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Thread: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

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    Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    Post promos here for the Fight Night 03/20/2020 card matches. Promo deadline will be Saturday, March 21, at midnight Pacific time, which is Sunday, March 22 at 3 a.m. eastern time and 8 a.m. British time.

    There will be no extensions available for this show. The card has been up for more than 24 hours, and you have seven-plus days from now until the posted deadline. Thanks, all.
    Last edited by The Golden One; 03-15-2020 at 08:15 AM.

    "The Golden One" Devin Golden

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

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

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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    VOLUME 28.


    She couldn’t focus on what he was saying. Her eyes were tracing the detail upon the gold plating of her championship belt, and specifically the sharp points at each vertex of the large ‘X’ on its face. There were granules of white powder clearly visible within the crevices, remnants of a recently consumed and thoroughly enjoyed line of cocaine. She’d done the same with her CWA High Voltage Championship four years ago, and it had become something of a tradition. She wanted to enjoy the moment. Her fourth match in the FWA. Her second at Back in Business. And her first taste of this company’s silverware. It tasted almost as good as the cocaine.

    “You see, you’re a champion now,” he repeated. She wasn’t listening particularly carefully, and couldn’t tell you with any great certainty the finer detail of his points, but she felt sure that this was a recurring theme. “You have certain responsibilities to the company now, you know? More is expected of you when you have that gold around your waist. I mean, tonight, sure. Why not celebrate? Let your hair down. You’ve earned it, after all. But from tomorrow you’ll need to really think about how a champion conducts himself. Herself, sorry. Ahem.”

    He was nervous, and after clearing his throat, she actually could have sworn that he repeated the word ‘ahem’. He was sweating under the hot lights of the club, and he leant in close so that he could be heard over the music. She could smell his dinner when he spoke. Something with garlic, and lots of dill. She refused to meet his glance for fear of him revealing his true demon self. He wore a suit. They always wore suits.

    “So, Michelle,” he continued, nervously leaning back in his chair and placing his hands on the arms. It seemed an attempt to convey a casual air, but his anxiety was plain. He didn’t want to be here any more than she wanted him to be here. If only he would fuck off so she could let her hair down. “You’ll be there, right? I can tell them that you’ll be there?”

    “Tell who I’ll be there?” she said, before realising she has other, similar questions. “Tell them I’ll be where?”

    “You know, the board of directors? The head of marketing? Have you not been listening at all?” The little fat man in the suit was beginning to panic. She wanted to stroke his head and tell him it would be okay, but if nothing else he was far too sweaty. When the pause lingered for a little too long, and he realised that she probably hadn’t been listening at all, he leant forward once again. There was a sense of urgency about him. He was almost frenetic. “You have certain media responsibilities now, Michelle. You have three radio interviews in Florida to sell the next show. And then there’s television tomorrow for NBC. Some daytime thing. The Fight Night press conference is on Wednesday, and then there’s a fan Q&A session that evening. We can get into the weekend appearances nearer the time. I think the Make A Wish people want to meet with you, and we’ll have to talk about podcast opportunities. That’s a huge new market. And you’ll need to do some joint marketing with Gerald Grayson.”

    Michelle stared past the man for a moment and at the dance floor. They all seemed so young. When she realised that the pause could be construed as her pondering the future he had planned for her, she replied.


    “No?” he asked.

    “No,” she repeated. “I don’t really want to do any of those things.”

    “But, that’s not really the point, Michelle,” he said. He lent so far forward in his chair that she thought he might fall off the front of it and into her lap. He hadn’t touched his drink in quite some time. “You are an FWA employee. And these things are not only expected of you. They are contractual obligations. It’s a legal issue, more than anything.”

    “Well,” she said, carefully, picking up her own drink and draining it. “The way I see it, I wasn’t being asked to do any of these things a week ago. And back then? You could get rid of me at any moment. You could pull the plug on me and my contract with very little effect on anyone or anything at your company. But now, I have this.” She lifted up a boot and placed it on top of her X Division Championship. “Now, the effect that my release would have is rather huge, isn’t it? I think you know my past. You know what happened when I left the CWA. The chaos I left behind, and a recovery that never came. So, I don’t think I will be doing any radio interviews tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next two hundred and forty four days, during each of which I will hold this championship and, therefore, all of the cards.”

    The man’s jaw was open. He stared at her for a moment, and then leant back in his chair. He was awkwardly playing with his tie, passing it between his fingers. He shook his head in disbelief.

    “Are you going to leave now?” she said, looking around for her own personal bartender - something offered gladly to the X Division Champion and her new-found friends - and signalling for another drink. When she finally succeeded in making an order, she turned around to find an empty seat where the fat man had just been.

    To her left were a group that had latched onto her at the last bar. She had been in the mood to celebrate, and had always liked the idea of walking into a fancy cocktail place - still bruised and cut from a hard night’s work - and slamming a championship belt down onto the bar. She’d order a White Russian and watch all the suits watch her drink it. Three hours after lifting her belt aloft in the Citrus bowl, green and gold and black fireworks exploding in the night’s sky high above the arena, she had done exactly that. Rather than watch her, they had gravitated towards her, overcoming social norms in the name of curiosity. The most interesting of them she had humoured, and accepted drinks from. She hadn’t a single cent with her and no intention of paying for anything even if she had. These places were rife with scum. But education was important, and you didn’t win the X Division Championship every day, darlings.

    The oldest of the group was Merrick, whose younger brother - currently away on business in Europe - owned the club that they were in. It was his tab and his cocaine and his word that had got them their VIP room. His boyfriend, Pablo, was twenty years younger than Merrick and sixty kilograms when soaking wet. Pablo was a Portuguese model and currently going through the process of applying for permanent residency. It was never made clear what Merrick did for a living but she didn’t feel the need to pry. Pablo was with a Russian girl named Aleksandra and a German boy named Lars. Neither of them spoke very much and generally sat in the corner of the booth, conspiring over a bag of ketamine. Merrick’s other friend, who was in his late twenties and claimed to be a local artist who went by the name STORM (the capital letters were, he insisted, necessary), spoke with a heavy French accent despite being from Michigan. When they had been for a cigarette, Merrick had told her his real name was Barry Trent and that his father worked in the Detroit car factories, welding bumpers. STORM’S (the capital letter for the possessive ‘S’ is also, STORM assersed, necessary) latest work had been a performance art piece in which he enclosed himself in a glass box, naked, with the complete writings of Leo Tolstoy (which, incidentally, he wasn’t allowed to read) and a trough of quinoa that was filled each morning. He would stay in the box for three days and two hours before being taken to a local hospital with a bruised ego and severe dehydration.

    Buoyed by the chemical imbalance that their narcotics had brought about in her brain, she had valiantly told them she was a professional wrestler, and that she was the new FWA X Division Champion. She needn’t have bothered, really. It was written on her belt.

    Tonight?! STORM asked, his face an affectation of surprise, his ridiculous faux-French accent teetering on the edge of credibility. This had happened back at the cocktail bar, before they’d made their way to the club. “You had a match tonight? How long ago?”

    “Two hundred minutes,” Michelle answered, draining her glass and summoning another. “They finished taking the thumb tacks out of my back and stitching up my head half an hour ago.”

    They seemed to think this was a hoot. She knew this because they said numerous times that this was a hoot. Two of them Googled her and found fan-filmed clips of the match, passing their phones around the circle to give everyone a chance to watch. They winced and whined as Gerald Grayson powerbombed her from a ladder through a table. They exclaimed in terror as she hit her Tiger Driver ‘98 on Kevin Cromwell, driving him through the announcers’ desk. And they looked away in horror as she was thrown onto thousands of thumb tacks with a huge back body drop. Afterwards, they’d asked her half a thousand questions about professional wrestling, as if they’d never even considered the sport before and now found it the most fascinating topic of conversation imaginable. It kept them away from more personal questions, and it kept her in White Russians, so she was happy to field their questions and satiate their curiosity.

    On the way from the cocktail bar to the club, a handful of people had recognised her, and a subset of those had approached and asked about the match. Usually, they held phones, pointed at her with a bright, unblinking light that seemed like an overbearing eye. With her new belt proudly sat on her shoulder, and a new-found, ready-made, and disposable entourage leading the way to their next destination, she failed to fight the urge to have her voice heard. It could have been the victory, or the drugs, or even her firm belief that most of her matches were won before the opening bell rang. Whatever it was, she gave Orlando’s revellers the answers that they desired. In due course, these responses were uploaded onto the internet, edited together, discussed, parodied, and over-analysed by clickbait peddlers. She assumed that was how the FWA representative had found her in the club. Such was now the way of the world.

    “I enjoyed every second of it,” she declared, when asked by one particularly handsome young fan about her match earlier that night. “As I’m sure you did, tulips. Anyone familiar with my previous work knows what I do. Not only do I routinely put on the match of the fucking night, I invariably win the match of the fucking night. Regardless of what you ask for - a brutal death match or a technical clinic - I’ll supply it and have my hand raised in victory when the bell is rung. You saw that tonight.

    “I’ve told you before. I’ve warned those that pull the strings. Stop feeding me minnows, like you have been on Fight Night. It doesn’t matter if there is one inferior athlete in front of me or five, the writing is on the wall and your fate is already sealed. Tonight, I survived steel chairs, tables, and thumb tacks, missed dives and failed ideas. I went through hell, and needed forteen stitches in my head to sew me back up. I had one hundred and twenty three thumb tacks painstakingly removed from my back. And I still fucking won. Tonight was about attrition, about stamina, about the will to win and the ability to deal with the worst of our industry. Well, I am the worst of our industry. This was just the beginning.

    “Gerald Grayson?”
    she had asked, when another of them had told her who waited for her on the next episode of Fight Night. Her question wasn’t entirely rhetorical. “I still have next to no idea who he is. I mean, have you ever heard him speak? Other than the handful of words he spat at Donovan Moore? For which, I might add, he was rewarded with a spot in the X Division Championship match. Perhaps he should try talking a bit more? I’ve heard he writes in a notepad, and speaks to old guys in parks after going for a long cycle. What am I meant to do with that? Steal his pen? If you search for this guy on the internet, you know what comes up? Videos of him sky-diving, or jetskiing, or GoPro footage of him cycling really really fast down a hill. What the fuck is he even doing here? Is this an adrenaline junkie thing? Is jumping out of an airplane over the Grand Canyon just not enough for this guy any more?

    “Well, I guess Gerald should be careful what he wishes for. Earlier tonight, he got a taste of what the future has in store for him, for however long he intends to keep alive this silly dream of his. For as long as I hold this…”
    Here, she tapped the face of her championship belt with her free hand. “... he walks by my grace, in my division. Looking back, do you think Gerald regrets asking for a place in the X Division Championship match at Back in Business? Do you think, as Kevin Cromwell toppled over the ladder that he had climbed, and he flew through the air, trapped between two tables and Eli Black’s free-falling body, he began to realise what I could have told him weeks ago. That he should’ve stuck to his bicycle, and his parachute, and his waterskis. He can control those things. Nature is an enemy that Grayson is capable of facing. He is not ready for me.”

    A reasonable crowd had gathered around: her fellow travellers through the night, bathing in unnatural light from the streetlamps and flickering bar signs. They cast a pale glow over the city streets, stars few and far between in the sterile night’s sky high above. She took in her surroundings. Every building seemed to be a bar, music spilling out through open doors and merging with the sound of nearby sirens to form an oddly placating white noise. She still moved slowly towards Merrick’s club, smoking a cigarette and doing her best to control her jaw. It was approaching three in the morning, but she felt as though the night was only just beginning.

    “Don’t make that mistake,” she began, addressing an older man who’d shoved his phone in her face and suggested she hadn’t proved herself in a singles match. Her contest with Grayson, according to this amateur journalist, would not take place under X Rules, which apparently put her at a natural disadvantage. “Do you think that a month ago, when I defeated Dominick Dust in two minutes flat, was my first ever time in a wrestling ring? If you don’t know who I am - where I’ve been and who I’ve beaten - then it’s because you have chosen to bury your head in the sand. I will not tell you how to think, or assure you that I’m no flash in the pan. I’d prefer to show you. The next time that the FWA is in your shitty little city, come find me. If I don’t still have this championship belt, I’ll move to this hellhole. That’s how certain I am that nobody in this division can touch me.

    “The fact that each of my matches have been contested under X Rules is only down to circumstance. My debut here coincided with the Blackbird’s announcement of his demented plans for the division. In almost a year with the CWA, I competed on every single episode of their weekly television show, and on every single pay-per-view, and all but one of my matches were contested under traditional rules. The means do not matter. Whether it takes a collar and elbow tie up or a steel chair that gets me there, it’s the ends that make a difference. The fact that I stand before you as a champion after three matches should be all the proof that you need.

    “I’ve answered this question many times,”
    she told a fourth fan, who’d asked who she wanted to face next. “I told Gabrielle before Back in Business, and I’ve addressed each and every person on this roster. I am not here to waste time on men like Gerald Grayson, who would require intensive training before he was fit to shine my boots. I want to face the very best that this company has to offer. I want to defend my championship belt against anybody who thinks they’re man enough to take it from me. I want Truth, I want Diamond, I want Krash, and I want Sullivan. I am asking to prove something that you’ll all come to accept: that this championship, only by the virtue of sitting on my shoulder, is the top prize in the world of professional wrestling. Sullivan talks about this prize as if it was stolen from him. Well, King Dave, it’s right fucking here. I don’t even want a shot at yours. Not yet, anyway. But when you’re ready to try and pry this away from my hands, I’m ready and waiting. But you know what, Dave? I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. The longer you can put between the day that you have to climb between the ropes and face off against Michelle von Horrowitz, the better, right?

    “I am not going to go away. You can be sure of that. You can lock all of your top challengers in whatever steel structure you want, but you can only keep them away from me for so long. Your salvation is coming, ladies and gentlemen. You might as well throw yourselves in. You haven’t got a chance.”

    The club that they had escaped into was loud, filled with rich young things, and a safe haven from the prying eyes of camera phones. Three hours later, after evading FWA representatives and hammering enough cocaine to impress a Colombion drug lord, she found herself staring over the barrier of the VIP area. The lights intermittently illuminated the revellers, who were unaware of her gaze as they allowed the night to swallow them whole. Whatever they had done through the week, however much of their souls they had willingly offered up to whichever part of the machine they were a part of, could now be forgotten. They would sacrifice a few of their brain cells at the altar, and would be rewarded with a few hours respite from the dull monotony of their day-to-day existences. The people that she had come here with had gradually, inevitably gravitated away from her, until she was left here with just Lars, the friend of the boyfriend of a man she’d latched onto for a handful of free drinks and an evening of escape. He was a good looking boy, maybe twenty but probably younger, and he had joined her to survey the dance floor and those that were swarming it, engaging with momentary interactions with perfect strangers before moving onto the next one. Lars’ ketamine was good and had her head swimming in a good way but his conversation was bad and had her head swimming in a bad way. His English was reasonably good albeit laced with an obnoxious German accent that made his words sound harsh and blunt when he intended the opposite effect. He was running through what seemed like a pre-rehearsed speech designed to make him sound somewhat intelligent, bemoaning the effects that the modelling industry that paid his rent had on him and others like him. He was a tortured soul it seemed and he wondered if there was some other way that he could contribute more and feel less reliant on his body and complicit in the unrealistic idea of beauty that his generation was force fed through the mass media that he piggybacked on. She did her best to zone him out and focus on the people before her, watching as Pablo danced with a group of young boys in suits whilst Merrick watched on from the shadows, seemingly engrossed by his much younger boyfriend and his new dancing partners. Aleksandra was with STORM but she looked thoroughly disinterested in the artist and instead watched on as Pablo took one of his young businessmen friends by the tie and pulled him closer, Pablo’s spare hand roaming freely beneath his jacket and causing Merrick to drain his drink in excitement. Lars asked her if she wanted to dance and she said no because she hated dancing and found that the same qualities she most prized in herself were the ones that held her back here and now when the time had come to let go and let loose and let your hair down and that dancing was just something that other people did. He asked her if she wanted to go back to his apartment and she said that was fine as long as he stopped talking and it seemed that he took her literally because he simply stared out of the window as the two of them rode through Orlando in the back of a cab so she did the same and found that she struggled to focus and the lights were too bright and there were too many colours and the people on the streets all seemed too loud and too aggressive and too obnoxiously present and she felt that she could only be safe if she closed her eyes and held onto the door handle tight and she remembered that she hadn’t put on her seatbelt and the music was sooooo relaxing and she imagined what would happen if the driver fell asleep and the car gently glided towards the sidewalk and towards the passers by and she knew would happen to her without her seatbelt and the pattern she might make on the paving stones and she closed her eyes tighter and tighter and tighter and felt the car gliding and she steadied herself ready for the impact and for the end and then the car stopped. She opened her eyes and they had arrived at Lars’ apartment block and they went through the large, sliding glass doors that opened readily for them as if beckoning them in to the little concrete coffin that he paid $620 dollars a calendar month for the privilege of rotting in. They went up up up to the eighteenth floor and he had a fantastic view of the city and she thought she could see Disneyland in the distance but the German assured her that it was just some factory that made dog biscuits and that Disneyland was in the other direction, out past the city. The sex wasn’t great and Lars’ system was full of various things that made it difficult for him to sustain, and when he finally got there he didn’t last very long and ended up pulling out to finish on his bed sheets before quickly falling asleep next to her. She found the rest of his ketamine and a handful of pills and put them in her pocket because she felt sure he could get more and he owed her something in the absence of even a modicum of sexual satisfaction and she collected her clothes and her championship belt and sat down as the elevator made its slow descent down the eighteen floors she’d climbed only forty minutes before. Her head was swimming but the drugs were wearing off and all that was left was the sense of dread that accompanied the tail end of a night like this. When she reached the ground floor, she realised that there was a security guard watching her with a judgemental look on his fat fucking face. She hadn’t noticed his existence when she’d arrived but she felt that he was acutely aware of hers. She quickly shuffled out of the building and flagged down a taxi, drifting in and out of consciousness as her white knight carted her back towards her motel room and the safety that it promised. The sun was beginning to peer over the lip of the world. She felt exposed.

    The ascent up the stairs to her room seemed to take a lot out of her, and the aches and pains from her match eight hours before - which adrenaline had done a good job of masking up until now - began to incessantly throb. Her head was fogged. Opening both eyes at once was an impossible task. Eventually, she managed to jab her key into the lock, and emerged into her disgusting little abode. She threw her keys on the table, and then her championship belt, before looking around the apartment for the television remote. She dug around in a nearby draw and retrieved a DVD, placing it in a tray that she’d summoned to open with a click of a button. She pressed play on the remote, watching as a picture of herself, four years younger, filled the screen. Toronto. She was pacing the ring in a familiarly vitriolic fashion, a loud, obnoxious chant of ’WE WANT WRESTLING’ beginning to circulate around her.

    “You want wrestling?! YOU WANT WRESTLING?!” the recording continued. The volume of the repetition was so sudden and uncharacteristic that the chant was broken up, only the most ardent von Horrowitz detractors daring to continue. “Who do you think it is, you fucking trogs, that gives you wrestling?! When Jon Snowmantashi decides that he needs a night off, AGAIN, who is here to pick up the slack? When the Tag Team Champions spend half an hour running their mouths about something that literally nobody cares about, who is next up to put on a match of the fucking year candidate? When Jonathan McGinnis refuses to let one of his matches reach a proper conclusion, who reminds us all that the CWA can be a true sanctum of sporting competition? FUCKING ME, that’s who! I’ve wrestled on every single episode of Adrenaline Rush this year, and we’re half way through it. And why do I do this? Because it’s the right thing to do, obviously. And you tell me that you want wrestling? The fucking gall. You people make me sick.”

    Back in the present day, she threw the remote onto the top of the television. Naturally, it wasn’t a flatscreen. She fell backwards onto the bed, listening to herself lament her positioning in the middle of CWA’s card, fighting with Elijah Edwards and LIGHTBRINGER for the High Voltage Championship. It all seemed like so long ago. Her eyelids suddenly felt very heavy. Her words began to blur into one another. The room span. Consciousness was hard to sustain. With her own monologue swimming in her head, she surrendered to the oncoming sleep.

  3. #3
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    The following video was uploaded to the official FWA YouTube channel.

    Static happens briefly before the scene opens up to a hotel room where Jackson Fenix is sitting in front of a camera. He wears an expression of frustration, obviously still not happy about what went down at Back in Business where he and Nate lost their tag team titles to The Elite. He’s about to speak but then he stops himself, as if he’s at a loss for words for once; but just then Skype goes off on his laptop nearby and he answers the call and it’s his tag team partner Nate Savage. Jackson sets his laptop down on the desk but Nate on the screen is still facing the camera for the people at home, Jackson runs his hands over his face and through his hair and lets out a sigh before finally speaking.

    “Can you believe it?”

    Nate on the other end just shakes his head before answering.

    “Can I believe that you just touched your own face? No, I can’t believe that actually. You really shouldn’t be doing that Jackson, you are aware of what’s going on right now aren’t you?”

    Jackson looks at Nate incredulously.

    “Are you serious right now?”

    Nate gives Jackson a quizzical look now, almost unsure that they’re talking about the same thing at this point.

    “Are we talking about the same thing?”

    “No, obviously we’re not. You’re talking about me touching my face when I’m referring to the fact that it’s unbelievable that we lost our titles to The Elite! What’s even more unbelievable is how you’re not even upset about it!”

    Nate just shakes his head again.

    “First off, I’m just as pissed off; maybe even more than you are about that. Secondly, you shouldn’t be touching your face right now because of some virus that’s caused the world to lose it’s mind, it’s a pandemic. It’s the reason why we’re speaking to each other through Skype right now, there’s this social distancing thing…”

    Jackson holds up his hand to stop Nate.

    “Look, I’m aware of what’s going on, I’m not an idiot Nate…”

    Jackson applies some hand sanitizer to his hands as he continues to speak.

    “I’ve just had other things on my mind recently, like us losing our titles and what happened to Ashley before the match…”

    “Speaking of which, how is Ash?”

    “According to Britney she’s fine, she says she's been through worse. She liked that I broke that bastard’s nose though, that was his receipt”

    “My receipt was a busted lip...thanks for that by the way”

    Nate rubs his lip that was busted open during their match.

    “I can’t believe that you’re touching your face, Nate”

    Savage just rolls his eyes and gets up to wash his hands as Jackson continues to speak.

    “You know the biggest tragedy of it all? We’re not even getting a rematch this next Fight Night! Can you believe that? Instead they have us facing off against some goofs called the Calendars or something…”

    Nate returns from washing his hands.

    “You mean The Valanders?”

    “Does it matter what their names are?”

    “Actually, it does matter Jackson, I mean they are our opponents whether you like it or not. You need to clear your head, forget about losing our titles, we’ll get them back but focus on what’s next and that’s The Valanders, okay?”

    Jackson looks at Nate and nods his head.

    “You’re right…”

    Just then Nate’s phone goes off.

    “It’s my wife, I got to take this Jackson I’ll talk to you later”

    With that the call ends and Jackson is alone with his thoughts. He sits in his chair and hangs his head low, his long hair covering his face. He continues to look directly down at the floor as he begins to speak.

    “Noah...Trevor...this ain’t over, this is far from over. Sooner rather than later we will get our titles back. Noah, you think that broken nose was bad? Just wait till I get my hands on you again and it’ll pale in comparison…”

    He looks up at the camera now, brushes the hair from his face as he looks at the camera.

    “As for you Valanders, this is by far your biggest test to date since you arrived in the FWA. You’ve faced nothing teams and earned easy wins, even going as far as defeating the men we beat for those tag team titles; The New Breed. Again, an easy win. We did that too, but when we did it it mattered. When you did it, it meant nothing…”

    “Don’t think for one second that this will be another easy win for you, if you even so much as underestimate myself or Nate you’ll instantly regret it because we will put you down. The referee could count to twenty and you still wouldn’t get up after we’re through with you. You want to be the best tag team in this company? Prove it. You think you actually have a chance against us? Prove it. Prove to us and the world that you belong in this company and belong to have your names uttered in the same sentences as teams like Sunrise-Sunset, Kennedy & Carter Administration, The New Breed, Aux Pax Aut Bellum, Ghost Dog, Over the Edge, Vodka & Venom...or even The Undisputed Alliance…”

    Jackson chuckles to himself.

    “You know, maybe us losing those titles was a blessing in disguise. Now we have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Now we get a chance to climb back up the ranks and become two time tag team champions. We get a chance to show the world why we deserved to have held those titles and why we were champions, why we were and still are the best damn tag team in this company, titles or no titles…”

    “Another clean slate and it begins with you Mike and Louis. Mike the hard nosed, hard working brother with his younger, more naive brother Louis. You two stand in our way at redeeming ourselves, and there’s no way that I’m going to let two chumps like you stay in our way any longer than I have to. Consider this as a warning to the rest of the division, and to The Elite, we’re coming for you and there's no stopping us…”

    With that he turns the camera off the video comes to an end.

    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business

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

  4. #4
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    “Now this is more like it.”

    This was the first thought that came to my mind when the FWA doctors were checking me backstage after my match at Back in Business. They decided that they needed to do further testing on me but with the virus going around, the best they could do was put me in a bed in the training room and see what supplies they could conjure up.

    “Hello there, Mr. Grayson. I’m your nurse, Jamie. You’re all well and ready to leave when you are ready.”

    I could barely understand her as I was still a bit fuzzy. With the virus going around, I wanted to know exactly what they found

    “Ah you guys patched me up real good. What’s the damage, Jamie?”

    As the scene zooms out, it is revealed that my ribs are taped up. The trainer’s room is one big room with multiple other rooms inside of it. This place is just like a hospital. I managed to catch sight of multiple beds in the big area but it seems I’m the only one here so far. I’m guessing that’s going to change once everyone is checked.

    “Yes, we did our best to patch you up. The damage could’ve been a lot worse, Mr. Grayson. But you managed to come away with only some bruised ribs. This is a bit unprofessional of me, but I was watching the pay-per-view last night and after what you went through, the damage could’ve been a lot worse.”

    A lot worse huh? Wow. I winced at every motion to sit up as it felt like sharp piercing through my ribs. But it’s nothing I haven’t felt before. Me and hospitals – name a better duo. Growing up, the hospital was one place that I became very familiar with. Even then, I still didn’t like hospitals though. As I sat up, I looked towards my nurse, Jamie. She was a brunette with dark, brown eyes and a bright smile that could light up the room.

    “Thank you for watching the pay-per-view. Was a good show huh? I’m still new to FWA but I feel like I’ve done a good bit to get noticed by the upper brass. What do you think?”

    Jamie looked a bit surprised at me making conversation with her about the show but I saw something in her eye glisten as she hesitated. But she really wanted to talk about the show.

    “After that performance, I don’t see how they won’t notice you, Mr. Grayson.”

    “Please, call me Gerald.”

    She flashed me a smile with those pearly whites.

    “Alright, Gerald it is. Again, I’m so sorry if this is unprofessional of me but I’m a big fan of FWA. It’s a shame I couldn’t be there live as I had to work here but being backstage is almost as good, right? When you and Eli Black crashed through the tables like that, you even had me hurting! But wow, when you had that spot when you took out Michelle Von Horowitz with that powerbomb through the table in the corner, it took me a while to compose myself. I’m surprised none of the other people in the match aren’t here.”

    My nurse really is a fan. Those spots that she mentioned seemed like it happened just moments ago as the memories were fresh in my mind. I wonder how everyone else is doing? She mentioned that the others weren’t here I wonder why that is. Maybe they went somewhere else? That’s very brave of them if so but I’d imagine FWA would stop that from happening after with the virus going around. Either way, I’m sure they’re as banged up as I am. That match definitely took away some time from our careers.

    “I’m glad you enjoyed the show. Maybe I could –“

    Her phone dings and she sees it’s a message from one of the head doctors.

    “Mr. Gray – I mean, Gerald. Sorry, but I’ve gotta get going. They need me right now. Gotta check on someone else now. It was nice talking to you!”

    “It was very nice waking up to the beautiful sight of yourself nurse Jamie. Hopefully this isn’t the last time I see you.”

    Her cheeks turn apple red as her pearly whites brighten the room.

    “Well, if you keep having matches like that, you may be seeing more of me than you might like. Good luck, alright?”

    She touches my wrist as we exchange smiles. When she leaves the room, I fall back asleep.

    After four hours, I woke up. It took me another two hours to really exit the trainer room. It took me a few minutes to stand on my own two feet as I was feeling every bit of these bruised ribs. My mind was thinking about the match as I changed into my clothes. Did everyone go through a table? That was something that I had wondered. But man, I knew that everyone was not happy that Von Horowitz came out with the victory. That woman sure is feisty!

    As I put on my hat, the TV in my room played a FWA commercial.

    “On the next edition of Fight Night, live from the Rocket Mortgage Fieldhouse in Cleveland, Ohio, the aftermath of FWA’s biggest pay-per-view, Back in Business, will be seen. The new X-Champion, Michelle Von Horowitz goes one-on-one with Gerald Grayson. Also on the car –“

    A smile creeped up on my face. I know I should be dreading having to fight Von Horowitz after what she did in that match but as soon as I heard the announcement, excitement began to fill my body. Or maybe it was some weird reaction I had from the bruised ribs. Either way, I did not feel the least bit disappointed at that announcement. I finished changing and took the rest of my stuff. I checked my phone and FWA emailed me my ticket to Cleveland so I should be on my way. Before I left the trainer’s room, I saw one trainer who was re-filling the supplies, I took out a business card of mine, signed it, and made my way to the front desk.

    “Excuse me, will you give this to nurse Jamie once she’s not busy.”

    The older female trainer looked up to me as I flashed a big smile towards her. She retorted back by nodding her head and almost shooing me away. I put on a mask, took my bags, and began rolling them away. The Uber ride was ready for me and once we loaded my bags, I was on my way to the airport.

    My mind began focusing on Von Horowitz. She’s one tough cookie for sure. In fact, she was the favorite to win that match. But that doesn’t matter. When have I been the favorite for anything? Probably never and that’s okay. I then began thinking of all the times I went to the hospital during my teenage years because of all the bones I’ve broken and all of the bumps and bruises. I probably racked up a fat bill for my parents, oops. Sorry mom and dad.

    Von Horowitz seems to be the type to whine when she doesn’t get what she wants. I mean, she basically threatened the General Manager of FWA to get what she wants. I can’t work that way. That kind of functioning doesn’t even cross my mind. I began getting heated for some reason, moreso annoyed at the actions of Von Horowitz. I had to give myself a moment to breath. It’s a good thing my Uber driver wasn’t one to talk to his passengers.

    He was an older man, probably around his 50s. He had a mask on to protect himself and myself from the virus. His Toyota Corolla was just the right size for my luggage. Inside the car was pretty cool. He had a separation between himself and his passengers in the back and some snacks. Not only that, but he had a Nintendo Switch setup on the back of his car. But I didn’t feel like playing at the moment. Instead, I took some of his sunflower seeds, popped a few in, and I fell asleep again.

    Fast forward to the airplane ride to Cleveland. I thanked my Uber driver and left him a nice tip. The airport wasn’t super busy so I made it through security and check-in rather easily. I tucked in my bag in the upper compartment and took my seat next to the window. I took my seat and before long, my mind began to wonder yet again.

    I thought about all the times I visited the hospital again. I’ve broken so many bones that I’ve lost count. When I began doing extreme sports, the hospital visits didn’t lessen. They just became more and more. But if I could remember, the injuries didn’t become worse, they became more minor injuries. Why do I keep thinking about this? Hmm. We finally take off and much to my surprise, I’ve got the whole row to myself. I looked outside and it was a starry night. I began counting each star. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…


    My scream startled a few passengers, whoops. A flight attendant came running my way but I motioned that everything was fine.

    As I was staring outside the window looking at the stars, the number of hospital visits came to my mind again. I wonder why my parents didn’t stop me from doing extreme sports? Or why they didn’t at least try to stop me. Much like Von Horowitz, she was like a storm wreaking havoc in FWA. She came in all feisty and look where that got her. But I’ve had the same mentality since I was little but I’m not in the same position as her. I’m not a champion.

    After every hospital visit, you’d think I’d learn some sort of lesson. But no. I remember going to the hospital almost every week in the span of two months as I was just getting into extreme sports. After every failed attempt, I got back up. After every hospital visit, I was on my feet sooner rather than later.

    The same can be said about Michelle Von Horowitz. Being the violent storm that she is, I am ready to dish back double the damage that she has inflicted not just on me but on others The thing with me, I ALWAYS get back up. I can’t even imagine not getting up after being put down. Michelle Von Horowitz will not keep me down. She will not intimidate me in this match. Her words mean nothing. Her actions mean nothing because at the end of the day, I will get up for more. I surely hope she is ready for the kind of competition I will bring to her once we face off in Cleveland. That’s what she wanted in the first place, right? Competition? She came to the right place.

    I’m not one to speculate on people’s character. But I truly hope that Von Horowitz isn’t in a honeymoon phase after she won the title at Back in Business. After putting her through a table and inflicting the kind of damage I did to everyone else in that match, I’d like to believe that she wouldn’t take me lightly. But that’s up to her. As much as it pains me to say, I am a cockroach. It will take a whole hell of a lot to finally put me down. I will fight until the very end. So far, I haven’t been put down by anyone and I don’t see myself putting put down any time soon. I’m just starting. Come Fight Night, Von Horowitz will need to bring all she has because I’m right on her tail and I’m coming for that title.

    It seems it actually wasn’t my day. As I was deep in thought, a woman with a baby strapped to her front sat on the first seat on the row. A flight attendant came along with her.

    “I’m sorry, sir. We’re moving this woman to her rightful seat as she tried to make her way to first class.”

    I looked at the woman. She was an older blonde, blue-eyed woman, with a baby strapped in front of her. The baby began crying and my eyes went wide. You see? This situation tried to get me down but I get right back up. I excused myself from the row and took my bags from the upper compartment. I look towards the flight attendant.

    “Excuse me, can you please upgrade my seat to first class?”

    With that, I had the solution to the problem. Thought it’d put me down huh? Nah. Told you I’d get right back up

    Tough times don't last, tough people do.

  5. #5
    The Maniacal Martyr
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    *The promo starts off with a sleeping Louis Valander in a chair, dreaming about a certain goddess.*

    "Gabrielle, I'm right here, with my awesome pecs, you're a goddess and I'm a fighting champion, I'll be your pleasure baby."

    *The dream gets interrupted when Mike snaps Louie out of his dream*

    "Wake up shithead, stop dreaming about whatever it is you were dreaming"

    "Wait where are we?"

    "We're in room 211 of the best western, why you ask?"

    "Not much, I was celebrating our win in the opener, the Wave had no answers for us, they may have had a big guy, but we had more power and speed, right bro?"

    "Yeah, you ok man? You've been acting weird"

    "Whaaaaaat? No way, I'm fine bro, I'm good."

    *Louis is still dreaming about the experience he had with Gabrielle in the pool but now he's added some Def Leppard in his dream.*

    "�� Pour some sugar on me, I'm hot sticky and sweet ��"

    *Mike ignores Louie's singing rendition*

    "So anyways, we got a match next week with the former champs, the undisputed alliance, trust me they ain't in a good mood."

    *Louis stops his singing to talk with his brother as he stands up*

    "Yeah, yeah. Right, we got the former champs, we gotta focus on them right?"

    “Absolutely, the former champs are going to drill us, if we can't stand united, right lo.........Louis?"

    *Louis returns to his dream, but the song is now cherry pie, Mike is snapping his fingers at Louis*

    "Eh what?"

    "Focus goddammit"

    *Louis is back to normal after convincing*

    "Oh right, focus, sorry."

    "We're possibly one step from being #1 Contenders to the World Tag Team Championship"

    "You know I hear they called us fools, fools Mike? We ain't fools, we crazy but we ain't fools."

    *Mike agrees with the sentiment as he changes into walking gear*

    "Momma raised us like crazy, so that we can be successful."

    “Yeah she did, I'm pretty sure she still has that scrapbook."

    “Oh yeah, that scrapbook, with stuff like me at my prom to you crying over a missing balloon."

    *Louis gets mad at that balloon remark*

    “Hey, that balloon was special to me and you popped it to be a dick"

    "Hey that's what brothers do, I got to go for a walk, I'll see you in a hour or two, don't cause chaos."

    “I won't, now go have your walk."

    *With that, Mike leaves the room to walk, he grabs his wallet and room key as Louis starts dreaming about Gabrielle*

    “You may have burned Cyrus to a blaze, but you have melted my heart with your beauty. Can you kiss me?"

    *Louis starts badly impersonating Gabrielle really hard*

    "(Impersonating) Oh yes I would, you're so sexy. You have a great looking face, you should be a hit with many ladies and me."

    "Why thank you sweet cheeks, how about it?"

    *And Louis starts dream kissing as Mike returns to get something*

    “Oh there's my trail mix with honey clusters."

    *Mike sees Louis dream kissing*

    "And there's the biggest nut of them all no trail mix could contain him.
    Last edited by ManiaxSimms1; 03-21-2020 at 03:00 AM.

  6. #6
    Cyrus Truth's Avatar

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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    Exile Chronicles (Volume 3)
    Chapter 1: Scars of the Forsworn

    We open up outside of Cleveland, Ohio. It's the site of the latest edition of Fight Night, the first Fight Night after the massive event known as Back in Business. It was a night of monumental victories, unforgettable matches, and career-defining moments.

    But for one man, it was the night he burned.

    We cut to a hotel near the Rocket Mortgage Fieldhouse, where we zoom into a room several stories up. As we enter the room, the first sound we hear is that of running water. As we pan around, we enter the bathroom as we see the shower running, and the shower occupied by one Cyrus Truth.

    Cyrus is facing away from the shower head, hunched over to allow the water to run over his back. As we get closer, we see a large, red, blistered burn just below Cyrus's right shoulder blade. Cyrus's eyes are wide and wild, as it's clear from his expression that he's in a fair amount of pain as the water, which appears to be cool instead of hot, washes over the burn.

    We see flashbacks to Back in Business, to the brutal Trial By Fire match between Cyrus and Gabrielle Montgomery. Weeks of hatred boiled over as both former World Champions danced in the middle of an inferno.

    The brutal hits.

    The close calls.

    The climactic finish.

    The final dive.

    The burning.

    The heat.

    The burning.

    The searing pain.

    The burning...

    We cut back to Cyrus, as he stands in the shower letting the cool water wash over him...but he doesn't seem to be finding any relief. The gritted teeth, the wide eyes, the look of a deep and unsettling agony...Cyrus is hurting, and perhaps? The pain isn't just from the burn.

    Eventually, Cyrus turns off the shower and wraps himself in a towel. There's a tube of a prescribed ointment that The Exile grabs for and uses it to treat the burn, wincing as he applies the balm. Gingerly, he then reaches in a travel bag and pulls out some bandages and gauze and proceeds to wrap the afflicted area. Once fully wrapped, Cyrus takes a few minutes to dress in the bathroom before leaving and heading to the bed.

    The Exile has a seat at the foot of the bed. The TV in front of him is off, and leaning against it is Mentor's Mask. The ivory, porcelain mask stares back at The Exile hauntingly as Cyrus stares back at it. Cyrus's face is a mix of emotions, conflict, pain...incredible pain. And though there's nobody in the room with him, Cyrus hears whispers, haunting and foreboding, muttering otherworldly thoughts. Cyrus, closing his eyes, tries to tune them out...and eventually, the whispers die down just long enough, leaving him in silence.

    It's here, in this hotel room looking over the arena for Fight Night, that a wounded, scarred Exile sits...alone with his thoughts.

    "I needed that win..."

    A deep sigh, pained and sorrowful, escapes his lips.

    "I had to win at Back in Business. I needed that. It's no secret that ever since I lost the World Championship, victories have been few and far between. I've nobody to blame for that but myself...but I knew at Back in Business, it could've been the start of a redemption. All that stood between me and the start of a new journey was a woman, a wretch I had beaten before. All I needed to do was let the fire consume her...

    "I had was a fight, for sure. I won't deny that she didn't bring her best to that match. But I HAD her. But the end..."

    The final moments of the Trial By Fire match are played, where Gabrielle tackles Cyrus out of the ring and into the flames...and the moment that Cyrus catches fire.

    Back to Cyrus, we see him chuckling...but there's no joy or amusement in his chuckle. It's a sad, somber, chilling chuckle.

    "Isn't it ironic? Just absolutely maddening? That Gabrielle's salvation...her redemption? The reason she won and I burned...was because she used me to protect her? Hehehehehe..."

    The chuckle gets louder, and's almost as if Cyrus is laughing if only to stop himself from crying in sorrow.

    "I've been burned before in a Trial By Fire match. Having my flesh singed? It's not a sensation that's unfamiliar to me. And after the match, the doctors...they said I was lucky, all things considered. They said that the ringside crew was quick enough to prevent any real nerve damage, and that the burn would heal with enough time. doesn't make any sense. They said it wouldn't hurt after a few days of tending to it...but WHY does it still HURT so much?"

    Cyrus's voice trembles a bit when he says that, as he instinctively reaches for the burn...but stops himself just short of touching it, instead clenching his fist. Another sigh...another mournful look in his eyes. But The Exile collects himself, resting his chin in his clenched hands, elbows resting on his knees.

    "Things are different...the world has changed. For the first time in many years...victory seems so far out of my sight. The path I walk...the Road that I've put my faith in now seems so unfamiliar. Gabrielle's escape from immolation and my continued fall from grace...there's no denying it, is there? I've lost something. Maybe I've lost everything. Everything I had before I came to FWA...everything I acquired in FWA through sweat, tears, blood, and bone? It's gone. Out of my reach. I'm not feared. Not respected. Perhaps not even thought of at all.

    "In this sport, it's hard to be remembered, to feared, to earn respect. It's so much easier to lose it. People have very short memories. For the last four years? I ruled FWA. For the last four months? I've fallen, time and time again. The untouchable Vagabond King, the tyrant Exile atop the mountain...cast down and picked apart by vultures, left for dead. Gabrielle already has made it clear that she sees her victory over me as a great moment in her career, a defining moment that will propel her back to the World Championship...leaving me behind. Dave Sullivan has barely given me any thought since he took the title from me. Mike Parr, Michael Garcia, Kevin Cromwell, and Kayden Knox are young, hungry...even my only friend in this company is basking in the glory of becoming the new North American Champion. FWA has new attractions, surging veterans...has evolved into something else...

    "...and I've been left behind."

    Those words are heavy, bitter...they hang on the air like chains. Cyrus runs his fingers through his hair, wincing in pain as he flexes the muscles around the burn. The Exile stands up and heads for the window, looking out towards the Rocket Mortgage Fieldhouse. Cyrus has his arms crossed behind him as he leers out over the city towards the arena, somberly staring into the distance.

    "If I look behind me, I'll lose it all. The only way is forward. Always forward. Even if I continue to lose. Even if it destroys me. And it may well destroy me...because the Long and Winding Road has led me away from paradise, from Elysium. My path leads through Hell itself...and you'd think Trial By Fire would've been Hell. wasn't. It was just the door to the depths..."

    Cyrus turns and grabs his jacket from a nearby chair, as well as grabs Mentor's Mask. The lights cut off in the hotel room as Cyrus exits, slamming the door behind him...


    We cut to the Rocket Mortgage Fieldhouse, where the outside is all decked out for Fight Night with mobile merchandise stalls, large promotional posters, and the like. However, it's well before the event itself, so the parking lot and entrance to the arena is completely empty save for a couple of FWA officials doing spot checks.

    We cut to inside, where we see the arena itself is quite a bit busier with stage hands and production crew setting up the stage and the ring...but more imposingly, as the camera pans around it?

    The Elimination Chamber.

    A frightening monstrosity of steel and chain, standing nearly 20 feet tall and 35 feet in diameter, with several pods of lexan in the corners. The crew looks like they've put the final touches on the demonic-looking structure and are now working on the announce tables and the barricades. They're so engrossed with their work that they don't even notice a figure approaching from the entrance ramp...the figure of Cyrus Truth.

    Cyrus reaches the bottom of the ramp and looks up at the Chamber. The Exile is a veteran of a lot of matches, some of the most brutal contests in professional wrestling...

    ...but this Chamber is new territory for him.

    Cyrus places his hand on the outside of the Chamber, wrapping his fingers around the chained fencing. The Exile closes his eyes as, in his mind, he hears screams of agony. The sound of flesh hitting steel, of bodies being tossed with caress abandon. Cyrus's nose wrinkles, as if smelling blood in the air. Though Cyrus has never been in this kind of match before, it's as if he can feel the pain that this structure has created over the years.

    But in the back of his mind? The fire. The fire still burns.

    Cyrus squints to shake that as he slowly starts to enter the structure. The sound of his boots hitting the metal stairs is enough to get one crewman's attention, who looks as if he wants to speak up and stop him...but another crewman, likely the boss, cuts him off, saying something that's unintelligible to our ears. However, it's weird...almost as if the crew boss is telling his subordinate that Cyrus isn't worth bothering.

    Regardless, The Exile enters the empty Chamber and the ring itself, standing dead center in the middle of it all. He twists his right shoulder, his burn still aching him. Cyrus then kneels in the middle of the ring as the camera pans around to his face.

    "It's rare, you know...being put into a match where I don't know what to expect. I know the rules, I know the combatants, and I know the means to victory...but that's not all there is when you consider the kind of match this is...the things its participants will have to do in order to survive, let alone win. Blackbird called this match a "reward" of sorts for those of us who were there towards the end of the Carnal Contendership match, a way to give us a second chance at a World Title shot. With Nova Diamond dropping the ball and Dave Sullivan escaping with the title, seven of us will enter this structure and attempt to murder one another until we are the last person standing.

    "The prize is definitely worth the suffering. Although Blackbird's sadism definitely shows with a match like this."

    Cyrus brushes his hand on the canvas of the ring, like a gladiator on the sands of some ancient colosseum. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, as images of violence and cruelty flash in his mind of Elimination Chamber matches of the past. The bruises, the bloodshed, the twisted looks of unimaginable pain of those poor souls who dared to enter this structure.

    And even in all of that? Cyrus still sees flashes of the fire...

    "It'd be pointless for me to try and downplay the level of talent in this match...the level of hunger that every competitor in this match has to acquire World Championship gold and see Dave Sullivan fall.

    "There's Kayden Knox, a revitalized and dangerous young competitor who runs through his opposition with a barbaric, unrelenting abandon. And while he won't be able to enter the structure, Knox's manager Atticus Drake is still in his ear, giving him an extra set of eyes to see the dangers around him.

    "There's 'Amadeus' himself, the wrestling artist Kevin Cromwell. A former champion in his own right, and one of the most technically-sound wrestlers that FWA has on its roster. Another young lion hungry for further glory, and one who knows how to torture someone even outside the confines of this cell.

    "Enter Michael Garcia, the Monster of the Midway. In an environment that encourages brute strength and utter violence, Garcia possesses the clear raw power advantage and a strong desire to silence the doubters.

    "Mike old rival, the bad penny in my life that always seems to turn up at the worst possible times to confront me. But I can't deny that he brings out my best and my worst. Parr is talented...perhaps the most talented wrestler in FWA that's never been World Champion. And I know full well he wishes to change the fact that the World Title has escaped him.

    "Even current champions will brave the dangers of this Chamber to add to their collection. Our new North American Champion, Krash...the White Wolf. I've said it enough times how much I respect Krash as a competitor and as a man, and I know that his new title will not hold him back. He will give this his all.

    "And then...Gabrielle..."

    Cyrus pauses a bit, flexing his right shoulder as if the pain of his burn is flaring up just at the mention of Gabrielle. However, most of the hatred that Cyrus has had for Gabrielle is absent from his tone...rather, it's more pitiful, more mournful.

    "My mirror and my bane. The woman who reflects the worst qualities of myself, and drags out the best. A poison that claws at my throat, a bitter and vile drink that I can't toss away. She was prepared to burn just for a chance to overcome me. She was committed to a possible fate that would've left her scarred like I've been scarred. What, then...what would she do in a match like this, if it meant she could reclaim the one thing she cares about more than anything in the world?"

    In his mind, he hears their voices...the voices of his opposition, staking their claims and boasting of their impending victories. Knox, Cromwell, Garcia, Parr, Krash, Gabrielle...their voices are a cacophony, a haunting chorus of fighters clamoring for war, blood, and glory. And still, ever present is the fire...the fire that burned Cyrus, that continues to burn him and scorch his soul like the fires of Hell itself.

    "In the presence of such competitors, in the confines of this Elimination Chamber...I wonder if anybody give any thought to a broken Exile, wounded from the kiss of flames? Everybody in this match competed at Back in Business, bears the marks of those matches...but not like I do. This scar on my back? It's not just a target...not just an opportunity for my opponents to break me further. It's a mark of my failures in the past, my inability to reclaim my former glory or even achieve new accolades. I imagine many of my opponents...and perhaps, most of my peers in this company will look at my past few months and question why I should even be given the opportunity to earn another World Title shot...and perhaps hoping that this match will prove to be the end of me.

    "I wonder, still...even now, after four years, whether any of them have listened to a word I've said. Not just hear me, but truly listen. I know full well that I'm not the same conqueror that I was when I first came to FWA. I know that the weight of the crown and my legacy has worn on me. And I'm well aware that this pain I feel is only going to intensify the second I enter this Chamber on Fight Night..."

    Cyrus stands up...and all of a sudden, the sounds of busy crewman and production members are gone. The camera pans around...and there's nobody there. The arena is empty aside from the half-finished stage, the wrestling ring, and the Elimination Chamber...and The Exile standing in the middle of it.

    "And I stand. Forsworn, but never forgotten. Wounded, battered, broken as I am...yet, here I stand. Despite the danger, and knowing full well that I walk into what may be my I stand, to the last. I have lost so much...sacrificed so much, and have been left behind with nothing save for my pride, which cannot be taken away. So what else do I really have to lose? What exactly can these six who would stand against me do to me that hasn't already been done? I have not given up finding the path back to the rewards at Journey's End. I have not forsaken the Long and Winding Road, that has led me to this point and been the path that's allowed me to get as far as I have.

    "One must enter Hell and pass through it if they truly desire the impossible. I'm not afraid of Hell, even after feeling its kiss. I'm not afraid to die. And I want my fucking World Title back, no matter what it may cost me.

    "So maybe I am a wounded animal. Maybe my opponents will descend upon me like jackals on a fresh carcass. And perhaps, they may tear me apart.

    "But one thought gives me comfort, even in spite of the spite of the fire that haunts me still. How embarrassing would it embarrassing would it be if six strong, healthy, hungry competitors couldn't beat a broken, battered Exile? How humiliating would it be if six of FWA's finest stood across the ring from a burnt man, spiraling from his pedestal...and ended up falling at his feet? How...incredible would it be to see the battered, the broken, the forsworn warrior rise once more to the occasion, to seize the opportunity to reclaim that which he lost...and has eluded him?"

    Cyrus looks up to the top of the Chamber, breathing deeply and holding that breath in his lungs. The fire still haunts him, but The Exile is still steeled, putting aside that scar that continues to burn him. Here, in the silence of the arena, before the cameras roll and the match, a Wounded Warrior stands, ready to fight and possibly die.

    Cyrus exhales, and turns to walk out. He speaks as he heads back up the ramp.

    "I'm going into this match with nothing to lose. Even if it costs me everything I have left, I will not leave that Chamber until the rest have been beaten. My past does not dictate my future. I will NOT look back...only forward. Always forward..."

    Cyrus's figure engulfs the camera...and as he vanishes, all the workers that were around the arena before vanishing have returned, working as if nothing happened.

    The stage is set for violence inside the Elimination Chamber...the greatest risk for the greatest prize. And The Exile stand in spite of it all, in spite of the pain, in spite of the loss...ready to fight once again to walk the path of a champion...

  7. #7
    Young Gunz
    Comeback Kid's Avatar

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    Jul 2011
    Viridian City
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    Bebop Chronicles
    Gateway Shuffle - Interlude

    Who's the best tag-team in FWA history?

    A discussion that no one asked, ourselves included, prior to the arrival of The Elite. With The Elite shaking up and planning to redefine the tag-team division as we know it, a better question should be asked. The questions that should be asked is, "who can realistically stand up to the best tag-team in FWA history?" The answer - absolutely no one.

    In our quest to rebuild and showcase the quality and emotion that tag team wrestling can invoke, I physically assaulted a non FWA wrestler. I would like to apologize to Brittany Adams, as she never should have been targeted and used as a catalyst for our tag team encounter with the Undisputed Alliance. Brittany Adams is an icon and trailblazer for womens wrestling and it pains me to live with the stain of having assaulted someone that Trevor and I have looked to for inspiration in our quest to reshape our division like she did hers. Brittany, I know that my words will never be enough to show how remorseful I am for what I did, but I hope that my actions will.

    In addition to apologizing to Brittany, I would also like to apologize to the fans of FWA. Trevor and I did not want this to be the introduction of our Tag-Team Revolution/Revival. In the future, we hope to garner your support and the support of our peers via our performance in the ring and the display of our work ethic in elevating the tag-team division to prominence.

    ~ Noah Stocke

    The wind whispers through the air on the cool first day of spring; the sun shining brightly in the light blue sky. Clouds drift along in the distance, not one showing any sign of grey or darkness. Atop a summit in the distance gleams two perched figures, glimmering as the sun bounces off of them. As we get closer the glimmering figures become easier to make out as the CWA World Tag-Team Championship belts. The gold and the jewels reflect off the sun appearing to sparkle and shine as they sit perched amongst the stone of the summit. The crunching and shuffling of stones in the distance brings the viewers attention to two individuals making their way to the belts. As the figures advance, they are able to be distinguished as the FWA World Tag-Team Champions, Trevor Ocean and Noah Stocke - The Elite. The distance to the summit was vast and the climb was steep with jagged terrain-difficult to climb for anyone. Nevertheless, The Elite trekked onward as they reached the championships.

    For the first time since Back in Business, we are able to get a closeup of the face of Noah Stocke. Blackish purple bruising can be seen under Noah's eyes, and gauze and bandages cover his broken nose. Trevor Ocean's mouth, is visibly swollen as the scene focuses in on him. The two are dressed in almost identical outfits - white Tag-Team Renaissance t-shirts over black jeans and casual shoes (low-top black and white classic Chuck Taylors for Trevor and a pair of black suede chelsea boots with a tan sole for Noah). The FWA Tag-Team Championship belts cling to their wastes as they peer down at the CWA Tag-Team Championship belts.

    Trevor Ocean: "The Echo - silenced. The Diamond Dogs - muzzled. The Cheshire Cat Clan - wiped out. The Undisputed Alliance - sacrificed. These were the tag-teams and the outcome that they faced when they stepped into the ring with Noah and I. Prior to joining CWA, Noah and I hadn't competed as a tag-team in over two years, but we decided to reunite once we saw the poor state that the tag-team wrestling was in. In the one year since reuniting, we stand here at the top of tag-team wrestling looking down at our competition. We look down at all of the tag-teams that fought against us and tried to demean the message that we were trying to send. When done right, tag-team wrestling and the excitement, athleticism, and depth of the divisions can rival and surpass that off it World Championship counterpart.

    We stand here, at the top, looking down on all of the tag-teams and soon to be formed tag-teams in FWA but in the future we want this summit to be crowded with each and every one of you teams standing alongside us at the top. As the new leaders of this division, we plan to turn that future into a nearby reality.

    Nate Savage, Jackson Fenix, Ashley Adams - Undisputed Alliance, we know that you are upset. We know that you are down on yourselves for what happened at Back in Business. We know that you want revenge. We know that, and we understand it, but we need for you three to know that in order for the tag-team division to thrive you had to be removed from your positions. It's a reality that we know you didn't want to have to experience, but it's also a reality that we had to make happen for the betterment of all of us. Your anger will subside and you three will realize that The Undisputed Alliance VS The Elite at Back in Business was the catalyst for the renaissance of tag-team wrestling. We will see each other again, and we do we hope that you have prepared yourself to stand at the top of this summit alongside us.

    Andre, Johnny, Ashley - members of The Wave. Your a young tag-team with two experienced athletes and an accomplished manager. The Wave could wipe out the competition if you three had a goal, or someone to give you direction. Noah and I want to be the ones to give you a goal and give you that direction you need. Unlike our predecessors, we treat every match - championship match or not - as if it for the gold. We plan to come at you two with the same ferocity and determination that we brought to our match up with The Echo for the CWA World Tag-Team Championships and our match up with The Undisputed Alliance at Back in Business. There's no doubt in my mind, and I speak for Noah, when I say that we know that you two aren't ready for us. And that's okay - we haven't found a team here in FWA that is. But, we do want you three to relish this moment. We want you three to learn from this moment. Most importantly, we want you three to GROW from this moment. We want you to one day become the tag-team that is ready to stand on the summit with us. We want you to one day become the tag-team that is mentioned with us in the discussion of the greatest. We want you to want to elevate yourselves and tag-team wrestling after stepping in the ring with us.

    Bring your best, swing at the tag champs. But, just remember that when you swing at the champs, you best not miss. Because, the moment you make a mistake - and you will make a mistake- that will be the moment we give you a lesson that will change your lives forever.

    There's a tag-team revolution upon us, ladies and gentlemen. It's time to decide, will you stand at the top of the summit, alongside us, elevating tag-team wrestling? Or, will you look up at us as we soar to the top of the business.

    The choice is yours.

    Trevor reaches down and grabs both of the CWA Tag-Team Championship belts and hands one to Noah. The two turn their backs begin their trek down the summit as the scene slowly fades to black.

  8. #8
    Fearless University
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    Jan 2012
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    Just take a seat for now, Ms Montgomery will be ready for you soon.

    A vaguely familiar looking man twirls his rather impressive moustache around his finger and then takes the last of six seats in this waiting room. Its rather non-descript, very under furnished and well, overall it is really quite bland. Though there is one large floor to ceiling painting of the one and only Gabrielle. An image of her holding the FWA World Championship high above her head. The rest of the room only contains six fold up chairs occupied by Mr. Moustache, a skinny fat ass guy covered in tattoo’s, a pompous and well-manicured man, a bearded creep with slicked back hair, a lanky white guy, and finally what can only be described as a gigantic black man. They all look rather nervous, sitting there trying to occupy themselves on their phones, studying the large painting, glancing over at the pretty blonde receptionist or flipping through one of the magazines provided for them. There’s a Playboy, some Maxim mags, some FHM magazines and a few FWA magazines all with Gabrielle on the cover of them.

    The receptionist glances over the assembled group, peering at them through her glasses. Like the six men assembled before them she’s very familiar, though unlike them she is actually who she looks like; former FWA Women’s Champion Veronique de Moreau. Her black rimmed glasses are complimented by a white dress shirt and a knee length black skirt. While her long blonde hair is tied back into a ponytail. Scouted and hired to the FWA by Gabrielle a decade ago, today she’s long retired and filling the role of receptionist for the day.

    Mr. Cromwell…she’ll see you now.

    The lanky, presumably British man gets to his feet at Veroniques behest and proceeds to enter the office of Gabrielle Montgomery. Closing the door behind himself he’s treated to a stunning view, one entire wall before him is just glass and looks out over mountain ranges, and an ocean in the distance. Mr. Cromwell takes a few moments to admire the view of nature before he approaches the desk which occupies the center of the room, behind which a large leather chair and its occupant are facing away from him, studying how the peaks of the mountains seem to reach for the heavens themselves.

    Take a seat Mr. Cromwell.

    He does so, and then the chair spins around revealing an even more stunning ‘view’; Gabrielle Madison Montgomery. The Dreamer, the Fallen Goddess, the Former Black Widow. There’s a gentle warmth upon the face of the woman who put Cyrus Truth through the fires of hell, an inviting smile upon her lips and the brightest brown eyes. She takes a moment to look “Cromwell” up and down as she sits there in a high waisted, thigh high grey skirt, and a strategically unbuttoned white blouse. Its almost a professional businesswoman’s attire, but it definitely has that Gabrielle ‘touch’ too it as it presents so much of her smooth caramel skin.


    I appreciate you making it here to see me today. As we are all aware there is a very important day coming up soon, and we must find the perfect person to be the focus of that day. Someone needs to dethrone a King. Someone needs to stand up and stop his reign of tyranny. And so it is my duty to find who is best suited for that role, and it is what has brought you and those five other men to me today.

    It cant be understated just how much will be on the line, and just how stringent I must be in selecting the best and most suitable person for the job. I know you want this, as does everyone else just outside this room. There is a lot of perks that come with dethroning this King. Fame and in turn infamy, money, glory, prestige. There is a grand potential reward for whoever I pick, for whoever gets this particular job.

    So while I can understand why you would be, don’t be nervous Kev. I need to see how you do under pressure after all. I need to see the very best version of yourself. Getting this job, going after this King will be more pressure than you have ever faced before. It will demand of you to be better than you ever have been before. You will need to fulfill every bit of potential you have ever had, and give it your all. So if your ‘biggest flaw’ is that you work to hard…you will be perfect for this.

    Gabrielle smiles sweetly at Kev Cromwell, who shifts somewhat nervously in his seat.

    Any questions?

    Kev Cromwell: What do you need from me?

    Another sweet smile from Gabrielle, but no verbal reply. She just turns in her chair and retrieves a folder which she then places down on the table between the two of them.

    Veronique has…procured a resume of yours and filled out some very important details that were missing.

    Born in Manchester England…Former FWA X Champion…A self-professed ‘Artist’…A real Prodigy at a young age…A very skilled Martial Artist, and Veronique has underlined that. I take it she is very impressed with your skills in that area.

    That’s a basic summation of what I am reading here, and I get the picture of someone with so much potential, so much promise, and so much to live up too. But perhaps Kev you haven’t quite lived up to the lofty expectations thrust upon you. But that can in turn be a real driving factor to ones success. If there’s so many expectations for you, then you don’t want to disappoint everyone right, you want to make that faith, that belief people have in you well founded.

    But I have my concerns, I have my doubts Kev. I see here that a loss a couple of years ago to the man who has become ‘King’ one David Sullivan caused you to take a leave of absence. Do you want revenge for that loss? Do you want to get that win back, or do you dread stepping back in the ring with him?

    But perhaps more importantly, do you want to get your hands-on Dave Sullivan again for the right reasons? This cant just be a personal grudge, I’m not looking for someone who just wants to serve their own interests. I need someone much better than that. This cant all boil down to just a frivolous personal vendetta. I hope you can understand that.

    The lanky individual sat before Gabrielle in her luxurious office nods his head confidently, before cracking his knuckles.

    Raring to go I see. But you must be patient, you must be smart. One cant charge into this opportunity head first…lest it end the way it did for you last time.

    Gabrielle pauses to study the way her words sting at this homage to Kevin Cromwell before her.

    And what about Nova Diamond?

    He is a very dear friend of yours and he had this role just recently. He was the one who some of us were relying upon to dethrone this King. But you and I, we all saw him fail at that. How does that motivate you Kev? Does it make any desire for personal revenge greater? I’d imagine so, and thusly I fear you may be too emotional for the job. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for sending you out there, only to fail again and disappear…again.

    So while your resume is impressive enough, though a little sparse I have my reservations about you for this part Kev. Now don’t lose all hope, there is every chance that you are the most qualified here today, and perhaps your limitless potential and your refined ability will trump any fears I have over your overwhelming emotional investment.

    If you’ll just wait back outside until I’ve seen everyone else. Perhaps I’ll have some good news for you.

    Kev Cromwell gets to his feet, shakes Gabrielle’s hand and then exits back out to the waiting room.

    Mr. Garcia, Gabrielle will see you now.

    As Kev takes his seat, the towering black man gets to his feet and enters Gabrielle’s office. He admires the view before him and then after Gabrielle turns in her chair to face him he admires her as well. And to be fair she noticeably looks this giant of a man up and down as well.

    Take a seat Mr. Garcia.

    He sits down in front of her, and still towers over her, so Gabrielle takes a few awkward moments to fidget with her chair and raise it up as high as she can, so she’s almost…but not really eye to eye with him.

    Mr. Garcia…

    Gabrielle glances down to check the folder Veronique has put together on Garcia.

    Mitchell Garcia.

    Mitchell Garcia: Its Michael.

    Gabrielle: It says Mitchell here.

    Michael Garcia: Yeah its Michael, trust me.

    Gabrielle: Now Mitchell…you are a…GIANT.

    Mitchell Garcia audibly sighs before Gabrielle begins her spiel on his career.

    Lets just get that out of the way right off the bat, a real life Giant, and you act like one. Taking what you want, throwing people around like they were nothing. Cutting people careers short, or forever altering them. You are a destroyer among men who has left a path of broken bodies in your wake. Very, very impressive Mitchell.

    Michael Garcia: Its Michael.

    Gabrielle: You use your natural abilities and advantages to their utmost. You’re someone that most people fear even if they wont admit to it. Just look at you, on paper there is nobody better suited to dethrone a King. You’re like a Giant Viking Warrior storming the Castle. You’d enjoy destroying David Sullivan just for the sheer joy of putting a hurting on him. You’d be like…like…

    Gabrielle pauses and then activates the intercom to Veronique.

    Can I call Mitchell Garcia my Black Knight? Or will that just result in a visit to HR?

    Veronique: …I would advise against it at this time Ms Montgomery.

    She lifts her attention up from her desk and clasps her hands together in front of her face as she looks up at this Giant of a man while regathering her thoughts.

    Is that a selfish crusade though? Gaining joy just from hurting the King. Its not revenge, but it is serving some personal desires. I think I can look the other way on this one. You’re not blinded by an emotional need for revenge so I can rely on you more Mitchell.

    Michael Garcia: Its Michael.

    Gabrielle: But it seems there may be an absence of any emotion at this point from you. That is a risk, that is a very big concern for me. Do you want this enough Mitchell? Do you want anything at the moment? Even just the way you’re sitting in this chair before me, you’re slouching, you look almost vacant and empty. Are you motivated for this at all?

    Gabrielle raises an eyebrow as she looks quizzically at Mitchel Garcia. Maybe he’s going to reply, maybe not. Either way after a few short moments Gabrielle rests her hands in her lap and continues to address him.

    Or has your latest…setback broken you completely?

    I am concerned about this Mitchell. Despite all your obvious advantages, despite all the people you have broken when push comes to shove you have come up short every single time. What do you have; a single Tag Team Championship in all your years in the FWA? Is that really it, despite your strength, your size, your brutality?

    I want to believe in you, you would be perfect to get rid of this King. I can picture you marching through his Kingdom and taking that Crown from his head. There would be nothing he could do to stop you. Or rather there should be nothing he could do to stop you, but Devin Goldmen…I mean Golden was a stark reminder to me that you fall short in those big matches time after time again.

    I can’t not hold that against you. A man like you, a Giant like you should have achieved so much more. There’s no excuse for you not having done so. But yet… here we are Michael.

    Michael Garcia: Its Mitchell, I mean NO. Yes I’m Michael.

    Gabrielle: Sorry Mitchell…but you’re prospects for this role do not look very good at all. You should be the perfect candidate, but I just know you wouldn’t do the job justice when it came right down to it, and you would disappoint me, and yourself. Maybe I can overlook that though, maybe if I believe in you then that can be your inspiration to get over that final hurdle.


    For now just wait out there with everyone else, maybe your size will trump everything else.

    Gabrielle outstretches a hand and places it on his for a moment.

    Cheer up though big guy, its not the end of the World.

    Mitchell Garcia offers her a weak smile and then gets to his feet and trudges out of her office, ducking to get through the doorway and taking his seat alongside the six other men.

    Mr. Knox, no Mr. Jagger, oh it is Knox. Mr. Knox she’ll see you now.

    Another man gets to his feet, and runs his hand through his slicked back hair. As he steps into Gabrielle’s office he’s quickly joined by another man in a well-tailored suit. The two of them strut into the office and the second individual quickly takes his seat and then rests his feet on the desk. Gabrielle once more spins in her chair to face Mr. Knox and his associate and instantly a scowl crosses her face.

    Why do I have the sudden urge to punch you in the face, both of you?

    They glance at each other as Knox then takes his seat.

    You wont be putting your hands on my client ma’am.

    Gabrielle just rolls her eyes.

    You both understand the gravity of this situation I am sure. You both know what is at stake here. This is a very important role I am aiming to fill here, one that I need to see that Mr. Knox, Sterling Knox is capable of filling by himself.

    Drake: It’s Kayden Knox. Remember the name.

    Gabrielle: Does he speak for himself?

    I don’t really care. I’ve got Sterlings file here in front of me, Veronique has put it all together. I know who your client is.

    Gabrielle flicks through a few pages before a mischievous smile crosses her soft lips.

    Nice dick.

    Veronique: Ms. Gabrielle, HR wants to see you after this, you cant just say “nice dick”.

    Gabrielle: Okay Veronique. It wont happen again.

    But this was your client, this is you Mr. Knox am I right. Your nudes were leaked a year ago, I have them right here. I understand you have changed since then. Grown your hair out, shaved your chest, gotten clean and sober. I commend you on all of that, chest hair is a major turn off. But this is you I am looking at here. It curves a little to the left…

    Veronique: HR wants to see you again after your first meeting with them Ms .Gabrielle.

    Gabrielle: Okay, okay.

    She flicks back through a few pages in the folder and settles on one before addressing Sterling Knox and his sleazeball Agent with the punchable face.

    This page is rather…blank. Its listing Sterling’s achievements and I am not seeing much here outside of a few movies, I assume they’re all of the ‘Adult’ variety with these Titles. The Biggest Bang Theory, what else could that be? Do you have anything to add for your client?

    Drake: He is on the cusp of greatness.

    Gabrielle: Go on.

    Drake: He just needs that one big win, that one big moment. My client just needs the opportunity and he will shock the World.

    Gabrielle: Go on.

    Drake: He’s a stud just look at him. Just picture him stomping in the Kings head.

    Gabrielle nods her head and then leans in as her eyes light up.

    You do paint a welcoming picture, you do make me want to see that happen. But can I rely on that happening? I watched ‘Dawn Of The Head’ and Sterling seemed to…finish rather early.

    The intercom buzzes once again but Gabrielle just unplugs it and smiles.

    He’s had his chances to impress, he has had opportunities to succeed and thus far he hasn’t taken them. Would this be any different? Say I give this role to Sterling, will he truly reach for that brass ring this time? Will you Sterling Knox stand up and take this with both hands? Will you give you own career a shot in the arm…a Big Bang if you will?

    Not to discredit you entirely, I have seen some impressive work from him, in and out of the ring. But when are you going to make my knees weak with excitement and blow me away? When are you going to really hit that spot…on the Mountain that makes you something special? I’m relying on you to impress me right here and now. I’m expecting to be wowed right here and now, because while you have showed glimpses here and there it hasn’t been enough, it hasn’t been consistent.

    This isn’t just another job, this isn’t just another interview, this is more incredible than what you are used too. I don’t think you are prepared for this, I don’t think you could handle this to a satisfying climax. This would be one and done, everything relies on just one opportunity, one shot…can you make money off it?

    I’m not sold. Take your client back out there and maybe, just maybe Sterling will get lucky.

    Knox and his Agent get to their feet and exit the office. Gabrielle turns to look out over the view of nature as we see Veronique sitting at her desk again.

    Okay, now Mr. …, ummm Krash…Krash? Mr. Krash you may go see her now.

    The man with an incredible moustache gets to his feet and enters the office. He plops down in his seat and admires the Mountains before him and then Gabrielle turns her chair to face him and sits there stroking a black cat in her lap.

    Mr. Krash. Wait Krash, just Krash?

    She plugs the intercom back in.

    Veronique you’ve left out this mans surname. Krash who?

    Veronique: He doesn’t have one Ms Gabrielle.

    Gabrielle: How does he not have a last name? What is it, Krash Bandicoot? That’s the only other Krash I know of.

    Veronique: He really doesn’t have one. Maybe Dreyer, it’s the main surname associated with him.

    Krash NOT Dreyer: No.

    Gabrielle: Who does he think he is, Cher, or Madonna…

    Veronique: Or Gabrielle…

    Gabrielle: People always knew my last name though.

    She pulls her attention away from the intercom and looks down at the cat in her lap.

    I always wanted to do this. You know the gag where the villain turns in their chair stroking a cat and revealing their evil plan. Your lack of a last name ruined that for me though.

    The cat jumps out of her lap and struts away as Gabrielle then flicks through the file on Krash for a moment.

    No last name at all…

    Congratulations then on your big moment, becoming the North American Champion. That must feel great, that must make everything feel worth it, right? I can say I’ve never held that Title before, I’ve never even had the opportunity to do so.

    Krash Bandicoot:
    You want me to hand out a shot at it?

    Krash smirks as he twirls his moustache. Gabrielle cant help but smirk as well…though she has no moustache to twirl.

    In light of past events I really cant condone that, no matter how tempting.

    Krash Bandicoot: Exactly.

    Gabrielle: Impressive moustache by the way, do you shampoo it?

    Krash Bandicoot: Every day, and I use wax on it. Got to make sure it always looks good.

    Gabrielle: That’s understandable, one has to always look their best.

    Gabrielle takes a brief moment to tussle her luxurious brunette locks over her shoulder.

    But we’re getting off track. I’ve met you a few times before Mr. Bandicoot, you seem different now. Its not just the golden sparkle in your eyes either, there is something else there. Something you wished you could have hidden from the World. Something you had hidden away from yourself.

    Something I am familiar with myself. We tend to do things we aren’t proud of to get to the top; the secret is to not let it consume you. To move from it and not dwell upon it. People get hurt in this business, people get hurt and lines get crossed to get opportunities like this. You need to accept that, you need to accept that not one of us is truly perfect. We’ve all been where you have been Krash, at a point where our past is dwelling on us and making us question what we want, and what we’re willing to do to get it.

    What you have done that you are ashamed of now, you did for a small taste of glory years ago, are you willing to push the envelope even further for this opportunity? You might have to dig even deeper, you might have to sink lower. This is a role, this is a chance at something that you wont want to hold back on. When Cyrus Truth handed you a shot at the World Championship and you accepted it…admit it; all you cared about was the shot at that Championship. That’s the sort of mindset I need from you.

    I don’t want someone entirely selfish, but I do need someone who is willing to be a little selfish. That sounds like you Krash. That sounds like you are as perfectly suited for this role as your moustache is for your face.

    But are you good enough? That is the troubling concern. You are the most successful applicant I have seen today, of all of them so far you are the one that has risen to the toughest challenges and succeeded. But dethroning a King is an entirely different level of challenging.

    You have promise Krash, you’ll just have to be willing to do whatever it takes to get this job, and to make the most of it. I just don’t know how willing you will be to do what is necessary.

    Gabrielle leans back in her chair and studies Krash’s moustache for a moment.

    Join the rest of them out there, perhaps I’ll see your moustache again at the end of all this.

    Krash ‘Bandicoot’ gets out of the chair and exits back out to the waiting room.

    Parr, Mr. Mike Parr you may proceed.

    A pompous and well-manicured man gets to his feet, as he approaches the door to Gabrielle’s office two men join his side, though they don’t make it in.

    Mr. Parr has to proceed alone gentlemen.

    Mr. Parr steps inside Gabrielle’s office where he’s greeted by the view and the chair spin after he takes his seat.

    Mike Farr…oh I thought that was an eyelash on the ‘F’ but its just a ‘P’. Mike Farr, you look a little uneasy there. Don’t be too nervous, this is nothing compared to what you will have to deal with if its you that goes on to take on a King. The pressure upon you will be immense. The expectations thrust upon you will be bigger than anything you have ever dealt with.

    This is the kind of opportunity that some people never get, the kind of opportunity that entire careers build towards year after year. Is this too much for you Mr. Farr?

    Gabrielle looks over at Mike who looks rather nervous and sweaty as he glances over at the door. Gabrielle follows his gaze and then giggles to herself.

    I get it, a certain duo you have become so reliant upon are out there. They’re like the Ace up your sleeve, or your not so secret weapon. When times are tough, when the challenge is too great you can rely on them to help you out of a tight spot. Is that what it would take to dethrone a King? A little private army? Perhaps in the absence of a Giant, a three man Militia could be the ones to get the better of David.

    But is that what we should all have to rely upon? Is that where I should lay my hopes; upon the reliance of the numbers game? Is that enough for any of us? What if the time comes and you actually needed a fourth pair of hands, or even a fifth? Where does it end?

    I need someone who I can rely upon, one on one when things are their worst. I’m not begrudging your help, I’m not holding that against you. But I want to be able to rely upon one person when it is all said and done. They can help you, but can YOU get it done, because ultimately it all falls upon you Mike. That’s why I have my doubts…

    But perhaps they are unfounded. You have history with the King, you even took some of the jewels out of his crown. But it wasn’t the King himself that you got the best of that night. It was the man who in turn took that jewel from your hands. A man sitting right out there now with the North American Championship.

    So can we say you beat the King or not?

    Mike Farr: Of course I did.

    Gabrielle: Perhaps we’ll leave that open. I mean I cant just dismiss your past with that Championship, you once held it for well over a year. By whatever means necessary you are successful Mike. You have achieved some amazing things, you even retired a future Hall Of Famer in Phillip Jackson. You could be perfect for this. You have the track record, the accomplishments, the desire and the willingness to do whatever it takes.

    I know you would love to guarantee that you would dethrone the King if you had the chance to do so.

    But I just don’t know Mike. I don’t know if I can rely on you. Krash wont be out there, and you cant expect the Protegee or the Prototype to be out there when you need them the most either. So I have my doubts, I have my reservations. I think the cunning and the determination is there in spades, but ultimately is the talent you possess enough to do what is required?

    Gabrielle stares at him quizzically, and then waves him off.

    Return to the waiting room, tell your boys they might have a very important task coming up.

    Farr silently exits the Office and returns to his seat out there with the everyone else. Leaving just the skinny fat ass with terrible tattoo’s and several bandages to be interviewed. Gabrielle and in turn Veronique makes him wait for a minute or two.

    Cyrus, she’ll see you now…one last time.

    He gets to his feet and steps into the office. There’s no time to admire the view, and there’s no chair spin this time either. Just Gabrielle sitting there at her desk with an electric grill before her. She’s cooking up a couple of steaks at the moment, which holds all of her attention until she peers up at ‘Cyrus’.

    Take a seat.

    He does exactly that.

    Oh…this isn’t bringing back some bad memories is it?

    This meat was you just recently, being burned, and charred. Feeling the lick of flame against your skin, making it bubble and sizzle.

    How thoughtless of me…

    Gabrielle just smirks as she stares at fake Cyrus Truth and lets the steaks keep slowly cooking away in between them. Though as she notices the bandages upon his body she reaches a hand up to her shoulder, softly caressing her own burn.

    You are qualified Cyrus, very qualified. A three times World Champion. In fact in recent years it has been rare to not see that Championship adorned with your name. You know success of the highest level, and that success in turn begets success. You seem perfect for this opportunity. Even more so than Mitchell out there, because you win and you win and you win…

    The slightly cheery smile on her face then dissipates.

    But lately you’ve started to lose, and lose…and lose.

    The King has been at the center of many of these failures, in fact he made his crown out of your failings. Could that be a motivation for you to be who and what you once were? Can I, can we all rely upon that being enough. David Sullivan has had your number at every turn over the past year, can I expect you to change that?

    History would suggest yes I can rely upon you to turn things around. You were the standard for three long years, you were the pinnacle. You may have had a mis step here and there but you always got back to the top, and quickly. How could anyone not be impressed by that? You are a true Champion, you are always successful. Your career and your past is summed up so easily; World Champion.

    That has defined you so much, that has been who you are so often. You know what it takes, you know what it means, you know what it feels like to stand where David is standing right now. Those other five men out there they all might want it, but they haven’t tasted it, they don’t know what it truly demands of someone to be World Champion.

    She smiles at ‘Cyrus’ as the steaks before them keep sizzling away. The smoke from them draws her attention downwards, same with Truth’s, though he looks almost traumatised by the burning meat.

    But I am struggling to get passed this change in your career. Things haven’t been the same for you over the course of the past year. Cracks forming in your career, and in your personality. The losses have been stacking up, and dare I say YOU cant beat The King. He keeps getting the better of you, perhaps the Era of Cyrus Truth has now passed and I shouldn’t judge you on what you have done in the past, instead only what you have done here and now.

    But just look at this list of names; Chris Kennedy, Bell Connolly, Stu St.Clair, Ryan Rondo, Kaizen…Gabrielle. Just a small sample of people you have bested in the past Cyrus. But the names being added to that list lately aren’t as frequent, maybe you’ve already dealt with everyone there is of note…

    But I see more names joining Dave Sullivan, Mike Parr…Gabrielle in this other list of people who are getting the better of you. It makes me concerned that perhaps Cyrus, you’re well…you’re cooked.

    Gabrielle giggles at her terrible pun as the steaks continue to burn in front of them. ‘Cyrus’ for his part just looks queasy.

    You may go wait outside now, I’ve interviewed you all and my decision is forthcoming.

    He gets to his feet and as does Gabrielle, she extends her hand, offering a handshake and Cyrus accepts it and shakes her hand. Cyrus shuffles out to the waiting room where he joins the five other hopefuls, all expecting their name to be called out. While Gabrielle finally turns the electric grill off.

    Veronique, come see me in my office please…and tell them all something that gets them out of there.

    Veronique: Guys…we’ll call you in the coming days. Thanks for coming in.

    Veronique puts on the perfect fake little smile as she gets to her feet, shuts off the lights in the waiting room and enters Gabrielle’s office where she quickly sits down.

    Those steaks look…really bad.

    Gabrielle: I sacrificed them to make a point.

    But Veronique I’m stumped. Not one of these six candidates seemed good enough. Every single one of them were too flawed. From their lack of big match experience, to a propensity to choke, or a seeming decline in their career. I cant rely on any of them to dethrone The King. I fear that each and every one of them would fail.

    Gabrielle leans back in her chair as Veronique leans in closer, ready for a solution to this problem.

    There’s only one thing that can be done to solve this.

    The electric grill is turned back on, and then one by one the six folders on Kev Cromwell, Mitchell Garcia, Sterling Knox, Krash Bandicoot, Mike Farr and Cyrus Truth are tossed upon it as they gradually burn away.

    They aren’t good enough. One by one I’ve seen them all, one by one I’ve decided none of them can do what is required. One by one I have eliminated their names from this. But do you know who that leaves us with?

    Veronique sits up straight with excitement upon her face.


    Gabrielle grimaces awkwardly before softly shaking her head.

    Sorry hon, maybe next time. With those six names gone it just leaves me. I’m perfect for the role. I’ve bested the King before after all. So who better than me? I’m not on a decline I’ve proven that, I don’t choke, and I’m the most decorated competitor in this building.

    Veronique: I think HR might want to see you after your meeting, after your other meeting…after your other meeting, for a fourth meeting about abuse of power.

    Gabrielle: I’m not going to any of them…I have a King to dethrone instead. The likely candidates have been eliminated one after the other, only I am perfect for this role.

    Veronique begrudgingly nods her head as Gabrielle grins from ear to ear.

  9. #9
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    "Inner Conflicts Of A Broken Man"

    We open up to an empty arena and the Elimination Chamber where Kayden Knox stands in the ring looking around to the arena. His eyes stare across the ring where AJ Drake in a black suit stares back at him the two of them lock eyes with AJ Drake placing his hand on the shoulder of his friend, his client Kayden Knox. Drake begins to speak placing his glasses inside his jacket.

    AJ Drake: This is it. This is everything you ever asked for this is everything you ever heard and all you got to do is defeat six others and you can then have your name in the lights you can have your name in the stars you will be "The Main Event" that affliction that you have used as rage that pump through your veins all of it comes down to this match here tonight.

    Knox doesn't seem to be listening or 100% there. Knox head is held low his body slumped. Drake turns around seeing his friend and goes on speaking trying to get him to take notice. Drake turns to Knox trying to help pick up his friend.

    The thing is I know what is going through your head I can see the self doubt in your eyes. This is the same doubt that cast you aside in Carnal Contendership the very one that cost you that match that took away your chance at BiB of going one on one with Dave Sullivan for the FWA World Heavyweight Championship.

    Knox shrugs still looking down to the ground he speaks with pain in his voice.

    Kayden Knox: Here is the thing, when time after time match after match I come out her I step in this ring and I give it everything I have and I come up short Do you know what they does to someone's head? You go out here you give everything and in the end its all for not because you just don't have what it takes. I feel like every time I get so close to my goal so close to my redemption just to have it taken away by the cruel hands of fate as if they mock me.

    Knox stops for a moment to look around the chamber and then looking to the stage. His voice trembles as he tries to speak. He drops down to one knee snot runs from his nose as he tries to get ahold of himself. Knox though looks on as a broken man his voice breaking as he speaks.

    Then I go into the back and I see the very eyes staring at me with disappointment and words like daggers sharp twisting the knife in my chest saying if I just go a little harder if I just fight a little more that they know I can do more the thing is I have given everything and I just don't know how much more I can give seeing how the same result happens over and over it is literally what describes the word insanity and why should I put myself through all the heartache all the suffering when in the end I know the result.

    I want you to look at me!

    I want you to understand that this world that these people cast you away are the very same people that tonight will be looking back at you when Fight Night goes off the air as you stand in the middle of this ring your hand held high and your eyes set to kill as you get that match with Dave Sullivan. You will take the crown, the very crown that has begin to show cracks. You see Dave Sullivan maybe the FWA Champion but, he is not a God. He is not a king. He is simply another man that once was the most dominate champion in the history of this sport but, where's the X-Division Championship? Where is the North American Title?

    It is gone.

    He is beatable.

    You see we told people that Nova Diamond was great that he was a diamond in the rough that his future will be bright that he will one day reign as the champion but, we told everyone, we screamed it from the mountains that he was just not ready. We told them that to defeat Dave Sullivan you need that killer drive that one that you will showcase the world this very night inside this unforgiving steel but, Knox this is a fight you got to win on your own. This is a fight that you have to win not for me, not for them, but for yourself.

    You got to be the one who goes into that chamber with no doubts with no remorse. You got to be the one who stares across the ring and doesn't see former World Champions and see the current NA Champion you got to stare across that ring and just see victims the very same ones who tried to you that you were going to be nothing. The very same ones who told you were never going to make it that you are just a good hand that you are the one that they can call to make them look good and that you would be staring up at the lights once again. You let that creep in you might as well call it a night. You won't win. You must go into this match knowing that you are going to win.

    Kayden Knox: I got to learn to accept the reality that I am...

    Drake grabs Knox by the jacket with a force that seems to catch Knox off guard. Drake throws Knox into the pod as he crashes to the ground. Knox looks up at him as Drake looks right back at him and it seems that Drake has Knox full attention as he slams the pod door shut. Drake looks down almost with disgust as he stares down at Knox he begins to talk down to him with a somber tone.

    Is this what you have become Kayden just accepting who these people think you are?

    Do you even think you deserve to be here?

    The truth of the matter is I can be your voice I can come out here day after day, night after night until I am blue in the face as your voice as the man to take what you feel and give it the words that you wanna say but, everything I say everything I feel means nothing if you don't go out there and back it up.

    I can promise you one hundred percent that if you go out there as this with that attitude this chamber is going to eat you alive and it going to spit you out. This Kayden Knox right here the one I am staring at looking up at me like a wounded dog is a loser. You bring that in this ring and I swear to God I am out of here because you would of been better of as if I never found you that night on the ground next to a bottle of empty pills and the smell of piss as it ran down your leg as you died choking on your own vomit.

    Knox stands up in a fit of rage slamming his fist against the glass of the chamber door as he stares face to face with Drake who is on the outside of the glass. Knox hits it again and again as the glass shakes and this angry causes Knox to just keep hitting the glass until his knuckles become bruised and he then headbutt's the glass and blood slowly falls from the middle of his head like a tear drop to his chin and falls onto the metal of the ground. Drake gets a smirk on the side of his face as a very pissed off Knox's looks back at him his breath is heavy as it fog's the glass.

    There he is.

    Drake looks on at Knox who does not move his eyes set to Drake as there is just a uneasy quietness where you can hear a pin drop. Drake finally goes to speak his voice soft but, serious as he looks to his friend. The disgust in his eyes from before as he seems to almost look happy as if he had just won the lotto.

    Do you think it is wrong what I did to you?

    I meant every word this isn't me trying to get in your own head this is me telling you the truth you wanna act like a wounded puppy. I will treat you like an animal and I will rattle the cage until the only thing left to do is let you out and fulfill that thirst for blood.

    Knox lets out a primal scream as Drake again smiles his voice carries loud throughout the arena. Drake slams his hand on the glass as from the other side Knox stare back at him looking on with this rage overtaking his body.

    I can see that fire in your eyes!

    I can hear the sound of your heart ready to beat out of your chest!

    You are angry you are focused.

    You see that is desire that is passion and that is rage and all of that is what you need in this match Kayden.

    That bell rings.

    The chamber door encloses and six wrestlers are left with cold hard unforgiving steel that will change them forever and it is going to change you forever too. However, you go into that ring with that self pity with that self doubt they will be like sharks tasting the fresh blood as it hits the water and you will be eaten alive.

    There are moments that go by after the last words are spoken by Drake as it seems to have fueled something in the mind of Drake. Drake looks around the chamber before looking up the ramp and speaking. His word carry great amount of weight as he speaks on.

    Cyrus Truth, Garcia, Parr, Cromwell these four men each are coming off the biggest show of the year as the loser each one of these men in this very ring have been told you are the one that they do not need to be afraid of. You are the one that is nothing more then just another name in a very long list of FWA superstars to come and go. They think they are better then you. Cyrus is more accomplished, Garcia has more drive, Parr is set to be the new future of FWA and Cromwell can wrestle circles around everyone in this ring. They each were given shots handed to them on silver platters because of who they are and what they have done!

    Then of course you got the two wrestlers in this match coming off of huge wins like Gabbi & Krash these two are idolized one as The Goddess the other and the white knight and they have gotten to the top before they have had their date with destiny and while Krash cashed in his date with destiny with the NA Championship Gabbi, literally cast her own personal demon to hell when she cast Cyrus Truth into the flames and like a phoenix he has risen but, like Icarus he will fly to close to the sun and he will get burned again just like anyone who steps in your way if you go into that match with that fire in your heart that desire in your eyes that hatred fueled by the very voices and vices that have infected your mind like a sickness killing you slowly.

    Drake goes on speaking his words are muttered as he speaks clinching his teeth he has rage in his voice now as Knox still stares back at him with the same level of emotion running through his body.

    Kayden the sounds of your victim's screams will echo across the arena and onto the very stage where Dave Sullivan will be haunted by it like a living nightmare knowing that at anytime and that at any place there will be a target on his back and you Kayden Knox staring back at him. Kayden you are Dave's past catching up to his future. You see when Sullivan is standing on that stage seeing the carnage left in that ring he will understand a certain truth one that he will be damn sure not to forgot. The truth that when he looks inside the ring he sees himself in you. He see's a man with his struggles climb to the top even though they told him he never be anything. Dave Sullivan knows that upon his throne through the smog eyes of his he sees it coming the means to his end.

    Dave Sullivan has lost it. Dave Sullivan knows he is not the same man that once proudly proclaimed himself as the King of FWA. This is a different Sullivan whose arrogance once used to fuel his desires has left him content. You see Dave is content with just being FWA Champion and it seems to me that is what caused him to no longer stand as a triple crown champion or even a duel champion. He can say all he wants he vacated the championship to put all his focus on the FWA Championship but, I see right through all of that bullshit. I see right through that like I could see this Kayden Knox that now stands before me is different then the same one who just step through the chamber door couple moments ago. Kayden you have hit rock bottom and you got that one thing that you get when you are down there.

    The one where it takes you to that place in your head where you give and you give and everything and everyone seems to take and take you have. You have scratched and clawed your way to this point while every step has felt like broken glass digging in your skin and you fall back down to that cold hard bottom but, you kept getting back up and it wasn't just once or twice it was time after time and I have seen the weight of the world you have carried on your shoulder but, make God damn no mistake about it this is your match for the taking whether they want to accept it or not this is your moment this is the happy ever after you always wanted.

    You know that the greatest failure in life is accepted the roles that others will give you who they tell you are. You are better then that. There is nothing, there is no one that can stop you from winning this match besides you. Do you know what that one thing is? You are desperate and desperate men do desperate things with their backs against the wall or in your case your back against this cold unforgiving steel.

    Drake tries to open the door of the chamber pod but, Knox stops him instead Knox shakes his head slowly his head slowly looking up at Drake. Drake nods his head leaving a seething Knox ready for the fight to come the very fight that may change the very foundation of FWA.


    CWA World Heavyweight Champion
    ​Brayden Bridges

  10. #10
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    “Again” he barks out, as the ragged and weary Mike Parr looks up at him with a look of desperation that hasn’t been seen in his eyes since the days in which he was learning a the differences between wristlocks and hammerlocks. Breathing heavily, he wipes his slightly longer than usual hair out of his eyes and the sweat off of his forehead, as he drags himself to his feet and once more takes off, hitting the ring ropes with as much force as possible. He goes back and forth again and again until his legs begin to wobble and he collapses in the middle of the ring, crouched down catching his breath once more.

    “Again” states that same voice that we heard just moments ago. Parr looks up again, panting more heavily and his face a deeper shade of crimson, and shakes his head partly out of disbelief. Or regret. For the reason Mike Parr finds himself in this situation is voluntary. One thing in his life that he has always managed to do is overcome setbacks or adversity. may not be straight away and he may spend days, weeks or months trying to get there, but eventually he rebounds and gets back to where he was. Today, he doesn’t have that option, because his rebound from Back in Business is this Fight Night.

    “I SAID AGAIN” the voice shouts with an authority that would not be out of place in a military boot camp, as Parr pushes himself back to his feet and begins once more to run the ropes although admittedly with less force despite the same effort as before. There is no telling how long they have been here, but judging by the way in which Mike again collapses in the middle of the ring moments later, it would suggest that it has been significant.

    This time, however, there is no barking orders handed out, as Mike has transitioned from down on his knees to lying flat on his back, gasping trying to draw some air back into his lungs as sweat drips off of his body onto the ring canvas. He stares up at the roof of the building, a not too dissimilar viewpoint to that he experienced in his last match where he lost the North American Championship. There it is again, any time he thinks about that loss it takes him straight back to that dark place he is running from…

    Back in Business 2020 will forever be the night that will be remembered as the one where the good guys didn’t win. The villains came out on top. People wanted to cheer Krash, they supported him in his quest to vanquish the supposedly evil Mike Parr. Like sheep, they just followed whatever path they were led down. They swallowed the narrative that the FWA leadership and media team were determined to shove down your throat in an attempt to sell the match. When in reality, they just needed to look at the facts. Look at the facts and make a judgement about who the true hero was to support, who the villain of the piece was. On one side, you had someone who was proud to be the representative of North America and despite the fact he would never admit it was proud to be a member of the FWA roster. All he ever does is try to win, sometimes by any means necessary. But why does any means necessary become a trait to be booed and disregarded as underhanded? After all, the majority of the time, he fights fire with fire. There isn’t one person that has stepped foot between the ropes that hasn’t crossed a line that they think they would never have crossed. There isn’t one person that hasn’t got a helping hand along the way to achieving whatever success they have achieved. It is smart, not evil, to stack the deck in your favor where you can. But somehow, being prepared to do whatever it takes to win has transitioned into a loose definition for being a coward. Being a villain.

    On the other side, you have the outsider that has come into this company, not to make a name for himself, but because he had nowhere else to go. And not content to prove himself or earn his place at the head table, he forced his way there by hanging on to the coattails of one of the people he would consider a friend. He didn’t earn his spot, he kissed enough ass so as to ensure by association and presumption he was placed in a position where he leapfrogged people that had worked their way up from the bottom. And that is someone to cheer apparently. That is someone to be proud of. That is a hero. All the people swallowed the narrative that this is some sort of global superstar that is gracing the FWA with his presence seem to forget that he did nothing but step out of his more popular friends shadow and failed to step back into it when they realized nobody cared about a war between this company and a company that no longer exists. Yet, the people cheer him and back him to overcome one of their own. Don’t misunderstand the point, the one that we are calling one of our own will never embrace that or make a play on it, but it is a fact that the general public and the people in those arenas overlooked in favor of being indoctrinated to the belief that they need to cheer for one person because the other is a bad person.

    “What a load of bullshit”Mike remarks out loud to himself, as he has now recovered his breathing to an acceptably regular input and output. He rolls himself out of the ring, underneath the bottom rope, and perches himself on the apron with his feet dangling just off of the floor, back resting against the outside of the ropes that he just pummeled. He looks over and signals to one of his team that are working nearby to approach him, and he passes him a handheld camera. He takes a second to sweep his hair into some sort of style, before positioning the camera in a selfie position and holding the record button down.

    “I don’t usually do this…..but I just want to take minute to apologize. And no, I’m not about to swerve you all and apologize to absolutely nobody……..but I want to apologize in particular to North America. The people of North America, I have let you down and believe me that nobody is hurting more about that than myself. We may not ever have seen eye to eye, you may never have wanted me to represent you, but I love that championship belt and it hurts me to see it in someone else’s hands. It is a championship that typically represents that you are the best wrestler in the company, the World Championship has the prestige for sure but the North American championship is the workhorses championship. It is the one that shows that you turn up every week, night after night, and wrestle. The World Champion is a prizefighter’s title that you need to turn up and turn it on every, what, 6 weeks or so. And even in those 6 weeks, you might have occasions where there is no focus on being the best wrestler but some sort of dick measuring contest about who can burn the others possessions or whatever other bullshit was going on there. But I digress, I just wanted to make sure that you heard from me and that I’m sorry for disrespecting the championship belt…….”

    The noise inside the Citrus Bowl in Orlando is so loud that you could almost look at the walls of The Prodigy’s locker room and see them visibly shake. The crowd is reacting to the Kayden Knox and Orion match from early in the show, and you can hear the reaction shift significantly from one of general engagement to dis-satisfied booing with the low blow from the finish. This, however, is nothing more than background noise for Parr, who is completing the early stages of his pre-match routine that he undertakes before every match. Outwardly, you would always think that Mike is relatively blasé about his preparations but anyone that has any experience of the Mike Parr that is away from the camera knows that this couldn’t be further from the truth. His concentration and his dedication to preparation is pretty much impossible to penetrate, impossible until he hears the words “Elimination Chamber” leaving Blackbird’s mouth on the monitor that he has in the corner of his dressing room.

    Immediately, Parr’s head swivels around and looks on as Blackbird proceeds to make the announcement about the main event for this coming Fight Night. Blackbird finishes with the announcement of Garcia’s involvement in the match yet Parr remains transfixed with the monitor for a number of moments, digesting what was an unexpected development even for him. You can almost see the cogs turning in his head as he finally removes his glance from the monitor and towards his North American championship.

    Parr is still perched on the ring apron with the handheld camera still recording.

    “I’m sorry for disrespecting the championship belt because the minute I heard about this Fight Night and this Elimination Chamber match was the moment that I lost the match. It wasn’t something that Krash did. It was my own mistake. Because whilst I still do truly believe that the North American Championship is the belt in this company that signifies that you are the best wrestler on a weekly basis, I know that I am regardless of possession of that title. What I want is what I have never been able to get, what I once got within fingertips of securing, I want the World Championship. I want the prize fights. I want to be in the main event where the best wrestler in the world deserves to be. And these….these are the thoughts that have consumed me ever since I saw that announcement being made at the pay-per-view. Gone was the focus on Krash and defending the championship I had, my focus was on getting closer to the one championship belt that I know that I need. It’s not pretty, and it’s not great to admit, but on reflection from the minute that I knew that I would need to turn up to Fight Night and the Elimination Chamber everything else just left my mind and that is something that I have to own. But it is also something that I have to make right by ensuring it wasn’t an unwitting sacrifice made in vain. And that, much like the loss at Back in Business, is on me. No time for games, no time for the New Breed to try and tip the scales in my favor, but solely on me backing myself.”

    Parr hops down from the apron and turns the camera and does some sort of panoramic view of the building he is in, before resting it on a stand that one of his crew had also set up. I guess they know him so well that they knew where this was going.

    “The Elimination Chamber offers many elements that make me uncomfortable. I am a good wrestler, so putting me in a situation where you don’t have ring mats to take falls and plexi-glass to smash your head through is, to say the least, a bit outside of my comfort zone. But that just seems to be how my path to the World Championship is laid out. It seems to be that I either have to win a huge battle royal or a gimmick match to somehow get the shot that I deserve. And yes, I said deserve, because despite many of you probably listening to this and laughing at the fact that someone who just lost a marquee match at Back in Business thinks he deserves rewarded as such, I tell you to look back and tell me who else is going to be the one who has Dave Sullivan’s number. And you know what? I even managed to do it without trying to burn all his things and make him made. Twice, Dave Sullivan tried to beat me this year and twice he failed. So when you talk about easy sells and narratives, you could easily justify putting the man who seemingly cannot be beaten against the man he cannot beat for the possession he holds dearest. And I wouldn’t make the same mistake Nova Diamond did, because Nova assumed that he cared the most about his robe and his crown and all the other embellishments that goes with his inflated ego but the truth is that he failed to focus on the thing that he cares about the most, the World Championship.”

    Parr paces back and forth as he gathers his thoughts, also performing some subtle stretches so as to not seize up after his physical exertions. Whilst the verbiage may still be relatively familiar, if you put the television on mute this is one of the parts of Mike Parr that he doesn’t often expose to the world.

    “I showed you where I am because it is important for everyone to know that this time, I’m not disappearing down that dark hole that I manage to find any time I fall short of my own expectations. I’m here working as hard as I can work, trying to work out the pain of failing on the biggest stage, in the knowledge that I need to be better than I have been for Fight Night this week. To overcome the stipulation that doesn’t play to my strengths and to beat 5 of the best that the FWA has to offer whilst ensuring Michael Garcia doesn’t win either.”

    Let’s just say that The Prodigy hasn’t forgotten the extensive history that he shares with Garcia that dates back to when he first joined the company.

    “So it would be easy of me to sit here and tell you all of the reasons as to why I could individually beat everyone in this match but in all honesty I would rather not waste everyone’s time and just turn up and show you. I’d show you that Krash may have won an individual battle between us but that he certainly isn’t capable of winning a war. I’d show you that Kayden Knox would need more than an undetected low blow to keep my shoulders to the ground. To show that Kevin Cromwell better hope that the man upstairs reciprocates the love that his nickname indicates for him to stand a chance of making it out of there the same person. All of that….too easy.”

    Prodigy suppresses a smirk, he knows exactly what he is doing.

    “All of that, and I haven’t even had the chance to mention Gabby and Cyrus’ seemingly never ending passively aggressive love story. Maybe we should just lock them in the same pod together and see if they can top setting each other on fire as they play the world’s most extreme game of ‘who hangs up first’”

    Parr shakes his head at the thought, ruffles his hand through his hair once more, before reverting back from pacing back and forth to staring straight down the camera lens, so close that you can see the icy blue in his eyes.

    “One thing I am not going to this Fight Night, is disrespect anyone. I stand here and I know that if the Mike Parr that walks into that cage is Mike Parr at this best, there is not one of you that stands a chance no matter how individually talented you may be. Cyrus, he knows, he twice stepped into the ring and couldn’t handle The Prodigy at his best. Garcia, he knows. Gabby, Kayden, Kevin… couldn’t even begin to imagine. But Krash, you my friend are about to be in the rudest awakening of them all, because the version of the Prodigy you get this week will not be the same guy that you squeaked past at Back in Business but you will be getting the Mike Parr that is laser focused and determined on ensuring that the future shot at the World Championship belongs to The Prodigy. All the while, Dave Sullivan sits at ringside hiding behind what I’m sure will be confident words, praying that I don’t have the chance to make it 3 without defeat and take the only thing he has left from him to send his kingdom crashing down around him.”

    Without another second to digest, Parr immediately cuts the recording as scene ends.
    Last edited by TheProdigy; 03-22-2020 at 02:59 PM. Reason: formatting

  11. #11
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    He was still wearing his ring gear. His fists were still taped up, tacky with the dried blood on his face – he'd bolted from the arena the second it was over, dragging Oneyka with him. The fact that the show was still going hadn't even registered then, and it still hadn't. He was still in the ring, locked in hellish purgatory of that 'what the fuck just happened' memory, still feeling the impact of that chair shot that had come out of nowhere. He'd had the match won and then it was over. Just like that, just like everything else for the last year, all his work and effort had been completely erased and negated in a second, just like it had every single time he had stepped foot into a ring recently and he'd been so stupid and so damned stubborn he'd believed he could turn the tide.

    The monster had won.

    "Monsters always win," he mumbled, "... 'cause the heroes get so fuckin' tired of this shit."

    The tape crackled as his hands closed into fists. He wanted to hit something again because the anger kept bubbling up, the hatred kept choking him with that bitter taste in the back of his throat.


    Dave Sullivan's words kept echoing in his ears, and it wasn't just the damned X championship, it was everyone believing it, it was like a Train that was slowly but surely going downhill.

    "Kev?" Oneyka's voice was barely above a whisper, her silhouette Nothing more than a gauzy shadow beyond the blanket.

    He didn't hear her at all. The sound of the crowd was still in his ears, some sort of mental vertigo even though the area was a long way behind, his hand closed around the bottle, feeling the cut glass ridges. It sloshed when he shook it without turning his head. The headache was back, the pain jumping around his head randomly. The lights blurred as he squinted, closing his eyes as the bottle hit his lips.

    The cut above his eye itched. Imagining whatever it was Dave Sullivan had done to him all these months ago like one of those transmitting diseases like one of the zombies in The Walking Dead that had been a diversion over the last two hours since they'd gotten home. He'd watched four episodes from the latest season, skipping through parts that were boring, calling it research even though he'd given up on the show partway through the second season because it was so damned stupid. Maybe his face was going to rot off. Maybe he'd end up bat-shit insane just like Dave. Or maybe it was just itchy because he needed to take a damn shower.

    The vodka bottle was almost empty.

    So was the well.

    "Look, lets just put wrestling behind us for a bit yeah? You can go back home and-"


    Lying back against the futon mattress that was on the floor, he tilted the bottle to his lips, greedily swallowing the rest. He kept it between his lips, poking his tongue into the hole as though he could coax more out of it.

    "I'm not running away. One way or another this ends."

    An abstract of an Article From "WutSociaty"

    -10 Most Disappointing Wrestlers of 2020 So Far

    You know, a wrestler is getting hyped for his debut when they arrange a press junket when you arrive, and make no mistake about it: Wrestling boy genius was a much-hyped get for FWA, in 2018 it looked like FWA had made a sound investment by getting Kevin Cromwell, and it looked as if Cromwell was every bit the Amadeus he claimed to be, winning his first-ever FWA within a staggering two weeks of his debut giving credence to the hype and standing in the pro wrestling world.

    But that was all derailed, once Back In Business rolled around, and what was supposed to be Cromwell's coming out party turned out to be the dawn of a King, as Dave Sullivan upset the champ and won the TV Championship, the watermark was right there. Shortly thereafter he got injured taking nine months to heal, he came back, obsessed with getting back in the ring with Dave Sullivan.

    And He did.

    And what followed was quite frankly an abysmal performance and a humiliating defeat, clocking in at barely two minutes in which the only move Cromwell attempted was a bizarre attempt at hitting Dave Sullivan with his own move.

    This was the Amadeus?!

    This was the genius technical marvel that knew enough holds to fill a dictionary?

    While Kevin is still young, and his career is just taking off, he can still recover?

    But Amadeus? Maybe not so much.
    Click, This FWA. Com exclusive takes us to the depths of a barely-used parking lot, hidden among the slumbering city and abandoned cars sat, on the curb clad in a black leather jacket looking cool calm and relaxed, as he stared into the camera,

    Kevin Cromwell: "Evenin'"

    Kevin paused momentarily, taking a moment to adjust the camera, to make sure his whole face filled the screen.

    Kevin Cromwell: My name is Hello. My name is Kevin Cromwell. Some call me; Amadeus, some call me "The Golden Boy" or "All hype" Kevin Cromwell. I couldn't care which of those prefixes you know me by because when it is all said and done, the important thing is that, my name is Kevin Cromwell, and I'm going to win the Elimination Chamber.

    A bashful little smirk appeared on his face as he nodded confidently, tilting his head his eyebrow raised.

    Kevin Cromwell; I'm going to win it, but I don't deserve to be here.

    Um, what? That's a weird statement to make, considering the context, he seems to note this, as he shrugs bemused.

    Kevin Cromwell: No, really, I know what you're thinking; What the fuck I'm I doing here? And you're right. From the day I got here, I promised 'you guys, one thing; win lose or draw. I would never bullshit you; I was going to tell you the truth, even if people didn't like it, So I'll be the first one to admit, I don't deserve to be here. You earn number one contendership shots like this through impressive performances and wins; I haven't done that. So you should give it to someone who does. Hell, give my spot to Nova. He pushed Dave closer then anyone has, if anyone deserves a second chance, it's him, not me. He was seconds, away from pulling it off. Seconds and I get the shot because...what? I was seventh place eliminated in a battle royale?! Seventh?! What the fuck is that? You know what I call that? I call that pity. I call that "Hey that Kevin Cromwell kid, he's a damn good hand, let's tossed him a bone, shove him in the match, make up the numbers, it's not like he can win it anyway" I know this all sounds kind of weird, and it kinda sounds like I'm shitting on myself or telling the world "Hey, I don't want the main event, I'm not good enough". Don't get me wrong; I know with every beat of my heart that I can hang but to survive in this business you gotta be your own biggest critic. I hold myself to a VERY high standard, and if I can't meet my own standards, I don't feel like I've earned anything. It's as simple at that.

    A drool dry chuckle escaped his mouth as he rubbed his chin ruefully.

    Kevin Cromwell: "Fuck it, let me tell you a story the office doesn't want me to tell you, As everyone saw, a few weeks before Back In Business Tomas Princeton started fucking with me, calling me "Young boy" and cheap shotting me and all that kind of shit, and I wanted him at Back In Business, I went straight to the office and said "I want Tomas Princeton in that ring, and if I can't beat him; then I'll pack my bags and leave, because if I can't be as good as I claim to be? If I'm not all that I say I am? Then I don't want to be here."

    Kevin paused momentarily to let the full impact of his words sink in.

    Kevin Cromwell: ..But of course, I didn't get that. Apparently, Tomas Princeton wasn't willing to go all-in like I was, so instead, the office randomly tossed me into the X match

    Kevin rolled his eyes clearly not happy with not getting what he wanted, say what you will about Kevin, but it can't be denied that the man had an ego and a hell of a lot of ambition, so the idea of being shoehorned into a match for the sake of it didn't sit well with him.

    Kevin Cromwell: "I'm not happy with it, but I told them; "Ok, if you want me to be in that match, put me in, Just know I'm walking out with that belt" and I meant that, because even I didn't say it out loud? I knew if I didn't walk out with that belt, I was leaving this company...and I gave it my best because I needed to; I remember having Jason Randel in my hold just thinking "Please tap, for fuck sake just tap. I need this more than you. I have to win!" But he didn't. And I didn't….And that was that.

    Kevin shrugged as if to say "It is what it is."

    Kevin Cromwell: "I don't remember a lot from that night, I was banged up, I was hurt and concussed, but I remember walking down the halls covered in my own blood towards where I knew Blackbird's office was, ready to hand him my notice, but he's not in his office. He's in the bloody ring announcing this fucking chamber match

    Kevin, can't help but laugh at the irony of it all.

    Kevin Cromwell: "So here I am, the lowest point of my career, and the biggest opportunity of my life, surrounded by former world champs and future Hall of Famers, and no one can POSSIBLY believe, that I can beat them...No one is seriously considering me any kind of threat to people like Krash or Cyrus or Gabby...but I'm still going to win.

    Cromwell suddenly extends out his hands and begins to count off the fingers on his hands.

    Kevin Cromwell: Krash, Gabrielle Montgomery, Mike Parr. Mike. Cyrus Truth. Michael Garcia. Kayden Knox. Every single one of them, better positioned them me. Most of them former world champions, nearly all of them are going to be hall of Famers. All of them way more comfortable in front of the camera, doing this shit, but I got something they don't—me back against the wall, Nothing to lose and everything to gain.

    He leans back in place and takes a deep breath.

    Kevin Cromwell: "I've spent the last year lying to myself. That's a hard pill to swallow – sticks in the throat somethin' awful. I've been pretending I have this shit all figured out. Like there's always a game-plan an' I'm prepared for every eventuality. Would it surprise you that I still have no idea what I'm doin'? Probably ruins the mystique, won't it? Amadeus and all that… can't be real for a moment. I know that. I gotta put on airs. I gotta pretend I'm better, badder… so damned superior in every way – it's bullshit. I'm not. I just try to do the right thing. That's all. Keep the moral compass pointed to my own true north."

    He sniffs disdainfully, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

    Kevin Cromwell
    "While I'd like to brag about accomplishments, about how I wanna shock the world I know I can't do that here. Flappin' my gums doesn't change anything. Complaining about how my careers in the shitter. It's just a reminder that I'm alive. I'm still here. Outlastin' the bullshit. Outlastin' the haters, an' the fakers. I guess I can expect that to continue, Mean, what else am I gonna do? Retire? Come out to the ring, do a 'so long an' thanks for all the fish' speech, an' hit the road? That's what's expected, I'm sure. The wanderlust is only a matter of time. The rose tint fades. The bullseye grows bigger and honeymoons end."

    That old standby comes on the heels of that declaration, that self-deprecating chuckle making the microphone crackle for a moment in the wind of the exhale.

    Kevin Cromwell"Memory's a funny thing. You forget so much, but all this mundane shit always seems to stick. I remember the night I fucked up my ankle. I remember the locker room smelled like bleach so strong it made my lungs ache. I remember listening to Rancid on repeat, Tim Armstrong's underdog anthems keeping me centred. I remember it was cold, maybe winter – that detail eludes me. I just remember the tip of my nose hurting an' I was lost in the dark, tryin' desperately to screw my head on front-ways 'fore I had to hit the ring."

    His voice is hoarse, and he clearly takes a drink of something before continuing.

    Kevin Cromwell "...and the night I lost to I felt like an outsider. I felt like a stranger in a strange land – alienated. I don't remember the match. The ones that matter most weren't the ones I can relive like that. They're not on any highlight reel. They were personal triumphs. They were about more than cheers or asses in seats or merchandise sales. They were about perseverance. They were about finding that line in myself an' erasing it like it was drawn in sand at low tide. I know where it all ends now, where the bottom lies. Sometimes I think I don't fit into this roster. All I wanna do is wrestle. It makes sense out there. Some nights it's all about the bullshit posin' – shit-postin' nonsense. The trash talkin'. The flexin' of muscles an' dicks – I'm over it. I don't fuckin' care about any of this anymore. Yeah. I'm the guy.. I'm still me. I'm still woefully unprepared, complete trainwreck. I can't do these nights where it's about accomplishments, about who's got the biggest dick or who can piss the farthest."

    There's another amused snort.

    Kevin Cromwell "That's what you're here for right? Another indignant rant you get from everyone else, Sure. Here goes. Fuck Krash. Fuck Mike Parr. Fuck Cyrus. Fuck Gabby and the hell with Dave too this is the night I stop hidin' from the truth. This is the night I stop pretendin' I wanna be a golden boy. It's not about that. The elimination chamber… it's going to be about survival. Everyone knows those're the nights I like best. Those are the nights I call my own."

    He punches his chest in time with the last few words to underline his feeling, his passion shining through

    Kevin Cromwell: Everyone else is going to come into that chamber to be trapped, but once I'm locked in that chamber, I'll never be freer. See we're all prisoners. Every single one of us; Cyrus just got his ego bruised by Gabby; Gabby is imprisoned by her own ego. Krash, he's addicted to the limelight, and he's driven to do something really fecking stupid, Michael G? Insecurity. K Double? The bloke's mental. Parr is in the same boat as me. We're all in locked in prisons.,,,The only difference is?: I got the key to get myself
    The most amazing thing about this recent conversation is that I've learned AON is even more of a waste of space than I thought he was previously

  12. #12
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    “Things haven’t been easy since Back in Business XIV…”

    Those were spoken by Penny, or as some fans may know her as “The Eccentric Dreamer”. She’s sat in front of a camera that she has set up in the kitchen of the home that she shares with her significant other, Jason Randall. She’s speaking to FWA fans on social media while having her morning coffee at the dining table, she takes a small sip of the still hot coffee and places the mug down as she continues to speak.

    “I don’t know how to explain it, but Jason has been...different. Like something inside of him has been woken up and I’m not so sure if that’s a good thing...I mean I’m not worried for my own well being because I know he would never do anything to me, but I’m worried not only for him but for what he’ll do to anyone in the ring…”

    She shakes her head a little, then lets out a sigh.

    “That match...that X-Division meant a lot to him. He wanted so badly, so desperately to win and for him to come up short...I don’t changed him I think…”

    She stares off at something in the distance in silence. She grabs her coffee and takes another sip, and keeps hold of the mug this time.

    “Like I said, I don't know how to describe it other than something has woken up inside of him and whatever it is isn’t happy about being woken up…”

    “What’s not happy about being woken up?”

    The voice of “The Wildcard” fills the room as he walks in from his slumber. He walks over to Penny and gives her a small hug.

    “Oh nothing, just talking to myself about nothing really...

    Jason just nods and goes to grab himself a cup of coffee, and then joins her at the table. She subtly moves the camera to face him without him even noticing. He sits there in silence as he takes a sip from his black coffee, and stares out of the window of their beach house at the waves crashing on the beach outside.

    “You okay?”

    Penny asks from behind the camera. Jason doesn’t even look over at her when he finally responds.

    “Yeah...just thinking…”

    “Don’t hurt yourself now”

    Penny lightly giggles to herself behind the camera and Jason smiles at her little joke, but he’s still staring out the window.

    “What are you thinking about?”

    “How this world we live in in shambles. We’re living in some global pandemic now, people are in stores fighting over the last pack of toilet paper, and most of the world is on some kind of lockdown…”

    “It’s a pretty sad state of affairs we’re in right now…”

    “You can say that again…”

    He takes a sip of his coffee and finally turns to face her.

    “You know what though? This virus doesn’t scare me. It can’t stop me, it won’t prevent me from going to Fight Night and taking what should be mine…”

    “What’s yours?”

    Jason gives her a look, almost like how could she even ask that.

    “What do you mean what’s mine? The X-Division championship. Ever since Back in Business I just can’t stop thinking about how I came so close to regaining my most prized possession, but then it was ripped away from me by that lousy bitch, Michelle von Horowitz…”

    There’s venom in his words as he speaks that name, it brings him disgust just even thinking about it.

    “I’ll give her credit, she’s one tough bitch. All of us put her through hell in that match, we put each other through hell…”

    He rubs his forehead where the stitches are from the chair shot he took in the match.

    “Out of all people to pin though….why me? Why did it have to be me?!”

    Suddenly he throws his coffee mug at the wall and it shatters into pieces instantly, coffee splatters on the wall as well and on to the floor. He stares at the mess he just made, Penny didn’t even flinch after his outburst almost as if she’s used to this now.

    “The way she won it too...makes me sick…that bitch…”

    “I feel like every time I get one step closer, I take five steps back. I feel like I’m being pushed closer and closer to the edge, and sooner or later I’m gonna be pushed off that edge and it won’t be pretty…”

    “What do you mean?”

    “I mean, that I don’t know what I’ll do but it won’t be good I know that. Whoever happens to be standing in my way at that time, god help them…”

    Both of them remain silent until Penny speaks up again.

    “Um, who do you have this next Fight Night?”

    “This muscle head, Orion. I’m not even sure the guy can form a proper sentence because he hasn’t uttered a single word since he’s been here and he hasn’t even won a match yet. I’m not going to put him down too much but I do feel bad for him…”

    “Why is that?”

    “He has no idea what I’m going to do to him in that ring. I’m sure that that little manager lady of his is hyping him up right now while he lifts weights or whatever it is that he does in his spare time. She’s probably telling him how he’s going to make quick work of me because I’m nothing more than a broken down, piece of meat. He’ll believe it because he’s not capable of having his own thought or opinion but he’ll find out the hard way that she was wrong…”

    “Just because he’s big and he’s bad doesn’t intimidate me. If some virus that has caused a global pandemic doesn’t scare me, this guy’s chances are slim. All the muscle in the world won’t be able to stop the pain that I’ll inflict upon him as I make him beg for mercy, but as an old friend taught me there is no mercy and there is no escape…”

    “Maybe, just maybe, for the hell of it I’ll cave his skull in just because I can...I can do that right?"

    “I don’t think it would be the right thing to do…”

    “ mercy. Mercy is for the weak and I am not weak. I am full of rage and I am ready to unleash this rage and fury upon the poor soul that stands in front of me. I'm tired of doing the right thing, and whatever is inside of tired of doing the right thing. It's time I start doing way. It's time I take what is mine, by any means necessary and if that means cracking Orion's skull open with a steel chair...then so be it

    Jason gets up and walks away from the table and Penny shuts off the camera instantly.

    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business

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

  13. #13
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    Nova Diamond proudly presents:

    Before the scene opens and anything is visible, the only thing anyone watching this can perceive is smooth, quiet piano music playing. If one would want to track it down using programs like Shazam, it would return Schubert’s Piano Sonata No 20 in A Major, previously used in such films like 2001’s La Pianiste by Michael Haneke or 2014’s Palme d’Or winning Winter Sleep by Nuri Bilge Ceylan. Before anyone actually has more time to dwell on the music choice, the view also slightly opens in an ellipse shape, and slightly blurry and it moves around. Like someone is just waking up, opening their eyes and looking at their surroundings and by the way this person who is the point of view moves, you can most definitely tell he is very confused at where he ended up. The music is still playing while the room is getting clearer and clearer. First of all, the hypothetical owner of these hypothetical eyes is laying on a soft and red chaise lounge. The ‘eyes’ look back and see a huge wooden table with piles of thick books, having such titles as ‘The Psychopathology of Everyday Life’ and ‘Studies on Hysteria’, making this awakening a little bit more confusing. The ‘eyes’ turn to the wall, focusing on a framed diploma about psychology, belonging to a familiar name and a picture.

    “It’s a fake diploma. Don’t dwell too much on it. It’s only there because I liked the aesthetic, and believe me, aesthetics are very important to me.”

    The name of Nova Diamond on the diploma, the picture of him with his usual grin and finally the British accented voice that followed reveals the culprit who set all of this up. The eyes turn to wherever the voice came from, and the eyes see a black leather couch and Nova Diamond sitting on it, his legs crossed and with a bored expression on his face. He’s sporting quite the professional look with black shoes, dark grey pants below his waist and a grey sweater vest, an Oxford shirt and a navy blue tie. Wearing suits like that isn’t a foreign thing to Nova Diamond but one would bet he isn’t the type to wear round and thick glasses like that. Not that it isn’t suiting him though, anyone who pays attention to Nova’s looks could tell that the man could probably sport any clothing in the world.

    “Took you long enough to wake up. And I know I look good in these psychologist-like clothes, but it’s rude to stare like that. I would kindly ask you to stop looking at me like that, it’s highly unprofessional, and quite frankly, I'm a taken man.”

    Nova chuckles, looking at a golden pocket watch he’s holding in his hand before turning his attention to the point of view.

    “Yes, I’m aware I have a lot to answer for. For all of this, I mean. The question should be clear: What even is this? You’re wondering all about it. Why does this room exists? Why am I wearing these clothes? Why am I wearing these glasses and why there is a pocket watch on my hand? Well, there’s a funny story for all of that, and I’m sure you will be laughing too once you hear it, Donovan.”

    As Nova flashes a smirk, the person who is addressing here is very clear, it seems he has a lot to say to his future opponent in Fight Night before their match.

    “Maybe you will get mad too. If you ask me, the chances are you will probably do the latter more than the former. But in the end, it’s all about your reaction. For I am not you, and it’s something only you can know. Shall we begin?”

    Nova opens the pocket watch and shows the exact time to the ‘viewer’, or ‘Donovan’ as Nova is implying. The time is exactly 5:00 PM. Nova then puts the watch into his pocket.

    “I think we should begin by its history, since I know you like ‘time’ very much."

    Nova then claps his hands twice, making the music finally stop, setting everything in silence so the only sound that can be focused on is his own voice.

    "Psychology…is a field of study who exactly like many other studies who grew from philosophical studies, who was born in ancient times. It was studied by several civilizations like Egyptians, Greeks and Chinese. It slowly advanced as the times have passed and reshaped itself over and over until it has become what it has become. Today, it is a very important field of science as people who work in this field help millions of people every year about their psychological problems. And that’s…what I intend to do today, to help you. Maybe help you with a problem, or maybe uncover one you already had but didn’t know it yet.”

    Nova has a bright but insincere smile on his face now, and he’s giving a thumbs up before putting himself back together, coughing ‘professionally’ and continuing.

    “I should explain myself a little bit more, I think. Whilst a lot of psychologist have come and passed and had their names written in the field’s history such as Maslow, Pavlov or Thorndike, there is only one man who is known as the ‘Father of Psychology’, due to how many contributions he made to it, or maybe because he was too interested in mothers that it eventually made him a father by default, we may never know that, but we do know his name: Sigmund Freud.”

    He reaches to his notes on his nearby desks.

    “Well, according to my notes, Wilhelm Wundt is also considered ‘Father of Psychology’ even more so than Freud, but I think you get what I mean. Freud is the man who comes to mind first when thinking about it. And people who know Freud also know his interesting theories about sexual matters, especially the ones who involve children and their mothers.”

    Nova seems to be a little bit ashamed about the topic he is currently talking about. Not that anyone is blaming him.

    “I’m telling you all of this for a reason Donovan. Because if there is one person on the history of existence that used the word ‘motherfucker’ more than Freud, then it is you, Donovan. In your young life, you have surpassed the goddamn Freud himself about it. All the time, when I try to listen to you, you never drop those words out of your mouth. Fuck, motherfuck, all that shit… That, and your combined efforts with girls you pay to hang out with you and your expensive suits and your expensive watches. I’ve never seen anyone who fits the description of a ‘tryhard’ more than you nowadays, Donny. Don’t take much offense though, I think it’s better to be a tryhard than not to try at all. I mean, we still have people coming to the ring after losing 89 matches in a row and still not put any effort in, so that’s saying something for you, Donny. But I think you can still take quite a bit offense, because after listening to you I wonder to myself if Freud was right about all along.

    Still, you’re aggressive. You’re full of anger, you’re full of passion, and you’re full of arrogance. Maybe you’re all of that, maybe you’re none of that, maybe there is some another reason, or maybe no reason at all. I am here to find out.

    Or I would be if I had any sincerity in my previous words at all. Look, I know someone, who is as much as full of anger as you, as much as full of passion as you and as much arrogant as you. Maybe more than you too. And I want to talk to you about that guy, to tell you all about him. Like, come on Donovan, you couldn’t have possibly thought that I wanted to treat your psychologic disorders, or I was here because I desired to dive deep into the depths of your Oedipus Complex. I don’t care about what you have experienced in your childhood, nor am I interested in how you were shaped as a person as a result of possible traumas you may have gone through. Like I said, I only wanted to tell you about that guy. I’ll tell you, and you’ll sit back and listen so you can get the slightest glimpse of an idea about what I might do to you in Fight Night.”

    Nova takes a deep breath before continuing. He then takes a look at his pocket watch once again before putting it where it belongs. With a sad smile, he turns to ‘Donovan’ again.

    “I know…what it is like to lose. That’s why I do my best not to lose at all. Or at least, I did my best. But, a loss does not mean the end of the world…”

    As Nova’s tone goes quieter and softer, it is becoming rather obvious that Nova is trying to tell all of this to himself, rather than ‘Donovan’.

    “I…I know that, because I lost the biggest match of my life. It wasn’t pretty in the slightest. It was a match that I should’ve won at all costs and I failed, because of some mistakes I made, and yes, despite the fact that he is the biggest jackass in recent memory, Sullivan is a tough nut to crack.

    I lost, I’m not happy about it but it’s not like we can change reality, can we, Donovan? I lost, and while doing so, I have given Dave Sullivan a beating he will never forget in his life. Look, while I’m standing there and telling all of these to you, he is sitting back home, nursing his wounds. He’s beaten, bruised and broken enough to not being able to compete on Fight Night. We had the same match, but I will still be at Fight Night, in the ring, and wrestling you. I will be still in business after Back In Business, while Sullivan is out of business for the week. Yes, I lost, and you have come back from Back In Business with empty hands too, at least you didn’t get pinned, except for me.

    I’m telling you all of this because this time, you will be pinned, or submitted. For I know that if I want to get back on track after Back In Business, I have to rip your fucking head off, Donovan.”

    Nova’s tone gets more serious and intense at the last part, quite the contrast from the uncertainty when he talked about his loss against Sullivan. His eyes now bear a sharpness to them as well.

    “But I really don’t want you to think that I’m brushing you off as nothing. Don’t think I’m just seeing you as a simple step, or just another brick in the wall. Well, you can’t think that even if you wanted it because as somebody who pays off a narrator to sing your praises, I don’t think you would be physically capable of thinking that. You’re an interesting man, and I believe that’s really a shame they put you in front of me for this week. Because I’ve been following you and you have been slowly climbing the steps everyone climbs to get to some degree of success. You have won some matches, you were in a very important match at Back In Business, you even had an interview with Gabrielle which no doubt solidified your status as a rising star. But honestly, those mean nothing at all, at least to me. You won a few matches, that lead you to be a part of the X Division. I won a few matches, and I was gunning for the FWA Championship. You have been in a very important match at Back In Business, I was in the main event. For you, Gabrielle is someone who let you borrow her spotlight a little bit because she felt generous. For me, Gabrielle is someone who I more than once pushed around to get her out of my spotlight.

    No matter how good you think you are, Donny, you aren’t me, not as good as me, not as half as good as me, not as a quarter as good as me. What I brought to FWA is an entirely new age. An age where the status quo turned on its head. Against my age, The Diamond Age, what you have is a fucking hour. 60 fucking minutes, 3600 fucking seconds.

    But of course, I don’t want you to think yourself as worthless, Donovan, nobody should leave a session with his psychologist feeling like that. You’re a good man, but you’re an unlucky man, you’re a man who is in the wrong place, at the wrong time and against the wrong person.

    Like I said, Donny, I have to rip your head off. I hope you won’t hold that against me.”

    Nova smiles, it isn’t his usual bright one, it’s more of an intense and cruel one. Nova reaches to his pocket and takes his watch again, once again showing it to ‘Donovan’. It’s 6:00 PM.

    “Believe me, Donovan. I can go on and on and explain to you why at Fight Night, you will receive a beating that will go onto history books as a beating that will have no other…

    ..but I’m afraid our time is over.

    The Hour…has come to an end.”

    Nova smirks and waves at ‘Donovan’, before the pair of ‘eyes’ close once more, bringing this little 'psychotherapy' session to an end.
    Du bindest einen Blumenkranz...
    ...wieso siehst du so traurig aus?

  14. #14
    Chikara Trainee

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    Apr 2011
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    The Home of Alyster Black - March 1st 2020

    It’s a late evening. The night sky is clear, illuminated by a full moon and a beautiful field of stars. The crickets are chirping and inside the home of Alyster Black sits our hero. Unmasked, wearing a red satin robe. Lounging on a rather expensive chair illuminated by the warm light radiating from the crackling fireplace. Polishing off his fifth glass of scotch for the night and having a lively conversation with a terrifying home crafted doll. The doll of course is modelled after our new FWA North American Champion; the ‘best’ friend of Alyster Black himself, Krash. It sports buttons for eyes, of which one is barely hanging by a thread. Has a tuft of hair sewn into the head which is a little bit too large for its awkward cotton stuffed body. The face drawn on is missing a moustache, an error that Alyster was happy with because as he says 'that moustache looks stupid and anyone sporting its like shouldn't be allowed to leave the house'. Around its waist sits a championship belt, crudely made of tin foil and cardboard, a new addition to the doll's wardrobe that Alyster had crafted himself.

    "Congratulations on the title win my friend. It was hard fought and you earned it, really."

    Alyster raised his glass to the doll, giving it a warm smile and nod of approval.

    "Did you see my match? I was spectacular. I took Captain El Franko's head clean off with a lariat in what had to have been the fastest win in the history of Back in Business."

    He leaned back in his chair, resting his weary head against the cushion. Holding his glass up and shaking it from side to side, watching as the mind-numbing liquid inside swirled around, entertaining himself with such a simple gesture.

    "I feel better than I did the last time I tried to come back. It was too early for me to return then. My body wasn't ready for it and it cost me so much. But this time? I'm stronger, faster, smarter even. I won't lie, my joints hurt a lot more post-match than they used to. I barely got a scratch on me during that match but I feel like I was in a car wreck.:

    It would seem that the doll was speaking back to him.

    "What do you mean by that? I'm not too old and broken down! A mid-life crisis? I'm thirty-six! Besides I never got nearly as hurt as you have during your illustrious career. Also, your moustache is stupid and you should shave it off!"

    Alyster dipped his head in shame.

    "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that. I just...I miss you. I miss the banter and the comradery and no I'm not going to call the real you. I left you and disappeared for years when you needed me the most. How could you ever want to speak to me again? It'd be unfair to just show up out of the blue."

    A combination of guilt, and shame washes him. He brings the brandy to his mouth to try and dull the pain some more then eyes the doll. Scowling at it, lamenting at how ugly it is, how badly constructed and at the same time how beautiful. It was a gift made by a young fan and sent to Alyster just a few years prior. A matching doll baring Alyster's likeness had found its way into the trash the moment he had seen it, but not the Krash doll. Alyster knew he couldn't discard that one like he had his best friend.

    "I can't believe I'm talking to a doll...when did I go insane?"

    He asked the doll, having realised that spending his nights talking to it was not the healthiest thing in the world to do. The liquor called to him in that moment and he answered it, finishing off his drink in one quick motion. Letting out a sigh as his throat burned. He put his glass down and swore that he would cut back on the drinking starting tomorrow. Then he rose from his seat and retreated to the bedroom where he hoped he would slip into a short coma and skip experiencing the daily hangover he was accustomed to.

    An undisclosed location - March 17th 2020

    Alyster stands in front of a large blank canvas, wearing a black t-shirt, blue jeans and his signature mask. He's cradling a bucket of red pain in his arms.

    “Greetings FWA. It’s your good friend Alyster Black here. I just wanted to take the time to speak to you all, especially you Mr. Eli Black. On our next edition of Fight Night, you and I have a date. Not in the romantic sense of course, that’d be incest or something. No, I mean we have a match together. We’ll be doing battle on a canvas much like this. Applying our art for all the world to see. You see we have much in common Eli. We’re both Black, both professional wrestlers, and most important of all, we’re both artists.”

    Alyster pops open the lid of the paint bucket and throws the paint at the canvas. He quickly puts down the bucket then reaches out with both hands. Spreading it around making sure damn near every inch of it is covered in crimson.

    “Your art is a little more refined than mine. I’ve not actually painted since kindergarten but please do bare with me.”

    He spreads the paint to all corners, except for the bottom right corner. He leaves that blank. He reaches into his pocket, ruining his jeans with his paint covered hand and takes out a black marker. He opens it, sniffs it, then squats down to sign his work.

    “Do you like it? I call it “The Ring After an Alyster Black Match.” There’s not much for interpretation here so I’ll spare you the explanation. I just wanted to take the time to announce my interest in the X-Division of FWA. I love the changes that have been made and I want in. I want to join in the violence and fun that the division promises to be. You see in my heyday I was quite the accomplished garbage wrestler. I can swing a chair as easily as I can throw a punch and I have been stabbed, punctured, cut, smashed, mutilated, and crushed in that ring. Hardcore wrestling is nothing new to me and to be honest I get off on the pain.”

    He finishes signing, dating, and writing down the title of the piece then sits down besides the canvas. Crossing his legs and looking into the camera.

    “That X-Division title match at Back in Business was a thing of beauty. Bodies were broken, lives were shortened and hearts were broken. I was jealous watching that from backstage and not being able to join in.”

    He throws his head back and sighs.

    “What I would have given to have been in that match. I signed up to FWA too late. Ah well, I’ll make up for lost time by beating you Eli. I’ll even teach you a valuable lesson while doing that. See, I watched you eliminate yourself in that hardcore match. You speared Donovan Moore clean through a table and knocked your own ass out. Taking yourself out of the match and costing you a chance at winning the X-Division title. While I do appreciate the sacrificial play, it was stupid. Did you see my match at Back in Business? I picked up the quickest and most dominant victory in the history of Back in Business. At least I think it was, I’d be surprised if there was any match as one-sided as mine was at the biggest show of the year. Anyway, my performance, it’s something you should try an emulate. Instead of throwing yourself through tables you should try to throw other people through them. But you don’t seem to have a mind for matches like that. I do, I was bread for those sorts of bloodbaths. I thrive in them. Not to say that I won’t kick your ass in a regular match, because I sure as hell am going to lay your ass out and pin you clean. But I think you’ll learn something from the experience. At least I really hope you do.”

    Alyster shrugs his shoulders.

    “I can’t force you to take my advice. Or to take me seriously, I’m not dumb I know how everyone looks at me. Like I’m Krash’s Janetty. That’s fine, you can all underestimate me. I prefer fighting from the bottom and shocking the world. But don’t any of you say that I didn’t warn you after this is all over. I’m putting the entire FWA roster on notice, especially MvH. I know what I want, and I’m going to take it. I’ve been a champion before, I will again. I proved at Back in Business that I am still dangerous and that I have not lost a step.”

    He stands up and picks up the bucket.

    “Here’s a gift for you all. A unique experience. I’m going to let you all see the world as I do right now.”

    With those words he reels the bucket back and then throws the remaining paint at the camera. Covering the lenses in red. The screen goes entirely red then fades to black.
    Last edited by Sayer; 03-23-2020 at 11:42 AM.

  15. #15
    The Mayor of Slamtown
    Sayer's Avatar

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    Aug 2014
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    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020



    "I am cold like December snow
    I have carved out this soul made of stone
    And I will drag you down and sell you out

    Sand. Nothing but sand, as far as the eye can see. Imperial County, California, The southern segment of the San Andres fault, 168 miles from Los Angeles. An unkind sun beats down on the peach colored grains of virgin glass beneath Michael Garcia’s Adidas. The camera pans out and we see him jogging along the fault line, his headphones in his ears and his Galaxy S8 in his hand. “Judas” by Fozzy continues to play.

    Embraced by the darkness, I'm losing the light
    Encircled by demons, I fight

    Garcia pants heavily as he runs, sweat beading down his head as the sun glistens off of his wet hair. Mike’s eyes look intent, as if they were fixated on something, when in actuality he is staring off into nothingness, his mind wandering as the rock music blaring through his earbuds creates a soundtrack to his wayward thoughts. He doesn't notice the piece of deadwood on the ground, which he trips over. As he falls, he feels as if he is in slow motion. He hits the ground with a sickening thud and his face cracks open over a sharp rock. Blood pours down from his nose and down his lips. He doesn't make a sound, no whimpers, no groans of agony, he just lays on his back and touches his face, staring at the blood that's now on his fingers. He lays there for a moment, opening his eyes wide, peering up at the sky in all of it's vast limitlessness. Vultures are now circling the sky ahead of him, perhaps mistaking Michael for a dying animal. Garcia sits up and catches his breath. He looks at us, the audience, as he sits in the sand, his elbows resting on his knees.

    Garcia: We are born into this world naked and afraid, innocent and impressionable. Over time, our environment plays a pivotal role in determining the type of people we become. Did we get enough love from our mothers? My mother was a virtual saint. Did we get enough attention and guidance from our fathers? I sure as hell didn’t. Were the teachers in our school patient enough to mold us into the future leaders of tomorrow, or were those teachers just waiting for 3:00 to come so they can get home to their TV shows? Maybe it was because of my presence, but every damn one of them bolted before the hammer hit the brass! Were other children friendly to us, or were they rotten and venomous due to the failures of their parents before them? Despite what they may tell you, you DON'T choose who you become, you are molded that way, either by love and dedication, or indifference, abuse and neglect. Losing my father at a young age taught me how to value inner strength equally to my outer strength, and it's also helped me cope with loss in other areas of my life. Death, trauma, sacrifice, they are all things I'm well adept at handling due to my childhood, which was hard and unforgiving, but also peppered with love when necessary. Now I find myself dealing with yet another loss on the grand stage and I find it harder than ever to just let go. I look at Cyrus Truth and I have to wonder, what type of environment made him the "man" that he is today? Did his mother show him the affection he needed? Did Krash's father teach him how to be a man, teach him about the responsibilities and honor that comes with being one? The answer, made evident by his cowardly sneak attacks and the sopping wet vagina between his legs, is a big NO. Was Mike Parr loved and adored by his young peers, or was he teased, picked on or even worse, ignored completely? The answer, made evident by his constant need to be surrounded by stable mates and allies, let's me know that "friends" are not something he's had much of growing up, and in turn, he has no idea how to treat them when he has them. What would Kevin Cromwell’s mother say if she saw the talentless piece of disrespectful trash he was today? What would Knox’s father say if he saw the way his son starts fights with sucker punches and cheap shots, only to run from the fight when his opponent is ready for him? All those kids that teased me in school, what would they say if they saw him now, twenty something odd years later? They'd display shock and disgust but they wouldn't take credit for the monster the created, and that's to be expected, because we live in a world where everyone bitches and moans about what's wrong with the world today, but no one takes accountability.

    Mike stands up and brushes the sand off of his legs and arms. He begins to hike down the path along the fault line. Garcia grabs a pack of Marlboro Lights from his pocket and lights one up before stopping and staring off into the sun with the rays of light glistening off of the bead of sweat that poured down from his forehead. Garcia took a long drag off of his cigarette, before flicking the ash down into the shaded sand.

    Accountability is a foreign concept to most everyone in this match. Kevin Cromwell’s career has been riddled with failure after failure and he's never once looked at himself and asked "What I am doing wrong?” Mike Parr just can’t seem to break from the North American Championship picture to the main event and instead of asking “What can I change?", he bitches and moans and that's because, to him, it's never his fault. It's FWA management, it's a conspiracy, it's the fans! Krash seemingly makes enemies out of everyone he looks at and instead of saying “Maybe it’s me…Maybe I need to show some respect to the company that I invaded, and take a step back so that those who busted their ass for years before me cn get the opportunity that they deserve!”, but no…it’s our fault for not being welcoming enough to you. Whatever excuse Parr can come up with to distract everyone from the fact that his heart isn't in it 100%. I've had the world shit on me, far worst than this punk bitch has, but do you see me crying about it, week in and week out? Do you see me pissing and moaning about how unfair life is? I’ve had to deal with people not believing in me, ostracizing me, calling me the biggest choke artist in FWA history, proving them right, and in that entire time, I wasn't flooding FWA content with conspiracy theories on how Im being held back, requesting pity parties on my behalf.

    When I came back, I went on a mission and I didn’t dwell on my past. I didn’t let what happened with Phillip and Viktor affect my confidence. I had something to prove, and I demanded a match against Cyrus Truth as my first match back, so that I could show the world that I could stand toe to toe with anyone, even the man that is widely regarded as the best in the business. And…in true Michael Garcia fashion, just almost exactly like what happened at Back in Business, I took a Hall of Famer to his maximum limit…and then I came up just that much short! The difference between my match against Cyrus Truth and what happened at Back in Business is that when I lost to Cyrus Truth I immediately went backstage and I fired Jerry, and I blamed the fans. “How could I be so wrong to let such insignificant little pissants like the FWA Universe get in my head?” I was wrong. What happened at Back in Business has hit me harder than any loss that I’ve ever taken in my entire career. Jeremiah Jones didn’t cost me that match against Cyrus Truth. The fans didn’t cost me that match, either. It was an excuse to cover up just another failure. Trust me, you mongoloid inbred motherfuckers, aren’t worth the gum on the bottom of my size 17s. I don’t know whether it was the way my head hit the mat when Devin Golden delivered that top rope RKO, but something in me snapped ever since then. I don’t know if it’s a good thing, or a bad thing, but I walked into that match with a sliver of self-doubt, and when I sat in the corner of that ring and I watched Devin Golden holding his right arm in the air on that stage, I suddenly became very…vulnerable. Very insecure. Embarrassed. And I WILL NEVER feel that way again. The old Michael Garcia would have said exactly what the other mouthbreathers I talked about would have said. The old me would have blamed anyone and everyone in my vicinity, but I want you to come in close, so that my next statement can be heard with the utmost clarity, and that there is no misconception about it.”

    The camera does exactly what the giant requests, because well, when a seven foot man tells you to do something, you best fuckin’ do it.

    “Devin Golden beat me at Back in Business because on that night, he was the better man.”

    The camera pans back out as Garcia bows his head and wipes the sweat from his brow before taking another hit off his cigarette. He notices a rather large log behind him and rests his massive frame against it. A squirrel scatters from the area, possibly mistaking Garcia for a bear. What is it with these animals mistaking Mike with largers animals? Stupid bastards.

    “If any of you think that was easy for me, than it’s probably your first time ever hearing me speak. Just because I’ve started to come to terms with my recent failures doesn’t mean that I enjoy doing it. Believe me, I’d much rather be talking to you from the comfort of a beach chair, drinking a Muay Thai on the sandy beach, celebrating my victory over Devin Golden and holding it over each and every one of your heads. Defeat is always a bitter pill to swallow, no matter what the circumstances. This one went down with the pleasure aftertaste of a rotten egg. When I sat there alone in the ring, with 87,000 strong chanting unspeakable things at me, it truly ranks up there as one of the worst moments, if not THE worst moment in my entire career! Some might even say that it’s the defining moment in my career. I don’t know. The only thing I DO know is that it’s a feeling that I never want to experience again and it’s a feeling that I WILL NEVER EXPERIENCE AGAIN. Back in Business may not have been the golden ending to Devin’s career like I had hoped, but what it will be is the resurgence of mine! I don’t know why Lord Vinny Blueballs decided to throw my name in the hat for the Elimination Chamber, as I would have assumed the man still has the same disdain for me that I hold in the bottom of my heart for him. But maybe after the wars we’ve been through together, Vincent actually gained some respect for me. Lord knows, I didn’t gain any for him, but I guess that’s what happens when you mercilessly beat the ever-loving shit out of somebody for weeks on end.

    Maybe that’s it…we all know how much Vincent loves to see violence and brutality. Vince knows the brand of “wrestling” that I bring to this match. He gets that by putting me in there that he’s almost guaranteed to see Krash thrown through a pod. He’s guaranteed to see Gabrielle’s flawless caramel skin ripped open as her face is pressed against the cold steel and hshe screams out in agony. He’s damn well positive he’s going to see Cyrus Truth chokeslammed on the unforgiving steel floor, Kayden Knox sent through the ring with a Penduluum, Kevin Cromwell a bloody, broken mess as Mike Parr pisses himself watching it all in a pod, knowing his buddies can’t get him out of this one. Vincent will likely be stroking his micropenis between his thumb and his index finger as he awaits for the finish…the guarantee, in his mind, that despite all of that, Michael Garcia will have his shoulders pinned to the mat and walk out of that chamber with the same broken, dejected, soulless demeanor that I did at Back in Business. I’m not foolish enough to believe that Vincent put me in this match with any hope of me winning, but that’s exactly what’s going to happen. There isn’t a man, or woman, in this match that’s going to make me feel the way I felt at Back in Business. I can’t go back to that place. I WON’T GO BACK TO THAT PLACE, because I don’t know if I can come back from it again. That place, that torturous pit of hell that sits deep inside of me, it took a lot out of me to have to fight the many demons that live down there. I will not go back to that place. No one, not Devin Golden, Cyrus Truth, Kayden Knox, Gabrielle…Dave Sullivan, himself, will not make me go back to that hell! I will not return!

    Gentlemen…Gabrielle….I need you to understand something. When you all enter into that chamber, you are entering into the ring against a promising upstart who’s got an unextinguishable fire in his belly, a highly skilled mat technician that can make even the most stubborn warrior submit or pass out from the pain, the longest reigning North American Champion in this companies history, a useless hack from the CWA that absolutely no one respects, the veteran goddess who has literally done it all and has been in more of these matches than anyone else, and then, as much as I hate to say it, we have the man who has been the face of the FWA for the past God knows how long. I just know that it’s been TOO long. But what you all need to know is that despite all that, we haven’t even gotten to the most dangerous man in the match, yet. I could remind you all that I’m seven feet tall. I could remind you all that I’m 375 pounds. I could remind you of exactly what I am capable of doing in matches just like these, where there are no rules and there is no disqualification. All of those reasons combined conceivably make me the most dangerous man in this match, but all of that is null and void when you look at my past history in big matches. All of those reasons combined are why I SHOULD be considered the most dangerous man in this match, but the REAL reason I am is because I will DIE in that ring before I go back to that dark prison in my soul. I will end LIVES in that ring before I return to that broken state. I said before Back in Business that I was walking in as a man with nothing to lose, and I couldn’t have been more wrong.

    Garcia sees his destination in the horizon. Bombay Beach, California, located near the southern part of the San Andreas fault line. It's a bit in the distance but as he comes down over the hill, he can see the glistening water off on the horizon. It's a welcome contrast to the hot dry sand he's been trekking through.

    I’ve still got something more to lose…and I absolutely refuse to let go of it again. Because I’m simply not sure if I’ll ever be able to regain it. And as much as I despise Blackbird and I despise his reasoning for putting me into this match, I couldn’t be happier that he did. It’s knowing that I had one more opportunity to shut up my haters that pulled me through that pit of despair. That one last opportunity. That…is what I have to lose. Because it truly may be my last. For the Kayden Knox’s and Kevin Cromwell’s of the world, their chances are just beginning. Gabrielle has earned her place. Krash can get one whenever he decides to kiss the champions ass again. Mike Parr just has to let the tears run down those puffy baby cheeks of his.

    Mike Parr, this next part goes specifically to you. It doesn't MATTER that you've been here 7 years, it doesn't MATTER that people who've debuted behind you have shot to the top faster than you, it doesn't matter how long you've been waiting. If you think ANY of that matters, you are a fucking idiot. TIME doesn't matter, what matters is what YOU DO WITH THAT TIME. And ever since you dropped that North American Championship what have you DONE in that time? You were supposed to take the FWA by storm! You were supposed to be the next big thing! But you took some L’s and started mailing it in. You think the world owes you something, you think that all you have to do is sit on your ass, collect your paychecks and in due time, opportunity will come your knocking on your door. That's the stupidest saying, "opportunity knocks." Opportunity knocks for no one, opportunity is illusive and you have to CHASE it. And believe me, Parr, I’m the one person that can say that to you, because if there’s one damn thing you can learn from me it’s this: I’ve been in this company for Nine Years and have yet to hold a single championship. I’ve been knocked down, put down, and lost more big matches in big situations than I can count, but…in 9 years, I’ve not ONCE took an opportunity for granted. I show up each and every week, continuing my journey to the top, and God as my witness, I will fucking get there whether you, or Gabrielle, Knox, Krash, Sullivan or Cyrus fucking Truth stand in my fucking way!

    Garcia arrives at the beach, he takes his shoes off and wraps his cell phone and wallet in his shirt, leaving it in the sand as he approaches the Pacific ocean, placing his feet in the cool water. He walks out a bit farther and is waist deep before cupping the water with his hand and pouring it over his head . He does this a few times and the water beads down his bare chest and stomach.

    Garcia: When you've finally arrived at your destination, there is a remarkable serenity in knowing you had to take many steps to get there. Me, trekking through the hot sand to arrive at a beautiful beach, you could call that symbolism. Back there I fell down on the ground HARD but I picked myself up, I ALWAYS pick myself back up. My entire life has been me walking through a desert, landing on a tiny oasis here and there. You want to throw shade? By all means, do so, I'll only stand under it and welcome it. Before you enter the chamberlater tonight, Hold your significant othersand tell them that you love them, lie to them.. Hug your children and tell him that you are doing this for them. Whatever God you pray to, ask him for all the power he can muster and in the event that he can't, ask him to forgive you for being the weak, cowardly losers that you are. I tell you to do all of these things, because this is your DAY OF RECKONING. In that chamber, after I've thrown you through glass, slammed you on steel, and punished you with chain, you will look up at me and beg me for mercy. With tears in your eyes, blood on my hands and SHAME on your faces, you WILL BEG FOR MERCY that you don't deserve. I will look down on you, in front of your deities, in front of your families, in front of 50,000 people in the arena and nearly half a billion people watching worldwide from home, I'll look down on you and whisper: NO. Because I can’t….I won’t… I refuse…to...




    Garcia lays back in the water and floats on his back, looking up the sky as he had earlier when he had his back to the sand. There are no vultures, by now they should no that Michael Garcia is anything but dead meat. He looks up at a perfect blue sky, seemingly completely confident in his impending victory.
    Last edited by Sayer; 03-23-2020 at 11:32 AM.

  16. #16
    The Maniacal Martyr
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    Oct 2019
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      Country                    United States

    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    *A camera walks in to a beautiful elegant house, where inside, Alexandra Marie (wearing nothing but a robe) and hair that is held up by chopsticks, is blending something to drink, she stops blending when she notices the camera*

    "Oh, don't you guys knock first before coming in the door, uh what the hell guys?"

    *She takes the concoction, some strawberry vodka mix, of the blender, and puts it in her cup, stirs it a bit, then drinks a little out of it*

    *She lets out a sigh of relief on her good drink*

    “Aw, nothing like strawberry vodka to go good for outside. Anyways, since your guys are here, I figured I'd give you a good look of what a good looking lady is, not like that Penny chick."

    “So, you've been wondering what happened to Orion at back in business, well quite frankly, that match was nothing more than a stupid fluke. Kayden Knox came out of nowhere and beat him, that's illegal."

    *Alexandra takes a sip of the vodka more*

    "Sorry, I needed a bit more of that drink, I would like to forget that match ever happened. Orions is still unbeatable, and he'll prove it this week against Jason Randall and that bitch, Penny."

    *Alexandra walks around the kitchen a bit, thinking of plans*

    "Orion needs to take this seriously, I picked him out of a bunch of available clients I found at the gym, and if he fails me, I'll find someone else and he'll go back to being second at the strongman competitions."

    *The Cameraman looks at her weirdly*

    "What are you looking at me for? Orions a pet project, and he fails, I'll find other people, trust me, I managed bums from Boston more capable of producing wins than he could, he better get his act straight."

    *Alexandra takes another sip of the vodka mix*

    “God that's good, and it'll be more good once he wins more, more wins the better the money goes, and more money means more presents for yours truly, you see that pool over there?"

    *Alexandra points to the pool out back in the backyard*

    “Yeah come follow me, I'll give you a look and see."

    *Alexandra walks outside of her house, and to her backyard (cup in tow) with the cameraman to the pool*

    “You see that pool? I didn't need no trust fund like other people, I got that by winning a lot, I won horse races with sheer pull. I'm a winner, I'm bred for success, if I lose, I lose my savings, and I'd be stuck like those hobos ooogling off me on the internet."

    *The cameraman notices Orion near the pool doing exercises like squats and lifting. Alexandra gets Orions attention.*

    "Hello Orion dear, how its going?"

    *Orion grunts a bit before going back to exercise*

    “That's Orion for you, his actions speak louder, and once his actions do all the talking, my bank account will be ringing, because what Alexandra wants, Alexandra gets!"

    *Alexandra pulls out some sunglasses out of her robe pocket and puts on her face while at the same time she pulls the chopsticks out, thus her beautiful blonde hair is long down.*

    “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get a good tan for myself, so if you don't mind."

    *The cameraman notices as Alexandra takes off her robe, revealing her naked body, as she is naked, she applies some sunscreen and walks to a chair and sit down while the sun gets her a tan.*

    *The cameraman comes back an hour later and Orion already left the pool to use the home gym while Alexandra has gotten up and notices a nice tan.*

    "Not a bad tan at all, looking good. Hey are you still here? Go, go, now, get out of here."

    *The cameraman finally leaves as Alexandra takes a skinny dip in the pool.*

    *Alexandra yells out "Trust fund what the hell is that?" while swimming as the camera stops rolling*
    Last edited by Sayer; 03-23-2020 at 11:41 AM.

  17. #17
    Friendship King

    Smooth Jazz Wolf's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2011
    The Pillow Fort
    Rep Power
      Country                    Australia

    Re: Fight Night PROMO THREAD 03/20/2020

    Author notes:

    Yes, this is late. I fully understand and accept that I'll either be disqualified or have enough points reduced that I'm losing regardless. I accept that and don't mind. Figured something would be better than nothing, if only to help push the story along.

    My apologies to everyone in the Chamber match - Cy, ETE, Sayer, Prods, OMB, & AON. Y'all deserved a piece that had time and effort put into it, not an overushed mess from an overworked guy. Similarly, my apologies to the e-fed staff. You've been very lenient in this shit situation we're all dealing with now, and I'm sorry I was unable to properly use the extension given with my work schedule.

    This week sucked. Let's hope next week is better.


    To whom it may concern.

    Good tidings, everyone. Back in Business has come and gone, and with it, a most wonderful victory for myself. Who would’ve thought that I’d end up as FWA North American Champion within my first year in this company? Well, everyone, probably. Maybe they didn’t think it would happen this quickly, but hey, here we are.

    I’m rather pressed for time, so I’ll make this brief: Considering the impending orchestrator of demise in my own and six others impending future, my ‘State of the FWA North American Championship Address’ (the name is a work in progress) will have to be delayed until the Fight Night immediately following this upcoming one. You’ve waited so long, I know. Just a little bit longer, my darlings.

    So, with that in mind – Cyrus Truth, Gabrielle Montgomery, Mike Parr, Michael Garcia, Kayden Knox, and Kevin Cromwell: I’d like to formally introduce you to hell.

    You know, that doesn’t feel like the right term, now that I consider it. Can it truly be any crueller hell than what Kevin Cromwell fought through at Back In Business? Can this Steel Roulette bring forth any worse pain than what poor Cyrus suffered in the flames? Any worse pain than Kayden Knox and Michael Garcia having to deal with people openly doubting them time and time again? Or Mike Parr having to go home empty handed after losing his treasured North American title to a handsome upstart with the moustache of a god? Or Gabrielle Montgomery, who... Hmm. Come to think of it, Miss Gabrielle, you had a near-perfect Back In Business, didn’t you? You set your blood rival on fire, for goodness’s sake. If that doesn’t get a point across, nothing short of stabbing a knife into his heart will.

    Speaking of, please don’t do that, Miss Gabrielle. I know yourself and Mr. Truth will never see eye to eye, but I like working in the same building as Mr. Truth again, even if he’s not quite as social as I recall.

    But I’m getting off track. The question is, can whatever happen in the dreaded fearsome Elimination Chamber be anything worse than what we all went though, or could’ve gone though, at Back In Business? The pain, the anguish, the heartbreak, both potentially and realised? The simple answer is yes, it can.

    Sadly, I speak from experience.

    In my career, I have only competed in one Elimination Chamber. Which, quite frankly, was an experience I would’ve been happy not to go through again. Alas, Mr. Blackbird has other ideas. His lust of casual and wonton violence must be satisfied. Never mind the fact that this easy PPV level bout is taking place on a random Fight Night with zero build, or the fact that one competitor is suffering from a third-degree burn, or... No, stop it, you’re getting off track.

    Take my hand, as I take you on a journey through memories of a twisted and horrific night of pain and suffering.

    It was a cold September in the year 2017. Only three years ago, and yet, it feels so much further. CWA, and yes, yes, I get what you’re going to say, ‘boo, hiss, the dead company is threatening our livelihood, hush the invader before he steals our wallets’, or something equally insipid. You sound like an idiot. Be better. Looking at you, Mr. Garcia. I know you’re capable of being better than that, even if you don’t.

    Where was I?

    Right, yes. CWA hosted an event called ‘Retribution’, with the main event being the second Elimination Chamber match in the company’s history. Or as it was referred to, the Steel Roulette. Which slides right off the tongue like butter on ice. It was myself, the champion Jon Snowmantashi, the lich Lilith, a young rookie named Prince Ali, another current FWA star in Nate Savage, and the Star of Tokyo, LIGHTBRINGER. You know, I never found out what LIGHTBRINGER’s real name was. If he had one, that is. Perhaps one day I’ll start writing my name in all capitals too.

    Anyway. We all prepared as best we could for the upcoming slaughter, but none of us, save for Jon Snowmantashi himself, truly knew what we were in for.

    Once those doors were locked shut, our careers changed forever.

    We should’ve known. Out of the participants of the previous Steel Roulette the year prior, only two were left to continue fighting in the ring - Jon Snowmantashi himself, and Johnathan McGinnis. The remaining four all vanished from the ring over the span of that year. Enigma, Johnny Vegas, Harrison Wake, and Michelle Von Horrowitz, found one reason or another to leave CWA behind them. Perhaps the experience within the Chamber, battling with the darkest violent desires man can have, scarred their very soul. It happens. Miss Horrowitz eventually came back to wrestling, but to FWA, long after CWA closed it’s doors. I have yet to say the same for the others.

    That year, myself and five of CWA’s best tore each other apart for Jon Snowmantashi’s CWA World Heavyweight Championship. We put each other through the purest of hell for our own personal gain. And you know what?

    I succeeded.

    Nah, I’m pulling your leg. If I won that chamber I’d never shut up about it. I lasted until the end, which is a bit of a consolation prize but not much to brag about. Irregardless, the match itself had a lasting impact on my soul. For weeks, months even, my body continued to move with the aches and bruises the Chamber gave me. I could see, no, I could feel, why this slaughterhouse of a match drove people to quit.

    Why am I telling you this? Surely it would behoove my chances to allow the rest of you poor souls to go into this rat trap unprepared for what bastion of suffering and anguish lies ahead of you?

    Perhaps, as much as I’d like to win, let alone survive this upcoming bout of barbarianism, I don’t want any of you to allow yourself to be so heavily scarred from this experience. Because that’s what this match will do – You go in without knowing what you’re in for, and this machine of mayhem will grind you up, spit you out, and forever leave a stain on your soul. I’d like for all of you – yes, even you, Mr. Garcia – to be able to walk out on your own two feet, staggered and bruised, but ultimately in one piece.

    Walk out with a loss, of course, but walk out alive to fight another day regardless.

    So, when you invariably find your face being smashed against the glass of the pod, or ground against the chains of the walls, please know, that I’m not doing that out of any malice or desire to see any of you on the injury list. I’m a wrestler, not a sadist. I do what I have to do to win. If that means stooping to a low I swore I wouldn’t, then, well... I suppose you can talk to AJ Tornado about that.

    Though I’d prefer you wouldn’t.

    Some final notes:

    Mr. Parr. I would like to give my utmost condolences for your loss at Back In Business. Take solace in the fact that despite your loss, you proved that the competitor that could conceivably reach the next level in our business still shines within you. Additionally, the fact that you went and battled against myself alone, when you didn’t have to, speaks volumes about your character and your well-founded belief in your ability. There are times when I don’t know whether to despise or admire you, but for now, know that there’s no doubt that you’re in the upper echelon of the FWA talent.

    Mr. Garcia. We must stop meeting like this. People will soon start to gossip, and we can’t have that, can we? Michael, you’re likely feeling down, feeling dejected, feeling upset and angry and oh wow so many emotions. I’m aware how much a victory over Devin Golden, at the biggest stage of the year no less, would’ve meant to you. You have my sympathies. I’ve certainly lost my fair share of big matches, as you’re doubtlessly aware. You have a chip on your shoulder, something to prove, you’re big and you’re strong and you have a godamned hockey stick, you’re the biggest threat in the blah blah blah let’s skip the prattle, shall we? I’m not saying anything no-one already knows. Michael, in the wake of Back In Business, now is the time to look at the drawing board and see what’s working, and what isn’t. Perhaps this Garcia Against The World attitude, whist not unfounded, may be a bit out of date? I know you’re capable of so much more. I only wish you knew too.

    Mr. Drake, kindly address this letter to Mr. Knox. Kayden, you’ve suffered setback after setback, to the point where it broke you. This may surprise you, but I’ve been in your shoes before. You’re in a bad place, mentally, but I believe you can make your way out of it. It’ll take time, it’ll take effort, but I know that a day will come where you’ll look in the mirror and be content with what you see.

    Mr. Cromwell. Would it be remiss to drop a ‘Rock Me Amadeus’ line? You’ve probably heard it before. If there’s anyone in this match more suited to the environment of the Chamber, it’s likely you. The X-Division title clusterfuck made for quite the practice round for the Chamber, so in an roundabout sort of way, you’re more prepared than anyone else. Just with less weapons, less area freedom, and more ample opportunities to use the chains as a cheese grater. The big money may be on the likes of Cyrus or Gabrielle, but honestly? I would say you’re the safe bet. You have the experience in dragging blood from an unwilling participant and the drive to prove yourself. In this Chamber, forget everyone else. You’re the real danger.

    Miss Gabrielle. You have the success. You have the momentum. You have the drive, the willingness to go through hell to get what you want. You proved it at Back In Business. Does that make you the most dangerous competitor in this Chamber? Considering you have the talking point of ‘hey I set someone on FIRE just last week, what the fuck won’t I do to win’, you might surely be. You and I have no ‘beef’, I believe the term is. You beat me once, fair and square. You refereed the bout that set Mr. Sullivan on his path to the FWA World Championship, and did so to the utmost of your abilities. I have no valid reason to hold any sort of grudge against you, aside from you setting a friend of mine on fire, of course. And yet, despite the horrific agony you forced Cyrus to feel, he knew what he was getting in to. He knew the risks. I won’t act on behalf of a man who can make his own decisions. I’ll act on my own desires to take another step forward into history. If those desires impede your own, then I sincerely apologise, but we both know the lengths we’d go to for personal glory, don’t we?

    And finally, Mr. Truth. Cyrus.

    I hope you’re feeling good, friend. Well, as good as one can feel after suffering a third-degree burn. A match like this, after the match you just had? I can’t lie to you, Cy. You’re going to be in a significant amount of pain. People are going to see you as a target, the former champion who still has name value in being taken down. That status, combined with this Chamber, and your current scars, means that this is not going to be a good night for you. I know what being the FWA World Champion means to you, and how your reigns lifting the status and legacy of FWA into something more will likely always be looked down upon by those around you. I know you want to win, maybe more than anyone else, even someone like Kayden. And I know you’re in pain.

    I don’t want to put you in any more pain than what you already are.

    At the same time, I’m not going to let an opportunity like this slip through my fingers.

    What ever shall we do, Cyrus? Hopefully we’ll get lucky, and one of us will be eliminated before the other enters the fray, so that this question of mine goes unanswered.

    Knowing our luck, it probably won’t turn out that way.

    Hoping for the best for you, Cyrus. For all of you, one way or another.

    Kindest regards,

    The current FWA North American Champion
    The Heartbeat
    The White Wolf
    The Moustache Maverick



    Somewhere, in the cold dark of the nighttime desert, a lone man digs at the sand.

    The rusted, steel blade of a silver shovel was thrusted into the soil, lifting a clump of sand and tossing it aside, before repeating the motion again. And again. And again.

    Somewhere in the distance, the cracks of thunder and the flashes of lightning echoed. The Dark was on its way.

    Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, the man paused, stopping for a breather. He wore a brown overcoat over a tan waistcoat, white shirt, and black trousers - Hardly suitable attire for digging a hole in the middle of the night. The cold wind sent a shiver down his spine, as the man raises a palm against his objectively fantastic moustache, letting out a rattling cough. His gaze observed the hole he had excavated in the ground, before flickering to the item sitting on the sand beside him.

    A lantern. Or, more specifically, the fluttering wings of Light hovering within it, quietly observing the man's action.

    Krash shook his head, crooning, as he gently placed a palm against the thin glass. "Don't look at me like that." He whispered, almost beggingly, his emerald green eyes almost invisible in the night. "This needs to be done."

    The unidentifiable figure of Light buzzed slightly, maybe turning towards Krash, maybe turning away. It was difficult to tell, being a shapeless metaphysical form of the Good and Heroic attributes of our hero, reduced to a shrivel of a fluttering spark. Either way, Krash's words didn't seem to have the reassurance Krash wanted.

    "I know," Krash continued, as he returned to his grave digging task. "I know, I don't want this any more than you do, but you'll be safe here, I promise. The road ahead of us, it's not a road suitable for the likes of us. You, what you are, what you represent, you don't belong in this world, as much as it pains me to say so. I proved it myself just a few nights ago."

    Another shovelful of sand landed next to the lantern, and Krash paused to fix the flittering Light with a meaningful glance. "But you know that, don't you? The day I stopped pretending I had more Light within me than I actually had, was the day I cemented myself in the history books of FWA. The FWA North American Championship lies within my grasp, and all it took was admitting my greatest sin." A pause, a correction. "Well, greatest sin that they know of. And if all goes well, it'll stay that way."

    Light floated up and down, meaninglessly. Krash let out a sigh, and returned to the task at hand. "Look. I'll come back for you, alright? One day, when I need you the most, I'll come back. I swear. I can't say when, but you'll just have to trust me."

    Light tilted itself quizzically, wordlessly, yet the meaning was obvious.

    Krash let out a groan, and pointedly refused to look at the judgemental idea of Light carelessly bouncing in the lantern. "Because, the world we're in isn't a world for things like us! We've been over this! I don't like it any more than you do, but if I want to survive, much less succeed in this world, then I need to cast away the limitations you give me! I need to embrace the horrible, flawed person I am! I need-"


    Krash stopped his tirade mid-paragraph as the blade of his shovel stuck something solid. He straightened, and shot a questioning glance at Light. Light, being a formless metaphysical representation of morality, lacked any facial features to return the glance, however it seemed to shine closer to the glass, as if it was trying to peek at the item Krash had found, buried in the dirt somewhere in his backyard.

    "Damn you, curiosity." Krash muttered, dropping the shovel aside as he knelt down in the grave, finding a grip on the solid object and yanking it loose from the soil. It was a small, grey box, featureless, made of metal. Completely and utterly ordinary, aside from the fact that it was buried in the desert.

    Krash held the box to his ear, shaking it gently. No sound. Was there anything in there? Was it even worth cracking it open?

    "Is this your doing?" He asked, as if Light would suddenly develop a voice and respond to his incessant plea. His eyes squinted suspiciously, glancing between Light in the lantern, and the box in his hands. The Dark thunder clapped in the distance, sounding distressingly close, and Krash let out a grunt of annoyance. "I don't have time for this! Neither of us do! The Dark storm is coming, and if you're not with me or in the ground, it'll obliterate you! You know this! Quit distracting me with meaningless lunchboxes!"

    With that shout of frustration, Krash threw the silver box at the sand next to Light, where it flipped open, spilling it's contents onto the sand. A glint of gold, black, white, against the orange brown sand.

    A thin piece of fabric.

    No, not fabric. A mask.

    Krash's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as he took an unconscious step back, nearly tripping out of the grave.

    The empty mask stared up into the night.

    The Light in the lantern stared curiously at the mask, edging closer to the glass.

    Lightning struck in the distance, casting Krash's shivering shadow over the mask. For the briefest of moments, two pinpricks of light - pinpricks of Light? - resided within the empty eyesockets of the mask.

    Krash squinted. "Alyster?" Krash whispered softly.

    Light flittered in his direction.

    Carefully, Krash approached the mask laying in the sand, and gently lifted it up in a hand. Clumps of dirt and soil stuck to the mask, as he turned the mask in his fist to gaze into the carefully crafted mesh eyesockets.

    "I don't... Why?" He asked. To Light, to Alyster's Mask, to himself, before he shook his head. "Is it too late? Have we passed that point, burned that bridge beyond recognition? Surely we cannot. I'm a backstabbing shit, I can't just turn around and pretend to be the good guy again. It doesn’t work like that. Even if the only person it matters to is myself, I can't lie anymore."

    Krash frowned, and raised the mask to his face, pressing his forehead against it's. He let out a breath and closed his eyes, words going unsaid, as the flickering Light watched, occasionally glancing at the oncoming storm of Dark in the distance.

    "But I have a chance now.” Krash spoke, the tone in his voice shifting from a dejected rumble into a confident purr. “A chance to be the Light in the Dark. Of course I couldn't tip the scales in Light's favor before, I wasn't a champion, I wasn't a somebody. But now, now I am. I hold the cards, hold the bargaining chips, hold a championship. A platform to create a beacon of Light in this world of Dark. Maybe, maybe now I can help spread change, before it's too late. I don't have to pretend to be the hero, but if I can help someone else be that hero, then... Then that can be my redemption for the sins of my career."

    With one hand wrapped around the fabric of Alyster Black's mask, and the other clasping the lantern of Light, Krash carefully got to his feet, rising from the grave he had dug, and faced the storm of Dark, ripping towards him.

    "Maybe I can be the Light in the Dark, just for a little bit longer."

    Raising the lantern, and the Light within it, as the Dark mist of the storm began to envelop him, Krash clutched the mask of Alyster Black to his heart. The Dark surrounded him, tried to swallow him, as it always did... But the Light shone through.
    Last edited by Smooth Jazz Wolf; 03-23-2020 at 11:35 AM.


    I'm not good at signatures.

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