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  1. #1
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    Sulley's Avatar

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    Post your promos for the 10/30/20 episode of Fight Night in this thread.

    Promos are due on October 24th, 2020 that night at midnight pacific time, that's 10/25/20 at 3AM EST, and 8 AM British Time.

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

    There will be NO extensions unless due to COVID/Emergencies.


    If you are competing in the inaugural Gauntlet Championship Match, there is a 1000 Word Character Limit. This includes titles, quoted matches, etc. We will copy and paste your entire promo into a word count, and if it exceeds 1000 words total your promo will be DQ'd from the competition.
    Last edited by The Golden One; 10-24-2020 at 10:05 AM.

  2. #2
    Huggin' and Kissin'
    Tig's Avatar

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    We get a bird’s eye view of powder on a mirrored surface and in the reflection, we see a disgruntled looking Danny Toner. He is topless, his hairs a mess and there is a large welt forming under his right eye. He winces as touches the welt with two of his fingers. He looks down at the mirror and then flicks his gaze upwards to make eye-contact with his own reflection. With a slight sigh Danny leans over and snorts the cocaine up his left nostril in one heavy slug. Danny smiles at his own reflection and then pulls back from the mirror, reverting to a normal view. We see Danny is in a basic locker-room; indeed, the mirror was the only object other than benches and lockers in the room. But the room was not empty; standing mere feet away from Danny was his masked twin-brother. Danny looks at Donny and uncharacteristically snaps out at him.

    Danny Toner: “What!?”

    Donny eyes up Danny, considering confronting him but in the end shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders.

    Donny Toner: “I didn’t say anything.”

    Danny tries to push past his brother and out of the locker-room but Donny stands firm. Danny takes a step back and looks quizzically at Donny. Danny tries to push past again but Donny places a firm hand on Danny’s chest and stares at him without saying anything. Donny doesn’t move an inch and Danny actually shoves his head into Donny’s.

    Danny Toner: “Donny get the fuck out of my way! I swear to fuckin’ God if you don’t move I’ll put you nose across your face!”

    Donny Toner: “Aye, like you did to Alyster?”

    The cool response is enough to stop Danny in his tracks and he backs down from his brother.

    Donny Toner: “Danny, no bullshit. We still doing this?

    Danny doesn’t hesitate when confronted by his brother, his friend. The Danny Toner story isn’t all about him and he knows that.

    Danny Toner: “… Yeah, yeah. I’m still in.”

    Donny bumps fists and goes to walk out; no apology needed. Donny glances outside the room.

    Donny Toner: “Uh … you banging Goldsmith?”

    Danny Toner: “As in the interviewer?”

    Donny nods his head to which Danny shakes his.

    Donny Toner: “Looks like you got an interview then! Chop-chop Danny! Shirt – on. No actually; leave it off. Nose – cleaned. You’re good to go.”

    Danny walks outside and smiles at Katie-Lynn who beams upon seeing Danny. Todd Salum had done the big interview of the night with the debuting J.J. JAY! and Katie-Lynn wanted to get a scoop.

    Katie-Lynn Goldsmith: “Danny!! Quick word?”

    Danny hears Randy Ramon’s “Rise” begin to play in the arena.

    Danny Toner: “Aight, but really quick.”

    Katie-Lynn Goldsmith: “Unlucky in your match earlier! The twitter-sphere are already praising it, what do you think?”

    Danny Toner: “Alyster? Guys a complete prick. I don’t like ‘um and I don’t think he’s better than me but tonight … tonight he was. It’s gonna be hard to watch what happens to him now, I can’t help but feel it should’ve been me but … you know, it is what it is. But Alyster … well done and good luck. You and me both know the winner of this was getting a big opportunity and if you do well … I figure you’ll be looking me up again. The match being hailed as great? Doesn’t really matter when you’ve got a black eye and been looking up at the lights. I ain’t goin’ to lie … I been saying a lot of shit but I ain’t been backing it up; people can like me all they want and praise my performances but if I ain’t getting the job done – which I ain’t – somethin’s gotta change.”

    Katie-Lynn Goldsmith: “I thought you were great Danny and I think you’re being too harsh on yourself! You’ve mentioned Kayden Knox, who is one of your opponents for your championship match on Fight-”

    Danny Toner: “My what?”

    Katie-Lynn Goldsmith: “You do know you’re fighting to become the inaugural FWA Gauntlet Champion on Fight Night, right???”

    Danny does not know.

    Danny Toner: “Of course I freakin’ know, what do you think I’m out here to talk about? You wanna know a little somethin’ somethin’ about aul Danny Toner? I’ve had a grand total of one, count’em, one singles championship match in my life. People think this shit doesn’t mean anything to me? July 27th, 2014. Dates engrained in my mind. I lost to The Mist in an X-Division Championship match. Proudest moment of my life.

    That ain’t fuckin’ right. That’s six years since freakin’ anybody thought highly enough of me to give me a championship match. You know what? I’m gonna win that Grand Championship at Fight Night. Go to your bank account, withdraw whatever ya got, fly to Vegas and stick every penny on Danny Fucking Toner taking down the Grand Championship first time of askin’.”

    Katie-Lynn Goldsmith: “It’s the FWA Gaun-”

    Danny Toner: “You know what else? I ain’t gonna fuckin’ celebrate. Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Danny Toner ain’t gonna celebrate his championship win. I’mma sling that bitch over my shoulder, hold up my fist and walk right up that freakin’ ramp and ya know why don’t ya? I shoulda already fuckin’ been there. Six years? You gotta be kiddin’ me. I’m showin’ up late Katie-Lynn but mark my god-damn words – I’m makin’ up for lost time. You wanna talk about Knox? You wanna talk about the pirate? Jonas Johnson-whatever the fuck his name is? Mac? Don’t make me laugh, I’m gonna line’em up and punch the head off every freakin’ one of ‘em. Besides; I’ve got my secret weapon …”

    Danny smiles, winks at the camera and closes the interview off with his parting line.

    Danny Toner: “These motherfuckers don’t think I’m good enough.”

  3. #3
    All About That Ace

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    Black room. “Cosmic Horror” J.J. JAY!, mask on, is menacing in the shot. He takes his mask off immediately. Why even wear it? He looks livid.

    “WHAT THE FUCK is a Devil’s Night Championship Scramble?! What are the rules?! How the shit do I prepare? This is my debut goddamn it, give me a match with Bronco Wells! Let me face one of the Create-A-Jobbers!”

    He kicks a chair(?) in the dark then walks back to camera.

    “I know what you’re thinking. I know what you’re THINKING! No need to say it, Imma say it for you. Why this dude complaining? He got a title shot on his debut! Did I ask for a FUCKING Gauntlet Championship title shot? I GAVE YOU MY LIST! DID YOU SKIP IT BECAUSE YOU SAW TODD ON YOUR SCREEN? You think I wanna go through a Gauntlet every time I show up? No! No one wants that! AND THEY KNOW IT! Blackbird knows no one wants this goddamn belt. Look who’s competing! THE ONLY GUY WHO WON AT THE ANNIVERSARY SHOW WAS MAC. THIS IS A TITLE FOR LOSERS! I haven’t even wrestled a match and they’re calling me a loser!”

    Uncle turns around in the darkness and kicks open a door. The camera flies into the hallway behind him. The lens has switched to Night Vision for mood reasons. Looks like a haunted house!

    “And you know the worst part,” J.J.J! says over his shoulder, “By tossing me in with these LOSERS they limit MY camera time. THEY’RE TRYING TO PUT SHACKLES ON COSMIC HORROR! Why? BECAUSE LOSERS ONLY GET SO MANY WORDS. They don’t want to hear losers ramble on. They want them in and out. They’re thinking, with those limits, at least we’re avoiding those LOSERS doing those boring LISTS shit they do when they have lots of opponents. WELL YOU CANT STOP ME! I’ll do it out of spite. I’LL DO IT TILL WE OUTTA TIME!”

    J.J. J! stops at a door and kicks it in. There’s Danny F’n Toner. He’s see-thru. A ghost.

    “I forgot to mention but this is a GHOST HUNT themed promo! The theme is ghost are losers. Losers at life. And all these motherfuckers y’all are putting me in the ring with LOST. And I’m like a Loser Medium, conjuring these losers to insult them. Because they’re loser ghosts. It's their penance! Here’s ghost uno. The biggest fuck-up in FWA. Danny F’n Toner. Despite being a fuck up, THEY STILL PUT THE F’N ON HIS NAME ON THE CARD BUT THEY REFUSE TO TYPE MINE OUT! WHAT THE HELL?! DID HE WIN ANYTHING TO DESERVE IT? Danny F’n Toner, just saying your name is wasted words, I wish I was fighting Donny instead. I wish I was fighting the better brother! Why the hell does Danny get a shot after losing and Donny doesn’t after winning? Option B? Put a winner like Louis Valander instead! Shit don’t make sense. Honestly, I’m surprised you ain’t put Mike Valander instead of Mac. Anyways, look, Danny, I’ll be straight up, you should just not show up. It’ll be easier for me that way. Okay we’re running out of time, lotsa opponents to go. That’s all I got for Danny.”

    Uncle hustles out of the room and drop kicks his way into another room. Pirate themed. You know what that means: Ghost Yuna and Ghost Patches!

    “Y’all don’t know this but I got my BFF Reverse-Patches, a Beholder from the 34th Acquiterial Dimension filming this. And I told Reverse-Patches if Patches gets involved, FRY THAT ASS. We eaten Parrot for dinner! Yuna, you LOSER, BECAUSE OF YOU WE LOST THE DOG ADOPTION PAPERS DIVISION! ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS HAVE PATCHES DO LEG DAY EVERY DAY, FLY UP THE TOP OF THE LADDER, AND FLY AWAY WITH THE CONTRACT. And if he wasn’t strong enough, it would’ve been a funny spot anyways! And you know what, more evidence this match is for LOSERS, why is Yuna competing instead of Patches? Watch that match again, tell me Patches wasn’t doing most of the work? AND YOU LET THOSE IDIOTS THE DIVISION THINK THEY WERE GOOD BY LEAVING WITH A WIN TOO. Anyways, look, Yuna, I’ll be straight up, you just not show up. It’ll be easier for me that way. Okay, Reverse-Patches, teleport us to the next room! Time is ticking!”

    Boom. Teleport. Next room. Ghost Kayden! Probably staring at Penny pictures or something.

    “KAYDEN! KAYDEN! YOU PERVERT! YOU CREEP! Why do they even have you employed, you sick freak! You may have had the last laugh at the Anniversary show, BUT YOU’RE STILL A LOSER! That’s why you’re fighting for a title and Randall isn’t. HOW COME THIS DEVIANT GETS HIS NICKNAME ON THE CARD BUT Y’ALL CAN’T WRITE COSMIC HORROR? TYPE MY STUPID NAME RIGHT! Personal feelings aside, Kayden, I watched that match, you’re hurt, man. You shouldn’t be competing tonight. I don’t like you, but this is worker abuse. You should get a doctor's note and say you can’t come in. And if they try something, just call HR, you should be on a first name basis by now. OKAY LAST GUY! TELEPORT US REVERSE-PATCHES!”

    We teleport to in front of a door that says “Mac Michaud” on it. But J.J. JAY! doesn’t open.

    “Ha! Kidding! Mac won last week, he’s not a loser like the rest of them. They only got this room here because he'll get back to losing sooner or later, am I right Mac daddy! They didn’t even write his full nickname on the card too, I feel your pain Mac! See, they refuse to type M-"

  4. #4
    ☮ ☯ ⚛
    Sulley's Avatar

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    The Making
    of a Rabid Dog


    August 17th, 2017
    Pittsburgh, PA
    11:43 PM

    The young kid known as Ty Johnson is celebrating backstage. He just defeated Dan Dulaney and Tanner Gaskill in a triple threat ladder match, and has been crowned the winner of Ground Zero Season 1.

    His best friend Daiquan Andrews can be seen nowhere backstage not celebrate him.

    But there are plenty of others. Fans, stage crew, and of course the host of Ground Zero himself.

    The suited Dave Sullivan comes over and gives Johnson a slap on the back.

    Dave Sullivan: Congratulations man. the first day of the rest of your life. You just won a contract to the FWA!

    Johnson smirks at Sullivan.

    Ty Johnson: There's only direction to go from here right?

    Dave Sullivan: You bet. And with me mentoring you, you've got all the potential in the world. Derek Silver of just tweeted about 10 minutes ago that he predicts you win the X Championship within your first six months on the roster. I think you do it in three. You know, I'm somewhat of a legend with that title myself. I've won if three times, a record that ties Ryan Rondo.

    Ty Johnson: Why don't you come back and win it a fourth time then?

    Dave Sullivan: Eh, I've realized I hit my glass ceiling. I'm never going to be more than that...but have potential, and I'm going to get you there.

    Ty Johnson nods at Sullivan, optimistic and eager about things to come.

    Like he said, there's only one direction to go from here.



    July 4th, 2018
    Oklahoma City, OK
    9:31 PM

    Ty Johnson is sitting in the interrogation room of a police station. He's been in there for hours, after just getting arrested at his and his mentor's hotel room after the police found a suitcase of cocaine.

    An old white man with a badge that reads "Roberts" hasn't even given Ty a glass of water.

    Detective Roberts: So tell me again, how did your suitcase full of cocaine get into the hotel room?

    Ty Johnson: I don't know!

    Detective Robert: Oh, you don't know how your suitcase got in there? That's interesting. You didn't deny that it was your suitcase though.

    Ty Johnson: No, it's not my suitcase! Wait...

    Detective Roberts: If it isn't your suitcase, who's is it? This Daiquan Andrews guy? Sullivan?

    Ty Johnson: No...neither of them would do that.

    Detective Roberts: But you're the one with the history of drug use, right?

    Ty Johnson: I stopped...

    Detective Roberts: Then why are you here?

    Ty Johnson: I'm being set up...I swear...I didn't do this...

    Detective Roberts: Tell it to the judge.

    Roberts has had enough. He walks out of the interrogation room and slams the door, leaving Johnson alone to his thoughts.


    August 16th, 2020
    Brooklyn, NY
    1:01 AM

    The scene keeps playing over and over in Ty's head from just a few hours ago...

    MvH: “Ty, just listen, tulip. You strike me as a somewhat reasonable man. Better than those you got in bed with, maybe. There’s no reason for you to keep covering for him. It is in your interest to tell me the truth. Only then can you retain your place here. Your job. Your LIVELIHOOD. Don’t worry about repercussions. I offer you my protection. Come now, tulip. Confess…”

    She places the microphone down in front of his lips, and Ty - still face down on the mat - stares at the object in front of him. He forces himself onto his knees… and then pushes the microphone out of the ring! He flips MvH the bird!!

    And then she crushes him with a second Tiger Driver ‘98! Johnson is spiked head-first onto the mat, and von Horrowitz climbs up to her feet. She looks down at him, and shakes her head, climbing up to the top rope. She steadies herself, and then leaps off…

    Rod Sterling: “450 SPLASH!!”

    Christian Quinn: “She hooks the leg…”




    Everything that was on the line.

    Everything that was lost.

    Everything was starting to lock up. Ty Johnson won his appeal. He cleared his name, and got out of prison. He wrestled in Japan, got better and stronger. Became bigger, faster, smarter in the ring. He used his connection with Sullivan to get into the Tag Team Tournament.

    Sullivan was the most talented man on the roster. Surely they'd win the Tag Team Titles together...


    Ty got pinned.

    Ty got pinned not once, but twice.

    Not only did he blow it all, but Sullivan was pissed at him too.

    And now, after everything...Ty is getting blamed...Ty is getting blamed for something he didn't do...AGAIN. It was Oklahoma all over again.

    Now he's out of the job.

    He's got nothing...

    But there still might be one last hope.

    October 15th, 2020
    San Antonio, Texas
    12:02 AM

    Ty Johnson stumbles out drunk from the AT&T Center in San Antonio, Texas. Little did anyone know, he was in the crowd of the latest Ground Zero episode. Watching all these young stars like Caesar, and Lizzie Rose, Marcus McClain, Chris Peacock, and Koncho Hao make a name for themselves.

    Meanwhile, all Ty can think about is how much of a huge failure he's been.

    How can they make the winner of this season of Ground Zero such a big deal, when the winner of the first season was one of the biggest FWA busts?

    Johnson stumbles down the road, dropping his bottle of whiskey in the street and making his way to a 7/11.

    The thoughts kept going through Ty's head...

    Over and over again.

    He wanted to be better than them.

    Better than the guys like Blackbird and Sullivan who stoop so low.

    He was better...

    He was a good guy...

    No matter how far he gets pushed...he is a good guy.

    He knows it.

    He knows it.

    He knows it.

    Ty Johnson:

    I am a good person.

    Inside the 7/11, the sweat is dripping down Johnson's face.
    He is holding his hands to his head, having what many would be considered to be a mental breakdown.

    I am a good person.

    I am a good person.

    I am a good person.

    The young clerk at the counter who looks to be about 17 looks nervous, as he tries to address the situation. He's got a nametag on his shirt that reads "Ben J"

    Ben J: Uh...sir? Can you...

    Ty Johnson turns violently and screams at the clerk...

    Ty Johnson: I AM A GOOD PERSON!



    The clerk nearly pisses his pants as he runs out from behind the counter and outside of the store.

    Ben J: Just take the money! Please don't hurt me!

    Johnson is in a rage now.



    He tips over some shelves, knocking all sorts of twinkies and other snacks on the floor.

    He takes the hot dog cooker, picks it up, and tosses it out the window.


    I AM NOT.

    Sirens can be heard in the distance, as Johnson continues to wreck the store.




    October 18th, 2020
    San Antonio, Texas
    10:56 AM

    The buzzer from the jail door sounds off, as a man in a pinstripe suit walks down the corridor.

    The man's face can't be seen.

    Only his shiny black shoes, and his pinstripe pants.

    He is led by an officer with a name tag that reads "Gomez" who takes the man down into the lockup, and opens the door.

    Officer Gomez: Here he is. Take him out of here...dude's been sitting in there for like three days. I don't know who you are, or what connections you have, but I never expected those vandalism charges to be dropped just like that. But, whatever...he's free to go.

    Officer Gomez walks away, leaving the man in the pinstripe suit looking at a very broken animal inside the cage.

    He's shriveled up in a ball in the corner.

    A scruffy beard on his face that hasn't been washed in days.

    You look absolutely disgusting.

    The man looks up...recognizing the voice.

    You're free to go, Ty.

    The man speaks back.

    I am not Ty.

    Ty is gone.

    The pinstriped man looks on confused... and me...we are even now.

    You were looking at another prison term.

    Now? It's gone.

    Off your record.

    I don't owe you anything anymore. owe me now.

    Do you understand?

    The man formerly known as Ty Johnson looks up and nods.

    I have plan...a plan to get you back in the FWA.

    But you have to do as I say, when I say.

    The man gives an understanding nod.

    So, if you're not Ty Johnson...who are you then?

    The man gets up out of the corner, revealing how much bigger he's gotten since last appearing in the FWA. And by bigger, I mean he is huge. Probably on a bunch of steroids. It would explain the whole gas station breakdown.

    Holy shit...

    The man looks on. And with an intimidating look...he responds.

    Last edited by Sulley; 10-28-2020 at 03:51 AM.

  5. #5
    Dr. PushLinceDorado
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    October 21, 2020

    On the screen appears Saus X and another person. Saus X scaled the top rope, while the other person hit a Luchador with a 'Pumphandle Slam'. Saus X caught the Luchador with a 'Phoenix Splash' on the way down and covered him. And then the screen began to turn to static as a figure took a VHS Tape out. The figure revealed themselves to be Saus X, standing in a dark room. In the room laid nothing but a leather couch, an old TV with a VHS Tape Player, and a sledgehammer.

    "Welcome to my world. That video right there that you saw, that was the old me. The me that needed to rely on a partner to make my way in the business. But over time, I've changed. And at Fight Night, I need to make an impact. So what better impact than to analyze my opponents. Starting with an Alexandra Marie. She's a 'Daddy's' girl. She invested all her money into a failure of a star, and she has to actually work for her stuff. Which I applaud, making your way up. But I'll stop her momentum. I'll end her run early.

    X put in another VHS tape, which showed him and a large 6'10 man. He hit the man with 2 Superkicks and one 'XCution' for the victory. And the screen went to static again.

    "Next, we have Bronco Wells. Judging by his image, he'll be a credible threat. Defeating him would look good for me. I personally think I do my best around big men. I'd say he's on the opposite end of Alexandra."

    Saus X walked away from the camera and took it off the tripod. He went outside, and out there was a field. 3 dogs came running at him. One was a Beagle, one was a Black Lab, and one was a Cattle Dog/Pug mix. X grabbed some treats from a bucket and fed the dogs.

    "I live a simple life really. I live in the country, I have dogs, I watch TV. I don't need to work most hours of the day or to not work at all to feel happy. I'm fine with my beat-down van, my crappy TV, and my secluded life. Makes it so I can focus on getting better. And my training will pay off when I win at Fight Night."

    Saus X gave his signature 'X' before turning off the camera.

  6. #6
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    Hallowe’en. The one time of year where kids (and more infantilized adults) dress up in their favorite costumes to commemorate and indulge in countless amounts of candy, chocolate, alcohol, or whatever their particular poison might happen to be. And, in our corner of the world… ghosts, ghouls, vampires, zombies, monsters, ogres, and, um, Disney characters assembled in a large, white tent bearing the ‘FWA’ logo. Two individuals had taken on the tall task of hosting the cumbersomely-named FWA Annual Hallowe’en Spectacular for the Kids’. To get themselves ready, these two individuals dressed themselves in their best scout leader costumes. You had your khaki shirt, shorts, neckerchief, and some white, knee-high socks. The male of this pairing had opted for a sash that housed some badges that he had ‘earned’ down the years. One button in particular was larger in comparison to the others and read “the Grayson and von Horrowitz Connection” in green text on blue background. He spiced up his scout leader costume by pairing it with a pair of blue Air Jordan 1s. His counterpart, on the other hand, refused to ’wear a sash that would house any buttons that I didn’t actually earn’, but did wear a yellow neckerchief and a wide-brimmed scout-leader hat.

    Of course, if you’d had time to ask him, a certain FWA champion would’ve told you that he often helped out in his local boy-scout brigade back in Raleigh, and was actually a big supporter of the national outfit. Hence the attire.

    “I can’t believe I let you convince me to do this,” she said, stomping her plain black Vans every step they took towards the large group of assembled children.

    “Honestly, I’m surprised as well. But hey, we beat Mike Parr and Krash last week. I think we deserve some down time! We’re going to spread a lot of joy tonight! I think everyone could use some joy, don’t you?” Michelle could only shrug and mutter sure if you want to be all sanctimonious about literally EVERYTHING. She reached into the top pocket of her khaki shirt, produced a hip flask, and took a swig. Gerald rolled his eyes. “We’re about to be in front of perhaps five hundred kids who are here to have some fun. It’s Hallowe’en! Don’t be such a ghoul! Put your best smile on!”

    Gerald looked on as Michelle tried to follow his instruction and put her best smile on. But he could only look on in disgust. When she attempted to do so, her face contorted in ways he never considered quite possible.

    “Ahh! Alright, maybe don’t do that. Just don’t look all grumpy, alright?”

    After the event’s host had finished hyping them up, it was their cue to show up on stage. Gerald had his hands on his hips like a superhero for an as-yet and ultimately unexplained reason, while Michelle made an effort to wave to the sea of children. The infants were all cheers and smiles, eager to get the festivities going.

    “Hey kids!” Gerald exclaimed. “I am Camp-Leader Gerald Grayson and this is my partner for tonight - Michelle von Horrowitz!”

    The kids cheer and clap for the pair on stage.

    “I hope you’ve enjoyed all of the day’s festivities, but now it’s time… for the main event! Ten extra-'specially-lucky FWA fans amongst you will be having s’mores by the campfire followed by some scary stories, as told by Camp-Leader Michelle...”

    There’s an immediate buzz of excitement amongst the audience, which subsides a little when many of the children begin to realise that it’s von Horrowitz, and not Grayson, who will be occupying their time. Just then, a crew member carted a large, brass bingo ball machine onto the stage to a sense of general amazement beneath the big-top. Gerald was all smiles and seemingly genuine in his excitement, while von Horrowitz stood there and feigned a cheer with a lift of her arm. She reached for her hip flask, discreetly walking around the machine to take an unobserved pull. Gerald began to give the tombola a whirl before collecting a ball with a four-digit number. Ball after ball, each kid seemed happier than the last one… until it came to the final winner.

    “#6969 - come on down! You are the final member that will be joining us for s’mores and ghost stories!” Here, a disheveled young girl of about thirteen years old remains unmoved, staring at her ball with a passive non-reaction. The child’s mother signalled towards the stage, encouraging her to join the rest of the kids with a sense of general dismay. Finally, with a heavy sigh, the girl reluctantly gave in. Grayson handed back hosting duties and followed the lucky winners towards the side of the stage.

    They were led to the back of a mini-bus, and then to a camp-fire. When the group were sitting around it, Camp-Leader Gerald busied himself in handing out marshmallows and s’mores, even going so far as to offer one to each of the camera crew. Michelle simply stared at each of the assembled children in turn, deliberately placing them in discomfort until they’d turn away towards Gerald’s friendlier presence. All except the last girl, who stared back at Michelle with a blank expression, daring her to blink first. Eventually, sensing the unease that was descending upon their huddle, Gerald gave Michelle a nudge on the shoulder, snapping her back to attention.

    ”You promised us a story!” Gerald said, sitting himself down next to Michelle and crossing one leg over the other.

    ”Yes,” Michelle answered, looking into the fire. ”A story.”


    The floorboards creaked underfoot. Black, in an uncharacteristic burst of creativity, had likened it to the groans of the matinee audience at the Globe or the Palace, as if the room itself was deeply unimpressed by the series of paintings that adorned it.

    There were, or at least had been, two of them: Black himself, who you've met, and also Sir Kevin. Kevin, who had recently and briefly excused himself from the gallery, was a direct descendent (through the male line no less) of the great parliamentarian Oliver, and ran in the circles that may, by the vulgar, be termed high society. He accomplished the occupation of this social strata through his lineage alone, lacking the wit and charm to achieve it naturally. Black was not so lucky as to acquire such friends through birthright. The company he kept had to be worked for. As a struggling artist who had not yet sold a painting, let alone been exhibited, this sort of bourgeois hobnobbing had become a routine sales tactic. Any day now, Black thought to himself. The sales will come.

    He continued to meander about the exhibition hall and regard the paintings on display there. It was a collection of works from across the Atlantic, and Sir Kevin had paid both their entrance in order for Black to cast his expert eye over pieces that he was considering purchasing. Black compared himself unfavourably to each passing artist: the loud expressionist whose works screamed at you like the roar of music… the surrealist who painted real life through otherworldly metallic shades… the hopeful realist and his Spring-set landscapes. Black considered a piece full of blossom and hope for the coming year, and sighed to himself. He allowed his mind to drift to the two self-portraits that - almost by rote - he had created under the previous night's candlelight. They seemed in contrast to the thoughtful pastel strokes of the work he now observed: his art suddenly seemed drab, solemn, and thoroughly pedestrian.

    "You are not them," a voice said. Black, who had thought himself to be alone, turned to find the source. It wasn't Sir Kevin, who was still otherwise indisposed. Instead, a tall and proud man stood before him, dressed all in black and with the hood of his cloak pulled down across his eyes. There was no smile upon his face, but he looked upon Black in a kindly manner. "And you ask yourself why you are not them..."

    Black thought for a moment, his fingers running over the gold pocket-watch in his front pocket.

    "Their experience is not mine," Black answered. He passed his index finger over the light inscription upon the back of the timepiece.

    "Wise words," the stranger said, unmoving. "But hollow."

    The silence was tense. The stranger cast no shadow, yet seemed composed of shadow himself.

    "I know what you want," the Ghost stated. "And I can give it to you."

    Though the Artist was still young, he had already grown weary of such lofty promises, especially when delivered in a stranger's sickly-sweet words. By way of an answer, Black turned away, and stared again upon the canvas in front of him.

    "I don't need help. I will find it myself," he said, attempting pride but faltering in the delivery.

    "Who are you talking to?" Sir Kevin's voice - a softer and more familiar voice - floated across the room. Heavy, uncouth footsteps upon the floorboards heralded his entry. Black found the two of them alone, unmolested by the presence of the stranger.


    It was following this strange meeting that strange events began to plague Black's hitherto-normal life. On the way back to his apartment, he had run into the young lady Yuna, who he had not seen in a number of weeks. She was being called back to the islands by the Emperor, her diplomatic mission finally over, and had decided to finally make good on her promise to buy one of Black's paintings. She asked for a self-portrait, as if she had known that Black had busied himself in the creation of two the very night prior. When he had told her this, Yuna made it clear that she wished to purchase both of the works, but the Artist found himself unwilling to part company with both of them so quickly. As he again fingered the gold watch in his pocket, he politely declined, but fixed a price for one of the pair.

    That night, after a man from the Japanese embassy had arrived to collect the canvass, Black found himself looking upon the other. He'd given himself fine, straight features, the Strength of Youth, and clothes much more exquisite than any he currently owned. He looked down at the small pile of dirty coins that the errand boy had given him, and found that he was smiling at nobody in particular.

    "Feels good, doesn't it?" A low, solemn, and now known voice punctured the silence of the Artist's chambers. Black didn't need to turn around to know that the Ghost loomed behind him. "Your first sale, I assume?"

    Black again found himself looking down at the coins. Simultaneously, his pocketed fingers ran over the inscription on the back of his watch. Finally, he turned to face the hooded figure.

    “This was you?” he asked, a gloved hand pointing down at his ill-gotten loot. The stranger did not answer, though Black felt he already knew.

    “This will not be your last taste of success. I know that this is what you crave. I told you at the gallery: I can give you what you want. I will take you far along the road that you have only just begun to walk. But there is a price.”

    Black turned away from the Ghost, and looked again upon his own work. For the first time, he noticed that a dark figure loomed in a corner, veiled in shadow. He had no recollection of painting it, but there it was, plain as day. He leant in close, eyes tracing over the delicate brush strokes - his brush stokes, no doubt - that had given birth to this looming presence.

    “I will give you the things you seek: renown, respect, reverence. But for each victory, each step forward... a toll will be taken on this portrait. You will live on, and your legend will grow, but the consequence… the reality... will devour this work. Confined to the edges of a canvass, yes… but this painting will serve as a reminder of the things you’ve done, and this bargain that you now make.”

    Black’s eyes shifted uncomfortably from the painting to the pile of coins once more. Without a word, he nodded his subservient acquiesce. And then the Ghost disappeared.

    That very night, he began work on a new piece that he would eventually name Harnessing Storms. In the foreground, a tall tower stands amidst a raging storm. The bricks look old, as if a meagre assault might bring it to its knees. The storms, though, only dance around the structure, as if controlled by some source from within. In the skies, bats fly against the wind, bringing with them shadow so dark that all else seems to recoil from the blackness. When he stepped away from the piece and regarded it in its totality, he thought himself content. Rough around the edges, perhaps, and with more hunger than skill… but at least it showed ambition. Two days later, it was on exhibit in a West London gallery near the theatre district

    It was in the nearby playhouses that he first observed the Golden Girl that would become the object of most of his desire for the months that followed. She had long, strawberry-blond hair that flowed in curls to her shoulders, and sang with the beauty of a nightingale upon the Spring breeze. He would sit and watch eagerly, almost greedily, as she transported him to Ancient Rome or sixteenth century Venice or feudal Japan. The operas enchanted him most, and he’d fall in love again each night when she emerged onto the stage as a different character in a different costume. His Golden Girl danced upon the stage, wordlessly promising him that - one day soon - she would be his.

    A month after he had sold his second painting, Black found himself in a small South London coffee house, having afternoon tea with Sir Kevin and talking about his recent change in fortunes.

    "You sold another? What's that now: four? Five?" Kevin asked, watching on as the serving girl stirred a cube of sugar into his tea. He watched on with a lecherous gaze as she returned her trolly to the side of the room.

    "Six," Black answered, dully.

    "Go on then," Kevin began. "What's this one about? More storms?"

    "It's called Duality," he started. He was gesticulating with his hands, but in truth he was beginning to sound bored. "It's mostly variations on a theme of light. Different colours, in contrast, but used in a complementary fashion. One bringing out a kinder, more soothing tone in the other. But amongst it all there is discord, and a black shadow permeates the piece. Hungry and expectant. The forces that pull apart are stronger than those that tie together."

    "Well, I think there you have it," Kevin said, by way of an answer. Black began to stare out of the window. "Conclusive proof that people in London will buy literally anything. You might even sell that self-portrait soon enough."

    The memory of that particular canvass quickly ruined the rather pleasant scene that Black found outside the window. He had looked at it each and every night since the stranger's second and most recent visit, and each time he felt he found subtle differences. Sometimes it would be in the countenance of the subject: ostensibly himself but becoming increasingly more otherly. Or often it was the looming shadow that had changed: sometimes larger, sometimes blacker. Eventually, he would find himself cold and numbed by the canvass, and thus bury it beneath more recent work.

    He realised that he had been silent for quite some time, and so tried to meet Kevin's gaze. He found his counterpart staring across the room at the serving girl.

    "Maybe she has a friend," Kevin said. "We could make an afternoon of it. Unless you're still saving yourself for your actress?"

    Black just stared at him. He didn't feel the man had any right to talk about his Golden Girl. As had become a nervous habit, the Artist ran his fingers over the smooth surface of his pocket-watch, tucked safely away in his front pocket.

    "I've told you already," Kevin continued, on thin ice. "You're not her type. She has more… European sensibilities… I hear she’s always running with that wild Dutch girl. You know the one."

    Kevin smirked a sly smile. Black said nothing.

    Over the coming weeks, Black continued to frequent his plays and his operas, mostly watching whatever production his Golden Girl was a part of. But along with new wealth comes new habits and new vices, and more regularly Black found himself with men of less repute than his usual company. He took to visiting bordello halls and burlesque shows with the city's proletariat. He found these places garish and vulgar, but at least more direct and honest than the wine lounges and country clubs that his old friends still haunted. Eventually, greater success allowed him to move to a larger house in a more humble location. He thought himself free of the airs of his past life, but he was never free of his self-portrait. Each night, he found himself less sure of his authorship. In his new house, he hid the painting away in his attic, and tried his best not to think of it.

    The following evening, Black was walking down one of Camden’s notorious back-streets, searching out an establishment worth wasting his hours and his pounds in with two of his new associates. Trevor said little, and stomped around the streets with an arched back and an expression on his face suggestive of thorough dissatisfaction. Noah, on the other hand, walked with excellent posture, and attempted to dress like the gentlemen of the day, complete with top hat and tails. Black was never sure if this was in homage or in pastiche. It was Noah’s choice that night, and he took the trio into a dark and dank building, perhaps ten metres back from the road and shrouded in oak trees, their branches gnarled and weakened by rot. He tapped an irregular knock on the door, and a few moments later a wild, frantic eye appeared through an opening above the keyhole. It looked carefully at each of them, and then finally the door opened. An old man with a crooked back and pockmarked skin took their coats. Trevor continued to scowl at the world. Noah licked his lips greedily. Black did his best to steel himself.

    “Fill your boots, boys,” Noah said as he entered the main hall of the bordello. On the stage, a band played peculiar, fast-paced music that relied heavily on percussion and strings. It was like nothing Black had ever heard before. Upon the floor, a series of tables were full of men: some drinking, some smoking, some telling stories and roaring with laughter, and some gambling with dice or cards. It was just then that Black first saw the women, clad in scant fashion and a willing friend to anyone with deep pockets. Suppressing his anxiety, he felt around for his smooth gold pocket-watch, giving his fingers something to cling to. With the nail of his thumb he scratched against the inscription on its surface. A woman walked past the three of them as she made her way to the bar, snapping him out of his malaise in the process. She showed more than just shoulder, and Black hastily looked away, at the floor and at nothing in-particular. There were many more of them on the floor, and occasionally one would lead a stumbling gentlemen through a small door into a back-room. Noah found them a table, and the trio sat down.

    “Sold any paintings recently?” Trevor asked. Black did his best to focus on his companions, but found that both of them had eyes only for the serving girls. The Artist sighed. He knew what Trevor really meant to ask: do you have any money? Their company was easy, and sometimes even comfortable. He’d slid into it almost without realising, noting the simple life that the pair enjoyed and finding it desirable. Pairing up in such a manner gave easy protection and robbed a man of his ambition. It was easy to tread water in the shallows.

    “I’ve sold lots of paintings recently,” Black answered, reaching into his pocket and producing a crisp bundle of notes. He signalled over to one of the serving girls, without meeting her gaze. She promptly brought over a bottle of whiskey and three glasses.

    Hours later, a heavy curtain separated Black from the rest of the patrons. He had a long, wooden pipe in his hand, a smog laying heavily over his head. He closed his eyes and thought of the tapestries and paintings that now adorned every available square centimetre of his home. Shipped in from India and America and the Orient: silks and cottons and furs in striking golds and regal silvers and deepest reds. He smiled to himself, and felt a Peculiar Youth rush through his body. When Black opened his eyes the girl was in front of him, taking the pipe from his tired hands. Not his Golden Girl from the playhouses. He had not visited a theatre in several weeks, and now found it difficult to recall her soft, pale features. He wasn’t shamed by that realization. He was emboldened by it. He looked at the girl’s eyes, into the girl’s eyes, and she felt within him a fire and a warning. She recoiled slightly as the Artist stood, and when he returned her gaze she was certain that, for this night only, and for better or for worse, he had chosen her.

    The pipe and the bottle were his best and only friends in the coming weeks, and with low-born London scum he would stalk the alley-ways and back-streets that had, only two years prior, been the seldom-seen homes of the pitiful other half. Now, he was their leader, having gone into the secret spots of the city’s aristocracy and intelligentsia and found them wanting. He returned to the peasantry each night as a conquering hero, and he would take a new bride from amongst them to lay with. Each morning, he would paint visions sent to him by the divine, and play Robin Hood in the market-halls, allowing the enemy a taste of his genius if only they had the coin.

    Black began to work in his study on his next piece (a bold and abstract venture into expressionism depicting golden droplets being taken back in to dark, ominous clouds that he coined Dried Up Gold), and his mind began to turn - as it often did when he had a paintbrush in his hand - to the canvass that was still hidden in his attic. Naturally, this would progress into reflections upon the Ghost, and the promises that had been made. Promises that had been quickly and absolutely fulfilled. Lately, Black had been contemplating his turn in fortunes. He questioned whether he still needed the stranger and his sweet words at all, and whether he was ready to finally walk beyond the shadows.

    It was on one of these nights, as Black painstakingly applied the final strokes to the clouds of his latest opus, that the Ghost finally returned. When Black felt the presence, he placed his brush down on his work space and stood up from his chair. He saw the hooded figure, stone-faced and disguised by shadow, through the large mirror upon his wall. He didn't need to turn. He seemed frozen still by a force that he didn't entirely understand. Unnaturally and uncomfortably, he reached into his pockets, for the pocket-watch that would occupy his idle digits.

    "Is there a problem?" The Ghost asked, his eyes unblinking and his gaze penetrative. "Have I not given you all that you asked for? Fame. Fortune. High regard. Acceptance."

    "You speak as if you know my mind," the Artist returned. It was a statement, not a question, and something that he had felt since their first meeting.

    "Even if I didn't possess the gifts that I possess, your mind would be plain to me," the stranger answered. "I have given you the choices that you desired. And what did you choose? Base pleasures. Low ambition. You have taken my gifts and with them you have produced nothing. Tell me, Black: [i]which of your successes are truly your own? And worst of all, you have ignored the cost.”

    The next thing that the Artist knew, he was standing in his attic, the ghostly figure still looming behind him. He approached the old, three-legged desk that stood in one corner, a pile of ancient, unread books stacked up beneath the unbalanced corner. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, gold pocket-watch. It was untouched by time, but Black had not the energy to consider that irony. He ran his eyes over the inscription: it’s later than you think. Black attempted to flick the watch open, but it fell through his nervous fingers and onto the floor. Candles were already lit atop the table, and under their light he spread the canvass out in front of him, remembering why they were here. He surveyed the background first, noting that the details were still vivid and exactly as he’d originally painted them. The subject of the piece, though, was now barely a man at all. His face had become pockmarked with age, and smothered by shadows from unnamed sources. His gaunt features made his eyeballs bulbous and terrifying, and his teeth and hands were yellowed. The fine clothes had become tattered rags, and his hair had withered and fallen from his wrinkled head. He was in decay.

    ”He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.”
    - Samuel Johnson.

    Although the image of himself - his true self, given the life that he had led and the choices that he had made - sickened him, it was the growing shadow that terrified him most. What had once been restricted to a corner of the image now loomed ominously, directly behind the weathered and haggard man that sat in the foreground. Worse yet, the shadow had his hand upon the subject’s shoulder, and when Black regarded it he felt an icy touch upon his self. It quickly spread to his arm and his neck, and in horror the Artist turned around to face the Ghost. He still stood on the opposite side of the room.

    “You musn’t ignore the cost.”

    And now, at last, Black felt he knew the Ghost’s mind. For his promises seemed sweet, and only in this moment did the Artist see the obedience that was required in return. For the Shadow, though powerful, was also abstracted and removed. Aloof: perhaps purposefully at first, but now by a design that was beyond him. Black looked at the Ghost, and saw that he wished to walk amongst the living, and that the Artist was only the conduit he had chosen to use. With what he felt was his last available burst of power, Black turned and flailed his arms at a nearby candle, knocking the flame onto the canvas. It took quickly, and soon enough the fire was licking down the neat stack of books that filled in for the missing table-leg. Unthinking, the Artist reached for a nearby torch and thrust it into the flames. He turned, and with a feral anger in his eyes he lunged at the Ghost - -


    ”Um,” Camp-leader Gerald began, looking anxiously at each of the children in front of him. Nine were in various states of alarm, whilst the tenth was thoroughly disinterested. ”I think that’s enough story-time for one evening. No more s’mores, I’m afraid. Too much sugar right before bedtime! I think it’s time you all went back to the main tent”

    After doing his best to usher the children away with a smile on his face, Gerald finally rounded on his tag team partner. Although he was doing his best to affect a serious and reprimanding tone, he was - at the end of the day - dressed as a cub-scout leader.

    ”Michelle, I thought we agreed a short...”

    “It was only just over three thousand words.”

    “... age-appropriate …”

    “I skipped over all the overtly sexual stuff.”

    “... scary …”

    “It was about Eli’s career.”

    “... current …”

    “Oh, so... because Wilde isn’t on Twitter, he isn’t relevant?”

    “... ghost story... about our opponents!!”

    Michelle folded her arms in a show of defiance.

    “Oh, please, Gerald! The whole thing was about Eli and Cyrus. Do I have to explain it to you?”

    “We don’t have another three thousand words to waste!” He returned, turning away from her and re-approaching the campfire.

    “What would you rather I’d said?” Michelle said, her tone more conciliatory. “Speak your mind, and speak plainly. We’ve come this far with you doing precisely that…”

    For a moment, Gerald was deep in thought, staring into the fire and tapping his foot against the floor. At length, he began: slowly, quiety, and with a self-assured belief in the strength of his own words.

    “I signed us up to host this FWA event because I thought it would be beneficial for us to take some down time after coming off one of our biggest wins in the tag team tournament. We beat Mike Parr and Krash, Michelle! Not only that, but we’ve been in so many matches in the tournament compared to everyone else. Not gonna lie, it’s getting exhausting. But I guess I can’t fault you for thinking ahead of the game. That’s one of the reasons we’ve gotten this far in the tournament - because we’re always one step ahead of our opponents. If there’s one thing this whole saga has taught me, it’s to expect the unexpected from you. I give you simple instructions about telling the kids a scary story and this is what you come up with...”

    A sigh comes from Gerald expressing his disappointment, but he isn’t exactly surprised. With a shake of the head, he turns away from the fire to meet his partner’s gaze.

    “But you know what, this is kind of how our partnership works. We anticipate what the other thinks ahead of time. What the other needs ahead of time. I mean, if we, ourselves, don’t know what’s going to happen, then our opponents sure as hell won’t know what’s coming at them, right?”

    Gerald lets that statement sink in for a while as the pair grow silent. Michelle cocks an eyebrow, intrigued but unsure as to where he’s going.

    “Cyrus and Eli are one of the three remaining teams in the tournament and that should tell us that they’re a tough as nails team. Your story about Eli rings true... but let’s not underestimate him. He has gone through a lot in life and I can only see these things as motivation for him. Before this tag team tournament started, Eli was well on my tail, gunning for my X-Division title. When Cyrus came into the picture, he not only heightened the danger that Eli presents to myself but also to us as a team. We know about the accomplishments that Cyrus has in his career… both in the CWA and FWA. But this seems different. Having an ally as dangerous as Eli by his side, this is a whole new side of Cyrus.”

    Michelle offered no response and kicked at the dirt.

    “You have the motivations of Eli and the perfect storm in Cyrus - you combine those two together and they are a big threat to our overall goal, and that’s winning this tournament.”

    Michelle began to nod her head. Gerald placed a hand on her shoulder.

    “So, here’s my point: let’s not get cute with it. We know what we can do. We know what we are capable of. I think we both have belief in ourselves that this tournament is ours to win. So let’s freaking win this thing, alright?”

    Gerald gave Michelle a good smack on the shoulder. She responded by offering a fist bump and Gerald immediately offers one back.

    “Alright, well. Let’s get going. It’s getting late and I guarantee you, it’s past the bed time for some of these kids. C’mon.”

    He gestured Michelle over to the direction of the bus.

    “You go ahead,” she said, urging him onwards with a nod of her head. “I’ll catch up.”

    When her tag team partner had disappeared from sight, she walked past the campsite to the edge of the forest. She rustled a few branches until the young girl was roused from her hiding spot. She sheepishly emerged from behind a tree, a half-smoked cigarette in her hand. Michelle clicked her fingers and pointed at it, prompting the girl to give it up. The wrestler took a long drag, and regarded the girl reproachfully.

    “You’re lucky I’m not taking the whole packet.”

    The young girl folded her arms, staring at first at the cigarette, and then at the woman who stood before her, smoking her cigarette. The neckerchief and hat were particularly daring.

    “You know you look ridiculous, right?” The young girl asked. “I don’t need to tell you that.”

    Michelle nodded her head. No argument there.

    ”I’ve come all this way, and all I get is a lousy story?” The girl asked. She was more disappointed than ungrateful. Michelle reached around in her pockets, her hands finally finding her hip flask. She unscrewed the cap and finished the contents, before handing it over to the young girl. She regarded it carefully for a moment.

    ”Neat,” she offered, before wandering over towards the mini-bus.

  7. #7
    WC Hall Of Famer

    Jimmy King's Avatar

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    Jan 2010
    San Diego, CA
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    The Ultimate Goal

    * Exclusive*

    After their in ring promo where they announced their alignment with Vincent Blackbird, Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage walk through the curtain to the back in the entrance area and Jackson is still soaking it all in as he listens to the crowd chant a name that clearly isn’t his but he believes otherwise.

    Do you hear that Nate? They’re still chanting my name even after I’m gone!

    Nate gives his partner an incredulous look and shakes his head.

    Pal, I hate to break it to you but I don’t think that’s your name that they’re chanting

    Jackson breaks from absorbing the supposed love of the crowd that he believed he was getting, and looks at his partner in confusion.

    What do you mean? Of course they’re chanting for me! Don’t you hear it?! Fenix! Fenix! Fenix! See, listen for yourself!

    Man, they’re chanting for Chr-

    Don’t worry bud, they’re chanting for you too! Savage! Savage! Savage!

    Just then, an individual briskly walks past behind Fenix as he tells Nate all of this. The individual walks by so astonishingly fast that if you blinked you missed them! Nate saw the person walk by and shook his head and wrapped his arm around Fenix’s shoulder, he gives Fenix a look almost as if he’s saying “Sure Jan”

    Sure, okay pal, whatever you say. If that’s what you want to believe, anyways we should probably go check in with Blackbird now that we’ know...aligned with him...don’t you think?

    I think you’re right man, good thinking!

    Nate removes his arm from Fenix’s shoulder and the duo walk down the hall, and Fenix continues to ramble on about the crowd chanting his name.

    Man, I had them eating out of the palm of my hand! They were on the edge of their seats with every word I said, when they go home tonight, our announcement will be the most talked about thing from this show!

    *It wasn’t*

    Nate just nods along, letting his friend believe everything he says until they reach Blackbird’s office. Nate goes to knock but the door opens and Kayden Knox walks out, still showing signs of his match from earlier in the evening, blood stains on his head and chest. He doesn’t even acknowledge the duo, who look at him like he’s crazy, but they’re interrupted…

    Ah, my newest clients! Come on in!

    Nate and Jackson enter the office after shutting the door behind them, and they take a seat at Blackbird’s desk.

    What’s up with that guy?

    Oh, Kayden? Don’t you worry about that, he’s harmless!

    I saw what he did out there to that Randall guy, so I don’t know if harmless is the word that I’d use to describe him

    Blackbird smirks at Fenix and shakes his head.

    Kayden is a good kid, you don’t need to worry about him. As a matter of fact, he was just in here telling me how excited he is to work alongside you two now that you’ve joined our little family

    Fenix goes to say something but Savage cuts him off.

    That sounds great Mr. Blackbird, we’re looking forward to working with him as we are with you as well

    Nathan, please, call me Vincent or Vince, no need for formalities

    Nate is about to speak but Jackson cuts him off this time.

    Okay Vinnie, what did you think about what I said out there? Wasn’t it great!?

    Oh yes, it was wonderful Jackson, they hung on your every word!

    Jackson nudges Nate, who just rolls his eyes.

    See? I told you man, they loved it!

    Yes, they did and I loved it too! I loved it so much that I thought about who you will face at the next Fight Night!

    Jackson happily rubs his hands together, while Nate leans forward with interest.

    Who do we get, huh? Is it the Toner brothers? I don’t know why but for some reason those guys really grind my gears! Wait! It’s the tag champs isn’t it?!

    Even better than that, you get The New Breed!

    Jackson’s face falls flat and Nate leans back once more.

    Now I know that you’ve already faced them several times in the past, and even recently as well, but I want you to really show them what happens when they make a fool out of me and leave me like that and thinking that they can just get away with!

    Nate leans forward again and clears his throat.

    You know what? That sounds like a great idea! We don’t mind sticking it to those New Breed chumps one more time, do we Jackson?

    Nate nudges Jackson, who breaks out of his stupor and nods.

    Oh yeah, bunch of chumps they are! We’re going to make mincemeat out those clowns and show them why we are the superior team!

    Blackbird looks pleased with this as he claps his hands together.

    Splendid! That’s what I like to hear! Now, let’s go enjoy the rest of this show, shall we?

    Blackbird and his new team leave the office to go watch the rest of the show.


    Fight Night
    Scotiabank Saddledome in Calgary, Alberta, Canada
    October 30th, 2020

    Katie Lynn Goldsmith is standing by with Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage of The Undisputed Alliance, they’re in their ring gear ready for their match later in the evening with The New Breed and stand in front of a backdrop with a Halloween color scheme Fight Night logo plastered on it.

    Katie Lynn: I’m here with Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage, tonight in Calgary they face a familiar rival in The New Breed…

    Jackson Fenix: Listen Katie, I don’t mean to cut you off but honestly I don’t really care what else you have to say. The only thing I care about right now is tonight when Nate and myself decimate The New Breed and make them regret quitting on Vincent Blackbird…

    Katie Lynn: It is interesting you bring that up, now that you guys are aligned with Mr. Blackbird, will you guys operate any differently than before?

    Nate steps in to take this question.

    Nate Savage: Allow me to field this one, first off that’s a dumb question but to answer it no, we will not operate any differently and we don’t have a different mindset…

    Katie Lynn: Well, why align with Mr. Blackbird then?

    Nate Savage: Are you that dense Katie? You don’t get it, do you? Of course you don’t, you see we are with Vincent Blackbird because it is our mission to rule this tag team division and bring it back to its prestige that it once had before it was sullied by the likes of The Division and The New Breed, and with Vincent Blackbird at our side now we are closer to completing that mission than ever before and reaching our ultimate goal…

    Katie Lynn: That is?

    Jackson Fenix: Have you not been paying attention? Clearly if you had been you would know that our ultimate goal is to recapture the FWA Tag Team Championship, and by doing so we will bring back honor to this division and restore order that was lost. I said that we will do whatever it takes to reach that goal and I meant it…

    As for The New Breed, this is the rubber match between us. We handily beat them for the tag team championship in our PPV debut a little over a year ago, and they got lucky with a fluke victory over us at Division’s Rules. Tonight, we put this rivalry to bed and we put The New Breed to bed for good and you know what that is don’t you Katie?

    Katie Lynn: Uh...Undisputed?

    Jackson Fenix: Your timing is a little off but for once in this interview, you’re right...speaking of which, that’s our cue to exit…

    Fenix and Savage walk off leaving Katie sighing and shaking her head as the scene fades out.

    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.

  8. #8
    Hail To The King
    OMB's Avatar

    Join Date
    May 2017
    New York
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      Country                    United States


    Kayden Knox walks through the backstage area after his match with Jason Randall. Knox is clearly hurt wearing the scars across his body from the match with a pride as he makes his way through the backstage area. Kayden Knox watches yet again from the back as Penny is seen by the side of Jason Randall who is loaded into the back by the EMT's as they drive off with half of Knox's face being seen red from the lights of the car as it takes off into the night and a sick twisted smile on his face slowly appears. Knox turns to see camera's on him as they ask him about the match.

    Kayden Knox: I tell you this feels oh so familiar because not so long ago in almost this exact way Jason was the one to watch as Penny was taken away. Jason swore he get his vengeances on me tonight and he came at me with everything he had and he beat me one, two, three. Jason won the battle and they say that to the victor goes the spoils but the thing is Jason didn't realize is that this wasn't a battle this was a war and the one left standing was me.

    Kayden as he says the last line takes the blood on his chest which at this point has to be a mixture of his and of Jason's smears it across his face and lets out a scream.

    Kayden Knox: I begged. I got on my knees and I give Jason the loaded gun and told him to fire away now where credit is due he put his finger on the trigger and he fired away, however it would seem that he was firing blanks. I played Jason this whole entire time. I got him seeing red. I got him so lasered focused that he couldn't see the bigger picture.

    I got the man to agree to a match where his so called love of his life had to be chained to a steel cage and watch as the man that haunts her nightmare's beat the living hell out of her love. Jason winning was quite poetic wasn't it I mean not so long ago it was Jason handcuff and within inches watching me kick her skull in where now Jason wins it's almost out of a fairytale don't you think?

    Where the white knight slays the dragon after being beaten in the first battle. The hero Jason Randall and his dearly beloved thought that the last page was written but this is reality where fairytales don't exist and I was the one to take away something that is more then any physical violence could do. I took away the hope.

    Kayden Knox walk away into the shadows as he does this the camera spins around to then showing him emerging from the shadows and now staring through the windows on the outside of the hospital watching as Penny attends to a injured Jason who lays in the bed in a neck brace. Knox smiles watching as he takes a handheld camera and zooms into the window watching as Penny runs her hand through Jason's hair.

    Kayden Knox: I want you to remember something that is what a victory over me looks like and the spoils he was owed now belong to me. You people stared at me as if I was nothing that I was a bug that you could stomp under your feet and I used that for a very long time as fuel to fill my rage but the fact of the matter was that no matter how hard I tried no matter how hard I busted my ass off you still thought you were better then me.

    Times have changed I no longer give a damn what you think or say because you are all beneath me.

    You're insects that I will burn alive like a sick twisted kid with a piece of glass on a hot summer day. I could go one by one talking bout the men and women who dare step in my way but why should I?

    I see you all as a infestation one of which will not be left standing when you dare to step up to me. I was a victim for far to long. I was the one who was left to feel small to feel as though nothing you do matters. I had to live with that feeling for 27 years and I was left to break apart at the seams just to be taken apart time after time.

    Dr. Grimes once told me something that the word monster is not a noun but, rather to be a monster you go to do something monstrous
    . I did that when I kicked Penny in the skull and when I took Jason's eye or when I wrapped a weapon around his throat and snapped it like a twig.

    There is a pause for a moment with Knox looking away from the camera. He then finds the composure popping his jaw before staring right back at the camera.

    Kayden Knox: Now here comes the kicker. I wish I could tell you that I was sorry for what I did but I am not and that makes me a monster. How can you be shocked? When you are raised by monsters how can you be anything different?

    It felt so good not to feel so small. I am for the very first time the one that holds power and I refuse to go back to being anything else. I can't go back to the way things were before I can't go back to those daily wars in my head and I won't.

    Knox looks livid.

    If you try and take this away from me I will make you pay. I will not be guilty for the monster I was always meant to be.

    We then fade to black as Knox shuts the camera off.
    ​Sazh Katzroy Father, Friend, Hero


  9. #9
    Squash Fodder

    Join Date
    Jul 2015
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    “You never saw it coming, did you?”

    Protégé stands backstage a proud man. How can we tell he is proud? He’s got that smug sort of grin on his face that makes you want to sink your fist into the midst of his facial features.

    “Sean, not the detract from the mood, but who is this you that you are speaking to?”

    Sean faces his tag partner and throws him a look – the same type of look you would throw your flat mate who just walks in on you as you settle down to the chill part of Netflix and chill.
    “The communal you. The you as in everyone who didn’t give us a second thought, everyone who doubted us and everyone who laughed at us. The you who didn’t start protesting in the streets when we were omitted from the tag team tournament. The you who didn’t put us on the betting lists or the suspect list when they were wondering who could dare attack the in dominatable Michelle von Horrowitz. That’s who I’m referring to.”

    “Well…you know who I want to talk to. I want to talk to the Undisputed Alliance…and you know what, I’m not going to even give you the dignity of addressing you by name. Why? Because you are nothing to me anymore. You were never anything to Sean. We are above you now, we have been elevated far beyond anywhere that you could ever hope to reach. When Fight Night went off the air last time, you know what the entire world was talking about? It wasn’t the Undisputed Alliance…nobody has ever talked about them. It – “

    “Not true, I definitely talked about them watching their matches. Had to comment how shit it was to watch. One of my most popular TikToks actually.”

    “Thanks Sean..”

    The bigger of the two men is clearly unimpressed at being thrown off topic, but he has been tagging with Sean Hughes for far too long to know to expect anything different.

    “Nobody has ever talked about the Undisputed Alliance in the way that they have talked about the New Breed. They never shocked the FWA fanbase in the way that the New Br-“

    “Well I thought they were pretty shocking in that tag team tournament. You know…the one that we weren’t allowed to enter. How did they do again? Did they lose out to a bunch of cobbled together singles wrestlers? They didn’t even make it as far as Mike and Krash…you know, the two guys who nearly killed each other in Tokyo. Well….shocking might be too nice a description for that performance actually.”

    Prototype sighs, heavily. Heavily enough to indicate to Sean that if he interrupts him one more time, his next TikTok might be completed with a black eye or a busted nose.

    “I don’t mean to demean the Undisputed Alliance. They are former tag team champions. They have beaten us before. But us? We are different now. Back then it was all about protecting Mike Parr. It was all about boosting The Prodigy. Our tag team matches? They were just an afterthought, a curtain jerker or a card filler. And you know what we did even knowing that? We managed to win those tag team championships. I want you to think about that and try and grasp that. We weren’t trying, we were not focused and we still managed to stand atop your division and hold those belts. Imagine what we can do now that we are motivated? Now that we have our eyes fully focused on the task at hand. And that task….that task isn’t winning the tag team championships. That task is making sure that every child that takes a seat in the arena is scared of us. That any two wrestlers that dare think that they have what it takes to beat us take a look at what happened the last time someone tried to step up and they were slapped back down. The task at hand is to remind everyone why we attacked Michelle von Horrowitz and why Bell Connelly saw it fit to enlist our services. And when that moment comes…when the winners of this never ending godforsaken tournament emerges – they’ll be slapped out of the tag team division and back to whatever dark rock it is that they emerged from to take the New Breed’s place in that tournament.”

    With that, Prototype flings a paw at the camera, sending it into not just a 360 degress spin but probably a 720 such is the strength that he doesn’t know. The camera comes to a stop then as Protégé grabs the frame.

    “Back to you…”

    He points down the lens of the camera.

    “You tuned in and listened to this hoping for a follow up from last Fight Night didn’t you? Well tough. We will talk more when the time is right or when we feel like it. We will talk whenever Michelle inevitably tries to come after us only to fall short. We will talk whenever Bell finally shuts Michelle up once and for all. Michelle. Bell. Vincent. They can all wait because in the meantime we have some business to deal with. And because of your ignorance. Your naivety. Our business right now is not the tag team championships, they’ve been held hostage for months while you all fight over it. Our business right now is making sure that the winners of that tournament emerge to a new landscape, not one where the likes of the Undisputed Alliance are at the top of the contenders list. Not one where The Division can rename themselves something that is in direct contradiction to their actual performance. Our business right now is making sure that when you think back to 2020, you will think of the New Breed. The New Breed holding the tag team champions. Beating down a supposedly dominant champion and taking her belt from her. The New Breed becoming the talk of the company and not just Mike Parr’s lackeys. So when are are doing our year in review, the tag team of the year will be the New Breed. And that……that is undisputed.”

    Protégé tries to emulate the bigger Prototype and pushes his hand into the camera frame to send it on a spin, but unfortunately overcompensates for his lack of comparable strength. The camera therefore goes toppling and crashes to the ground, the scene naturally cuts to black.
    Last edited by TheProdigy; 10-24-2020 at 09:31 AM. Reason: spacing

  10. #10
    ☮ ☯ ⚛
    Sulley's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2013
    Pittsburgh, PA
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    The Girl

    Milwaukee, Wisconsin
    Wednesday, October 28th, 2020
    7:03 AM

    Saint Sulley walks up to a girl sitting in the middle of a training gym.

    The girl looks upset.




    Saint Sulley: This is only the know that, right Grayce?

    Grayce Riley: You don't have to call me that anymore. That's not my real name, and you know that. But let me say this, YOU told me they wouldn't find out we lied about my age. And just like that, all that training, all that hard's gone.

    I was the BEST person on that Team Goddess team. Joe Burr? Lizzie Rose? I crushed them. Nobody had the training and experience that I did.


    And that snake Forbes Rooney forces me off the show, when I turn 18 in TWO days.

    I am upset, Dave. I am...I feel like the last two years were for nothing.

    Sulley doesn't say a word, as he lets the girl continue venting.


    Miami, Florida
    Saturday, September 8th, 2018
    9:08 PM

    "The King" Dave Sullivan has just defeated Aaron Kendrick in a non titles match on Fight Night. Now he's celebrating in Miami, clutching his X Championship tightly everywhere he goes with pride.

    King Sullivan: I told everybody right then and there, that Aaron Kendrick was nothing to me. I made quick work of him, and that whole fake Jesus thing he was preaching.

    Sullivan continues to gloat with his entourage as they walk down the street.

    King Sullivan: Nobody can beat me. Not Kendrick, and not Kevin Cromwell. I dare that guy to fight me at MY home town. I will destroy him.

    And anyone else who tries to-

    Suddenly, Sullivan's words stop.

    Sitting in the street, looking like a complete mess, is a girl who looks to be about 15 or 16 years old. She's clearly been wearing the same clothes for several days, and is likely living on the street.

    Dave Sullivan: Well now...what do we have here?

    The girl looks up, with big sad eyes.

    Dave Sullivan: What is your name?

    The girl doesn't respond.

    Dave Sullivan: It looks like you could use something to eat. Come on...

    After a moment, the girl finally speaks.

    My name is Kleio....

    Kleiopatra De Santos.


    Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
    Thursday November 19th, 2019
    3:02 PM

    Somewhere in Pittsburgh PA...Dave Sullivan sits in his gym.

    Meanwhile a girl in the background is punching a boxing bag.

    Dave Sullivan: There you go, Kleio. Get that hook in there.

    Kleio continues to punch and kick the bag.

    Dave Sullivan: We're going to channel that Brazllian energy of yours. That's where you said you were from right?

    Kleio De Santos: Yes...I was born right outside Rio de Janeiro. But my parents immigrated to Mexico when was three. I live there for a year, before they tried to travel to the United States. But they were killed by some men at the US Border who considered themselves..."Freedom Fighters". I was just five.

    Dave Sullivan: Use that. Use that every time you punch, or every time you kick. I can tell Kleio, you have talent. You're going to be a star. Another year of training, and you'll be eighteen. I bet you could join the FWA right away.

    Kleio De Santos: You think so?

    Dave Sullivan: I know fact, I have a plan. The producers have been pushing to get me to do this show I did a couple years ago. It's called Ground Zero. Winner gets a contract straight into the FWA. We're looking at starting it this summer...

    Kleio De Santos: This summer? But I don't turn 18 till the fall.

    Dave Sullivan: Hmm...well...we'll figure it out.

    Okay, that's enough of the bag. Let's work on your BJJ submissions...


    Miami, Florida
    Thursday, October 29th
    12:30 PM

    Dave Sullivan walks into a small apartment on the south side of Miami.

    In it, is Kleio De Santos...who's surprised to see him.

    Kleio De Santos: What are you doing here? Though you'd be in Calgary.

    Dave Sullivan: Yeah, my flight leaves today...and so does yours.

    Sullivan throws a plane ticket down on the kitchen table where the two are standing.

    Kleio looks shocked, as she picks up the ticket to make sure it's real.

    Kleio De Santos: What is this for?

    Dave Sullivan: I told you I had a plan didn't I? You think I'd just let them disqualify you from the show, and that'd be the end of it? I don't think so.

    Sullivan pulls out something more from behind his back, a manila folder that he throws down again on the table.

    Kleio opens the folder up...

    Kleio De Santos: This...this is a contract. An FWA contract? How did you get this?

    Dave Sullivan: All you have to do is sign it. Happy birthday, kid. We're going to Calgary.

    Kleio De Santos: I can't wait to tell Sammie!

    Dave Sullivan: She'll be there too. She's just as excited as I am...I've got big plans for you kid...big plans.

    Kleio hugs her mentor, as the two get ready to head to Calgary, Alberta.

    Last edited by Sulley; 10-24-2020 at 10:35 AM.

  11. #11
    Cyrus Truth's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2011
    Long and Winding Road
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    Ties of Blood, Water, and Resolve

    The scene opens in Flatbush, Brooklyn. The sun is starting to go down and is creating a beautiful horizon across the apartment buildings. People of all types of backgrounds and creeds are on the street either shopping or just getting a bite to eat.

    This is the place Eli Black use to grow up before his family fell apart...before the lies, betrayals. Showing that just because someone has the same DNA as you? It does not mean they are for you. Eli is seen waiting in front of a grocery store dressed in a throwback Patrick Ewing Knicks Jersey, royal blue jeans, and Nike uptowns. He is sporting his signature black shades but pulls them and releases a big smile when he sees a familiar face.

    “There you are. Thought you were lost...”

    Cyrus Truth, the Exile, approaches Eli, wearing a simple fleece pullover and dark slacks. Cyrus looks a bit...out of his element. The purpose of this meeting is definitely a strange one for the ever solitary Exile, and it shows on his face.

    "Just because I call myself the Wayward Warrior, don't assume that I can't follow simple Google Maps directions."

    “I’m sure you’ve been to New York countless times, but have you ever been to this neck of the woods?”

    "I've had a few shows in Brooklyn over the years. Can't say I ever spent too much time in any specific neighborhood."

    “Well, let the Flatbush vet show you around...add some Caribbean culture to your already-impressive travels before we enter the tornado that is my family.”

    "I can't believe I let you talk me into this...and you mind telling me exactly what you mean by 'tornado?'"

    "Come on, Cyrus...have a little trust in your tag team partner. Now, let me show you this lovely little corner spot where they serve the absolute best jerk chicken..."

    Eli basically drags Cyrus around the streets of Flatbush showing him the street art, food, and places he used to hang out. After an hour of this, Cyrus urges Eli that they need to be going or they will be past being fashionably late. Eli obliges and leads Cyrus to his old home where you can hear the party from down the block. At the door is Eli’s mother waiting with a big smile, a plate of food in one hand and a drink in another.

    “Hey, you doing?

    Eli leans in for a hug which his mother reciprocates as best as she can with her hands full.

    "Eli...good to have you home, son!"

    Eli breaks off the hug as he motions towards his guest.

    "Yeah...good to see you. I’m glad you're finally going to properly meet my tag partner Cyrus.”

    Mrs. Black turns her head towards Cyrus and warmly says:

    “Hello there, young man.”

    Cyrus cautiously turns to look at her and replies:

    "Mrs. Black. Appreciate you inviting me into your home. I have to reunions aren't exactly something I've ever experienced."

    "Oh? No family? You poor dear..."

    "'s complicated."

    "That so? Well, I'm sure there's a story behind that, but flapping our gums out here ain't accomplishing anything. Come in, come in!"

    As Eli and Cyrus walk in ahead of his mother, you can see the atmosphere change around both men coming from the chilly, rowdy streets of Brooklyn to the warm and festive feeling inside. Aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins and more rush to greet Eli as he introduces them to Cyrus. In the midst of all the excitement, Eli gets pulled from the crowd from by Laurie Stoudemire, who arrived early. Cyrus is told to sit in the living room by Eli's mother while she fetches him a plate of food. As Cyrus looks around, he sees a traditional Jamaican home, country flag, brown furniture that all Caribbean families seem to have alongside pictures of the immediate family. Mrs. Black comes back with a plate of food for Cyrus and sits next to him.

    "Here you go, young man. Dig in!"

    Cyrus politely nods before jamming his fork into the meal of beans, veggies, and chicken, devouring it like a hungry wolf with some semblance of table manners. Mrs. Black doesn't seem to mind so much as she chuckles at the display.

    "Lord, you act like you haven't eaten anything in days! Are you at least tasting my cooking?"

    Cyrus swallows his mouthful of foot and turns towards Mrs. Black.

    "Definitely. You'll have to forgive's not often I get home cooking. This is delicious."

    "Well, thank you for that. You know...when Eli told me that he'd be bringing you to the reunion, I did a bit of Internet searching on you."

    "That so?"

    "Mhmm. Figured it was only right, what with that boy of mine bringing a stranger into my home. Some of the stuff online about you...well, pardon me for saying this, but was scary. You've got a fearsome reputation, Mr. Cyrus."

    Cyrus doesn't say anything in response, but nods as if to affirm that.

    "Still, Eli insisted on bringing you here...and just from looking at you? I hope this doesn't offend you, but you don't seem so frightening."

    "Well, that's fair. But then again, you also don't have a wrestling championship title that I want either. If you did, you might reconsider that stance."

    Mrs. Black laughs out loud at that as Cyrus cracks a slight grin before returning to his meal. After a few seconds of laughter, Mrs. Black's expression turns a bit more pensive as she asks:

    "So...tell me about your family."

    You can feel the air being sucked out of the room as Cyrus stops mid-chew. After swallowing his bite, he turns with a wary expression.

    "My family?"

    "I don't mean to pry, but you said at the door that it was 'complicated.' Complicated with what manner?"

    Cyrus sighs a little as he sets his plate down on the coffee table in front of him. There's almost a moment where you think Cyrus won't answer, but eventually an answer comes.

    "'Family' isn't exactly the word I'd choose to use to describe the people who I grew up with, and who raised me."

    "I don't understand."

    "I've never met the people who gave birth to me. Or I have, and they've never told me or don't know. The people who raised me weren't my parents. Not biologically...or in the tradition sense of what parenting is supposed to be."

    Cyrus leans back onto the sofa. You can tell he's choosing his words carefully; yet, at the same time? Much of what he's saying is stuff that he's held close to his heart for a long time...and the opportunity to unload a bit of it is a welcome release.

    "I learned a lot from the people who raised me. Some might argue too much. And there came a time when I became a man that I had...a disagreement with them."

    "Families fight all the time, sweetie. It's not anything new."

    "This was. I chose to break away from the path that they had always followed and find my own way. They didn't agree. And so...I left. More specifically, they kicked me out when I chose to leave."

    Mrs. Black looks a bit crestfallen and puts her hand on Cyrus's shoulder. The Exile looks a bit...confused by the gesture, but doesn't recoil from it.

    "Oh, sweetie...I'm so sorry about that."

    "Don't be. While I miss some of them from time to time, their thoughts on how to live and mine were too different. Separating from them was...necessary. Although it seems that they're taking my choices as of late a bit more personally than they ever have before..."

    Cyrus stops himself as he says exasperatedly.

    "...Never mind. Forget I said anything. I don't even know why I'm telling you this..."

    Mrs. Black cuts him off by shaking her head.

    "No, no...go ahead."

    Cyrus pauses again, but the look that Mrs. Black gives him gives him enough...comfort? Security? Whatever it is, he continues.

    "Since I've been teaming with your son, I've been trying to help him using some of the things my 'family' has taught me. And aside from that rough loss we had against Devin Golden and Randy Ramon at the Anniversary Show, I'd like to think it's been helpful. But it seems that I wasn't supposed to do that. And now..."

    "Now your family's come calling to complain?"

    "Worse than that."

    "Are you in danger?"

    Cyrus nods.

    "Your son isn't, if that's what you're concerned about. I'm the one who has to answer for my sins, not Eli. Regardless, my decisions have made my relationship with them..."


    "Pretty much."

    Mrs. Black takes a sip of her drink that she has on her and ruminates on what this stranger has told her.

    "There anyway you can fix things with them?"

    "Not if I want to keep living my life the way I want to."

    "Damn...I'm sorry about that."

    "Don't be. I knew showing Eli what I showed him could result in this."

    " don't regret it?"

    "The only thing I regret is that I wasn't strong enough to help secure the win at the Anniversary Show. I don't know...maybe this issue I have was distracting me during the match. Maybe Golden and Ramon are just godlike when it comes to tag team wrestling. Or maybe I'm just not strong enough and I've been coasting to these victories. I don't know! And for somebody with my name, 'not knowing' is the most infuriating thing.

    "Eli and I have one last chance to finish what we started all those weeks ago...and the roadblock standing in our way isn't an insignificant one. And if the team that lost to Golden and Ramon shows up at Fight Night? If Grayson and Horrowitz are anywhere as capable as they were..."

    Mrs. Black gives Cyrus a bit of a cold stare. Nothing malicious...but quizzical, contemplative.

    "This is important to you, isn't it?"

    "As important as anything has been to me. Eli...your son has given me a new lease on life. I was floundering until he and I teamed up for the first time. I want this...not just for my sake, but for his. I can't accept failure...not for this."

    "So, don't accept it."

    Cyrus seems taken aback a bit by that response as he looks Mrs. Black in the eye.

    "I don't know much about this wrestling business that Eli's decided to involve himself in. Eli's cousins know more about this stuff than I ever will. And I can't say whether this Horror Witch or that Jerry Jameson are any good, although I imagine they have to be considering they both held that one title...what was it? "X" something or another? Regardless, whether they're the best or the worst doesn't matter. What matters is that my sweet, artist boy loves wrestling. And he's done everything he can to be damn good at it. He's determined when he's set his mind to something, and nothing in heaven or on earth is gonna stop him from seeing things through to the end.

    "And you know something else? My boy believes in YOU. He's told me all about you, Mister 4-Time World Champion. So I know damn well that you're as good if not better than those two that you're facing in this tournament. I get that whatever's going on with you has you worried. But you already said it yourself: you don't regret it. So you shouldn't worry about it. You've got my boy with you. And I didn't raise a fool. If he believes in you...if he thinks you and he can win this tournament and those titles? Who the hell are you to tell him otherwise? And why shouldn't you have faith in yourself to see this through?"

    Cyrus is stunned as he ponders what Mrs. Black has told him. You can tell this isn't the kind of conversation he was expecting...or perhaps, ever had before.

    However, the gears are turning in Cyrus's head, as things start to click into place. Much of Cyrus's unease seems to dissipate...not completely, but more than before. The Exile stands up after finishing the last few bites on his plate and gives Mrs. Black a polite nod.

    "Thank you for the food. I need to find my partner. We've got some things to talk about."

    Mrs. Black cracks a knowing smile.

    "Yeah...I figured you would. Go on, then."

    Cyrus turns and heads off towards the backyard where Eli's been commiserating with other members of the family...but not before hearing Mrs. Black shout at him.

    "And if you're wanting seconds, you go help yourself! You hear me?"


    "Hey, hey, hey! You're pinching me! Where are you dragging Eli to?"

    "Don't give me that third-person crap. Come here!"

    After some time catching up with the relatives, Eli find himself dragged by Laurie to the second floor of the house, dragging him by his arm into a room. She lets go and turns the light on...and Eli looks upset by what he sees.

    "What is this? What are you doing? Why am I in a room full of my father's stuff?!"

    Laurie looks a bit shocked by Eli's anger as she puts her hands up defensively, trying to calm him down.

    "Hey, hey! Relax! Look, I got here early and was looking for somewhere to hide because one of your cousins was following me around like a lost puppy. As I looked around, I found this!"

    As Laurie was talking she was searching through a drawer of a dresser and pulls out a mask...

    The mask on the man that Eli has been feeling like has been haunting him.

    Eli slowly walks over and takes the mask from Laurie staring at it for a few seconds before asking:

    "This is it. This is the face I've been seeing everywhere. In my dreams, in my room, on the road, in the streets. Heck, even in the crowd during matches! Feels like something that been creeping closer and closer like a bad omen. I even hesitated on the top rope against Golden and Ramon because I saw him in the crowd during the match. Why is this here and now?"

    "When I saw it, I figured that was the mask you were describing. So, I brought it downstairs. Your aunt, your father's sister recognized it immediately. So I told her to come and talk to you about it."

    In that moment, Eli's aunt comes into the room with a bit of trepidation. She sits down on the side of the bed in the room, taps the side of the bed signaling Eli to sit. Eli looks at Laurie but she gives him a reassuring look before leaving the two of them alone, heading back downstairs.

    "Long time, no see, nephew. You look great."

    "Aunty's been a long time since the last time Eli has seen you. Maybe 10 years have passed. You look great, but...what is this all about?"

    "Well...your friend Laurie has told me about all the trouble you've been going through. The nightmares, seeing things that aren't there. Seeing this mask you probably haven't seen in decades. See, this masked belonged to your father."

    "Eli does not recall ever seeing this mask before or seeing that bastard wearing it ever. Please don't try to put things in Eli's head about him right now. Enough is going on right now that is more important then dealing with Eli's father-issues".

    "Oh, I know. I make sure to keep up on what my famous nephew has been up to. Selling art, making music...but I am so proud that you have finally become a wrestler. You use to talk about that non-stop. At home, in church, at the dinner table. It consumed your life. However, my brother was not a fan of it. Thought it damaging to you and presented an escape from the real world that wasn't healthy."

    "Yeah...Eli remembers the countless beatings, punishments and shouting that Eli endured because he thought wrestling was evil. He said it was American propaganda. Made Eli want to pursue it even more. Then suddenly it all stopped..."

    Aunty J shakes her head, clicking her tongue as if to say "tsk, tsk."

    "That's the thing didn't just stop. I remember you going to wrestling shows after school, finding ways to watch it anyway you could. But anytime you get anywhere, you just stopped. Said that something was scaring you off. A man was coming after you..."

    Sudden realization washes over Eli's face as he remembers something he had long forgotten...or rather, had forced himself to forget.

    "A man in black mask...Eli remembers now. Like all these locked away memories. Use to wrestle for different schools and when Eli managed to make some progress? We moved. When that didn't work, that man use to pop up.."

    "That man was your father. This mask was a praying mask of sorts. You know he was into...well, let's call it "alternative religion." And he used this to frighten you anytime punishing you didn't work. So he showed up to your matches with this on. Purposely to distract you. We never thought nothing of it. Definitely did not think it would leave you traumatized."

    Piecing together fragments that had long been shattered, the Artist of Chaos takes a deep breath, having recalled the Truth...and more importantly, what all of this has been.

    "All this time, Eli thought he was going crazy. Thought something was wrong that Eli could not explain. This whole time it was another thing Eli's father pushed on him. Started gaining success in FWA...and all of a sudden Eli started seeing all these crazy things. It's like Eli's father is inside waiting to tear everything Eli wants down..."

    Aunty J, seeing Eli's distress, puts her arm around him to comfort him, speaking to him in a soft tone.

    "My baby nephew...don't let your past dictate your future. Don't let the mistakes of my narcissistic, abusive brother take over your life. You've overcome so much. You know you can't let this set you back. What do you want more then anything right now?"

    Eli grits his teeth, finding a resolve like iron well up inside him.

    "Eli wants to win the FWA Tag Team Championships It's been a dream of Eli's to win Tag Team Championships and Eli does not want to let his partner down. Not after making it this far."

    "What do you have to do to get to your goal?"

    "Defeat two of the toughest SOBs I've ever faced. If Eli and Cyrus can beat them, then we have to defeat guys that already beat us twice..."

    "Don't think that far out. That doesn't matter right now. Think about the obstacle in front of you now. Take the steps to overcome that."

    Eli nods, realizing the wisdom of his aunt's words.

    "You're right, Aunty. And the first step is Eli taking this mask and making it Eli's property. No longer will it have control over Eli's life. No longer is HE going to have control over me. Eli will use this as motivation...a reminder of where Eli has been and where Eli is going. Always forward...

    "Excuse me...I have to find Cyrus. We have much to discuss."

    "Yes, you do. I'll follow you downstairs. And if I don't see the show? I hope you break a leg out there in your next fight."

    Eli hugs his aunt tight before picking up the mask and heading downstairs. We cut to Cyrus squeezing his way through the crowd looking for Eli when he eventually runs into Laurie. She lets him know the Eli should be back soon. Eli eventually follows, locking eyes with Cyrus.



    "Was wondering where you ran off to."

    "Just doing a bit of reminiscing about good times...and the bad. How've you been enjoying the reunion?"

    "It's been...interesting. Had a very illuminating conversation with your mother."

    Eli cracks a slight smile at that, keeping the mask clutched behind him.

    "Listen, we need to talk..."

    "About Golden and Ramon..."

    "Forget it. Nothing we can do about it now. It's done and over with, and we can't take it back. Not yet. All they did was make the road to the titles a lot more difficult. Nothing more or less. All we have to do is win from here on out, right? Three more victories and we get there all the same."

    Cyrus cocks his eye, a measure of respect for Eli's forthright and determined outlook showing through.

    "My thoughts exactly."

    "So, Grayson and Horrowitz..."

    "We just have to beat Grayson and Horrowitz. You know more about them than I do. What are we up against?"

    The scene changes to the kitchen table of the Black home. Cyrus and Eli are sitting across from one another, talking and discussing.

    "I've had many encounters with the these two, all of them dangerous match types. Gerald Grayson's the daredevil of the group. Always looking for the next thrill, the next high. It's his greatest strength but also his greatest weakness. He can go from giving his body up, throwing caution to the wind to looking for that next big move. He either hits big or crashes and burns. That's what was holding him back when he first got in FWA. Even if he clearly had a safe victory, he would go for riskier win.

    "Michelle is a different animal altogether...aggressive, arrogant, athletic, resourceful, cunning and downright brutal. She's an artist herself the way she has the fans and other wrestlers in the palm of her hands with her smack talk. She almost perfect as a wrestler. Her greatest weakness that no one has exploited yet is that she is always looking past her current opponent. She's been so obsessed with getting her moment with Bell Connelly that she sees every one else as a sacrifice to her. Now that her match with Bell is set I can only imagine that her focus on that match is going to only intensify. We must use her looking past us to our advantage."

    Cyrus cracks a smirk as Aunty J passes the table, sitting a pair of cold beverages down for the two wrestlers. Eli nods his head as if to say thanks as Cyrus speaks up.

    "So, you caught that too, didn't you? Everything Horrowitz has said and done up to this point has been in service of discovering her assailant and eventually settling on it being Bell without any real hard evidence. As talented as she is and how strong her team with Grayson has been, the tournament's never been her focus. Now that she has a match against Bell like she wanted, it's all she can think about. Winning or losing this match isn't a big deal for her."

    "It is for Grayson."

    "Is it? I'm not so sure. Grayson's still the X Division Champion, after all. While the right mindset is to focus on the task at hand, I wonder if there's not a small part of Grayson that sees that title around his waist already and thinks to himself, 'How long am I going to be able to put off ignoring this?' It's been forever and a day since he's had a title defense. The anticipation of fulfilling one's duty as a champion is oftentimes far worse than the actual act of it, speaking from past experience. And that's to say nothing about Blackbird just up and deciding one day to take it from him like he did with Sullivan."

    "Valid point."

    Mrs. Black stops by the table with a pair of plates containing cassava pone, which she sets for both Cyrus and Eli. There's a small shared looked between Mrs. Black and Cyrus as Eli takes a bite of the dessert and continues with his train of thought.

    "As a team, they were one of the favorites to win this thing, but they started out in a worse position than we did. Before this, we've only walked past each other in the hallway. Gerald literally won her championship without her being involved...and they end up paired to go into a tournament together. Knowing Horrowitz, she likely hasn't forgotten that either."

    "Neither has Grayson, I bet."

    "All I know is that, without question? We respect each other. That's not something I can say for certain Grayson and Horrowitz have for one another. You and I understand each of our roles in this team, but we also understand what it takes to build a proper team, one that can withstand the rigors of a tournament like this . We took the steps to get to know each other to build trust. That's the reason I invited you to my family reunion, you know. To me, the best tag teams in history have fought together like a family. You're my brother in arms, Cyrus. And I have your back, all the way to the end."

    Cyrus is a bit surprised by the younger wrestler's fervor, but relaxes in his chair as he looks Eli eye-to-eye.

    "Having me be family's might make things more complicated for you."

    "I don't care. Whatever troubles you, whatever challenges you have to long as you and I are partners? I don't fear it. One's past doesn't dictate their future..."

    "...And our failings need not weigh us down for the challenges ahead."


    "No distractions?"

    "No hesitations."

    "Three straight wins. That's what we need. And we can't get the second or third without the first."

    "So we win. Focus and desire. There's no doubt in my heart that theirs isn't as strong as ours. Unless you...?"

    Cyrus shakes his head as he downs his drink.

    "I've had enough losing to last a lifetime. I want victory...complete, crushing, overwhelming and definitive. Not just for me, but for the two of us. We've come so far, beaten everybody they've put in front of us save for Golden and Ramon...and I'm not about to let Grayson and Horrowitz have that same pleasure. I want those Tag Team Championships. I want to beat Devin Golden and Randy Ramon. And I can't do either of those unless we beat Grayson and Horrowitz...and I can't do it without your help."

    Eli nods and smiles.

    "You have it, bro."

    Eli holds out his hand for a shake as Cyrus takes it...a firm, resolute handshake signifying the renewal of a promise. A pledge to walk the hard Road to victory together, to not let the past or loss or pain define the future. A contract to see this journey through to its end...and to strike down those who would deny them the rewards at the end of the road.

    To win the tournament, Cyrus Truth and Eli Black must beat Devin Golden and Randy Ramon twice.

    In order to get that opportunity, they must first put Gerald Grayson and Michelle von Horrowitz out of the tournament for good.

    With that handshake, an unspoken understanding reached, Mrs. Black raps her knuckles on the table to get the attention of the two wrestlers.

    "All right, looks like you two boys have gotten what you need to say done and said. And I'm sure you got a lot of work to do to be ready, but today? Today you are gonna enjoy some Black Family hospitality."

    She grabs Cyrus by the arm, pulling him to his feet. Cyrus looks absolutely confused by this as Mrs. Black leads him away.

    "My cousin Jaden brought his steelpan drum. You have GOT to hear him play! Come on, boy!"

    As Cyrus is dragged off by a very forceful older lady, Eli laughs out loud as he finishes his own drink and follows behind, sparing just a moment of looking at the mask of his father. A night of family bonding and festivities await the duo of Eli Black and Cyrus Truth.

    A moment of calm before the challenge of facing the storm...
    Something Witty!

    Cyrus Truth
    4x FWA World Heavyweight Champion
    2x CWA World Heavyweight Champion

    Konchu Hao
    Ground Zero Winner (Season 2)

  12. #12
    Striving for a B+ in life
    The Golden One's Avatar

    Join Date
    Nov 2013
    Orlando, Florida
    Rep Power
      Country                    United States


    "Why Is Baseball On?"

    That's the first thing "Rockstar" Randy Ramon says when he enters the hotel bar, a rectangle-shaped horseshoe that ends on the short ends and connects with one long end where 6 or 7 hotel guests sit on barstools. The cheap chandelier lights hang from the light pink-painted ceiling, with transparent and cleanly washed toothpick windows splattered over the walls from a foot above the floor to a foot below the ceiling. It all has the superficial appearance of being classy and upscale, but it's surface-level class. Anyone who takes more than 10 seconds to look at it can tell it's all a mask of a two- or three-star hotel.

    The dark, moonlit sky has scattered clouds every so often dimming the light from the bright giving moon. It's a few nights before Halloween, but it's certainly not in the theme of the haunted holiday. The outside aura is comforting, not spooky, and the hotel bar and lounge area is vacant of decorations or anything resembling Halloween decorations.

    The only thing that describes a late-October custom is ... baseball on television.

    "Because I like baseball."

    "The Golden One" Devin Golden's response is very matter-of-fact. He leans back in the barstool to remove his elbows from the bar top, which reveals an open angle to sight three empty beer bottles. Even three will put this old veteran into a buzz.

    "Baseball, huh? Sounds about white."

    Golden looks back and stares Ramon from toe to head. He sees the general "Rockstar" attire: a black hat, sunglasses, long blonde hair, an open black flannel jacket, and black jeans, with a bare chest exposed.

    "Yeah, alright, rooooockstaaaaaar."

    Golden's response is fully sarcastic, stretching out that nickname with a fake-impressed tone.

    Ramon takes a seat on to the open barstool next to Golden. He raises a finger and then points to the empty bottles next to Golden. He does a "cut off" sign before pointing to "The Golden One" but make a "1" finger gesture and points to himself while nodding.

    "So, uh, I hear you're the one who asked for this match at Fight Night."


    "I've been wondering ... why are we in a tag team match against the FWA North American Champion and the former North American Champion? Why would we get booked in a match one show before we'd wrestle in the finals of the tag team tournament?

    And I did some asking around and ... well, I learned you asked for it."

    Golden somehow is a little drunker right now than he was two minutes ago.

    "Yeah, what ab... about it?"

    "I mean ... do you think that's a good idea? Is this really the match everyone wanted to see? I don't think I wanted to see it!"

    Golden turns to his left and eyes up Ramon with a squinted expression. He then turns back and looks up, watching the Los Angeles Dodgers rail the Tampa Bay Rays in Game 3 of the World Series.

    "Baseball ... baseball is cool ... because ... baseball ... *buuuuuurp* ... leaves no doubt."

    Ramon is a bit perplexed, but instead of interrupting, he lets Golden keep going down this metaphor road.

    "ONE HUNDRED and sixty two games. Fewer than FIFTY PERCENT of the teams make the playoffs. You gotta last through ... *buuuuurp* ... summer and outlast so many other teams to keep playing. Then ... you gotta win two series, just to get here."

    Golden points up at the television, where the Dodgers take a 5-0 lead early in the game, one they'd eventually win 6-2.

    "And if you're a fraud ... at some point ... you'll get found out. No doubt about it."

    Ramon finally gets the Corona Light retrieved for him. He takes a big gulp, downing about half of the drink, before putting it down on the bar top.

    "That's all nice. Thank you for answering my first question about why baseball is on. But I've moved on from that. So, again, why are we facing Krash and Mike Parr on Fight Night?"

    Golden burps a third time in this exchange as he motions for a fourth beer. The bartender catches his request and then glances the way of "Rockstar" Randy Ramon, who hesitates before nodding in agreement and acceptance.

    "May as well. At least it'll keep him awake for a little longer."


    "Nothing. I was talking to a girl."

    Golden looks to the left side of Ramon, where there's no human anywhere close to him.

    "I don't see any girl. I KNOW you dropped acid in my cereal last Fight Night."

    "Answer my question."

    "YOU answer my question."

    Golden points at Ramon, who slaps his partner right across the face.

    "Calm your shit, Golden."

    Golden pretends like it hurt more than it actually did. He grimaces and winces and nearly lets out a tear, but his mood changes when the fourth beer is put in front of him.

    "Much gracias, señior ... sir."

    Golden takes a swig, about one-quarter of the drink. Ramon tops his first off and motions for a second one. The bartender scurries to the mini fridge that rests just to the left of the bar sink.

    "Parr and Krash. Let's go. I wanna hear it from you."

    "It's baseball, man."

    Golden motions to the television, which is now showing a commercial for a vacuum cleaner. No one at the bar is particularly watching it right now.

    "It's baseball, man. It's about leaving no doubt.

    You see ... Krash and Parr ... THAT was supposed to be Cyrus Truth and Eli Black! ... Or that's ... *burp* ... hold on ..."

    Golden takes a big deep breath to prevent some of the liquid he's drank from coming back up his throat.

    "That's who everyone said we should've been facing. Everyone ... EVERYONE IN THE WORLD ... had us and Krash and Parr pegged for the finals of the winner's bracket.

    That's who everyone was pickin' to win the titles!

    And now they're out! They lost!"

    Golden motions up to the television a second time. This time ... it's a commercial for an insurance company.

    "But there's still that ... people still hoped for it. They still wan ... wanted it. They wanted us to tear the house down with 'em! So ... we gotta put the doubt away.

    We gotta win the pennant! Proper...



    Golden takes what he thinks is a big gulp and drink of his beer. In reality, he only gets it down to halfway finished. Ramon is about halfway done with his second beer. And he's still making headway regularly.

    "So that's what ... what it's about. We ... we gotta beat them all. We gotta do it against everyone. Like the Dodgers and the Rays. We're going to the World Series, but I wanna make ... sure it's known ... known we deserve to be here."

    Ramon nods his head and looks over at drunk Golden. He takes about 10 seconds to stare at him before looking ahead at the television.

    "Surprisingly, that makes a lot of sense. You're drunk as hell ..."

    "YOU'RE drunk as hell!"

    "But that makes sense."

    Ramon tops off his second beer and then motions for his third. The bartender quickly scurries and grabs one from the mini fridge. Golden is still staring down at what's left of his fourth.

    "Alright ... so Krash and Parr. The match ... 'EVERYONE' wanted to see."

    Ramon uses quote marks when he says "EVERYONE", as if to mock the label and hype.

    "Seems like they didn't get the job done as well as everyone thought."

    "Maybe ... or maybe they just faced two really good teams and ended up on the wrong end of luck. I'm not gonna hate ... *buuuuurp* ... I'm not gonna hate on them losing to Cyrus and Eli. We had a ... a tough go with them. And they lost to Michelle and Gerald Grayson. Can't hate on those losses."

    Golden takes a small swig from his beer. Ramon is halfway done with his third. He seems to be going faster now that he's had two down. He's in rhythm.

    "Race to five?"


    "Race to five it is."

    Golden finishes his fourth and motions for the bartender, who looks at Ramon to get the approving nod once again.

    "I think they're just ready ... ready ... ready ... hold on ...


    ready to move on. They've been ... linked ... for almost all of 2020. This is the end, the last time we're gonna see them in a team. Maybe even facing one another as opponents. So I think ... they're just tired.

    I think we can use that to our advantage. The fatigue. The weariness. The lack of a drive. We have drive. We're heading for the titles. The straps. We have something to prove, to leave no doubt. We can say, 'We beat ... EVERYONE.'

    That's important.

    What does this mean for them?"

    "You must REALLY be drunk to ask such a ridiculous question."

    Ramon gets Golden's squinted-eyes look in reply. Ramon simply scoffs in a quick chuckle.

    "Krash and Parr? They're not going to just sleepwalk through this match! They're going to go AT us. They want to win! They want to make a statement that in reality, if they wanted to, they could win the titles if they stick around as a team!

    Krash and Parr want to beat us simply because we're the favorites to win this thing! So it's like baseball, right?! Sometimes the best team doesn't win that one game, but there are 162! And maybe if there were 163 or 164, another team would win the division and even the World Series some years! Krash and Parr are trying to prove that they COULD BE the tag team champions."

    "Rockstar" tops off his third beer and motions for a fourth, which he quickly gets from the man behind the bar top. Ramon leans back for a big ole drink and gets to halfway in a matter of seconds.

    "Man ... you're tryin' to show me up! You're on like your second or third. I'm on number SEVEN!"


    Golden gets another leg in on his fifth. He then remembers, "Race to five" and tries to get a little closer. Meanwhile, "Rockstar" finishes his fourth and asks for a fifth. The bartender smiles, handing it to him in seconds. He knew Ramon would request another one.

    "This is it. We're both on our last ones."

    Ramon stares at Golden, who sort of looks over slowly and stares back with a drunk, nearly asleep expression.

    "Krash is the North American Champion. He's gonna go and represent the title that just about EVERYONE in the FWA wants. Hell, the whole Gauntlet title is based around cashing it in for a title shot against Krash!

    And Mike Parr ... that dude could beat Dave Sullivan right now.

    And they know we're on their level. So yeah ... they want this. They want it as a team, and they want it as individuals.

    I can't believe ... I'm the voice of wisdom and reason in a conversation with 'The Golden One' Devin Golden."

    Golden nods his head slowly as he leans his head and upper back forward, hovering lowly over the bar top. "Rockstar" Randy Ramon looks down at the lightweight and lets the silence sit for about 10 seconds. Then he changes course.

    "So let me ask this."

    "Yeah. Ask."

    "Had we lost ... at any point ... against Nova Diamond and Kevin Cromwell ... or Dave Sullivan and Ty Johnson ... or The Division ... or Eli and Cyrus ... we'd possibly be out of the tournament.

    We could just as easily be where Krash and Parr are right now: out of the tournament and about to move on to their own separate stuff, whatever that is.

    So if that was us ... would we still be a team right now? Would we still go for the titles, against whoever would've won it?"

    Ramon looks at Golden, who stares up at the television to watch the resumed World Series game. Golden is pondering a response in between his drunk mind going off on tangents to God knows where. "The Golden One" slowly sips his Corona Light, which Ramon watches with a smile.

    "Yeah. We would be."

    "Yeah? Why? How come?"

    "Because I ain't got no other plans."

    The response takes Ramon back. For the first time since he walked up and saw the baseball game on TV, he is a bit taken back and surprised by what he's seen or heard from his partner.

    "This is it, man. I'm ... I'm in Golden Showers ... or whatever we are. I'm good. This is it. So if this was to flail out?

    Then I stick with it until it can't come back. Or until you're ready for something else."

    Golden pauses and takes a big drink. He's halfway done. Ramon hasn't touched his fifth beer yet.

    "That's it for me, Randy.

    I'm in this. I ain't Krash. I don't have the North American title. I ain't Mike Parr. I don't have those dreams of winning my first World title. I've won three.

    I ain't Michelle von Horr ... Horrowitz. Not the next big star. I ain't Gerald Grayson. I already won the X title twice and I don't think I'd be allowed to win it again.

    I don't need to prove anything. Nothing to prove in any other division.

    This is what I WANT to do. I WANT to win the tag team titles. With you as my partner."

    Ramon is about to speak but Golden interrupts him.

    "Wait. ...

    I know that ain't you. I know you and me ain't the same damn person. I know this ain't the ceiling or the end game for you.

    But ... for me ... if we woulda lost at any point ... if we woulda been where Krash and Parr are now ... I would've been here ... at this bar ... gettin' ready to challenge the winners of this damn tournament.

    I dunno about you ... but that's for sure as damn hell me."

    Golden slams his half-full beer bottle lightly onto the bar top. He then drinks another gulp to get it down to the final backwash ounces.

    But Ramon has far more room in the rank. He finishes his last half in five seconds. And he slams the bottle onto the bar with authority.

    The bartender laughs, as Golden looks at Ramon with a competitive anger. "Rockstar" then gets off the barstool and stands next to his drunk friend, hand on the back of the left shoulder, and cockily pats his shoulder as if to say, "Good game."

    But instead of a good game, Ramon has a different quick-witted response.

    "I'd be here, too."

    Ramon then exits the scene, leaving Golden to watch the game on TV. But not before a parting piece of wisdom.

    "This is a replay of the game! The Dodgers win 6-2."

    Golden doesn't move. Maybe he didn't even hear him. He just stares up at the television blankly, his eyes slowly closing, while the bartender wipes down the wood surface in front of him.
    Last edited by The Golden One; 10-24-2020 at 08:36 PM. Reason: spacing issues and one color coding miscue

    "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

  13. #13
    Friendship King

    Smooth Jazz Wolf's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2011
    The Pillow Fort
    Rep Power
      Country                    Australia


    A bitter show of cold rain thundered and clattered against the windows of a small, cozy abode somewhere on the outskirts of the city. Hidden away from the rest of the world, down an unmarked dirt road, the home had once seen better days – however the peeling wallpaper and the rickety floorboards gave away the fact that this building was long overdue for restoration. It was built for a singular purpose in mind, and to its credit, it served that purpose exceptionally well.

    A hideout in the perfect sense of the term.

    A safehouse, far from prying or suspicious eyes, where one could lie low until the heat cooled off, plan their next step, and figure out where their life was heading.

    It was the perfect option.

    It was the only option.

    As a white unmarked van screeched to a halt beside the building, the two occupants inside could only hope it would remain to be a viable option.

    The first man leapt out of the driver’s seat into the dirt, the normally crisp and pristine clothes he typically wore splattered with blood and quickly becoming drenched in rain as he sprinted to the back door, wrenching the doors open. The foul stench of blood burst into the air, and he scrunched his nose in distaste.

    “We’re here. Can you walk?”

    A pained groan answered him, as a second man gingerly climbed out of the back of the van, a pale shaking hand clutched against his leg. He tripped, falling to a knee, and bit his lip to keep from yelling in pain. The first man offered a hand, and the second accepted after a moment’s hesitation. Quickly - but not roughly – guiding his partner towards the safehouse, the first man reached into his pocket, fishing out a rusted bronze key. And after several tries to unlock the door, the house finally relented, letting them in and escaping the horrid rain behind him.

    The second man was gently led to an ugly blue couch next to a F.M radio, and carefully laid down on it. With the pressure off his wounded leg, the man let out a sigh of relief, then grimaced as another wave of pain shot through his leg.


    “Couldn’t agree more, Mike. Here.”

    Blinking, the wounded man dimly registered the first holding a glass of water to him, offering it tantalizingly. He sniffed it once, and frowned.

    “What did you put in it?”

    Now it was the first man’s turn to frown.

    “Painkillers, Mike. I don’t know how many times you’ve been shot in your line of work, but in my experience, they help take the chill off of things.”

    The second man shook his head, but relented, taking a small mouthful of water in his mouth, swirling it around, before spitting it back into the cup. The first man grimaced in disgust, his moustache furrowing.

    “Now that’s just gross, Mike.”

    “I taste more than painkillers in this shit. What else did you put it, Jake? Rat poison?”

    “Crushed up sleeping pills.”

    The second man blinked twice, as the first opened a nearby drawer and began shifting through it. He considered hurling the glass at his partner, but curiosity won out.


    “Because, Mike, It’s easier if you’re not awake for this.”

    Before the second man could ask ‘for what’, the first revealed the contents of the drawers – A pair of tweezers, a needle & thread, bandages, sutures. His eyes flickered to the open wound on his leg, slowly staining the armrest of the couch, and he raised his eyebrows.

    “... Ah.”

    With that, the second man downed the glass of water, painkillers, and enough sleeping pills to tranquilize a horse. He coughed twice at the chemical aftertaste, and leaned back as he waited for the sleeping pills to do their work.

    Then a thought struck him.

    “Wait, you’ve done this before, right?”

    His partner paused and made a facial expression that was far from reassuring.

    Detective Montrose

    Detective Mike Parr, lying on a couch in a shitty hideout in the middle of nowhere and bleeding out from his leg, opened his mouth to retort a series of profanities that would make an Australian blush, before passing out.

    One hour ago.

    Prototype & Protégé.

    MvH & Grayson.

    Parr & Montrose.

    Six people. Six guns. All aiming at the others.

    Silence reigned. With the direness of the situation having settled in, it would be a race to see who cracked first.

    Detective Montrose
    "No-one here has to die. We can all put our guns down, talk things out, and solve this situation without any bloodshed."

    Michelle von Horrowitz
    "Not happening. Someone's journey ends here, in this shitty warehouse. Sure as shit won't be mine."

    Gerald Grayson
    "Sorry, Officers. Looks like you go caught up in something you shouldn't've."

    Detective Parr
    "We didn't have much choice in the matter."

    Gerald Grayson
    "Did any of us?"

    Detective Montrose
    "No. We either did what we felt was right or what we were told to do. And all our paths led us here."

    Gerald Grayson
    "Makes you think, doesn't it?"


    A single gunshot tore its way through the conversation, rapidly followed by several more as no less than six itchy trigger fingers yanked on the weapon. In that single instant, as the first bullet hit the pavement in front of him, Detective Mike Parr squared his police-issue pistol at Michelle von Horrowit’z chest, and pulled the trigger. In that same instant, the second bullet fired tore its way into Mike Parr’s shin, and his aim jerked away from his target, his own shot burying itself in a wall. He let out a strangled cry of shock, dropping to a knee as the bullets continued to fire. He raised his pistol again, glaring through the pain to aim it at someone – anyone – who had helped turn this city into a shithole. His aim locked onto Sean Hughes, the man who gleefully sold him out and tried to stab him in the back, and he pulled the trigger, letting out a grunt of triumph as he shot the gun right out of Sean Hughes’ hands. Sean let out a shriek, stumbling in reverse and damn near tripping over his own feet. An inch higher and that bullet would’ve landed itself in Sean’s backstabbing heart.

    That would’ve been nice.

    The bullets suddenly stopped, the warehouse falling silent. Dimly aware of two pairs of footsteps running away, Mike Parr raised his head as a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his body, dragging him away.

    Detective Montrose
    “Come now, Mike. We have to go.”

    Detective Parr
    “But MvH. Grayson. Hughes. Prototype. We-”

    Detective Montrose
    “Your ex-friends ran as soon as they could.”

    Detective Parr
    “And Grayson? MvH?”

    Detective Montrose
    “Don’t... Don’t worry about them. Worry about us, Mike. We have to go. Now.”

    Mike Parr felt like there was some kind of information his partner was withholding from him, but a sudden pain in his leg prevented him from asking. With the adrenaline wearing off, the pain from taking a bullet to the leg had started to return – and boy was it unpleasant. Somewhere behind the agony, he heard the side door of the white unmarked van that they arrived in not too long ago be wrenched open, and felt himself be placed gently inside by a pair of hands.

    Detective Parr
    “Wait. Wait, MvH, I-“

    From the driver’s seat, Montrose glanced in the rear-view mirror, meeting his partner’s eyes for a brief second.

    Detective Montrose
    “Plans changed, Mike.”

    Detective Parr
    “We had her. We had them both! How- “

    Detective Montrose
    “Plans changed, Mike!”

    The slight tone of panic in Detective Montrose’s voice caused a pause in Mike. Rarely, if ever, had he seen his fellow Detective even hint at losing his composure. Indeed, Montrose always prided himself on having a polite, endearing, charming tone even when a gun was pointed at his head, a situation that has happened multiple times at this point. But now, as his voice pitched slightly higher, Parr felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. A feeling that wasn’t part of the fact that he had been shot.

    Detective Parr
    “What is it?”

    Detective Montrose
    “Your buddies. Hughes and the other one. They escaped.”

    Detective Parr
    “So? We were here for MvH & Grayson. An-”

    Detective Montrose
    “Didn’t you listen to a blasted thing in the warehouse? Did the prior revelation of Mr. Hughes and Mr. Prototype being brought out of your service and effectively set upon you by our own boss not cause any sort of worry within you?!?”

    Detective Parr
    “We knew all along we couldn’t trust Blackbird.”

    Detective Montrose
    “That’s not the point, Mike! Your faithful companions know everything. They know MvH is still alive and wreaking havoc. They know we lied to Blackbird on the course of the investigation time and time again. And now, they’re going to go straight to their boss and spill the beans. Blackbird’s already been turning up the heat on us, now that he knows WE know he’s crooked beyond repair, there’s nothing stopping him from throwing us into the fire.”

    Detective Parr
    “... So what can we do?”

    Detective Montrose
    “I don’t know. We’ll get what’s truly important taken care of first, and that’s getting you fixed up. Nearest hospital isn’t far away. They’ll ask some questions, but we can flash our badges and not answer. After that, we’ll... Figure something out.”

    The genuine worry and unease in his partner’s voice sent a shiver down Mike’s spine, and he fell silent. Gritting his teeth against another spike of pain in his leg, Mike leaned his head against the back of the driver’s seat.

    Detective Parr
    “This isn’t how I pictured the night going.”

    Detective Montrose didn’t answer.

    Instead, the radio crackled to life. More specifically, the illegal police frequency monitoring radio crackled to life. The words that came from the radio damn near made Montrose swerve off the road.

    “Attention all units, this is Police Chief Blackbird, issuing an APB out on Detective Mike Parr and Detective Jake Montrose. The two are considered to be armed and highly dangerous – already responsible for a string of murders and assaults across the city. Never before have I seen a pair of Detectives more corrupt and self-serving than these two, and quite frankly, I’m embarrassed I never saw the clues earlier. Everything that’s happened in this city is the direct result of now Ex-Detectives Parr & Montrose. And yes, I mean everything. MvH, The Elite... Everything. Every hospital in the city has been notified and will report in if anyone matching the appearance of the two enter. The registered homes of Parr & Montrose are currently being searched and torn apart to find any clues of their location. All units are given permission to shoot to kill by any means necessary.”

    The van slowly eased into a stop on the side of the road. Mike Parr, grimacing, glanced at his fellow now-ex-Detective, and found him limping hanging his head against the steering wheel, completely and utterly destroyed.

    Chief Blackbird
    “In light of this shocking discovering of corruption under our own noses, I’ve enlisted the help of Special Agents Randy Ramon and Devin Golden of the FBI. Officers, you’ll be answering to both of them along with myself. If anyone else in my force is anywhere close to the scale of corrupt that Parr & Montrose were... Then you can look at what we’re going to do to Parr & Montrose as an example of what we could do to you. Blackbird, over and out.”

    Silence ruled within the van.

    Mike Parr’s mouth felt very dry. The pain in his leg was temporarily forgotten, as he cleared his throat.

    Detective Parr
    “... Plans changed?”

    Detective Montrose
    “Plans changed.”

    Detective Parr
    “The hospital is a no-go. We can’t go home. What now?”

    Detective Montrose
    “... I know a place. Off the beaten track, down the long and winding road. We can lie low there until we figure out what to do.”

    Detective Parr
    “How long do you think that’ll take?”

    Detective Montrose
    “... I don’t know.”

    The van roared into life, and the two sat in silence for the long ride to nowhere.

    After an uneasy, dreamless sleep, Mike Parr awoke. Blinking blearily, he sat up, felt a wave of pain in his leg, and promptly laid back down. He raised his left, noting the rolled up trousers and the thin bandage around his shin. Flexing his toes, surprised at how little lasting damage there was, he reset his foot and breathed out.

    Detective Montrose
    “Rise and shine, Mr. Parr. Rise and shine.”

    Something small and grey was tossed onto his lap. Blinking, Mike picked it the item, inspecting it thoroughly.

    Detective Parr
    “Is this-”

    Detective Montrose
    “Your bullet. Figured you’d appreciate the souvenir.”

    Putting the bullet in his pocket, Parr glanced at Jake Montrose – at the pale, sunken eyes of a man who didn’t sleep at all, his normally pristine moustache ruffled and misshapen. He still wore the same clothes as yesterday, the blood on his waistcoat long since dried out. A bottle of whisky clung to his hands, and he took a long, long swig of it all, before offering it to his partner. Not once did he make eye contact with Mike Parr.

    Detective Montrose

    Mike Parr shook his head, then reconsidered, nodding. Montrose passed the bottle to him, and sat down on an armchair across from him as Parr took a sip, coughing twice.

    Detective Montrose
    “You know Parr… I know it’s been a tricky time, and usually times like this you sit back, you would take a big swig of a coffee-

    Detective Parr
    “Oh, what I would give for a mouthful of that disgusting packaged crap right now…”

    Montrose pauses and wistfully begins to shake his head. He pushes himself to his feet and has the look of someone who wants to say something that he knows he shouldn’t. Parr knew this look all too well, every time he had a fugitive on the brink of squealing they would get that very same sort of look – right after he had made mincemeat of them and they believed that a soul cleansing confession was their only way out. Problem here is that Parr had already had enough of Montrose’s confessions after his cell phone bombshell previously, but that isn’t about to put the brakes on Montrose now.

    Detective Montrose
    “You’d take a swig of that coffee and you’d make some sort of wisecrack, some sort of gag. You’d ignore what I’d say, you’d take another swig that godawful coffee before proceeding to do what the hell you wanted to do anyway. And somewhere along the line, I forgot about why when I first moved to the precinct I hated you. My fault, my fault of course… but now, here we are with FBI agents Ramon and Golden chasing us down and every step of the way... it’s on you!”

    Parr looks up at Montrose incredulously, did that jumped up moustached little prick just say that this was all his fault? The only thing that Parr was guilty of was trying to make sure that Michelle’s reign of terror didn’t continue and not handing Montrose in to Blackbird on a silver platter, and he’s not about to let him off easily in regards to that.

    Detective Parr
    “My fault? I was the bigger man. I gave YOU a chance to make it right!”

    Parr now pushes himself to his two feet – limping slightly, he did take a bullet to the shin not to long ago - so he is face to face with his partner, if you could still call them partners at this point. You get the impression that this might have passed the point of no return with these gentlemen as Parr throws the palm of his two hands squarely into the chest of Montrose, who stumbles back more that he would have hoped.

    Detective Parr
    “You came here to my precinct and you made a play for the top job before even getting your feet wet – instead of coming here humble after what happened in your last precinct and modestly crawl your way up the ladder here, you decided to try and bypass all of us that had put in the hard yards here and make a name for yourself at the expense of our top dog? I should’ve put you in the ground then!”

    Detective Montrose
    “It’s not my fault that I moved here and I couldn’t just sit back and watch the most inadequate group of individuals sit around and eat donuts whilst the city crumbled, could I Parr?

    Detective Parr
    “I knew you were a wrong one, I should never have agreed to work this case with you. I knew you were a wrong one ever since we got into trying to solve that North American district crime, remember the one with the death of the Japanese? We went head to head to be the lead on the case and you know what…. when you were chosen for it ahead of me I thought it was maybe a platform for us to build on…. that it would have been enough of an ego stroke for you to be able to not be the smug, self-serving son of a gun who came into the precinct and tried to skip the pecking order for the top job. Guess what……I suppose if you are saying this is MY fault for the decisions made…. then the first bad decision I made was trusting YOU.”

    Detective Montrose
    “Nice story Parr… Did your mother help you rehearse that one?”

    Montrose returns the compliment and shoves Parr in the chest, taking a couple steps forward from his defensive position after Parr’s earlier shove in the chest and sending Parr into a double step retreat. The pain in his leg flared up again, but Parr ignored it, gritting his teeth.

    Detective Montrose
    “Funny you talk about wrong decisions Parr, I know my fair share about making the wrong choices. I thought I had made the wrong one when I came to this precinct. I definitely made the wrong one trying to illicit information from MvH in a way that could compromise me. We should’ve hooked Grayson in at the dirt bike track that night but you wanted to go speak to your buddies……. who, by the way, were also not to be trusted. Then we should’ve broke them in that interview room but you had a better idea about how we could use them to lure in MvH once and for all and get Blackbird off of our backs. What did we get for that Parr? We got a bullet and we got a names smeared and our reputations ruined. We got nothing from that other than a big spoonful of ‘never come back to FWA’. Now Michelle is free to do what she wants, we couldn’t stop her. We have to hope that somehow that Truth guy and his partner Black that we heard whispers about, that somehow they manage to restore order over there…otherwise, the same two goons that are chasing us down from the feds in Golden and Ramon will be left holding the bag and trying to protect the Division’s district from Michelle’s power grab. And sure after coming out on top and becoming the lead detective for the case of the Japanese death in the North American district, I thought that there might have been a chance of this becoming something. Because I saw how you worked and you saw how I worked and I hoped that you realized I wasn’t some, how did you say, jumped up little prick coming in and trying to mark my territory. In the same way that I realized that there was probably more about you than I thought, that you weren’t just the bigger fish around here and were comfortable in your pond. And I— “

    Montrose is stopped mid-sentence by the sound of static – emanating from the corner of the room. How could he have forgotten, when they entered the safehouse they had spent a couple of minutes fiddling with the radio frequency to try and pick up on some of the chatter going on nearby. Of course, when all he managed to tune into was “Classical FM” he soon gave up – this was not the time or place for Beethoven’s symphony – but the aerial must have picked up another frequency in the interim.

    “This is FBI agent Devin Golden. I’m here with my partner and colleague Randy Ramon. I’m aware you two Benedict Arnolds might not know a lot about us but what we know, and we know a lot, is that you can hear us right now. We’ve seen your kind before, the corrupt kind. We know your playbook gentlemen.”

    Parr and Montrose had been stopped in their tracks, suddenly their squabble from a couple of minutes prior seemed of less importance. They glanced at each other, then at the radio, then back at each other.

    Detective Parr
    “Might not know a lot about them? Ramon is notorious for his cocaine habit, is he not?”

    Detective Montrose
    “In more ways than one. He makes Noah Stocke’s insistence on only the purest of cocaine look like child’s play. And Golden is one of the most decorated detectives in the history of the bureau. Even the likes of Jugem Jugem know about Devin Golden.”

    Detective Parr
    “These jokers think that we know nothing about them? Seriously?!? With their reputations?!? More fool them. He might think he has our playbook but he’s playing the wrong sport.”

    Detective Montrose
    “Maybe... Maybe we should listen to what he has to say, Parr.”

    Parr takes a deep breath, pauses slightly, inhales and nods. When he’s not too busy applying some oil to that caterpillar above his top lip, some useful noise sometimes comes out from in between those lips.

    FBI Agent Ramon
    “I’m assuming that pause was enough for you two gentlemen to decide that we to be taken seriously.”

    Parr turns to face Montrose, and as he goes to speak Montrose lifts his index finger over his lips to indicate to Parr to keep quiet. Parr, almost as if he cannot keep it contained, instead silently mouths ‘How the f**k did he guess that?’ – silence is probably the best option in truth as verbalizing the question would only result in Montrose having to admit that he too wasn’t sure exactly how Ramon made that call.

    FBI Agent Ramon
    “So, listen up you pair of perps, you couple of corrupt criminals, you duo of dunces, you school of snakes…”

    The audio goes muffled slightly.

    FBI Agent Golden
    “Randy, we get the point, don’t go too far with it.”

    The sound returns to its previous level.

    FBI Agent Ramon
    “So Blackbird has given us the lowdown on everything you two have ever touched. Everything from the Japanese death that had everyone talking straight down to the cheap cup of coffee you couldn’t resist in the morning Parr. Anything that has your prints on it, we’ve got. And we are going to find you. This city demands that we find you. The order of the city depends on it…. people need to trust their local authority not be ashamed by it and every second that you two are out there living and breathing is a reminder of the opposite to the good people of this city.”

    FBI Agent Golden
    “Guys, just in case it’s not very clear here. We know everything from the fact it was you that tried to kill MvH. It was you who tried to set up the New Breed and almost killed them. It was you who took our Garcia and Knox. I could sit here and list your rap sheet but I don’t want to ruin the pleasure I’ll take from seeing the look on your faces…as charge after charge is recited and you calculate every year that you are going to spend locked up. It’s time for a showdown gentleman. We are coming for you, and we are going to prove that we are the gatekeepers of this city. And you two… You two were nothing more than a pale imitation.”

    FBI Agent Ramon
    “I thought our complexions were similar?”

    FBI Agent Golden
    “Shut it Randy!”

    A brief scuffle over the radio ensured.

    FBI Agent Golden
    “See you soon boys. Sooner than you both think.”

    The static sounds, almost like you would hear at the end of a walky-talky transmission, again fills the room seemingly marking an end to the transmission, leaving Parr and Montrose still stood in the mid-argument positions that were pre-broadcast. Parr is the first to blink, as he rests himself back down on the chair in the corner of the room. Montrose takes from his lead and also returns to his seated position, as both men sit in silence waiting for the other to break it. Shaking his head, Montrose grabs the bottle of whisky, staring at it’s delicious liquid within.

    Detective Montrose
    “Fuck this city.”

    Parr’s eyebrows shot up so fast they could’ve detached themselves from his forehead and soared into orbit. It’s not like the Detective he know to be so... bluntly vulgar. Or tipsy, for that matter. To be fair, it’s been a hell of a night.

    Detective Parr
    “Maybe we aren’t too dissimilar after all Montrose, I was just thinking the same.”

    Montrose shoots up a wry, humorless smile at Detective Parr, before promptly upending the bottle and guzzling all that remained within it. Maybe there’s hope for the exiled duo yet.

    Detective Montrose
    “I mean it Parr. All we have done is try to battle to save this place, to keep it in some sort of order. But we couldn’t keep Michelle under control. We won a few battles sure, remember managing to avert the threat of Gabby and her co-conspirator Alyster? Godamnit, I should've never left Alyster behind. He'd know what to do. We can be proud of our work here, Mike. But you know what, maybe it’s time for the city to fend for themselves…”

    Detective Parr
    “I didn’t work my ass off every day for the last number of years so I can be proud of my own work.”

    Montrose shoots Parr a quizzical look…. a very peculiar take on things as pride in one’s work is usually a driving factor behind one’s actions.

    Detective Parr
    “I mean I didn’t work as hard as I have done to leave here in disgrace with my head down, I didn’t work as hard as I have to be remembered as the guy who failed to keep Michelle under control. And I’m certainly not going to be remembered as the guy who signed off from this city being hunted down and chased out of town by the kind of Golden and Ramon. That’s no way for our legacy to end.”

    Detective Montrose
    “You know what Parr... You’re not wrong. Golden might be one of the most decorated cops in the bureau history, but he’s been in the game too long. He’s seen too much. He’s jaded. There is no way you couldn’t be. You see it in all sorts of sports all the time... The athlete that stays just that one game too long. The boxer who takes that one extra pay day and is left staring at the lights. He thinks he knows our next move and our playbook but he doesn’t even remember the rules of the game anymore.”

    Detective Parr
    “And never mind that Ramon, sure he was impressive once upon a time. But much like once upon a time, it’s a fairytale to think that he can fend us two off. They think they can hunt us down and send us packing in disgrace, they don’t know what they’re dealing with Montrose. They aren’t just dealing with the odd couple here; they’re dealing with two of the best detectives that I know.”

    Montrose gets up and walks across the room, patting Parr on the shoulder before extending his hand to his old rival and helping him to his feet. The gesture that Parr once scoffed at in the past, now feels like a healing rift between two men who have nothing else in the world but each other, a used bullet, and a now-empty bottle of whisky.

    Detective Montrose
    “The city can burn. But us two... We aren’t about to be going down without a fight.”


    I'm not good at signatures.

  14. #14
    I'm a Stone Cold Lee Guy.
    An Original Name's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jul 2010
    Dublin Ireland
    Rep Power
      Country                    Ireland


    Oh, you lucky, lucky people, in these challenging times, what’s more, welcome than an exclusive video being posted? Naturally, since you have next to no life outside of whatever FWA content is served to you, so you click the link with gusto. Most likely you were expecting some backstage interview or some kind of typical think piece that would expand on what a particularly wrestler might be feeling…

    ...Instead, we’re greeted by the sight of what appears to be the upper deck of a massive Spanish Gallon, where a bunch of what appears to be hardened pirates….Or at least they should probably be dressed as...instead? A lot of them are in some kind fancy dress, and not looking particularly pleased about it. The group shuffle around looking like the worst fancy dress party, As Yuna Funanori walks into frame taking centre stage. as always on her shoulder is Patches the pa-Tiger?! Somehow someway the parrot seems to be wearing a black and orange striped onesies -And looking disgusted with himself at the prospect- which while confusing, might explain Yuna’s strange outfit, wearing a fake moustache and a trucker cap, complete with a makeshift wig that makes it looks like she has some kind of mullet. Yes, that’s right, Yuna was now dressed as Joe Exotic. Complete with a pet tiger. She takes a moment to let the camera take in her glorious hillbilly meth head white trash cosplay before she begins to speak.


    Yuna points at the camera, a serious look in her face as she continues to murder the English language. Man, it’s a good thing she didn’t have a job that focused heavily on communicating with people, huh?

    “ Halloween is like...what wrestling should But this...year will be special...This year I will mark this year Halloween….On the devil’s night..I have my eyes set...on gold; The Gauntlet”

    She nods momentarily to underline how truly ready she was to win at fight night, but she didn’t seem to be done.

    “But;...before Fight night….Tis the certain ways. Not to

    A lot of the pirates in the background seem to look quite frankly bemused but a glance from their captain -A small asian girl who is a little over five feet, yet still somehow maintains an air of authority over pirates triple her size- As she plants her feet, shrugs off Patches who flies to a nearby boombox waiting for Yuna to cue him in

    “Go, Roku, Shichi, Hachi!”

    The beat kicks in, as with as much grace you can imagine a handful of pirates forced to learn dance choreography dances perfectly synchronized with Yuna as they all begin the signature dance for a very particular song.








    And now, comes the big synchronized dance break, you know how this one goes; Swing hips.Shapes hands like zombie claw, walking left right, left-right while stepping in place. Eventually, the camera actually pans away from the dancing pirates, to the side where Patches sits calmly on the boombox and suddenly his beak opens wide, and instead of his normal screeching voice, a rich chocolaty sinister British voice begins to emerge from the parrot, the type that sounds almost velvety yet at the same time probably makes you want to take a shower.

    Last edited by An Original Name; 10-24-2020 at 11:09 PM.
    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

  15. #15
    Chikara Trainee

    Join Date
    Apr 2011
    Rep Power


    Alyster Black presents

    An Alyster Black production

    Starring Alyster Black


    “Apologies to Momma Garcia But You Did a Terrible Job Raising Your Son”

    The scene opens inside an empty movie theater. It's a lavish room, with red velvet carpeting and rows of comfortable matching coloured seats. There's even a balcony section. It was a high class theater. By the screen, just sitting on the right side of it sat a podium. After a short delay the sound of footsteps echoed through the theater. Down the aisle marched our masked hero, Alyster Black. He was wearing a suit today, black jacket and pants with a red shirt and black tie. He made his way over to the podium and stood behind it, facing the camera. He made some minor adjustments, moving the microphone into position then cleared his throat.

    Alyster: Good evening ladies and gentlemen. On tonight's hallow’s eve it is my most grim displeasure to present to you the following.

    A word of warning first, tonight’s presentation should not be watched by children, the elderly, pregnant women, or those who are weak of heart. Frankly any sane person would be better off not partaking in tonight’s feature so I urge all of you watching at home, please turn off your television sets, mobile devices and personal computers. Go outside, read a book, please do anything that might salvage your sanity and humanity. For your own sake DO NOT WATCH THIS PROGRAM!

    A brief pause, Alyster gives the audience a chance to save themselves from the horrors they're about to witness.

    Alyster: Still here? You’re quite brave, or incredibly stupid. The latter is more likely but you’ve made your bed and now you have to sleep in it. I have prepared for you three short clips that are guaranteed to shock and appal you. Please keep a bucket handy for even those with an iron stomach will struggle with tonight’s gastly presentation.

    He picks up a small remote from the podium and presses a button. The screen behind him comes to life and displays a ghastly image.

    Alyster is forced to look away from the screen for a brief moment. He's psyching himself up. He takes a few deep breaths, in an attempt to keep down his lunch at the sight of the monstrocity on screen, and succeeds. For now. He looks back to the camera and shakes his head.

    Alyster: This is Michael Garcia. Horrifying isn’t he? For those of you who are blissfully ignorant of who this man is, I envy you. For those of you who do know, not even God can help you now. I had only become aware of Michael Garcia earlier this year, shortly after I made my FWA debut. Immediately I was drawn to this inhuman tragedy. To his struggles and tribulations. I watched Michael Garcia do what comes naturally to him. Lose. Week in and week out. It’s in Michael's nature to lose. Not all the time mind you, but in a just universe Michael Garcia will lose when it matters. At least that was the conclusion I came to after first being introduced to this enigma of a man. On three occasions since Back in Business this year, Michael has triumphed in encounters that defy all logic and understanding of the rules which govern the universe. The first such occurrence was back in June at an FWA pay-per-view called Payback. Ready those buckets folks, we’re about to watch our first of three logic defying horrors.

    A press of a button replaces the image of Michael Garcia with a video of Michael Garcia. The still image displayed earlier has been downright horrifying, but seeing the man in action was akin to viewing an eldritch abomination. It defied all logic and was capable of rendering one’s own reality null.

    FWA World Championship #1 Contendership match
    Cyrus Truth vs. "24K" Nova Diamond vs. "The Carnegie Carnivore" Michael Garcia
    Michael takes Cyrus and grabs him by the throat once more and this time Mike connects with a brutal sitout chokebomb! Just as the referee goes for the count, Nova from out of nowhere finally connects with The Trivela on Mike! Nova collapses on top of Mike for the pin attempt!

    One...two...THR-NO! Mike gets a shoulder up! Mike gets a shoulder up! Nova is in disbelief now, he thought for sure that would have been all she wrote but Mike refuses to give up. Cyrus is beginning to stir and Nova goes after Cyrus but Cyrus fights him off with a back elbow! Nova is stunned as he stumbles back and Cyrus pops up and attempts for Memento Mori but Nova kicks Cyrus in the midsection to break it up! With Cyrus stunned...24K KICK! LIGHTS OUT FOR CYRUS!

    Nova whips the hair out of his face as he stands over Cyrus, but just then he’s spun around by Mike...THE PITTSBURGH PENDULUM! BIG MIKE HITS IT! HE MAKES THE COVER!


    Winner: "The Carnegie Carnivore" Michael Garcia

    Christian Quinn: He’s done it! Michael Garcia has done it! He’s going to challenge for the FWA World Championship!

    Rod Sterling: Nova took his eye off the ball and he unfortunately pays for it big time!

    Daniella Kennedy: You think Garcia’s gloating was already bad enough? Just imagine how worse it’s going to get now! We’re never going to hear the end of it!

    Garcia forces the referee to raise his hand in victory while the fans are stunned, some in silence while others boo him. A few scattered cheers are picked up on the feed, and some wayward fans are seen clapping. Garcia leaves the ring and continues to laugh, and rubs it in the faces of all the fans and mocks them all as he leaves.

    Rod Sterling: This is the biggest win of his career, and he is letting EVERYONE know.

    Alyster has buried his face in the podium. He has a finger raised, urging the audience to bear with him while he composes himself. He finally raises his masked visage after a short moment.

    Alyster: I apologise. For making you all watch that and for taking so long to address you again. I need a moment there. The clip we’ve just watched is the first example of Michael Garcia defying the laws that govern reality. A pinfall victory against Nova Diamond, in a match that also featured Cyrus Truth. To say that Michael Garcia was the underdog going into this bout would not do justice to just how undeserving this victory was for him. A number one contendership match for the FWA World Championship, a match that Michael Garcia does not belong in, that he against all odds and reasoning managed to prevail in. If this is not proof that the universe is unjust then I have two more examples to show those of you with the willpower to still be watching.

    The Elite Tag Team Classic
    First Round
    “The Carnegie Carnivore” Michael Garcia and “The Afflicted” Kayden Knox vs Black Caramel (Gabrielle Montgomery and Alyster Black)

    Gabby slithers backwards… on all fours…feeling victory within her re….MALICE INTENT! MALICE INTENT OUT OF NOWHERE! Gabby was sliding back on the mat when Kayden Knox ran into the ring and delivered his STOMP to the back of Gabby’s head! Garcia was in shock as he pulled himself to a seated position in the corner, looking up at Knox! Knox looked over at Garcia as if to say “Yeah, I just saved your ass!” with Gabby’s lifeless body laying below him! Garcia pulled himself up and walked right over to Knox and the two began to have words! As they were fighting, Alyster Black got up to the apron and springboarded off! Garcia shoved Knox out of the way and out of the ring as Black sprung off the top rope, only to get caught by Garcia! Mike caught him in position for a powerbomb and powerbombed Black on top of Gabby! Garcia picked Black up and tossed him out of the ring…

    as Kayden Knox tapped him on the shoulder and tagged himself in! Garcia was incensed as Knox dropped down and covered Gabby!




    Here is your winner @ 14:10 – “The Afflicted” Kayden Knox and “The Carnegie Carnivore”Michael Garcia!

    Alyster has covered his eyes with his hands and is cowering behind the podium.

    Alyster: Is it over?

    He slowly stands up, looking over his shoulder at the screen and is revlied to find that the video has ended. The blank screen is a massive comfort to him.

    Alyster: That clip is nightmare fuel. From the edition of Fight Night immediately following the Payback pay-per-view. You were riding a high Michael, you had momentum on your side. You have Black Caramel its first loss in its first outing as a team and I can never forgive you for that.

    He hangs in his head in shame, his voice drops to a hushed whisper, still audible with the microphone so close but you can hear the heartbreak in Alyster’s voice.

    Alyster: That one is hard to watch and even harder to stomach. A few notes first, yes Michael wasn’t the one to score the pinfall, but that doesn’t make the victory any less unfathomable. A tag team, captained by Big Mike, scored a victory over ‘The Caramel Goddess’ and yours truly. I lay awake at night replaying this match in my head. It makes me sick to my stomach reliving those final few moments. I wonder what I could have done differently, to make things right. But living in the past won’t change that outcome. You scored a victory over me Michael and I can’t take that away from you, no matter how hard I wish I could.

    He reaches up behind his head, turning his face to the side, slightly shaking it as he thinks about the soul crushing loss against the Carnage Affliction.

    Alyster: As hard as that injustice is to watch this next one is even more twisted. Please ready yourselves for what you are about to witness is the most mind twisting, stomach turning piece of footage ever recorded on planet Earth.

    With a press of the button the final clip starts playing, a more recent clip.

    FWA 15th Anniversary Show
    Battle of Bragging Rights"The Carnegie Carnivore" Michael Garcia
    Gabrielle Montgomery
    Rod Sterling: “Gabrielle follows up with a Savate Kick!”

    Christian Quinn: “And then a jumping heel kick!”


    Garcia immediately stalks Gabrielle and hits the Pittsburgh Pendulum "End of Days" finisher! The crowd is STUNNED! He kneels next to her motionless body and hooks the far leg.

    Rod Sterling: “Mike Garcia DOMINATED the match all night ... and he's going to FINALLY do it…


    Christian Quinn: “This crowd can’t believe it!”


    Daniella Kennedy: “This was destruction. The definition of it.”


    Winner: "The Carnegie Carnivore" Michael Garcia via pinfall at 8:56

    Dry-heaving echoes through the empty theatre as the final clip finishes playing. Alyster had doubled over next to the podium. Dropping to his knees and clutching his stomach as he desperately tries to keep it in.

    “Hold on, I just need a minute.” He yells from down on the floor. Stirring, slowly getting back up to his feet. He adjusts his suit, tucking his shirt back into his pants and fixing his tie before speaking again.

    Alyster: Words cannot begin to...I’ll try my best to discuss the atrocity we’ve just witnessed. I know what all of you are wondering. No, that wasn’t special effects. Michael Garcia really did defeat Gabrielle, clean in the middle of the ring, live on pay-per-view. It really did happen and it happened quite recently. I cannot begin to describe the heartbreak and soul crushing sorrow I felt on that day, and I imagine that those of you at home are feeling much the same. But I urge you all to please remember that we are all alike, all hurting from this tragedy and I encourage you all to come together and help one another in our desperate time of need.

    Alyster raises a finger to his eye and wipes away an imaginary tear from his mask. He spoke softly, as if he was speaking at a funeral. A hushed tone, very somber and serious.

    Alyster: I was sitting backstage being looked at by the doctor when that match was airing. I had just finished getting my ass kicked by Danny Toner, which happens to be my favourite match since joining the company, you should all check it out. I was backstage, getting looked at and Gabrielle vs Mike Garcia started to play on the monitor. At first I thought I was hallucinating, that Danny Toner had hit me so hard I was seeing things. But the doctor assured me that what I was witnessing was in fact reality. Michael Garcia was brutalising Gabrielle. Just dominating her and I was just waiting for Gabrielle to mount her comeback and hit the big 34 Double DD-T but it never came. It was as if I was a small child and had found out Santa wasn’t real after receiving no gifts at Christmas. Michael Garcia beating Gabrielle clean, it wasn’t supposed to be like that. It isn’t supposed to happen.

    With a wave of his hand the somber tone is replaced with his usual booming deep voice.

    Alyster: All joking aside Michael in spite of the fact that you failed to beat Saint Sulley for the world championship, something we have in common, you actually had a fantastic year Michael. Upset after upset, unearned opportunity after unearned opportunity. Gaining the ire of the fans and your fellow workers. Bravo. I still do not understand how you found yourself in that triple threat match with Cyrus and Nova. Who did you beat? The Wave? Triple J security? It’s meaningless. Sure you had a good showing in the Elimination Chamber after Back in Business but the planet’s were properly aligned that day and you got pinned by Gabrielle, which is as it should be. I can’t take it away from you, that you pinned Nova Diamond, it happened, we all wish it hadn’t but it did. You lost to the good Saint though, which is as it should be. World championships aren’t handed to those who deserve them, but you in particular don’t deserve to be world champion. That’s another thing we have in common. I don’t deserve it either. When you stop and think about it there’s actually a few parallels in our stories this year Mike. Except I actually pinned Saint Sulley this year. You only dreamed about it.

    He steps out from behind the podium, standing in front of the screen. He presses the button on the remote one final time. The speakers in the theater come to life as does the screen. Alyster’s entrance music blares whilst a highlight reel of him fighting in FWA plays. He slowly walks toward the camera, getting closer and closer and speaking in a loud booming voice as he does, clear over the music.

    Alyster: Your’s is a Cinderella story Michael and logic dictates that you should be a fan favourite. Everyone should be rooting for you to finally win the big one. Except you’re such a massive asshole that everyone wants to see you fail. If you weren’t such a huge dick people might actually cheer for you! Look at what you’ve done all year, look at the opportunities you’ve squandered. You were so close to finally becoming the world champion, and you almost had the people’s support. But you’re such an asshole, such a dick, you’re a fucking prick and everyone hates you. Every time you win it damn near causes a riot and I...I won’t give you the satisfaction of beating me. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t leave Fight Night as the winner. I will scratch, claw, bite. I will gouge your eyes out and stomp on your nuts if I have to. Michael Garcia, you will not have a victory over Alyster Black. I’ve worked too hard to lose to the likes of you. I just went to fucking war with Danny F’N Toner. I’m tired, I’m beat up, my face is bruised, my head is still spinning and I think I cracked a rib or two. But still, still, I’d rather step in a bear trap. I’d rather stick my dick into lava. I’d rather shove a spiked two by four up my ass then lose to you!

    I’ll fight through the pain. I’ll fight through that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I will not let you walk out of Fight Night victorious. You don’t deserve it! You didn’t deserve to beat Gabrielle, you didn’t deserve to beat Black Caramel and you didn’t deserve to beat Nova Diamond. I will die before I let you beat me! I’m going to do it for every fan that’s had to sit through your rise and fall this year. I’m going to do it for Gabrielle. Most importantly I’m going to do this for myself. I’ll kick your ass Michael! I don’t care how big you are, I’ll punch you in the fucking snout just like I’d punch anyone else here. You ugly, no-good, piece of fucking trash! I hate you and everything you stand for.

    All apologies to momma Garcia but you raised a piece of shit son and I’m gonna bury him.

    Alyster palms the lens of the camera, blacking it out. The last thing heard before the video stops is his harsh, angry voice screaming “Fucker!”
    Last edited by Rawr; 10-25-2020 at 02:07 AM.

  16. #16
    The Mayor of Slamtown
    Sayer's Avatar

    Join Date
    Aug 2014
    Rep Power



    The scene opens us to show us what appears to be a video game animation of a spaceship lobby, shakily speeding through the great unknown. 10 little blue chairs are being proven useless as 9 figures of varying colors are scampering across the room, seeming running circles around an open laptop. These figures are shown in colors of red, brown, blue, cyan, black, purple, orange, pink, and yellow. Each figure was wearing their own particular hat except The mouse could be seen quickly moving over towards a cartoon quote cloud before double clicking. In the text box below, the user began to type.

    MEMike: Start…

    WhyteThunder: Can’t dude…we’re waiting on one more.

    MEMike: Who we waitin’ on?

    Rockstar: In quite the hurry to lose again, big guy.

    BlackJesus: It’s literally the only thing he never fails at.

    CyrusTruth: I cannot believe this company is forcing me to engage in these sophomoric games with you degenerates. I truly despise every single aspect of this.

    CaramelGabs: Oh, look everyone, Cyrus thinks he’s above something…Shocking, I know.

    CyrusTruth: Especially you.

    CaramelGabs: I very much hope I AM the impostor because I won’t hesitate to take you out first, in dominating fashion.

    MEMike: Speaking of taking someone out in dominating fashion…

    SaintSulley: OH GOD, HERE WE GO…

    MEMike: What? I was just going to remind everyone…

    ProdigalOne: We’ve heard it, Mike. You’re going to remind everyone of how you dominated Gabrielle at the Anniversary Show…and for once in your miserable fucking life, you didn’t drop the ball.

    KrashyMoustachy: Or heaven forbid, you’re going to run down the impressive list of careers you’ve ended.

    WhyteThunder: And I swear to God, if you even type the name Jason Gryphon…

    Rockstar: I’ll jam my sword straight through your face and I ain’t even talking about this game.

    CaramelGabs: Now, now boys…you’d be bragging about that kinda stuff too, if you had no actual championships to your name.

    BlackJesus: I suppose. Every big dog has their day. However short and pathetic that day may be.

    CyrusTruth: What am I supposed to be doing here, anyways? How do I win? The faster we get this over with, the faster I can go back to the dark, windy forest I reside in.

    KrashyMoustachy: Game hasn’t started yet, Cy. Still waiting on out last player… Don’t worry though, I’ll try to help as much as I can. Just do your tasks if you’re a crewmate, and kill without getting caught if you’re the impostor.

    MEMike: NO TEAMING, ya CWA maggots!

    Saint Sulley: OH GOD. NOT THIS AGAIN…

    MEMike: Krash, you have no right to be holding that FWA North American Championship! I swear to God…you better hope that I

    * Danny Toner has entered the room*

    Prodigal Son: Oh, thank fucking God.

    CaramelGabs: Daniel, punctual as usual, I see.







    *Danny Toner has left the game*

    C R E W M A T E

    There is 1 impostor among us.

    The nine being all transport to the Skeld and scatter upon their way each moving on to carry on their tasks. Rockstar and WhyteThunder move straight into electrical to begin their wiring tasks, while MEMike, Prodigal Son, Krashy Moustachy, and Saint Sulley head on over to Navs/O2. In Admins, Caramel Gabs and Cyrus Truth go in to swipe their cards with BlackJesus hanging just a bit behind. Without a trace, the lights go out and chaos ensues. Gabby stays behind to work on her tasks, as Cyrus quickly runs outside to help with the lights, only to meet his grim fate. Black Jesus snaps Cyrus Truth’s neck and then disappears into the darkness. Moments later, the lights turn on, Caramel Gabs finishes her task and leaves Admins, running right into Saint Sulley who was scurrying through the hallways.

    * * *DEAD BODY!!!!* * *

    KrashyMoustachy: where

    BlackJesus: brown sus

    MEMike: I was in Navs with Orange.

    ProdigalOne: I didn’t see shit once the lights went out, you fucknugget.

    SaintSulley: I saw Gabby on top of the body

    MEMike: Well, that’s nothing new.

    CaramelGabs: Oh, Michael. You’re wit is ever so droll. But yeah, Sulley is lying as usual.

    BlackJesus: I don’t were in there with Cyrus when I left. Sorry, partner, but I think you’re busted.

    WhyteThunder: Same. Sorry, Gabs.

    Whyte Thunder has voted. 7 votes remaining.

    Black Jesus has voted. 6 votes remaining.

    CaramelGabs has voted. 5 votes remaining.

    CaramelGabs: Well, it’s clear that you boys have made up your mind. You’re wrong as usual. Take Sulley out next.

    MEMike has voted. 4 votes remaining.

    ProdigalOne has voted. 3 votes remaining.

    SaintSulley: At least you’re used to being outnumbered by men.

    KrashyMoustachy has voted. 2 votes remaining.

    Rockstar has voted. 1 vote remaining.

    Saint Sulley has voted. 0 votes remaining.

    The little pink creature floated off into the dark abyss.

    Caramel Gabs was not the Impostor.

    The game continued on with The ProdigalOne getting off’d next, being impaled through the skull. The crew decided to skip the vote, which led to MEMike getting taken out by a slick Black Jesus who vented away to obscurity. We switch from the animation of the computer screen to reality as we see a competitive and upset Garcia sitting back in his gamer’s chair, just glaring at his computer screen, coming to the realization that he had been taken out by Alyster Black. As Mike saw his being’s soul float above it’s corpse, he picked up his laptop and tossed it against his leather sofa. Garcia took a few deep breaths before spinning his chair around towards the camera. Garcia was wearing a brand new Chase Claypool Pittsburgh Steelers jersey and some tattered old jeans. The sunlight shone through his apartment window, glaring off the hardwood floor, showing the viewers at home what an oddly warm and beautiful day it was for mid-October. Garcia shook his head in frustration as he clasped his hands together in true Disney villain fashion.

    “Of course, he was….of course, Alyster fuckin’ Black was the Impostor….so absolutely fitting. Just another case of art imitating life. Impostor. There isn’t a single word I could think of to describe him any better.”

    Garcia reaches his massive typewriter like hand out and down towards the table, grabbing a bottle of IC Light and popping the tab. He takes a hearty sip of the Pittsburgh based IPA before setting the can down on a Pirates coaster. He stares off into the distance as he seizes the opportunity to say a few words about his opponent. He ponders what he wants to say as the TV flashes in the distance, showing a commercial about an upcoming Halloween sale at the Spirit of Halloween store. The one down on 58th street that took over the abandoned Macy’s building. Garcia chuckled to himself at the thought of any grown man still falling into the fantasy of Halloween. It’s a child’s holiday. Garcia reminisced about the days in which he would take Malik and Malia out onto the streets every October 31st in one of Theresa’s handmade costumes of oh-so-original ideas like a Ghost or a Goblin. But hey, she put everything she had into it and the kids did really appreciate it. Mike always worried about going down the streets of Homestead late at night but honestly, Halloween was probably the only night of the year in which it was moderately safe to do so. With the all adults and police presence, the gangbangers and drug dealers were staying deep in the shadows. Mike knew that he didn’t have to worry about anyone grabbing Raggedy Malia by the arm and into the alleyways on this night.

    “Ironic, isn’t it? Ironic that a man that calls himself the “Monster of the Midway” would be someone who looks down with contempt on those that engage in the fantasy and whimsicality of Halloween? Ironic that a man that spends his life thinking about the amount of pain that he can inflict on those he faces in the ring would be so adverse to a holiday celebrating demons and horror? Ironic that a man who’s career is driven by the fact that his opponents have a very natural and very understandable fear of his size, would scoff at those that involve themselves in this farce of a holiday that is predicated on fear, right? I don’t think so. You just have to look at it things the way that I look at them right now. You see, there is no denying who or what I am. I am a very large individual. I am six feet eleven inches tall. I am three hundred and eighty pounds. I move with the agility of a man that is significantly smaller me. These aren’t things that I say to market myself or to intimidate others. I don’t have to say them. These are facts. Anyone can just look at me and see these things to be true. I’m a scarred individual. I come from a broken home and have experienced things at a young age that most people should NEVER have to experience. I didn’t have a childhood and I grew up resenting any sort of authority. These aren’t things I say to get in people’s heads, it’s the god damn truth. I don’t call myself a monster to sell a few T-shirts and I don’t end people’s careers to add another zero onto my paycheck. I do it because I am the one man in this company who is exactly who he says he is.

    It almost makes me physically ill to think about what Halloween has become today. Sure, it didn’t bother me when I was a child but I didn’t know better then. All I was concerned with was walking around in my Donatello costume and getting more candy than Malik. Oh, and making sure he ended up getting all the apples and candy corn. Life was different then. Much simpler. Nowadays, we got all these rules and regulations for the kids, giving out toothpaste and dental floss, taking all the fun out of it for the kids while the adults prance around in such riveting costumes as Sexy Cat or Construction Worker or maybe even Screech Powers. God help me if I see an inflatable T-Rex this year. It’s almost as if we’ve sacrificed Halloween for the kids so that the adults can have their fun and live their fantasy. To allow them an opportunity to pretend that they are something they aren’t, right? What’s the harm in allowing one’s delusions to come out in such an expressive form? Well, you might not see anything wrong with it, but you don’t work where I work. You don’t see the affect these delusions have on people and how easy they are to buy into what they are presented as. I’m not presented as a giant, it’s what I am. I’m not presented as a sociopath, it’s what I am. I’m not presented as a physically imposing fucking wrecking ball, it’s WHAT. I. AM.

    But such is not the case of literally anyone else in the FWA. I am the only real person in the FWA. I am the only person who is what I claim myself to be. Don’t believe me? Please tell me what geographical area King Sullivan reigns over. The man literally came out with a robe and a scepter, believing himself to be a king so much so that I openly mocked him for it. King Sull…er, wait, I’m sorry…he’s a religious deity now, isn’t he? Pope Sullivan XVI, I think. But don’t think it stops there, no, don’t forget we have a Goddess, too. Have you heard a Gabrielle promo lately? I’m pretty sure she descended from the heavens a few weeks ago. Cyrus Truth? Well, buddy, I’m so glad you made a friend lately, cause I was certainly growing tired of you talking to the elders and the elves in the mountains and forests every week. We’ve got Rock stars, oh wait…NO! Even better! Haven’t you heard? Devin Golden and Randy Ramon just scored contracts on the latest Office reboot on Netflix. Are you fucking kidding me? Hopefully, it doesn’t go head to head with the new Police Drama that Krash and Parr are killing it in every week. I mean, honestly now, what the fuck are we doing here? What is this? When did this become fucking Star Search? Don’t even get me started on that Sci-Fi freak in the X Division, right now? The FWA right now is just brimming with fakes, phonies and people pretending to be something they aren’t. Eli Black fancies himself an artist, Bronco Wells thinks he’s home on the range, and Alexandria believes she’s a wrestler. Everyday is Halloween here in the FWA, apparently.

    But what about Alyster Black? He’s not pretending to be anything, is he? Just a guy…in a mask… showing up and doing what he’s asked to do…Nothing different about him, is there? Wrong. Alyster Black is committing the biggest deception of them all. This is a man who came into the FWA based off the fact that he was Krash’s good buddy back in the old pasture of the CWA. He came into the company and immediately was pushed up the ladder, very much similar to Cyrus and Krash before him. People like Kayden Knox, hell even Jason Randall were pushed to the side so that Alyster Black could be given a position that he never earned. Alyster Black was given an opportunity that I DESERVED for no other reason than he was hyped as being this amazing talent and it was only after I personally voiced my displeasure with FWA management that I was afforded the “opportunity” to right their wrong by competing against Alyster Black and Dave Sullivan in a 2 on 1 Handicap match. A match in which Alyster Black still somehow nearly lost. But hey, “The King” carried him to a victory and I was sent to the backburner. And then…then came this tag team tournament. And yet again, Alyster Black is getting all this hype…all this hype off the back of Gabby’s hard work as she carried you piggyback through this tournament. And just as an added history lesson, Alyster,who was it that handed you your first loss in that tournament? You damn right, it was The Affliction. And now…now I hear rumblings that you are being considered for a World Title Opportunity?

    I want you all to look at this lineup. Gabrielle Montgomery, Cyrus Truth, Michael Garcia, Dave Sullivan, Alyster Black, Devin Golden, Mike Parr, Krash, Randy Ramon…As the song says, Alyster, one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn’t belong. Spoiler alert: That thing…is you. You sir, you are the impostor. You are the outcast. You are the one who is getting opportunities that he doesn’t deserve. You are the one that is masquerading as a main event talent and taking opportunities from those that deserve it far more than you! You aren’t who you’re billed to be, Alyster, but I am and you saw that first hand at the Anniversary Show. That was your Halloween. Watching on in horror as I destroyed and dismantled your friend like no man…NO MAN has ever done before. We’re talking about someone who has competed with AND BEATEN every top star in this business. At the Anniversary show, I dropped her like a cheap slut…er, suit….yeah, suit. And if I can do that to her, the person that carried you like a Dad carrying around his little girl at the zoo, just imagine what I can and will do to You aren’t who you’re billed to be, Alyster, but I am and you saw that first hand at the Anniversary Show. That was your Halloween. Watching on in horror as I destroyed and dismantled your friend like no man…NO MAN has ever done before. We’re talking about someone who has competed with AND BEATEN every top star in this business. At the Anniversary show, I dropped her like a cheap slut…er, suit….yeah, suit. And if I can do that to her, the person that carried you like a Dad carrying around his little girl at the zoo, just imagine what I can and will do to you. I almost consider it my responsible to expose you for the fraud that you are. Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”

    Garcia gets up from the camera and starts to walk away as the camera pans over to the laptop on the coach, which has the graphic of a floating Black being throughout space.

    “Alyster Black was the Impostor.”

  17. #17
    The Maniacal Martyr
    BMJ Maniax's Avatar

    Join Date
    Oct 2019
    Rep Power
      Country                    United States


    *Alexandra Marie is talking to herself about her debut match of which shes not happy about*

    Alexandra: Are you kidding me? A triple threat match? Seriously? What's wrong with just a one on one? It's just they're punishing me that's all.

    *Alexandra Marie is a bit perturbed at what she said*

    Alexandra: Nuh uh, that won't fly.

    *Alexandra walks to the fridge and grabs some chardonnay*

    Alexandra: Why does it have to be a triple threat?

    *Alexandra places the bottle down before grabbing a glass*

    Alexandra (angry): I mean seriously, I have my first match against two men which I don't care about, but I'll still win.

    *Alexandra places the glass down angrily*

    Alexandra: I have to wrestle them in a triple threat, Ford Bronco and whoever else I don't give a shit.

    *Alexandra grabs the ice tray as she continues to talk*

    Alexandra: Why can't I just put one down? And I can deal with the other next week ok?

    *Alexandra opens up the bottle as its pops*

    Alexandra: Like seriously, I'm going to win and there's nothing but those assholes can do ok?

    *Alexandra pours the chardonnay into the glass*

    Alexandra: Now maybe they can handle each other and that way it'd be easy pickings.

    *Alexandra drops ice into her glass*

    Alexandra: Oh boy where to start, you're both good, but trust me both in the ring with me, you're both just unsalted roadkill while for me I will get that first win.

    *With that, Alexandra stirs the drink and starts drinking it.*

    Alexandra: So anyways both you guys this week, you get the unfortunate chance of being the first victims and by that I mean, getting the win, and so with that being say f**k off.

    *The camera turns blank as she says that*

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