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Thread: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

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    A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    Post your promos for A Crossfire Christmas Reunion here.

    Promos are due on December 19th, 2020 that night at midnight pacific time, that's 12/20/20 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.

    NO EXTENSIONS.

    DO NOT ASK.

    REMEMBER:
    If you are competing in the Gauntlet Championship Match (McClain, Peacock and Toner), 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.





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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas PROMO THREAD

    FWA Network Presents:

    Saint House
    Episode One: Family Over Everything


    A New American Family Show





    A shot of Sullivan Castle is shown just as the camera pans to the inside, revealing Kleio De Santos, Kujo, and Sammie Sullivan all sitting at the large kitchen table in their pajamas at center stage. Kujo is wearing a pair of goofy bunny slippers, Kleio is wearing a white silk pajama outfit, and Sammie is wearing her signature Frozen nightie.

    Suddenly, Saint Sulley comes out from the other side of the kitchen wearing a comedic "Kiss the Cook" apron.

    [Canned Cheering]

    Saint Sulley: Whoooooo wants chocolate chip pancakes?

    Sammie Sullivan: I do! I do!


    Sulley puts some pancakes on everyone's plate as the family begins to eat breakfast.

    Kujo: Say, aren't these the same pancakes we had for dinner last night?

    [Canned Laughter]

    Saint Sulley: They sure are! I didn't have time to make anything new, I've been training extra hard for my fight against Mike Garcia on Christmas Day.

    Sammie Sullivan's expression changes once Sulley mentions the fight against Garcia. Her face turns to a frown as she plays with her food instead of eating it.

    Saint Sulley notices, and goes over to rub the top of her head.

    Saint Sulley: Hey squirt? Why so gloomy? You know we've got your big soccer game today!


    Sulley's reminder of the soccer game has Sammie feeling more cheered up.

    Sammie: They call it Football here dad! And you promised we'd get ice cream afterwards too!

    Kujo's ears perk up at the mention of ice cream.

    Kujo: ICE CREAM? DID YOU SAY YOU'RE GETTING ICE CREAM?

    Kujo nearly jumps out of his chair with excitement.

    [Canned Laughter]

    Sammie: Oh Uncle Kujo, you're so silly. Of course you can come! And Kleio too!

    Kleio: Thanks little sis. Why don't you go upstairs and get ready? We should be leaving soon!

    Sammie goes ahead and runs up the stairs of the castle to get ready for her soccer game.

    Meanwhile, Saint Sulley is cleaning up in the castle kitchen and Kujo has just gotten done shoving four chocolate chip pancakes into his mouth.

    Kujo (In a muffled voice due to having food in his mouth): So Sulley, what do we have planned for the Last Man Standing match at the Christmas Show?

    Saint Sulley: What do we have planned? The PLAN is to beat Mike Garcia, and get my title back. That's the plan. Nothing more.

    Kleio: But Sulley, surely there's going to be interference again. I mean, Blackbird pretty much guaranteed it on Fight Night didn't he? Knox and The UA ended up costing you the title at Mile High...and that was when you were inside a cell! There won't be a cell at Mile High...


    Sully throws the dirty plate he has in his hand on the ground, causing Kleio and Kujo both to jump.

    [Canned Laughter]

    Saint Sulley: Do you think I don't know this, Kleio? Yes, of course Blackbird is going to send in his goons to help Mike win at all costs. But what he doesn't know is, I'm counting on him to do just that. We know that Knox and The UA are coming out at some point right? That's why I formed Saints and Sinners in the first place...when they come out, you guys come out too...beat the shit out of them right there, and chase them off. Send a message that the FWA will not be controlled by those goons.

    Kujo: I thought you formed Saints and Sinners so you could rescue people?

    Saint Sulley: Yes, Kujo...that's part of it. But how can I rescue people if I am not on top? How can I rescue people if the FWA is controlled by Vincent Blackbird, Mike Garcia, and three other goons? I just simply can't. When we formed the Saints & Sinners, we didn't do it to control the FWA. No one man should have that power...but as it stands, that group of buffoons has formed an alliance that's getting way too powerful for my liking. Blackbird has general manager powers, and Garcia has the world championship...on top of that, they outnumber us four to three! We need to get the world title back, and stop this dictatorship from getting any bigger.

    The fate of the FWA may literally stand on this match...

    I will not let Blackbird be a dictator...even if it means stopping the coup and cutting off his head on live TV!


    [Canned Laughter]

    Suddenly, Sammie comes back downstairs dressed in her full soccer uniform and ready to go.

    Sammie: I'm ready! Let's go scuba tubas!

    The cheering goes nuts as Sammie says one of her signature catchphrases.

    _____________________________

    At the soccer game, a shot of Sammie in her all blue soccer kit is shown running up and down the field trying to get after the ball. All the while, Kujo and Kleio are also shown on the sideline cheering her on!

    Meanwhile however, Saint Sulley is on the sidelines himself with his phone in his hand. He was filming shots of Sammie playing, at least up until he noticed one of the parents on the sideline wearing a Mike Garcia t-shirt.

    Since then, Sulley has been irate. He keeps trying to pay attention to the game, but his eyes just can't stay off the man in the Garcia shirt.

    Finally, Sulley can't help himself...he puts his phone away, and goes over to the parent.

    Sulley wastes no time getting in his face and wagging his finger at him.

    Hey buddy! What the hell are you doing? Why would you wear that shit here?

    Excuse me?

    You heard me. Why would you come HERE wearing THAT SHIRT? Don't you know who I am?

    The man looks at Sulley for a minute...

    Hey aren't you the guy who played Mike Ross on Suits?

    [Canned Laughter]

    Sulley's face turns absolute red with anger.

    NO! NO I AM NOT THAT GUY! I AM SAINT SULLEY! How could you wear a Mike Garcia t-shirt, and not know who I am? What sense does that make?

    He just won the title...look man, I'm just trying to watch my son play ball. Don't you have a kid here too or something you should be paying attention to?

    Mike Garcia didn't win anything. He didn't earn anything anyways...no, what Mike Garcia did was he caused FWA to have some of it's lowest ratings of the year, because instead of the big climatic showdown we were going to get by someone finally getting lucky enough to beat me...we had what we saw at the Mile High Massacre. Think for a minute about the pure hype that I was able to build over the course of 407 days with the FWA World Championship. Every single night, not just PPVs, but every night, people would speculate...

    "Who would be the person to finally dethrone The King?"

    It was a huge freaking deal. Beating me...it'd have been like breaking Chris Kennedy's undefeated record at Back in Business.

    How about Nova Diamond, would he be the one to dethrone The King and get all his momentum? NO. Because I beat him.

    Well then, what about Alyster Black? Surely he'd be able to dethrone the King? WRONG AGAIN. I beat him too.

    Well then, let's give Mikey Garcia a chance. One on One in Brooklyn for the title...if he wins, surely he has earned the throne. Wrong again...I beat Mike there too. So what does the FWA say? All these guys on the roster can't do it...they can't dethrone this guy, so we'll bring in a legend, we'll bring in a Hall of Famer...we'll bring in CHRIS FREAKING KENNEDY. Surely he can dethrone The King. Chris Kennedy has won more world titles than anyone, Chris Kennedy never loses...he'll take The King down, right? Right?

    WRONG.

    WRONG.

    WRONG.

    The King couldn't even be dethroned by Chris Kennedy.

    So then, FWA has this brilliant idea to book The King in a big Mile High Massacre match. Throw in a bunch of losers that The King already beat, and Mike Parr...I'll give Mike credit. I respect the hell out of that man. But the rest of them? Losers. And what happens? What happens to the King who went 868 days as a champion of some sort? He loses it in a match where he can't even be pinned...he loses it in a match that ends up being a crapshoot...and all in all...he loses it because three men who had no business BEING THERE decided to interfere, and help one man win.

    THAT is how the story ends? Like that? 868 days of The King reigning over the FWA, who doesn't even get pinned? Doesn't get submitted? He just loses the title in the most anti-climatic way possible?

    How could you give any credit to Garcia there?

    He didn't dethrone anything. I am still on top...if he wants to dethrone me, he's going to have to do it against me ONE ON ONE. So we'll see...you go ahead, and you wear that ugly looking Mike Garcia shirt on Christmas Day, and you watch me pound that guy into the ground. Watch me beat his face into a bloody pulp, until the referee counts to ten and he can't get up anymore.

    Mike Garcia, Vincent Blackbird, and their goon squad ruined what could've been an amazing moment for someone...to take down Saint Sulley in singles match and win the title. Instead? We got what we got. It wasn't good for television, and it wasn't good for the FWA. It was forced move to give Michael Garcia a world title reign so we wouldn't feel bad anymore about him also choking in the big one...

    At this moment, as Sulley continues his Garcia rant...Sammie Sullivan has just scored a goal! Kujo and Kleio go nuts cheering on the sidelines, and Sammie has a HUGE smile on her face.

    She is absolutely delighted.

    The first thing she does, is look to the sidelines to see the proud look on her dad's face...

    Only of course to see him ranting and raving about Garcia instead.

    Her pride of the goal is overwhelmed by her disappointment that her dad missed it.

    Sulley meanwhile finally tells the man in the Garcia shirt to piss off, as Sammie comes off the field to get a drink of water.

    Sammie runs up to Sulley with a big smile.

    Sammie: You saw my goal, right dad?

    Saint Sulley: Uh...yeah, of course I did kiddo!

    Sammie knows he's lying through his teeth, but she chooses not to call him out on it.

    Saint Sulley: Look, I'm sorry bubba, but I have to go.

    Sammie: What? But we still have time left in the game! And...and what about ice cream?

    Saint Sulley: Kujo and Kleio are going to stay here with you, and they're going to take you out to ice cream afterwards! It'll be fun, you know how much Uncle Kujo loves ice cream.


    Sammie: Yeah...do you really have to go?

    Saint Sulley gets down on his knee and gives his daughter a hug.

    Saint Sulley: It's for work, Sammie. You know this...look I just got really fired up about this match, and it made me realize that I can't let anything slip past me. There is so much on the line...if I can't get my title back, I probably won't have a chance to get it again unless I win Carnal Contendership! I need to win this match. I need to train Sammie, I need to be ready. This is Daddy's career, this is how Daddy makes us money...so that we can actually go and get ice cream.

    Sammie lets out a depressing sigh.

    Sammie: Okay...I'll see you later, right?

    Saint Sulley: Of course, I'm just going to the gym, and then I'll be back. We'll have a family game night!

    Sammie: Good! I've been looking forward to crushing you at Checkers again!

    [Canned Laughter]

    Sulley chuckles, and gives his daughter a kiss on the forehead.

    Saint Sulley: Of course, kiddo. I'll see you soon!


    The former world champ leaves in his car, as Sammie re-enters her soccer game with a sigh...she looks at Kleio and Uncle Koju with a smile as she goes back to dominating the other players.

    _____________________________



    Later on that day, Saint Sulley is in his gym, jogging away on the treadmill while watching tape of Garcia in the background. He's watching specifically the Division Rules matchup from August, as the Mile High Massacre match was way less technical.

    In fact, this is the 31st time Saint Sulley has watched this tape since Fight Night. And he's watched all of Garcia's other matches from the last year too.

    The only thing that is on Saint Sulley's mind right now is Michael Garcia.

    Garcia.

    Garcia.

    Garcia.

    Sulley can't get it out of his head as he jogs away...watching the TV screen, looking for some advantage...

    Saint Sulley: That footwork of his is so sluggish and sloppy. All he does is powers his way through moves. He has no rhythm...if I bait him and let him take a big power swing, I can use my speed to duck out of the way and just attack with some fast vicious strikes. I am faster and more agile than him...he might have more power, but I am way more dangerous...and I-


    Suddenly, Saint Sulley can hear his phone ringing from his duffle bag.

    He stops the treadmill.

    Saint Sulley: Who the hell is interrupting me during my workout? I can't keep having these distractions. I need to stay focused on Mike Garcia, nothing else is important right now...

    Sulley makes it to his phone, and sees it's Kleio calling him.

    He scoffs at it before answering it with anger.

    Saint Sulley: You know not to call me during a workout, this better better important!

    [Canned Laughter]

    Kleio (Over the phone): It's Sammie, Dave...she's missing!

    Saint Sulley stops in his tracks.

    Saint Sulley: What do you mean she's missing? Weren't you guys getting ice cream?

    Kleio: We were...and then we turned away for just a second, and she was gone!

    Saint Sulley: I don't have time for this! How could she does this to me? Was she not thinking? Going and running off when I have the biggest match of my career to prepare for. That girl just thinks everything is about her doesn't she? Her soccer game, and her chocolate chip pancakes...but she has no idea how important this fight is...and now...

    Look...I think I know where she's at. Meet me back at the castle, okay?


    With that, Sulley hangs up, and quickly heads out the door.

    _____________________________



    Saint Sulley quickly runs up to the playground, and is relieved at what he sees...Sammie Sullivan swinging on the swing by herself. No other kids are in the playground, as it's the end of December and it's covered in snow.

    Sulley stops running when he sees Sammie, who's still wearing her soccer kit, and walks up to her slowly.

    She doesn't acknowledge that he's there.

    But he doesn't care, he has no problem talking first here.


    Saint Sulley: Hey kiddo...you gave us a real scare today. Want to tell me what's going on?

    Sammie still doesn't turn and look at him.

    She's giving him the good old fashioned silent treatment.

    Saint Sulley: Look, I suppose this is the part of the episode where we're supposed to have a really good feel good moment, and a lesson is taught, but I'm not going to lie...I'm pretty upset with you! You know how important my job is. I told you many times, this is how daddy makes his money. And this match, this match is bigger than anything else. It's for my world championship...my world championship that I lost. I have to win it back...I can't just...I can't let Garcia be the one to win. If it was Gabrielle, or Mike Parr, or Cyrus Truth...or anyone else, that'd be different! I'd respect the fact that they bested me...that they were the better fighter. I'd move on. But Garcia? Every thing about him just makes me hate him with this strong passion. Is it his ego? The fact that he has no sportsmanship whatsoever?

    The things he said at Mile High, they got to me Samantha.

    Some make believe story about what would happen if I was still champion? A bunch of nonsense about how I'd have absolute power? Look at how that turned out. It was all a ruse...how could you go on and say that I can't be champion because I'd have too much power, and then go and create a big power alliance and brag about dominating the FWA? That is the pure definition of hypocrisy.

    To talk about MY ego? Call me an megalomaniac?

    People think me becoming Saint Sulley was me becoming worse? Why don't they realize I'm only getting better? I'm out there rescuing people! I've rescued Kleio, Kujo...you.

    Who has Mike Garcia rescued? Kayden Knox? More like he's taken advantage of him. He couldn't even come up with an original nickname for their tag team, he had to steal it off of Kayden. And yet after all the abuse, all the using, Kayden continues to just let Garcia use him. And people think that's the same as it is with Uncle Kujo? They're off base. I'm not using Uncle Kujo...Uncle Kujo is helping me sure, and I'm helping him. You, me, Kleio, Uncle Kujo, we're all a family?

    But those people! Those people are not a family. They're all just a bunch of people using each other, Sammie.

    And I have to stop them. It has to be me, I have to stop it before it gets going. They are just starting, if Garcia wins at the Christmas Show, he's only going to get bigger and bigger in his head. He's going to become the exact thing he criticizes me for...the fact is...he's already done it. That opening segment of Fight Night? He's become worse than anything I ever was, and this was Day One. I can't let there be another day, Sammie. The entire FWA is counting on me here.

    You understand that right?

    You understand why I have to work as hard as I do.

    This is bigger than you.

    It's bigger than me.

    It's bigger than all of u-

    ENOUGH!

    Sammie shouts.

    Sulley finally closes his mouth...shocked at how loud his daughter just yelled.


    Sammie Sullivan:

    Enough, daddy.

    Since Thanksgiving, that's all I've heard about is Mike Garcia. Mike Garcia this, Mike Garcia, that. Mike Garcia, Mike Garcia, Mike Garcia. You are obsessed with him.

    I don't understand....Sammie I thought you liked my job? You said it was cool?

    I did like your job.

    Now your JOB? It takes up everything. During my soccer game today, you weren't even paying ATTENTION TO ME and watching ME play, because you were so focused on yelling at some guy in a Garcia t-shirt. You couldn't just take an hour break away from thinking about your fight, to watch your daughter play soccer.

    You didn't keep your promise about ice cream either. You said we'd go out after the game, but you lied to me. Instead, you did what you always do.

    Work.

    And I haven't complained once? Do you know why? Because I've just been happy to have a home. Between the time that my mom died, and the time that you took me in, I was living in a foster home. I didn't get any attention there either, and I didn't even care...but...at least at the foster home we had Christmas.

    That's all I wanted. To have a nice Christmas in our big castle...now, how is Santa Claus going to even find us? We're going to be spending Christmas in some hotel somewhere. And Christmas Day? I'm going to be stuck in a stinky locker room, watching you wrestle. And if you lose? If you lose, my Christmas is ruined. Because your career is my life too now. And when you lost right after Thanksgiving, you disappeared Daddy. None of us even knew where you were. You just left me...Kleio, Uncle Kujo...you left all of us. You left me with that nanny, and I HATE that nanny.

    Why didn't you tell me where you were going?

    Why didn't you take me with you?

    You just left.

    I was scared. I was scared because when my mom died, she was gone for a long time too. I thought I lost you, and I thought I was going to be all alone again.

    But then you came back...but it hasn't felt like it.

    You haven't been the same person at all. You have changed. I watch you on TV, and you're right, you are no different than Mike Garcia. The way that you talk, and the way that you act...the way that you argue with people wearing t-shirts, and throw laptops at walls, it's not fun anymore. You're not the same person I told bed time stories with, or I drew pictures about. You've changed...I want you to go back to what you were before.

    Those things you said? About rescuing me? What have you rescued me from? Because right now, the way things have been, I really wish I wasn't with you right now. You haven't been a good daddy, at all...and...and I've just missed my mommy.


    Sammie begins to break down with emotion and tears. The changes her dad has been through, the loss of her mother, Christmas coming up...everything.

    It's all hitting her at once, and Sulley too...

    Sulley is completely speechless at everything his daughter has had to say.

    I...I didn't know you felt this way.

    I'm sorry Samantha. I can't bring your mother back, and I'm never going to be the person she was. I really want to tell you that I can change, and that I can be a better person...I can. I know I can...you've helped me change so much already!

    But please, I'm begging you...please don't make me choose between you, and winning against Garcia.

    Don't you see? You can win against Mike Garcia without winning the fight. What do you have, that Mike Garcia doesn't have?


    You have me.

    You have Kleio and Kujo.

    You have a family.

    No matter how hard that big meanie head Garcia tries, he'll never have that support. Blackbird, Knox, The UA? They aren't a family. They are all just a group of people using each other as a means to get ahead. But with you, it's not like that is it?

    Garcia doesn't get to go home and tell his daughter amazing bedtime stories.

    He doesn't get to ho home and watch his daughter play soccer.

    He can't take her out to ice cream, or have a family game night.

    But you can...that's why, no matter what happens, you're going to be the winner Daddy.


    Sulley's got tears running down his face, as he tries to wipe them away.

    So you don't want me to fight anymore?

    If that's what it takes for me to be a good Dad, I'll withdraw from this fight, Sammie. I won't do it. I don't need this, I don't need to beat Garcia. I've already accomplished everything I want to. I can hang it up right now, and we can just spend all of my time doing fun things. I'll watch all of your games, and we'll get ice cream...

    FWA doesn't have to matter.


    NO! Daddy...you don't get it.

    It doesn't have to be that way.

    You're right, FWA doesn't have to matter.

    But it doesn't have to not matter too, get it?

    I LOVE your job. I think it's so cool watching your fight every week, and I love getting to travel on planes, on go to different cities, and run around hotels and go exploring in every one of them.

    But it's only fun when you make it fun.

    Stop going out making everything so serious.

    Go fight Garcia, try your best, and if you win that's awesome...but if you don't...you still have your family.

    And family goes over everything.

    Garcia won't ever have that.

    With that, Sulley hugs his daughter tight, as the two have the special heart to heart moment that was teased all along.

    An audible "aww" can be heard in place of the classic laugh track.

    Things are going to get better, Sammie. I can't promise you I'm going to change overnight, but I'm going to change. You're helping me get there...and if I win that FWA World Championship again, it's going to be different this time.

    Sammie continues to hug her father, before breaking away for one final line.

    So, Daddy, what do you say we go get some ice cream?

    [Canned Laughter]

    I'm ready! Let's go scuba tuba!

    The fake audience goes nuts as Sulley says Sammie's signature catchphrase. Now Saint Sulley and Sammie walk off into the sunset, on their way to pick up some ice cream.

    And the craziest thing is...

    ...for the first time...

    Mike Garcia was not on Saint Sulley's mind at all.


    "Without a family, man, alone in the world, trembles with the cold."
    - Andre Maurois

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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    1:03 AM
    Saturday, 12 December 2020
    A Dark, Snowy Road in Canada


    The wheels of the white Cadillac are turning once again. Whilst one would usually expect to hear disco music blaring through the speakers, this is not the case. “My Way” by Frank Sinatra is providing the soundtrack for Chris Peacock's drive out of Canada.

    Chris looks ahead into the distance and sees a set of taillights aside the road through the snow. As he gets closer, he sees a man standing next to the car, frantically hailing whoever is passing.

    Usually, Chris would not hesitate to act the Good Samaritan. But tonight he felt different. Everything was in place for him to have left Fight Night as the Gauntlet Champion. After receiving advice advice from Randy Ramon on how to beat Danny Toner, he thought that he had it sewn up.

    "Chris Peacock wins first singles championship in Fight Night debut"

    What a headline that would have been.

    Chris squeezes the brakes gently as he approaches the stranded man. Whilst he wasn't feeling himself, he couldn't allow this person to face the snow and darkness by themselves. Chris rolls the window down and the grateful man approaches him.


    "Oh thank you so much for stoppin', man. You wouldn't believe the amount of assholes that left us- holy shit!"

    The man cuts himself off and gets a good look at Chris; eyes widening when he is sure he has seen who he thinks he has. Chris smirks knowingly at the man.

    "You're Chris Peacock! This is crazy, we're on our way back to New York after coming up to watch Fight Night. We saw your match!"

    Chris had hoped helping this person would have served as a distraction from Fight Night, but it was clear to him that this would now not be the case.

    "I dig the support, man. You guys need help?"

    "Our flight home got cancelled so I hired a car because we've got to get home... and well, you can see what happened. I couldn't use your phone, could I? Mine's dead and I don't wanna waste the car battery as we need the heat."

    Before answering, Chris sees two young boys huddled together in the back seat of the man's car.

    "I got one better. Get your stuff and jump in. Even if you can get someone to come out at this time, you're still gonna be out here for hours. I'm headin' to New York too."

    The man splutters out a few words of thanks and then retrieves his sons and the three of them get into Chris's car.

    2.25 AM
    Saturday, 12 December 2020
    A Darker, Snowier Road in Canada


    The children have fallen asleep in the back seat, and Chris and their father have sat in near silence for over an hour as to not prevent them from doing so.

    "How old?"

    "Ten and seven. The trip to Canada and tickets to Fight Night were an early Christmas present. I met my wife at a wrestling show, and since she passed I've tried to share our passion with the boys."

    That revelation causes Chris to pause. A father left alone with two sons after the death of his wife. Exactly how his family was left after his mother's death.

    "I'm sorry to hear that, man. That must be hard. Damn... I feel like an ass. Before I picked you guys up I was beating myself up about not beating Danny, but that doesn't seem important at all now."

    "Chris, I appreciate what you've done to help us out, but I need to confess something to you."

    Chris looks over as the father opens up his jacket... revealing a Danny F'n Toner t-shirt underneath. Both men chuckle to themselves.

    "Get out."

    "I'm sorry, man. For what it's worth, the three of us will be in your corner on the Christmas show. How can we not be after you've done this for us? You'll get him this time."

    "It isn't only Danny I have to worry about this time. I know what it's like to be in the ring with Marcus McClain better than anyone else. It isn't easy, trust me. I know that he won't hesitate to do whatever he needs to do to get that championship.

    Thing is, I can't even sit here and act like Mack is a bad guy. Look at what he does for his family, man. After everything his brother put him through, he still has his back. He understands family and he won't let go of his.

    I'm not a parent, but let me give you some advice. Don't let those two kids ever let anything get between them... because before you know it, that bond? It's gone and everything changes."


    It is out of character for him to open up like this to a complete stranger. Perhaps it was the tiredness talking, but the various emotions of the last several hours left him feeling exposed. He thought of his parents and how they'd have always supported him, like how McClain still has his brother's back. Then he thought of his own brother, who resented him for following his dreams.

    The passenger tries to change the subject.


    "Was that Frank Sinatra I heard you listening to earlier? I thought you were a disco guy?"

    "That was my dad's favourite song. When I'm not feeling great I listen to it. He told me that you can never have any regrets as long as you did things how you felt were right."

    But Chris did have regrets.

    He didn't do what was right before Fight Night.

    Convincing Randy Ramon to spill secrets on Danny Toner out of spite for Toner doing the same thing?

    What did he expect? It didn't work for Michelle against Ramon. Why would it be any different for him?

    What would everyone have thought had he beaten Toner? He won because of Ramon.

    Chris Peacock is here on his own merits.

    He has a chance to redeem himself based on his own merits.

    He doesn't need help to beat Danny Toner.

    Not Ramon's.

    Not anyone's.


    He'll do it HIS way.




  4. #4
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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    {A Shared Promo}
    Saus X thought he had it for sure as he looked at the referee and disbelief and made sure that it wasn’t three. Saus X goes to the ring apron once more while Marcus is beginning to stir. As Marcus is getting up, Saus X comes off the rope with a springboard clothesline that Marcus just barely manages to duck underneath, and Saus X manages to catch himself and rolls through gingerly. Saus X composes himself and turns around...MACK ATTACK! SPEAR FROM MCCLAIN! Marcus hooks the far leg for the cover…

    ...ONE
    ...TWO
    …THREE!


    Kurt Harrington: The winner of the match, Marcus McClain!


    X made his way back to the locker room, holding his chest. It was another stupid loss. As he entered the locker room, he made his way to his area. He grabbed his bags and whatnot and left the arena early. He hopped into his van as he made his way down the cold Canadian Roads. He respected the man sure, but he took losing kinda badly. That's something he did as a kid, he gets over excited and then let down. It's a problem that he's been working on for sure. He drove for about 1 hour, playing music along the way. As he was in an almost deserted area, covered by trees and fields, his van began to stop. X tried to hit the Gas, but nothing moved. Oh shit, he forgot to put gas in. He banged his head against his padded steering wheel, causing the Van to honk for about 30 seconds. X pulled his phone out of his pocket and attempted to turn it on. But it was dead for some reason unknown to him.

    "Stupid fucking phone. STUPID VAN!"

    So now he was stuck on the side of the road with a dead van and a dead phone. He thought for a minute before heading the back of the van. He grabbed a small flip phone that looked like it was from 1996. He put a number into the phone and called it.

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

    ???: Thanks for the 50$ dono ChiefOfHam! "Where are you guys wrestling at next?" Well, we wanted to keep this secret but ...

    ???: WE ARE GOING TO THE FWA! WHOO!

    We finally see where the voices come from as Zip Strider looks extremely animated. King however is just vibing in the back.

    King: Yeah, and it's out Christmas gift to you! Speaking of Chri-

    King looked at his phone and saw he got a phone call.

    King: Hold on y'all, let me go answer this.

    King leaves the room and answers the phone call.

    ???: Listen Jamie, it's been a long time I know. But I need you to come pick me up. My van's dead.

    King: Blaine? Don't you have anyone closer to the area, like an FWA Member, you can call?

    X: No, the show is still going on, I left early. I don't have a single clue what's happening there. And besides, I don't think anyone really likes me yet. I just need help. I'll repay the favor.

    King: Ok, we'll come get you. It might take a few hours, but we'll come.

    King shut off the phone and made his way back into the room.

    King: "Zip, we need to go get Blaine."

    Zip: "Why? Can't someone else get him?"

    King: "That's what I said, but let's go. Ok?"

    Zip: "Fine! Anyways Stream, I hope you enjoyed today. We'll see you in a few hours!"

    Strider turned off the stream, and began to put on some actual clothes. King prepared himself by grabbing his keys. And then they left from wherever they are. King has around 59 different homes throughout the USA, Canada, Europe, and Japan. His family was rich, thanks to his parents having stocks in many of companies. They also own many local restaurants and local fast food franchises. Today, they were in Canada, given their job in FWA. The two left their Dual House and entered King's jeep. King wasn't a big car person, so he was fine with a Jeep.

    As the two began to drive on the cold, winter Canadian roads, King called X again.

    King: X, what road on you on?

    {X said a road that was like 1 hour away from the Last Arena I can't find anything on it}

    King: Alright, bet! So-

    X: Do you have room in your Jeep?

    King: Room for what?

    X: All my stuff. I'm not gonna leave about 3000 dollars worth of stuff in my van. I can leave my mattress in there, but I need everything else.

    King: We have room. Just ... stay safe while we drive.

    King hung up the phone, as we hear Strider singing along to NSync that was playing on the Radio. They drove for about 2 hours before they arrive, seeing a van on the side of the road. Strider honked the car a few times as a man stepped out. X came out of the van, looking pretty annoyed.

    "Thank god y'all are finally here. I've seen a few people come by and give me dirty looks. Creeps me out ya know."

    Strider: "I understand that. Yo King, pop the trunk!"

    King would end up opening the trunk of the car, as X began to place his stuff in. It took about 15 minutes, but as soon as he placed his TV in he shut the trunk and got in through the back seat.

    King: So, are you just gonna leave your van here?

    X: Yeah, last time I ran out of gas it stopped working for at least 2 months. It's fine staying here. At least y'all don't live like ... 10 hours away.

    Strider: If we did, it'd be better for you to walk back to the arena and get help. It might take the same amount of time, but whatever.

    X laughed a bit. His sense of humor was pretty bad, he'd laugh at anything really.

    King: I mean, imagine the headlines by Shake Meltzer. "FWA Superstar Killed?!"

    X: That's amazing! I can imagine all the speculation on 'Reddit' and 'FWASmarkyNews'

    X had just plugged his phone up, and it turned on in like a minute. He checked his E-Mail.

    X: They released the next Match Card. You two are taking on the Valanders, and i'm in a #1 Contenders Match. And it's in Chicago, so let's get driving.

    King: The Valanders? We are debuting against them? Well, you know what we have to do Strider! Let's get our digs in!

    Strider: Yeah! Louis is practically in love with Gabriella! What if she's actually pregnant, will he be heart broken?

    King: Why are you so hyperfixiated about her preganancy? It's one of the many things you talk about! Do you like her?

    Strider: Did you forget I'm gay?

    King: Oh right. Well X, whose in your match.

    X: It's a bar fight. I'm in a match with Humanity, he seems like a nice guy. Konchu Hao? I've never heard of him. Alexandra Marie, I've kicked her ass twice before. Yuna Funanori, I'll defeat her as well. Hayden Knox, he's probably my biggest threat. And ... Aleksander Anderson? Is that a Hamilton reference? Whatever, It's a bar fight. I've never been in a bar, so I'll have to try that soon.

    Strider: I think we have an easy win on our hands. And then we'll float towards the Tag Team Titles.

    King: We'll strike them down! And we will REAP THE BENEFITS!

    X: And if anything goes wrong, I'll be down to help y'all.

    King: And we'll return the favor!

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

    2 Hours Later: FWANewsAndRumors uploaded their video.

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

    The trio arrived at King's Chicago House. It was more or less secluded, but it was fucking huge. The front had a gorgeous marble fountain, and the gates looked amazing. X spent about 20 minutes getting his stuff out of the jeep and into a guest bedroom. There was about 17 guest bedrooms in the mansion sized home. X was also amazed at the size of it. But it was different from the Christmas Party, as there wasn't workers constantly running around. And then there was a room that was fully decorated with Christmas Lights, Christmas Tree's, and presents. X set his stuff down, and our last scene was him leaving his room, as the end of this promo came.
    Saus X W/L Record
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  5. #5
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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    When it comes to being the new person in wrestling, there is always the talk you have to pay your dues. In FWA, it’s no different, as Marcus McClain has found out because now he has to dress up as Santa Clause for a Christmas event that FWA is holding for its fans. As silly as it sounds, Marcus didn’t mind; besides, he knew that this was all part of being in the business, and he had been through worse things in his life.

    So far, the event had gone off without a hitch. No kids have cried at the sight of him in the suit, and there have been no accidents of any kind. A little girl hops up on his lap; she has blonde hair with a pink beanie over it, and she has on a pink sweater and sweat pants as well.

    “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas! What’s your name, little girl?”

    “Anna!”

    “Ho, ho, ho! Have you been a good little girl this year, Anna?”

    She happily nods her head with a smile as she stares at Mack Clause.

    “What did you want for Christmas this year?”

    She holds her hand upon her chin as if she’s in deep thought before she replies.

    “I would like to Big Mack win that Gauntlet belt from that mean man Danny Toner.”

    Marcus looks at Anna through the glasses; he’s a bit surprised by her answer. He’s also surprised none of the children have been able to recognize him under his Santa outfit.

    “Is that so? Is he your favorite wrestler?”

    “Yes, I also like Gabrielle, but she got hurt by that meanie Saint Sulley, and now she’s gone. If anyone deserves a lump of coal in their stocking this year, it’s him, Santa.”

    “What about that Danny Toner? Should he get a lump of coal?”

    “Well, he’s been mean lately, but before he was a nice man, now he’s different and not so nice. Maybe just a little bit of coal in his stocking.”

    “What about that dancing man that I--I mean, Big Mack has to face as well?”

    “He’s a silly man, he dances funny, and he seems nice, but I just really want Big Mack to win. The dancing man already had a chance at Toner, and he couldn’t beat him, but I think Big Mack can beat them both and take that title.”

    “What is it that you like about Big Mack?”

    “He’s big and strong for one, and he seems like a nice man. I think he should have won that Ground Zero thing instead of that scary looking mask man. I think he deserves to win the title because he’s been through a lot in life, from my parents tell me, and winning the title will make him feel better.”

    Marcus looks at the little girl and smiles underneath his Santa beard.

    “Well, I’ll see what I can do, okay, Anna? I’ll make sure that Big Mack gets some help from me by defeating the naughty Danny Toner and the funny dancing man Chris Peacock. I’ve watched Marcus, and he has been a good boy this year, so he deserves to be rewarded.”

    Anna smiles at that and nods again.

    “Is there anything else that you would like for Christmas?”

    “A pony!”

    “Ho, ho, ho! Okay, you have a merry Christmas and continue being a good girl!”

    -----

    It was that time of the year for giving, and what better gift for me than winning the FWA Gauntlet Championship. I had the opportunity to wrestle for it in a contender’s match at Mile High, but I was unsuccessful. This time will be different. I already know what I’m facing with Chris Peacock, he’s quick and full of energy, and he beat me at Mile High, but I’ve beaten him before at Ground Zero. I know it’s possible to beat him, can I do it again?

    Then there’s Danny Toner thrown into the mix, talk about a wildcard. The man is a loose cannon with no filter, and he’s become even more unhinged as of late. I saw what he did to Peacock at the last Fight Night. I can’t let that get me, though; he is beatable. He wants to win each defense, and now he faces his most formidable challenge yet. I’ll show him that I deserve to be here that I belong. This isn’t just for me, though; this is for my family. I can’t let them down; I won’t let them down.

    Here is your winner and the new FWA Gauntlet Champion, “Big Mack” Marcus McClain! That certainly has a nice ring to it.

    Winning the Gauntlet championship for myself seems more likely than little Anna getting pony for Christmas. Anna's dream is to have a pony and for me to win the Gauntlet championship, so now it's time to make one of those dreams a reality.


    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business

    Letterboxd

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

  6. #6
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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    Devious Productions Presents:

    Konchu Hao in...

    "A Mushroom Samba and a Bar Room Blitz!"

    Location: San Francisco, California

    "What the devil do you mean, 'It's gone?!'"

    We find ourselves in sunny San Francisco at a little corner coffee shop/Internet cafe. The sun is shining, there's a slight breeze in the air making it a very pleasant, calming environment.

    Not that any of that is helping Konchu Hao not lose his proverbial shit.


    "How can it be GONE, Epsilon?! What in the Nine Hells happened?!"

    As Konchu remains seated with a cup of black tea in his hand, his diminutive assistant Epsilon holds up a computer tablet and begins to explain what happened. Not that we can understand the exact words, mind you. Regardless, Epsilon in his garbled, incoherent tongue explains very methodically as Konchu listens, nodding his head in understanding.

    When Epsilon finishes, Konchu's expression darkens considerably as his grip on his teacup tightens until...

    *CRACK*


    The teacup is demolished in Konchu's hands in a fit of anger. Konchu grits his teeth in abject fury as he rants:


    "That BLASTED EXILE! He did this! I don't know how or who he roped into helping him, but he did this! I'm certain of it! I knew I shouldn't have sent him those files on that vault. I knew he'd find a way to rob me of my discovery. Grr...I was too blinded. Too eager to learn ANYTHING about it. And now, I'm paying the price for my trust. Damn you, Cyrus..."

    It's at this moment that Konchu seemingly remembers the crushed remnants of his teacup in his clenched fist. The Mad Wizard sighs, taking some of his rage away as he reaches for a nearby cloth napkin and wipes his hand clean and dry.

    Epsilon chimes in as Konchu is busy cleaning himself.


    "Yes, I know we still have the physical copies back at the lair. However, consider the fact that we are now a part of the FWA roster full time. I haven't the faintest idea when we'll be able to return to resume our studies; hence, the reason why I kept the electronic copies with us. Blast it all. At this point, it seems we're at an impasse. All we can do now is hope that Cyrus remembers that I was the one who gave him those files and he's wise enough to realize the perils of making me his enemy...especially these days.

    "Although, even my status as a member of FWA's roster has cause to be questioned. I'm the man who won Ground Zero, Epsilon! Cleanly won, I might add. Dominantly won, if I might be so bold as to claim! And yet...what has FWA management decided to do with me?


    Epsilon answers as Konchu tosses the now sopping-wet napkin on the table.

    "Exactly! Absolutely nothing. Whereas peons have had the opportunity to compete for championship gold. Chris Peacock? Marcus McClain? Cretins who have been definitively proven to be lesser men to me? Why should they get opportunities to chase championship gold and I remain twiddling my thumbs?! I'm starting to wonder if pursuing this avenue for world domination wasn't the best of plans..."

    Epsilon listens intently as Konchu mutters on about schemes, opportunities, and 'the limited mental capabilities of jelly-brained imbeciles' when suddenly, he stands up straight, as if he just remembered something important. Epsilon quickly jabbers to Konchu, which grabs the Mad Wizard's attention.

    "An e-mail? From Blackbird? How long has that been sitting in my inbox?"

    Epsilon replies as Konchu scratches his chin.

    "I see...well, this better be worth it. Epsilon?"

    Konchu holds out his hand as Epsilon hands over the tablet. Taking it in his hands, Konchu quickly opens up his inbox application and finds the e-mail sent to him by Fight Night's General Manager. Epsilon scooches up behind Konchu and reads over his shoulder as we see:

    Greetings, Mr. Hao.

    I do want to first take the opportunity to personally congratulate you for winning the second season of Ground Zero. Your tenacity and clever thinking are qualities that, quite frankly, more FWA superstars could stand to emulate, and I am happy to have you as part of the roster.

    I also do have to take this opportunity to personally apologize to you. As the winner of Ground Zero, certain expectations that you no doubt had have been, as of late, unfulfilled. I can only imagine your frustration watching the men you defeated to win Ground Zero get opportunities that, by right, should've been yours.

    However, I believe your patience is about to be rewarded with an opportunity to become the top contender for a championship that I hold near and dear to my heart: The X Championship.

    On Christmas Day, FWA is running a special show...a reunion of Crossfire. On that show, I intend to determine the X Champion's next contender in a Bar Brawl Seven-Way Match, whether the champion ends up being Gerald Grayson or J.J. Jay. And I can think of no one more deserving of such an opportunity than the "Mad Wizard" himself.

    Best of luck to you, Mr. Hao. I look forward to seeing what kind of ferocity you bring as you set your sights on the X.

    With regards,

    General Manager Vincent Blackbird
    Konchu studies the e-mail intently, reading over it several times just to ensure that he wasn't missing anything. After the fifth read-through, Konchu's earlier irritation evaporates, replaced by a wide-eyed, manic glee.

    "Kehahaha! FINALLY! Epsilon, my opportunity has presented itself! Let those mongrels Peacock and McClain squabble over that new shiny Gauntlet Championship bauble. An opportunity at a far richer prize is in front of us!

    "Do you know what the letter 'X' means in mathematical equations? It's a variable. It represents all possibilities and yet only one. Such powerful chaotic energy emanates from that championship title, and it's only right and proper that a genius of my caliber be the one to TRULY hone its' limitless potential. Yes, YES! This is precisely the opportunity that I've been long overdue for! The chance to capture a title of such unlimited power, tap into its true abilities, and use that as a platform to bring the entire FWA roster and its audience to heel! KEHAHAHA!"


    Konchu laughs that maniacal laugh of his for a few more seconds...but stops himself as he sees Epsilon look down at his feet dejectedly.

    "What on Earth is the matter with you? Were you not listening to anything I said?"

    Epsilon nods to affirm that he had as he says something.

    "Well, yes. Apparently, this event is happening Christmas Day."

    Epsilon replies in his incoherent tongue, but even those of us listening can hear the disappointment in his tone. Konchu immediately recognizes what's wrong.

    "Ah yes...you're sad because it means we won't be able to spend a traditional Christmas together. But Epsilon? Our 'traditional' Christmas is just the two of us at the lair watching the movie 'Gremlins' on repeat and imbibing on eggnog. It's not like it's anything special..."

    Epsilon angrily retorts at that, as if Konchu has said something to hurt his feelings. Sensing this, Konchu immediately holds his hands up to calm down his companion.

    "Sorry, sorry! My word, I never realized how much those Christmases meant to you. But, we can still do something! It's not as if that match is going to take me all day to win. And this year, we'll have even more reason to celebrate! After all, what could possibly make watching those delightfully horrid little monsters terrorize those small-town simpletons better than having the satisfaction of being the new #1 Contender to the X Championship?"


    Epsilon looks at Konchu leerily as he seems to ask a question.

    "Yes, I promise. Now, will you stop pouting?"

    With a cheer, Epsilon immediately lets go of his earlier bitterness as he does a little fist pump in celebration. Even Konchu, mad scientist and would-be despot, can't help but chuckle at his little friend's exuberance.

    "All right, calm yourself. My word, how the devil did you ever develop such a potent personality? Regardless, I'm happy to see you're back where you need to be. Now, let's see which poor unfortunate bastards I have to beat..."

    Konchu uses his tablet to open up the official FWA App, which has the match listings for upcoming events with the match types, participants, and any other pertinent stipulations. The Mad Wizard scrolls down until he finds the Seven-Way Bar Brawl and runs his bony finger along the list, reading off the names until...

    "I haven't the faintest idea who any of these cretins are."

    Epsilon tilts his head and grunts, looking and sounding somewhat confused.

    "Well, of COURSE I know they're FWA wrestlers. I'm not an idiot! What I mean is that I have no earthly idea who these people are as wrestlers or people. The names are familiar, but that's all! How am I supposed to form another one of my brilliant stratagems when all I know are their names and faces?

    "Come to think of it...this is supposedly a 'Bar Brawl.' I can't say that I've ever competed in such a match before. I mean, there's been the oddball Hardcore match here and there, and I did have that one Escape the Gulag Match during one of my sojourns to Siberia. But if that's all this is...why call it that? That makes no sense. No...this is clearly something else entirely. Something more akin to a barroom fight? If so, I've never been in one of those, either. Hrmm..."


    Konchu scratches his chin pensively. The Mad Wizard is always a very thoughtful, methodical schemer, and you can see the wheels turning in his head as he starts to figure out how to best approach this conundrum.

    Eventually, Konchu stands up and hands off the tablet back to Epsilon, who stores it away in his tiny little goblin backpack.


    "The course is clear for us, my loyal minion! There are two things we must do in order to ensure our complete and utter victory at this 'Crossfire Reunion' or whatever the devil they're calling it. We must observe a barroom brawl to ascertain the best strategy to maximize our effectiveness. But before that? We must learn what we can about our opponents!"

    Epsilon nods as he chatters a bit. Konchu, hearing this, cocks a eyebrow.

    "'Go and watch tapes?' What are we, Neanderthals? No, I have a far more potent solution to the opposition conundrum. Come, Epsilon! It's time to pay Regina a visit..."

    *****

    One Hour Later

    In the Haight-Ashbury District of San Francisco, nestled among the sea of psychedelic colors and bohemian influences stands a tiny little shop with a red door. We rejoin Konchu Hao and Epsilon as they approach this red door and open it.

    Beads and various other knick-knacks hang through the doorway as Konchu pushes them aside and enters the shop. Immediately, Konchu's nose is overwhelmed by the smell of sage, incense, and various other...horticultural substances. All sorts of various paraphernalia for the partaking of less-than-legal intoxicants line the shelves along with all sorts of roots, leaves, and other natural plants.

    Standing behind the counter listening to some music with some earbuds is a skinny young woman of Japanese descent. She has a short pixie-cut hairdo and wears a loose-fitting tie-dye shirt. This woman continues to bob and weave to the beat until Konchu approaches the counter and raps his knuckles on it to get her attention.

    "Whoa, hey! Oh, wait...it's you! Heeeeey, Konchu-senpai! What's good, dude?"

    Konchu sighs, already exasperated with this young woman.

    "Regina, I'll skip the formalities and get straight to the point. Is the Meditation Room available and prepared?"

    "Um, dude? It's Reggie. 'Regina' is just too...stuffy, y'know? Harshes my chi and all that."

    "Is the room available or not?!"

    "Sure, man! You know I keep it ready in case a fellow practitioner of the herbalistic arts needs it! It's empty at the moment, so feel free, my dude."

    Konchu rolls his eyes, but seems to relax a bit as he continues.

    "Excellent. And I will require one of your more potent specimens. Fungus G-105, if you would."


    Reggie's expression shifts just a bit from her mind-altered haze as her eyes go JUST a touch wider.

    "G-105? I mean...yeah, sure. If that's what you want. But Konchu...I gotta warn you that that particular 'schroom is pretty fuckin' potent."

    "I'm well aware of that."

    "No, dude. I mean, REALLY fuckin' potent. It's a wild trip, but like...to the absolute maximum level of a trip. Can't promise you that you'll come back down nice and gentle."

    "Are you going to provide me what I require, or not?!"

    "Chill, dude! Chill...no worries! I got you, dude. One second..."

    Reggie leaves the counter to head to a backroom. We hear the sound of rummaging for several seconds before Reggie returns with a bag full of bioluminescent mushrooms.

    "Now, are you wantin' the whole bag, or..."

    Konchu reaches for the bag and takes a small handful of the mushrooms.

    "This much for now. It should suffice for what I need. However, I will reserve the right to the remainder after my initial session is complete."

    "All good, Konchu-senpai! Just make sure you take some water and some detoxifier with you. The room's all set where you last left it. Happy trails, dude!"


    Konchu grunts in affirmation as he motions for Epsilon to follow him to a side room of the shop. Upon entering it, we see that this room is fairly empty aside from some Far East art knockoff and a circle on the hardwood floor made of salts and crushed crystals. Konchu takes stock of what's here as he turns to Epsilon.

    "Epsilon? My kit, if you would."

    Dutifully, Epsilon pulls out an impossibly large suitcase from the inside of his tiny little goblin backpack and hands it to Konchu. The Mad Wizard opens it, revealing an occultist's toy box of crystals, candles, incenses, and the like. Konchu begins setting up materials around the salt circle as Epsilon chatters a bit.

    "Well, if you must know...to truly understand my opposition for the Crossfire Christmas show, I must delve deep within their psyches. No mere tapes or biographies will do. I must pierce the veil that separates our minds. And to do that? I intend to use a technique that a Congolese fortuneteller taught me several years back..."

    Konchu, in the middle of setting up for his meditation, also produces his cell phone and activates his Spotify app. We see as he fumbles through various playlists that the one he lands on is a six-song playlist of the entrance themes for his opponents in the Seven Way Bar Brawl.

    "Whether a wrestler realizes it or not, the music they choose to walk out to the ring to tells a story of its own. A small part of who they truly are is reflected in their entrance theme. So, when I combine listening to the music with the mind-expanding powers of G-105, and I will obtain the insight I need to dissect my opponents mentally before I do so physically! Kehahaha!"

    Konchu lights the candles, burns the sage, and has a seat cross-legged in the center of the circle. He sets his cell phone in front of him on a tiny stand as he pulls out a pair of bluetooth headphones, resting them over his ears. Epsilon mutters something, to which Konchu turns with a cocked eyebrow.

    "Are you serious? 'FWA's Wellness Policy?' Please! Why on Earth should I be concerned about that? This is the same company that continues to grant Daniel Toner gainful employment, and he has more narcotics swimming in his system in an hour than I'll imbibe in a year!"

    Epsilon tilts his head contemplatively at that, but shrugs and nods in agreement.

    "Now, I have not actually taken this particular fungus before, so in order to insure my safety? Have the water and detoxifier on standby. If I'm not out of my trance in 20 minutes, administer the countermeasures. EXACTLY as I've described. Are we clear?"

    Epsilon nods as Konchu closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

    "Good. Now, if you would? Leave me."

    "Gazza kul, Jubakara."

    With that, Epsilon leaves the room, and the Mad Wizard remains alone. He takes the handful of mushrooms, exhales, and shoves them into his mouth. Several quick chews later, Konchu swallows them.

    Immediately after, Konchu takes another deep breath as he hits play on the playlist. With the headphones, we hear nothing save for Konchu's steady breathing. As the Mad Wizard focuses his chi surrounded by wisps of incense and the flickering of candlelight...

    ...Suddenly, Konchu's eyes open wide.

    His pupils dilate.

    And we see what he sees...




    EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. COLOR. IN THE SPECTRUM.

    Konchu's vision is as psychedelic as you could possibly imagine. The Mad Wizard finds himself inside his own mind traveling down a corridor of swirling colors and aberrant geometry. Konchu's astral form flies through this mind-bending, mind-boggling stream of colors and shapes as he pursues this path to the answers he seeks.

    Eventually, Konchu sees something off in the distance. A tall man, body etched in tattoos, looking into a mirror, seeing his head swollen as if his brain is almost too large to be contained inside the confines of his skull. As the man shadowboxes with rapid jabs and haymakers, the look of abject certainty of his genius is all-too evident in his reflection.

    However, when the man turns to face Konchu, we see that his head is actually normal sized. And instead of the cocksure, smarmy know-it-all that the mirror showed, the true man is slack-jawed, drooling, and looks like he hasn't got a clue. He looks at Konchu and, with the roar of a mentally-challenged donkey, tries to rush the Mad Wizard's astral projection...but has failed to notice that his shoelaces are untied and falls flat on his face.

    *****

    Moving past that, Konchu see another larger man, taller and heavier than the last, but far scruffier. We see this man standing outside a house as snow falls gently onto the ground. The man carries a bottle of alcohol in his hands, although it appears as if most of it has been spilled onto the ground. Through a window, we see a woman setting up Christmas decorations with a young girl, who has a passing resemblance to the man outside. The man has tears welling up in his eyes as he seems to be lamenting being separated from his child...

    ...Until we see the man slam the bottle against the side of the house and dark shadow whispers in his ear. The scene changes to a back alley, where the man stands across from several street hoods wielding various makeshift and improvised weapons. The man is bleeding, bruised...but laughing maniacally, unable or unwilling to control his darker self that has emerged from his grief. Several other hooligans lie broken and bloodied at his feet as the remaining gangsters stand their ground, albeit with knees shaking. The devil in the flesh of man approaches them, cackling with mad delight...but even still, the man's eyes are still watery, as if the man weeps for how low he has fallen.

    *****

    Before seeing the gruesome results of that particular vision, Konchu's gaze shifts to yet another man. Much smaller in frame than the last two, but wiry and svelte. Clearly the kind of man to favor speed and technique. We see him performing all sorts of dazzling feats of acrobatic skill, as a figure in shadow watches from the side, clapping and applauding and holding out his hand as if he was in a tag team match.

    We see this young man continue to perform all sorts of amazing high-flying manuevers, and always watching as if in a corner waiting to be tagged in is a shadowy figure...although, the color of the shadow man changes every few seconds. Eventually, however, the acrobat's athletics become monotonous and repetitive, and there's no more figure to back him up. He finds himself alone...and with one last leap and one last twist in the air? The man falls...and continues to fall and fall and fall, never reaching the ground...never finding the end.


    *****

    Moving past that, Konchu sees a large, feral looking pitbull. Black of hair and foaming at the mouth, it's clear to see that this particular dog is ravenous, rabid, and looking for ANYTHING to sink its large, slavering teeth into. Snapping and barking at the astral projection of Konchu, the dog barks and growls and looks as intimidating as a hell hound...and without a second's hesitation, lunges at Konchu.

    And falls flat on his stomach. The dog tries again, and again, but finds it cannot approach Konchu. Eventually, we see why: there's a leash wrapped around the dog's neck that is preventing him from reaching Konchu. We follow the leash and we see it leads into an old-fashioned looking outhouse, and it looks like shit hasn't been pumped out of it since the day it was built. There's a sign on it that says "Throne of the King of the World: Do Not Disturb Or Else My Loyal Bitches Will Kill You For Me. I'm The New King! Best King Ever. No Questions!" And in actuality, the sign keeps rambling on and on, but it's all useless drivel and not worth the effort to read it. So, Konchu doesn't, leaving the tethered mongrel to bark impotently.


    *****

    Konchu's psychedelic vision presses forward as he sees a young woman this time. Dirty blonde hair, small figure, but a smirking disposition that suggests she's above all of this. She's dressed in fine clothes, with expensive-looking jewelry on her wrists and around her neck. She stares out amongst the sea of colors with her back towards Konchu, basking in the atmosphere as it it's a show only for her.

    However, when she turns around? We see the gold around her wrists flake and turn into rusted iron. We see the necklace with the opulent gems shatter like cheap glass. The fine silk dress starts to tatter at the seams, as stains and marks appear upon it. But more horrifying is her skin, smooth and alabaster. It turns yellow, then black, and flakes off, revealing the ugly, envious monster underneath. The woman shrieks, as if demanding attention that her fleeting wealth cannot buy...but Konchu gives her none, and leaves her wailing for the fortune that will never come to her.


    *****

    Finally, at the end of this endless sea of colors and shapes, Konchu sees another woman. This one is different...unlike the previous one, there's no snobbery nor inflated self-importance. This woman, wearing a tri-corner hat and a long admiral's coat, is standing at the wheel of some great ship, looking out at the horizon. And at her feet is a large treasure chest, filled to the brim with shiny coins and glittering jewels.

    However...we zoom out just a bit, and we see that this "magnificent" ship that we initially thought it was is nothing more than a child's playground set, a tiny mockery of a true galleon. The woman seems none the wiser that she's the captain of a fake ship...and doesn't even notice when what looks like a strung-out junkie walks through the park by the toy ship, sees the treasure, and immediately swipes it and runs off. It's only after several minutes that the would-be captain notices her treasure is gone...and does nothing about it, continuing to sail along without any repercussions and any payback on the thief.

    The six visions, the six figures start to swirl around Konchu, various noises and voices becoming a cacaphony of madness and incoherence. Konchu's eyes shut as he clenches the sides of his head, trying to silence the noise and keep his sanity...


    *****

    "Jubakara! Jubakara!"

    Konchu snaps back into reality, gasping...breathing heavily. From the sweat on his hands and the pounding in his chest, it's as if Konchu had just competed in a sixty minute broadway match. However, Epsilon is there, patting Konchu on the back and jabbering in his incoherent tongue, seemingly trying to calm him down.

    Eventually, it works as Konchu regains all of his faculties and calms down. Epsilon looks relieved as Konchu wearily says:


    "...Epsilon...it's...it's all right. I'm back. By the Aspects, Regina was not kidding. The detoxifier, please. And water. LOTS of water."

    Epsilon nods as he hands over a bottle of a black, viscous liquid that Konchu takes into his shaking hand. The Mad Wizard downs it immediately, and almost retches on the vile substance. However, it does help take the shakes away as Konchu chases it with bottle after bottle of water, chugging the liquid to rehydrate.

    "Holy hell...that was a very bad trip. Even licking those Colorado River toads when we paid a visit to that Native American shrine didn't even compare to the kind of journey these gods-damned mushroom can take you on. Whew..."

    As Konchu regains his senses, Epsilon pats him on the back comfortingly as he chatters a bit.

    "...Maybe? I feel like I did get some decent insight into my opposition. Bunch of weirdos, to be sure. But if there is one thing that I've learned on this little sojourn I took? It's that whatever talents and skills these peons possess don't matter in the slightest. All of them, each man and woman, is a horribly flawed individuals. All of them lack a strong enough sense of purpose to push forward. Some are slaves to dark masters or foolish kings. Others are delusional, seeing themselves as something other than what they are. The rest are feeble, unable to stand on their own or press forward towards a true goal.

    "Oh yes, my dear minion...I can most certainly defeat these pathetic mortals. Whatever powers and talents they have are NOTHING compared to a master of the Dark Arts. Kehahaha..."


    After several bottles of water, Konchu has seemingly recovered from his wild ride as a manic grin crosses his lips.

    "Phase One of Operation 'Capture the X' is complete! We still, however, need to observe a proper barroom brawl to finalize a proper strategy. And I think, after my experience with G-105? I have a plan to make things more...illuminating.

    "Epsilon! Go and collect the rest of the mushrooms from Regina...and bring me a mortar and a pestle..."


    *****

    24 Hours Later

    We find ourselves outside a dusty, worn-down dive bar out in some small town in the middle of some desert. Dramatic music plays as we see the boots of Konchu Hao and Epsilon hit the sandy ground several yards away. We zoom out to see Konchu and Epsilon looking at their supposed destination, which is surrounded by dozens of parked motorcycles adorned with various paraphernalia that clues us in that this particular pack of bikers are not...exactly pleasant individuals.

    Regardless, Konchu looks the picture of calm confidence as he gives Epsilon a nod and heads towards the bar, striding through the front door.

    Inside, the bar is even more of a shithole than it was on the outside. It's crammed to the gills with male and female bikers drinking, smoking, playing cards, arm wrestling, and giving off the vibe that they're just looking for a reason to cause trouble. There's loud, obnoxious rock music playing from a jukebox not too far from the front door, and as the current song ends?

    Every single person in that bar turns to look at the stranger in the mask and his micro-sized companion.

    The look that every biker is giving Konchu is clearly that of some good ol' boys and girls who aren't too welcoming of outsiders and are more than happy to make that point with violence if need be. There's a lot of subtle motions as if people are grasping for makeshift weapons or just bracing themselves for a spot of bloodshed as one biker, the largest and burliest of them, stands up from his chair and cracks his knuckles. Sweat beads off his bald head as he walks up to Konchu, who himself is moving towards the jukebox.


    "I think you've walked into the wrong place, bug-man."

    Konchu, inspecting the jukebox, has his back turned to the man as he nonchalantly says:

    "Ah, and you WOULD think that, but only because your intellect and imagination are lacking. I am precisely where I mean to be and where I want to be."

    "Naw...you ain't welcome here, boy. We ain't too fond of...strangers. And I ain't too fond of smartasses. You might wanna get your ass out of this bar. I think I saw a nice anthill outside next to an outhouse that you might be more comfortable in."

    The rest of the bar patrons laugh at that, but despite the overwhelming animosity? Konchu is a cool cucumber as he fidgets with the jukebox, seeming flipping through the songs.

    "First off, you slack-jawed knuckledragger...I'm not an ant. I'm a locust. Clearly, you were far too busy during Entomology Class as a child harboring secret desires for your sister or your cousin or your pet hound to learn the difference. I'm here for a very specific reason...and guess what, my blisteringly stupid acquaintance? You're going to be the first person to volunteer to assist me in my endeavor."

    The bald biker looks a bit perplexed by Konchu's verbose vocabulary, but apparently was able to piece together that the Mad Wizard insulted him. Enraged, he walks up to Konchu just as Konchu had deposited some coins into the jukebox, grabbing his shoulder with a vice-like grip.

    "Now listen here, you piece of..."

    *POOF*

    As the biker spins Konchu around, the Mad Wizard immediately holds up his open palm to his face and blows into it, coating the biker's nose and mouth in a very fine dust. The biker backs off, coughing and weezing as he tries to wipe the dust from his mouth. Eventually, he regains his sight...but his eyes are bloodshot, his breathing heavier. He starts to growl and slobber as he grabs Konchu by his coat lapels.

    "Break your neck...smash your skull...kill you! CRUSH YOU! I can only feel alive when I make you suffer!!!"

    Konchu, despite being accosted by a man three times his size, simply rolls his eyes as he says:

    "You can't. Garcia told you not to hurt me."

    The feral intensity of the drugged up biker subsides a bit as he goes wide-eyed, almost like a scolded puppy.

    "Wait...what? Really?"

    "Afraid so. Now, let me go."

    "Aww..."

    The biker immediately lets Konchu go. The rest of the bar patrons look absolutely stunned by this as Konchu cracks a sly grin, his hand resting on the jukebox.

    "But you know something? You see that man over there?"

    Konchu points to a much older, much more grizzled biker who had been playing darts up until this whole scenario started.

    "Garcia wants him pulverized."

    The drugged biker, who had looked all the world like a scolded dog, turns his attention to the older biker and returns to that feral, unhinged intensity. He clenches his fists and roars as the older biker stammers.

    "H-hey! Walker! The hell's the matter with you?! W-what are you looking at?"

    "A DEAD MAN!"

    "Why?!"

    "BECAUSE GARCIA TOLD ME TOOOOOOOO!!!!"

    With a smile, Konchu hits the Play button on the jukebox...



    The biker, Walker, immediately charges at the old man. Several patrons try to get between him and his new target, but Walker is far too big and strong and hopped up on whatever the hell Konchu dosed him with to be bothered as he bull-rushes through them like a bowling ball through pins. His shoves also seem to push other patrons into other bikers who were just minding their own business...but now seem to have been agitated enough by all the noise and oddities in this bar that they start fighting one another.

    Another biker, armed with a chain, rushes Konchu and swings at him. However, Konchu is too quick, as he ducks the swing...and the biker trips. Apparently, Epsilon had dropped down on all fours, providing a tripping hazard. Konchu seizes the opening, grabbing the biker in a painful hammerlock with one hand and using his other hand to blow a different colored dust into his face.

    Konchu backs up as the chain-wielding biker coughs and regains his footing...but the burly, gravel-like tone he had as he was attacking Konchu is gone, replaced by a high-pitched, rich-girl whine.


    "Daddy cut me off my credit cards! I don't deserve this! I'm gonna show him! Gonna be the best wrestler EVER!"

    Said biker quickly turns towards a couple of other bikers, but immediately gets stomped for his trouble. The drugged biker continues to struggle...but isn't apparently any good at fighting after Konchu's dusting.

    Speaking of Konchu, two female bikers try to get the jump on him while he has his back to them. However, when they try to rush in with makeshift slapjacks, Konchu spins around, dusting them with two more variants of the hallucinogen. After coughing up a storm, one of the female bikers shakes her head...and starts doing backflips?


    "Man, I've got so much energy! I feel like I can take on the world by myself...but..."

    The biker looks to her partner and holds out a hand.

    "I'm clearly MUCH better off with a tag partner! My luck's about to run out, and best not risk being exposed, right?! Wanna partner up?"

    The other woman shakes her head as if trying to get her bearings, but sees the outstretched hand and smiles warmly.

    "Of course! It's a chance to make amends..."

    The two women shake hands...but immediately? The second woman CLOCKS the first with an elbow strike as she tries to drive her hand down her throat in a vicious mandible claw.

    "YOU FOOL! I'M A LITERAL FUCKING DEVIL! NOW BURN! BUUUUUUUUURN!!!!"

    Konchu sighs, rather content with the results of his ministrations as of yet as he starts to walk away from the jukebox through the throngs of a now riled-up mob of bikers. Konchu deftly dodges most of the fracas, and the few bikers who do try to take swings at him get a series of elbow smashes and palm thrusts for their trouble. One in particular swings a whole chair at Konchu's head...but Konchu ducks and dusts him like the others, leaving him a drooling idiot spouting off random trivia like you'd find with Buzztime bar games in between knee strikes to random bar patrons.

    Eventually, Konchu saddles up to the bar where the bartender, the only person in this establishment other than the Mad Wizard who isn't slugging it out, stares out at the chaos with a look of utter disbelief. Konchu has a seat on a stool and, rather politely, asks:

    "Pardon me, barkeep! A whiskey sour, if you would. It has been a most illuminating day!"

    Konchu's drink order is enough to snap the bartender out of his confused stupor as he angrily reaches below the bar and produces a sawed-off shotgun. He points it directly at Konchu and bitterly retorts:

    "You've done it now, you son of a bitch. You done gone and made a big mistake."

    "Hmph. Not nearly as big as the one you just made."

    Konchu points to his right as the bartender turns...and sees Epsilon standing on the bar next to him with both hands in front of his face. Epsilon, much like Konchu, blows dust into the bartender's eye and nose, causing him to hack and wheeze and drop the shotgun. Eventually, after wiping most of the dust from his face, he starts talking...like a mid twenties Japanese school girl? How the fuck does he know Japanese? Regardless, after some confused Japanese is spoken, the bartender's gaze falls upon the belt buckle of another bar patron. It's big and shiny...but even though it looks like gold? It's clearly polished brass. But that doesn't stop the bartender as he excitedly clamors over the bar and rushes the biker with the belt buckle, trying his damndest to take it from him.

    The entire bar at this point is a cavalcade of brawling, confusion, and chaos...and Konchu Hao couldn't look more pleased with himself.

    Epsilon walks up to Konchu and asks him something in his garbled tongue.


    "Oh, don't worry about that. I made sure the dose was large enough to ensure the reaction I wanted without the worries of overdosing. They'll be quite tired and dehydrated after 15 minutes, but no worse for wear...well, aside from the bruises and contusions. Kehahaha!"

    Epsilon shrugs at that, apparently willing to roll with that...but then looks at the selection of liquors and asks something else. Konchu looks at his minion with a raised eyebrow...but shrugs.

    "Well...sure. Why not? As I said...I'm feeling rather festive."

    Konchu vaults over the bar and grabs a few bottles. Like a scene out of the movie "Cocktail," Konchu flips, pours, and expertly mixes two drinks for himself and for Epsilon. As the carnage and madness continues as the drugged patrons continue to run amok, agitated patrons swing at anything that move, and two or three bikers try to reinstate order, Konchu hands Epsilon one of the finished drinks and holds up his own.

    "A toast, my dear friend. To the next X Champion...and a Merry Christmas to you, Epsilon."

    "Vayak tou, Jubakara!"

    Konchu and Epsilon clink glasses and down the drinks after the toast. As Epsilon sits on the bar dangling his legs and watching the show that his master helped create, Konchu Hao reaches inside his coat and pulls out a small notebook and a pencil. He begins taking notes, pointing out where his test subjects are and observing their habits and strategies in the midsts of this maelstrom of insanity. We zoom out to get the full view of the bar fight Konchu instigated as we see the following text scrawl:

    Has Konchu Hao unlocked the secrets to defeating his opponents?

    Will the Mad Wizard take the next step towards becoming a champion in FWA?

    And will Epsilon truly have a very Merry Christmas?

    Tune in to the Crossfire Reunion Christmas Special to find out!!!
    Something Witty!

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

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

  7. #7
    AVGVSTVS DE WC
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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    There are twists of time and space, of vision and reality, which only a dreamer can divine; and from what I know of Carter I think he has merely found a way to traverse these mazes.
    -“The Silver Key”, H.P. Lovecraft, 1926

    Part II:
    A Delve into the Past


    Miskatonic University, Arkham, Massachusetts, December 15th, 2020

    *The scene opens in the exuberant halls of a timely and aged chamber of learning. The Miskatonic University’s library of knowledge stands home to some of the greatest occult works written throughout the meandering and festering closeted sects of humanity’s dark side. Amongst the wooden shelves filled with much limited and niche knowledge, we find the man who has come to Arkham, Massachusetts in search of an item of particular importance. Brian Zewbowski walks amongst the tall ledges of knowledge. His appearance looks beyond conspicuous for the man himself who dwells in darkness. He wears a professional looking black suit over a white shirt and red tie, black pants, and grey loafers. Following close behind him is Sarah DuBois, wearing her usual attire that all things considered, doesn’t make her stand out much more than the other college-aged students; a Ramones T-Shirt, blue jeans, and black Converses.*

    Brian: It’s here somewhere…

    Sarah: Why are we even here, anyways? There’s no knowledge here, just pure evil.

    *Brian turns to her with an unimpressed frown. It’s apparent that he has a purpose for being here. The thing inside him compels him to move forward and aid in its yet unknown quest.*

    Brian: You wouldn’t know evil if it bit you on the ass.

    Sarah: As a matter of fact, you’ve yet to.

    Brian: Oh god, shut up--

    Sarah: Heh-

    *Sarah wields a smug grin in response to her joke while Brian rubs his forehead with his hand and groans disappointedly A voice comes from inside Brian’s head. A most familiar and foul thing that haunts Brian and everything he does. The damned thing, Humanity, makes its presence known by correcting the two of their faculties.*

    Humanity: You’re looking in the wrong place. It’s in the farthest back corridor.

    *Brian nods his head silently and turns his head to a decrepit aisle of the library. It appears misshapen and warped, as if two realities are diverging against one another. Nobody in the library appears to notice this incredible and horrifying sight. He gulps and begins to sweat profusely… for a few moments, he flees into the confines of his mind.*

    Brian: What the hell is that?

    Humanity: It is what we are looking for… A glimpse into the past. It is there we will find what we are looking for.

    *Brian’s consciousness comes back, his eyes glazed with a hint of fear over him, though Sarah doesn’t seem to notice as she’s too busy looking at a book that reads “Musaeum Hermeticum”, a look of confusion washed over her.*


    Brian: I see…

    *Sarah turns to Brian, who is adjusting his suit-jacket and looking at the silver plated watch on his left arm… 1:03 PM. He sighs loudly and rubs his eyes.*


    Sarah: You see what, Brian?

    Brian: He tells me it’s… over here.

    *He points to the direction of the dimensional hull, a swirling and pungent wall of time dilation and reality breaking cosmicism… to Sarah and the rest of the world, however, it is but a door. She looks back at Brian with an unimpressed look.*
    Sarah: Listening to your little “guardian demon” again?

    Brian: He’s not a demon, nor is he a split personality, for the last time--

    Sarah: Says you--

    *Brian, frustrated, places his hands on Sarah’s shoulders… the thing’s influence is warping his thoughts… he can feel it. All he needs to do is just… move his hands over. Brian quickly shakes his head and removes his hands from Sarah.*
    Brian: Just… wait here.

    Sarah: Okay, cap’n.

    *Brian ignores her and walks to the damned warp-link himself. He looks around at it, reluctantly reaching his hand outward and into it… it slips through easily! He removes his hand and clutches it. He doesn’t feel any pain, but the sensation is wild. As if grey noise is running itself through his body. It dissipates shortly afterwards. He turns back and sees Sarah looking rather bored and eyeing the books. He sighs and plunges himself into the void. Seconds pass as Brian is unable to see anything but the color black.*

    Unknown Location, Unknown Date, Unknown Time

    *Finally, Brian collapses as he exits the void on the other side. He coughs and hacks. The sensation he had experienced is stronger. He looks to his hands. They’re fuzzy and static! He begins to panic.*

    Brian: What the hell is this?

    Humanity: Relax; it is a symptom of the crossing of barriers. It will not desist as long as we are here. It is not harmful-- necessarily, at least. However, we should not stay too long. This isn’t where we belong, after all.

    Brian: What do you mean? Where the hell are we?

    Humanity: The past, Brian. Or-- at least another version of the past. It doesn’t necessarily have to be our own timeline.

    Brian: This is too much for me… Crossing timelines, time travel… What are you?

    Humanity: That is something we can discuss in the future. For now, focus on the task.

    *Brian gets to his feet and looks around… it appears to be a library similar to the one at Miskatonic University; something is amiss with it, however. It is dark, cobbled, and disarranged. He quietly looks around and notices the mass of books in disarray, and shelves toppled.*

    Brian:
    What the hell happened here..?

    Humanity:It appears that war had come to the Americas in this timeline. Look at the windows and structure.

    *It was as the thing had noted… windows were shattered, the gleaming moonlight of the destroyed library… the structure of the library appeared to have been either bombed or shot at by tanks. There was nobody to be seen, however. Brian wandered the library in search of what the thing had sought, but things looked hopeless.*
    Brian: There’s nothing here… What the hell are we looking for anyways?

    Humanity: “Mundi Deglutiens”. “The World’s Swallowing”. It’s an ancient Latin script. It’s also a call-signal. I require it.

    Brian: What the hell for?

    Humanity: That is my business.

    Brian: I’ve had just about--

    *Suddenly, a figure begins to climb from rubble, bloody and broken. He is reaching outwards. Brian watches and slowly moves to him, looming over him. The man, who appears to be in his early 40’s, stares up at Brian with a look of confusion.*
    Man: You… You don’t look like Mortis.

    Brian: Mortis?

    *Brian spots the man clutching a book, titled “Mundi Deglutiens”... just what Brian is looking for. He starts to think quickly.*
    Brian: Mortis sent me-- I’ve come for “Mundi Deglutiens”. I see you’re the keeper of it.

    *Brian reaches out to take the book, but the man refuses to let it go, going so far as to pull out a knife. Brian pulls back his hand and has them up in the air.*
    Man: You’re not Mortis… you’ll have to kill me to take it from me, son.

    Brian: I need you to trust me. I’m here for this book, but only because I need it.

    Man: And risk giving it to a servant of Ammar?

    *Brian appears frustrated that his efforts are getting nowhere, and now a new name pops up. Who the hell is Mortis? Who the hell is Ammar? Brian clutches his head, as if a migraine is starting*
    Brian: Ammar…? Mortis... Listen, I don’t know, nor do I--

    *Brian’s demeanor changes from confusion to stone-faced determination. His eyes glow brightly with beady brown darkness. He looks at the dying man and reaches his hands out. Humanity has taken over. His voice had changed to a deeper and darker tone.*
    Humanity: You will give me the book, now. Ammar will not have it in this timeline, nor in ours.

    *The man looks into the shifted eyes of Humanity, and he drops the knife, a smirk growing over his face. Humanity drops to a knee and outreaches a hand.*
    Man: … heh… I see. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Here-- have it. Take good care of it.

    *The man gives the book to Humanity, who nods his head. The man lies back and closes his eyes, resting.*
    Humanity: I will assure you, no harm will come of it.

    *Humanity stands back up, looking over the man now resting. Humanity turns, his body becoming more fuzzed and static. Humanity returns control to Brian, who, now clutching the book, quickly rushes his way back to the damnable void. He steps through it with haste. Blackness surrounds the atmosphere for some time, allowing Brian to escape into his mind once again.*
    Brian: Who was he?

    Humanity: He is someone you need not worry about, at least right now.

    Brian: Alright… what the hell was he talking about? Mortis and Ammar?

    Humanity: Enough questions, Brian. You’ll know eventually.



    Miskatonic University, Arkham, Massachusetts, December 15th, 2020

    *Brian exits the void sluggishly, book in hand, and leans against a nearby wall to recover from the intense sensations within that hell-hole. The void suddenly and miraculously dissolves and disappears. Sarah comes up from behind Brian and taps him on the shoulder, spooking him for a second.*

    Brian: God damm- Sarah, stop doing that please--

    Sarah: What’s up with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

    Brian: A ghost-- Let’s go with that, a ghost.

    *Sarah notices the book that Brian is holding and claps her hands together, finally knowing they can leave. Brian checks his watch... 1:05 PM. He had been in there for what felt like hours, but was two minutes. Brian shudders and sighs.*
    Sarah: Looks like you found what you were looking for there!

    Brian: Yeah, we can go now.

    Sarah: Great. Now let’s get going, we need to train for your big match at the Crossfire Reunion show!

    Brian: Would it be remiss if I said I almost forgot about that…

    Sarah: I can tell.

    *Sarah and Brian leave hand in hand as Brian holds onto the book tightly, like a death grip. It is unknown if this is the influence of Humanity or not. One thing is for certain, though: this mad, gleaming thing of darkness is more than he lets on.*


    Brian’s Private Gym, Minneapolis, Minnesota, December 20th, 2020

    *We find ourselves in a small, empty gymnasium. It is Brian’s personal gym that he has used for several years. In the corner is Brian, in gym clothes, punching against a sand bag. His taped knuckles collide with the leather and he swipes the bag with monstrously quick lefts and rights. He smashes it with an uppercut and pauses to take a breather, thinking to himself.*

    Brian:
    Do I really have what it takes to be a winner, anyways? What am I even doing this again for? Some vain pursuit of glory? That isn’t it. It’s because I like it, right? Being in that ring is one of the only places where I feel at home; at peace. They’ve gone and thrown me into an X Championship contender’s match in only my second match back… what, do they expect me to find my groove so suddenly? I’m going to have to though. Too much tough competition, and I’m here to compete with the best of my abilities.

    *Brian punches the sand-bag as hard as he can, accidentally breaking off a piece of chain holding it. It collapses to the ground as Brian watches it. The bag rips open when it hits the ground and Brian watches the sand slip out. His blue eyes change to dark brown, his demeanor changes to a small menacing grin. Humanity has arrived. Humanity kneels down and takes a handful of sand and watches it loose from his hand.*

    Humanity:
    The sands of time keep moving, even if Brian does not wish for them to be. He asks the question, what is he doing this for? The answer is because it is the one place where he can directly control the outcome of his life. I own him everywhere else, but together, we are unbeatable. He is a loser when he goes against me, and that much is evident. He does the dirty work, I get the job done. A perfect balance, as with all things in life.

    Let him question his reasons for doing this, but I know perfectly well inside this head of his the “why” of Brian. At the Crossfire Reunion show, Brian and I must work together in perfect harmony to win. Now… must I descend from his mind and win the match single handedly, or will Brian trust me, thus is the question.

    There may be “fierce competition” in this match, but for Brian, they are tough. If it were up to me, I’d have them killed and their bodies disposed of. Alas, it is the one thing I cannot do while in this body. Brian’s will is stronger than one thinks. So I’ll have to play by the rules, Brian’s rules, and beat these men within inches of their life, to attain Brian’s goals. It’s fair play, after all, he has helped me attain the goals I have needed, thus far.


    *Humanity grasps from the bench next to him the book, “Mundi Deglutiens”. A further look at the book reveals its horrifying visage, the leather made from human, the pages made from a material neither identified as human, paper, or hemp. The inscriptions are supposedly written with the blood of hundreds of bulls. The contents, however, are hidden by Humanity.*

    Humanity: This is mine, Brian helped me attain it. Thus, I am beholden to help him, to a degree, no? Gentlemen, prepare yourselves for the arrival of Humanity upon thee.

    *A door opens off-screen, and Humanity looks up, seeing someone coming, and he relinquishes control back to Brian, who appears slightly confused as to what happened. He spots Sarah coming in with a bottle of water. Sarah is wearing her usual casual clothing, a t-shirt from a band, jeans, and Converses.*

    Brian: Ah, Sarah, there you are.

    Sarah: Broke another punching bag, Brian? That’s the third one this month. They’re getting expensive, you know.

    Brian: Sorry…

    Sarah: It’s fine. I suppose it’s good that you’re focusing on the match. I want to see you raise a championship someday. That’s my personal goal at least.

    *Sarah smiles at Brian lightly, but Brian feels pressured that that’s Sarah’s own personal goal. She hands Brian the water bottle.*

    Brian: Isn’t that a tad dependent on me?

    Sarah: Oh, I don’t doubt you won’t raise it. You and your little “helper” make a good team, whether you realize it or not.

    *Sarah taps Brian’s head, indicating that she’s talking about Humanity. Brian sighs and drinks from his bottle.*

    Brian: Us? Teammates. More like master and servant if you ask me.

    Sarah: That kind of attitude is what costs you matches, mister. Sometimes, I think you just need to trust him.

    *There’s an awkward silence between the two, before Sarah suddenly switches tunes, and conversation. Her face goes red and it appears this is something that had been on her mind for quite some time. She looks up at Brian, and she speaks nervously*

    Sarah: H-hey, uh… I’m-- I’m not good at asking these sorts of questions but… how would you like to-- spend Christmas with me?

    *Brian, with the obliviousness of an idiot, and the bluntness of a dump-truck, completely demolishes the question with his visible confusion.*

    Brian: I already spend every single day with you, Sarah, I’m not sure how Christmas would be any different.

    Sarah: …

    *Internally, Humanity groans and sighs. If you could imagine Humanity palming his face, that would be an accurate depiction of the setting.*


    Humanity: Brian, far be it from me to understand human interaction, but I’m fairly sure she’s asking you out on what you call a “date”.

    *Sarah sighs slightly and turns around, dejected that she had been rejected so casually without Brian even realizing his crass mistake.*

    Sarah: Nevermind, forget I said anything--

    Brian: --My answer is yes, though.

    *Sarah looks at Brian’s soft-spoken and kind-hearted smile, and if one would think her heart had skipped a beat, you would most certainly have been correct. Her face grew redder and all she could muster was a thumbs up and a grin as she left. Brian sighs happily, thinking to himself.*

    Brian:
    A date, huh? It’s been a while, but it sure feels right.

    *Brian turns back to the broken sandbag, and then to the book in his hand. His sigh turns from cheerful to concerned.*

    Brian: First the date, then the match, then this book…

    *Humanity butts into Brian’s own conversation, the two switch control of Brian’s body, so as to have a proper conversation, rather than one in his mind.*

    Humanity: She’s not wrong that you should trust me.

    Brian: You’ve given me no reason to trust you.

    Humanity: I will concede that what I have done for my own amusement would erase any trust, and yet, we work rather well together. Anyone can see that, Brian.

    Brian: Maybe so…

    *Brian clutches the book tightly, and grabs his leather jacket lying on the bench, and leaves the gym. Perhaps the two will have come to a little understanding at the Crossfire Reunion show… that remains to be seen.*

  8. #8
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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    "History Has It's Eyes On You"


    The scene begins with Kayden Knox standing outside the door of one GM Blackbird as he walks in and inside the room we see the other members of The Affliction as they seem to be talking to one another but, as soon as Knox enters the room gets very quiet there's a brief moment where Knox looks over to the side where Blackbird stands with FWA Champion Mike Garcia who stands tall with a nice suit and the championship draped over his shoulder and we see that Mike whispers something into the ear of Blackbird as Knox is seen his eyes staring at the two but, as he goes to speak Blackbird cuts him off stating that he would like a word with Kayden Knox.

    Knox acknowledges it and we see that the rest of the group walk off with Mike patting the shoulder of Knox and Knox doesn't really know how to take it as if it's him looking down on him like a child or is it friendly either way Knox shoots Mike a look. Mike though doesn't really seem to care instead telling Knox to listen to the words of Blackbird here as the other three plan on defense of Saint Sulley and Saints & Sinners. Knox hears the door close behind him as Blackbird pours a drink on the table and goes to grab another glass but, remembers Knox doesn't drink and we see him put the glass back. Blackbird tells Knox to sit and Knox does as he stares up at Blackbird the smell of whiskey bringing him back and we can see him shake it off.

    Blackbird: It has been a hell of a year for you hasn't it Kayden. I got to say you have impressed me more then most this roster this year. You have proven that you didn't need to be with AJ Drake a man that used you for the spotlight, you went out there and nearly won the CC and you almost won Mile High last year.

    You went toe to toe with the very best this roster has had and you held your own. You beat Gabrielle.
    You gone out here and you have proven how cold blooded how violent you can be. You have left bodies broken across the whole entire roster and you were at the forefront of the defeat of one of the so called greatest wrestlers FWA has ever seen.

    Kayden Knox hearing this sound of this gets a sly smile start to form but, its quickly turned round by the serious tune in the voice of Blackbird as the glass hits the table and he stares directly at him.

    Blackbird: History has it's eyes on you Kayden. What happens next this is what defines your career are you another name written in the lost pages of the books or are you the damn cover story? You want them to respect you? You want them to acknowledge you as something more then go out there and prove it if not then you have proven every single one of them right.

    There is a moment before almost anger comes off of Blackbird's voice.

    Blackbird: You make a liar and a fool out of me and I am not either of those. This group has taken on your nickname. So what does it tell the whole entire roster if you can't hold the title?

    Kayden Knox stands up and you can see that he has heard enough as he turns his back and he heads towards the door as Blackbird gives a sigh under his breath one loud enough that it again turns Knox around. Knox looks back at him his hand still clinched on the door handle but, he is stopped long enough to where you can see him still listening as the next words seem to really hit him.

    Blackbird: Hard to handle the truth Kayden?


    Kayden Knox turns and you can see the malice intent in his eyes as you can see them get fueled with rage as he grabs the glass from Blackbird's grasp and chucks it against the wall. The sound of broken glass hitting is the only sound you hear for a few moments as Knox is like a animal whose owner struck him. Blackbird though looks at Knox as if he is surprised that he bit back and Knox slowly starts to talk the anger in his voice can be heard and we can see him start to shake.

    Kayden Knox: You don't think I know this!

    Knox grabs Blackbird by his suit and has him pinned up against the shelf in his office. Knox eyes are solely set on Blackbird as you can hear some movement outside the office followed by Blackbird trying to calm Knox down as he yells out everything is fine to the people outside as they go by. Knox lets go and you can see that he himself is now shocked by the fact he put his hands on Blackbird and Knox sits back down on the chair his hands shaking as he puts his face in them. Blackbird goes over to Knox placing his hand on his shoulder for a moment as Knox begins to speak.

    Kayden Knox: No matter what I do... when they stare at me they still see Sterling Jagger and they still see me as a joke. No one takes me serious no matter how hard I try they don't respect me. You saw the way guys like Dave Sullivan, Krash, Gabrielle look at me they don't see me as a threat they see me as the punchline to their jokes.

    Knox stands up and looks across the room and sees a picture of Mike Garcia & The Affliction all together with one another after Mile High and we can see that through the reflection of the picture Knox's eyes as he stares at it he calms himself down before going to talk again slowly as he looks Blackbird in the face.


    I know what you are trying to do. I know that history has it's eyes on me because the reality is I am the weak link in this chain. Jackson & Savage they bring past championship glory and respect being former champions and Mike he brings in the FWA Championship and I nothing.


    Knox begins to get himself down as he tries to sound serious but, in the end it sounds more depressing as he speaks his bod slender down his head down looking at the floor before him. He tries to regain his composure as much as he can.

    Do you know what it feels like knowing that you are never good enough?

    There is this sort of laugh that comes after the statement by Knox as he finds himself laughing in pity to the question.


    Hell better yet do you know how it feels knowing you are never good enough even though you give everything you have?

    It feels like someone is putting a weight on your shoulders and throws you into the ocean. You people then extend your hands and tell me you know I can do this you know I got this as I sink deeper and deeper into the abyss. I am struggling and I do what I have to do to survive so that I can get higher so my head can be above water. You look at me so proud for the things that I have done but, yet it is not good enough is it?
    You know I hate myself right?

    Blackbird looks on not really showing any sort of emotion as Knox turns back around and there is a shelf next to him as he with anger and rage throws it to the ground.


    You think I am proud of the things I done? You think what I have done doesn't make me sick?

    Knox stares at his hands as they have broken glass in them they start to bleed and Knox can do nothing more but, just stare at them and find himself in this trance almost.


    I can still hear the sound of Penny screaming as I caved Jason Randall's head. I have justified every action I have made in this past year with one goal in mind to be respected to have them notice me and fear who I am.


    Kayden Knox looks up at Blackbird and his voice starts to get angry and starts to crack as he speaks tears slowly filling up in his eyes as he turns away.

    I can't sleep at night anymore. I just lay awake and I think of everything that I have done over this past year and I look in the mirror and I don't even recognize who I am. I am a stranger to myself. I am becoming everything I ever hated like I said I have justified every action in the mind that it would break this cycle that I could be proud that I accomplished something.

    Knox looks for pride in his words however the fall just flat. Knox just looks on defeated for a few moments before speaking yet again.

    Yet here we are at the end of the year and yet I am still in the same spot while everyone keeps moving ahead of me. Eli Black, Yuna, Danny Toner and so many more as that list goes on and they succeed they are renowned I am known as a joke and a puppet.

    You made me a promise that these people would fear me.

    That these people would respect me that you would show them that Kayden Knox is so much more.


    Knox points from the ground at Blackbird his eyes again full of anger and the blood dripping to the ground below him. Knox grabs his phone from his pocket as well as a cig. He lights the cig taking a deep puff before he stares at his phone and turns it to see Blackbird to show the X Division Championship.

    The X Division Championship in the hands of anyone else is just a title.

    Do you think that guys like Humanity, Saus X, Hao, Aleksander, or even Alexandra Marie see it as anything more then that? This isn't about them this is about me. The X Division Championship and what I have to do to take it.

    Knox puts the phone away as he goes on smoking he stands up

    The title it means more to me because it in itself is so much more. I hold that title and I silence everyone. I hold that title and it tells people that I am not a joke that I am somebody. I am not a nobody. I am not a weak link. The X Division Championship is a statement that Kayden Knox is respected.


    Knox shouts it and he seems to find himself thinking on those words for a few moments as Blackbird looks on.

    Do you think that a lost to them is as devastating if I lose yet again?

    I have to win this match. I have to earn this shot. I have to because if I don't I don't know what's left for me I don't know where to go I don't know if I can go anymore. I feel like I just can't justify these actions anymore when I get to this point and every time I just fall short I can't. I can't keep going on and on selling my soul with nothing in return. The further down the rabbit hole I go the more I am losing who I am.


    Knox last words seem to give him an emotional drain and he slowly tries to get himself together. It would seem as though Knox has just broken down in front of Blackbird and let his walls down. Blackbird just looks at Knox for a few moments and then speaks again.

    Blackbird: Then don't fail.

    The words were cold and they weren't full of anything more then that as Knox gets up and walks out of the room he turns back looking for some sort of reassuring look from Blackbird but, he gets nothing. Knox is outside the door now and closes it behind him. Knox sees himself in the glass shelf ahead of him and tries to put on a strong face putting the hood up and turning to walk down the hall only to startled by Nate Savage who has seem to be eavesdropping on the conversation. Nate seems to size up Knox for a moment before looking at him and getting right in his face.

    Nate Savage: You got this.

    Knox takes the words and seems to give him a smile on his face as Knox walks off and Savage enters
    Blackbird's office and we fade to black.
    "Here's To You Yusuke Kitagawa"






  9. #9
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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    Exile Chronicles (Volume 3)
    Chapter 11: What's One More Sin?


    "So...how bad is it?"

    "Pretty fucking bad, Truth."

    We find ourselves at Lincoln Park in Chicago, Illinois, days before Christmas and FWA's Crossfire Reunion Show. The park is fairly empty at the moment as a light snowfall has begun to dust the area white. Our focus is on one solitary soul, walking through the stark landscape wearing a long woolen overcoat, a knitted cap that covers his ears, and a scarf around his neck to keep the chill away.

    We zoom in to see the familiar face of Cyrus Truth, who is talking into his cell phone with a look of concern and consternation. The events of Fight Night are still rattling in his mind...the betrayal he suffered at the hands of Eli Black, the shift in his attitude, and whatever the hell this Church of 9 is...

    On the other end of the call, as we can hear clearly, is the voice of the old, cantankerous woman known to Cyrus only as the Book Keeper, who Cyrus had called upon to settle things before the judgment of the Observers falls upon his head due to his transgression in showing Eli an Observer vault back when the two were teaming. And based on the tone of the Book Keeper's voice, things were about to get more complicated.


    "On the surface, the Church of 9 looks fairly harmless. Philanthropy, charity, community outreach...basically, the Church has a very positive public face, even if it wasn't always so prevalent in the public eye. Hell, they've been more out there as of late in no small part to that young pup becoming their newest spokesperson."

    "I'm guessing there's a huge 'but' coming."

    "Mhmm. I did a big of digging and came to learn that a lot of prominent public figures have ties to this Church. And wouldn't you know it? Those figures' rises to power coincided with the development of their ties to the Church."

    "Which in and of itself isn't that terrifying. Powerful people have always congregated in separate sects to consolidate their power and strengthen their influence. It's a tradition as old as the world itself."

    "Yeah, sure...but they don't typically associate themselves with organizations that have had multiple incidents with regards to their members. Their past looks clean on the surface, but scratch away at it long enough and you start to see the bloodstains. Multiple rumors of members mysteriously being found dead after their rise, several ending up suffering mental breakdowns after trying to distance themselves from the Church...and yet, the Church of 9 has been able to keep themselves looking squeaky clean enough to avoid people in the world of dawn from investigating. Everything I just told you? Observations and rumors by folks who've operated in the world of shadows for years."

    Cyrus grits his teeth, pondering what all of this means...and more concerningly, how did Eli get tangled in with these people? What's the connection? What exactly is the Church of 9?

    "Well, that's more than I knew last Fight Night, at the very least. Still, it's not a whole lot to go on. All we know is that this Church puts on a good front, has some ties to some powerful people, and there's likely a lot of darkness in the heart of the organization. But to what end? And what's the connection to Eli?"

    "Afraid I don't know that myself. The Church of 9 tends to keep its controlling members' identities a secret. They say it's because they don't want any celebrity as a result of their charity work...but it seems to me it's so they can't be harassed by the paparazzi or any other journalists who might want to dig a little deeper than the Church feels comfortable with. Truth...you want my honest opinion?"

    "I wouldn't have asked you to look into this for me if I didn't."

    "These cocksuckers are not to be fucked with lightly. Cults are a dime a dozen, cabals even more so. This Church of 9 is far more organized and secretive than both. The fact that I can't get any more information than what I have means that, whoever these assholes are, they're VERY good about keeping a lid on things. You don't go through this much trouble and effort to keep secrets if you have nothing to hide. And based on what little I've been able to gather? Whatever they're hiding isn't pleasant."

    There's a long pause as Cyrus processes everything the Book Keeper has told him. Cyrus is no stranger to such things. As a former Observer, he knows that secret groups have always existed for one purpose or another. Cabals have formed time and again to accomplish goals for the benefit of the few at the expense of the many. This Church of 9 was starting to sound more and more like one of those...

    ...but even still, how was it that this particular group escaped his notice? And how was it that the Book Keeper, one of the finest information brokers in the world, could only learn so much? Who WERE these people? And why Eli?

    "Truth? You still there, boy?"

    Cyrus snaps back out of his own thoughts and back to reality.

    "Yeah, I'm here. Is that all?"

    "Afraid so. I'll keep doing a bit of digging, but I doubt I'm going to find out anything more than what I already have. Listen, I gotta go. There's some people meandering outside of my shop that look like they wanna come in. I'll be in touch if I need anything else."

    "Right. Thanks, Keeper."

    "Don't mention it, boy."

    The Book Keeper hangs up, leaving Cyrus alone out in the middle of the park as snow gently falls. The chill in the air nips at Cyrus's nose, but the cold is the furthest thing from Cyrus's more immediate thoughts.

    Eli Black screwed him over, taking away his opportunity to definitively beat Gerald Grayson. And for what? Because Cyrus didn't want to join his little cult?

    Eli HAD to answer for that.

    And yet...

    Cyrus seems lost in his own thoughts and feelings as he silently walks out of the park onto Webster Avenue. The area around the park seems to be fairly busy as folks are rushing to finish their errands before the holiday. Cyrus sees a food cart manned by a heavyset Cuban man, offering up Chicago-style hot dogs. The Exile approaches the cart and makes an order, wanting something to eat while he ponders the situation he's in.


    However, when it comes time to pay...

    "It's all right. Allow me..."

    Cyrus turns right to see a man standing nearly shoulder-to-shoulder to him. He's got darker skin, almond shaped eyes, and an immaculately-trimmed goatee. He, too, wears a heavy woolen overcoat as he reaches for a wallet and hands the food cart owner several bills. Cyrus is handed his hot dog as Cyrus looks this stranger over, leerily.

    "Um...thanks."

    The man doesn't respond to that as Cyrus takes a bite of his hot dog. After swallowing it and realizing that this stranger hasn't left, Cyrus cocks an untrusting eyebrow and asks:

    "Do I know you?"

    The stranger cracks a small grin as he says in reply:

    "Has it truly been that long, Truth? Don't you recognize your old friends?"

    The way the stranger says that makes Cyrus's face scrunch in recollection...and The Exile's eyes go wide as recognition dawns on him.

    "Seeker?!"

    "You do remember."

    Cyrus IMMEDIATELY tenses up. It's clear from his face that there's a fight-or-flight instinct kicking in...and for Cyrus, fleeing was never an option.

    "What are you doing here? No, wait...let me guess. It's judgment, isn't it? You're here to drag me back to hear what my sentence is."

    The stranger, Seeker, shakes his head solemnly.

    "No. That's not why I'm here. The elders are still debating amongst themselves regarding your punishment. But you're not entirely wrong either. The Observers did send me to treat with you."

    Cyrus, hearing that he wasn't about to be dragged off, relaxes a bit. Even if it came to violence? Cyrus knew that the Observers weren't fighters.

    Well, at least most of them. Justice, on the other hand...

    "Well, forget it. I have nothing more to say to the Observers. So if they expect me to come crawling back on my hands and knees like some kind of..."

    "You wish to know more about the Church of 9, do you not?"

    Cyrus pauses mid-rant, stunned by what Seeker just asked him.

    "...Come again?"


    "You want to know more about the Church of 9, and what the connection is between them and Eli Black. Am I wrong?"

    "What the hell is this? Is this supposed to be some kind of trick?"

    "You already know it's not. Do you want to know what I have to share, or not?"


    Cyrus doesn't respond. It's clear from his body language that something doesn't add up. An Observer wanting to help him? Especially now?

    And yet, something about this particular Observer doesn't give Cyrus the same level of trepidation as, say, Justice. There's a certain degree of familiarity between Truth and Seeker...

    Seeker, although no reply was given, simply nods and says:


    "Follow me. We should get out of the cold."

    Seeker turns and walks off. He never looks behind him to see if Cyrus follows him. It's as if it's a foregone conclusion.

    Cyrus stands there next to the food cart...confused, irritated, and curious all the same. He scarfs down his hot dog and tosses the refuse in a nearby trash can, following Seeker...


    *****

    We cut to inside of a humble-looking mosque. There's certainly decoration, but nothing ostentatious or overwhelming. It's quaint, cozy...and here, we find Seeker on a prayer rug, deep in meditation. Behind him stands Cyrus, arms crossed, waiting. And while Cyrus is being patient, his expression does betray a bit of irritation.

    Seeker, apparently sensing this, says without looking at Cyrus:


    "You think it's strange...an Observer praying."

    "I didn't say anything."

    "You didn't have to. You've always been easy to read. Tell me, Truth...do you have faith in anything? Or anyone?"

    "Myself. And the Road."

    "As do we all. But is that enough? At the end of the Journey, if all we have is ourselves and the Road, does that mean we have forsaken all other avenues? The world is vast, Truth. And there's still a great many things that even we Observers don't fully understand. That is why I pray...why I have faith."

    At this, Seeker stands up and rolls up the prayer mat, taking it to a series of shelves that apparently are there to hold loaner mats for supplicants. Putting it away, Seeker turns to face Cyrus, the Observer eye-to-eye with The Exile.

    "Do you know what I've learned, Truth? Faith is a curious thing. Good faith...humble faith can strengthen a man's heart. Allow him to press forward even when the weight of the world presses down on him. Faith that something or someone loves you, wishes to see you find peace? For me, at least, it has been rewarding.

    "But even faith has its darker side. Blind faith, bad faith can weaken the soul, tear away what made you uniquely strong. Faith in the wrong things or faith for all the wrong reasons can turn you, twist you into a mockery of everything that made you human, made you strong. And in that, you become a slave, a puppet to the power that you worship."


    Seeker walks up to Cyrus, standing barely a foot away from him.

    "Do you understand what I'm saying, Truth?"

    Cyrus doesn't respond, but it's evident he knows exactly what Seeker is trying to tell him.


    "You brought me here to talk. So...talk. Tell me about the Church of 9."

    Seeker sighs as he takes a few steps back, but starts explaining.

    "I won't waste our time going over things you likely already know or suspect. Even now, you likely still have resources to get at least some information on the Church and its activities and purposes."

    "You're not wrong."

    "I'll get straight to the point, then. The Church of 9 is an affront to everything the Observers have stood for. They seek knowledge, but not to learn. They seek wisdom, but not to share. The Church of 9 exists solely for the Church's sake, to seize power and control regardless of the lives ruined or sacrificed. They are DANGEROUS, Truth. As dangerous as any of the other shadow cabals that our order has worked to stymie over the millenia. And you, in your foolishness, showed a vault to one of their members."

    Cyrus seethes at Seeker's blunt, accusatory tone as he snaps back.

    "I see you've taken to the robes of an Observer as well as the others, Seeker! Sure, go ahead and remind me of my transgression as if to beat me over the head with it. And don't give me any of that crap. Eli was NOT a member of the Church of 9 when I took him to that vault. There's no way he was!"

    "How can you be so sure?!"

    "Because! Because...the Eli that ambushed me on Fight Night is NOT the same person that I took into that vault. I don't know what's changed or what this Church has done to him...but the Eli I knew was not that cretin that beat the hell out of me with a steel chair. He was a noble young man. He had passion and drive. This new Eli...there's nothing left of what he was. Or if there is? It's buried so deep underneath that husk of arrogance and ambition that I can't see it anymore..."

    Cyrus's tone changes from angry and combative to remorseful, something Seeker picks up on. Exhaling, Seeker softens his tone.

    "...Be that as it may. That doesn't change the fact that you, an Exile, showed a vault to an outsider. The sin is yours, Truth. Yours alone. Had you not shown Eli that vault, we wouldn't be in as much peril as we are."

    Cyrus looks up to meet Seeker's gaze. The Exile looks perplexed by what Seeker just implied.

    "'Peril?' What the hell are you talking about, Seeker?"

    "You wanted to know the connection between Eli Black and the Church of 9, right? The ties run far deeper than you realized. Eli Black isn't just the Church of 9's spokesperson. He's not just some new recruit. The Church of 9 is his very blood."

    You can see the color drain from Cyrus's face as he pieces together what Seeker just said.

    "You mean..."

    "Yes. His father's side, apparently. Eli's ancestors helped create the Church in the first place. So yes...perhaps he wasn't a member when you committed your sin. But the Church of 9 was always going to reach out to him. And because of your actions, we find ourselves in a precarious position.

    "The Church has suspected the existence of our order for many years, but has never had anything solid to confront us. Like a kraken, their grasp is long...but never was it long enough to reach us. But now that one of their own has seen an Observer vault with his very eyes? They now know we exist. And more dangerously, they know that the vaults exist. Their lust for power and control will undoubtedly bring them into conflict with us, unless we stymie their aggression by sending a message."

    Cyrus, as he's listening to everything Seeker has said regarding Eli and the ties of blood he has with the Church, looks shocked and betrayed...and more than any of that? Angry.


    "You knew about this, didn't you? You knew who Eli was and who his family was well before I showed him that vault. You had to. How couldn't you? If the Church is as treacherous as you claim, you would've known!"

    "What if we had?"

    "THEN YOU SHOULD'VE TOLD ME!"

    "You're an Exile, Truth. We're not permitted..."

    "DON'T GIVE ME THAT CRAP! If this Church posed ANY threat to the Observers, even a minor one, the rules regarding Exiles shouldn't matter! I don't care if it's a thousand year-old precedent or something Guide came up with earlier this year. It's BULLSHIT and you know it!

    "This is the real reason I'm being judged, isn't it? It's not that I showed a minor vault to some young kid to give him some guidance. It's because I showed any vault to that particular boy just because of who his father is! And you want to blame me for that when you or any other Observer could've prevented it by TELLING ME. You're as much to blame for this as I am!"

    Seeker looks indignant at Cyrus's outburst. Clearly, despite whatever familiarity may be between Seeker and Truth, Cyrus's pointed condemnation on the Observers' inaction struck like a personal insult.

    "So, if you had known, are you saying you wouldn't have shown him?"

    Cyrus immediately responds...but before any words come out, he stopped. That anger and indignation from earlier is still there...but it's simmering instead of boiling over.

    "I...I don't know! Okay? I'm not about to lie and say 'definitely not.' I'm Truth, in case you've forgotten. But at the very least, I would've at least given it a second thought."

    Both men stare at one another in silence for a minute before Seeker sighs.

    "Regardless, what is done is done. And now, something must be done about it."

    "So why involve me? Actually, better question: why tell me any of this? You said it yourself. The Observers aren't supposed to communicate with Exiles, not supposed to share information. And yet, here you are."

    "The circumstances are dire. The choice to put Eli Black in the position as the figurehead of the Church was not just for hereditary reasons. It was done to claim a foothold in professional wrestling. However, it's a risky gambit. Winning boosts Eli's profile, and by proxy the profile and outreach of the Church of 9. But defeat...crushing, overwhelming defeat, could derail their plans. Stop their influence from spreading like wildfire.

    "Observers do not fight. But you do. You're facing Eli Black at the next FWA show. You will fight him. You WILL defeat him. And the world of shadow will know that you do so with the blessings of the Observers."


    Cyrus, listening to this, seems almost flabbergasted by what Seeker has just declared...and starts laughing.

    "That's your plan?! Telling the world of shadow that I'm beating up Eli on behalf of the Observers?!"

    "It's the simplest solution. You're fighting Eli anyway. And it's not as if you've ever been opposed to a bit of ultraviolence, especially against those who have wronged you as Eli has. What does it matter if you have the blessings of the Observers in this? Besides...I would have thought you'd be more...amenable to serving some form of penance, especially in lieu of whatever judgment is rendered."

    "So that's it, then? The Observers are willing to forsake their claims of peace and mediation to back an Exile of theirs in a massacre?"

    "We are forsaking NOTHING. An answer must be given. This is simply the most efficient method. The Observers have named champions in the past when the order has been threatened, even if the world never remembers them. An Exile is an obvious choice, especially one who got us into this predicament in the first place. Do you have a problem with it?"

    Cyrus stops his incredulous laughter as a medley of emotions swim in his mind. It's clear he's not sure what to think, what to say, whether to be happy or sad or enraged. Cyrus starts laughing again...but it's a sad, bitter chuckle.

    "...Sure, why not? After all, you said it yourself. I'm the man who breaks bones and shatters skulls, especially against the wicked and the arrogant. And Eli deserves it, doesn't he? Joining this cult, striking me with that chair, betraying me?! What the Observers want or don't want isn't relevant, right? I was going to crush Eli anyway. Because that's what I do. What I always do..."

    Cyrus's voice trails off, changing from manic to somber.

    "..The only thing I do..."

    "Truth?"

    Cyrus looks down, not meeting Seeker's gaze. There's a long, uncomfortable silence until Cyrus finally speaks up.

    "I'm tired of this..."

    "Tired? Tired of what?"


    "I'm tired of this, Seeker! Is this all I am anymore? Just a fighter? An executioner? Am I always destined to have to strike down the vain and arrogant? For once, I thought I could have helped a fellow wrestler. For once, I thought I had done a young wrestler a service! But no...my words didn't land. My actions meant NOTHING! Another young, promising warrior led astray. My words fell on deaf ears. My lessons cast aside for the more seductive path to power. Maybe all those wrestlers in FWA were right. Maybe everything I touch is ruined, poisoned, and left to rot. I thought Eli could've been so much more! But it seems that I was delusional to think so."

    "Truth...I..."

    "And now, I have to crush him. Destroy him. Beat down the kid that helped me find my footing as I spiraled into despair and ignominy. Sure, I'm not where I was or want to be again, but I'm far better than I was at the beginning of the year, right? And that's thanks to my team with Eli. It was in the tag tournament that I found victory again. I owed him, Seeker! Maybe I still owe him! But I have to fight him, and beat him down so badly to cripple this Church. And not just for myself, but for you and the Observers, right? What kind of friend am I, that I'm even considering this? What the hell am I going to tell his mother after I break his jaw, his arm, his leg?"

    Cyrus gets right in Seeker's face, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and very forcefully says:

    "What the hell am I supposed to say to his mother if I leave her son a crippled, mangled wreck in the middle of the ring? Do you know the answer to that, Seeker? Does your god? Any of the Observers?!"

    Cyrus, having let his emotions boil over, lets go of Seeker as he turns away from him, his hand on his head trying to come to grips with the conflict within him. Seeker, seeing the turmoil in The Exile, softens his tone as he replies.

    "I don't know, Truth. But I know that you have to do this. If you don't fight Eli...if you fail to beat him, the Church will get stronger. The Observers will continue to be threatened by the Church's hunger for knowledge and control. All of us will suffer if you do not fight and beat Eli Black decisively. And whatever else you may be, whatever feelings you have for the order? I know you well enough to know that you still care. Not for the order as a whole...but for those of us who you grew up with, learned to call your friends. You need to do this, Truth. For your sake, and for all of ours."

    Cyrus stands there with his back to Seeker as he tries to get through to The Exile. Eventually, Cyrus looks over his shoulder and asks, almost mournfully:

    "You said before that showing Eli the vault was a sin. What the hell would you call the dissection of a young, talented wrestler who you failed to keep on the right path?"

    "Truth...you're an Exile. Your very existence is a sin in the eyes of the Observers. What's one more sin, if it will help keep the forces of darkness from rising again?"

    Cyrus's shoulders slump, as if Seeker's words had taken any hope from him for a different solution. Seeing this, Seeker walks up to Cyrus and puts a hand on his shoulder.

    "Truth, I'm sorry, but..."

    "No...no. You're right. You're right, of course. I made a mistake. Several mistakes. Costly mistakes. If I were wiser, if I was stronger...maybe, maybe Eli wouldn't have fallen into the grasp of the Church of 9. But, here we are. No other path in front of us save for the one that must be taken, right? I guess this is just who and what I am. Not a builder, not a mentor...just a destroyer. Just destined to clean up the messes I leave in my wake due to my own hubris and ill-considered actions.

    "Tell the Observers that I'll be their assassin if they want. Not for the sake of the elders or that bitch Justice. But because I haven't forsaken their teachings, even if they Exiled me for it. But Seeker? If I do this...if I end the ambitions and ruin this young man...this boy who showed me kindness when everyone else in FWA laughed and enjoyed watching my fall into ruin? I hope they remember that when they make their decision on my judgment."


    "Truth, you know that's a separate..."


    "YOU TELL THEM, Seeker. Because Eli's blood isn't just going to be on my hands."

    Seeker, for the first time throughout this whole exchange with Cyrus, looks almost shaken by the ferocity of Cyrus's words. He composes himself as he backs away from Cyrus.

    "I'll pass your message along. That's all I can promise. I assume this means we can count on you?"

    "I won't hold back, if that's what you're really saying."

    Seeker nods as Cyrus, glaring at Seeker angrily, puts his hat and gloves on as he turns to walk out...but is stopped by Seeker asking:

    "You know that you still have friends back home, don't you?"

    Cyrus chuckles sadly, as he looks over his shoulder at Seeker.

    "Funny...I was told an Exile doesn't get to have friends."

    "Not everything is so cut and dry, Truth. Best of luck to you...my old friend."

    Cyrus doesn't respond, doesn't say "goodbye" or anything. He just sighs in resignation as he leaves Seeker alone in the quiet little mosque.

    Outside, the snow has started to fall just a little bit heavier. Cyrus looks up to the sky, seeing nothing but gray skies and falling white flakes. A thousand and one thoughts race through his mind as he remembers.

    Remembers the day he met Eli Black.

    Remembers the victory over Michael Garcia and Kayden Knox to break the streak of losses.

    Remembers the loss that ended his and Eli's run in the Tag Team Tournament.

    Remembers the searing pain of Eli attacking him with a steel chair...which is matched only by the pain of betrayal.

    However, Cyrus's thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Pulling it from his pocket, he sees the caller ID and looks concerned. He connects to the call and answers:


    "Keeper, what's going on?"

    "He was HERE, Truth!"

    "'He?' Who are you talking about?"

    "That boy! That Eli Black! He was here, in my store!"

    Cyrus's eyes go wide as he grips his phone tighter.

    "Eli Black...are you sure?"

    "'Am I sure?' Yes, I'm fucking sure! I spent the last three days looking into him and that fucking Church, so yes! It was him! And he talked to me...Truth, he knew things! Said things he shouldn't have said, talked about shit he shouldn't have known anything about!"

    "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

    "No, I'm not. Truth...things have gotten out of hand. If he knows...if he even suspects that there's something to be gained from harassing me..."

    The Book Keeper doesn't say the important part out loud, but it's clear as day.

    "Truth, I know you're fond of the boy even in spite of the knife he drove into your back. But that shit doesn't matter anymore. He's become far too dangerous to just ignore anymore. You're fighting him on Christmas, right? You HAVE to put him down. You have to beat his ass."

    Cyrus stands there, dumbfounded by what he's hearing, stupefied by what just happened. The emotions swirl against...rage, sorrow, guilt, regret, mixing into a cocktail of misery and forlorn hope.

    Cyrus Truth does not want to fight Eli Black.

    He does not want to punish him.

    But deep down, hearing the harried voice of the old woman who stuck her neck out to help him when so many other have abandoned him...hearing from his old friend about the dangers that have arisen due to the choices Eli has made to sate a desire for power...

    Cyrus finds his resolve.

    Cyrus knows what has to be done.

    Seeker was right, after all. Even if it scars his soul to do it...if it protects his world against those who would see it destroyed or brought under heel? What's one more sin at this point?


    "Truth? Damn it, boy! Are you still there?!"


    "Yeah, I'm here, Keeper."


    "Did you hear what I said?"

    "I did. Look, keep a low profile for a few days. I'll take care of this."

    "You mean...?"

    "Yeah. I'll crush him. Consider it done."

    *Click*
    Something Witty!

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

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

  10. #10
    Huggin' and Kissin'
    Tig's Avatar

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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    LET’S TALK DANNY TONER

    “Surprised?”

    Danny Toner looks directly at the camera, eyes narrowed in extreme focus. Dressed simply in black, he is sitting on a stool, the Gauntlet Championship laid out on a glass table in front of him. We see a muscle in his jaw-bone tense before he begins calmly speaking.

    “You know … I was unsure about this. I didn’t want to come out and just … talk. That ain’t what I do, that ain’t on brand, that ain’t what I’m known for. This thing? This is for the likesa’ Cyrus Truth, Chris Kennedy and Gabrielle Montgomery. The big players, heavy hitters. The bonafide, made main eventers. The business end of the spectrum. Guys like me serve a role. We’re here, we’re fun, but that’s just because they let me smoke and go on crazy adventures with Donny right? You’re thinking; now that sounds more like Danny Toner! I should light a fat one and get into the DeLorean right? Tell ya’ll some story from the King of the Iron Double Fist? Somethin’ fun, wacky, zany. Seems like Danny Toner in a nutshell – I ain’t denyin’ it. That is me. I’m gonna keep doing me and keep having fun, don’t anybody go worryin’ about that but right now? I’m pissed off.”

    Danny taps the beautiful Gauntlet Championship in front of him.

    “See this thing? This beauty? This is going to change everything. I guarantee it. This is my ticket, my free pass. If I have this, they have to put me on Fight Night. They have to give me matches and that’s a very dangerous thing to do. You’ve all seen what happens when I’m given the chance. Ask Kujo, ask Sulley, ask Gabby, ask Alyster, ask The Valanders, ask Funamori. Stop any random fan and ask them. Put me in that ring in a fair environment against absolutely anybody and you’re gonna have trouble. I can mix it with the best of them and I’ve been fightin’ tooth and nail to get some recognition, get up the card and now, to be a champion. A proper champion. They say the man makes the belt and if you ask me, you’re lookin’ at the fuckin’ man. I’m the guy who will face anybody. I’m the guy who pops the whole fuckin’ FWA fanbase every time I step onto the screen – in the ring, backstage, in the parkin’ lot … even having a fuckin’ piss people chant my name. The guy that you thought would finally stop knockin’ on the door and callin’ for his due when he took the FWA Gauntlet Championship from Yuna. Anybody with a brain cell should’ve realized that Yuna was standing in my spot in the Mile High Massacre.”

    Danny deadpans the camera and though his tone has been calm you can feel there is major animosity bubbling beneath the surface.

    “Takin’ the FWA Gauntlet Championship was only the beginning. I’ve long made my intentions clear. Who knows how long this ride is gonna last but while I’m here, I’m here to take every last bit I can from the company. I’ve been fired more times that I can count, fucked over by the booking team on a monthly basis and I still keep comin’ back for more and bein’ the most talked about thing in the whole company. Garcia wins the World Heavyweight Championship – but did you see Danny’s birthday bash? Parr is revealed as the attacker – man, Danny Toner’s entrance for the Gauntlet Championship was great. Look, don’t give me Golden Rock. Scrap our segments. Book me against The Valanders and two rookies. You’re shootin’ yourself in the foot and you’re puttin’ your talent in danger. You’re really gonna stick Chris Peacock and Marcus McClain into the ring with me? When you know how fuckin’ angry I am? I know Blackbird is running the ship here but man, are ya’ll really lookin’ for a massacre?”

    Danny lifts the championship off the table and places it over his shoulder.

    “You think I’m gonna part with this to Peacock or McClain? You guys got your fun last week. You guys got to see Chris jump around and make a fool of himself – real cute by the way, Randy – you seen how that turned out. Equalizer. Knockout. Just like that. Keep dancin’ Peacock, stay true to yourself, it’s somethin’ I like and like I said earlier – that shit has its place. The problem is Chris, that place is your ceiling and unfortunately when you step in the ring with the champion and try take his belt from him … that ceiling turns to metal. Fun and ya got potential Peacock but Danny Toner the second you ain’t. You ain’t got what I got and just like last week you’re gonna find out that nobody steps to Danny Toner. Certainly not some jag-off gettin’ tips from Ramon. Certainly not this fuckin’ bitch Marcus McClain. The fuck?”

    Danny stands up for the first time, glaring at the camera.

    “McClain? McClain? He’s a nobody, the latest mediocrity produced by Ground Zero. This is the challenge that comes with bein’ champion? FWA – fuckin’ step up. Get on my level. Gimme fuckin’ someone. What are ya afraid of? Puttin’ this Mack fucker out here with me is a disgrace. Baby, I eat fuckers like you by the dozen. You ain’t sweatin’ me, you got a real nice story – in it for family. Take my advice McClain – stay outta my way because I’m in it for me. Wanna take care of your family? Put on a hard hat and get to fuckin’ work. You insist on coming into my ring? You ain’t gonna be returning to no family.”

    Danny slaps the championship on his shoulder.

    “I’m the fuckin’ champion, this is the fuckin’ belt.

    ...

    ...

    ...

    Word of advice for whoever is number three - you’re gonna need to do a hell of a lot better than these two.”

    ~STATIC~


    Join FWA =)

  11. #11
    The Artist of Chaos
    Mr. Franchise's Avatar

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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    Prologue
    Eli has chosen a more aggressive path to get what he wants out of FWA. The once quiet, to himself Artist has now become very vocal. He would once take in all the advice from his friends, family, and business partners; he is now forging ahead on his own without considering many people's advice. Is he finally in control over his mental demons? Or is this it manifesting into something else other than partying and drinking? His mom, Laurie, and his therapist could not get to him. He even let them be taken away. His former partner Cyrus Truth who he saw as a mentor, could not even get to him. He turned on him after Cyrus Truth declined to join the 9. His father, who once struck fear in his heart, can no longer control his son. That's where we begin on this journey for Eli. With his Father.


    The Fixer
    The scene opens with men dressed in blue overalls, dad hats, and timberland boots. They seem to pull weeds out a vast garden behind one of the Church of 9s estates in Illinois. It's 9 a.m. on a sunny day, and not many spots for shade. The men seem to be exhausted but are working through their fatigue. We pan to see the facility, a recently built building that looks like it was inspired by an old Victorian blueprint. We see a man sitting in a white rocking chair with a wine glass in hand and a book on the porch. He is dressed in a black pants suit and cotton rust dress shirt tucked in. This man is none other than Eli's Father, Frederick.


    Frederick: Keep up the good work, men. You all should be out of here before the sun is down and back home with your families.


    Frederick was chosen to overlook the construction of this new establishment. He has been traveling back and forth between keeping an eye on Eli and ensuring everything here went on the correct time table. The Church saw Frederick as a reliable partner on the field. If they needed something to get done, they knew he was the man for any job, including recruiting Eli to join the Church of 9. He remembers exactly how it happened like it was yesterday.....


    Reuniting
    The flashback is set a few months ago, only a few days after Halloween after Eli and Cyrus lost to Michelle and Gerald for a chance at the tag team titles. It's 10 p.m. and raining. A green charger pulls up to a shady bar. Inside is Frederick. He's on a flip phone talking to someone from the 9.


    Frederick: So you are sure he's in there?


    ??:100 percent. Multiple eye witness has reported seeing him in this bar numerous nights in a row. If you are going to find your son anywhere. It is here.


    Frederick: Thanks, ill keep in touch.


    Fredrick hangs up the phone and puts it in the glove department. He leaves his car and starts speed walking toward the bar. The speed walks turn into a sprint when he hears a commotion coming from the bar. Frederick bursts in and sees an all-out brawl ensued. Right in the middle of it is Eli. Drunk, bloody, and looking like he having the time of his life. Approaching Eli is a 6'11 behemoth who could easily rip any man in this bar apart with his bare hands, but it looks like he has already tried that with Eli and failed. So now he has a knife in hand, ready to stab Eli. Eli does not look as he will stop it from happening, so Frederick pulls out a gun and shoots it into the ceiling. Everyone stops in their tracks, including the behemoth who was inches away from putting a gaping hole into Eli's chest. He turns around to see Frederick pointing the gun squarely at him.


    Frederick: Drop the knife and back away from my boy!


    And as Simon says, the behemoths drops the knife, put his hands up, and backs up. The patrons in the bar start peeling themselves off the floor and furniture. As they gather themselves to take their business somewhere else. Eli is frozen in place in disbelief that his Father is standing right in front of him. Frederick puts the gun away and starts to approach Eli. Eli moves for the first time in what feels like an eternity. Before his Father could get a word out, he sprints out the side exit of the bar. Frederick lets out a heavy sigh and begins to chase after Eli. This goes on for a few minutes before Eli steps into the middle of traffic. He almost gets creamed by a car before Frederick pulls him back onto the sidewalk.


    Frederick: Boy! What is wrong with you? Do you have a death wish?


    Eli: What the hell......do you care? Why are you.....even here?


    Frederick: I am here because my son has lost his way and clearly needs some guidance that your Mother couldn't...


    Before Frederick could finish his sentence, Eli takes a wild swing at his Father that he could barely duck. He takes another one before Frederick gets him into a headlock that quickly turns into a sleeper hold. Frederick holds it in tight as he can until Eli passes out. Eli awakens in a dingy motel room. He looks like a mac truck hit him a few times and has the headache to match. He quickly realizes his Father is sitting across the room in a corner by the exit when he hears...


    Frederick: Boy! Will you listen now. Or do I have to knock more sense into you?


    Eli: You got a lucky hit, old man. If I wasn't drunk, I would have knocked your ass out with no hesitation.


    This hostility put a smile on Frederick's face, which creeps out Eli. See, Eli's Father has always hated how Eli acted like a child. He perceived it as soft and weak. Eli's interest in the arts and watching wrestling disgusted him. Frederick described wrestling as soap opera but with men in their underwear. So seeing Eli growing up and becoming so fierce feels like all those excessive beatings did their job. Eli sees them as just scars that led him to his mental instability.


    Frederick: Look, kid, I know you've been having a rough time recently, but.....


    Eli: RECENTLY?!?!?!? How about life has been shitty since I've been born. You left mom and me when I was ten, and now you show up when I am 26, grown, and successful. What you looking for a handout?


    Frederick: Boy, I will let your disrespect slide because I understand you are not aware of all the facts.


    Eli: Well, I have all night so enlighten me. This should be a good laugh.


    Frederick: Yes, I did leave you and your mom when you were ten. I had to. I was a raging drunk, addict and I was abusive to your Mother. If I didn't leave, I might have killed her. So I left, and it killed me to leave, but I had to. I traveled around for a while, going through rehab to rehab, odd job to odd job, Therapist to Therapist until I got a construction job down south. I reconnected with some family down there, and your Uncle Augustine told me that some people approach them looking for me.


    Eli: What some gang you owed money to or screwed over? Or was it another baby mother?


    Frederick: A chance at a bit of redemption. They offered me work, a way to keep clean and stable. The stability that I've never had in my life. Resources that I could never dream of.


    Eli: That you selfishly kept to yourself this whole time? Is this story suppose to make me feel proud of you?


    Frederick: What you don't understand, boy, is that I've been watching from afar this whole time. Only stepping in when I need to. All those lucky breaks you've gotten over the years, you thought that was what? Luck? Divine intervention? No, it was this organization and me. They help me keep you safe while I worked on bettering myself.


    Eli: Bullshit! Everything I've worked for, everything I've done to get where I am, was done by my own hands. You're not going to come in here and take my accomplishments and make them yours. How dare you...


    Frederick: In 2001, you were almost kicked out of a boarding school because you repeatedly started fights. They decided not to. That was me. 2003 you were nearly overlooked for a scholarship to the school of your dreams because of them damn prejudiced private school; who fixed it? That was me. In 2010 you almost didn't make it into a shelter because a show you helped hosting at some rinky-dink spot in Denver ran over time. You got in despite the rules. That was me. I am not here to downplay your accomplishments, boy, but I am here to let you know I was there to help along the way.


    Eli: But why? Why would you let me think I was alone this whole time? Why would you make me face so many struggles on my own? Let mom face so many battles on her own?


    Frederick: I was still that angry drunk that terrorized your lives when you were young; I didn't feel like I deserved to be in your life. Whether that is right or wrong, that is the choice I made. Now you, too, have an option to make. What were you thinking out there, Eli? You were going to get yourself killed. Why?


    Eli: It doesn't matter; you're going to think it is stupid.


    Frederick: Try me.


    Eli: As you probably know, since apparently, you've been stalking me my whole life, I am a professional wrestler now in the biggest company in the world. I was teaming with one of the most outstanding performers of all time in any company. Someone I looked up to. Someone I saw as a mentor. Someone I am a legitimate fan of. We were in a tournament for the tag team championships. I let him down not only once but twice. He was randomly paired with me, and despite not usually playing along with others well, he brought me embraced me. Even showed me something that probably shouldn't. I couldn't repay that goodwill back. Combined with all these terrible dreams, hallucinations, and consecutive losses have really put me in the dumps.


    Fredrick: So?


    Eli: What?


    Frederick: Everyone battling their own demons, boy. I just told you I have my own. I bet this partner of yours has his own. I've told you probably 1,000 times when you were a kid that the only difference between a winner and a loser is that the winner is a winner because they kept going. So you guys failed at your first attempt at winning whatever prize you were after that. You weren't ready yet, but that doesn't mean you will never be prepared—you're young, smart, and talented. You have to fall on your face and feel that sting to learn how to avoid it.


    Eli: Well, all that sounds good, but FWA management has seemed to already move on with Cyrus. I told Cyrus that we had to win because I knew I would get lost in the shuffle, and Cyrus would go right back to being featured in a top spot. Sure enough, that is what's happening. I saw a lot of myself in Cyrus. Quiet, discreet, always having our guards up. We both came to work to wrestle and then leave. Wanting to continue what was going on with our personal lives. My art and his observing. I thought if I....stuck around, I could gain what was missing in my toolset to get to the next level.


    Frederick: Well, this Cyrus kid sounds like a man who knows what he wants and how to get it. You think if he didn't want to continue being your partner, he would have just done that? Eli, you got to look out for yourself. When you were a kid and going crazy over this wrestling stuff, you didn't talk about being in a team. You said you wanted to be the best.


    Eli: I don't know if I have it in me anymore.


    Frederick: You do. You just need direction. I know that the people who helped me can help you. You just have to give me and them a chance...…


    Eli: What do I have to lose?


    Frederick places his hand on Eli's shoulder as Father and son embraces for the first time in over ten years. We now go back to the present.


    A book worth its weight in gold.


    We are back on the Illinois estate. Frederick is still reminiscing about what proceeded after reconnecting with Eli. His bliss is interrupted by his phone ringing, and Cyan on the other end, who sounds angry as a bull who sees red and Frederick is the red.


    Cyan: Where is he?


    Frederick: Who?


    Cyan: Don't play stupid with me, Freddie.


    Frederick: I have no idea who or what you are talking about.


    Cyan: You really don't know?


    Frederick: When have I lied to you, Cyan? Now tell me what is going on.


    Cyan: Eli has stolen the Book of Osiris.


    Frederick's face goes surprisingly pale. He doesn't say another word to Cyan and just storms off. He yells to the men working on the field that they had the rest of the day off while grabbing his things. He races to the front. He hops into his charger and ready to go before Cyan speaks up.


    Cyan: Look, I don't know what is going on with him? Why would he take it, but the heads of the table are not mad just yet. He just needs to bring it back within the next 24 hours. So do whatever you have to do.


    Frederick: As I always do.


    Frederick drives off, starting with places that Eli would go to in Illinois. A gym, a bar, his favorite restaurant. He was nowhere to be found. There was no social media activity or any sightings of him online. Frederick took his last option and called Eli's mom.


    Rosaline: Frederick? How did you get my number?


    Frederick: Look, you know I wouldn't contact you unless it was necessary. When was the last time you heard from our son?


    Rosaline: Today. He was checking into a hotel and wanted to check in on me. Is everything okay?


    Frederick: It will be once I found him. Our hard-headed son jumped the gun and did something he wasn't supposed to. Now I have 24 hours to find him and bring him in before something terrible happens.


    Rosaline: Oh god, this is why I didn't want Eli mixed up in that stupid cult. I knew you would put him in danger as soon as you returned into his life.


    Frederick: Look, this is not the time for us to debate whether the 9 are a cult or not. I just need any clue you could give me about where he could have gone.


    Rosaline: Uh, well, he did call me from a number I didn't know. Said it was a secure phone he used in emergencies, but his regular phone died.


    Frederick just hangs up without saying anything, now gaining the information he needed to track Eli. The phone Eli used was a phone that they used to contact each other if in danger. Frederick put a tracking chip in it that lets him know the last place Eli uses it. He tracks it somewhere just a few miles outside of Illinois at a rinky-dink motel. Frederick picks the lock to the room that the front desk clerk said Eli was staying at. He enters the room and sees the phone on the nightstand. As Frederick picks it up, he turns the lamp on and sees the room filled with pictures of many different people posted all over the wall. He scans over them and notices they all point back to Cyrus. He searches a bit more and sees a bunch of letters on the table in the room. Some of them are fan mail. As Fredrick sorts through them, he sees Eli has been getting a lot of negative mail from FWA fans stating that he was a loser and that Cyrus Truth will put him into place. Some of them tell Eli they love the direction he is taking, and he needs to take Truth out. He gets to the bottom stack and sees a rolled-up paper with just a location on it. This is the only clue that Frederick has to go on. He jumps into his car and races off.


    Has he gone off the edge?
    We are now in an undisclosed location. It's dark, foggy, and almost looks like a swamp. We hear a woman scream as it seems someone is dragging her through the mud. She is fighting to get away, but the person is too strong for her to overpower. There is a parked blue Toyota Camry in the middle of the road with its tail lights on. As the person comes in the taillights view, we see that it's none other than Eli Black dragging the Book Keeper, one of Cyrus Truth's oldest confidants.


    Eli: Look, I don't like men handling women in a wrestling ring. It's even less to a defenseless lady like you. Please don't run again.


    Book Keeper: SOMEONE HELP ME. SOMEONE PLEASE!


    Eli: No one coming dare. As you can see, there's no working tech in miles, and I made sure no one saw me getting you from your book store. It is just you and me.


    The Book Keeper, now with fear settling in, just leans up against the trunk of the car. She looks up at Eli, who is oddly chipper for someone who just kidnapped someone.


    Book Keeper: What...what are you going to do me? I'm not going to tell you anything about Cyrus. So if you are going to torture me, you might as kill...


    Eli tilts his head in confusion before interrupting the Book Keeper.


    Eli: Lady, lady, lady, lady, relax. What do I look like a sociopath? I know this is a bit extreme. Dragging you in the middle of nowhere. It does seem like a setup from a horror movie, but that's not why I brought you here. It's damn sure not about that fool Cyrus.


    Book Keeper: So if it is not about Cyrus, why did you bring me here?


    Eli: It's about those hooded dudes that run the cult you and Cyrus run with. I need a meet up with the higher-ups. Obviously, they always have eyes watching, and the 9 likes to have me trailed. So I had to go to an extreme to get you to a place where we would be alone. I knew you once you saw the picture of the Book of Osiris, you wouldn't be able to resist.


    The Book Keeper's face turns from fear to straight up hysteric.


    Book Keeper: You? Want a meeting with... this has to be a joke. First off, you have some balls saying we are involved in a cult with you being apart of the Church of 9. Second, what would they want with someone like you?


    Eli: I'll let your disrespect slide since you don't know better. The Church of 9 recruits the lost and help them reach their goals. No matter how many times they fall or fail. My Father is an excellent example of that. He is now a highly trusted member. You observers exiled Cyrus for whatever reason. He probably broke some outdated law that was set when people still thought the world was flat. See, me and Cyrus are two sides of the same coin. Reserved, Rebellious, and we keep going until we get what we want. The big difference here between us is that Cyrus's Exile has created this beast who has accomplished wonders in the ring. Lengthy title reigns, classic matches, and he strikes fear in the roster so much most of the top guys avoid getting in the ring with him. On the other side of that, though, he has no loyal support. No family, friends, or an organization to lean on in times of need. So it led to his personal life being in ruins. On my side of the coin, I have my family, I have friends who I have disrespected and are still fighting for me for whatever reason, and I have the Church My blood right.


    Book Keeper: You're blood, right? How?


    Eli: Oh, I thought since you were looking into me, you already knew. Osiris is my kin. One of the original 9. So you see, it's almost destiny for me and Cyrus to meet. I want to push the Church to a better future built by the ideologies that he stood for. To do that, I need lost souls with bold new ideas like Cyrus by my side. I never wanted to fight him. I want to save him from whatever the observers have a plan for him. With our resources, Cyrus would not be only protected, but he would no longer be an Exile. He would be a man who will dominate in FWA for years to come but effect change in the world. So on Christmas day at the Crossfire Reunion show, win or lose, I must show Cyrus that I have his best intentions at heart.


    Book Keeper: He won't ever listen to you. Cyrus is too stubborn and way too smart to ever join you with your greedy organization.


    Eli: That was once true but is this not the same Cyrus that showed an outsider a vault? The same outsider who does not trust a soul and let me bring him to my house to meet my family? The same Cyrus tried to reconnect with Krash because, through me, he realized that having someone in your corner, you can trust is better than going alone? For god's sake, Cyrus participated in Ground Zero to help alone another young talent because he realized how satisfying it was watching me grow as we trained. Cyrus thinks he's created a monster, but what he has done is created his own salvation. Whether I have to beat him in the ring to an inch of his life and then show him mercy or sacrifice him myself to help him regain footing again. Cyrus will realize I am his Role Model. Like I said earlier, I didn't come here to talk about our dear Cyrus.....


    Before Eli could finish his sentence, his Father's green charger pulls up. Frederick runs out of his car and swings straight at Eli. Eli easily dodges this. Frederick tries a couple more times but Eli maneuvers around his old man with ease. Frederick stops to take a breath as he has tired himself.


    Eli: It would bring me great joy to put you into a chokehold like you did a few months ago, but I don't want to keep this lady waiting too long. If you are looking for the Book. It's in the front seat of the Camry. It is all your dad.


    Frederick looks exasperated and confused. He passes the Book Keeper to the car's passenger seat, and like Eli said, the Book was there. He picks it up and clutches it tight as he watches Eli walk up to the Book Keeper.


    Eli: Look, I am sorry that I put you through this traumatic situation, but I would really like you to set up some kind of correspondence between a higher-up and me from your people. For too long, the Observers and the 9 have been at odds. I think that both organizations can do great things together, and I am willing to be that bridge. To show some good faith. Here take this.


    Eli hands the Book Keeper a flash drive and the keys to the Camry. She slowly sides steps away, afraid of retaliation, but none comes. She gets into the car and drives off. Frederick walks up to Eli and hugs him. Frederick's face turns from confusion to prideful eyes.


    Frederick: You think she bought it?


    Eli: 1000 percent. She basically pissed her pants getting into that car. I feel a bit bad for the theatrics, but it's the only language these people speak. Do you think the Church suspects anything?


    Frederick: No, they think I'm out here trying to kill you. Next time you decide to go off the rails, give me a heads up. Did you make a copy of the Book?


    Eli: Yeah, absolutely. one Book down, nine to go. The 9 and the Observers have been holding this information to themselves for far too long.


    Frederick: Cyrus is going to be pissed once she contacts him.


    Eli: That's the plan. He is probably the most talented man to step into that ring when focused on just wrestling. Where he falls is when something else is clouding his mind. If I wanted any advantage against my friend at Fight Night, this is it. Him, angry, irate, and distraught. He will come with an early onslaught, but as long as I fend that off, he will make a mistake. I will capitalize on it. If the Book Keeper doesn't come through, I may have to go through Cyrus to do so.


    Frederick: Osiris would be proud of you. We are on our way to not only you rising up the ranks in FWA but only getting what we both want from the 9.


    Eli: You still think wrestling is just soap opera with half-naked dudes?


    Frederick: Yeah, just some of you guys wear more clothes than others.


    Both of them laugh as they jump into Frederick's Charger and head off.


    Epilogue
    So Eli has laid out some of his and his Father's plan. Are they really trying to unite them or pit them against each other? Is Eli willing to ruin the one friendship he has in FWA to do it? Only time will tell what lengths Eli will go through to get what he wants and what he is willing to do to Cyrus at the Crossfire reunion.
    "Are you doin' this work to facilitate growth or to become famous?
    Which is more important?
    Getting or letting go?"
    __________________________________________________________

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

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

  12. #12
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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    The camera's whir into life and the newest sensation to hit the FWA Roster welcomes us in to a nearly empty room. Just a chair, a simple desk and a whiteboard occupy the scene alongside 'Professor' Aleksander Anderson. Today he's dressed in a simple suit with a white lab coat draped over the top. I'm sure in his mind he looks the part, he looks professional and conveys this air of intelligence. But he really doesn't, he just looks like a random bald headed, overly tattooed goof in a lab coat. That thought never crosses his mind though, he's far too sure that he is everything he projects himself as.

    Professor Aleks:
    Where do we begin our lesson for the day?

    I'm sure we all know exactly where if we pause and think about it...

    Surely.

    A smug grin plasters his face as he turns to the whiteboard and draws a large 'X' upon it.

    Professor Aleks:
    X. This is what today is about. X, in Roman Numerals it is 10. X...ex wife. There's plenty of those in the World. X is the 24th letter in the alphabet. There's the X Games, XXX is a shitty Vin Diesel Movie, or a shitty career option for your daughter. XXXX is a really terrible beer in Australia.

    X means a lot in the World. And in the FWA it is a Championship that I, your Professor am striving to compete for. Just imagine this; 1st match in I defeat Humanity, Konchu Hao, Saus X, Alexandra Marie, Yuna Funanori, and Kayden Knox all in one go. I make this huge statement on my arrival, on my intentions and the level I will be competing at within the FWA. Just set my career up from one match, my first ever match in America.

    This is how many steps I am ahead of everyone, I'm already out thinking them all, out planning them. Saus X has all this hype that I can snatch up from him. Yuna just competed for the World Championship, she lost but she must be of that calibre and I can upstage her. Kayden is close to the World Champion himself, so by beating him I send a message to Michael Garcia that I'm coming for that Title as well.

    So all of this in fact goes beyond the X Championship. Holding that X starts something very important for me. But I cant look to far beyond the first step. Imagine if I stumbled here, at the first hurdle. How disappointed would we all be? I know everyone is looking forward to be entertained, challenged and taught by myself. So I cant fail here. I'm going to send this message out to the entire roster, and in turn Gerald Grayson who it seems has been neglecting his role as X Champion will have to deal with me.

    But have we learned enough about X and all that it entails?

    Of course not.

    That grin almost consumes his entire face as he oozes a frankly undeserved confidence.

    Professor Aleks:
    X, it...well...it...X marks the spot does it not? Pirate treasure marked with an X on a map. What a glorious tale this is, can you just imagine...

    but wait...

    There is a Pirate in the FWA. That Yuna woman, she's a Pirate. Does she have treasure? Does the X mark the spot of Yuna's treasure? I must be off, treasure hunting is afoot and a Professor is just the right man for the job.

    End scene.
    Credit to Comeback Kid for the GFX

  13. #13
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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD


    THE NIGHT
    BEFORE CROSSFIRE



    Twas the night before crossfire, the last of the batch
    Not a fan was snoring except for a Michael Garcia match;
    The FWA locked their doors with care
    In hopes that a sermon from St. Sully would be spared


    Seven wrestlers were nestled all snug in a bar,
    While thinking of visions of x-fly title shows and having it all;
    And mamma in her' kerchief, and I in my cap,
    Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,


    When out in the bar there arose such a crash,
    Beer and bottoms exploded with a massive smash.
    Distracted and scared even as their fires were lit,
    They tore over to the windows and shouted: "Oh shit".


    The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
    Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
    When what to what must be stunned eyes in a dream that would last
    But a great glorious gallon with the jolly roger flying from the mast.


    With a glitter of her sword, so lively and quick, So bright in the Luna.
    I knew in a moment it must be the pirate lord Yuna.
    And the ever-loyal Patches on her shoulder he came.
    As he screeched, and squawked, and called them by name;


    "SQUAWK-! ALEK! SQUAWK-! SAUS! AND HAO SQUAWK, MARIE, KNOX AND BRIAN
    If you think you're not about to die by the sword, you'll be lyin'


    And then, in a flash with a more that couldn't be slicker, she produced a pistol from her knickers.
    The fighters did look upon the pirate with no small amount of horror.
    As here came the last great explorer


    First came the masked man of the dark,
    The evil lord Hao.
    The winner of Ground Zero, but still has gone down with a fart.
    Though he claims to be evil and walks without light.
    The evil held within the heart of Patches will surely give him a fight.


    Then came the legend, the hardcore icon himself!
    Is it Humanity or Brian? Maybe he just needs mental help.
    Crazed and ruthless and experienced is he
    But he's never came across a sword he really should flee.


    The X of Saus. The thrill-seeker! The highest of flyers
    He has no fear; no limits does he.
    But when put up against the pirate queen things might go down to the wire.


    The Affliction! To him, violence is an addiction.
    With a sickness such vile in a match like that, it must be a gift.
    And surely he'd want to give Michael Garcia's crew a big lift.
    After what last time facing off against Yuna, he must be livid.
    But Yuna can make a believer out of the most die-hard of cynics.


    Alexandra Marie. Named after The Great.
    But she really needs to win matches not money on the growing rate.
    She's rich and classy, a woman so fancy.
    The prime target for a pirate, stealing wins as easily as a baby with candy


    And last; The Professor. The Mysterious One.
    Is Aleksander Anderson a future king, or just another bum?
    Smart and sure, he's a man that truly needs a beating.
    It might be time to show how a pirate delivers seasonal greetings.


    The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
    And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
    He had a broad face and a little round belly,
    That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.


    He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
    And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
    A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
    Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;


    She'll speak not a word, a woman of action.
    No friends. No cheating and absolutely no faction.
    She's a fighter like no other. She's coming for the gold.
    Because no one can quite compete with a pirate bold
    She needs to the X-Gold, she's on a quest, she's coming for Greyson. The only way he'd win is by joining the freemasons.


    She'll spring to the bar, and fight till the last; she'll break open the division, and hang the belt on the mast.
    And always she'll call, into the dead of the sea, pirates never fall.
    Because there ain't no tavern, a pirate can't brawl and fight with all her might.
    And as Patches, The Parrot did exclaim
    SQUAWK-! HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD BAR FIGHT!

    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

  14. #14
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    Re: A Crossfire Christmas Reunion PROMO THREAD

    Michael Garcia, Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird, Kayden Knox, Jackson Fenix, Nate Savage and Todd Salum (?) in
    FAMILY MATTERS


    “So, Michael, a big question here, and one that you began to touch on at Fight Night, but I think might deserve a little bit further of an explanation. Why did you choose the people you chose to be a part of the Affliction and was winning the World Title the only reason that you banded the group together? What happens to the Affliction in the event that you are not victorious this week against the former FWA Champion Dave Sullivan?”

    As the screen comes to life, the first thing we see is Katie Lynn Goldsmith, looking as stunning as ever, in a very short simple pink dress with her long golden locks of hair flowing freely off her shoulders to her petite waist. Katie cocks her head to the side, awaiting Garcia’s answer
    as her seems to have fallen into a trance. She noticed a glazed over look in his eyes, as if something she said triggered something in his mind. Garcia just continued to stare off into space, the FWA World Heavyweight Championship slowly beginning to slide off his shoulders. We hear Katie Lynn’s voice trying to break through to him “Mike?” “Mike?” but it’s fading into the far distance as we transition to a different scene entirely.

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

    Oct 13th, 1998
    Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
    458 Jacob Street


    We’ve been taken to the familiar brownstone in Homestead, PA which housed our favorite Homestead family, the Garcia’s! The house looks notably worse than the last time we saw it, as it’s quite a few years later. The kids are all a little older, and have become more than a handful. Malik, now a rowdy and rebellious twelve is aggressively shouting at the 32 inch Magnavox television screen, complete with the rabbit ears. Malik and his brother, Mike, were enjoying a friendly game of Madden ‘96. Mike, being the older brother at the ripe old age of 15, seemed to be more laid back and relaxed, but that was only a sign of a much bigger problem. Over the past two years, Mike had grown increasingly distant and secluded from the rest of the family. The kid who had been raising his brother and sister since he was 8, was turning more and more into simply a disciplinarian rather than a caretaker, only taking care of issues if something had gone wrong. Mike’s mother, Theresa, as fiery as she was, had little luck in getting Mike to open up about what was bothering him. Any attempt at conversation regarding Mike’s inner battles were met either with a burst of rage or complete silence. Theresa wasn’t sure what scared her more.

    As the two sat there engaged in a competitive game, Malik’s Green Bay Packers (Super Bowl CHampions, mind you) were down four points to Mike’s Steel Curtain Steelers. The camera could barely make out what was going on but we could certainly tell by Malik’s reaction what was going on.

    “THERE YA GO!!!!! HELL YEAH! IT’S YOUR BOY, FREEEEEEEMAN!!!! SIXTY TWO YARDS!!! STRAIGHT TO THE HOUSE AND RIGHT IN YOUR FACE, BIIIIIIIITTTTTCCCCHHHHH!!!! HOW ‘BOUT ‘DAT SHIT? YA BOY FAVRE PUTTIN’ THE TEAM ON HIS BACK, YO!”


    Malik practically leaped out of his seat and onto the couch, next to Michael, making sure to do a little shuffle right in Mike’s face. While two years ago, this would have certainly led to Mike tossing back some trash talk of his own, things were different now. Nothing seemed to matter. Why? No one knew why, not even Mike. Often times he found himself disillusioned with life as he knew it, he had abandoned his own childhood and dreams to help his brother and sister. But what about him? What about Mike? And the worst part of it was that he had no idea where to direct his frustration and anger. His brother, while annoying as shit, was just a kid being a kid. Often times, though, Malik was the one that suffered the brunt of Mike’s outbursts and somewhere down deep, Mike truly felt bad about that. His sister, Malia, was the golden child, but only because she was the one member of the Garcia kids that actually listened and applied herself in school. That’s not to say she wasn’t quite the antagonist, though. After all, she did inherit Theresa’s fiery temper and quick wit. Sometimes Malia’s smart mouth would get her to hear an earful of Mike’s venom and she didn’t deserve that. THeresa definitely didn’t deserve to hear Mike’s attitude, not after working her third job at the Shop ‘N’ Save. That woman worked far too hard and far too long for far too little to take any of the unsolicited guff from a jaded teenager. THe one person who truly deserved to have every ounce of piss and vinegar filling Mike’s soul hasn’t been around in ten years. Mike often times dreamed of the day that he could get his hands around that bastards neck...to make him feel the mental torture that Mike went through every single day in physical form...that would be the day that Mike truly could be happy.

    As Malik continued to rub Mike’s face in it, Malia sat over in the corner of the room, at a small table with a desk lamp on it. The studious nine year old held her down close and squinted her eyes as she tried to figure the last of her math homework, She’d got a 93 on the last test, only missing two from another perfect score. That was NOT going to happen again. She popped her head up with her colorful rainbow braids swinging wildly through the air.

    “Malik, will you shut up? Not all of us have dreams of working the overnight shift at the Texaco…”


    Malik immediately hopped off the couch and towards the chair next to him, grabbing a “decorative” pillow and launching it at his sister.

    “Awww...are we spoilin’ your little bookworm party? Hey, look at her, bro! Sittin’ by herself...kinda feels like lunchtime at school, don’t it?”

    Malia pulls the pillow off her lap and tosses it to the side as she shoots Malik a look of utter disdain.

    “You’re a real jerk sometimes, ya know that? Don’t you have the history report on Mahatma Ghandi due this weekend? Do you know anything about the man?”

    “I got the encyclopedia and all day tomorrow!”

    “Plagiarism….don’t you actually wish to learn something for once? Mahatma Ghandi went on a hunger strike for what he believed in…”

    “That’s because, like you, no one would eat with him in the cafeteria!”

    “Have it your way...Hope your happy with your supersized life!”

    “Of course, it’s supersized! Cause your boy is larger than life!”

    Malia packs her books up and storms off upstairs on the search form some peace and quiet, as the camera focuses back in on young Mike, oblivious to everything that just went down. We slowly shift back to the interview room, with Katie Lynn’s voice still echoing in the background.
    -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
    “Mike...Mike…”

    Naw, KG, I’m done answerin’ these bullshit questions! I’m literally hours away from the biggest match in the history of my seven year career. A Last Man Standing match against the man that has been at the very pinnacle of this business for over a full fuckin’ year. A Last Man Standing match, Katie...This ain’t about being able to stun your opponents for a measly three seconds, just giving yourself enough time to squeak out a victory. No, this isn’t about wrapping your opponent up for a quick three second inside cradle and STEALING a victory. This isn’t even about climbing a structure of some sort and unhooking a belt from a coathanger. This is literally a match in which you have to knock your opponent out. You have to ensure that your opponent cannot answer a standing ten count. Do you understand Katie, what kind of hatred or passion has to fuel a man’s heart for him to be able to inflict that kind of brutality on a living soul? Do you understand the disdain or motivation has to live deep down inside your heart for you to look at another man as he’s broken and helpless, screaming out for mercy and to put that final stake into his heart? Of course, you don’t.

    Dave Sullivan and I, we’re a lot alike but we have one major difference and that is that Dave SUllivan is an entitled brat. The problems he’s brought upon himself were of his own doing. The problems of a spoiled bitch. Your addictions, Dave...your addictions to drugs and to gambling those are problems that people like me, growing up in the situations I’ve grown up in mean that I have to work twice as hard to avoid and I did. You drive around in your Valkyries and your Hypersports while dealing with all your rich boy problems in your humble castle in which you and your cult worship at the altar of Saint Sulley, all the while trying to put on this facade that you’re changing lives when the reality is you are no better than I am.


    But hey, don’t get me wrong, Dave Sullivan is one of the best, maybe the best to ever step into an FWA ring. I can’t take that away from you. I won’t take that away from you. But you had a head start that I never had. And I can see it, Dave, I saw it in your eyes at Mile High, it makes you so angry that a guy like me worked so hard for this moment, that he got tired of doing things the right way and I checkmated the master. It haunts your dreams that I did what I had to do to make sure that my visions, my dreams came true! ANd they did! Over the last few months I have done some things that have been misunderstood. For instance, what I did to Gabrielle has been taken as an act of brutality but what I did to Gabrielle was nothing more than ‘self-preservation”. It was merely just business. SHe was in my way, on my road, blocking me from my goals. I wasn’t sending a message to anyone, no, I was carving my path and eliminating the Golden Opportunity. But no, don’t bother asking me questions about my motives or my road to success, by all means, focus on the superfluous fluff, like why I chose my fa…..team. Honestly, is Todd Salum waxing his eyebrows or something? Was there NO ONE else? Ya know what? Screw this shit. Learn how to do a proper fucking interview. You’re standing with the newly crowned World Heavyweight Champion, put some damn respect on my name!”

    Garcia tosses his microphone aside and brushes past a crew member, causing him to drop a stack of papers he was carrying. The Pittsburgh native continued to storm down the hallway until he spotted the Fight Night General Manager< Lord VIncent Takaab Blackbird ahead discussing plans for tonights show with a member of the production team. Garcia heard VIncent acknowledge him as ‘Greg’. Greg was simply nodding his head in agreement with whatever Vincent was saying. Garcia had no time or patience for whatever”Greggish” things Greg was doing, as he reached over, yanking Blackbird by his hoodie and pulling him over into his presence. Garcia was none too pleased with the GM as he towered over Blackbird, looking directly into his eyes.

    “You arrange that shit? I gave you specific orders! I wanted Todd Salum! And you give me a glorified Bravo reporter?”

    “That’s strange. I did relay that to Cheryl…”

    The two begin to walk down the hallway, where various enhancement talent (Lizzie Rose, Steve The Techno Vampire, Randy Ramon, etc.) were stretching prior to the show. The Montreal Moose Man was getting his make up done, as road agent Clay Reitmeier was rushing by, frantically talking on his headset.

    “Shut the hell up...I suppose it was Cheryl that made this Last Man Standing match with Dave Sullivan this week! I told you...Mike Valander, Louis Valander, Bronco Wells, we sell it as “Mike Garcia giving opportunities to those that never get them.” and yet you can’t even do that right!”

    “He had a rematch clause, Mike, and the board wanted the marquee match for the CHristmas show...My hands were tied! Besides, as long as we stick the plan, you know, as well as I do, that the FWA Universe will be ringing in the New Year with the Carnegie Carnivore as their reigning World Champion!”
    “You just better make sure that everything DOES go according to plan, alright? Now, where’s the boys?”

    Vincent stops at a door that reads

    Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird
    Fight Night General Manager


    and nods his head before opening the door and motioning Garcia to walk on in. As the door swings open, we see Nate Savage and Jackson Fenix sitting on a leather couch, watching the recent 8 man tag team match from Fight Night on a flat screen hanging from the wall. Jackson was getting really into it, pretending he was actually in the match, throwing right and left hooks at the air, and dodging their opponents attack. Savage seemed intensely focused on the match at hand, taking notes and leaning in close, looking for any and every opportunity at which he could find flaw in Golden Rock’s game. It wasn’t long at all before Fenix took a hard shot from his imaginary opponent and flew backwards into Nate, knocking his pen and paper out of his hand!

    “Jesus Christ!!!” exclaimed an unnerved Savage, as the couch rocked backwards, almost tipping over.

    “Sorry, Bro, those uppercuts from Golden are a real doozy! I won’t let ya down though!”

    Savage merely shoved his partner off of him and tried to regather his things.

    C’mon, Jax, we got this amazing opportunity in front of us and all you’ve done since then is act like the biggest dick in the company! Don’t you get it, Jax? We’ve finally got our chance to get back in the tag team championship mix, but we ain’t gonna get anywhere if you don’t get serious and apply yourself!”

    “Listen, bruh, you seem to forget that we ARE former World Tag Team Champions and we’re gonna get our shot soon enough! But right now? We’re on top of the world, my brother! We’re at the top of the business and I’m damn sure going to enjoy it! And the way I see it, I can pop the champagne or I can be a social pariah like you or Silent Bob over there…”

    The camera pans over to see Kayden Knox, wearing a Slipknot hoodie with the hoodie pulled down over his head, restricting his sight from the room. A single cord scraped down over his chest signalled that Knox was immersed in his music and completely unaware of his surroundings.

    “You think I care if Im the most popular guy in the company? All I care about is becoming the greatest tag….”

    “ENOUGH!!!”

    Michael let out almost a primal roar as he screamed that word at the top of his lungs. Jackson Fenix turned towards Mike, wide-eyed and grinning ear to ear with his hands clasped behind his back, swinging back and forth. Nate Savage was sporting an almost smug look on his face as Kayden Knox looked up from the ground for a moment, acknowledging Mike’s entrance.

    “What in the hell is going on here?”

    Blackbird felt bad for Fenix as Mike walked around the couch...but brushed by Fenix and walked right to Kayden...Garcia pulled the white cord out of Kayden’s ears.

    “I leave for 15 minutes, Kayden, and I come back to a room full of anarchy! Do you not understand what is on the line tonight?”

    Kayden is completely disengaged from the world, as he continues to stare at the floor.

    “Look at me, boy, when I’m talking to you! Can’t you do anything right?”

    Suddenly, Kayden snaps his head up and looks at Mike right in the eyes. Kayden didn’t take too kindly to that last remark as Mike was a bit taken aback. Mike’s surprise turned to a smile, as he took a step back.

    “There it is. I knew….I knew I could reach you. I need you, Kayden, to you keep your brother and s….to keep your brothers in line. To keep them focused and on task.”

    Garcia started circling the trio like he was a mother, scolding her children.

    “You all want something out of this alliance, I get that. And I want for you as well. The purpose, boys, isn’t for you all to help get me keep the FWA World Heavyweight CHampionship, no. The purpose is for us to prosper together. We are the outcasts of the FWA. We are the unwanted. We’re not the shiny new toys in the window like Golden Rock. We aren’t the charismatic fan favorites like Krash or ALyster Black. Hell, we aren’t even cult favorites like Dave Sullivan. Believe me when I tell you that none of you were ever going to get an opportunity had it not have been for me. WHat we have here isn’t just a faction or a stable, nah, this isn’t the SInners and Saints. In this group, I actually DID save you all from the brink obscurity. Saint Sulley claims that he’s saved Kujo and the chick from themselves and has given them opportunities, yet the only person I see that’s gotten any opportunity at all is the good Saint himself. The very first NIGHT, that we came together and announced our alliance to the world, you were given an opportunity against the World Tag Team Champions and the North American Champion. And what did you all do with that opportunity?

    You failed.

    You failed yourselves. You failed Blackbird. But most importantly, you failed me. I keep telling you that when you sit at the table of the Carnegie Carnivore, you won’t leave hungry. We’ll all eat and we’ll all eat well, but make no mistake about it, I eat first. So forgive me, Kayden, if I expect a little more from you right now! If I could only take a portion of the passion that Jax has and put it in the two of you, then maybe we would have walked out of FIght Night victorious last week!

    But the three of you, you have the opportunity tonight to make things right. Dave Sullivan is no joke. He’s the real deal. Many men have tried to conquer him Cyrus Truth, Nova Diamond, Gabrielle, Mike Parr, ALyster Black...the list goes on...and he’s beaten them all. Me? I’ve got one victory over him to my name, and while yes, I’ve been on quite the hot streak the past few months...still, what happened at Mile High didn’t do much to change anyone’s opinion of me. CHristmas Crossfire is far bigger than Mile High. I’ve told the world that Michael Garcia is going to be your champion for a very long time, and now I’ve got the responsibility to back up the words that i said. I can’t say the same about you, but I am more motivated now than ever to make sure. Nobody...NOBODY has as much motivation to win this match, including Sulley. So while he looks down his nose and scoffs at the way that I won Mile High, I have to ask “Is he seriously saying that he wouldn’t have done the exact same thing? You don’t think Kujo and Kleio and were going to be right at gorilla if Blackbird hadn’t have banned them from the building? If Vincent Blackbird had promised you protection and given you an opportunity that you were oh-so-tired of having to fight to earn that you wouldn’t have said yes in a hot second?”

    Garcia scoffs at the boys as if to say “We both know you would have!”

    “Saint Sulley’s time at the top is like a literary masterpiece, but at Christmas Crossfire, I will write the last chapter and end it, once and for all. Just because he is as good as advertised doesn’t mean that I’m intimidated! I don’t get intimidated, I intimidate! And the fact of the matter is that I have beaten the very best of the best in this industry, and whether or not they believe it, we know it to be true….nobody in this company, hell, nobody in this company’s history can compare to me right now. Not Dave Sullivan, not Chris Kennedy, not Duke Drazin, not even Matthew fuckin’ Bourdeaux is competing at the level in which I am right now! And together, my friends, we are going to feast upon all of the SInners and Saints here in the FWA. Now….let’s go over the plan for tonight…”

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