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  1. #21
    Cyrus Truth's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2011
    Long and Winding Road
    Rep Power


    Exile Chronicles: Volume 20

    "Reflection and The Meaning of Truth"

    Complete and utter darkness.

    This is the scene one sees as the "Play" button is hit on a new video uploaded to A viewer might think, when nothing shows up but the black screen for several seconds, that the video is broken. But patience is a virtue, and after those several seconds the loud CLACK of a spotlight turning on breaks the silence. The light is bright and harsh as it reveals a spartan room with walls lined with mirrors. A second spotlight turns on, then a third and a fourth showing the whole room, a perfect square walled completely with mirrors of various shapes and sizes. It's only when a fifth spotlight, one dead center in the middle of the other four, that a reflection finally appears on the mirrors.

    In the middle of the room, dressed ready for a fight, is the FWA World Champion. Cyrus Truth stands stoically in the middle of this mirror room not looking at the camera, his reflection in the mirrors showing a warrior defiant, a king preparing to engage in battle with the highest of stakes. His eyes are focused like a laser, his demeanor a razor's edge of anticipation and resolve, ready to strike. After all the talk, all the aggression...all the barbs thrown at one another, here we are, on the eve of Back in Business and the collision between Cyrus and Shannon O'Neal for the title. A rivalry...or perhaps a better term is feud that has seen a battle of ideology, of one's self-determination verses a duty to a greater whole. Much was said on that go-home episode of Fight Night, where Cyrus challenged Shannon to fight not for FWA, but for herself. But more than that, to find out who she truly is.

    The mirrors reflecting The Exile's visage are the only adornments in this empty room. No furniture, and plain white walls. Its barrenness is unsettling, a uneasy atmosphere only broken slightly by the loud, commanding voice of the champion.

    Cyrus Truth: Do you know why I call myself "Truth?"

    Cyrus's voice echos slightly in the room. There's no reply, obviously, just the slightest reverberation. Cyrus's voice lowers just a bit, but his tone is one of power and conviction.

    Cyrus Truth: For those of us who place our faith in the Long and Winding Road, our names are not just something to call ourselves. Our names are a commitment, a promise. The Long and Winding Road teaches us that all journeys must have purpose, a means that has an end to journey towards. Some choose names based on a something concrete, but for others it's more a search for something you can't grasp in your hand...but perhaps even more important than anything you can buy or steal. I call myself "Truth" because I decided that my journey down the Road would be one of discovery, of unearthing facts and reality from the veil of misinformation and lies. When I talk about things like "pride," "respect," and "glory," it is because I see the Truth of what professional wrestling was and what it should be. These are not "abstract words" that should be easily dismissed. These are the words that bind my heart and soul and I will not stand here and tolerate them being casually cast aside like a piece of garbage.

    The venom in Cyrus's tone as he repeats commentator Langdon Trafford's words from Fight Night is clear as day, as his face and the faces reflecting in the mirror look extremely irritated.

    Cyrus Truth: Did you think I wouldn't hear your words coming out of Langdon's mouth, FWA? I'm sure you'll just cite this as me overreacting, but at this point I don't really care what you have to say. You treat professional wrestling as a sideshow attraction, doing everything in your power to paint the body up pretty like a high-end whore and avoid tending its soul to the bitter end. Do you even care about passion, REAL passion brought about by pride and not by ego or greed? I know you prefer to stoke hate rather than let us wrestlers dictate how, when, and why we fight, but are you so far gone down the hole of wanton avarice that you've forgotten the soul of the fighter? It is for this reason that I chose this path of destruction against you, FWA. I seek Truth in all things, and in wrestling above all others. Do you honestly think you can stop me, FWA? That everything you've done to insult me, belittle my reign as champion, and ignore my words for your pointless and self-destructive money grabs are going to stop me from tearing you apart and leaving you as scraps for the vultures. If you're going to keep wallowing in delusions of your superiority, then you'll fall prey to the greatest delusion of all: that you can remain safe from me.

    Cyrus exhales as the anger rises in his voice, letting that frustration with FWA out. Not all of it...not all. But some of it. Enough to regain his composure as he finally looks into the camera.

    Cyrus Truth: Enough. Part of understanding the Road is knowing what the next step should be, and to not be distracted by future bends in the Road. The next step, and the only step that matters is you, Shannon. This has interesting journey, hasn't it? We've said and done a lot of things to one another. I've called into question your worthiness as a challenger to my title, you've denounced me as an unworthy champion. You've blackened my eye, I've tried to break your bones. We have done vicious and cruel things since Carnal Contendership, and I know there's plenty of things you still feel the need to say about me. But as I stand here, surrounded by these mirrors and this myriad of reflections, I wonder if anything I said on Fight Night stuck with you. I know you have many reasons, both real and self-created, to ignore what I asked you to do, but I'm not trying to deceive you. Deception and trickery are not my tools. All I've wanted since coming to FWA was to fight the very best. And in you, I see the potential to be one of the best. I want you to be sharper than the sharpest spear, to push me and prod me to give my very best, to stoke a fire brighter than any other and show the world what wrestling truly is. Not this painted whore that FWA wants to present it as...something better, something more. Something that breeds pride, rewards valor, and can be so much more than just a diversionary spectacle. If nothing else, Shannon...can you believe me when I say that?

    Cyrus Truth: I suppose it makes no difference at this point. Back In Business is right around the corner and if you haven't taken my advice now, it's too late. I know how hard it is, look at yourself and see what it is you truly are. It's the hardest thing in the world to set aside the distractions and take a good long look at yourself. To look past the thoughts of grandeur and greatness and see the man or woman in the mirror, faults laid bare for those with a sharp eye to see. would be so much simpler to ignore my advice and continue on this path you're on, Shannon. Say a few expletives, rile the crowd up like the sheep they are, talk about how great FWA is and how much better everybody's lives will be once you've beaten me for the World Title and ended my tyranny. It would be so much simpler, and it's definitely what FWA would want you to do. Because why force the fans to think any harder than a child would? Why question what's worked so well for FWA in the past when it came time to script a narrative for a rivalry between two of its wrestlers? No, no...let's cast the outsider who uses big words and talks about "abstract" concepts as the villain, you can play the hero, and the fans can boo and cheer like they're supposed to. And boy, won't they cheer when this play goes exactly like FWA expects it to at Back In Business when you hit me with that kick of yours and take the title of champion away from me. Oh, they'll pull out all the stops, drop confetti and balloons and have Bell come out to give you a GREAT BIG HUG as you close the show out with my title belt held high above your head as I scuttle back into the shadows, perhaps never to be seen again. That about sum it up?

    Cyrus chuckles a bit, as all of his reflections laugh along with him. It's a sad chuckle, one that finds the thought of the aforementioned scenario funny...but a bit tragic, all the same. But tragic for who?

    Cyrus Truth: Haven't we been down this path before? It feels like it. "Bell's time will come at the 11th Anniversary!" "That Mike Parr's gonna be the one who conquers Mile High Massacre!" "KAIZEN will step up and save us. If not at Trial By Fire, then at Payback!" Smarter minds would realize that the narrative doesn't work on me. Whatever tale of good conquering evil doesn't concern me in the slightest. The only thing that matters is the will of fire. The Struggle that pits two people against one another to prove one is superior...that's the only "narrative" I care about. And that story ends the same way...with me, still the champion. Not for lack of effort, and certainly not because I faced inferior competition. Far from it. The fighters I've faced since I won the FWA Title have all been...talented. Some even exceptional. But they've all lacked something. Or rather, they've blinded themselves from a realization. That they fought for all the wrong reasons, or they fought to achieve some goal that distracted them. Bell and Mike, they fought to realize a vision of themselves as the top dogs. KAIZEN fought me because he felt I insulted FWA and him and wanted to maintain his honor. But they lacked an understanding of just how committed I am to the pursuit of glory. For glory, no price is too high. And I will not relent when glory and greatness are on the line. I would die for glory, sacrifice my body and soul for greatness. I would rather die than lose half-heartedly. See what I'm saying? Their wills were strong, but were they willing to die for their glory? Were they willing to put their heart and soul on the line? They couldn't...they wouldn't. They wanted the title of champion, but lack the spirit of one. Some more than others, but all the same? To be a legend in this business, you must live and breathe conviction as champion. It's not a title to be passed around, but a state of mind. A willingness to bleed and suffer, to embolden and empower your challengers, and to fight like hell to win every single match as if your life, your very soul depends on it. To fight as if nothing but damnation awaits you if you fail, leaving you forgotten and abandoned to the darkest shadows of history...THAT'S who I am, Shannon. That's the man you'll face at Back In Business. The only question is what kind of woman I'll have to beat to stay champion. So, who is it going to be, Shannon?

    Cyrus turns his glare to the various mirrors, as if he expects Shannon's face to appear in them.

    Cyrus Truth: Is it the proud and capable former Women's Champion? The angry, bitter leader of the Women's Movement? The striker who blackened my eye and drove me through a table? The fighter fueled by hate and anger and a sense of self-righteousness? The hero FWA wants? What ARE you, Shannon?! Oh, certainly, you are all these things, but you are SO much more than you are allowing yourself to be. Your pride is good, but it lacks perspective. What are you proud of? What are you angry about? Do you still need hate to drive your fist? That is how you drive yourself, Shannon. Hate, anger, and a sense of martyrdom to a cause. It fuels you, gives you purpose. And I'll be the first to admit it is potent. But it's fleeting. It cannot last. You cannot maintain hate long enough to survive me. Against most everybody else in that locker room? Perhaps...but you should know by now I'm not like any of them. You can't beat me just by being mad as hell. Your strikes can't hit hard enough to break my will to keep fighting. When I tell you that as you are...the woman I saw at Fight Night wasn't enough to survive me, let alone beat me? It's not to plant a seed of doubt, but as an abject Truth. You are capable, but not capable enough to beat me. What do you have that can topple my resolve? The support of the fans? FWA's backing? A stiff right hook? Do you honestly think that's enough? You are aware of who and what I am, right Shannon? You can't be that blind. You show up in San Diego the same woman that I glared down on Fight Night? You will not be leaving San Diego in anything other than a coffin, with coins in your eyes.

    Cyrus is now riled up as he starts pacing the room, the reflections following and mimicking his every move. Though, it's strange...with some of the reflections, it seems like they're...hesitating. As if they're not moving in time with Cyrus as he walks the perimeter of the room. But, that can't be right. Either way, The Exile's paying no attention to that as he continues his rant.

    Cyrus Truth
    : And before you think about trying to turn this around on me, should realize why I'm in this room. Why I chose this place, above any other, to make this declaration. Because I know what you might say. That for all my talk about looking past deceit, that I don't have the courage to do it myself. Calling me a coward isn't something new, but if any part of you believes that then you're far stupider than even I could've imagined. Again, remember my name and what it stands for. Know that I wouldn't challenge you to do something I was too afraid to do myself. I know full well that I am not perfect. I know well the delusions that all men and women face in this business, because I face them day in and day out.

    One of the Cyrus reflections turns to face Cyrus...and he doesn't turn to face it. The doppelganger has a look of unbridled hate in his eyes.

    Cyrus Truth: Hate...

    Another reflection turns, this one having a single tear running down his cheek.

    Cyrus Truth: Sorrow...

    Yet another reflection turns to face Cyrus, arms crossed as if he's hugging himself, terrified.

    Cyrus Truth: Fear...

    And yet another turns to face him, clutching the FWA World Title belt as tightly as possible.

    Cyrus Truth
    : Avarice...

    More and more reflections turn to face Cyrus who has returned to middle of the room. Each reflection carries a different demeanor than the next, and even worse, some of their faces are becoming twisted into something less than human. Cyrus stands stoically in the middle of that room letting those reflections continue to contort, not even letting the monstrosities in the mirrors that were once him distract him.

    Cyrus Truth: I know those dark feelings that delude the weak into thinking they're strong, that they're fighting for all the right reasons when those reasons are either pointless distractions, pandering to egos that have not earned them, or for a cause that doesn't deserve their blood. I know those feelings and weaknesses are swirling inside you, Shannon. Just the same as with anybody on FWA's roster...just the same as me. But there's one huge difference between you and me, Shannon. Nothing to do with skill or strength or the ability to throw a punch. It's not even an issue of, it's the simplest thing that so many find so hard to do. It's to see those failings for what they are, to recognize them as the shackles that hold you back, and the courage to stare them dead in the eyes and tell me, right in their faces, one powerful message:

    Cyrus stares at the image that represents "Hate," whose face now resembles a ghoul more than a man.

    Cyrus Truth: You do not control me.

    "Hate" seems startled at that as Cyrus turns his attention to "Sorrow."

    Cyrus Truth: You don't own me.

    "Sorrow" stands at attention as Cyrus faces "Fear."

    Cyrus Truth: You will not cloud my judgment.

    If "Fear" could be more frightened, he certainly would be as Cyrus turns his steely glare to "Avarice."

    Cyrus Truth: And I will the one who masters my soul.

    As Cyrus looks in the mirrors at the twisted representations of his darker, weaker emotions, all of them begin to contort back to their original form. As if by his will and his will alone, the abominations kowtow to his declaration and revert back to being simple reflections. It seems as if the message here is one of mastery. Cyrus sees his darker side, knows it exists, and does not care. HE is the one who sees his weaknesses, HE is the one who brings them under heel, and HE controls his destiny. And nothing is clouding his vision.

    Cyrus Truth
    : Every day, I look at the face in the mirror and realize that I'm just one misstep from throwing away everything I've worked so hard for. Everything I've sacrificed, everything I've given up in the name of glory and legacy. To allow myself to be deluded by arrogance would undermine EVERYTHING I STAND FOR! I know this, I accept this, and I MASTER this. But you, Shannon? You don't believe in any of that, do you?! You think all you need is a target, a good right hand, and a whole lot of hate and bile to make your dreams come true, but you don't even acknowledge what your dreams are! You just keep towing that company line like a mule with a cart because you can't dream of something better for yourself! Well, what happens when FWA is tired of driving you and decide to go with a new mule? You'll be taken out back and shot. Buried. Left to be forgotten. And maybe that's all you want out of life, but I see it as a waste. I refuse to be treated like a lowly beast of burden for a master that couldn't care less about me. I dream of greatness far beyond simply being FWA's cheerleader, and I will NOT BE FORGOTTEN! So go ahead, Shannon. Play FWA cheerleader as much as you want. Be the smiling, tap-dancing mule that FWA wants you and all of us to be. But know what that means for you. What that path leads you to. Because pack mules don't get enshrined in Halls of Fame. They don't get to be immortalized in legend, and they most CERTAINLY don't get to hold the title of champion. What does await a mule is an ignoble death and slaughter at the hands of a butcher. And trust me when I say this, Shannon: I've carved up more than enough false pretenders and would-be challengers. Seeing your blood on my table wouldn't even give me a moment's hesitation.

    Cyrus Truth:
    A year ago, I stole this company's main event. A month after that, I took its highest title. And since then, nobody has stopped me. And at Back In Business, that won't be changing. I'm walking into San Diego as FWA World Champion, and walking out as FWA World Champion. I'll stand like the champion I am and leave you broken in my way, Shannon. Not because I hate you, because I've let that go. Not because you represent FWA, because FWA will burn regardless. But because I am aware of who I am and what I seek to do, and am prepare to pay the price to ensure that my goals are met in blood and shattered bone, both yours and mine. You're walking into a meat grinder, Shannon. But don't give up. Don't you DARE give up. Even if you're blinded by deceit, don't you dare not show up. You get your ass into that ring and you fight like the hellcat you are. Strike me, punish me, make me earn each and every nearfall. Push me to the edge and try to push me off. Because for everything I've had to endure since coming to FWA...every insult, and every disrespect thrown in my face? I am owed something. And the only thing a man like me wants is a fight worthy of the main event of FWA's biggest event. A fight to tear the house down and blow the roof off. A fight that pushes us both to the brink and reminds these fans what wrestling should be. Wake them up from their sleep of delusion and awaken their eyes to the Truth! I am owed one match! One match to remind the world...and remind me...why I chose the wrestling ring as my battleground and where I chose to seek the Truth. This is what you owe me, Shannon. This is what you owe me on behalf of FWA...and I WILL COLLECT!

    As Cyrus roars, some of the mirrors crack with the echo of his voice. Cyrus is all riled up as he stares daggers at the camera.

    Cyrus Truth: I am Cyrus Truth. The FWA World Heavyweight Champion. Not because of a shiny belt or because a promotion decreed me as such. But because I have earned it and have claimed it, and nobody has been able to take it away from me. And nobody ever will. Shannon, you may hit hard, but you have to hit harder. You may be tough, but you are not nearly tough enough. You may THINK that you have all the momentum on your side, but at Back In Business that wind in your sails will be torn apart by the hurricane that is Cyrus Truth. Fight against it like the scrapper you are, and make this night worth my time. Otherwise, I will not hesitate to end you. I will not hold back anything. I will mangle you in front of a sold-out crowd and continue being champion until my legacy is secured and my place in history is assured. I am willing to fight through the mud and razor-wire to secure it. I am willing to bleed and be broken to attain it. And you? You, who thought so highly of yourself? You will be left in the trashbin of history, a single solitary footnote not even worth remembering. Your only chance at anything even remotely resembling immortality is to show up at Back In Business and fight as if your life depends on it, because it most certainly does. Show up, fight like a demon, give me the battle I crave, and I may yet let you walk out of San Diego under your own power. Any other alternative will lead to your annihilation. Any other action will leave you destroyed. I am not yet ready to relinquish this title, and I will tear you apart before I let it go. That is Truth, raw and as real as it gets. That is what I am and what I stand for. And to me, that means more than my life. Don't presume that your life has any more meaning than that. At Back In Business, Shannon O' prepared to die with dignity. Because you damn sure won't stand in victory. Memento mori.

    Cyrus lets those words hang for a minute, letting the weight of his resolve weigh heavily on the shoulders of anybody who watches this video...especially the shoulders of Shannon O'Neal. There is nothing more to say, no more posturing to be done. Nothing else matters anymore but the battle that is to come. A battle of wills and ideology...a war for the richest prize in FWA. That is what awaits Shannon O'Neal and Cyrus Truth at Back In Business. That is what all of this rhetoric and hatred has built towards. At Back In Business, Cyrus has dared Shannon to put more than just her body on the line...he's challenged her to bare her soul and heart to the world. He's dared her to stand up and fight for her own desires and face her demons. And he's practically ordered her to fight like hell and make Cyrus earn this victory.

    And as the lights cuts off, shrouding the room of mirrors in darkness again, Cyrus stands stoically in the center with the middle light still shining down upon him. Soon, the reflections, the mirrors, even the very walls are shrouded, leaving only one thing visible...the FWA World Heavyweight Champion.

    This sends a message far louder than words. At Back In Business, only one will survive. Only one will walk out of San Diego with the title of champion, and only one will take FWA into its future, whether that be a future of hope or one of destruction. And by standing there, defiant, stone expression on his face betraying not even a hint of hesitation or remorse...Cyrus has practically declared himself to the one left standing.

    The last image is of Cyrus's face, eyes burning and lips curled into a simple, yet poignant smirk. It seems the champion is ready for war...and as the last light cuts off and leaves us back in the shadows we started in, the only question that remains is whether the challenger is ready to step into hell itself...

  2. #22
    James Sync's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jan 2014
    Rep Power


    The Road to Redemption
    The Rebirth of James Sync
    Chapter 4: My Message Will Be Heard

    The camera comes to life in a room with nothing but a hanging ceiling light. That light is on and shining onto a man sitting in a steel chair. The rest of the room is pitch black, but the light is so bright in the radius in which it shines that the man almost glows. He is sitting there with his fingers laced together, elbows on his lap, and his eyes looking at the ground. He is garbed in a pair of black denim jeans, motorcycle boots, a black, sleeveless leather jacket, and a black bandana upon his forehead. When he speaks, it is in a quiet tone that draws you in forcing you to focusing solely on him so you can hear every word.

    My name is James Sync and I’ve been here before. I’ve actually been here quite often. This space was once my home, trapped here to relive the same memories over and over again; you can’t leave, you’re just left to rot and decay. Sure, there are the happy memories that can keep you warm and fuzzy, but eventually those memories dissipate as they are swallowed alive by the memories you hope to avoid. The good memories eventually become soiled and even the thought of those leave a bad taste in your mouth. Eventually, all the happy memories are gone, or worse, they are transformed into the worst thoughts. The thoughts that maybe at some point in that memory you could have done something different to make them better. Or maybe you think about how what happened at that moment caused something terrible to happen later, marking that happy memory as the catalyst for your worst fears come to life. I have lived in this room and do not wish this cage on anyone else, but there have been so many who have shared similar rooms and the same torment. Leaving is never easy and most who become trapped here let it devour them. They let the terrible thoughts and memories eat away all of the good ones, but they don’t stop there. No, those thoughts and memories are not satisfied with your happiness, they move onto ripping your psyche to shreds and leaving you a walking vessel with barely survival instinct. Those individuals shuffle their feet, run into walls, and completely tune out when someone is talking to them. This actually may be a survival instinct as they do not want to be connected to any more joyous memories out of fear of those being eaten as well. They fear social interaction and wish for nothing except to be alone in this room. It is at that point that most are no longer held prisoner by this room, but welcome it with open arms and allow it to be their shelter instead of their asylum. Not much longer after their acceptance of this miserable place the light above them begins to flicker. The only remaining “light” in what is left of their world is fading and eventually one of two things with happen: either the light will die on its own or the person trapped within the confines of this room will go mad and cut the light off completely.

    James Sync looks up at the camera, his piercing blue eyes shine even greater in the immense light. The tone of his face becomes slightly deeper; more serious.

    This room may appear as just any old room, but what if I told you that it wasn’t even a room at all? This is not a literal room in which I have been trapped in, but instead the confides of my own mind. This is exactly what depression looks like. When you live your life doing many great things these walls are adorned with beautiful memories, but when there have been situations in your life where you have experienced tragic events or have been the one to cause them, those memories become shattered fragmentations of what they once were. The bad energy you produce in your life, or are subject to, far outweighs the good and it take exponentially more good to wipe out the bad. When I was the “Resident Rock Star Supreme,” I produced just about as many good memories as I did bad. I made many people happy with the music I made and the concerts I performed, but what I did after the shows that very few people saw made all the good pointless. I have done many terrible things to female fans that just wanted to see me after shows including telling one girl that they were just another meat slab on a hook in James Sync’s butchery. That was said out of a combination of aggravation after a terrible show and copious amounts of alcohol. I found out about a week later that the girl I had said that to hung herself at a butchery on a meat hook. I felt so incredibly terrible, and I still do to this day, that I caused that to happen and that instead of being a role model I was instead the villain. I was so burdened by this that I did the only thing I could think of to try and regain some of the good karma that I had lost and that was through money. I found out where her family lived and paid them a visit. I apologized for their lost, never once thinking about telling them that this was all my fault, and gave them a check to covered her funeral expenses. I realize now that money doesn’t generate good karma when directed towards “fixing” something that is your fault. Even if money could have brought that girl back to life it could never fix the damage that had already been done to her and her family. I’m not the only one that is affected by this, though.

    James Sync stands up and walks around to the back of the chair. He begins passing behind the chair and raises his tone to be heard more clearly.

    This hell can affect anyone, and even if you live a perfect life where you personally do no wrong you can still be exposed to tragic memories that can only be chalked up to being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There is one demographic that is more susceptible to falling into this horrendous place and that is veterans. Those people that enlist to protect our rights and freedom are often the ones that are forgotten about. These heroes join the military for many different reasons. They could be looking for a stable paycheck to make ends meet. They could be putting in their four or so years to get a college education. Many who enlist, though, are doing it out of a sense of patriotism; the only thing they want is to ensure you and I feel safe and can have a good night sleep. Everyone who enlists know exactly what they are getting themselves into; they know they may never come home and if they do they leave a piece of themselves behind. Those who are out in the field, fighting battles head on, know that they need to kill and be killed. To know that going into battle takes a certain level of mental fortitude and the act of actually killing someone else sticks with them for the rest of their lives. To see the blood leave someone else’s body and the light fade from their eyes does something to a man or woman that leaves a permanent mental scar. Many people have flashbacks of these events whether they stay in the military or get out and it affects them so supremely they end up eventually coming to this room. Within these walls, they relive this event an infinite number of times. Even worse than reliving the memories of killing another human being is knowing that you survive and that they or another comrade did not. Survivors guilt is a terrible beast that eats away at you in the worse possible way. The scenario could be as small as knowing they someone from your brigade is missing in action, but it could be as major as holding them in your arms and hearing them tell you to tell their family that they love them. No one ever comes back from war the same way and they deserve all the help we can give them, but we do nothing. These veterans, and even those still on active duty, come to this room in the hopes of avoiding any human contact, attempting to relive only the good memories. But once that light starts to flicker it is only a matter of time before it cuts out one way or another. Every hour another veteran takes their own life because they can no longer handle the flickering in their own mind and no one is there to help them.

    James Sync grabs the backrest of the chair. He picks the chair up and slams it right back down on its legs. Now he has raised his voice and is filled with anger.

    NO ONE IS THERE TO HELP THEM! What is wrong with us as a society that we let those who protect us take their own lives!? ONE EVERY HOUR! This is unacceptable and we as a nation… no as human beings, need to get our priorities straight and help those who actually need us. I’m not talking about your daughter wanting a brand-new top-of-the-line car for her sweet 16, hell no! The money that you put towards that would be better off being donated to suicide prevention centers. Those men and woman who put their lives on the line to protect us never actually leave the battlefield, but transition to a new one. They are conflicted when that light starts flickering! They are torn between ending the every growing pain they feel and keeping their loved ones happy that they still draw breath. When a warrior goes to battle, their family and friends wait with baited breath to hear from them again and know they are still alive. When that warrior finally comes home the last thing they expect to happen is they take their own life. But this shit happens every hour of every day, what the hell are we doing!? Everyone needs to WAKE UP!

    James picks the chair up again and throws it off camera. He then stands directly under the light; he is no longer yelling, but still extremely serious.

    I know my actions are reprehensible and there is no coming back from what I have done, but what I can do is work to make more good memories, and not just for myself. This cause is something I want to bring global acknowledgement to; there needs to be a reform of our policies. There needs to be one voice that stands above all others and that voice must be a collective. My Road to Redemption is not just some slogan and is not just for me and me alone. This Road to Redemption is for anyone and everyone who has sins they need to repent for, who have had their good memories stripped down and destroyed. This Saturday is Back in Business and the FWA will be on a global stage. On this stage I will have my first true stop on my Road to Redemption. This Saturday is MY chance to prove that this journey is not pointless and just some slogan. If this Saturday I can prove that my path bares fruit, then maybe everyone else that is being beaten up by their inner demons will choose to stand up and fight back. I walk into Back in Business with two loses against several other guys who are thirsty for their Back in Business moment. I do not doubt that these men are confident in their abilities to win the whole thing, but only one of us can win and that man is going to be me. I have something to fight for and I will be damned if I let any of these men stand in my way to acquiring my redemption. I will outlast them and I will go on to challenge for the North American Championship. By the end of Back in Business I will be the new North American Champion. With that title in my hands on a global stage I will finally show the world that demons can be slayed and the first step is to stand up for what you believe in. Do you know what I believe in? I believe in a world where we can be connected to one another and not feel that anyone is truly dragging the others down. It is not that someone is lazy and refuses to get a job or support the team, they just need some help. Every single one of those veterans that took their own lives could have been helped, but we as a society have refused to lend our ears to the needs of those who need us most. As the North American Champion I will have an open door policy. I don’t care who the hell you are, if you need someone to talk to I will be there. That does not apply to just those who are trapped within this room, but those who want a chance at proving themselves and working on their own road to redemption. When I beat the other five men in that match and I beat Mike Parr I will hold an open challenge every single Fight Night and Pay-Per-View. If you want a shot at the champ, take it, but you better knock me out because just knocking me down isn’t gonna do anything except piss me off. My message will be heard and if you want yours to be heard too then you better speak up and make sure the world the hears you.

    James Sync takes a few steps towards the camera until all you can see is the top of his shoulders to the top of his head. His blue eyes almost staring into your soul. His voice is back to being calm and smooth.

    I’m James Sync and this Saturday, I’m Back in Business.

  3. #23
    RainShaker's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2013
    Korakuen Hall Safe Standing Section
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      Country                    Jamaica




    “Once upon a time, there was a girl. A beautiful girl with golden blonde hair that stood out to many and attracted attention from everyone. Some would come to view her as a Princess. She lived in a prosperous land full of hope and opportunity at every corner with many great citizens occupying it. She was just but one of the many. But unlike a lot of these citizens, she was special. For she was a champion of her kind. She stood up for those without a voice and always vowed to combat those who would wrong her people. For this, she would be respected and viewed as the future great saviour. Especially when, one day, her land fell into the hands of the wrong people. Tyrants. People with ulterior motives that sought to exploit everything they had ever been given. Many looked to her as a great hope for the land.

    She may have been viewed as a princess... but she was a warrior, too. She had proven it to many. Some might have said she was greatest the female combatant the land had ever seen. But the tyrants that sought to destroy everything... they were stronger than any of those she had ever outfought. She failed in her initial attempts to save the land. It all went wrong for her. But with great allies at her side... she trained day and night for many moons so that she could be the hero the people desired. She took her initial setbacks on the chin and used them to become stronger so that she could, one day, save the land when the time was right.

    And so it was... she vanquished her demons and then vanquished the demons that pillaged her land and upset her people. One after another... they all started to fall before her. The people praised her as their champion, their princess, their saviour. She destroyed the tyrant who turned his back on the land and then conquered the evil invader. She was vaunted as the greatest the land had ever seen. A true hero of the people. They'd lift her up in the air and parade around the streets whilst chanting her name in sheer jubilation. For they were, finally, saved.

    And they all lived happily ever after...”

    The narrative voice, somewhat familiar... but yet disguised, trails off in the complete darkness. The loud thud of a book being snapped shut echoes and relays a harsh assault on the eardrums. This is followed by a sardonic laugh that lasts just a few seconds. It's almost a responsive snicker into the words just spoken. It lasts for a few moments before there's a silence. It's uncomfortable as the silence does not seem final. And then the same voice, now undisguised, is heard – it cuts through the air like glass with it's harsh and penetrative tone.

    “Yeah, right. We'd all love that to be true, wouldn't we?”

    And suddenly, the scene is, dimly, lit up. All that is seen is the book lying on an ancient, wooden table with the words “BIG BOOK OF BULLSHIT” written over its leather cover. A solitary candle lies next to it and appears to be the light source. A familiar hand floats over the book cover before pointing right at the title.

    “This. This... is a summarised fairytale you'd all like to believe. The hero of the times standing up for you all and ridding the world of its villains.

    But I'm afraid that it's all just one big pack of lies. A facade. A narrative that distracts you from the truth right before you. Something that you'll see clear as day when you're told what's really happening.

    Where are my manners? Shall I introduce myself?”

    The hand moves away from the book and a face appears just behind the candle – a familiar face to go with the familiar hand. A face decorated with piercing blue eyes, slicked back brown hair, stubble... and a shit eating grin that you'd just love to slap off of it. It's the man that proclaims to walk, alone, on a path separate from the FWA. “The Last Star in the Sky” Ryan Rondo.

    “Recognise me? Of course you do. How could you not? I'm only just the greatest wrestler... greatest person that you've ever clapped your beads on. I'll let you all take it in for a few moments. It's alright. It's perfectly normal.”

    As he finishes speaking and allows the viewer to take a right good gander at him... he blows the candle out. Confusion seems to flood through for a brief moment but then the sound of two distinct claps are heard. The room becomes blindly illuminating for a brief moment before settling down. Any impression given by the ancient wooden table, candle and leather book seems to be gone. Ryan Rondo is revealed to be dressed in his usual leather jacket and jeans. He's appears to be in some sort of theatre as he sits on a wooden stool in the middle of the stage. He stands up from the stool, making sure to knock it over in the process, before grabbing the book and launching it off the front of the stage – pages flying out of it as he does so.

    “That's what I think about the supposed narrative. It's a crock of shit. A travesty to the senses. A fallacy that the masses have gobbled it all up like the five dollar hookers around the corner from here. That's all this supposed 'fairytale' of yours is. Isn't it, Bell Connelly?”

    It's the first time he has uttered her name and, clearly, there's no love lost with how he says it with clenched teeth. It's almost painful to speak the words. He holds his hands up for a moment, though.

    “I'll admit. I was fooled too. I remember... I remember the days when you started here. It was a breath of fresh air. We all saw the potential. We all saw what you'd be given enough time. The next generation of superstar. Someone for everyone to eventually look up to as an example. Shannon O'Neal was taken in by it... and, like many, she's still blind to the reality of it all. It's a damn shame. But... I expect nothing less from a dumb hick bitch like her. As for everyone else? I'm disappointed that it has gotten this far. I thought the mirage would've worn off by now. Clearly, I was wrong.

    See, you were pure to many. Innocent. Someone without ego. Someone that could eventually become this figure of great... heroism. But somewhere in the story. It all changed for me.”

    He pauses for a brief moment whilst lowering his hands. He looks down at the ground.

    “Before I continue, though, I'll just say one thing. This isn't about me. No, no, no. This was never about me. I'm sure you'll be 'horrified' to hear this... but secretly pleased at the attention... but this was always about you... Bell.”

    He says her name with a complete snarl once more as he looks back up. An expression of hostility written all over his face.

    “Last year, I still thought you were something special. Somebody that could stand up for the fans for all the right reasons. Someone like me. You see, I never cared about the attention, money and winning all the belts. I never wanted to be a superstar for those reasons. I was someone that simply performed to entertain the fans. Whether it was in front of an empty arena or infront of a full one... the fact is... it didn't matter to me. I thought you would be like me, Bell. You seemed like you were the person who would do everything for all the right reasons. I thought that, maybe, you'd break the mould of all these fast tracked egotistical hotshots that hide their true motives whilst thinking they're something special. But... I know now that I was wrong.”

    There's a few loud echoes of creaking wood as Rondo takes a few steps on the stage... he walks off stage for a brief moment before reappearing with a golden ornamental clock. It's cylindrical in shape and has a small pendulum swinging below it. It's hard to tell what the time is but the significance of the clock doesn't seem remotely obvious. Infact, Rondo proceeds to ignore it as he walks off of it and comes down the steps, slowly, as he looks around the arena. The derisory attitude he has adopted recently seems to have dissipated but there's the feeling that it'll return in a second. He takes a long walk infront of the empty seats in the front row as he speaks.

    “You talk about having fought from being nothing, Bell. You talk about how you've fought SO HARD to get to where you are, today. Infact, you never shut the fuck up about it. The fact you constantly thrust your struggles in the face of whoever is listening... is the reason why my mind changed. I look at you... and I wonder... what have you really struggled through? What do YOU know about true struggle in the FWA? You rose up the ranks quickly. You were taken to like a fly on shit. You blossomed in the women's division and were touted for big things from the get go. You had the wind behind your sails instantly. But your shtick? Shit doesn't fly with me. Nobody in this company can talk about struggle more than I can.”

    He puts his foot up on an empty seat – trying to signify something.

    “You see, you're an attractive woman, Connelly. You've got ready made fuckboy fans as soon as you show up. You had a ton of people behind you from the start... because like any woman in this business, they just wanted to fuck you. Is that a struggle, Bell? Really? I'll tell you about struggle. I've been a part of this company for a longer time than you and your redneck dicksucker pal combined. I was nothing for the vast majority of that time. I wasn't like you or Shannon or Parr or any of the other hotshots. I never got the initial chances to stand out like you did. I had to persevere for my recognition. I didn't get praised lumped on me from the beginning. I was never meant to be special. I was never meant to get this far. I was supposed to be the gatekeeper. The one who just didn't have 'it'. For years, I festered in the FWA's wilderness of irrelevancy and was stranded. But I bided my time and smashed through when people didn't see it in me. I never complained because I never wanted to be like all the others who had surpassed me: egotistical morons that shit their pants as soon as they started to realise they couldn't play with the big boys. I struggled throughout my time to the top... always viewed as second to whoever I was facing. My words, my actions were all falling on deaf ears and blind eyes. There was nobody in my corner for a long time.

    You? You haven't struggled through shit. You've always been viewed as superior to the majority. You've always been seen to be a step above all those that step into the ring with you. So when you drone on and on and on and on...

    and on and on about your struggle, it gets to the point where all I can do is simply roll my eyes and hope for you to shut the fuck up and get a clue.”

    There's a sigh as he takes his foot down. He then decides to take a seat instead and relaxes for a moment before leaning forward with clasped hands.

    “So, as I said, last year is when my opinion changed. I got injured. I let everybody down with Cyrus Truth.”

    A shrug of the shoulders.

    “Shit happens...

    But I was, just like everyone else, expectant that the mistake would be fixed by the great Women's Champion, Bell Connelly. I thought that this was her time to shine. The opportunity she had been crying out for... the climax of her supposed struggle. It was supposed to be something special. And what did we get? Something equivalent to a fart and no follow through. You spoke about all the same things you had previously... but as I watched intently... I realised that the mask had slipped. Throughout your time chasing the World Title... you showcased to me that you were, infact, just like the others. Full of shit and nothing but a self-servant. You weren't trying to win for the fans. You weren't trying to win for the betterment of the FWA and the prestigious belt that I HAD FOUGHT MY ASS FOR. All I got from you was “ME ME ME”.

    And I doubted my thoughts. Oh, I thought maybe I was tinged with jealousy that I wasn't the one facing Cyrus. Maybe I was just trying to downgrade you in my mind. After all, one could look at your words and see no issue with them. You wanted to set an example for women and prove the women's title meant something...

    But then? I was sure. You let the mask slip more and more as you had a chance at the gold and failed. You couldn't let it go. You let your desperation overrule you. It was pitiful. I was shocked that I was the only one who seemed to see this. I watched as you made a complete mockery of Anzu Kurosawa and Eimi Sanada before facing them. What was it you said?”

    Quote Originally Posted by Bell Connelly, Fight Night 4th November
    'Like I mean, I don't even know why you girls bother at this point.
    Like give up, it's me, I win, you lose. '

    “Ha. How fucking vain and repulsive a creature you really are. You fucking slug.”

    He points his finger directly at the viewer, wiggling it a few times as he cuts a small smile of disbelief.

    “That right there. Exposed. The arrogance. Disgusting. For someone who spoke up about women's wrestling and wanting to help everyone showcase how great it is. For someone who spoke up about struggling through and wanting chances. You didn't seem very receptive to other strugglers getting their chance. Nah, you were dismissive. Like they were beneath you. Like the women's division was beneath you.

    But that's not it, is it? At Mile High, the full fucking facade fell down and the penny fully dropped for me. Shall I take you on a trip down memory lane?

    You spoke to Katie Lynn Goldsmith before your Mile High match. And you spoke about winning the belt. Know what stuck out to me, Bell? Not a single fucking mention of your women's title. Not a single fucking mention of wanting to set an example for all the little girls just like you. All you did was try to big yourself up and make yourself look good. Exactly like all the other egotistical fuckwits that have tried and failed here. That's when I realised... you're just an attention seeking shithead that values themselves far more than everybody else does.”

    He holds his hands out with a puzzled expression.

    “Now, I don't know why you are that way. Maybe you didn't get enough love as a kid. But I do know that I can't unthink my thoughts and my thoughts are that you are a piece of shit. A con artist. After all, how can a mongoloid like you speak at length about these things? How does a mongoloid like you get this far when you only seem to be concerned with fluffy rainbows and unicorns? You pulled the wool over the eyes. Shannon helped you. Whether she knows she did... I don't know. But considering that, coincidentally, you and Shannon both decided to return to the FWA when the Carnal Contendership came around... I'd have to say you're both con artists.”

    He gets out of the seat quickly and rushes towards the camera – he grabs it and holds it right infront of his face.

    “Isn't that right? You're a fucking fraud. I've got you figured out. And soon, everyone will too. I might be preaching to nobody in here... and I might be extremely disliked... but I'm Ryan Rondo and people will listen to me.

    You, Bell Connelly... you're not a dumb girl that got extremely blessed and struggled her way through here... nah, you're a smart, conniving woman that's pretended to be a dipshit for the sake of making gains. That's it. The facade drops when you get put into the high stake situations. It's supposed to be just coincidence that you're a high functioning autistic mess that can suddenly become serious as shit when the game is on, right? Nah. That's your ego coming out to play. That's you knowing that you don't have to fool anybody anymore. I'm sure that when Katie Lynn or whoever the fuck else comes to speak to you, you'll turn into serious mode.

    As I expected, you suddenly became serious on Fight Night.”

    He prances around and mocks her voice.

    “Ryan has no idea what he's woken up. I'm a beast … ooo look at me I'm serious again.”

    He facepalms before wiping sweat from his brow.

    “I know exactly what I've woken up, Bell. You seriously think I am afraid of you? You cannot be serious. You don't think I don't know exactly what you are all about? You think landing a few punches on me makes me worried? You took advantage of me being tired later that night just to try and get a few hits in. Such a role model. Shannon fared better than you... infact... you know what... she embarrassed herself, actually. I remember her talking about how I did nothing since I returned... yet she struggled to hit me. Pathetic.

    I called you it on Fight Night and I'll call you it again: You're a bloated doolally bag of nothing. Sweet fuck all. You're just a phony that stands infront of a camera and pretends to be some troubled dark soul that vomits up word salad after word salad just to appeal to the audience. The majority of your words mean nothing. You just say them to make it look like you know what you're talking about. To make it look like you're a force to be reckoned with. There's no substance with you. You're the most inauthentic person in this company.

    And that's saying something given Vincent Blackbird exists.”

    There's another sigh from Rondo as he turns his back and looks to make his way up the stairs amongst the 'audience' – he runs up a few steps before stopping and creeping back down them. It's almost like he had forgotten to say something.

    “What is it that changed you, Bell? Was it winning the women's title? Was it Shannon's endorsement? Was it sipping on Kennedy's dinger? Wait... that can't be it, can it? If Kennedy's recent appearances are anything to go by, he can only get it up once a year.

    Maybe there was no change and you've been like this all along. Who knows?”

    He feigns a confused expression but it's clear what he is implying as a slight smirk comes across his face and he winks.

    “You're not as smart as you think you are, though.”

    There's a brief chuckle.

    “Curious? I bet you are. Why don't you follow me?”

    He goes back to the steps and continues up them like he was, earlier. He stops just as he reaches the top.

    “I've had this planned for a good while, Bell. You'll notice that I've been paying attention. You'll notice that I picked up on your apparent disregard for the belt. See... I wonder what would you have to say if I never took that belt and fucked it up? I wonder what your shtick would be then? It's clear from Fight Night that you're upset about it. It's clear from whatever you had to say about Cyrus that night that you've reverted back to being Bell Connelly, the women's division spokesperson. How fucking typical of you.

    It all just proves my point. You'll revert to whatever angle you can find to look 'good' and win the people over whilst, lowkey, you further your ambition. You know my name value. You know just hoow good I am – infact, I'm the fucking best. You know that beating me, which isn't happening, is going to get you right back in the mix. I've given you the angle... and I expect you to keep running with it.

    But the truth is: I know you don't really care about that belt. All you care about is you. You've proven it to me time and time again with your selective personality.”

    Rondo reaches down and out of view – he pulls out a bag.

    “See... I've played you... and Shannon for fools.”

    He rips the bag off the item he is holding up to reveal that it is, infact, the FWA Women's Title... somehow, it's in perfectly fine condition.

    “The true gift inside that box... it wasn't the diddy fake belt I had smashed up... it was the note, you fucking pleb. It was a gift for not just you... but for everyone else. You think I'd bother going to the trouble of destroying a meaningless title belt? Oh do just fuck off. I wouldn't have do that when you destroyed it already you fucking moron.”

    The belt gets launched all the way onto the stage and crashes onto the floor with a massive thud. There's a distinctive cracking noise as it does so and it appears that the belt may really have taken damage this time. But Rondo doesn't care. He shrugs his shoulders and walks back down.

    “That's right Bell. You were the one who wrecked that belt before I ever touched it. You let it slip from your pseudo mongoloid hands into the actual mongoloid hands of Eimi Sanada and a bunch of other irrelevant goonbags. And you didn't care at all. How pathetic. Where were you clamoring for your rematch after Sanada beat you if the belt's so fucking important, huh? Where were you to step in and save the division when Sanada was getting her belt stolen and treated like shit? Where were you when the women's division needed a STAR to come back and resuscitate it.

    You were busy waiting for the right moment to insert yourself into the World Title picture. That's why you came back at the Carnal Contendership and not when the Women's division needed you.

    That's right.

    You... don't.... care.... about.... the.... women's.... title. You don't care about women's wrestling. It's all an act.

    You care about yourself and getting yourself over. You're just a fucking phony. And the fans? They can go take a fucking bath with a toaster for falling for it. I don't give a fuck about them. This is for me. For being a moron and believing in you. I'm going to beat the utter shit out of you, Connelly. I'm going to give you the attention you oh-so-desperately crave. I'm giving you the spotlight for Back in Business. Enjoy it. Take a couple of good swings at me... you might even knock me down. I'll get back up. I'll look you in the eyes. And you'll know exactly what I know... even if everyone else, including you, deny it. You're not what you say you are.”

    He grabs the book from earlier before jumping back up onto the stage, he points furiously at it as he speaks.

    “This is all supposed to be one big fucking fairytale for you, right, Bell? You picture yourself as the hero. The... Snow White... the Cinderella? Well, I've got news for you.

    You're the villain, Bell.

    You're not Snow White. You're the evil bitch that disguises herself and provides the poisoned apple.

    You're not Cinderella. You're one half of the ugly step sisters along with Shannon.

    You're Rumplestiltskin.

    You're a fucking disgrace, Bell. People will see it soon. This dump might be empty. But my words? My actions? They won't be forgotten.”

    He kicks the women's title off of the stage before throwing the book away once more. This time, he approaches the clock and leans down next to it. He makes sure to have the camera focus in on the time. Just a minute from midnight.

    “For you, Bell, the fairytale's ending. The clock's going to strike midnight on you. The facade will fall and the people will turn. It'll be my pleasure to embarrass you at Back in Business. And when I'm done with you? The clock hits midnight for Parr, for Shannon, for Cyrus... for anyone else that thinks I've forgotten about them. I'd say Kazadi too... but yknow, he ran already like the shitbag he is.

    Ding. Dong. The. Witch. Is. Dead.

    Fucking hooray!”

    He gives a harsh stare into the camera before giving a wink and repeating the same sardonic smile from earlier. It's clear that this is a message intended for more than just Bell Connelly. The smile evaporates and Rondo scurries off stage... just as the pendulum of the clock swings and begins to signal the hour of midnight.


  4. #24
    The Flow
    Slick Mitch's Avatar

    Join Date
    Mar 2016
    BC, Canada
    Rep Power
      Country                    Canada


    And the title goes to...

    It's Back in Business XII Weekend. We're in San Diego. A city which is the hometown of Jason Randall. A city Mark Merriwether absolutely loves. A city where history will be made. We're at Mark Merriwether's apartment in downtown San Diego, which has extremely loyal security. His usual entourage are with him and are pumped for his impending match against Jason Randall and Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird. Chris Johnson and Big Bad Mike Jones have girls with them. Mean Mark Jones is drinking Crown Royal with Mitch White while also playing cards. Mark, however, is abstaining from women and drinking this weekend. He's a focused man. A side of him that the FWA hasn't seen thus far. He knows he's on a hot streak. But he also knows he's against two certified psychopaths who could kill him to get him out of the equation.

    Mark Merriwether: Jason Randall. Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird. This will be the fight of our lives. You two have had some incredible battles. Seeing you two almost kill each other has part of me scared. But the other part of me is excited. Excited to show how brutal I can be. In San Diego of all places. I understand this is Jason Randall's hometown but it has sentimental values to myself as well. This is one of my favourite cities to visit. I'm going to open up about my life before I started wrestling and acting, which is something I've never really done before. I was an orphan a birth, my birth parents didn't want me. Nobody wanted me for the first few years of my life. I went from foster family to foster family, some abusive some not. Until I was 6 years old. I was adopted by a family from San Diego who had moved to my hometown of Seattle. We would visit San Diego every year and I fell in love with the city. I've wrestled here, I've acted here, I've fallen in love here. Coming here reminds me of the great moments in my life after experiencing terrible moments in my life. And the greatest moment of my life will be here too when I defeat those two idiots and become the new FWA X Champion.

    Mark moves to his bedroom as it's too loud in the living room. He stares in the mirror and looks at himself in approval. On the dresser his two Oscars can be seen as well as four Golden Globes.

    Mark Merriwether: Guys I don't think we've actually been introduced. My name is Mark Merriwether. The Megastar. The Hollywood Standard. The two time People's Sexiest Man Alive. Winner of two Oscars. You may have heard of me. I'm better than both of you combined. You may notice I'm not joining my friends in drinking and womanizing this weekend. I love both but I can't lose focus. Focus. Something that will be detrimental to Jason Randall. Your issues with this wonderful city will cause you to be off your game. You're not the only freak I've faced off against. James Sync and Humanity thought they could beat me. They thought it would be easy. You think this is going to be easy. It wasn't easy for them and it won't be easy for you. I can throw down with you any goddamn day. It's time to see if you can beg for mercy Jason. It's time to see if you can cry. There will be blood on my hands, but it will be yours and not my mine. After I defeat you for my new title you won't be able to walk. Now there's your girl Penny. Not gonna lie, I like crazy girls. And you know after one look at me with that title around my waist she'll dump you and go straight to a real man. If she gets involved in the match all I have to do is blow her a kiss and her panties will drop faster than my good friend Usain Bolt at the Olympics. You see Jason, people love me. Girls follow me around the country to fuck me. Men want to be friends with me, they want to drink with me. You have one girl that follows you and I don't even understand why. You're a damn ugly freak with attitude issues and it will be an absolute honour to cause you pain.

    Mark moves to a shelf which has numerous achievements won in his life. There is an empty space on the shelf which is presumably reserved for the FWA X Championship.

    Mark Merriwether: Ever since I was a teenager my life has been perfect. In high school I was the captain of the ice hockey team and we won the State Championship. I was named MVP of course. Obviously I wrestled on the side. I also starred in musicals and plays. Got myself an acting scholarship at the University of Washington. Played multiple sports there and won our Division in ice hockey. Then came my official acting career. Won numerous prestigious awards. Bedded many beautiful women throughout my life. Even dated a lucky few. One man who I've known about and have even admire is Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird. A man who has high intelligence like me. A man who owns many cool equipment. A man who in the past I would have liked to have a few drinks with. A man who will never forget the name Mark Merriwether. I used to enjoy watching you wrestle and listen to you speak. When you returned you were on fire. You won the vacant X Championship, just beating that idiot Risky Douglas I might add, and you were on an upward. But then it happened. You became Jason Randall's bitch. He's beaten you more times than I can count. You've become weak now. It's a damn embarrassment that somebody who was once so dangerous can become this. Just like Randall you won't be focused. Just like Randall you will fall to me. Just like Randall your blood will be on my hands.

    Mark grabs a strap off the shelf and he gains a very sadistic smile and even starts chuckling a little bit.

    Mark Merriwether: Guys this is now my domain. I'm taking it from you and naming myself the God of the X Division. This strap I have in my hand is my baby. When I first started wrestling it was always my weapon of choice in hardcore matches. His name is Buddy. I can choke you out with him and if you're extra special I can whip you until you're numb. If you two are good boys I'll only whip you twenty times each. But if you're bad you'll both get the beatings of a lifetime. This won't be your basic Mark Merriwether match. Buddy will have a heyday and I will bring out my inner psychopath to match you morons. Buddy will bring his friend. Maybe a steel chair or two, maybe some tacks, maybe even some barbed wire. Isn't if funny that Jason Randall calls himself the Wildcard but in this match I am exactly that. The Dark Horse, the fish out of water, whatever you want to call it. I will give it my all at Back in Business XII. You two are having a war, but I will win this battle. And the title goes to...MARK FUCKING MERRIWETHER!

    The only time WWE came close to a good story line post Attitude Era was Undertaker/Mordecai - Dakstang

  5. #25

    Jiggy's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2013
    Tampa, Fl
    Rep Power



    “Each one reacted differently. The potato went in strong, hard, and unrelenting, but in boiling water, it became soft and weak. The egg was fragile, with the thin outer shell protecting its liquid interior until it was put in the boiling water. Then the inside of the egg became hard. However, the ground coffee beans were unique. After they were exposed to the boiling water, they changed the water and created something entirely new. My father then looked at me and said "When life throws you into the boiler, how are YOU going to react? Are you going to get softer, or harder?" I opted for option C. I was the coffee beans. I was going to change the world around me. Yeah, I know I said I was retiring, but I'm still young and the thing about changing the world is, you can't very well do it from your living room, now can you?

    The crowd erupts, sheer pandemonium as Kennedy subtly announces that he's here to stay.

    Our scene begins in vintage black and white over a freshly poured cup of coffee. The lack of cream is a lack of color, the coffee blacker than 12AM on a moonless night. Nearby is a white ash tray with a lit cigarette perched in it's side. Chris Kennedy picks up the coffee mug and slowly brings it to his nose, savoring the oaky aroma of the Cuban dark roast and all of it's subtle notes. He takes a long sip, taking in it's rich, bold favor before letting out a satisfied sigh. He reaches for the Marlboro cigarette and then brings that to his face as well, almost instinctively. He takes a deep drag and exhales from his nose before ashing it in the tray, keeping the lit cigarette between his fingers as he takes another long, hearty sip of his hot coffee. Another satisfied sigh follows from behind clenched teeth.

    Chris Kennedy sits at the small breakfast nook in the corner of his kitchen. Across from him is a TV mounted to the wall, which is playing the most recent episode of FWA Fight Night on Hulu, the go-home episode for FWA Back In Business. Kennedy takes yet another sip of coffee, and then another until the coffee is all gone. Kennedy stands up and walks offer to the coffee pot, empty mug in hand. He pours the coffee into the cup while the sound of himself calling out to Phillip A. Jackson plays on the TV.

    Kennedy then shudders at the sound of his own words. "Phillip A. Jackson..." Kennedy's face remains stoic as he pours his coffee. "...I've always loved you like a brother..."

    Kennedy reaches for the remote and turns the TV off before grabbing his coffee mug and heading over to the window overlooking downtown Tampa. He presses his forehead against the glass, loosing himself in thought for a for several seconds before turning to address us. His eyes are stone cold and hypnotic, as if they have some kind of magnetic hold over all the other eyes that make contact with them. He briefly smiles, his teeth clenched and his body language erratic and hard to read.

    hris Kennedy: Misconceptions are a funny thing, and they can be pretty infuriating no matter how thick skinned you may be. I learned this a long, long time ago. You see, nothing was ever handed to me. Nothing. Early on in my career, people heard the last name "Kennedy" and just assumed that I had doors opening for me and the business was given to me on silver platter. In all actuality, that couldn't be any further from the truth, y'see. My last name was nothing more than a handicap, a weight that I carried everywhere I went. It wasn't enough to pay the same dues everyone else was paying, it wasn't enough for me to put in the same hours. I had to work much much harder to prove that I was my own man and that I was a better man, to prove that I was more than just "Kerry Kennedy's boy." I knew at an early age, when I had only just started in this business, that I would have to be so astonishing inside that goddamn ring, for those ten to twenty minutes, that the whole world would forgot who my father was. I had to leave every bit of myself in that ring, night after night after night, until the commentators started saying my fathers name less and less. Eventually, the day came when the world had to remind themselves from time to time that we were even related, and that's all I ever wanted. It wasn't anything personal towards my father, absolutely not. I loved my father with all of my heart and I was proud of everything he was and everyone he inspired. The fact of the matter was that I wanted my fame and recognition to come at the cost of hard work and sacrifice, and not on the back of a last name that someone else made famous. That's something called honor, and it's not something that is easily comprehended by everyone. There are people out there that wish they had my last name, they want to be Kennedy's so badly that they don't understand why I walked my own path, they just think I'm "ungrateful" or whatever. Gratitude has nothing do with it. Perception, on the other hand, had a bigger hand it all. Pride has always been, simultaneously, both my greatest strength and my greatest weakness, but it was my pride that led me to where I am today. Not pride in my last name, but pride in my first name. Pride in myself, and the simple idea that if I was every bit as good as I said I would, people would notice. And they did.

    Chris Kennedy makes his way towards the front door, coffee in hand. He exits the front door en route to the elevator at the end of the hall. He enters the elevator, descending from the top of his high rise apartment.

    Chris Kennedy: Along the way, I made a name for myself through those early years. At my first ever Back in Business, I won the Golden Opportunity match, leaving four other FWA superstars in the dust as I soared off into glory. Only a year later, at Back in Business VII, I was the FWA Champion, and I was challenging for the World Heavyweight Championship in a unification match. Wolf and Jack Severino would be my next two victims as I did, in fact, make history that night, unifying the FWA champion and the World Heavyweight champions in the biggest Back in Business main event of all time. Fast forward another year later, Back in Business VIII, where I ended MC Fromage's championship reign and took home the FWA Championship. Another year, another victory. The following year, Aut Pax Aut Bellum would taste defeat at the hands of Chris Kennedy and Brian Carter. Andrew Johnson is still seeing stars from that Bittersweet Chin Symphony. The year after THAT, my Back in Business opponent was the great Stu St. Clair, who many still consider to be the greatest FWA wrestler of all time. I proved then and there that he was never on my level and for him to think he could defeat Chris Kennedy on HIS STAGE, in HIS YARD, is completely asinine and the lesson that Stu St. Clair was forced to learn was an embarrassing one, to say the least. Then there was KAIZEN, everyone's favorite. I took KAIZEN to a place that he's never truly returned from, and while he gave it his all, he was shocked to find that his all just wasn't good enough. I updated my win streak to a solid 6-0. What does this have to do with Phillip A. Jackson and our match at Back in Business? Everything. 6 years. 11 victims. And here we are now, Chris Kennedy and Phillip A. Jackson. One of us built an entire legacy on top of Back in Business, and the other one is arrogant, no wait, IGNORANT enough to think that they can shatter that mans legacy in his own house. The thing is, I look at Phillip A. Jackson and I think he really DOES think he can beat me. He's not just talking, I can hear the sincerity in his voice when he claims that he HAS to beat me. I'm glad that he really thinks that, because this is a teaching moment. I want him to go in with full gusto and bravado, and then I want to look him dead in the eyes when I remind him where he falls on the totem poll in an FWA where Chris Kennedy is on the roster. When my arm is raised in victory, I want him to remember the "Back in Business" logo floating above the ring, and I want to ask himself why he even thought he had a chance.

    Chris Kennedy steps out of the elevator and exits the lobby. He goes outside takes in the warm summer air and then greets his taste buds with another dose of his delicious coffee. The sun is shining vibrantly with not a single grey cloud is in sight. He heads down 7th street en route to Bang Bang Bar, a spot that was once often frequented by The Syndicate in their heyday.

    Chris Kennedy: This isn't just about an undefeated streak. This is so much more than that. Phillip was like a brother to me. To some, brotherhood doesn't mean a thing. To me, brotherhood means laying down your life for somebody, having the will to sacrifice yourself for someone else. I would have done that for Philip, in a heartbeat. That wasn't always the case, I used to consider PAJ nothing more than a piss ant, unworthy of my time. But as time went on, Phillip A. Jackson went from an insignificant spec, to a capable lackey, to one of my closest friends. The first time I had ever met Phillip, it was inside an FWA ring. A Fight Night match from back in 2010. I beat him, quickly and decidedly, and that was that. Shortly after that, my father saw something in him that I couldn't quite understand, at least not at the time, and he took Phillip A. Jackson under his wing. Y'see, I don't know much about Phillip's father, but it became apparent that Phillip was filling some kind of void with my own father. Who better to fill that vacancy than with the man who was plastered all over your bedroom wall as a child, right? But Kerry Kennedy wasn't Phillip A. Jackson's daddy, no matter how badly he wished that to be so. I trusted my fathers opinion though, and when I put together The Syndicate, Phillip A. Jackson joining just made all the sense in the world. He was already loyal to the Kennedy family, and that was a kind of loyalty I was looking for in The Syndicate. Phillip A. Jackson likes to talk about how he destroyed the Syndicate while I was away from the FWA, but rarely does he talk about the role he played in The Syndicate while I was still in the FWA. Phillip A. Jackson was my bitch, a hapless do-boy who did what he was told and was awarded with championship opportunities as such. It was a mutually beneficial work relationship. He carries my bags, he gets more TV time. He dresses like La Muerte Blanca and dances in the ring when I tell him to, he gets an NA title shot. Phillip A. Jackson was a man of little-to-no pride and that's why we worked so well together. His lack of vanity and self respect benefited me significantly. But along the way something in me changed and I began to care about Phillip A. Jackson and his future in the FWA, and I encouraged him to be the best version of himself. Eventually, he was no longer my hired muscle, he was my equal, my partner in arms who I'd ride or die with. Phillip A. Jackson earned my respect and a huge part of me still has respect for him but this match isn't about that. This is personal, and I couldn't give two shits as to whether or not Phillip A. Jackson respects me. After Back in Business, Respect is not the word I want Phillip A. Jackson to associate with me. Fear. Dread. Regret. Those are the feelings I want my friend Phillip to associate with me. And with God as my fucking witness, he will. He will fear the very utterance of my name. He will dread my presence. He will regret the day he ever crossed me because I am not above petty revenge. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, right? Well that's fine. The whole world can read braille when I'm through with it so long as when their fingers hover over that bumpy raised text, the dots read "Chris Kennedy defeated Phillip A. Jackson at Back in Business and all was right in the world."

    Kennedy passes several houses as he makes his way to the bar. One house in particular catches Kennedy's attention and stops him in his tracks for a minute. Not the house itself, but the action going on in the front yard. A large, rough looking Rottweiler is being held by it's owner as a 12 year old kid struggles to exit, climbing the large gate, a bag of freshly picked Florida oranges under his arm. The owner is yelling at the kid for stealing the oranges from his yard while the dog barks erratically and aggressively, saliva spraying from mouth. As the child falls on his ass outside the fence and is out of harms way, the owner releases the dog who charges at the boy but is met with the fence. The boy looks on in shock as the dog says "Stay the fuck out of my yard" in so little words. As the owner continues to scold the child, Kennedy walks on, continuing to the bar.

    Chris Kennedy: That night that Phillip A. Jackson cashed in his Golden Opportunity on me, that night he STOLE the FWA Championship from me and broke my arm, after someone else had already put me through hell, that was the highlight of Phillip A. Jackson's career. It was a low point in mine. I never lost the FWA Championship, it was taken from me by one of my best friends. If Phillip A. Jackson wanted a match with me, all he had to do was ask. I would have gladly given him one, especially after everything we'd been through. But he didn't ask, did he? Because he didn't want a match with me. He knew that in a MATCH with Chris Kennedy, he'd lose, just as he had done several times before over the years. So he waited for me, as I was at the end of another hellacious match, to cash in on me. As I said before, Honor is a concept that is lost on Phillip A. Jackson. Phillip A. Jackson knew then that he couldn't beat me one on one a year ago and I have to wonder what changed in him because I honestly think he is stupid enough to think he can defeat me now. Maybe he's forgotten just who the hell I am and he needs a reminder. Maybe Ryan Rondo gave him a concussion at Payback. I don't know. I just know that Phillip made his entire career off of my back and then truly broke the glass ceiling when he stabbed me in that back, that same back that carried him all those years and a big part of me worries that the longer I go on without righting that wrong, the longer Phillip A. Jackson is burdened with this dangerous disillusion that he is better than me.

    Chris Kennedy crosses the street and makes his way into The Bang Bang Bar. Inside the bar is a heavy aura of cigarette smoke which causes Kennedy to pull one out and light up, almost on reflex. He heads over to the large poster on the wall of THE SYNDICATE. It's in a glass frame, signed by Chris Kennedy, Mac Michaud, Christian Quinn, Daniella Kennedy and Phillip A. Jackson. He looks at Jackson and Kennedy standing side by side and a frown falls on Kennedy's face. He looks genuinely heartbroken, for a couple seconds, before that frown turns into a scowl.

    Chris Kennedy: Brotherhood, man. All I ever wanted was a little brother. Phillip never wanted to be my brother. He just wanted to be Kerry's son. He wanted the glory of the Kennedy name. But what is glory without honor? What's even the point? Yeah, I'll admit that I am hurt. The saddest part about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies, y'know? Stab your body and that heals, but stab the heart and that's a wound that lasts for a lifetime. I've been harboring this pain for over a year now. This pain isn't some lingering effect of a broken arm, it's not from years worth of wear and tear. This pain is in my chest. It's a broken heart. I trusted PAJ. I trusted him with my life, and in one series of unfortunate events spanning the course of 6 minutes, PAJ took two things from me of equal importance. He took away my FWA Championship, and he took away my ability to trust. I have decided that I am not going to give Phillip A. Jackson that power. You see, everyone suffers at least one great betrayal over the course of their lifetime. These are the things that make us stronger. The trick is not to let it destroy your trust in others when this happens. You can't let them take that from you. I won't. I am going to show Phillip A. Jackson that his actions have consequences, consequences that he may not be prepared for. My mother used to tell me that anger, resentment and rage won't change the hearts of others, only yours. Thing is, my heart changed a long long time ago. There is an emptiness there, an emptiness that longs to be full. The only way I know how to do that is by hurting the ones who've crossed me, inside that FWA ring. Oh, how I've missed that feeling. Since the day I came to the FWA back in 2010, I've never missed a single Back in Business, and I never will. It's my yard, as cliched as that may sound, it's the truth. Phillip A. Jackson NEEDS to beat me, for his sake. He NEEDS to be the man to beat the streak, that's more validation his career needs at the expense of my name, which makes sense because everything Phillip A. Jackson has, he has because of me. Every championship win, every moment in the sun, every story book memory can be attributed to me and what I've done for him. He thinks I'm going to immortalize him at Back in Business. In his awakening moment, as that bell rings and my hand is raised in victory, Phillip A. Jackson will look me in the eyes, a broken man, and he will pray to a god that he doesn't believe in. He'll pray that I've gotten everything out of my system and this will be the last we ever see of each other. Thing is, for me to truly get everything out of my system, I don't think Phillip A. Jackson is walking out of the building on his own two feet. Back In Business is going to be a teaching moment for Phillip A. Jackson, because education is the most powerful weapon you can use to change the world. Phillip Jackson and everyone else who may have forgotten, they need to be educated on who the fuck I am. This is a lesson I will be teaching at Back in Business. God have mercy on anyone who isn't paying attention.

    Chris Kennedy head over to the table in the corner of the bar. This is the table that The Syndicate would sit at for hours on in. But Quinn is gone. Mac is gone. PAJ is gone. Chris Kennedy stands alone, and maybe it's always been this way. This is a thought that Chris Kennedy finally accepts as he goes to take another sip from his coffee mug, but the mug is now empty. He slides the empty mug to the center of the table and takes a long drag from his cigarette as the camera fades.

  6. #26
    The Mayor of Slamtown
    Sayer's Avatar

    Join Date
    Aug 2014
    Rep Power




    The FWA logo is front and center on the screen, followed by a Pittfall Productions logo that looked like it had been done up by a 15 year old on Photoshop. Next up was “In association with BeastWorks Inc and Main Event Mike Films. Following that, “FWA Home Video Presents”….” The Highs and Lows of Danny F’N Toner”. After a brief fade to black the camera takes us to a fast paced montage of all things synonymous with New York City. It shuffles through images ofThe Statue of Liberty, Central Park, The Empire State building, Times Square, the hustle and bustle down the city sidewalks, Saks Fifth Avenue, the diverse population….you get the picture, all before setting on one image. A simple sign that reads “New York City, City Limits, Population 8, 274, 527”. A very familiar deep bass voice begins to speak, shedding some light on the contents of this video. That voiceover belonged to the Monster of the Midway.

    Garcia: “New York City. The largest city in the United States. An architechtural marvel with plenty of historical monuments, magnificent buildings, and countless dazzling skyscrapers. Besides all the architechtural delights, New York is an urban jungle that has everything to offer to visitors. The city is home to numerous museums, parks, trendy neighborhoods and shopping streets. But New York City is home to much more than monuments like the Brooklyn Bridge and the Chrysler Building, New York City is the homeof the American Dream.

    The American Dream, a national ethos of the United States, in which freedom includes the opportunity for prosperity and success, as well as an upward social mobility for the family and children, is achieved through hard work in a society with few barriers. In the definition of the American Dream by James Truslow Adams in 1931, "life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement" regardless of social class or circumstances of birth. The American Dream is rooted in the Declaration of Independence, which proclaims that "all men are created equal" with the right to "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”. A key element of the American Dream is promoting opportunity for one's children. This was certainly what Desmond Toner had in mind for his son, Daniel.

    Desmond Toner was a humble immigrant, who took advantage of a great opportunity, and moved his family from Westport, Ireland to this brave new world. Not knowing what lie ahead for him or his family, Desmond took a a huge risk to make a better life for his family.His wife, Colleen, took care of their two lads, Colin and Daniel. Over the years, Desmond worked his way to a very successful, lucrative career in the real estate industry. At one point, Desmond’s net worth was over $27 million. Daniel, his youngest son, graduated high school with an impressive 4.0 GPA and graduated from Georgetown University with a Bachelor’s Degree in Real Estate. Desmond was proud of both of his boys but it was easy to see that Daniel was being groomed to be the heir to his father’s throne.”

    The camera cut to a diary room shot of a somewhat elder man in his late 60’s of Irish descent with slick-back salt and pepper hair, smoking a pipe, and drinking some scotch. The man was obviously portraying, but not really, Desmond Toner.

    Desmond: “Ah, roit. It’s such a good feeling, knowing that after working hard all your life to create a better life for yer lads and lasses that they’ll be carrying on the business that ye started and hopefully making a better life for their lil’ ones. That’s why I was so ‘appy to see Daniel doin’ well in his studies. Made me proud to know that he’d be carryin’ on the Toner name with pride. I knew Daniel was the one I could trust.

    “But was he? For all the academic achievements Daniel had racked up in his school years, Daniel was also known as quite the party animal in his college years and while his school work never suffered, Daniel quickly grew disillusioned and tired of being a responsible adult. As life grew tougher and pressure mounted, Daniel turned to the bottle more and more often and to his studies less and less. Daniel did however, successfully complete his courses at Georgetown but was now faced with a much scarier future. Was this really the life he wanted to live? Did he really want to work his life away? Make no mistake about it, Daniel loved the lifestyle he grew up living and in no way wanted to give that up, but now…now he had to work for it. And that,well, that wasn’t something that appealed to Danny.

    When Danny Toner debuted in the FWA, he claimed that he was a self made millionaire. There is some truth to that. He didn’t take the opportunity to be groomed into his Dad’s business. That position went to Colin, who has turned his father’s real estate business into an empire. But that wasn’t all that went to Colin, as Danny would soon find out. With Desmond and Colin working together to make their business an even bigger success, jealousy began to fill Danny’s soul. Danny knew that somehow, someway he had to prove it to himself that he made the right decision to live his life the way he wanted to without all the pressures of he corporate world on his shoulders. Danny took to the streets to make his money quickly growing his business through many of his contacts in his college years. Being a silver tongued devil, Danny was able to talk his way through many a situation and within a very short time developed his own area, becoming a sort of a kingpin. Danny Toner had become a self-made millionaire. He became even more acclimated to the lifestyle he was living.Going from champagne and Hennessy in the afternoon, to ecstacy and heroin in the latenight, Danny Toner’s downward spiral was in full effect.

    Desmond: “It was so frustrating to watch a kid, my kid, with so much potential just throw it all away for absolutely nothin’. His mother tried to save him. His brother did. I did. But you can only throw out so many lifesavers before you realize…maybe he just doesn’t want to be saved.”

    A younger man in his early 30’s was now in the diary room. A graphic on the bottom of the screen read: James McAlvoy, Toner’s Friend

    McAlvoy: The partying…it just got worse. The irresponsibility. There were many days where he wouldn’t wake up until 8 pm and then, he’d head straight out to the clubs til 6-7 the next morning. There were countless times where he’d stumble into walls, or tables, or even ponds. Yes, Danny Toner once walked into a pond.
    Desmond: We tried rehab. We tried AA. We gave him every opportunity to help himself. An every chance that we gave him, he’d well….

    he’d royally fuck it up.

    “This was becoming a common theme in Danny Toner’s life, it would seem. In February of 2013, Danny Toner made a decision to pursue a career in professional wrestling alongside one of his clients at the time, Meth Head Matt. In June of 2014, both men were signed on to the FWA, MHM enjoyed a modicum of success in the FWA before being found one night after a live event, wearing nothing but Saddle Sally’s thong around his head, screaming obscenities at a cardboard cutout of Ryan Hall in front of a small group of people and being subsequently fired. Danny’s career? Well, that was only slightly less embarrassing.”

    The next diary room shot was of well known wrestling journalist Shake Meltzer. Meltzer was very much akin to famed NFL Draft Analyst Mel Kiper Jr. with the way he talked, his mannerisms, and even his hair.

    Meltzer: Danny Toner’s FWA career can best be summed up in one word: lost. Danny Toner was a lost soul was in dire need of direction, He never could seem to do well on his own and often times relied on riding the coattails of those superior to him to get where he wanted to be in the company. Whether that be with Executive Excellence or TNT, Danny Toner was at his best was when he was not on his own. When there was somebody else to mask his flaws, Danny Toner would shine bright. Management would see this and say ‘Hey, there’s a guy we can really strap the rocket to!’ and inevitably Danny Toner would always prove why he could never be that guy.

    After Meltzer, it was FWA CEO Matthew Robinson’s turn in the diary room. Except it wasn’t Matthew Robinson. This was clearly Michael Garcia’s close friend, Jeremiah Jones, wearing a pinstripe suit and a dreadlock wig. Jones did his best Robinson impression, but with his own flamboyant flair.

    “Robinson”: There were so many guys in the back that just loved Danny Toner. His charisma, his energy, his aura….he was just a fun guy to be around. He was truly the life of the party. And that energy, it really transcended this industry. Danny Toner was a huge merchandise mover. He’s the kind of guy that would really have the crowd in the palm of his hands just by being in their presence. You could literally feel the energy that this man brought to each and every event he was apart of… whenever he decided that would be.

    Gabrielle Kennedy was up next. But if you thought that Gabrielle Kennedy would actually bother herself to show up to do something that wasn’t Gabrielle-centric, you’re a fucking tool. This was clearly Lexi Monroe, doing her best Gabrielle impression.

    “Gabrielle”: “ I’m sorry, who are we talking about again?” Inaudible producer talking. “ Toner?” Pause. “What, did he work here or something? Look, I thought this was going to be…” Pause. “I did?” Pause as “Gabby” looks inquisitively at the camera before snapping back. “Look, I’ve fucked a lot of guys, and girls, in my time here, you’re really going to have to narrow this down.” As the producer describes him, suddenly, it occurs to Gabby who he is. “Ah, yes, the mick. The less talented one, right? Toner? What an odd name. But meh, he was nothing memorable in the sack. Certainly lives up to the Irish stereotype. Very disappointing.”

    “Disappointing. A word that was often used to describe Danny Toner. Shake Meltzer was right when he said that Danny Toner often relied on others for his success. Just a short time in to his career, Danny Toner was given opportunity after opportunity to take the X Division championship from around the waist of then champion, The Mist. Despite heavy hype, Toner never did capture that championship. But perhaps something better was on the horizon for the young prospect? Soon enough Toner would meet up with a man by the name of Marcus Thane.”

    Meltzer: “Thane was the shot in the arm that Danny Toner needed after his slow start in the FWA. And damn, did that ever give him a boost! TNT were one of the most over acts the FWA had going at the time. The fans were in love with them. They were the lovable underdogs and the FWA Universe were just itching for them to finally capture the FWA Tag Team Championships! And it gave us some of the most edge-of-your-seat moments I’ve ever witnessed as a wrestling fan. But for as much of a shot as it gave to Danny’s career, it was just another example of Danny Toner showing everyone what he could do but failing to actually do it.”

    “Despite his many failures, there were people that still sought that somehow Danny Toner could be a success in the FWA. One of those men was Thomas Princeton, an egotistical bastard that was consumed by greed and would use any poor fool to help him get there. Those said fools would follow Princeton’s every word, forming a group known as Executive Excellence. One of those fools was Christian Quinn, another noted failure in the FWA, but one who still managed to achieve more than his eventual tag team partner, Danny Toner. With Quinn by his side, and Princeton’s pull working for them, Executive Excellence managed to cheat their way to the FWA Tag Team Championships. Despite the lack of formidable competition, Toner and Quinn formed a formidable duo until Toner’s unreliability forged a wedge between them. Quinn became just like everyone else that’s ever associated themselves with the Irish conman. He became tired of putting his faith and his career in the hands of a man who would put it all up his nose. It wasn’t long before the two came to blows and Quinn proved his superiority over his sloshed opponent.”

    “Robinson”: Yes, this was a point in the story where people started to really see who Danny Toner really was. It wasn’t long after this that Danny Toner decided to take his ball and go home. It really is a sad thing to have witnessed this young kid with such unlimited potential fall to the perils of drugs and alcohol and allow it to take over his life. Guys who were once so firmly behind giving Danny Toner a chance….men like Chris Kennedy, Devin Golden, Thomas Princeton, Drew Stevenson, etc. They were always guys that would go to management and say “Just give him another chance”. These guys were tired of being burned. People simply stopped going to bat for him. It’s quite telling when Ryan Rondo of all people is telling him to put down the crackpipe and get his shit straight. So when Danny Toner left the FWA, there were rumors that he went to rehab, got cleaned, fixed himself up….and then Toner acknowledged that there was truth to those rumors. Suddenly, those same voices began to speak up again and despite being burned in the past, the FWA decided to take one last chance on Danny F’n Toner.”

    Meltzer: Funny thing about all of this is that the storyline they had going with Toner having to prove himself to Ashley O’Ryan and having to earn his spot was in many ways a rib on Toner’s current true situation. In real life, they were testing Daniel. Testing him to see if this was just going to be another pissed away opportunity. And initially, things were going very well for Daniel, he was showing up and he was getting the job done and before you know it, his supporters had once again put their belief in him. They truly believed that this time, Toner was legitimately going to come through for them. The guys in the back were once again singing his praises. Danny Toner was back, and he was better than ever. He was truly wanting to prove that he was no longer a failure, and that he had truly overcome his demons.

    “However, it didn’t last long enough. Two nights before Carnal Contendership, Danny Toner missed a live event in Hoboken, New Jersey. Numerous attempts to reach him had been unsuccessful and many had become worried, not just for his standing in the company but for his life. Not much is known about his true wherabouts to this day, but the FWA kept their hopes high that he would make it to Carnal Contendership and prove himself as the force he could be. With just mere minutes until his entrance in the match, a severely impaired Danny Toner erratically crashed the party and wrecklessly drove his way to the ring. In the process, he actually wrecked his van into the ring, endangering the lives of every competitor involved but eradicating the Back in Business hopes of one man in particular….”

    The stock footage of Back in Business came to a halt and was now replaced with a close up of the narrator, with a devilish look in his eyes. Michael Garcia now stood front and center, with a black under armour shirt on and his black Adidas pants with a white stripe running down the side.


    Garcia began to pace back and forth.

    “Thirty five days, Daniel. Thirty five days. That’s how long I’ve been holding in this rage that’s burning deep inside me. That’s how long I’ve been dreaming of the many sick and sadistic things that I’m capable of doing to you, Danny. That’s…that’s why I wanted this match to be Falls Count Anywhere because this isn’t about me proving that I’m better than you. Fuck, the world already knows that, Danny. They know you’re a fuck-up. Everyone knows you’re a fuck up who will never, EVER, live up to what you could have been. No, this is about making sure that your fuck ups don’t ever cost me anything ever again! And as much as I can’t wait to get my hands around your neck until the Jameson gushes out of your ears, this isn’t what I wanted to be doing at my third Back in Business! Why, oh why, do I always get screwed over with these shit opponents at the biggest show of the year? Jason Gryphon, The HoneyMamas, The Terror Squad, and now…the worst of them all, Danny Toner.

    But it wasn’t just me you screwed Daniel with your latest fuck up, nah. You screwed this entire company. Because of you, Shannon Fucking O’Neal is headlining the biggest show of the year. Can’t wait to see the fucking ticket sales for this extravaganza! Shannon O’ Neal! What the fuck has Shannon O’Neal ever done to warrant going up against one of the most dominant champions in FWA history? Absolutely nothing! So, now, Cyrus Truth gets a fucking bye at the biggest show of the year, while the only man capable of ripping that belt from around his over-rated waist has to deal with the FWA’s Problem Child? Back in Business was supposed to be my night, Toner, my moment, my opportunity…and YOU stole that from me. You and your fucking irresponsibility, carelessness, wrecklessness….Your fucking lifestyle is a liability to everyone around you! Sure, fuck up your own career, I don’t give a fuck about that. Disappoint your parents, your friends, your sibling, your supporters, your fans…I don’t give a fuck how many lives you ruin as long as you don’t fuck up mine!

    But you did. And now, now, it’s your end game. Back in Business is when Danny Toner finally, for the first time in his pathetic life, will face the consequences for his actions. I’ve always hoped that that you’d one day end up dead in a ditch or drowning in a gutter somewhere, maybe fate just needs a helping hand. This, Danny Toner, is the last day that the FWA will ever have to deal with you. Because Toner, this is the only time in your career where showing up to work will be your biggest fuck up. And Danny?

    Ah…fuck it, I’ve spent far too much time on you already. “

  7. #27
    Huggin' and Kissin'
    Tig's Avatar

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    Aug 2010
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      Country                    Ireland


    Back In Business 3
    The Final Act?

    Danny Toner: “Falls Count Anywhere? Sounds like fun!”

    Danny kicks the hockey stick off Garcia’s body and it skidsdown the hall. Danny follows after it as he walks out of the shot, off camera and possibly off Fight Night for the last time ever. Danny bends down to pick up the Easton Stealth that has become a trademark of his Back in Business opponent Michael Garcia. Danny scoffs and rests the stick on his shoulder as het ries to imagine what his trademark is – he knows what he wants it to be; belief and rebellion – and what people associate him with. Craziness? Wildness? Uncontrollable? … Overreaching? Disappointment? … Failure? Danny leaned with his back against a wall, eyes shut and inhaled deeply. Even the thoughts were growing tiresome; the constant internal back and forth that went on inside his mind – he could only imagine how it must have felt to everyone else. No wonder it was looking increasingly likely that he had no future in the FWA post-Back in Business. Danny’s resilience was wavering, he was beginning to lose faith inhimself – his performance in particular against Mike Parr had been a disgrace. There were a host of guys coming in from the performance centre - young, hungry and looking to make a name for themselves – something that could only bedone at somebodies expense. Danny would be able to take it if they were calling him out, trying to earn respect and challenging him but they weren’t; they were simply dismissing him as an afterthought, the new blood already thought Toner was a joke. He was coasting by on a reputation and not even a good reputation just an infamous one. Toner’s number was up, the FWA board had lost complete faith and he had absolutely nobody to blame, as per usual, but himself. Toner opened his eyes and swung the Easton Stealth hard at the wall, breaking the stick in two. He repeatedly cracked the Stealth against the wall in a frenzied attack until he was holding nothing more than a frayed stick with splinters of wood littering the ground around him. Toner dropped to the floor in the middle of the debris and just stared at the hole he had put in the wall in front of him. He couldn’t help but allow himself a wry smile as he surveyed the chaos - if anyone turned the corner they would see the perfect image to accompanyany talk of his career; an absolute mess with Danny Toner sitting in the middle of it.

    We can hear the hustle and bustle fromthe crowd from the gorilla position at FWA’s Back in Business axcess weekend. Ashley O’Ryan is fretting around looking pissed off.

    Ashley O’Ryan: “Well!? Any sign of the boy?”

    Stagehand: “Nobody has seen him.”

    Ashley O’Ryan: “Well feck it anyway Toner! Ye never fail do ya!?”

    Ashley is seen scurrying over to an upturned crate andpicking up a clipboard, rapidly flipping through the pages and murmuring tohimself, the odd well-placed “feck” and “shite” being the only thing we pickup. A sound technician runs backstage to the gorilla position.

    Technician: “We’ve Toner’s music queued, the crowd aregetting restless - what’s happening?”

    Ashley O’Ryan remains stoic as he’s looking at his notes.

    Ashley O’Ryan: “Didn’t show up.”

    Technicinan: “Oh … Um, will I get Sync’s music ready?”

    Ashley sighs.

    Ashley O’Ryan: “Aye, we’ll push the Sync and Gruber matchforward, I’ll go tell the lads.”

    Danny Toner: “I’m here.”

    All eyes turn to face Danny Toner who is standing in the doorway, a black hoodie, jeans and runners adorning him. Ashley looks like he’sabout to explode.

    Danny Toner: “Ash … I’m sorry ... I’m here now ... let’s getto work.”

    Ashley O’Ryan: “You’re SORRY! Let’s get to work!? What sortof shite is that Danny? Fecksake I’ve come to expect a half-way decent excuseout of ya! Back in Business is TOMORROW, Danny boy! I’ve half a mind t- Danny …what is it?”

    Ashley cuts his rant short as he sees a crestfallen Tonerslowly shaking his head.

    Danny Toner: “It’s over Ashley. They don’t want me no more.”

    Ashley O’Ryan: “What’s over? Who doesn’t want you?”

    Danny Toner: “Board of Directors. That’s where I was, that’s why I’m late.”

    Ashley O’Ryan: “They don’t want ye? I don’t give a shite Danny, I want ye!”

    Danny solemnly shakes his heads and quotes the suits.

    Danny Toner: “Barring exceptional circumstances, we will nolonger require your services in the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance come midnightafter Back in Buisness. You are invited to the afterparty but you will not berequired in the arena for the following Fight Night. We wish you all the bestin your future endeavours.”

    Ashley stares at Danny for a minute and then softly speaks.

    Ashley O’Ryan: “Oh for fucksake Danny why did ya do it!? Why didn’t you just put your head down Danny?”

    Danny Toner: “I’ve been asking myself the same question … I’m sorry for lettin’ ya down Ash.”

    Ashley O’Ryan: “Awh son … I’m sick tellin’ ya … it’s nobodyelse yer lettin’ down.”

    Danny’s eyes flicker to the ground.

    Danny Toner: “I know Ash … I know.”

    Ashley O’Ryan: “Well … do ya still wanna go out there?”

    Danny looks up from the ground, a small sparkle to his look.

    Danny Toner: “Of course. Barring exceptional circumstances …I ain’t gonna get to speak to them again, am I?”

    Ashley O’Ryan: “This won’t be the end Danny … I want you on my roster, I’m marching straight into the Board of Directors and tellin’ themwhat exactly I think of them ‘no longer requiring your services’ but … just incase ...”

    Ashley pulls Danny in close in a bear-like hug and whispers in his ear.

    Ashley O’Ryan: “Screw the script tonight, say whatever it is you gotta say to them people lad … this ain’t the end.”

    Ashley breaks the embrace and Danny looks him in the eye and nods. Just as Toner turns around his music hits the system.


    Ashley O’Ryan: “Go shock them, kid.”

    Danny Toner: “I always do Mister O’Ryan, I always freakin’do.”


    Danny Toner explodes out onto the stage, full of energy, pumping his arms and really getting the crowd worked into a frenzy. He sprints down to the ring and climbs up onto a turnbuckle before leading the crowd himself in his notorious chant.


    Danny allows himself a smile as he hops down onto the apron with a thud. He gets handed a microphone by a pretty looking ring attendant - who of course gets a wink and walks off blushing. He paces around the ring asthe crowd loudly cheer him.

    Danny Toner: “Aight, aight, aight … ‘bout time this weekendreally got started, huh? HUH?!”

    The crowd react positively to Toner.

    Danny Toner: “Yeno, you can’t buy this. There’s no stores around the area that ya can walk up into and go ‘Yo, busta? Gimme a bottle of that fuckin’ insane energy that does be goin’ around at Back in Business weekend’ …nawh, ya can’t buy that. You guys are freakin’ nuts. Just like me, my kinda folk!”

    The crowd cheer loudly at Toner’s praise.

    Danny Toner: “And allow me to sound like a fuckin’ cheap shill for just one moment - there’s only one place you get that kind of energy,them kinda feels … and it’s right here in the F … W … A!”

    The crowd start chanting “We are awesome!” which makes Danny laugh and shake his head.

    Danny Toner: “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t be getting big-headed now! But you’re right, you guys are awesome. You know who ain’t awesome? The FWA Board of Directors.”

    Low booing.

    Danny Toner: “Yeah, get this - I walks into ‘em earlier and I go; YO! When I beat Garcia’s stupid head silly on Sunday … what ya gonna do for me? Huh? What’s the incentive. Yeno, risk and reward and all that. I’m getting into the ring with a seven foot asshole who throws more mood swings than a fourteen year old girl. Surely when I burst his nose open and ya’ll done cleaning his period blood off the canvas, you gotta little somethin’ for me, yeah? Maybe a shot at Randall?”

    The crowd cheers.

    Danny Toner: “They said; nawh Danny, that ain’t what’s next.


    Danny Toner: “So I go - you giving me another crack at the North American Championship?”

    Crowd cheers slightly louder.

    Danny Toner: “They go no Danny, something else.”


    Danny Toner: “Then I’m getting excited - you know thinking;shit … is Marcus or Randy comin’ back? Are we going to take on them two Greek goofs?”

    Loud pop for the Marcus Thane and Randy Ramon references.

    Danny Toner: “But they go … them guys are busy Danny.”


    Danny Toner: “So there I am thinkin’ … shit … they gonna do it … they actually gonna do it … they gonna put me in a ring, one on one, with Cyrus freakin’ Truth or Shannon O’Neal … for the World Heavyweight Championship!”

    The crowd are ecstatic at the suggestion and begin that infamous chant;


    The crowd at the axcess event are at fever pitch now, their excitement can’t be ebbed, Toner has them in the palm of his hand and they quieten down when he signals for it with his hands. He shakes his head, a despondent look etched on his face.

    Danny Toner: “But they go … no. No Danny, not that either. In fact, it’s the opposite … when you kick Garcia’s head in at Back in Business… that’s the last thing you’ll do because Danny … your services are no longer required.”

    Deafening silence. You could literally hear a pin dropdespite there being about fifteen hundred people around the ring. One manshouts out “BULLSHIT!” and then the booing starts. The crowd are hot, they’re incensed at the announcement.

    Danny Toner: “LOOK - I KNOW! Nobody is more pissed off aboutthis than me. Nobody! I freakin’ love you guys!”

    “WE LOVE YOU TOO DANNY!” comes from a busty audience memberwhich Danny actually laughs at.

    Danny Toner: “Look, as far as I was concerned, this was only a matter of time. There’s been a shift in management and I ain’t got the same backin’. There’s nothin’ I can do unless they suddenly have a change in heart but I got one more job left to do - Michael Garcia. So let us focus on, ladiesand gents, THE MONSTER OF THE MIDWAY!!!”

    Danny feigns fear as he says the moniker of Garcia in a bellowing voice. He shakes his head and addresses the crowd.

    Danny Toner: “You know Mike is one of these guys who is meantto be a big scary dude but even these big scary schmucks have fears. It doesn’ttake a genius - be that as I may - to work out what Garcia’s fears are; he absolutely lives for acceptance and he’s insecure as all hell. Now I don’t know if Big Main Event Mike is packing a small little Mike but fuck me is that guy needy! Guys like Garcia work their asses off week in, week out. Guys like Garcia lick ass and brown nose every big name they come across; Rondo, Kennendy, ohhhh Devin! Guys like Garcia arrive at the arena early to help set up the damn ring and offer assistance wherever required. Guys like Garcia …can’t stand the fact that guys like me show up when I want, arrive late, raise hell, tell Rondo to his face that he’s a hun wanker - which you are Ryan - and still everyone cheers me. Still everyone talks about me. That ain’t because I’m some big superstar Mike, no that ain’t it. It’s because for all your brown-nosing, all your consistency, all the times you’ve stepped up to help …it doesn’t change the fact that you just aren’t that freaking good!”

    The crowd “ooooh” and there are some light cheers.

    Danny Toner: “It kills you Garcia, it absolutely kills youthat people talked of me as a future World Champion, you get guys like Golden and O’Ryan singing my praises, guys like Rondo going to bat for me. They see me as an equal, they think one day I could reach their heights. They see you as the annoying twerp constantly pining for attention and that dude that just won’t go away. I respect that tenacity Mike, don’t get me wrong you put in agreat shift but it’s clear for everyone to see - you gotta ceiling and ceilings don’t bode well for guys that are seven foot tall pal!”

    The crowd are getting behind Toner in a big way as Toner takes a minute’s rest to light a cigarette. He points at it and gets animated.

    Danny Toner: “This! See this? Garcia just can’t wrap hishead around it! He doesn’t understand why people don’t want him to do well -he’s the epitome of an athlete and Toner is a cigarette-toking, coke-sniffing, whiskey-slugging, hot-headed motherfucker! Hahaha, awh man you can’t stand this. You think I’m a disgrace Garcia and you’re probably right but you know why nobody wants to see you do well? You know why nobody is ever going to beclamoring for a Garcia push? You know why you will NEVER - even in your lofty new position - be considered as a viable main event talent? It’s cause people just don’t like you. You’ve no likeability and you’ve got mediocre talent; take it from the guy who’s being pushed out the door - you’ve peaked and you ain’t ever, ever going to be considered on my level no matter what you go on to do. What really annoys you Garcia, what REALLY gets on your nerves … is if we both show up at our best … you know you haven’t a fucking chance - you’re not as good as me when we both bring it and that pisses you right fuckin’ off … don’t it Mike?”

    Danny takes a deep drag of his cigarette and exhales outwards before dropping the butt on the canvas and stubbing it out with his runner, leaving an ash mark on the white. He looks up and addresses the crowd one final time.

    Danny Toner: “I gotta be honest, I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t wanna freakin’ go, I
    wanna stay but that’s not up to me.This won’t be the last time ya’ll see me, you have my word. I hope I’m allowed show up on Fight Night but if not … who knows? Maybe Kaizen will take me over to Japan and train me over there? Hell, maybe I don’t gotta go to the Land ofthe Rising Sun, I hear there’s a certain company over here looking for some … young lions.”

    There’s a mixed reaction from the crowd at what he’sinsinuating but Toner shrugs his shoulders as if to say “What do you want me todo?”.

    Danny Toner: “I’ll just sign off on this; what was it Garcia said? He doesn’t care if he has to chokeslam me off the Grand Canyon? Hell Garcia, you’re going to need to do more than that to keep this dog down in this fight. You’re going to need to grab that van from Carnal Contendership and freaking run me into the ground. Hey, funny isn’t it? You hate me so much …here’s your chance Garcia …

    Kill Danny Toner.”

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