look. They are taught how to smile, how to snicker, how to grin, how to show sadness. They are taught to connect, to make people care.

    Most learn this from those who've already done it. They learn how to make themselves be someone else.

    The Shannon O'Neal on Fight Night each week is the real Shannon O'Neal.

    Her happiness isn't concocted, perpetuated or created. It's pure. Same with her anger, disdain, disappointment and sadness.

    Definitely her sadness. When she's broken, she's broken. There is no "acting," as some call professional wrestling. She doesn't need to channel anything. She is simply Shannon O'Neal -- her real name, by the way. When she's sad, she's sad.

    She's sad quite a lot right now.

    It was beautifully executed. Gabrielle Montgomery, the long-time fan favorite in the FWA, went pure ***hole. She made it a point to do whatever necessary to win the match the Fight Night following Trial By Fire, and she did just that. In the process, the reigning FWA Undisputed World Champion made most people watching despise her. She knew this would happen; she planned it.

    What she wasn't sure of, and didn't really care about, was whether people would sympathize for Shannon O'Neal. Would they find her, the person who claimed herself a "martyr" for so long and toyed with the fans' emotions about reality and fantasy, appealing as a down-and-out challenger put down like a rebel fighting tyranny? The answer was most certainly "yes."

    But the cheers, the chants and smiles and generous support, didn't bring the FWA Women's Champion back to life. She was dead inside, beaten down and stripped of all hope for something "greater." She for long pledged -- and truly believed -- there was change to be had. She could influence a new landscape in the FWA, where Gabrielle Montgomery ruled and everyone else followed in line for "second place." She felt there was a way to change that, to level the playing field and disregard all preconceived notions about hierarchy. Shannon may have gone about it the wrong way, but she had the best of intentions.

    When she was beaten and nearly had her career end, she felt there was no level she could reach to ignite such change. She did a little, by beating Gabrielle at Trial By Fire, but she didn't do enough.


    "I didn't do enough," she said early in the interview.

    That was a recurring theme, and one many people tried telling her was wrong. Now...if she loses to Zoey Ellis, then she's absolutely correct.


    *********************


    "Help me help you."

    Those were the words Jack of Diamonds said to Shannon O'Neal after the most recent Fight Night, where the Women's Champion walked to the ring and told everyone it "wasn't OK" despite her saying the opposite for weeks. Jack of Diamonds was there to greet Shannon, with a warm smile and a helpful intention. But Shannon couldn't help Jack help her. She shut down.

    "Ya' ain't me," Shannon recalls saying to Jack after the show. "Ya' ain't know my disappointment. I believed I could do somethin'. Then I failed."

    Jack of Diamonds, though, knows all too well what Shannon feels. It's that feeling of disappointment in yourself for not living up to your words, your promises. So many people in the FWA pledge victory, slaughter, fan appreciation, destruction, career-ending violence and every despicable or honorable act under the sun. Most don't live up to those promises; some do. Very few actually end the careers of those they say. There are plenty of empty promises in the FWA, of words that mean nothing but a good laugh or tow.

    But sometimes a promise isn't empty. Sometimes it holds an edge that the person listening feels is deeper. Sometimes people make promises that mean a little more, with a little extra weight and conviction. Jack of Diamonds has done this. And like everyone, he has not filled his guarantees. How is that known? Because he has been in the FWA long enough, been successful enough and been in big-time matches against big-time rivals to feel this emotion sweep through him.

    So he knows. He, like others, sense when a promise or pledge holds a little more water. He knows the disappointment that comes to a person when they lose that match, that title chance, or even that title. And he knows Shannon O'Neal truly believed in herself, truly believed she would change the outlook on female wrestling and wrestlers in the FWA. She believed herself to be a martyr and believed herself to be affecting the FWA for the better, for the long-term. Even if most didn't recognize it, felt it was selfish or contrived, Jack sensed purity in the words.

    When something is pure, truly heartfelt, it hurts a little more. If Shannon wasn't true about her desires, then losing the World title match against Gabrielle in the manner she did would've been nothing. Shannon would've swept it under the rug and continued her trek, angry more than sad.

    But there is sadness. Tons of it.

    Jack of Diamonds, like Shannon, knows this.

    Jack of Diamonds, unlike Shannon, knows exactly how important the reigning FWA Women's Champion was -- and still can be.



    *********************


    Five days before Winter Wasteland, Shannon O'Neal was at the tail end of her daily routine. She would wake up, eat a light breakfast because her stomach isn't fit to eat much, slush through a halfhearted weight room session, doze off through film of Zoey Ellis, struggle to eat lunch, hit the ring for a technical workout where her lack of focus nearly tears her shoulder, and eats an unhealthy, carb-filled fast food dinner.

    This is routine. Shannon O'Neal is physically unprepared because she isn't mentally fit to physically prepare for Zoey Ellis, a young upstart with the passion for the business and the intent to complete Shannon's unfortunate downfall.


    "I was just 'meh,' ya' know," she said of those days.

    The next day, four days before the PPV, Jack of Diamonds interrupted her breakfast with a change of plans. He forced her to go with him, and together they went to the FWA Hall of Fame. Ace of Spades stuck back at the home base, because Jack felt Shannon needed as few people as possible. It was a full day's trip across the country, but it was a pleasing break from routine for Shannon O'Neal. Her spirits weren't lifted, but they were close.

    As they entered the Hall of Fame, a usual place for pre-show video promos, Jack of Diamonds immediately went to the long list of females to hold the FWA Women's Championship.


    "You did exactly what you set out to fight against. Gabrielle being the FWA World Champion taints the prestige of the Women's Championship and the accomplishments of holding it, right? Well, you sulking and feeling sorry for yourself after not winning the World title does the same thing. Guess what, Shannon? You're still the FWA Women's Champion."

    It didn't click, but that's OK. It was just one of a few pieces of the equation.

    "Look at this list."

    It's a gold plaque of the Women's Championship belt engraved into the texture. Below it are the name plates, with each champion's name, that were on the belt during their title reigns. Next to each name plate another gold plate, this one with the dates of each title reign. Some title reigns' dates are missing, but most exist. Down the list they go.




    FWA Womans ChampionshipGabrielle - 6/17/07
    Jenny Ignito - 11/7/07
    Gabrielle - 3/16/08
    Jenny Ignito - 5/02/08
    Moira Crawford - 8/3/08
    Aja Melissa - 11/2/08
    Anyanka - 12/7/08
    Madison Lea West - 2/14/09
    Anyanka - 4/05/09
    Sara Wolf - 4/25/10
    Dinorah Redgrave - 4/18/11
    Mustang Maddie - 8/3/11
    Alana Allure - 2/24/12
    Veronique - 4/29/12
    Ayla El - 11/11/2012
    Saddle Sally - 5/17/13
    Mackenzie Roberts - 6/25/13
    Sara Wolf - 9/16/13
    Saddle Sally - 2/2/2014
    Beatrixx Black - 9/6/2014
    Saddle Sally - 10/19/2014

    Then there is the bottom, with the current champion's plate not once -- but twice. Jack of Diamonds doesn't wait, giving Shannon a tongue-lashing while she looks at her name below so many other great ones.


    Shannon O'Neal - 11/28/2014

    Current Champion: Shannon O'Neal (11/28/2014 - present)


    "You're the damn FWA Women's Champion. You're on THAT list. Your name is on the same list as Jenny Ignito, as Moira Crawford, as Anyanka, as Sara Wolf. Those girls are legends for what they did in THIS division. And guess what? You proved not only that you can hang with the best female wrestler ever, you proved at Trial By Fire you can BEAT her. You don't think you've done anything, Shannon? You don't think you've proved anything to people, to critics and skeptics and doubters? You don't think you made change? You think you failed?!

    Shannon, you made EVERYONE see your Women's title belt as just as great as the World title belt. How do you think that's failure? The only failure is the one you're about to make, because for every great name on any championship's history, there are names that were nothing but accidents, inconsistent and unsustained greatness. They are the names you see once, who didn't last long. Zoey Ellis wants to be on this list, and failure would be letting that happen."



    *********************


    "So, what happened?"

    Shannon told, in detail, everything that happened on the trip. She remembered every word Jack of Diamonds said, every emotion he conveyed, and every emotion she felt in her silence. But it clicked. Whatever it was, it clicked for her. She sits here, outlining the past days, with a reborn attitude. She has the edginess, the swagger, the flipping-the-world attitude that helped her call out and then defeat Gabrielle. She's flirting that line of angst, arrogance and brazen cockiness. She has her general confidence back, her knowledge that she's believing every promise she's making.

    She looks like someone who was nearly defeated, nearly dead in her walk, but caught herself just before and knows how close she was.


    "I walked out that room with Jack, and I went back and started goin' to work. I mean really started goin' to work. Hardcore stuff, ya' know?"

    Shannon perks up when asked about how she has changed, about what it means to be the FWA Women's Champion, about what she wants to accomplish. Her answers have an energy that was missing in previous weeks.

    Then she's asked about Zoey Ellis, and Shannon's energy changes from a hopeful glee to a focused cerebral tone.


    "Ya' know, I heard a lot of stuff 'bout me, how I was goin' down. I heard a lot of stuff 'bout how I was ruined, how I wouldn't last as the champ. But I ain't heard much special about Zoey Ellis. I got a question for anyone listenin' or readin' this.

    What has Zoey Ellis done that compares to me? She has the drive, the motivation to become Women's champion. I had the motivation to be the champ and change the way things were, the way people viewed female wrestlin' here. I didn't stop with this belt, I kept goin' up to the top. And I made it. I have the fire, the desire to never stop goin' up. For Zoey, this belt is it. This IS the top. But I've been to the top, higher than this. And I brought this belt up with me. Zoey is down there, reachin' up and tryin' to pull me down and grab the belt on my way. It'll be lower, less than it is now.

    Zoey has won a few matches, beat Taylor Toxic and Saddle Sally. Good for her. I beat Gabrielle Montgomery, the Undisputed World Champion. I will say that every time, no matter what. I will say it every damn time until someone can say they did it, too. And I almost won the World title, but Gabrielle had to do somethin' I wasn't ready for. Ya' know what? Eventually, I'ma get another chance at Gabrielle. And this time, I'ma be ready. But until then, I've got a bunch of girls that want'ta make a name off my name. They want'ta beat the person who is the face of female wrestlin', the person who BEAT Gabrielle. They want'ta beat the person who made everyone look and pay attention to female wrestlin' again. They want'ta beat the person who made the Women's title mean somethin' again.

    I ain't failin' at this. I did more than most will ever do. I ain't failin' at bein' the Women's Champion. No, I'm the face of female wrestlin', and I'ma go out there and show them why."


    "The Golden One" Devin Golden

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


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


  8. #8
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    "The LOST Promo"
    Flashback
    In early October, Randy Ramon was new to the FWA. He was days away from his first tag team match alongside Ayla El. He was embroiled in a (not-so) bitter feud with Daryl Digby (over absolutely nothing) that reached its climax one night on SMASH. Digby ambushed Ramon in the back hallway, bashing his head off of the concrete floor multiple times. Ramon was left bloodied, battered and bruised, lucky to escape with ONLY a concussion – his future still intact.

    FWA doctors prescribed Ramon a supply of maximum strength pain killers to deal with the aftermath of the assault. For those who haven’t been paying attention, Ramon previously retired from the wresting industry due to an addiction to said pain killers. Faced with his own personal demons, Ramon quickly succumbed to the pain and internal pressure, downing triple the prescribed dosage and chasing it with about a dozen too many whiskey shots.

    A short time later, Ramon collapsed on stage while recording his weekly YouTube show from his local pub. Knowing better than to call 9-1-1, (sarcasm), the bar owner instead called the Blaze brothers, who rushed to the scene and expedited Randy to the hospital, where he would have his stomach pump, not waking up for almost 24 hours from the time his head hit the hardwood floor.

    But he did wake up. On impact. But no one knew it. No one could see it. Because when he awoke, he didn’t see the dingy bar. He didn’t see the back seat of the trailBLAZEr. He didn’t see the disinfected hospital room he laid unconscious in. No, he woke up here…


    "See ya in anutha life brutha."
    -Desmond Hume


    "W…what? Where am I?" are the first thoughts that come to mind as I open my eyes.

    All I see is the clear blue sky. There is barely a cloud in view. I’m shocked to find that not only can I easily lift my head, but there’s no pain at all. Not in my head, nor my neck, nowhere. Slowly I look around.

    All I see is trees and ocean. I look down, I’m lying in sand. "Great," I think as I realize the grainy substance is everywhere, "I’m never going to get all this sand off me."Maybe I’m in Florida? I wonder as I pull myself to one knee. "But how the hell did I get here?" My last recollection is jumping around on stage like a wounded duck, clearly embarrassing myself, and then I fell. And here I am. Maybe I died? Maybe this is heaven? I pull myself to my feet and take a better look around. I can see that the water is crystal blue. It’s definitely not Florida. Cali, maybe, or the Caribbean, but not Florida.

    As I look to my left and my right, all I can see is endless shoreline and an infinite ocean. I’m definitely on the coast of somewhere beautiful. I wonder how far I am from civilization. I want to get a better look around, so I venture up the beach and make my way to the tree line, but it’s too dense to see through. The jungle must stretch for miles. I’m not going in there. No way. Maybe I can… yes! This tree looks big enough to see over the shrubbery.

    I start climbing.I hate heights. And falling. Those are my two biggest fears. Yet here I am. I’ve managed to scuttle up the large trunk, now about halfway from where I want to be, and the terrain is getting easier to climb, but I’m growing more tired by the second. I step on what looks like a solid limb, but it quickly snaps away and I almost fall. Oh dear god. How did I talk myself into this?

    I watch the branch twist and plummet to the ground. After a long pause I snap myself out of it and keep climbing. I’ve reached the canopy, just a little further and I should have a clear view of everything. Daylight breaks through. I scurry a few more feet and pause as the horizon hits me like a ton of bricks. In every direction: water. Endless water. No other land in sight. I’m in the middle of the ocean… some ocean… not that it matter which.. and I’m on an… an..

    Island.

    The word sticks with me, almost knocking me from my perch. I let the implications sink in, count backwards from five, block out the fear and quickly repel down the tree. It’s much easier to go down than it is to go up. My feet hit the ground and it takes all of my self-control to not kneel down and kiss the dirt below me. I run my fingers through my sweaty hair, trying to fathom how in the hell I got here. I collapse backwards into a tree and allow myself to slink down to the ground. I drape my arms over my raised knees as I let myself drift into my thoughts. Then I hear them. Chirps? No. The pitter-patter of little feet? Certainly not.

    Whispers.

    I spring to my feet quicker than a bat out of hell and turn my eyes towards the center of this island. I don’t see anything. I look left and right, still nothing. Maybe I’m hearing things. Maybe I’m dehydrated and reaching the point of delirium and hallucinations. I don’t know what’s going on. I turn around to sit back down and am instantly startled to see proof that I must, in fact, be dead.

    "Mom?"

    "Hi Randy."

    "So… I’m dead?"

    "You’re not dead. And I’m not alive."

    "I don’t understand. Then how are you here? Where IS here?"

    "Here is here. I am here because you called me here."

    "I didn’t do anything! I took too many pain pills, passed out, woke up here. I had nothing to do with it!"

    "Randy, you’re here because you need to do something. You need to look inside yourself and figure out what it is. Once you’ve done that, the way home will become clear."

    And then she disappears into a black puff of smoke. The smoke seems to consciously move back into the jungle. Weird. Then I see something even weirder. Near the tree-line is a dark, cloaked, hooded figure. It points at me. Me? There’s no one behind me, so it must be.

    And then it takes off running into the jungle. Instincts take over and I begin chasing after it at a dead sprint, paying no mind to the fact that the smoke cloud JUST went this way.I duck under branches, leap over downed logs, and twist around brushes until I realize the cloaked creeper is gone. I spin in circles, checking my surroundings, looking for something, anything to tell me why I’m here. Then I see it. A small canvas bagged propped up against a tree. I move in that direction, grab the bag, and open it. What I see shocks me.

    A brand new bottle of pain killers.

    I look at the bottle in complete bewilderment, and then tuck it in my pocket. I turn back to where I was standing and all I see is trees and overgrown grass. I think about the painkillers in my pocket while simultaneously trying to figure out why I am here. And then I hear gunshots. Seven or eight of them in quick succession. It sounds like it’s close to me. Then I hear names shouted out. "Kate!" "Jack!" I don’t know who Kate or Jack are, but I don’t want to wait around to find out.

    I run in the opposite direction of the shots. Again I dance through foliage and fauna. I have no idea where I’m going, but eventually I come to a small wall, about waist high. Like the idiot I clearly am, I leap right over it.

    And fall right into a hole.

    It’s ten feet deep or so. It’s not deep enough to break anything, but it’s deep enough that I can’t easily climb out. Roots and any footholds have been ripped away. Someone – or something – made this hole. I’m trying to collect my bearings when I realize someone is looking down at me: the cloaked guy. He laughs and waives, and then disappears. I’m lost for reason. I have no idea what I’m going to do. I’m going to starve to death if I don’t get out of here. I need a drink. I need… and then my legs give out from under me. Exhaustion maybe? Either way I fall backwards into the wall. But instead of a thud, a hollow twang rings out on impact. I turn and look; a small window has become visible. I wipe away dirt and mud and find a full door hidden behind it all. I fumble around until I find a small latch, which I quickly engage and rip the door open. My eyes first rest on a ladder; a way out! My eyes move downward to the ground. It’s a miracle!

    An unopened bottle of Tullamore Dew!

    "This is awesome!" Is my first thought. "And most likely a trap!" Is my second thought. I pick up the bottle and look at it. I think about drinking it. It takes every ounce of self-control not to rip the cap off and chug this bottle down. But I realize that I need to be sober to climb out of here and to find something to eat. Drinks can wait until I’m out of here. I lay the bottle down and grab the ladder. I remove it from the makeshift closet and position it in the main hole in a manner to climb out. It’s almost the perfect height. I pick up the bottle and start climbing the ladder. Here goes that fear of heights again.

    Finally I reach the top, and roll onto my back, catching my breath. "Now what?" I question as I feel the cool air cleanse my every pore.After a long few moments of breathing heavily, a deep hunger has filled the pit of my stomach. I look around, looking for something to eat. It’s getting dark. I should also start thinking about shelter. Then like a gift from heaven a chicken comes darting out of the jungle, almost stepping on my toes as it runs by. I look on in bewilderment as it disappears into the overgrown grass. Then I give chase. I keep the whiskey in one hand and wield a branch as a make shift sword in the other as I dart like Wile E Coyote after the Roadrunner.

    This chicken is smart, but I’m smarter. It’s ducking in and out of trees, going through places I shouldn’t be able to fit, and even floating over gaps I need to leap over; but I’m keeping up. It goes through a long, hollowed out log. I can’t see the other side so I crawl in behind it. I chase it right out to the other end, cutting up my elbows in the process, and climb back to my feet.

    Again I’m face to face with the cloaked devil. Panting, I force myself to stand up straight and look around. I guess my chicken got away. The cloaked one stands statuesque, arms crossed. In front of him is another large pit. I look down into it, and see the fires of hell burning almost all the way to the top. I have no idea what he wants from me. He motions towards the hole. Jump? Is that what he wants? That wouldn’t make sense. If he wanted me dead, he would have already killed me. Again he motions to the hole, then points to my pocket. My pocket?

    Oh, the painkillers. Right. I pull them out and look at them. He again motions to the hole. But I can’t. I need them. He motions to the whiskey in my other hand. No, I can’t. I look back and forth between the two bottles, torn as what to do. On one hand, I could have a really great time with these… the other hand? I don’t know. Is this… Is this why I’m here? Is this what I have to do to get home?

    I hear a noise behind me so I look over my shoulder. In the distance I see the smoke cloud. It keeps getting bigger and bigger, getting closer and closer to me. I can see trees falling in its wake. Dirt is kicked up in its tracks. Closer and closer it comes. "Great" I posit. There is a smoke demon behind me, a hostile in front of me. I’m caught in the middle, and I have no idea what to do.

    Closer it flies. The devil begins laughing, but I can’t see its face move. It’s almost like its transmitting the laughter directly into my brain. Again I look back to the monster; it’s only a few meters away now. The laughter grows louder. And louder. And closer. And then I finally let go, seconds before I would be totally consumed.

    I drop the bottle of whiskey and the bottle of painkillers into the fire. The smoke dissipates. The cloak changes to a brighter color. The fire vanishes and the pit closes up. A tear of exhaustion, and full release, rolls down my cheek. I exhale deeply, feeling a tremendous monkey leap from my back. And then the cloak turns and motions towards a small gap in the trees. Guiding me to it, and through it. And then I see proof that I am saved.

    A motor boat.

    I stop dead in my tracks."That’s it?" I say to the cloak. "I can go home? No catch?"

    The cloak nods.

    "But how do I get there? I still don’t know where I am."

    The cloak again projects its message into my frontal lobe: "Coordinates 2-3-5 will take you home."

    I nod and walk towards the boat, but quickly turn on my heels as a puzzling thought has come over me.

    "Who are you?" I ask the cloak. No answer. "Why did you do all of this? Why help me? Why now?" Still no answer.

    I step closer. Now I need to know. Now I need an answer. I ask more questions, but the cloak remains motionless. If the cloak was breathing, I’d now be close enough to smell it’s breath. I reach for the hood, expecting it to jump back, or swing at me, or have some reaction… but it does nothing.

    "Who are you?" I ask one last time as I life the hood from the cloak. And then I see proof that sometimes we have guardian angels. Sometimes we meet people who want better for us. Sometimes we meet people who can see what we’re not acting at our full potential and they reach down and pull it out of you. Sometimes other people can guide us to decisions we wouldn’t otherwise make. Sometimes people surprise you, and sometimes they help you reach a level of self-control you didn’t know you had.

    I almost fall backwards as I look upon her face.

    Ayla’s face.




    Last edited by Jorah Mormont; 02-25-2015 at 08:05 PM.


  9. #9
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    Who is Lucian Ace? He was thinking about his life thus far. Why was he in the FWA? Why did he left Japan? Why has he been losing so much lately? Lucian couldn't help but picture the life he used to lead, the life he used to know. And thanks to the benefits of home videos, the FWA television team was able to show the moment as Lucian lay there, thinking about it...Lucian stands by the window, his nose on the pane. The steam from his breath fogging the window, then the inhale unfogging the window. This is how Lucian spent most of his time when he was 5 years old. He was waiting for his father to come home, though of course, if you pay any attention to the Lucian Ace saga at all, you would know his father and the FWA Hall of Famer never comes. His mother had just purchased the video camera and wanted to document Lucian's life...for today was indeed his 5th birthday. She felt the need to film, though they were moving to Japan. His mom was trying to get his attention, but Lucian just stood there, staring out the window.


    Mrs. Ace: Lucy, COME ON. Get away from the window and look at the camera. Look at the camera. Lucian? Listen honey, he isn't coming. Ok? Just, come away from the window, come help me, ok? Lucy?


    Its like he wasn't even listening to her, its like she was talking to a statue. He waited there until his mother forcefully removed him...


    .
    .
    .

    Inhale the Future. Exhale the Past.







    A cameraman is wandering the lonely remains of an old, run-down, and yet strangely familiar arena. He travels down a solitary corridor. The floor tile is gritty, colored black and white by a less than creative artist...spattered with chips of paint that appear to have fallen from the sky and a mold rivaling that of anything I myself have ever seen. Some tiles are missing completely and all that's left to set your foot on is the worn, fragile concrete that once served as a foundation to a marvelous work of art. The simple mystery of this lonesome place is nothing short of pure beauty. The lights that hang overhead are the only things illuminating this pit of gloom and they give off an awkward glow...They appear burned out, dark, and yet are still grasping onto a tiny bit of hope...that they again may one day shine as bright as the stars. The flicker with every solitary step of the cameraman and the florescence almost takes a toll on the viewers eyes. In it's prime this place was the epitome of everything sacred, it's a throwback of sorts...to days when men were truly men and wrestlers were to be forever carved into the dated tablets of history. Days when it seemed like the sun would never set and the night was a welcome contrast to all that we had known and loved. Now it is merely a shell of what people remember...like many of the superheroes who had traveled this lonely hallway, this desolate alley. The years have gone by with a wave of the hand and a blink of the eye, and yet the essence of perfection that this arena commanded is still visible in every broken down door and missing brick. Fortune has indeed faded from this place...along with the symbolism and glory it had held so dear. The cameraman continues his lonely walk...never once stopping...always moving with the same pattern of long, painful strides and a pace that begs of a conscious anxiety. He makes his way out of what was a near never-ending hallway and emerges from a curtain to place that still appears 13 years lost in the past.


    Lucian Ace: Whoever created the concept of future must've been a weird individual. I mean, everyone plans for the future. Everybody. They predict it. They prepare for it. In some cases, the only reason they live is that thought that the future will be better for them. Instead of making the present better for them, they assume things will get better for them. And then there are some people who'd rather stay the future to never come. Take my opponent for this week, Stu St. Clair. It is as if he is frozen in time. He thinks if nothing changes, then he will be forever happy. Take that away, and Stu St. Clair won't know how to cope with life.


    There are old posters hanging from the rafters dating back to the early 90's, the arena seats are stained with a crimson red rust that has come from years of faulty sprinkler systems and leaky ceilings. The camera swings around the stadium boxes, admiring the ambiguity...row by row. Thousands of people had crowded into this place by day...and hundreds had stayed by night. The stairs that lead up to the "cheap seats" are fragile and scream at the camera to let them be, to leave them alone to die with the ever noticeable spades of time. Some seats in the first two aisles are broken...but sadly that is to be expected as this place hasn't been furnished in what seems like centuries.. Lucian sags over, his back contorted, and his head lies gently in between his folded arms.


    Lucian Ace: Having a past and living in it are two different things, Stu. We all have a past; you do, and I do. My past is filled with darkness and light, but I don't find myself stuck in it. My past made me who I am, and it allows me to do things in the present because of it. In a sense, you're no different, Stu. You have a past. But, as I stand here, I see Stu St. Clair pulled straight out the past.


    Lucian looks in the camera.


    Lucian Ace: And maybe it isn't your fault, Stu. I can't blame you for staying the same all this time. In the past, you've had success, I cannot deny you that. You've held multiple championships, been in some big matches. You've become a high standing member of this roster. It's as I said, it isn't difficult to understand why you're given such a wide berth by your peers. Why they gladly give up their spots in the elevator or in a restaurant when you arrive. You were an intimidating force, and you represent a conflict that most believe they cannot win. And in this day and age, most people will do anything to avoid conflict. I am an exception to both counts. The fact that you're physically stronger than men twice your size is impressive. The fact that you're more agile than men half your size is equally as impressive. But something that is not impressive, Stu, is your outlook on reality. It's skewed, lopsided... warped. Otherwise, you would know better than to provoke me as you attempted to do. You don't frighten me... I frighten you. But when talks of current FWA legends start over twitter, your name isn't one of those mentioned. And I'm sure you wonder why? I'm sure you sit in the shower, eating ice cream and listening to Adele, wondering why people deem you a has been. Its because, in this company, people don't give a shit about the men living in the past.


    He spreads his arms as he spins...as if he is trying to breathe in the nostalgia, drink from the lost admiration of a once grandiose stage. He turns to the camera and lets his arms fall sullenly down to his side. He looks back down to the floor once more, acknowledging the hard bumps countless others had taken there. He rubs the missing floor tile with his right palm and doesn't appear surprised at all..that the ground is giving way. Lucian picks up several pieces of dirt and rubble and flicks them into the dimlit air...watching, waiting for the to float ever so gently back to the decaying floor.


    Lucian Ace: And then you interrupt, reminding everyone for the millionth time that you're a former Multi-time Champion. I can just assume that if you're doing it these days, you've done it in the past. Because that is all Stu St. Clair is; a bunch of accomplishments set on repeat. I'm not just talking about titles either. The entire persona of Stu St. Clair is no different than what it was in a year, two years ago. You don't change, Stu; So why haven't you changed. You're a part of the FWA, one of the most unorthodox companies in the wrestling business. At some point in your career, you should've been brought to the present.

    Well consider me that point, Stu.

    You and I aren't well acquainted in that ring. We were opponents in few tag team matches, but to my knowledge, you have yet to taste a Hyoryu Senbi. This is the reason you haven't changed. I haven't had the chance to change you. Had you and I met anytime in the past, Stu St. Clair as we knew it wouldn't exist. You would've come at me with your usual 'I was badass last year, I'll be badass this week.' And then I would've sent those words back down your throat, before kicking your head off. And then I would've walked away, carrying the Stu St. Clair you want everyone to see. The dominant Snake, the champion of all champions Stu St. Clair, the better Stu St. Clair. I would take it, leaving you left in its place.


    A pause from Lucian. The lights continue fading in and out, so the view of Lucian is an ever-changing once. With a drive and determination seemingly possessed by some outside force, Lucian lifts his head up for the lonely mat and opens his eyes. They don't dart, rather they remain ominously still...and hold in them a key to utter tranquility, to a life of simple understanding and complex half-truths. Lucian Ace lifts himself off the ropes and walks to the opposite side of the ring, closer to the camera....


    Lucian Ace: And we all know you don't want that. Inside, you're a coward, Stu. Coward whose afraid of changing because the past was so good to you. The past was a time of championships and success. A time of excellent performances and a constant spotlight on you. Why should you embrace the present, when the past was a heaven for Stu St. Clair.

    Because you cannot plan the future by staying in the past.


    Lucian makes his paces around the ring once more, till he comes to ropes adjacent from the camera and leans back...admiring the solitude. He speaks again, his voice just a little bit louder, just a little less calm...and just a bit more influenced by a fire...burning in the pit of his stomach.


    Lucian Ace: I'm coming for you and and you cannot plan for me if you stay in the past like you usually do. I wasn't there, when you were successful, so there is nothing in the history books that will prepare you for me. If I had been there, you could've planned. But I wasn't; if I had been, though, I'm almost certain the Stu St. Clair of the present would be different. This Stu St. Clair wouldn't live in the past, because with me involved, his past would've been worthless.


    He shakes his head.


    Lucian Ace: I will be in your present, Stu, in the time you should be paying close attention to. I'm not like the men you fought in the past, the people you clung to for fame and exposure. I'm the man who destroys you, Stu. I destroyed your past, and soon, I will destroy your present. You have lived in this realm of your own accomplishments for so long that you have forgotten what future is. You have developed a utopia where you're the champion and everyone is holding hands and living in harmony. Again, forgive me for underestimating you. This concept of future, this belief of 'tomorrow is another day' doesn't make sense to you. In your eyes, you're already in a perfect place. You just assumed the future would just be the endless continuation of the past.

    But it isn't.

    I remember my past, Stu, and how I was no different than you. I remember when I was dominating all competition. I didn't want anything to change. If I stayed beating people week in and week out, with no change, I would've been satisfied. Winning every week, I couldn't have asked for nothing else. And then this outside force changed it all. I lost to Devin Golden. A week later, I joined The Movement that turned this company upside down. If Golden hadn't beat me at Trial By Fire and The Nameless didn't approach me, where would I be? Well, I'd be you, Stu. And I don't want to be you. I've already been you before, and now that I look back on that time in my life, I'm glad the change occurred. It made me stronger, and made me a better man because of it. So I'm going to do you the same favor, Stu. Where I'm standing, I don't see a man who can end me once and for all. No, I see a man who cannot accept change of himself. If he can't handle these variables life throws at him, how is he going to change my actions?


    Lucian points to the camera.



    Lucian Ace:
    I am the change you never had to experience, Stu. The conclusion, really. This Sunday, you finally understand what your future is.


    Lucian holds his index and middle finger close together, performing the "so close" gesture.


    Lucian Ace:
    We heard you yesterday, Stu, and we hear you now. The question is will we hear you tomorrow?


    The lights flicker , and shut off for several seconds. The camera hears a loud "BANG" of sorts and swirls around to see where the noise came from, or what made it. Still, the arena is in utter darkness and all the camera can see are the faint outerlayings of the ring and the remnants of several bleacher seats. The lights flicker once more and turn on again, as the cameraman swirls back to the ring....where we see no one. The ring is empty, the arena vacant, it's as if Lucian had never laid a foot inside this haunting place.
    "You only need to hang mean bastards, but mean bastards you need to hang."


  10. #10
    Fearless University
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    A trumpet sounds...a noise that is more of a symbol that heralds an incoming storm, fury, chaos...or war. It echo's throughout the halls and every room of this grand castle that we view a Goddesses world from. It is a scene that could almost exist hundreds of years ago...were it not for the much more modern leather chairs, the exquisite purple silk and red velvet that softens many of the surfaces and of course the electrical lighting bathing everything in a warm glow. This large stone monument to the past is also seemingly eerily devoid of any activity, as the sound of the trumpet fades into history there is just silence left. Silence for several long moments that gives us the time to gaze around at our surroundings. Golden Championships hang upon the walls alongside swords and axes. A suit of armour fashioned from steel...and purple lace rests in the corner. A fire rages majestically...and all the while not a single soul passes by us, no soldiers gear up for the battle. There's just this sense of emptiness until there whispers a gentle echo...that gets closer and closer and pulls our attention from all the inanimate objects. From one of the many hallways she emerges, a vision of perfection and strength. A delectable Warrior Goddess coated in caramel. It is of course our Goddess, our Undisputed World Champion; Gabrielle Montgomery. It has been almost a month since we have been blessed enough to see her in action in the ring, but now she prepares for war in this castle. She prepares to be beset on all sides by challenging armies. And she looks as elegant and regal as one could expect. A tight white full length dress hugs every curve on her body. The FWA World Championship itself rests itself on her right shoulder, appearing almost like a gold piece of armour. The Title belt matches her gold bracelets and gold hoop earrings as well. Her long dark brunette hair cascades about her shoulders and is decorated with a single red rose. Hair that rests within her spectacular cleavage heaving with each and every breath...

    Suddenly though that moment in time we always seem to be allotted to simply gaze upon every inch of Gabrielle in all her caramel coated glory comes to an end as she speaks and leaves us wanting to see more but unable to pry our attention away from her deceivingly sweetly spoken words.

    Gabrielle:
    A castle fit for a Queen. A Kingdom fit for a Goddess. A Battle fit for a true Warrior, a supremely divine being.

    She smirks from ear to ear as the white silk majestically clings to her body, and that most coveted World Championship sparkles...almost as brightly as her warm skin.

    Gabrielle:
    I have broken free once more from the shackles of mortality, the weakness that comes from catering to others, the foolishness of expecting and not demanding respect. The last time I put my exquisite black boots on...boots that are made just for me i was beloved, I was cheered...but disrespected and denied my true glory. Now I demand respect and I have it, I am finally treated as the Goddess that I am. Above toiling away like all the little insignificant people who have to fight every single week just to get ahead. I'm where everybody else wants to be, I am the best there is, the best there ever was and the very best that anyone can ever hope to see.

    What I have done in eight years takes the other so called "greats" an entire lifetime to achieve. That is why I can stand in this castle as a one woman army. I fear no one else, I do not worry about anyone else. I have survived wars with Snakes who sought to strangle the breathe from my body. I have been locked in all manner of hellish structures and emerged a Champion from them...more often than anyone else. I have achieved so much greatness that if I wanted i could stand here before you all and speak of my success for weeks on end.

    But all you know what i have done, you have to know, you need to know. I am Gabrielle the greatest woman to ever step foot in a wrestling ring, the greatest wrestler of any gender to ever lace up their boots. Someday when I retire the Hall of Fame will be renamed after me. That is the reality of the future, and no one can deny that. People can disrespect me, disrespect my legacy to make themselves feel better but what I have achieved can not and will not be denied. In my twenty eight years I have been a Champion for over two and a half years of my life. For over two and a half years i have been undeniably the best of the best at something. For over two and a half years I have been a Women's Champion, a Tag Team Champion...or THE World Champion.

    She falls silent for several seconds, basking in the glory of her words and letting them sink in on her spellbound audience captive by her mere presence.

    Gabrielle:
    And I will continue to be a Champion for as long as I want to be. This war, this battle I am preparing for, that I will march out too soon enough, well some may consider it to be a daunting prospect. Me...sweet little gorgeous but dangerous Gabrielle having to step into the ring and defend my World Championship against two challengers, two men. But this is two men who I have already defeated in my reign as the supreme Goddess of the world. A Jack who is more akin to a jester and a second fool who dreams of being King.

    She chuckles, its almost sweet, almost beautiful...but its also far to haunting and far too much cruelty dances in her mirth. Then with a glance thrown in our direction she begins to saunter forwards, a regal aura about her as she steps out into the open air and gazes over the balustrades as from two directions two different "armies" approach under their separate banners.

    Gabrielle: This is what i am faced with, this is what I am set to go to battle with. One Jester who can't even defeat James Sync and another who cant beat anybody. Their idiocy would be quite amusing if they were in my court begging for my laughter but they both pretend to be these great warriors or even Kings coming to take my crown, my throne...my gold. It does still make me laugh, Ashley O'Ryan and Thomas Princeton two men I have been very close with in my life they were tasked with looking over their rosters and picking anybody they want to challenge me, and this is who they choose. Perhaps they both wanted to make things easy for me?

    Make me laugh?

    Assist me on my road to headlining Back In Business X...not that I need their help of course.

    Who knows...perhaps they somehow thought that Phillip and Jack could present a challenge to me. Ashley surely wants too see the most coveted Title in the world on CrossFire and Tom wants to see "his" brand stand tall. Surely neither General Manager wants their chosen challenger to be a disappointment in this match. This is brand warfare, this is meant to be the best of CrossFire versus the second best of Fight Night versus the best of all time. Jack and Phillip are representing more than just themselves here. And in this three way battle the greatest prize in this business hangs in the balance.

    This is an opportunity for immortality, to dethrone a Goddess. To do the impossible, the unthinkable and emerge as a legend with the most desired twelve pounds of gold in the world around their waist. It sounds so amazing, the very air they both breathe would taste sweeter if they could accomplish such a thing.

    But alas...

    Gabrielle smirks that devious little grin of hers and bats her eyes almost innocently. But we know it isn't. Then with her hair gently dancing in the wind she gazes out over the land before her castle, the land that separates her and Phillip Jackson. A man who stands at the head of a small army, leading them into battle, though every step seems to put more distance between himself and his soldiers.

    Gabrielle:
    Just look down there, at that man if he can be called that. He looks confident, he looks sure of himself, he looks like he is leading an army into battle, or at least standing within an army. You see that's the reality here I am a Goddess, even Jack is in a respectable level of authority and power over others. Phillip meanwhile he may try to call himself King, because he's English...how cute. He may talk a big game, he may act tough, and act like he is important but reality is he's just a simple foot soldier.

    He takes orders, not very well mind you but he's there in the ranks upon ranks of others doing their bidding. Jimmy King, Ryan Hall, Jason Gryphon...they all owned Phillip like a pet and sent him out to do their bidding. Yet he wants us all to believe that he is something special, that he is even remotely on my level. Twice before I have faced off against this court jester of soldier and twice before I have won. At Back In Business I tore apart him marriage when his wife choose me over him. At the Tenth Anniversary show I pried the FWA World Championship from his undeserving fingers...

    Gabrielle smiles from ear to ear as she rubs a hand over her gold Undisputed Title belt.

    Gabrielle:
    When Phillip gets too delusional and aims for the lofty heights far above and unattainable to him I have sent him crashing back down to reality. When Philly tries to parade himself around as a King I am there to harshly remind him that he is just a fool, there to service and entertain royalty, never to be it. Oh but Phillip was the World Champion right? Indeed he was, but he only got to call himself such when the FWA stood still for the undeserving, unproven and untalented. Following Back In Business of last year the FWA choose five men who had never before been World Champion and gave them that chance...then another...and another.

    When the dust had settled Shane McLean was a former Champion and P...A...J was the reigning World Champion...

    A great moment in history right?

    No it wasn't, not at all.

    Five men were chosen, not a single woman in their ranks to create some new era. They didn't become great Champions by defeating great Champions they went to war with each other in an era of mediocrity. The FWA never had to stand still and dedicate something to me for me to reign supreme as the immortal Goddess of the FWA. I beat everybody ever put before me, I beat every great Champion on my road to becoming the greatest Champion of all. That is what separates a Goddess from a jester.

    That is why Phillip Alexander Jackson no matter what he thinks or does can ever actually hope to defeat me. I succeeded by bettering the best of the best not having the standards of greatness lowered to my level. That is embarrassing, that is a joke, even worse than that it took PAJ several attempts to achieve the diminished level of greatness offered to him. How utterly unimpressive...and he's meant to be a challenge to me.

    She chuckles and angles her body ever so slightly as to proudly show off the World Championship resting on her shoulder...or her glorious breasts...or perhaps both. Far below the army that had surrounded PAJ has dissappated, he now marches completely alone towards our Goddesses castle.

    Gabrielle:
    The only challenge Phillip could ever be, is a challenge to friendship. perhaps he felt jealous of all the attention I am getting now. Or perhaps he was even jealous of Ryan Rondo and the way everyone was looking past Winter Wasteland and talking about how Ryan would win Carnal Contendership and challenge me. But does that little man down there really have the right to be upset after being so utterly unimpressive? Have you won a single match this month Phillip? Have you won a single match on CrossFire?

    The answer is sadly no. You were chosen, you were announced as one of my challengers because just one isn't enough for me. And then ever since Ashley O'Ryan threw you a bone and selected you, you have lost week after week after week. Looking at that tragic record I can see why you were upset with Ryan and just watched your so called friend take a beating. He was winning matches while you cant win anything, especially a match against me. But this is where the entertainment and your court jester antics come to an end. You don't deserve this opportunity, you don't deserve to step foot in the ring with me, to put your hands on me and have the idea in your head that you could be World Champion again.

    You don't deserve any of this because you are a loser. Put simply that's all that you are Phillip. Your one moment of greatness has an asterisk next to it, a part from that you have done nothing in your life. Every time you have striven to be something great it has ended up in failure. Every time you have tried to be more than you are by riding others coat tails it has ended in tragedy. And it has all brought you to this one moment in time. For the first time in six years Winter Wasteland is back, and it see's you challenging for my Undisputed World Championship. It see's you stepping foot in the ring with you superior.

    You have had a long march to my castle, you have walked among armies, time and time again, you have followed Kings and fools alike and it has all brought you right here to this moment. Standing outside these walls gazing up at me hoping against hope that you can be the one up here. but Phillip you will always and forever be gazing up at me from your knees. You will always be beneath me, and I will always be your Champion and your Goddess.

    Embrace your reality before you step inside my castle Phillip and I will take it easy upon you.

    Once again she grins from ear to ear, completely happy with her every word and every action as she admires the reflection of her brown eyes in the gold of her Championship. Then with a graceful twirl she looks out over the world once more and upon the second marching "King" and his small army.

    Gabrielle:
    That is one challenger, that is one would be, want to be king revealed as the impostor and joke he is. That leaves just one more. One who I feel close too...after all I traumatized his sweet little piece of arm candy Shannon O'Neal. Yes it is the man who took seven years away from the FWA only to return after I had made the FWA into something great. The man with a thousand card puns and little else.

    Jack...Of...Diamonds.

    Another man I have already defeated, another man I have already defended my World Championship against. Picked by Thomas Princeton he is representing Fight Night...well he is and he isn't after all the greatest wrestler of all time is in this match and that particular Goddess just so happens to be on Fight Night as well. So maybe Jack can be called the runner up instead or the chosen best of all those who have to compete on Fight Night every week because they aren't as big a star as I am.

    She glances back over her shoulder for a second, flaunting that smirk of hers.

    Gabrielle:
    It is better than nothing. Better than what Shannon was left with at least. Jacky you can call yourself the best on Fight Night...except for me. Thomas choose you for this, he choose you after Shannon overshadowed you for months and months. He choose you to march upon my castle, march upon my throne with your small little army. Ace...Shannon and a hundred desperate gamblers by your side.

    But someone being by your side doesn't mean a thing. It is all up to you Jack, you who hasn't held any kind of Championship for eight years now. You who had to watch me destroy your little girlfriend, shatter all her hopes and leave her a broken mess desperately searching for some meaning to her now empty life. That could all be your fate as well Jack, you've already lost the biggest match of your career to me, now you are set to lose again. That is what your future holds in store for you...that is what stepping inside my castle will give you.

    I know that there is promises of being the World Champion here, of being able to call yourself the best of the very best. I know that you will have already planned your celebratory date with Shannon, and promised Ace a nice big bonus. But all those idea's are just you getting far too ahead of yourself. You really do need to just accept reality here, accept that because I am here this is just not your time. Just as it is not anyone else's time either.

    For you see Jack more than any of the lessons we all learned when I beat you already one just has to look at your career and compare it to mine. You've had fleeting moments here and there, scattered across years of mediocrity where you were forgotten by the world only ever so rarely doing something important. While I have conquered and reigned gloriously supreme over everyone and everything I have ever set my attention upon. That is how good, no great I am. That is who I am.

    This is why the closer you get to me...the lonelier it gets. Shannon...well she's rejecting your help, turning you away because she wants to deal with it all herself. Ace goes weeks at a time without being seen...your little army is not really your army, they are deserting you and leaving you alone. Both you and Phillip will charge up those steps and crash into the spotlight completely alone where you will kneel before me. Where you will respect me, even if I have to once again beat it into you.

    Once again Gabrielle turns her back to the incoming or invading soldier below, far more important is her voice, her lips and that camera focused entirely upon her gorgeous figure.

    Gabrielle:
    I cant imagine how empty it must feel now. You have always had someone right there holding your hand, supporting you, pushing you onward's. Now you are expected to face the greatest challenge in my industry alone. There's no possible strength in numbers either. Even if you and Phillip buried any hatchet for a moment and you decide to trust him...that's just you two boys trying to give me a challenge.

    Trying...but failing.

    I could beat the both of you at the same time...with one arm tied behind my back. I may have been denied all the respect I have earned for far too long but I was always everything I have claimed to be. That's why I stand up here gazing down at you and laughing. That's why you step inside my castle consumed with fear. That is why there is no silver lining here for you, no way out, no possible victory on offer for you.

    Well...I suppose you could be less of a loser than PAJ is. I think Shannon would find some comfort in that when you two sob to each other about how I destroyed both of your dreams.

    Again that evil smirk consumes her otherwise beautiful face.

    Gabrielle:
    Maybe you just need better dreams, maybe Phillips era of mediocrity gave you the wrong idea. Not anyone can be me, not anyone can be the World Champion. It takes someone truly special, truly amazing to be where I am. Only I have that within myself and that is a fact. That is something I will once again prove to the world at Winter Wasteland. Two fools who wish they were kings will step foot in my ring, in my castle and seek to dethrone me or even just offer up some sort of challenge.

    But it is all in vain. I will win. They will lose. The world will continue as it is and i will go n from here to headline the biggest Back In Business of all time. We should all look forward to this future, my future, the very FWA's future. A future we can all enjoy. For I will still reign as your Goddess...as these jesters twitch at my feet, trying to entertain their divine being with their failures.

    She giggles, a completely and utterly cruel sound from such a beauty. She's enjoying every thought of beating Phillip and Jack, and loving every second she stands before us as our Goddess coated in caramel and wrapped in impending victory.
    Last edited by ETE; 02-25-2015 at 06:14 PM.


  11. #11
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread





    28 February 2015 The Arena




    *Catching up with Alana, as she is making her way from her vehicle into the arena. Arriving earlier in the day, and hours before the event is to take place.*


    Camera man: Wow, you are here early. Can we get your thoughts on teaming with Divine?

    Alana: Yes, I am here early, so that I can prepare as I see fit for this match. As far as partners go, the one I have is far from the one I would have chosen. You know, not all of us are given choices in this company. Take the house show for example. When in my entire history of being with this company have I been some woman waiting for an opportunity to shake her ass for the camera?
    Oh, but I should not complain, I chose to look at it for what it really is. My employer comes to me and says go out there and lose a dance off to Divine. I don’t get to question that, I don’t get to say I don’t want to. I go out and do my job, like it or not, because that’s who I am. I was sent out there in the hopes that people would actually pay attention to the neediest member of the roster, that being Divine.

    Since my return I have been placed in some tag matches and I’ve learned only one damn thing, you can’t count on just any random partner. Sure I would love to say we got this, but I can’t, and that has nothing to do with any of that crap Divine lets fall out of Divine’s mouth. I could care less who, Divine sleeps with, has sex with, or what Divine most closely identifies with. All that has nothing to do with wrestling what so ever. I’ll say this much, Divine at least seems to care about winning almost as much as Divine cares about being disgusting and trashy. I would prefer not to have a partner who will be waiting for an opportunity to share her bodily fluid, it’s not that I have issue with Divine, but I have no idea who Divine sleeps with, and I value my health and general safety, and exchanging bodily fluids is unsafe and a violation of OSHA regulations. Alas, the choice is not mine, and because of the fear of being fired I am going to wrestle with Divine on my side and I am going to do everything in my power that I can control to win this match. That said we can finish this inside, because it may be sunny out here, but it is nowhere near warm.



    *As she takes a step toward the door, one of the staff members with the camera crew opened the door for the woman. She walks into the building, where she is both shocked, as inside seems just as cold as outside to her. In a huff, she walks away from the door and then turns around while walking backwards down the mostly empty hallway.*


    I suppose we could look at this match as one for bragging rights. I have never face Taylor, while having never fought with or against my partner. I don’t know who would brag about winning this match. It looks far removed from the women’s title scene for Sally. If I had to guess, Divine will find a way to make everything about Divine. This may serve as a test of some kind to further evaluate Taylor’s skills a bit more as she is still new and from the looks of her work so far, also very raw.

    I don’t feel as though I have a thing to prove in this match, perhaps one could argue I was fighting for Crossfire, but then again, I certainly do not feel that important to Mr. O’Ryan. Then again, my talks with staff always end the same. Gee Alana, that sounds good, but you should try to do more first. I ask for one on one matches, and I get tag matches. But hey we all are looking forward to yet another passing of the X-division title between Kaizen and Thane that should be one for the ages huh? Whose turn is it anyway?



    *Looking honestly confused about the face, Alana shrugs her shoulder, with her hands at her sides, palms up toward the ceiling for emphasis. She turns around to now to face forward and after a brief flash the camera view is now on her right side, showing her in profile.*


    That’s right, back to the chore at hand. Sally and I have been in enough matches for us to know where we stand with one another. In my absence she attained much more success than she had previously. She won and held the women’s title and has done pretty well for herself. However for me the record is on repeat. I beat Saddle Sally, it is what I came into this company doing, it is what I was doing when I left, and it is something I’ve done since my return. Less we forget I beat women’s champion Sally and the chic running around with the belt now. Do I sound intimidated, worried, or concerned? Because if I do, it is a complete misunderstanding. What I am doing is simply explaining why my partner and I should be winning. We have an experience edge going in after all. Without a doubt the greenest person in this match is Taylor, and let us consider the fact that Taylor is what, two or three and zero against her own partner. So by that logic, if you can’t beat them, join them, huh?


    *Her walk stops abruptly as she places her hands on her hips and leans against a nearby wall. First she removes her hat and sunglasses, revealing more of her face to the camera. She stuffs both items into her left jacket pocket, and continues to lean on the wall looking pretty at ease.*


    As far as Taylor, or Emily, or whatever she wants to go by this week is concerned, perhaps I am just not seeing the bright side to her young career. Sure beating Sally looks pretty good on paper, but from where I sit, it’s just not that big a deal. This little lady is still trying to both find herself and her way around the ring. The flashes of talent and signs of potential and promise are great. But to watch her in action is not so inspiring. Don’t get me wrong, consistency come with time for some. Either way you look at it, this match is probably the best thing for her right now, because if she is smart, she has already realized that she has been given the opportunity to learn. She will get to see women who are elite when it comes to taking to the ring. She is going to be surrounded by former women champions. She will also have the best seat in the house to see the most exciting, serious, and real women’s wrestling that the FWA has to offer. I’ll say this much, the verdict still has to be out on the Raquel Wednesday’s discovery. Through a strange set of circumstances, the woman who left the FWA because she lost her battle with addiction, found a former band front that by all accounts was better suited for fighting in the ring, than a music career. That is most interesting, and has my attention, slightly anyway.


    *Pushing herself off of the wall, she removes her long coat and continues her stroll toward her locker room. The hallways almost seem maze like as she turns one corner to find herself in a hallway that seems to not end. They are of course very well lit, in spite of the ceilings being as high as they are.*


    Nobody wants to lose, but do people really want to compete? Should I jump up and down to cheerlead for a show that remembered little old me at the last possible moment? I get starting at the bottom and working my way up, but I refuse to respect those who have none for me. This I did not ask for and winding up with the single most self-absorbed individual on the planet as a partner, is not what I call a winning hand, but then again what do I know, Divine is in the top ten, and I’m just the woman who beat Paj. Life is funny, he gets a shot at becoming a two time world champion and well; I get to have a fluff match with the girls, but I get it. Honestly I should have understood on draft night when the company made it clear to me what my value is.

    It’s like I hear from management all the time, they say “Alana, you are good; you just need to do more.” As I stand in somebody’s office, thinking to myself, “I don’t get to book my own opponents, now do I?” I like to go into each of my matches looking to prove something. I’ve been looking hard at this, but I just don’t see it. I guess this time around Divine is the flavor of the month. Strange world we live in when people are thirsty to know who is screwing who, or how many. Part of me thinks that maybe I should not care about anything but myself and what I want for a while because it seems to me those are the people cherished by this company.Then again, I’ve never been much of a follower. You see unlike the three other women involved in this match, I don’t require external validation of my skills. I have been successful, and not only here, like quite a few who run around claiming to be the best. I have been a champion everywhere I have been, and do not intend to waste my very valuable time.



    *She pauses once more, only this time in front of a door with a sign the reads “Alana” on it in English. With her back toward the door she faces the camera once more, after taking a long deep breathe, she exhales…..*


    I suppose this match has a little something for all fans to enjoy. You have something new, toxic, but new. Something old as no woman has been in the FWA longer than Sally, well except Gabrielle, she’s been around way more than Sally. Ooops, no worries Gabs, you know what I mean Hun, oh and thanks for the vote of confidence after I softened Paj up for you. Oh and you’re welcome. There will no doubt be mystery, as I have no idea if Divine is here, if Divine is going to be here, or what Divine will show up.

    Never the less, I will be here. Standing tall and ready to kick ass. If Divine is like so many partners before, and fails me, then I’ll fight both of those women alone. After all, I am supposed to be the FWA master at fighting two opponents in the same night. I sure am glad the FWA does not run a baseball team; they would be the kind of guys to have the same starting pitcher start both games of a double header.
    Above all I am a realist; there is not one friend I have in this match. Any one of these women would love nothing more than to make a name for themselves at my expense, and well that’s just not a good look for me, so I won’t be doing that one. What I will be doing is working out in this room right up until the time comes for me to walk down to that right, and face whatever comes my way. There is no fear in this heart, no fear in these eyes, and a whole lot of fight left in this old gal, we remember when everything else is said and done. Consider this, from Russia with love….



    *Using her left hand she blows a kiss, right into the camera. With a big smile on her face and without breaking her gaze from the camera, she reaches with her right hand for the door knob. Once reaching it she gives it a slow turn as the big smile turns into more of a grin. Although the look is pleasant, one has to wonder, what this expression means. The expression, “bad intentions” comes to mind as the shot blurs as she slowly eases her way into the room, in a sort of teasing way.*





    Last edited by Eyesnsane; 02-25-2015 at 08:20 PM. Reason: deleted jargon not apart of role play that was visible





  12. #12
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    Dune is in his training room, throwing punch after punch into the heavy bag that hangs from the ceiling. His strikes land in rapid-fire succession, and the force of the blows causes the bag to sway in great circles. Dune is light on his feet as he adjusts to the shifting bag. After a devastating combination of punches, he leaps into the air and performs a tornado kick that lifts the bag to a nearly parallel position to the floor before it swings back down. He ducks it and rolls to his feet, assuming a fighting stance before
    the sound of his Rottweiler’s ferocious barking turns his head.

    He remains still for a moment. When the Rottweiler continues to bark he calls, “Quiet!” and there is silence. Seconds later he hears the unmistakable sound of an engine growling outside his subterranean abode. Instantly realizing the potential danger that awaits, he bounds for the doorway and sprints down the hall toward his bedroom. Once inside he throws open the chest at the foot of his bed and reaches in with both hands. When he pulls them out, his left holds a bull-whip and his right holds a large, razor-sharp blade that gleams in the light as he turns and runs out of the room. His Rottweiler is standing at the end of the hall, growling and looking up near the bottom of the ramp that leads toward the front door. As Dune blazes past him, he resumes his barking with even more ferocity than before. He knows the game has begun…and, like his Master, he loves the sport.

    Dune bursts into the light to see a black dune buggy perhaps 1/8 of a mile from where he stands. Sand shoots up behind its back tires as it speeds toward him. He scowls at the vehicle, raises his weapon-wielding arms, sways back and forth on the balls of his feet, prepares his mind for the worst…

    The dune buggy slides to a halt no more than fifty feet away. “Stay,” orders Dune, but the dog doesn’t obey. Instead the Rottweiler charges the vehicle. Dune takes off after him, his eyes glued to the lone man who steps out of the driver’s seat and walks around to the front of the vehicle. He wears a grey, hooded robe with a rope tied around the waist. A beard hangs down from his chin…

    Dune’s sprint slows to a jog as he watches his Rottweiler greet Freeman. The dog’s tail and hind-quarters wag with the same ferocity his bark held only moments ago. The man who had offered to train Dune prior to his match against Cryos kneels down and draws back his hood. His face is met by the dog’s wet tongue. Freeman laughs with delight as he pets the exuberant animal.

    Dune, walking now, comes face to face with the man for the first time since their first meeting.

    Dune: If it isn’t Freeman-Wan Kenobi…or is it Old Man you’re going by these days?

    Freeman: Real cute, boy. What’s that you got there? Planning to whip my ass raw and gut me in time for supper? I'll have you know that if you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.

    Dune looks down at the blade and the bull-whip and lets out a quick-chuckle. He sheathes the blade and tucks the whip into his
    belt.

    Dune: Well what the fuck, Freeman? You should know these aren’t friendly parts. You’ll have to forgive me for not associating the sound of a running engine heading my way with anything but trouble. Granted, it’s been years since I heard one, but old habits die hard…if they ever do.

    Freeman: You’re damn right. I’ll admit it: I knew you’d come running to defend yourself when you heard my buggy getting close. Figured I’d give you a scare before we got down to business.

    Dune: Yeah? Well fuck you.

    The two men share a laugh.

    Dune: Seriously though, what the hell…you’ve got a dune buggy? What’d you do, steal it off one the tribes?

    Freeman: Damn right. What use do dead men have for a dune buggy?

    Dune laughs.

    Dune: Fair enough. How do you keep it fueled up? There’s no gas depot for at least two hundred miles.

    Freeman looks up at the clear blue morning sky.

    Freeman: Solar powered. We get, what, couple weeks-worth of overcast days all year? There’s enough sunlight out here to keep this sucker fueled for ages. That’s how I power everything. From the looks of it, you’d benefit real nicely from a few solar batteries. I’ve got more than my fair share. That little generator of yours can’t produce much electrical power.

    Dune: Fuck that. I only use a minimal amount anyway. Refrigerator, couple lights, an outlet for my T.V.

    Freeman: Well, well…look at you. You’ve got a T.V. We’ve got ourselves a high-roller. You’re a regular Don Johnson.

    Dune: Who? Ah…you know what? Nevermind, spare me. I use it for the sole purpose of replaying match-film, be it that of my opponents or my own.

    Freeman: M-hmm…on that note, let’s quit the bullshitting and get down to business. Hop in. Let’s go for a ride.

    Freeman gets back in the driver’s seat while Dune takes his place in the passenger’s. The Rottweiler climbs in and lies across Dune’s lap. Freeman starts the engine and wheels around, driving away from Dune’s home. The dog cries at first, but as the buggy picks up speed he sticks his head out of the side, opening his mouth and closing his eyes. The two men are silent for a moment before Freeman speaks up.

    Freeman: That was a hell of a fight you had with Cryos last week…hell of a fight. I won’t lie, Dune – I thought he had you a couple times. He was working that leg over and he damn near pinned your ass. That’s the closest you’ve come to losing. Not to say losing to Cryos would have been shameful by any definition of the term. I’m glad you turned it around and walked away victorious, but that goes without saying.

    Dune: Why say it then? Your guidance proved helpful in the ring last week, but if you think I need your moral support you’re mistaken. I know damn well how close I came to losing. I watched match-tape the first chance I got after arriving back home. I saw Cryos getting the best of me just like you did. Sure, he’s a legitimate talent who’s well on his way to becoming a star in the FWA…but that doesn’t make me feel any better about allowing him to keep up with me for so long.

    Freeman: Alright, come down. Hell, and here I thought you were pissed off when you called Cryos out.

    Dune: He didn’t let me down – he proved himself as a true challenger to anyone in the FWA. But he also made me realize how much work I need to put in if I want to become a top-tier talent.

    Freeman: You want to work, huh? Well, It’ll be my pleasure to oblige you.

    The dune buggy gathers speed before ascending a steep sand dune. As it crests the slope, the walls of a canyon can be seen looming a mile or so away. They draw nearer, and within a minute Freeman eases on the brakes until they come to a stop between a large boulder and the canyon wall. Freeman shuts of the engine and steps out. Dune follows suit after his dog leaps from his lap. Freeman grabs hold of a thick, tan tarp and throws it over the dune buggy. Dune gets the idea and lends a hand, helping to cover the vehicle entirely, shielding it from view.

    Freeman: Here we are. Follow me.

    Freeman walks over to a tall, rectangular block that juts out subtly from the bottom of the canyon wall. He hits a small, dark square of rock next to it with the side of his fist. The dark square slides down instantly, revealing a metal keypad with nine digits on its face, three rows of three. He punches in a series of seven digits and looks at Dune, smiling.

    Freeman: Watch this.

    Seconds later, the rectangular block in front of them slides over to the left slowly. In its wake is a dark passageway.

    Dune: What the fuck? What is this, your goddamn secret lair?

    Freeman: More or less. Certainly puts that rat-trap you live in to shame, huh? Come on, hurry inside before someone sees. I’ve managed to keep this place secret for this long, and I’m not going to give myself up on account of you and your dog.

    Dune steps through the doorway. In doing so, the overhead lights within turn on automatically. His Rottweiler follows his lead, and finally Freeman enters and presses a series of three numbers into another keypad inside the passage. The door slides close.

    Dune: How could…where did…

    Freeman: I’ll explain later. Now’s not the time for DIY tips and secrets. Fuck all that. Come on, follow me.

    Dune and his dog follow Freeman down the short passage. They turn a corner and descend a slight ramp before coming to an open doorway. Dune passes through and stands in disbelief at what he sees. It’s a large, dome-shaped room. Six doorways are notched into its outer walls. In the center is a wrestling ring, lower to the ground than those of FWA's but equal in all other regards.

    Dune: Ho-lee-shit. Hold on…you’ve got a goddamn wrestling ring? Why the fuck didn’t we meet here to begin with last week instead of in the middle of the desert?

    Freeman: Easy – I had to know I could trust you. I didn’t want to reveal this place to you if I found out you were just a big old piece of shit. We’ve got that in common, Dune – the trust issues, not the being a piece of shit part.

    Dune: I’m speechless, Freeman. I mean…

    Freeman: Speechless is good. It’s business time. Let’s get to work.

    Dune nods and walks toward the ring. He pulls on the ropes to test their tautness, nods again, then steps through. He jumps up and down a couple times, getting a feel for the mat’s give. Freeman reaches the ropes then lightly slaps the top of his head.

    Freeman: Ah…I almost forgot. I’ve got something to keep your boy busy.

    He walks over to the wall and opens the door to a closet. He reaches in and pulls out a huge femur bone.

    Freeman: He ought to like this.

    Dune: Where'd you...nevermind.

    Freeman holds the bone up for the dog, who perks up and follows its motion intently. Freeman tosses it and the dog bounds after it. He lies down next to it, going to work on the pale white bone with his strong jaws. Freeman chuckles, then walks toward the ring and steps through the ropes.

    Freeman: Alright, let’s get right down to it. You’ve got two opponents this week, each worthy in his own right. First there’s Ghost. I imagine you’ve watched some of his tape. What do you know about him?

    Dune: He’s a technical guy who’s not afraid to brawl it out or head to the top-rope. Pretty well-balanced fighter from what I’ve seen. He’s got a strong arsenal of strikes, throws, and submissions he can work with. He’s a powerhouse type, but when it comes to size and strength I’ve got him beat. He might be able to go toe-to-toe with me for a time, but I seriously doubt he can hang with me for long. He’s -

    Freeman: Okay, okay...let’s work off that for now. So he’s a technical wrestler. There are a few basic things to remember when up against a technical wrestler. First of all, he’s always going to be on the lookout for a reversal. Damn near any offensive move can be used against you, but so long as you’re aware of how your moves can be reversed and used against you, it shouldn’t be a problem. Second of all, you’ve got the size and strength to overwhelm a guy who’s relying on technical ability to get the best of you. Lastly, if he wants to play the technical game, rely heavily on your strikes to keep him off balance. He might catch your punch, or dodge and try to lock you into some submission maneuver, but what’s he going to do when he gets a foot or a knee to the body, followed by a series of punches or kicks? He can’t withstand your striking ability, Dune. It’s one of your strengths and it’s not something he can use to take advantage of you. He can only block your strikes with his arms or legs so many times before they’re completely bruised, broken, and obliterated. Alright, let’s put some of that to the test.

    The two go at it, locking up in a shoulder-grapple. Freeman quickly spins and takes Dune down with an arm-drag. Dune is back on his feet almost instantly. He thinks better of going for the grapple, instead striking Freeman in the body with both his hands and feet. Freeman takes a couple blows before side-stepping a straight-punch and grabbing Dune’s arm. Dune reacts by laying into Freeman with a series of devastating kicks that force Freeman to let go of Dune’s arm. The two continue to go back and forth, Freeman playing the role of the technical wrestler. He maintains the upper-hand for a short while, but soon Dune is one step ahead, using Freeman’s mindset against him to gain the advantage. A series of back-and-forth reversals leads to Dune laying Freeman out with a short-arm clothesline. Freeman rolls away from an elbow before holding his hands up.

    Freeman: Enough! Good work, Dune. You catch on quick. Alright, let’s move on.

    You mentioned he’s a brawler-type. That’s not something we need to work on here – you’ve got a punching bag at home, I assume. Go to town on that sucker until you’re blue in the face, then go some more. You’re prepared for a brawl as it is, but no harm in putting in some extra time. There’s no such thing as being over prepared.

    As far as his high-flying ability goes, Ghost’s is far less honed than your other opponent. Tell me a little about what you know of Alex Millar.


    Dune: Young guy, small…I’ve got close to 100 pounds on him, I’d say. And you’re right about his high-flying ability. It’s what he relies on damn near 100% of the time. That doesn’t bother me though. I love a risk-taker in the ring. If he wants to come flying at me all match, so be it. He might knock me around a little bit, but in the end me catching him in mid-air and slamming him to the mat is inevitable.

    Freeman: A little guy like him doesn’t make it to the FWA without being able to withstand a fair amount of pain. He’s a tough son of a bitch, so you need to be relentless with him. Pummel him good and slam him into the mat over and over again. He’s going to keep getting up, but only for so long.
    I’m too old to be flying around the ring like Millar does, but I know a few of his go-to moves and the best way to counter them. Be ready though, because I’m going to be switching back and forth between each fighter’s moveset so as to acquaint you with how this match is going to go. Alright…you ready to work? Give me your best shot, Dune.


    Dune glares at Freeman, then charges and tackles him in the center of the ring. Freeman rolls on top of him and begins slapping his half-masked face. In a rage, Dune throws Freeman off him and spins to his feet. They continue to fight for hours, taking short breaks at first and more substantial ones as time goes on. Freeman calls the sparring off after Dune climbs up to the top rope with him in his arms and performs a moonsault-powerslam.

    Freeman: Alright, alright. That's enough. 1-2-3, I'm done. Goddamn.

    Dune: Had enough already? It’s only been a couple hours.

    Freeman: Try six. Time flies when you’re whipping an old man's ass, huh Dune?

    Dune: Six hours? No way. Feels like I just got here.

    Freeman: Your dog’s got a strong bite, but there’s not a chance in hell he could devour so much of that bone in a couple hours.

    Freeman nods toward the dog, who’s blissfully gnawing away at a small chunk of what hours ago was a full femur bone. Dune calls for the dog, then calls a second time. The Rottweiler reluctantly gives in and sulks toward Dune. His ears perk up though when Dune calls for the bone, and he excitedly retrieves it before running back to his Master.

    Dune: Six hours…I guess that still leaves me with a couple hours of daylight to snatch up a meal.

    Freeman: Indeed. Catch yourself a rattlesnake, you sick fuck. Doing so can only help you. Alex Millar may be quick, but you’re kidding yourself if you think he’s quicker than a rattlesnake-strike. As for Ghost, remember to watch out for his technical prowess. No doubt he’ll be looking to take advantage of your inexperience that way. Remember what we went over. If you do, he doesn’t stand a chance.

    These are two very different fighters – they’re cut from separate cloths, to be sure. Burn them both. Burn them down to their last fiber, their last strand. Stay the aggressor and don’t relent until there’s nothing left but ash and the smell of burnt pride in the ring. Got me?

    Dune nods.

    Freeman: Come on, I’ll show you out.

    The three of them exit the large room and walk once more down the corridor toward the door in the canyon wall. Freeman enters the three-digit code and the door slides open. Freeman offers a ride, but Dune turns it down. The two men shake hands before the door slides shut. Dune laughs to himself, amused by the ridiculousness of the hidden, high-tech lair. He turns toward home and begins walking, his Rottweiler trotting happily at his side. He looks into the camera and begins to speak.

    Dune: Freeman’s right: his place puts mine to shame. But then again, so do the vast majority of homes the world over. It’s never bothered me before and it sure as hell won’t now. The ring was a nice touch, but I don’t need fancy doors or automatic lighting to keep me satisfied. Only one thing can do that…beating Ghost and Alex Millar at Winter Wasteland.

    Ghost – I speak directly to you now. You’re the kind of brawler I love squaring up against. Sure, your technical abilities outweigh my own, but they don’t make up for the vicious power I bring to the ring. You’ve got me edged when it comes to experience, but so has just about every other wrestler in the FWA who I’ve faced…and I beat them all. You won’t be an exception.

    We’re about the same age, but what have you done thus far in your life that makes you think you’re a better fighter than me? Pin a few shoulders to the mat for the 1-2-3? Force a few tap-outs with your Judgement Day? Well, I hate to break it to you, but I’ve got a much higher tolerance for pain than anyone you’ve had the pleasure of using that maneuver on to success thus far in your career. You’ve pinned men. I’ve killed men – if you can call them that – whole hordes of them. Granted, as individuals they likely were nowhere near the fighter you are, but three or four of them would certainly prove a fair comparison to one of you. And I’ve taken down far more than three or four.

    So show me your technical skills at Wasteland, Ghost. Show me how much of a brawler you really are. Give me your best and don’t hold back. It’ll take such an effort if you want to last more than a few minutes in the ring with me. To beat me though…well, I’m sure that you have it in you, but I highly doubt you’ll muster up the ferocity and wherewithal needed to bring me down before you’ve come to know my wrath in full. And make no mistake – when you’ll know damn well I’ve unleashed it upon you when you regain consciousness to see me striding back up the ramp and disappearing through the curtains with another victory notched next to my name.

    As for you, Alex Millar…what am I to say aside from beware? Like our mutual opponent, I’m sure that deep down you have what it takes to pin each of us, but I doubt even more than my first defeat in the FWA will come by your hand. As I said to Freeman, I’ve got 100 pounds on you, and plenty more in terms of skill. You can jump around all you want, but you’re fooling yourself if you hope to defeat me with an aerial attack. And since you love flying through the air so much, perhaps I’ll indulge you and send you flying in and out of the ring time and again. Would you like that, Alex? Either way, I doubt you’ll like landing on your back, neck, and head until you’re lifeless and broken.

    I’ve yet to face a wrestler of your variety in the FWA, and I have to say I’m looking forward to it. I urge you to take as many chances as possible. I love those high-risk/high-reward maneuvers you’re so fond of. You’re already taking a big enough risk by walking down the aisle and stepping into the ring with me, so why not go one step further and throw yourself around with reckless abandon? You can count on me doing the same to you. And when I’ve caught you mid-air and lift you up, crucifying you for all to see, perhaps in the moments before your final fall you’ll come to realize that you should have never showed up at Winter Wasteland.

    There’s one word that sums it all up for you, Alex, and I’ll say it again: beware.

    A dog and two cats…a fitting analogy for the three of us – myself, of course, being the dog. Remember, though, that I’m no dainty poodle afraid of distant thunder or his own shadow. Think of me as a rabid dog, far more ferocious and relentless than the Rottweiler who walks by my side. Meanwhile, you two are akin to alley-cats who stand between me and my meal. I’m hungry, boys…so hungry. Your hissing and posturing can’t keep me from what it is I want. And when I strike…sure, your sharp claws will no doubt inflict a bit of damage. They may even break the skin and draw forth a bit of blood. But before the night is through, make no mistake that the big dog won’t go hungry. No –I’ll have my meal…whether the two of you remain in my way or not.

    The camera stops as Dune continues walking in the desert, his dog at his side. It follows them for a few seconds before the screen slowly fades to black.
    Last edited by Dune; 02-27-2015 at 02:24 AM.

  13. #13
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    A Telling Tale

    *The feed opens to a black screen with a medium-size light blue diamond in the middle. A single ray of light is beaming into the center of the spinning jewel, causing the light to refract and highlight each beautiful facet of the diamond as well as the hidden colors of the ultraviolet rays. As the diamond continues to slowly spin and illuminate the entire black background, the light blue words “SILENTIUM INDUSTRIES” fade into the picture from the foreground and settle below the sparkling jewel. A couple of seconds pass before a computerized voice comes over the audio channel.*

    ???: Please stand by for a message from Silentium Industries.

    *The diamond graphic fades and the feed transitions into an open field in the middle of the day. The golden yellow rays of the sun are enveloping the lush green grass being blown around by a very light breeze. The silence of the area is cut by a constant THWIP sound to the left of the camera. The camera turns towards the noise to reveal Cryos standing in the middle of the field with dozens of empty quivers surrounding his feet. Cryos is wearing a light blue and black hoodie, light blue shades over his face, black wireless sport earbuds in both ears with black track pants with two light blue stripes down the legs and holding a graphite black compound bow. Cryos is staring down the field as he reaches into the quiver on his back with his right hand. He pulls out two graphite black arrows with three light golden vanes on the back and a black steel arrowhead laced with gold on the front and nocks one arrow into the bow. He sharply inhales before raising the bow and drawing back hard on the arrow. You can hear the tension in the strings as he holds on to the arrow before he exhales slowly and releases the projectile with a THWIP sound before a metallic crunch follows the THWIP moments later. Cryos lowers the bow and second arrow and keeps looking down range as the camera approaches him. Cryos pulls the earbuds out of his ears and quickly raises the second arrow directly into the lens of the camera, making the cameraman stop dead in his tracks.*

    Cryos: Golden, I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out why you did what you did, why you would take a target away from me and make yourself one in the process. Through my research on you, I believe I’ve finally found the answer. I assume you’re at least educated enough to know the story of William Tell. Then again, considering how stupid you were to involve yourself in my affairs in the first place I think that’s a lofty assumption on my part. William Tell was ordered to shoot an apple off his son’s head at the behest of the Austrian Vogt Albrecht Gessler, who arrested him for not bowing in respect of his hat. Gessler believed, for some ludicrous reason, that he deserved so much respect that an article of clothing of his should receive the same.

    *Cryos reaches back into his quiver and pulls out another arrow before he nocks an arrow while keeping one in his hand. He sharply inhales, closes his left eye and raises the bow and arrow, drawing back hard on the string while aiming at something downrange.*

    Cryos: You’ve been telling everyone that’ll listen that you thought I was copying your streak, so you decided to end it. I think that’s bullshit.

    *Cryos lets go off the arrow and the familiar sound of the arrows slicing through the air fills the area until it’s followed by a metallic crunch.*

    Cryos: I believe you are like Gessler. I believe that since I didn’t bow to your hat, or your “legacy” in the FWA in this case, you decided to get involved in my business to show me who you are and how much you crave that respect.

    *Cryos reaches into his quiver again and pulls out yet another arrow to match the one currently in his hand. He nocks one of the arrows in the bow, feeling the vanes for a brief moment before inhaling, closing his left eye and raising the bow and arrow, drawing back on the projectile until the strings groan under the strain.*

    Cryos: Regardless of your intention, the only thing that you showed me was that you are completely full of shit.

    *Cryos lets the projectile fly and it slices through the air before coming to a stop downrange and creating a loud metallic crunch. *

    Cryos: You keep shoveling all this garbage about how you don’t care about me or my supposed streak, yet you went out of your way to put an end to a streak that I truly didn’t care about to begin with and my name keeps flowing out of your mouth with reckless abandon. You’ve even contradicted yourself by calling me an assassin in one breath and saying that I wasn’t one in the next. For a guy that doesn’t care about me, you sure do mention me a hell of a lot.

    *Cryos reaches back into his quiver and pulls out another arrow, carefully nocking one of the arrows and stroking the light gold vanes of the arrow before drawing in his breath, lifting the bow and arrow and pulling back on the strings of the bow to lock the arrow in place.*

    Cryos: Of all the things you’ve done, the only one that I truly care about is you taking a target away from me. I don’t like unfinished business. I’ve found that it lingers with me. It leaves a rotten feeling on my soul and a nasty taste in my mouth. I thought that smashing in your spine with that steel chair was going to get rid of that rotten feeling, but apparently I was wrong. I thought hitting you with that chair, taking all my frustrations from you SCREWING WITH MY WORK in one swing would be enough to let it go. But I've just realized that one shot is not enough.

    *Cryos releases the strings holding the deadly arrow back and the projectile flies free of the bow, slicing through the air before coming to a stop at the end of a loud metallic crunch.*

    Cryos: I realize now why I couldn’t get the job done against Dune. I can clearly see now why I couldn’t eliminate him as a target. And it’s something you said that helped me to see the light. You told me that an assassin like myself has to be clear and composed and you are absolutely right, for once in your life.

    *Cryos reaches back into the quiver and pulls out another arrow. He nocks the arrow, then looks down the length of the projectile as he inhales, closes his left eye and brings the bow up while drawing back on the arrow tight enough to make the bow strings quiver under the pressure.*

    Cryos: When I cleared my mind of all targets, I realized that I failed to eliminate Dune, Danny Toner and Taylor Toxic because I was always drawing two arrows. Ever since you interfered in my match against Quinn, I’ve been drawing two arrows ever since. One for my current target…and one for you.

    *Cryos lets the bow strings go and the arrow flies through the air and stops with a loud metallic crunch.*

    Cryos: The reason why all this is relevant to William Tell is that Tell did the exact same thing. He drew two arrows from his quiver, one for the task at hand and one for Gessler’s heart if he should fail to hit his mark with the first. I’ve missed my mark because of you on three different occasions, which makes three arrows I owe your heart. And at Winter Wasteland, I intend to deliver them all to their mark. I know what I have to do to regain my focus and control. I have to end this telling tale between us before it continues any further. I have to eliminate you from existence. I have to eliminate you as a target on my list.

    *Cryos takes another breath and draws the last arrow from his quiver. He nocks one arrow and draws back on the bow and the arrow until the bow strings are tight.*

    Cryos: So congratulations Golden. I am about to give you even more attention than you’ve ever craved in your life. Unfortunately, it's not the type of attention you seek. You and your weaknesses are about to become the center of my world. And like Tell should have done to Gessler whether he passed or failed, I’m going to put an arrow through your rotten heart. I’m not going to stop putting arrows into your weaknesses until your world is destroyed.

    *Cryos lets the arrow go and quickly nocks the last arrow in his hand and sends it slicing through the air after its predecessor. Both of the arrows go sailing through the air until they stop with two loud metallic crunches. For the first time in this entire message Cryos lowers the bow and turns to face the camera, his deadly gaze piercing the lens.*

    Cryos: Usually, this is the part where I’d have the decency to show the target what their weakness is. It gives them a feeble attempt to fight back and try to save themselves, at least in their minds. But since you are a rotten target, I’m not going to give you the courtesy. You’re going to have to figure out what my plan is all by yourself. Good luck with that.

    *Cryos turns and walks past the camera off-screen. The camera turns and zooms in to show the target Cryos was shooting at the whole time; a crash-test dummy that appears to be made of solid gold! The Golden dummy is hitched up into a standing position and the dummy is littered with arrows! The dummy is covered to the centimeter with arrows sticking out of its limbs and enough vanes to make it look like a bird. As the Golden dummy glistens in the sunlight, the camera zooms in closer on the facial area to see a picture of Devin Golden’s face attached to the head with the words “Target Acquired” written over it! The feed fades to black and cuts to static.*
    Last edited by Kilik; 02-26-2015 at 10:07 PM. Reason: Changed Wonderland to Wasteland- Change Approved By Shake

  14. #14
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    The one thing in life that men with great power want to see is a hero who goes against him to bow before him. The story of Thomas Princeton and Drew Stevenson, while not a very long one, is definitely filled with action, betrayal and if Thomas gets his way -- heartbreak. It's no secret to everybody watching that Princeton has intentionally made Stevenson's life a living hell ever since Stevenson turned down his offer to join him.

    Week after week, we have seen Stevenson get beaten down and dragged through the mud but the question on everybody's mind is, can Stevenson defy the odds one more time?

    Snow flurries lightly flowed throughout the night sky and all around the rubble of what was the remnants of an old Kingdom. There were several inches of snow on the ground which tells us that it has been snowing for a while. Running along the snow was a Crimson Trail, that of blood which led quite a ways until you came across a large crumbled stone building -- a building which used to be used a long time ago but has long since been abandoned.

    ... My eyes seek reality!

    As we followed the blood trail into the large, crumbled building, it is very dark but amidst the darkness -- we can hear some shuffling and in the very corner of the building, we can see a figure sitting down with his back up against the wall and clearly, the blood trail leads to this figure who seems to be wounded. With his face being concealed behind the darkness, the figure has his hand placed up against his stomach area which seems to be where the wound is coming from as his hand is completely covered in blood. Taking in several long, deep breaths, it was pretty evident that whoever this was -- he or she was close to dying, to perishing. With the sound of slight gurgling in between each breath, the figure who has their head lowered slowly brings their head up and begins to speak, you can tell that whoever it is, they sound very tired, very weak and almost as if they don't have much fight left in them.

    Drew,
    "Many tried to warn me, many said that if I tried to defy what Thomas Princeton offered me that I would make the gravest mistake that I have ever made. The question that I ask myself now is, should I have listened to them?"

    Slowly leaning forward, the figure who is now revealed as Drew Stevenson lets out a small grunt as he is in a great deal of pain and very weak from the blood loss as well.

    Drew,
    "If you are Thomas Princeton, Christian Quinn or Danny Toner then of course you would say yes. I mean, who is willing to fight for what they believe in to the point that they will sit here bleeding out? Who is willing to sacrifice their entire career, their entire legacy just to ensure that they lived by the sword that they wielded? Well let me tell you who, I, Drew Stevenson am the very man who will live and die by the sword that I have wielded since the very first day that I stepped foot inside this company."

    Swallowing hard, there was some blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth as he sits there in a great deal of pain, knowing that everything that he has worked for, his whole career could very well perish at any moment.

    Drew,
    "Last week on Fight Night, you managed to turn the tide against me Princeton. You managed to buy out the only person who I thought had the testicular fortitude to join me in this battle and for that, I say congratulations because you finally realized that it is going to take everything you have, it is going to take an entire army in order to put me down, and that is something that you finally realized after I have been telling you from day one what it will take in order to even get remotely close to beating me."

    Clearing his throat as quietly as he can, he manages to remove most of the blood so that he can continue to speak.

    Drew,
    "You know Princeton, even though I have managed to beat you every single show leading up to this very match? You have managed to turn everybody's heads, you have become the man who they think will end my eight month reign as the North American Champion and that is because you have managed to do something that nobody else in this company has been able to do -- and that is put the doubt in people's minds, making them think that my morale and my spirit is completely shattered."

    Pausing momentarily, the cold air blows across his face as he continues to speak, growing weaker and weaker with each minute that passes by.

    Drew,
    "I want to commend you on that Thomas, I want you to revel in what you think is going to be a glorious victory because even though you have wounded me? I promise you that I'm going to fight until the bitter end, I am going to fight until there's no longer my last breath to give because while nobody else will stand up to you? You have my word that I will stand up to you Princeton; I will make sure that even in my death? Your entire kingdom shows its true weakness!"

    Coughing repeatedly, blood splatters out as he reaches up with his left hand and wipes the blood away from his mouth.

    Drew,
    "Ever since you have gotten here, you have proven to be nothing but a tyrant -- a man who won't stop until he makes everybody bow to him and you might have almost everybody on their knees praising you but you will have to kill me before I will ever bow to you or call you master..."

    Even through his weakness, you can see the fire in his eyes -- he wants to kill Princeton, to put him six feet under and that is exactly what he plans on doing -- even if he has to die in the process of doing so.

    Drew,
    "... Oh believe me; I know that you are perfectly fine putting me down because I have become the biggest thorn in your side since you have gotten here. I have become the one man who you can't control, the one man who you can't beat and even though I am sitting here wounded and bleeding out? You still can't control me and you sure as hell still can't beat me. Oh yeah, you are hearing every word from my mouth correctly, I am telling you that even though I am standing on my last leg? You and all of your little cronies, your army, will still not be enough to defeat me and to take away what I have fought eight months to keep and that is the FWA North American Championship!"

    Beginning to shiver from the extreme cold as well as the blood loss, Stevenson leans back into the shadows again.

    Drew,
    "Do you know what the biggest difference is between you and I Princeton? You have always been so eager to kiss ass in order to get ahead while I have always been willing to do it the right way, by stepping into that ring and proving night after night, week after week, month after month and year after year just why I am the best -- something that you have never done a day in your life. Oh no, instead, you sit there with your silver spoon in your mouth being given everything that you could ever ask for and one day? You just so happened to gain all of this power, something that you have abused from the very moment that you got it and something that you are about to die with when you step into that ring against me one more time. I'm guessing that you're not a guy who really cares about history much because if you were that kind of guy Princeton, you would know that even the mightiest of kings have fallen when they have become too greedy for power."

    Managing to allow a small grin to stretch along his face, he continues to speak, his voice getting slightly lower due to the blood loss as he is beginning to get much weaker than he was just moments ago.

    Drew,
    "Before you say it, trust me, I know exactly what it looks like and from the perspective in which you and the rest of the world are seeing it? I stand absolutely no chance of beating you. I mean, how can one man beat an entire army worth -- especially when he is on the verge of death? Well Princeton, it is something that I could never tell you in words because you don't have the heart to understand what I am preaching to you. Instead, you send all of your goons to wound me so that I am easy pickings for you and I would say that I am surprised but I will be honest with you; I would be lying if I said that I was. I'll admit, I never thought that Danny would turn, he seemed like a guy who I could trust -- a guy who believed in working for and earning every single thing that you get in life but as the old saying goes Princeton, "everybody's got a price" and unfortunately for me, you managed to find his price."

    Lowering his head once again, he goes rather quiet. With the warm blood continuing to pour out of his midsection, his right hand is stained in Crimson. Breathing to the best of his ability, he takes a much needed pause before continuing to speak once again; things are not looking good for our champion.

    Drew,
    "Now since I know that you are listening Princeton, I want you and everybody else to listen to what I have to say very closely -- I will never and I do mean ever join your tyrannical cause. You can cut off my head, you can cut off every single limb that I have, you can disembowel me and string my intestines all along the rooftops for everybody to see but I leave you with this final word..."

    Letting out a grunt, he manages to shift his body forward revealing his face -- his face completely pale from all of the blood that he has lost and his lips blue.

    Drew,
    "... You will NEVER forget my name, EVER!"

    Narrowing is dark brown eyes, he has problems breathing again as blood continues to run from the corner of his mouth. Coughing several times, we can hear footsteps crunching through the snow and at the entrance of the old, crumbled building, we see three figures who we know all too well and those men are Thomas Princeton, Christian Quinn and Danny Toner. Smirking at the sight of the wounded Stevenson, Princeton seems very pleased with this. Slowly bringing his head up to see the three men standing there, Stevenson slowly manages to pull himself up to his feet as blood falls out of his body and onto the beautiful white snow below. Not saying a word, Stevenson removes his hand from off of his midsection and reaches for the sword that is strapped to his hip -- showing that he still has one good, final fight left in his body before death.

    While alone and left abandoned...
    With the sentence, you've been handed...
    All your angels will ignore you...
    As your life flashes before you...
    Even still you keep on fighting...
    Through the thunder and the lightning...
    And now Heaven sends its love...

  15. #15
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    FWA.com Exclusive

    Moments after his match with Alana Allure, Ghost helps her up off of the stretcher that was used for their match type. At first she refuses, wanting to get up on her own strength, but eventually she reluctantly takes Ghost up on his offer and takes his hand and he helps her up and shakes her hand much to the delight of the crowd. Then afterwards he exits through the curtain to allow Alana to have her moment out there letting the fans show their appreciation for her.

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

    Days later

    Our scene opens up in a secluded, outdoor location where it's snowing. There's a shuffling through the snow and Ghost appears, along with Jane, who looks none too pleased to be out here. Both of them are wearing winter weather, but Jane's clothing doesn't seem to be doing much for her.

    Explain to me again how this will help you in your match at Winter Wasteland!

    Ghost stops and motions for her to sit down on a nearby log.

    Well, I just thought it seemed fitting since the show is called Winter Wasteland, and this looks a bit like a wasteland to you, doesn't it?

    Jane glares at Ghost, obviously not in the mood for games.

    Seriously, I figured that we could take a break from out usual routine and come out to enjoy the wilderness

    I'd much rather enjoy it from the comfort of our usual routine, of all times to choose to do this, you choose during a bloody winter storm!

    Now, relax...

    No, I won't relax until you make us a fire right here and now before I freeze my bloody behind off!

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

    A fire has been made now and the weather has calmed down fortunately for our duo, who sit at the campfire. Jane seems much more comfortable now as she has her hands out in front of the fire while Ghost just stares silently at it.

    You know, we look like fools out here!

    Jane says, breaking the silence.

    Why do you say that?

    Well, for one thing, I'm as pale as your namesake and your wearing face paint for crying out loud!

    Ghost chuckles a bit.

    I'm glad one of us finds some humor out of this. Besides, shouldn't you be more concerned about your match at Winter Wasteland?

    I am...

    Well, then why the hell are we out in the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold? do you plan on freezing them to death in order to win?

    Ghost chuckles again and shakes his head.

    No, it's like I said, I just wanted us to get away from our usual routine and away from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. Being out here helps put the mind at ease in preparation for events such as what I have coming up.

    Well, whatever this does for you I hope it helps, because I don't want to see you lying flat in your back. There was too much of that going on recently, and now you're back on the winning track with that victory over Alana Allure I don't want that to change.

    True, and Alana was a worthy adversary. Now, I have to deal with not only one man, but two. First, there's Dune, a man who is a bit similar to myself. Yet, we have different ideals. While I'm here to help and save people from evil, he's part of the evil that I've tried to stop for so many years. All he does is hurt anyone who steps in his path, and relies on his physical strength to get past anyone who dares to challenge him.

    He also wears a bloody mask.

    Yeah, not quite like me with my face paint, but still the similarities are there. While he relies on his physical strength, I rely on my mental strength and once I've used that to succession I bring my technical prowess into action and from there it's all elementary. With Dune, it won't be as easy as it sounds, because my mental strength won't really work on him. You see, he's much smarter than he lets on, so in order to take him out I'll have to wear him down with my own physical strength. Again, I know that won't be as easy, but given time I believe I can get the job done.


    What about that other bloke, Alex Millar?

    Ah yes, the new kid on the block as they would say. He shows a lot of heart and passion, but at the same time all I see is a young, naive individual, who has yet to be corrupted by the system.

    What you're saying is that you're mental strength can be used to outwit Alex Millar?

    Exactly, you see, no offense to the young man because he means well, but he's just not cut out for this business. Like I said, he's young and he's naive and sooner or later he'll fall into the wrong crowd because he doesn't know what's right or what's wrong. I'll use that to my advantage to take him out in fell swoop, of course after we've disposed of Dune.

    I get it now, you'll get this Alex Millar bloke to believe that you're partners and take out Dune, then when the moment is right you'll strike?

    See, you're getting it now. I see great potential in this young Alex Millar, but now is just not his time. He'll learn sooner or later not to trust anyone in this business. It's cutthroat, and he's going to learn that the hard way when I put him down along with Dune. When I put them away I will not only be winning the match, but it will also be a message sent to The Movement that I'm coming for them. No matter obstacles get thrown in my path, I will not stop until I get my hands on each and every one of them. What I did to them at Crossfire was all part of my plan, and it was a message to let them know that I haven't forgotten about what they did to me.

    Right, well I'm off to get some rest before we head out in the morning, I'm guessing?

    Yes, we'll head first thing in the morning.

    Jane gets in the tent and falls fast asleep while Ghost sits by watching the fire.

    Dune, Millar, your judgment day will arrive at Winter Wasteland, and as for The Movement, soon enough your day of reckoning will come.

    With that the fire suddenly goes out and the scene ends.


    Rest in power, Flock U

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business

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

  16. #16
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    Redemption

    Once upon a time there was a brash blond from Vegas. He was young, he was handsome, he was ambitious but above all else...he was great. He was enamored with professional wrestling as a child and his love for the business only grew with age. He studied the legends of yesteryear, admired the legends of his current time and looked to the stars of the future and saw himself at the very front. This young man was driven. This young man was a Diamond.

    As he made his way through high school, he drove hours upon hours to the nearest wrestling school to master the craft. He trained, he bled but most importantly he dreamed. Or is it dreamt?


    Jack of Diamonds: Goddamn it, Steven...

    Mr. Steven: I've heard it both ways. How am I supposed to know which one is the proper usage?


    Jackie and Mr. Steven are sitting in a dimly lit room in front of a laptop. From what we can tell they're overlooking a montage or video package of some sort. Jackie is in his post-workout sweatpants and sweatshirt with a gigantic King of Clubs on the front (because he's ironic) and Mr. Steven is sipping from a 2-Liter of soda.

    JOD: This whole thing is like, it's not me.

    Mr. Steven: Not you? You prepared for a match by throwing a gigantic carnival in the middle of a forest and you almost murdered a barbershop quartet. Expansive, overly produced productions aren't your thing?


    Jackie pauses and his eyes dart away from Steven out of shame.

    JOD: It was a phase.

    Silence overtakes the room as Steven stares blankly at Jack. He shakes his head slowly and closes his laptop shamefully. Steven gulps loudly as he downs a significant amount of his soda because diabetes are a government conspiracy, not a legitimate concern.


    JOD: Look...I know you're like my personal cameraman of sorts. But that really was a phase. I was crazy and my head was clouded with disappointment and anger and frustration about everything that was going on with my return to FWA.

    Mr. Steven: So what now? If I can't follow you around while you beat up homeless men or cut together amazing hype packages to the tune of Aerosmith's “I Don't Want To Miss A Thing” then what good am I?

    JOD: You're good company.

    Steven glares at Jack while taking another swig of soda. This kid really needs to drink more water.


    JOD: Besides, you went to school for journalism and that's what you want to do with your life, yeah? I don't need fancy video packages to explain myself anymore. And I'm too exhausted to even worry about that stuff. Let's just sit down and have a conversation about it. I have a lot on my chest and this is one of the biggest matches of my career. Let's just talk.

    Jackie motions toward the kitchen counter, the only section of the hotel room currently lit. There are chairs on either side of the counter and an open (and empty) pizza box haphazardly sat on the edge. Steven finishes off his soda (thankfully) and heads into the kitchen. Jackie follows and both men take their respective seats. A small notepad is pulled from Steven's pocket and he flips it open, pen in the opposite hand. Jackie is taken aback by the scene.

    JOD: Are...are those questions for an interview? Did you have this prepared the whole time you were working on the video? Why didn't we just do this to begin with?

    Mr. Steven: I'll be asking the questions here, Mr. Diamond. First things first: Why do you hate talented journalists and their desire to create impressive videos on their chosen subject matter?

    JOD: Steven.

    Mr. Steven: Jack.


    JOD: ...can we not?

    Mr. Steven clears his throat and immediately takes on a serious, if monotone...tone.

    Mr. Steven: A few weeks back, one of your opponents at the upcoming Pay-Per-View brutally assaulted your friend and companion Shannon O'Neal. Since then you've taken responsibility for the offender, Gabrielle Montgomery, by insinuating that your behavior since returning pushed her over the edge. Can you elaborate on your perspective?


    JOD: Thank you for taking this seriously. And yes, I do take responsibility for Gabby's actions because I was in a bad place. I didn't feel accepted by the fans who seemed so eager to have me back, only to to turn on me immediately. I didn't feel like the powers-that-be were understanding of the situation and their lack of attention to Jason Gryphon's borderline stalking. I didn't feel wanted. I didn't feel respected and most importantly I didn't feel like myself.

    So I was nasty. I was manipulative and I was just out of it. Tired and exhausted. I mean we've heard it already, I don't wanna sound too much like a broken record. But my return and the way I was treated changed me. And I truly believe that the way I treated Gabby changed her. Not who she is at the core, because I said all along that she was a fraud hiding behind a saint's mask. But I changed her mind on keeping up with the facade. When we beat her down in front of her daughter, was that a bad thing done by bad people? Maybe. But in my quest to expose her for what she really was I lost sight of my boundaries. And me pushing those boundaries off a cliff resulted in Gabby falling off that cliff. And she's as tough as they come so that tumble off the cliff didn't hurt her. She got up, dusted herself off and decided to quit playing games.

    Mr. Steven: Do you regret your actions toward Gabby?


    JOD: As heinous as they were, no. I don't. Because I got what I wanted out of the ordeal. Now we just have to deal with it.

    Mr. Steven: There was considerable fanfare when Drew Stevenson was taken as the first overall pick in the Expansion Draft. Gabrielle was taken followed by you. Yet here you are in the title match, alongside Phillip A. Jackson from Crossfire. Did you expect to be in this situation or do you believe your victory over Stevenson paved the way?

    JOD: I should have been in this situation. I've not only earned my spot in the main event but proven time and time again why I belong at the top. My victory over Drew was payback. Redemption. He beat me in our first meeting and used my name to get himself a bigger paycheck. I became a bold bulletpoint on his resume. I told him time and time again that I'd get my win back. And I did.

    And that match sets the tone for my rematch with Gabrielle. The Crossfire Reunion show was the biggest night of my career. My very first FWA Heavyweight Championship match and it was a hell of a battle. I fought that woman with every ounce of my being that night and it wasn't enough. That loss sent me on a downward spiral where I was left wondering if I should retire for good. Because to finally make it to the top of the mountain only to be dropped from the summit...that ain't a good time. She beat me cleanly and deserved the win. But what did she do? She did her best Drew Stevenson impression by gloating and speaking of her victory over me as if it was the greatest thing she had ever accomplished. Like beating me was better than winning the title itself. And as much as I take that as a compliment, it's also an insult. So I set myself on a course to get that victory back. Redemption.

    Mr. Steven: What are your thoughts on PAJ? This is someone you haven't had too much interaction with overall. But it's well known that G-Rich had issues with PAJ and essentially recruited you to take PAJ out. Your tag-team match against PAJ and Ryan Rondo was nothing short of brutal. So what are your thoughts on the man himself and do you consider him more of a threat than Gabrielle?

    JOD: G-Rich hired me to do his dirty work and made me promises he never kept. That's where I had the upper hand, though. When someone is desperate enough to offer you the world in exchange for something, chances are they don't have the world to offer. But I liked the idea of being this mercenary for hire. The attention was fun. And it gave me someone to beat up with very little purpose. But beyond all that...beyond the fact that I never really had any interaction with PAJ...I agreed in large part because of his ties to NEO and Jason Gryphon. Again, sparing everyone of the broken record, Jason Gryphon was a large part in why I lost my goddamn mind. He's the reason I was driven to the point of basically contracting a hit on a mother in front of her daughter. It didn't matter where I went or how much I declared that I didn't want anything to do with him: Jason Gryphon was there every time I turned around.

    So I finally got him off my back. Sent him packing from the FWA after a beatdown that he deserved. So instead of being able to truly move on what did I get? I got his buddies Ryan Rondo and PAJ chasing me down. So PAJ was guilty by association. He was doomed from day one because if you have anything to do with Jason Gryphon then I want you to bleed. I want you to hurt and I want you to perish. Do I think he's a threat? Of course. He's talented and his blood is still on my hands. I'm sure he wants his revenge. I'm sure he wants his own redemption. But he needs to understand that my redemption is FWA's redemption. Because I might be a bad guy that's a good guy sometimes but says and does things while being good but is really bad...but I'm honest. Brutally so. And FWA needs an honest champion. You don't need to love me or even like me. But when my music hits just watch the crowd. Every single person in the arena stands up and shows me the respect I deserve. Gabby already knows what to expect from me. I suppose PAJ does too after what I did to him. But they need to remember that I'm a completely different animal when that bell rings. I'm not just here to win a match. I'm not just here to win the FWA Heavyweight Championship. I'm not just here for my redemption. I'm here to avenge Shannon O'Neal.
    Mr. Steven: When yo-

    Jackie leans forward and interrupts Mr. Steven, much to Steven's surprise.


    JOD: I don't need any more questions, man. Just listen.

    Gabby. I told you I'd be back. I told you that our last match was simply a lesson for me. See...that wasn't the time for me to win the title and it wasn't the time for me to ascend the throne. I realized that in defeat and I realized that I just needed patience. I knew that eventually something would click in me that would give me that little bit extra I needed to beat you. Sitting backstage and seeing you assault Shannon and betray this notion that you're anything close to a decent person was it. That was all I needed. Because I already knew you were a self-centered bitch that got off on all the attention and glamor associated with your brand. I knew that your Championship only brought more of that attention to you and gave you an opportunity to pull the wool over more eyes. I wasn't the only one watching that night, Gabby. The rest of the world saw what I saw. They saw what you really are. Not that I needed anyone's opinion on if I was right or not...but now that they all know? I'm not just doing this for me. I'm not just doing this for Shannon. I'm doing it for all of them.

    So make sure your make-up is layered on thick because I'm going to smack your mask off and give the world one more look at the real Gabrielle Montgomery. And the real you ain't nearly as pretty as the one you paint over it.

    PAJ, my boy. This is a classic case of wrong place, wrong time for you. I should be facing Gabrielle one-on-one but this whole brand split thing is doing you a big favor. I'm sure you'd argue that I'm getting in the way of your moment but we both know that isn't true. We both know you're going to be the innocent bystander that ends up getting your shit kicked in just for having a part in the proceedings. I have no problem treating you the way I treated your pal Jason. Keep getting in my way and eventually you'll be on a couch watching me main event. You weasel your way back into the FWA after trying to have someone killed and you slither your way into the title picture the moment your pal G-Rich gets the boot. Sounds a little shady to me but I thrive in the shadows. I thrive in the darknes and that's what your involvement casts on this match. But I'm Jack of Diamonds. And I'm going to shine brighter than I ever have when I win the FWA Championship from Gabrielle Montgomery and kick you back to Crossfire where you belong.

    Winter Wasteland is my moment. It's my night.

    It's my redemption.


  17. #17
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    THREE STAGES OF HELL
    “The Carnegie Carnivore” Michael Garcia vs ‘The Anarchist” Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird

    1st Fall – Street Fight
    2nd Fall – Steel Cage
    3rd Fall – Last Man Standing

    “Life Lessons from Michael Garcia”

    The camera takes us to what appears a community room of some sort. Inside the room was a giant whiteboard, and on the board read “Life Lessons” in big red letters and underneath in smaller black letters read “Today’s Speaker: FWA Superstar Michael Garcia. An eclectic array of humanity spread across the room, the meek and the bold, the young and the old, the rich and the poor, the deranged and…the even more deranged. No matter what walk of life these people came from, they all had one thing in common: They’re all looking for a little guidance. Is Michael Garcia really qualified to be giving people guidance? He just started to find his own way. But oh well, Jeremiah assured him that this would be good for him. Michael hoped he was right.

    Once everyone had taken a seat, a slightly different looking Michael Garcia entered the room. Not the jersey-wearing, ripped jean adorning, scowling, raging that we’re all used to. But rather, a more distinguished looking, brown suit wearing, sophisticated looking carnivore. He was wearing glasses. GLASSES. Purely for cosmetic reasons, of course. And he was carrying a briefcase, instead of his usual Easton Stealth. Garcia looked around at his audience as he sat down in his large director’s chair that was assigned to him in the center of the circle of humanity. A young man in a light blue polo tee and khakis sat opposite from him. An older black woman sat next to him, looking like she was dressed for Sunday church. Next to her was a young couple, that Michael could even tell by their body language was having marital issues. Next to them was Michael’s brother, Malik. And sitting next to him, was a couple of young ladies that were dressed as if they had just left a Panic at the Disco concert. Michael assumed they were lesbians and refused to believe otherwise.

    “Welcome, everybody, to today’s session!”

    Garcia looked around and waited for some sort of response. He never received one.

    “My name is Michael Garcia. I am an FWA superstar. I’ll start out by telling you a little bit about myself. I was a lost soul. At the age of 5 years old, my father Martin, a rat bastard if there ever was one, decided to walk out on my mother, Theresa, and leave her to raise me and my three siblings, Malik…who is sitting right over there, my sister Mia, and Malcolm. My mother had to work two jobs to support our family and because of that, I had to help raise and protect my brothers and sisters. I was 7, at that time. SEVEN YEARS OLD. I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t ready for it.”

    “At the age of 16, a couple of members of the Hill Street Crips approached my 14 year old sister. I wasn’t sure what the hell happened, I still don’t know the details…All I know is those guys are never up to any good and if there’s one thing I’ve always done it’s defend my family. I wasted no time in finding those who approached her and I made them pay. Dearly. I beat them down so bad, so relentlessly, that a cop car driving by saw the whole damn thing. But I was so incensed, enraged, that I didn’t notice. I was arrested and spent 90 days in the county jail. And I don’t regret it. It’s part of me, it’s part of what made me what I am.”

    “And what I am is a monster. And I don’t hide that face. I am a monster. I am THE monster. The Monster of the Midway. The Carnegie Carnivore. The Supreme Dream. The Reflection of Perfection. The Steel City Slayer and The Pittsburgh Player. The Burgh City Brute. I am Michael Garcia and I am the most unstoppable force the FWA has ever seen. I am the man that reduced Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird to an absolute shell of a man. I am the man that this Monday on Fight Night will send shivers down the spine of the holder of whichever championship I decide to take. I am Michael Garcia and I am reborn.”

    Michael looks with disdain over the group that sits around him.

    “And now it’s time for you all to tell me a little bit about yourselves.”
    Michael points at the man in the blue polo.

    “Oh, hello, well, uh, my name is…”

    “Oh, you know what, I really don’t give a fuck. Here, I had buttons made for ya’ll, just pin these buttons on your shirts so I know your names. Fuck your sad little stories.”
    The elderly black woman got up and started to leave…

    “SIT! DOWN!”
    Garcia yelled in a very short, snappy yet effective voice. The lady set her purse down and sat back down.

    The young man in the couple meekly raised his hand.

    “Excuse me, eh, sir, uh, Mr. Garcia, but I thought this was a group session?”

    “Well, excuse me, sir, uh, Mr. Whipped, but I thought there was only one name on the whiteboard…”
    “Ye…ye..yessir.”

    “Coward. I know your type. I can see exactly what you are. The whipped husband. Your wife drives the relationship at home, doesn’t she? You do wear the skirt, don’t you?”

    The man sat in his chair with his head down, as his wife sat with hers legs crossed listening intently.

    “You’re the kind of guy that’s never stood up for himself. Let’s everyone walk all over him, aren’t ya? If the boss needs his coffee refilled, well, call on Bill…he’ll warm it up! I bet you wake up every morning and send the kids off to school so your wife can sleep in, aren’t ya? You probably even cook breakfast in the morning and make the beds too, eh? You’re the kind of guy that never uses his voice. Never fight back. Never found his backbone.”

    “Well, I found my backbone at the age of seven years old. Allow me to take a trip down memory lane with you all. Picture it. Homewood, PA. 1993. Every morning I used to do what Bill does to this day. I used to wake up…send Malik,Mia, and Malcolm off to school, cook up some eggs for the family, and make sure the kids got to the bus stop every day. Now, Malik, Mia, and Malcolm…they all went to a different school than I did. I refused to leave Washington Elementary the year before, so once I dropped off my brothers and sisters, I walked a couple of blocks down so I could catch my bus. But, there was a little obstacle along the way. An obstacle named Lamont Pratt.”

    “Every day I walked the streets down to the park where I had to make a left turn around the corner, and every day for a solid three months or so, Lamont would be waiting by the third tree from the corner. As soon as Lamont saw me coming along, he jumped out in front of me and held out his hand, and every day I would hand over a dollar. The only dollar I had, for lunch money. You don’t want to know what would happen if I didn’t. Lamont was a big kid. He was a seventh grader. And he was the biggest kid IN the seventh grade. I still remember ‘Hand it over, shrimp. Or else, I’ll fucking pulverize ya.’”

    “I went a three months without a damn lunch.”

    Garcia’s eyes grew more intense.

    “And then I had enough.”

    “I realized that the only thing I was afraid of was my own damn fears. That’s all it took. One day, I woke up and knew that I couldn’t go on like this. I went on to meet a man named Jeremiah. Jeremiah owned a gym in Homestead. I began training, and working out after school. Jeremiah helped make me the fighter I am today. He helped me face my fears. He changed who I was. So much so, that it wasn’t long before I walked that same route, turned that same corner, and I waited…and when Lamont Pratt held out his hand, I shook my head no. I put my hands up and swung forward. One big right hand with everything I had. He ducked and popped right back up with un expected uppercut. I hit the floor. It was what happened next that defined who I had become.”

    “I laughed.”

    “And as Lamont Pratt looked at me as if I should have been put in a straightjacket. I got back up to my feet and proceeded to pounce on Lamont Pratt and give him the beating that he deserved. Let’s just say…I got every penny back. Almost like what I delivered to those thugs some 9 years later for what they did to Mia. If there’s one thing that no one an say about Michael Garcia, it’s that he doesn’t know how to fight back. I learned how to fight in the streets. The mean streets of Homestead, PA. Michael Garcia, Street Fighter. And to this day, whether it be Lamont Pratt or Vincent Blackbird, NO ONE can beat me when it comes to an old-fashioned street fight. No one!”

    One of the lesbians spoke up.

    “Um…like…what the hell does this have to…”

    “SHUT UP! I’m not done yet! It’s kind of similar to something that happened nine years later, in the county slammer. Even though I considered myself to be “Street Tough”in Homestead, the county jail was a whole other story. Everyone there was a monster in their right. Murderers, rapists, robbers, gang members…and then there was me. Sixteen year old Michael Garcia. I could tell you stories about somethings that I’ve seen in that hellhole that would make your skin crawl. But what’s even worse are some of the things that happened TO me.”

    “Oh, God, how I hated time in the Prison Yard. There were riots. All out brawls in which people got seriously hurt. And then there were just plain ol beatdowns that the guards never saw, or atleast that’s what they would say. I’ve never been a guy to rely on others for help, especially not cops, but what I would have given had they stopped some of those assaults. Lord Vincent Blackbird thinks that the Prison Yard match was some sort of “gimmick”, but he had no idea the amount of physical and psychological torture it placed on me. It was pure hell. But what Lord Vincent Blackbird didn’t take into account, was that there was NOTHING that he could have done to me inside that match that could have compared to what I had endured. I was beaten with chains, glass bottles, rope, whips, handcuffed to the cage and beaten until I was bleeding from 10 different spots on my body. Sometimes I actually prayed to God before Yard Time that I would be left alone today. Those days were few and far between.”

    “Now, I know that you are all dying to hear the ending of this story being one in which I came back one day and made each and every one of them pay. That never happened. I took my beating every day. And it made me stronger. I fear nothing now. If I can survive that, I can survive any Steel Cage, Hell in a Cell, Prison Yard match, ANYTHING. There is nothing Blackbird can doto me that can touch what’s already been done. And now, I get the opportunity to unleash a little bit of my own pent up anger out on the Anarchist himself.”

    “So the lessons here today are simple…. Lesson Number One. Never back down from a fight. Never be afraid to use your power…whether that be brute force, or your own voice. Even if it means fighting dirty. Do whatever it takes to pick up the win. That’s the very definition of street fighting.

    And you’re bound to get your ass kicked in life. No matter how big or powerful you are. No matter your size or your strength. It’s going to happen. There will always be someone out there that wants to take you out. And there will always be a fucking bullseye on your back. The point being that even if you get your ass kicked every damn day, it only makes you stronger. Just let that rage build inside you, caged up, and when some fool wants to lock himself up into a battle with you and there is no escape, unleash it all. Every ounce of it.

    And ladies and gentlemen, if you follow these simple survival rules in life, you will ALWAYS be the Last. Man. Standing. You will always be victorious.
    I am The Monster of the Midway. The Carnegie Carnivore. The Supreme Dream. The Reflection of Perfection. The Steel City Slayer and The Pittsburgh Player. The Burgh City Brute. I am Michael Garcia and I am the most unstoppable force the FWA has ever seen. I am the man that reduced Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird to an absolute shell of a man. I am the man that this Monday on Fight Night will send shivers down the spine of the holder of whichever championship I decide to take. I am Michael Garcia, I am reborn, and I will be the Last Man Standing.
    Good evening.”

    Michael stood up out of his chair and walked out of the room.

    The other lesbian stood up.
    “But..but…”

    “Class is dismissed. Fuck off.”

  18. #18
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    Drew Jolson promo

    In a city square in Moscow...

    The Russian people tug along in the deep snow as the winter blasts them on all sides. Then in the middle of it all is Drew Jolson wearing a winter's jacket it look like he bought at a thrift store and Lovisa wearing a big coat from North Face but then inexplicably a mini skirt and high heeled boots. How she is not shivering to death is a mystery. Drew stands on a literal Russian soap box with a microphone and one lone speaker as he begins to talk to anybody who will listen, and actually a small group of people do begin to form around him.

    Drew: Citizens of Moscow! It is I, Drew Jolson, I come here as a man who has traveled the world and seen many things. Things that have changed my mindset, my thinking, my beliefs and even how I see myself. It has been a gift from the universe to be enlightened in such a way, and tonight I bestow to you a bit of my gift, a morsel of knowledge to you the downtrodden people of Russia. You may not know this because your freedoms have been suppressed so long under communism and now under the rule of Putin a tyrannical leader whose main goal in life is too keep power at any cost, which includes your suffering! But I come here to break you free of the bondage of the chains, through one of the most powerful forms of communication....entertainment!

    The English speaking citizens of Moscow seem confused.

    Drew: Yes, that is how I will bring joy to your sad and pathetic lives! I can't change your archaic judicial system, your restricted press or even all of the trade embargoes Obama has put on the land. But I can make you smile, and I will do that by defeating the villain James "Eyesnane" Hughes! A man with no honor, a savage beast disguised as a decent human being! No, I will take him on with full force, I will defeat him as he tries his damndest to try and defeat me. Well it's a fool's errand. I have become far too powerful to lose to the likes of Hughes and he will see that when I take him on in this dark match. He has seen what lengths I am willing to go to just to wear him down, imagine now us one on one in the ring once again! It will be truly a sight to see and one that will warm your frozen hearts!

    The people mumble amongst themselves.

    Drew: I know the Russian people and their history quite well I've recently rewatched Anastasia on Netflix and I also own the movie Enemy at the Gates, and it's through this that I have determined that you all are a brave and tough people and will thus admire people who are like you, so when Hughes a coward comes at me I will stay strong and won't back down and then you all will have a hero. Someone you call can finally look up to other than Peter the Great!

    Lovisa coughs loudly

    Drew: And Catherine the Great of course, what would your country be without the Hermitage? Nothing but a siberian wasteland! Haha!

    The crowd begins to boo Drew.

    Drew: The truth hurts! But never fear when I'm done with Hughes you won't need to have fake pride in your country you'll have an American grown icon to look up to more powerful than even Bill Clinton!

    The crowd scratches their heads.

    Drew: That's all I have to say, now I'm going to go eat some beef stew and drink some vodka! War!

    Drew drops his mic and walks off with Lovisa humming the Russian national anthem to himself.


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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    FWA's Biggest Loser


    The scene opens to a flashback to FWA's biggest show of the year Back in Business, PAJ (Now Phillip A. Jackson) facing Gabrielle (Now a bitch).


    Mrs Lucia smiles and takes the abuse of the crowd. She walks over to the chairs and grabs two chairs. She wants to finish this. Mrs Lucia slides into the ring with two chairs in hand as both competitors are getting to their feet. Mrs Lucia smirks at PAJ.


    Langdon Trafford: Gabrielle is in serious trouble here, folks.


    Mrs Lucia throws the chair to Gabrielle.


    Sam McDonald: WHAT?!


    The crowd are stunned. Mrs Lucia smashes PAJ in the face with a steel chair. PAJ turns around and Gabrielle also smashes him in the face with a steel chair, busting him wide open. The cheers erupt from the crowd but Gabrielle looks almost as shocked as the fans in attendance.


    Harry Baxter: Hell hath no fury like 2 woman scourned.

    PAJ is out cold in the middle of the ring. Gabrielle and Mrs Lucia lift up PAJ to end it. Mrs Lucia holds a chair just infront of her groggy husbands face. Gabrielle steps back and nails him with the Kneel At The Altar through the chair. Mrs Lucia rolls out of the ring with a big smile on her face. She heads up the ramp not looking as Gabrielle covers 1...2...3...

    Winner: Gabrielle Montgomery
    As soon as it shows Gabrielle getting the three count it fades to black with a series of voiceovers from the FWA ring announcer. The word loser flashes all over the screen in many different places.


    Winner and NEW FWA World Heavyweight Champion, Gabrielle Montgomery


    Winner: Jack of Diamonds


    Here is your winner: KAIZEN


    Here is your winner, Everyone but you...LOSER!


    We hear manic laughter as the screen fades. 'Loser' flashes across the screen much more violently before dramatically cutting out suddenly. The screen stays black for a few seconds before it slowly begins to open out from the screen an into..


    ...Phillip A. Jackson sat in an apartment. Once known for having a grand house, Jackson sits on a tatty plaid couch that is older than him. Looking at the TV screen where the video played. The apartment is messy, old and decaying slowly. Jackson still hasn't shaved off his stubble and his blonde highlights have started to fade. The once perfectly sculpted appearance of the former champion is diminishing much like his reputation. Jackson still manages to muster a smile looking down at box he is resting his feet on marked 'Championship Stuff'. Jackson takes a deep breath before looking at ripped up piece of paper that was shoved through his door in which he has been removed from the Winter Wasteland main event. Written in scruffy, almost unreadable handwriting, 'You ruined Winter Wasteland! I hope you die in the ring!'. Jackson laughs at it taking it on the chin as it is part of his job. Jackson throws the poster to the floor just allowing it to settle anywhere on the floor. Jackson turns off the TV after watching static for about three minutes and slowly climbing to his feet. Jackson begins to pace around his beleaguered apartment before looking up at the camera.


    Phillip A. Jackson: I fell further than a lot of FWA wrestlers. I went from The Future to The Champ to the Fallen Star. Yet here I am in some shitty apartment I rent. Most people would have called it quits but I have too much pride to let FWA beat me. I had to make sacrifices to get back. I took a hit last week and I may have burned the bridge with the one guy in FWA that offered me his hand when I needed it in Ryan Rondo. Friends do forgive each other, Ryan. Just remember that. I need to justify that sacrifice to Ryan by returning to the top of the mountain. I don't want to put in a good performance and fall short. I don't want to boost my confidence by having a good match because that is not who I am. I am a winner and I want to win. I have already proven that I will do this at any cost. Last week was not about watching Rondo suffer. It was about ensuring I am in the best shape I can be. If Ryan truly supports my push to be the FWA Champion again then he will understand my actions and he is the only one that I have to justify them too. Everyone can have fun speculating about what happened and the people can be shocked about what happened but ultimately it was about self-preservation. The Movement are dangerous after the match and I have no regrets. I did what I did and there is nothing I can do to take it back. I am moving forward. I can't change the year I have had. I can't change my career. I can't change the decisions I have made in the past. This is about Winter Wasteland. No more Ryan Rondo. No more about anything other than the three most important people in FWA right now. Gabrielle, Jack of Diamonds and of course, Phillip A. Jackson. Who are fighting to keep another down for three precious seconds. We all want the same thing.


    Jackson musters a smile and makes the belt taunt.


    On paper this is just another FWA World Title match but it is a significant moment in FWA. Since FWA moved networks it has been all about Fight Night. CrossFire was dead and buried but now it rises again. For the first time in years, it is both brands battling for the biggest prize and I am CrossFire's chosen one. They are battling each other on Fight Night. Ashley O'Ryan chose me to be apart of history because of that I don't need to fight for attention. I have all the attention I need. None. People have criticized me. I don't need people going gaga over me because Gabrielle is content in soaking up all the attention. She gets what she wants when she wants and I am fine with that. People can talk about her all the time. I don't care. I want people to doubt me because that fuels me. It lights the fire under me and you just simply expect me to sit idly by while Jack and Gabrielle put on a show that will make everyone proud but it has been too damn long since CrossFire made a true impact in FWA. I will shock the world and go from FWA's Biggest Loser to FWA's Biggest Winner, joining the exclusive club of being a multi-time FWA World Champion. In the big picture it is irrelevant because even if I win, no-one will talk about me, no-one will acknowledge my victory. I am discredited for no reason. I have done more in this company than some of the biggest names to come through here. I wasn't just another that almost made it like Anthony, my former partner, you all thought he was the next big thing but what did he become?! A guy who ALMOST made it to the top but couldn't crack the ceiling or more importantly, Jack of Diamonds, people talk about me being the outsider but Jack is the only one in this match that hasn't been the top dog. He hasn't broken the glass ceiling and you really think that will change after seven years? FWA is a company where you can easily get lost in the shuffle and that can happen in weeks or months, let alone seven years. Jack has all the pressure. He has to prove that he isn't just another guy. So many guys have fallen foul to the title and it is all on him to prove he isn't gonna be another one.


    Jackson mouths 'Just Another Guy' to the camera. Jackson walks over to the box he was resting on and pulls out the title belt that he was awarded when he won the title at Red, White and Bruised.


    Is Jack capable of it? I doubt that he is. Is Jack worthy of this?


    Jackson holds up the title belt proudly then has to hold back his emotions and his arm slinks back down to his side before tamely dropping the belt to the floor.


    When I was in group, I spoke about pressure, it burdens all of us. It has got to be weighing on his mind. Meanwhile, I am under no pressure because no-one expects anything of me. The eyes of the FWA world are eagerly awaiting the Winter Wasteland main event, Gabrielle defending against Jack of Diamonds and that other guy who Gabrielle beat for the belt. I am a nobody. A rash on the perfect skin of a bumper World Title Match. People used to boo me out the building. They use to chant my name to the rafters. They loved me or they hated me but now it is different. They don't remember who I am. They don't boo me. They barely chant my name. Management was forced to put me in this match by Ashley O'Ryan. They just about did it. The collective they doubt me. They forgot who I was just like the FWA world forgot who Jack was before he came back. I have enjoyed my time as the other guy. So after all that it becomes Attention against Pressure.


    Jackson puts his hands out as if he is weighing them up against each other. In the end Jackson just shrugs and throws his arms back and continues.


    Gabrielle will always hog the limelight because it is her nature. The two times I faced her on big stages. It had to be all about Gabrielle. Everything was Gabrielle this and that. What about what I wanted?! She might oppress the women's division but she always gets what she wants no matter the opponent. Gabrielle doesn't just demand the limelight she expects it because she is Gabrielle. What kind of an example does that set to anyone? You aren't an A-List Celebrity. You are just a girl who happened to be good at something that is considered counter-culture. Well done. I understand this and I know my place. I don't shout and scream when I don't get exactly what I want. Every time a writer comes backstage to interview they always ask for you because you play their stupid little game in order to inflate your own ego because you can't live without everything being all about you. The second the world doesn't revolve around you is the day the world will end because you will destroy it with your shouting and scream, so much so that a toddler would be embarrassed for you.


    I can't complain too much though because you somehow make it work. You succeeded in making me look like a shitty champion and I probably was but for me it was short and sweet. I didn't compromise what made me champion while I was champion. I stood with Robbins Thurgood through the rise and the fall. I stood by what I believed in when I was about to lose my job because I refused to compromise what had made me champion and I lost my job but I worked my ass off to get back and we are both still in the same position. I might have been a shitty champion, like I have said, but I never changed what I was because I was starved for attention. I remained true and I remained loyal and it hurt to see one of my friends get fired because of my idea but I never, ever sold him out. You destroyed Shannon O'Neal in the way you did because the murmurs about you became a voice, they became a movement and it was all because of me. You were worried that something negative was being said about you and you like the Gestapo squashed it so that it would never come up again. All you did was make Shannon O'Neal a martyr when really I was the one who had the balls to suggest it and I got away with nothing happening to me. Do you fear me? Are you scared that I know you too well? I can assure you I do no fear you. I have nothing to lose because losing the match will mean nothing to me. I have lost things that are much more important and I can attribute both of those to you.



    Jackson walks around searching for something by pulling out drawers and rummaging through them frantically. Jackson pulls something out and stuffs it in his pocket.


    Just like you crushing Shannon O'Neal for daring to stand up to the princess. I will crush you because I have a year of frustration built up inside. A year that was meant to be mine was destroyed by you. You made me lose my wife because you polluted her mind that I wasn't a good husband when we all know I was. I tripped but I managed to stop myself from falling and I climbed the final ladder that would cement me but you took it from me and I fell. I lost my power and control that made me untouchable. I lost my job and my title and that hurt a hell of a lot more than losing my wife.


    Jackson pulls the object from his pocket, revealing his wedding ring, and he tosses it aside and looks down at the title and smiles.


    You might not have crushed me as dramatically as Shannon but over the course of a year you destroyed my life. Once a king, now a peasant. You are venom. You see your prey and you sink your teeth in until they breathe their last breath and then you keep going just to make a point to anyone that might be watching. You are cold, malicious and you need to be pulled down a peg. I have always seen through the façade you put on. You always tried to do right but deep down you are just like you fuck. Dominant and Dirty. We all saw the porno. People are finally starting to see you for what you have always been. They are seeing the Gabrielle that craved attention backstage on their television screens every week. You are the reason that so few other woman are trusted in this position because when guys turn on their television they don't want another woman ranting and raving for attention. They can get that anytime they want. You ruined everything you once thought you were. You became champion and you compromised everything you were. You changed because you couldn't stand anyone else getting attention because you are the oh so wonderful champion. You were jealous that the name on everyone's lips wasn't Gabrielle. Right now, you are delight because you are all anyone is talking about. You are the heavy favourite to retain despite two challengers. You made appearances on Fight Night and CrossFire. You are the hot thing on the street. You got the attention you wanted but the best part about you getting what you want is watching it slip away. I can't wait to see that title belt be taken away from you. If it is at Winter Wasteland then it will shock the world depending on the outcome. If Jack does the unlikely, then he got over the hump and dethroned the biggest bitch in FWA history and if I win, I do the impossible and go from loser to winner but we all know I have done that before against Shane McLean and Ryan Rondo. So, thank you, Gabrielle. Thank you, Jack. You have put me in the position where I thrive. You have taken all the build for this match away from me and now no-one thinks I have a chance but anything can happen on the day. I can assure you come Winter Wasteland they will no longer be calling me the biggest loser but the words I have wanted to hear since The Anniversary Show. “Here is your Winner and NEW FWA World Heavyweight Champion...
    …
    ...Phillip...
    …
    ...A...
    ...Jackson...”



    Jackson imitates winning the FWA World Heavyweight Championship and reaches down and lifts the belt over his head and making fake crowd noises. Soaking the response from the 'crowd' as they 'cheer' for Phillip. Jackson walks around his apartment high fiving and celebrating as the scene fades.

  20. #20
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    Re: Winter Wasteland promo thread

    I sit at my desk at BIRD Imperial HQ and unmute one of the flat screen televisions on the wall of my office and watch the outcome of my street fight match against Carmine “Grim” Reaper.

    Vincent gets off of Carmine and then slides out of the ring as medics from the back come down to help Katie Goldsmith out of the ring. Vincent searches the cart for something specific, then pulls out a very cheap, cracked hamster ball filled with thumbtacks. Vincent gets back into the ring and tosses it at Carmine as he gets up forcing it to break open and causing the thumbtacks to spread all over Carmine's chest and around him. Vincent climbs onto the top turnbuckle and hits his BIRD Empire onto Carmine. Vincent then locks in his Blackbird Dragon Submission hold onto Carmine forcing him to tap out.

    Kurt Harrington: Here is your winner, by submission, Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird.
    I mute the television and unmute the one next to it so that I can watch the outcome of my match against Alexander Sokolov during the Main Event of Trial By Fire's Preshow.

    Using the ropes both guys make it to their feet ending the 10 count. Vincent charges at Sokolov hitting a Running DDT followed by a Short-Arm Clothesline. Vincent covers Sokolov whom kicks out at 2. Vincent picks Sokolov up and sends him into the corner and follows it up by an Elbow Smash to the back of Sokolov's head. Vincent holds onto Sokolov's head and walks backward before hitting a Sliced Bread #2.

    The referee forces Vincent back as he checks on Sokolov. Sokolov starts getting up only for Vincent to nail Sokolov with a Punt to his head. Vincent picks Sokolov up and hits the Wrath of the BIRD Empire followed by the Blackbird Dragon causing Sokolov to tap out.

    Winner by Submission: Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird

    Vincent releases the hold then signals to River and Amber. River nails the Russians bodyguards with a steel chair while Amber pulls a table out from under then ring then slides it into the ring. Amber then tosses a bottle of vodka and a lighter to Vincent. Vincent puts the vodka and the lighter into one of his side pockets then sets the table up. Vincent looks over at Sokolov who is still down, then pours the vodka onto the table, drinks some of the vodka before lighting the table on fire with the lighter.

    Vincent tosses the vodka bottle back to Amber then goes over and scares the referee out of the ring. Vincent picks Sokolov up onto his shoulders and gets ready to hit the Wrath of the BIRD Empire sending Sokolov through the burning table. Only Jethro Warren jumps the barricade from the crowd, slides into the ring and hits Vincent's back with his own steel chair. Jethro fends off River as Sokolov comes to, and as Jethro turns to see if Sokolov is up, River got onto the ring apron. Jethro nails River with the steel chair causing him to fall to the floor below and Amber looks on in horror as Jethro picks Vincent up and into position to hit the Fire-Flowsion.

    Jethro tells Sokolov to go up to the top turnbuckle and Sokolov realizes what Jethro has in mind, climbs the turnbuckle. Jethro hits part of the Fire-Flowsion but holds onto Vincent while his back is over the burning table. Sokolov nails the Iron Curtain completing Jethro's Fire-Flowsion Finisher and causing Vincent to go through the blazing table. Sokolov checks to make sure his feet aren't on fire as Jethro walks over to him and raises Sokolov's hands up as Banshee OST by Methodic Doubt plays and Amber gets into the ring with a fire blanket and helps the EMT's put the fire that is on Vincent's back out. Vincent screams in pains as the Preshow comes to a close.
    I shift in my seat as I remember the intense heat and the smell of my flesh burning. I mute the television and unmute the one next to it watch the outcome of my TLC Inferno Match against Jethro Warren at FWA's 9th Anniversary.

    Vincent then pulls Jethro up looking to choke Jethro only for Jethro to get his hands up under the noose. Vincent keeps pulling Jethro up towards the bottom of the Structure. When Jethro gets close to the bottom, Vincent ties the rope to the turnbuckle post. Vincent climbs up the Ultimate X Structure and makes his way to where Jethro is at. Vincent pulls Jethro up onto the top of the Structure then positions Jethro to where Vincent could hit him with his Finisher and send Jethro down through the blazing tables.

    As Vincent picked Jethro up, Jethro hits Vincent with a Giant Knee Lift to the Chest. Jethro regains his balance after realizing where he is at. Jethro looks down and sees the blazing tables below. Jethro yells to Vincent to just give up, that it doesn't have to end this way. Vincent smirks and laughs, then gives Jethro to birds and some spit to Jethro's face. Jethro picks Vincent up and nails him with the Warren-Flowsion sending Vincent crashing down through both burning Tables to the mat below.

    Winner = Jethro Warren
    As I mute the television I look at the turned off monitor on my desk to see that I am grinning the same way that I did after that TLC Inferno Match against Jethro Warren. I just begin talking to absolutely no one.

    Three Stages of Hell, so incorrectly named since you have never ever been to hell before. Me, I've been to hell on multiple occasions, during my short battle with the Grim Reaper himself, against Sokolov and the Russians. My more sustained vacation in hell came at the hands of Jethro Warren and my former fiance, Amber. I've made jokes on countless occasions about your stint in prison, however that pathetic prison you had been sentenced to fails in comparisons to that of hell. Strangely enough, that vacation was longer then my war against the former leaders of the BIRD Empire before I took over.

    However, both the war against Jethro and the war against my former bosses, both forced me to show my dark side. And you'll never truly experience the one true hell until you actually kill someone. And it is because of that factor, that you will never really be a true Monster like you once claimed to be. There are only two true “Monsters” in the FWA, well were as the first isn't with the FWA anymore. That's former FWA Wrestler, Mac Michaud, with the second being me. We've both killed men at different times in our respective lives and for different reasons. The fact remains that you are no true “Monster” because until you've killed someone, you don't know what a true Monster is. And it is that very fact that will allow me to be the last man.... no, last monster standing.

    You see, this whole time you thought that you were two steps ahead of me when you weren't. You've grown up on the dangerous gang infested streets, you believe that that will give you an edge during our street fight. Problem is, is that while you grew up on the streets, I've mastered variety of weapons. You were locked up in prison, that fails in comparison to being experimented on against ones own will. You figured that because I'm doing good right now, that I've lost my edge, lost what made me dangerous, what made my enemies fear me. Don't mistake kindness for weakness, because the moment you believe that I am weak is the moment you fall.

    One day, if you finally cause the death of someone, you'll become the monster that you claim to be. Unfortunately I hope that that day never comes for you because causing the death of another destroys your humanity. It will destroy what makes you you. Right now, you have come back to the FWA and may have a bright future on Fight Night. That bright future doesn't exactly extend to Crossfire because that bright future you may see on the horizon involving Crossfire, isn't what you are hoping it will be.

    That bright future is in all actuality the burning inferno that is the hell that will await you any time you decide to step into the doors of Crossfire. Oh, and just so we don't misunderstand one another, that burning inferno is the sweet sweet justice of Anarchy.

    I slowly get out of the chair, and as I walk towards the door of my office, I stop and look at the mirror on the wall in my office. When I look at the mirror, instead of my own reflection I see death causing me to take a deep breath, then I leave my office locking the door on my way out.

    [I WIN]


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