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Thread: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

  1. #1
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    CWA proudly presents: ”SOUTH PACIFIC”.

    CWA World Tag Team Championships.
    The Gang Stars (Alyster Black and Krash) [c] vs. The Division (Trevor Ocean and Noah Stocke).

    Gold Rush Tournament: Final.
    Winner of Semi-Final #1 vs. Winner of Semi-Final #2.

    “Heart of Darkness” Match.
    Lilith vs. Michelle von Horrowitz.

    CWA World Tag Team Championships: #1 Contendership “Jailhouse Blues” Match.
    Murder, Inc. (Jermaine Creed and Kendrick Lethal) vs. The Echo (Drew and Ethan Connor) vs. The Undisputed Alliance (Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage).

    Fatal 4-Way Match.
    Clint Shepard vs. Billy Hatcher vs. Johnny Vegas vs. XYZ.

    Tag Team Match.
    The Diamond Dogs (Ricardo Vance and Santino Dongarelli) vs. The DiMiaco Brothers (Paul and Joey DiMiaco).

    Gold Rush Tournament: Semi-Final #2.
    Cyrus Truth vs. Krash.

    Gold Rush Tournament: Semi-Final #1.
    Jon Snowmantashi vs. Shawn Summers.


    The "I'm New Here" 25-Person Battle Royale.
    Entrants: The Power, “Pretty” Billy “Mr.” Wright, Trevor Walker, Ratin Mikichin, Kung Fu Karl, Juan Tothrefor, “Lightning” Lamont Banner, Devour the Suffering, Violet Dreyer, “Squeaky Clean” Dick Washer, RetroJethro1984, FaZe, “Superstar” Shawn Primax, Kasey Conner, “TheTranceQueen” Luna Piper, Fiyero Lermontov, Tank Aikae, Jimmy Boom Boom, Meg, “Machine” Mikey Williams, KAOTIK, Sirviente, The Abominable Snowman, ???, ???.

    Singles Match.
    Dicky Zucko vs. Diego Gonzalez.

    Noah Hanson's 'Next' Announcement.
    (w/ special guest Randy Ramon)
    * Notes:
    1. Matches on the pre-show and those in the Gold Rush do NOT require a promo. The Gold Rush has already been promo'ed for, and they can be found here:
    2. The deadline for promos is Sunday 4th July, at midnight at your local time. If it is still Sunday anywhere in the world, your promo is valid.
    3. All eliminated Gold Rush competitors now have the opportunity to grade the four remaining promos. We will be using a ranking system for this as opposed to the FWA grading system: please just send me an ordered list from 1 to 4 if you wish to vote. The remaining competitors are Cyrus Truth, Jon Snowmantashi, Krash, and Shawn Summers.
    4. Graders for matches will be revealed over the next week.
    5. All promo and card discussion should still take place in the other thread:
    Last edited by SpecificSecretary; 08-24-2021 at 11:00 AM.

  2. #2
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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

    Origin Story

    The pre-internet era of human existence seems like centuries ago. In reality — a touchy word in this story — it was only decades ago. Only 30 or 40 years ago. Few households had internet at the end of the 1990s. And the internet was a shallow place for researching different medical conditions, issues, or worries. The idea of WebMD was still years away.

    When you search the phrase, "Can children get psychosis?" the first answer popping up is from the Nationwide Children's Hospital website. "Childhood psychosis is extremely rare," the Google snippet listing states. Then a bunch more information about the symptoms and effects.

    In May of 1998, a woman with unkept hair and a worried expression didn't have this ease of access to answer her question. She relied on making a doctor's appointment and a doctor's visit. She struggled through nurses testing a young child sitting next to her, a child of age 8.

    "Can children really get psychosis?"

    The doctor's answer vaguely mirrored the one you'd find now in 2021.

    "Well, yes. It doesn't happen often. It's not something that occurs from birth. It has to be a very severe traumatic event. Something that is long-term debilitating. It usually doesn't occur until teenage or young adulthood. It's very rare for children of his age.

    You mentioned his parents abandoned him a year ago?"

    The "his" and "he" referred to by the doctor is a boy with bulging blue eyes and curly light brown hair. His skin is pale, freckles across his arms and scattered on his nose. He remains quiet throughout the conversation, swinging his legs from the edge of the doctor's table, his eyes wandering through the ceiling tiles above. He has a cape, really just a purple cloth, tied around his neck and hanging behind his back.

    "A couple years ago."


    "They left him on the street and he made his way 2.5 miles in the dead of night to my orphanage."

    "Enough to be considered severe trauma."

    A better view of the doctor's office: The table with the boy swinging his legs has the usual black padding for semi-comfort. The white walls and ceiling and strong lighting creates sort of a purgatory feeling, like a middle ground train station aura. The doctor's desk includes a sink on the right side and a small table with a large computer monitor, one of those oversized bulky ones that look like they could be mistaken for tube televisions if not for the big power button in the very center of the plastic horizontal bottom, below the actual screen.

    The doctor is sitting on one of those circular chairs that has no backrest, with four legs and bars connecting them. The woman sits on a square chair with a plastic seat and backrest, her back nearly touching the wall. The light brown wooden door is on the wall opposite the desk, adjacent left to the patient table, and just off the right elbow from the concerned woman.

    "Psychosis is a symptom of schizophrenia. It's characterized by delusions and hallucinations. You've described him to speak of having some magical powers, and of another world, another universe, correct?"

    The lady pauses, her lip quivering as she tries to answer.

    "He says ..."

    She pauses again, her voice cracking under the pressure of the question and the attention of the doctor's not-great bedside manner.

    "He says he has power from the stars and the moon and the sun."

    "It's not uncommon for young children, especially boys, to create fantasy worlds for themselves. I think we need to continue seeing him, continue monitoring him, and he may ... and I hate to use this phrase ...

    grow out of it."

    The woman is unsatisfied by this answer, darting her eyes to the side and down to the ground. She sniffles and shakes her head, trying to stay composed amid the doctor's apparent lack of compassion or, more importantly, urgency.

    "I do not agree, but I will continue to keep an eye on him and ...

    trust your judgment. I hope you're right."

    Little did the doctor know, though, that this wasn't something to grow out of. The woman didn't know, either, but she knew more than the doctor. She just wasn't explaining the boy's trauma properly.

    When the boy's mother dropped him off on the sidewalk at approximately 10 o'clock at night two years ago, she said to follow the stars. It wasn't meant to lead him anywhere in particular, just comfort. She said to look for the moon above. She also said the boy will always be her sunlight, a hollow expression of sympathy for a child you're leaving deserted in the middle of a city's suburb.

    The boy was left with a dog — his dog — and two blankets, one in hand and one tied around his neck loosely. He had nothing left. The dog was large and black, a labrador retriever named "Al". The family called him "Big Al" because of his ... larger ... size.

    The dog stood by the boy's side no matter what, followed him everywhere, played with him all day, protected him relentlessly. Even bit the mailman and a few of the mother's friends and family.

    So it was only fitting to leave Al with the boy for protection.

    "You're still my superhero," the mom said as the car, which she wasn't driving, accelerated away down the poorly lit road, under a tunnel, and to the other side, eventually gone from sight in a thick fog aside from one working red tail light.

    So they walked, aimlessly through the night, only arriving at the front of an orphanage early the next morning. The boy didn't intend to stop, but the woman sweeping the front porch of her mostly vacant orphanage — an orphanage she planned to close in the coming months due to her old age and desire for retirement — couldn't let the boy and dog continue on.

    She called the police. That led to nothing, as the mother fell off the face of the earth. When they found her months later, she died of a drug overdose. The woman at the orphanage took the boy and dog in, but she knew there were some mental issues. This is now the fourth doctor's visit, resulting the same as the first two.

    "Wait and see."

    She has been waiting and seeing for the past 19 months. The boy was 6 years old, well-aged to remember events. He's now 8, aged enough to let those experiences dovetail into something ... more.

    "So come back in a few weeks. We'll check on him again."

    The doctor looks at the patient paperwork, the usual clipboard full of paper-clipped papers that legal guardians must complete.

    "I see his name is ..."

    "Yes but he likes to be called ... I put it there at the end."

    "X ... YZ?"

    "Yes. That's what he calls himself."

    "Do you know what that's from?"

    "That's his superhero name. He doesn't respond to anything else."


    The way we can tell if he is experiencing psychosis is whether or not he believes in ... what he says. He will have ... visions ... or delusions. He may believe he's in ... unrealistic situations. Maybe space, perhaps. Or fighting criminals and villains. Many boys make-believe this type of scenario but they're grounded in reality enough to realize it's all fantasy. They snap from it upon their mother or father, or in your case legal guardian, calling hem for supper."

    "Yeah, he seems to never snap from it. Well ... rarely. Very rarely."

    "Mmm... yes, well, we will look into whether he's just being ...

    just a little boy playing make-believe to forget about some of his past."

    We slowly fade away with the doctor, lady, and boy sitting in silence. The doctor's scene grows smaller and smaller around a growing black exterior of nothingness. The square room, now with just pinch-sized silhouettes of the three people, slowly rotates to a 45-degree angle, and then a 90-degree angle. 125 degrees. 180. 215. Until it's a speck of white that appears unmoving.

    The black backdrop alters to show countless little specks of silver, all flickering slowly and softly, almost unnoticeably.

    The specks begin shifting from left to right, with more specks being revealed as the pan continues. Then a brighter, bolder, thicker silver light zooms across the vision from left to right with what looks like visible airwaves or light moving behind it, like a cape behind a superhero.

    "Another shooting star. Third one today."

    The words of Big Al, an oversized black man with an appetite for fried foods and rick starches, offers his customary short-and-sweet observations. He is floating in space, without a jacket or a helmet or really anything protective. He should, in theory, freeze to death from the cold temperatures and lack of oxygen. He should freeze or suffocate.

    But he does neither, instead able to move where he wants and breathe as easily as he wants.

    Next to him is XYZ, the cape-wearing commando with frizzy light brown hair and stern-looking eyes. The two are facing the same direction, looking down at a multi-colored ball-shaped figure. One glance reveals earth, with the white clouds scattered aimlessly over variations of blue and green shapes.

    "It is time, Al. It is time to return."

    Johnny Vegas, Billy Hatcher, and Clint Shepard. Those names cross through XYZ's mind at a rapid pace, sandwiched between other words and thoughts.

    Such as: FWA. CWA. Wrestling. Winning. Saving. Leading. Champion. Hero. Good. Believe. Sun. Moon. Stars. Planets. Mountains. Skyscrapers. Wind. Eagles. Falcons. Hawks. Hurricanes. Tornados. Monsoons. Avalanches. And many other words.

    The ones appearing the most in his thoughts? Dream.

    He can loosely piece together his dream. He can piece together Big Al's dream, the one he hasn't told anyone else but XYZ himself. He wants all the dreams to come to fruition. For him, for Big Al, for all the people of earth. For the downtrodden, the hopeless, the fighters with feelings of a lost cause.

    Johnny Vegas. Billy Hatcher. Clint Shepard.

    Clint Shepard. Johnny Vegas. Billy Hatcher.

    Billy Hatcher. Clint Shepard. Johnny Vegas.

    "Big Al ... it's time to return to earth. It's time to head home. Our scathed land of dashed promises and burned traction. Of tire rubber smelling foul from the sins of capitalists and malfeasance, holding down the little guy with vices and vile, playing to uncontrollable urges. We must be leaders, beacons of the sun, the moon, and the stars."


    Finally is right. We've helped people across 15 different planets, four different galaxies. We've seen six black holes, survived being sucked into two of them, and rode space material through 3,000 lightyears.

    "It's finally time we returned ... to unfinished business."

    "The FWA?"

    "Not yet. In time.


    XYZ's eyes fixate on the southern pacific portion of earth's large global design.

    "You have a dream. I have a dream.

    With the power of 10,000 tons of force from the ethers, the passion of the piranhas, and the glow of travels from yesteryear gone awry ... we will return to our home.

    We have the thousands of minion ants by our side, the rocket fuel of eternal bliss. The oak trees sing for the heavens, the lava running deep through our veins. Tidal waves and tornadoes cannot stand as brick walls before our elephant-sized hearts. A thousand missiles cannot deter us from our scorching policy of bravery and hope.

    We are a beating collection of souls. We are lost treasures of sand and anteater bones.

    We are floor tiles and coin piles.

    Big Al ... we are going home ...

    to where it all started ... because it is good to return home where it all started ...

    where more than one story started.


    XYZ pauses as he floats in space, looking down at earth with a small-yet noticeable grin shaping on his face. Big Al, likewise, offers a smile as he sees XYZ — and knows what is coming next.

    "Because the dream ...

    NEVER ...


    3x FWA World Heavyweight Champion
    1x FWA World Champion
    2x FWA X Champion
    7x FWA Tag Team Champion

    2020 North American Sports Poster Of The Year

  3. #3
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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

    New Hebrides

    24th of August, 1774

    It is Tuesday today, at least, I think it is. For some reason I seem to be able to remember the date but I struggle to keep track of days. Natasha says it’s because we can’t see the sun. I miss the sun. It’s been 23 nights since we snuck onto Das Vorbild. That’s the name of the ship, Das Vorbild. I’m not quite sure where it’s headed but all I know is it was better than the faith that awaited us back home. Not that New South Wales ever felt like home. If only William did not steal that horse! Then, maybe it would not have been so bad. Father would have whipped him, of course, and his punishment would likely be extended but now … now we have no idea where we are headed or what awaits us. I’m scared. Natasha says not to be. She said William will protect us. I do believe her, William is strong and one of the bravest men I’ve ever met. When Father first caught him talking to Natasha, he ordered him to receive ten lashes and I swear, he didn’t even wince. Natasha said he loved her and would do anything to protect her and as family, he would protect me too. It isn’t William I’m worried about. It’s Adam. Adam wasn’t part of the plan. I guess, in a way, I wasn’t either. William and Natasha had just been caught behind one of the plantation houses by one of Father’s more nasty captains, Clint. I have long feared this man to be partial to Natasha and I believe upon catching William and Natasha in a moment of intimacy, Clint flew into a rage and barricaded William into the house. William managed to escape when Clint left to round up the other captains. The last he was sighted he was setting off into the nearby forest but he returned later that very night, on horseback and whisked Natasha away into the dead of night. I followed on Father’s horse. I shouldn’t have. I wished I hadn’t. But I could not bear the thought of staying in that house a second longer, especially without Natasha. Father had promised it would be fine when we first came over but there was nothing to do except read and draw. Natasha was livid when I approached them as they stood in the shadows of Das Vorbild but William just smiled. He just said there was nothing that could be done now. The plan wasn’t anything grand. We were to stowaway on the boat until it hit land and the hope was that it would be somewhere far enough away that William was not recognized nor known. William would build a new life for him and Natasha in a new place. And me, I suppose. I don’t want to blame William, he’s gotten us through the last three weeks, but the plan was ill-thought out at best. Though it was impossible for him to know two really important things; we weren’t the only stowaways on board and … it was one of my father’s ships. Das Vorbild should have given it away, our grandfather hailed from Germany and our father was always paying tribute to his heritage in manners such as this. Even if William had known, he probably would have bundled us on to the ship in the dead of night anyway - certain death awaits him in New South Wales. As for our company? Adam. An Irish stowaway, on the run, not unlike ourselves. He is vulgar and crass and I do not care for him. William and Natasha seem to think he’s helpful, though. He has skulked around the lower galleys with us for three weeks, hiding in the shadows and behind upturned barrels, scavenging food and scraps and watching over each other. It is nice to have an extra set of eyes, I suppose, but he’s just so rude and he constantly argues with Natasha. Still, we’re nearly there. He told me. Last night he even took me-
    “Put dah out, for Jaysis sake!”

    There is a sizzle as the room plunges into darkness, a stench of burnt flesh hanging lightly in the air. It’s not total darkness, light filtering through some cracks from the outside and we can see a young, looking girl with mousy-brown hair sitting on the floor, quill and diary in hand. She reddens as she looks up at a relatively small but well-built man who has just extinguished her light source with his finger-tips. Both are in dark, raggy clothing. There is the occasional creak and smash of waves against the wooden frame of the boat but that aside, total silence encapsulates the galley of the boat. In the darkness the same voice calls out, quietly but the anger is detectable.

    “Wha’ did I tell ye about lightin’ them bloody candles? Didn’t I only just tell ye that you have to wait until night? What do ye think is going to happen if somebody has to pop down here to grab a cask of ale and they see the whole bleedin’ place lit up? What do you think will happen then, Nicole?”

    The girl doesn’t reply, merely meekly turns her head away, not wishing to make any conversation with the gruff, Irish man. He tuts at her before turning away and making his way over towards a sleeping couple, tucked away behind a few barrels of non-perishable rations. He lightly shakes them awake. Yawning, the man speaks in an English accent.

    “What is it, Adam? It’s hard enough to get a sleep on this godforsaken boat.”

    Adam laughs heartily, slapping William on the back.

    “Better to sleep rough but free, am I right William?”

    “As you seem prone to tell me.”

    “Speakin’ of freedom, it’s high time we discussed ours, wouldn’t ye think?”

    The feminine figure curled up beside William suddenly shifts, sitting upwards and even in the dim light we can see a concentrated fury in her eyes as she glares at Adam.

    “What do you mean by discussing it? The plan is
    set … right, William?”

    “Of course. Adam I know you’re worried about things getting physical but ... I’ll be able to handle an old ship captain if it comes to it.”

    Not Clint. He ain’t any old ship captain, I remember in a pub in New-”

    “Did you say Clint?”

    Natasha speaks curtly, cutting the Irish stowaway’s sentence in two.

    “Uh, yeah-yeah … Clint’s his name, alright. I’d notice that big beak a’his anywhere. Nasty piece of work.”

    “We know.”


    Natasha sighs as William sits stiffly. Nicole has shied away to a corner and picks idly at some chipped wood on a barrel. Natasha softly traces her finger in three horizontal lines across the back of William, her eyes glossing over as she speaks.

    “We know who Clint is. He … made sure we’d never forget him.”

    Nicole stops running her fingers over William’s back as she snaps her head up at Adam.

    “If it’s him though … you’re right.”

    “Natasha, I’m not afraid of him. This isn’t your father’s plan-”

    “Be that as it may, it’s not a chance worth taking. Suppose he does manage to strike you with a blow? You know what Clint is like. He’s fiercely loyal and believes in Father’s cause. If he manages to best you … where would that leave us?”

    William takes a moment to respond. Natasha is right. Clint was an old dog and while ten of his finest lashings ensured that William would never warm to the man, he held a twisted sort of respect for him. He staunchly and steadfastly believed in the creed that he followed and the men who headed that up had his life if that was what was needed. William found it hard to imagine himself ever doing something so morally … selfless. He glances at Natasha and allows the warm feeling she generates inside him to build. He could do it, he guesses … if it was worth it. Unwavering loyalty was the downfall of men like Clint. William had seen it at home in England and after his penal transportation to Australia, he’d seen it tenfold. Good, loyal men cast aside when the new flavour of the month arrived at the plantation, men with fancier backgrounds given higher-ranking positions in a bid to keep relations sweet between the wealthy plantation owners. Men like Clint who’s sole, programmed response was “How high?” to the barked command of “Jump.” A man who was dime a dozen with no remarkable features outside of his dog-like obedience and rabid ferocity when his ideals were tested. But William could outsmart a dog.

    “Natasha, I can handle an old ship captain. Any old ship captain. Clint is bigger than me and he’s been around the block longer but I promise you - if a situation arises with Clint, I can handle him.”

    “And his crew?”

    “He’s the chief mate. There's only a few a'them, they'll step down, they always do, trust me!”

    “That’s exactly the problem, Adam, I don’t trust you!”

    “Listen I’ve a lot more on the bleedin’ line then you three! What did ye do, William? Stole a horse? Slept with a plantation owner’s daughter?”


    William immediately shoves Adam into a couple of barrels, knocking them over with a thud. The fear of the noise attracting attention from above overrides any animosity between the pair, at least momentarily. After a few seconds of baited breath, Adam pulls himself to his feet, angrily dusting himself down.

    “Listen, I haven’t got feckin’ time for pleasantries and Natasha - I’m sorry for what I said but I do need off this ship. Why would I do anything that could get in the way of dah? Look, you stole and ran away with the man who owns this boat’s daughter. That’s a pretty bad fix. I stole more than that from a man. I stole his wife. And that man is on this very ship.”


    Natasha nearly spit her words through her gritted teeth. She turns to William and dismisses Adam.

    “That’s it then, he’s on his own. He’ll be spotted.”

    “Wait-wait-wait! He doesn’t know it’s me! All he knows is his missus shacked up with some Irish fella down near the port and he came askin’!”

    “Oh great, so we’re safe as long as you don’t open your fat mouth! He’s going to know it’s you as soon as he hears that accent. Pin my hopes of a safe escape on you being quiet? I’d rather William took his chances with Clint.”

    “Alright, gewan then! You’s climb up onto the middle deck and make yer way to the ladder! You know where to go once you’re up on top, right? Funny really, I could’ve sworn it’s been me sneakin’ around up there at night plannin’ our bleedin’ escape! At least I thought I was!”

    William purses his lips as Natasha mutters under her breath. Adam was right, of course. William was a strapping figure and stealth was not a strong suit which had left recon operations to their unchosen comrade, Adam. Adam had done a reasonable job, it had to be said. He’d learned that the boat wasn’t heavily manned, at least, not in terms of men who would be considered a viable threat. He’d gleaned that this was Captain James Cook’s third or fourth trip to this archipelago (he hadn’t managed to snag a name as he was eavesdropping on guards conversations) and that this particular vessel was packed particularly full with items to trade and use, rather than humans. Between the four of them they’d managed to survive in the darkness of the damp, bottom galley. They weren’t in great condition but they were far from starved and after three weeks, the prospect of getting above ground and starting a new, free life outweighed the danger of Adam’s spontaneity.

    “Look, I’m tellin’ ye, this guy doesn’t know who I am. He bought passage off Cook hopin’ that one of the shipmates would know somethin’ about a charmin’ Irish gentleman! And if not, he gets to check out some new potential plantation sites - win-win!”

    Adam beamed a smile, he’d nice teeth for such a hard-done by type. Natasha sighed and threw up her arms as William nodded his head.

    “Of course you have been planning our escape. We wouldn’t be able to do this without you, tell me about this man and what problems he’s going to pose.”

    “Typical, rich arsehole - apologies for the language Natasha but that’s what he is. What Jenny ever seen him I don’t know but regardless - he’s all bluster. He’ll run at the first sign a’trouble and I’m thinkin’ if we create a bitta trouble … we can use that to our advantage.”

    An alarmed Natasha immediately interjects.

    “Hold on, what do you mean create trouble?”

    “The way I see it right … there’s only four guards on the boat, that’s includin’ Clint. Now don’t get me wrong big man, I fancy our chances against two, even three of these lads but not them all and that old bastard Clint. They walk around in a pack but if we can divide them …”

    “And how would we do that?”

    “With me good friend Mr Vegas!”

    “You committed adultery with his wife and you think that man is going to help you?”

    “Not directly!”

    “I don’t like this …”

    William is starting to look a bit pissed off and angrily remonstrates with Adam to get on with it.

    “We’re not the only people on this boat. There’s the couple of guards, a mid-sized crew, a couple of people that bought passage to check out the new found lands and … some
    crazy bastard they’ve got locked up in the brig. This bloke’s insane, I’m tellin’ ya! Even the guards are afraid of him! They say he claims he can talk to the stars and the sun or some shit, they have him reckoned for a witch or a warlock!”

    An uneasy silence falls over the dimly lit room.

    “And what do you think?”

    “I think there’s no such thing as magic. I reckon the fella is just straight looney and these boys are runnin’ scared for no good reason. He could be harmless but it’s the fear we need, that’s it ... I reckon we spring him. Vegas is bound to demand protection with a crazy on the loose and Cook is bound to send his best man, Clint.”

    William stands up and away from Adam, disgusted at the suggestion.

    “Natasha is right - you ARE a liability! That’s a ridiculous plan. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Do you think I’d let - no, risk - Natasha and Nicole with this hare-brained-”

    “He’s right.”


    “About fear. Men act crazily in the face of fear. Remaining calm and dealing with a fear that’s in your very face is a quality most don’t possess. Aren’t you feeling fear now? Fear that this plan won’t work? Fear that you’ll have to return and await your faith? Fear that you’ve come to this place and you won’t really know what to do?”

    Even the loud-mouthed Adam is as silent as the overlooked Nicole, staring at William as they await his response. Despite Adam and Natasha being the main drivers of conversation, they seem to await William’s last word on things. He mulls the questions over in his head and comes to the conclusion that Natasha is wrong. Does he feel fear?


    “But you aren’t like most men, are you?”

    Natasha smiles warmly at William and in that instant, he knows, he knows he’s going to go through with Adam’s plan.

    “Lay it out for me.”

    “It’s simple, we move quickly, we move tonight. We spring this guy, wait until they realise and wait until they send Clint down to guard Mr Vegas-”

    “How will we know when that happens?”

    Adam points at himself and then William.

    “We’ll know because we’ll have eyes on his room.”

    “And if you two are there, who will be releasing the prisoner?”

    Adam says nothing but slowly looks at Nicole and then back to Natasa.

    us? No way, have you lost your mind? We don’t even know where to go! We’ve never been out of this stinking supply room!”

    “She has.”

    Natasha looks shocked but turns her head to see that Adam was indeed jutting his thumb in the direction of her sister, Nicole. He know stands there, beaming with pride like a proud father.

    “She knows where to go … because she was the one to swipe the key.”

    Natasha’s mouth actually opens as Nicole produces a long silver key from the folds of her drab attire. William, however, has the smallest of smiles on his face. Natasha turns on Adam in an instant.

    “You brought her up with you? You selfish idiot! What if she was hurt? What is she got-”

    “Well she isn’t and she didn’t! I’m sorry Natasha but did you think we were goin’ to pull up wherever the feckin’ hell it is we’re goin’, pop upstairs, thank Cook for the lift and trapeze off into the sunset? That’s not how it works. We’re in this shit now. We have to follow through. With everything we do.”

    “Well you better hope it works.”

    Natasha storms over to presumably reprimand Nicole as Adam casts an eye over the ever-brooding William.

    “I’m bein’ serious you know.”

    William dejectedly exhales before looking up at Adam.

    “Serious about what, Adam? I honestly don’t care what we do once those two are safe and we get off this damn boat.”

    “Then ye need to listen. I’m serious about us bein’ in this shit now. All that chat there? That’s to get Natasha on side. The girls will be safe but this escape? It’s goin’ to be far from clean. That’s not gonna work. There’s too many movin’ parts. Vegas, Clint … even this prisoner lad … I’d be lyin’ if I said I know what way he’s goin’ to pan out but even if it does all start to fall our way … we leave nothin’ to chance William, ye hear me?”

    “What about the crazy? What if he helps?”

    A beat. Then coldly.


    The boat suddenly lurches forward causing the two to lose their balance momentarily. William props himself up using a wooden box but holds Adam’s gaze as he regains his footing.

    “We’ve stopped.”

    Adam reaches into his rags and produces two lumps of broken glass. He pushes one into the palm of William’s hand, silently instructing him to take it, knowing his acceptance is his understanding.

    “Then it’s go time ... and like I said … nothin’ to chance … nothin’ at all.”


    A bare-chested child runs across a sandy stretch of beach on the shores of the Pacific ocean. A little in-land from the stretch is what appears to be a man-made hamlet. An older man, black skin stretched over well developed muscles, blonde hair sat messily atop his head, calls out at the younger, also unusually-fair haired, child in an indecipherable language. All that is certain is that it is not English. The older man seems to be beckoning the child to return, he cautiously eyes the ship that is moored not too far down the stretch. The recent visitors had been friendly thus far, still, that could change at any time. What was more unusual was the fact that the ship had been docked since yesterday, yet nobody had emerged. Usually, at least with the visits thus far, white men approached nearly immediately upon landing, bearing gifts for the Melanesian natives.. The child had plopped himself on the ground and was staring at something in his hand. The older approached the child, presumably fed up with having his calls ignored. As he reaches the child, he looks up and out at the boat. He strains to see in the sunshine but he sees what looks like three unidentifiable objects bobbing in the water. Giving up on making out what they are, he turns his attention to what the child has in his outstretched hand. It was a torn piece of blood-stained parchment, with some symbols etched on it that were foreign to his eye. Still, he found himself looking at what was in front of him.

    25th of August, 1774

    We got off.

    3X World Tag Team Champion (w/Christian Quinn, w/Randy Ramon & w/Ryan Rondo)
    1X Gauntlet Champion


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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

    Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.

    Somewhere in a hotel room on the island of Vanuatu sits a man with a million thoughts racing through his head. This man is known to wrestling fans and CWA fans, particularly “The Icon” Clint Shepard. He’s sitting on the edge of his hotel room bed in a pair of blue gym shorts, white athletic sneakers, and a grey t-shirt that reads “Old school is cool” in bold black lettering. He looks to be in the best shape of his life, lost a lot of weight, clean shaven on both his head and his face. It also looks like he has a lot weighing on his mind at this very moment, but it’s nothing that “The Icon” can’t handle, right?

    This is it, this is the last time.

    He thinks this to himself.

    You said that last year after your last match with XYZ at One Night Stand. You’ve said it countless times before, yet you keep coming back. Stop kidding yourself. This won’t be the last time.

    Maybe he should stop kidding himself, maybe he will step back inside the ring one more time after this match. After that, who knows what the future will hold? The only person that should know the answer to that is him, but at this present time, he isn’t one hundred percent sure.

    Do you want to keep doing this? Are you sure? What will be the point where enough is enough?

    Clint couldn’t help it. He loved this business, this sport, more than anything else in the world. It’s the only thing in the world that he was ever good at. Well, that and being a family man, more specifically a good father. Ever since he and his wife Grace decided to end their marriage, he’s done everything in his power to make sure that he would always be there for his daughter Abigail. Abigail means the world to Clint and he would do absolutely anything for her.

    Do you want Abigail to see you wind up in a hospital bed, or worse, in a casket because you couldn’t stop doing this?

    Now his thoughts we’re just getting out of hand. He left his hotel room to clear his head a little and took a walk around the island until he reached the ocean. He stood on the island in the sand and stared out at the ocean. He takes a seat in the sand and takes in the scenery and just enjoys the peacefulness. He’s taken out of it however when his cell phone goes off and he looks to see who’s calling him; it’s Abigail.

    “Hey sweetheart, what’s up?”

    “Hey Dad, I was just calling to wish you good luck in your match at that CWA show...where is it again?”

    “It’s in Vanuatu.”

    “Oh, okay, that’s weird; why is it there? Why not in America or anywhere else?”

    “I don’t know; I guess that this is the only place that would hold an event like it.”

    “Oh, that makes sense, I suppose.”

    There’s a brief silence between them as Abby trails off a little.

    “So, what’s up? Is that all that you called for, Abby?”

    “No, it’s not. Are you okay, Dad?”

    “Yeah, I’m fine.”

    He lied, he wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t necessarily fine by any means.

    “Are you sure, Dad? You don’t sound fine. I know when you’re fine, and you don’t sound like it. You don’t sound like your usual cheerful self, so please tell me that you’re okay.”

    “I don’t know, sweetheart, it’s just that, I don’t know.”

    “Dad, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

    “Doing what to myself?”

    “Beating yourself up over whether or not you should stay retired.”

    Clint sighs and lightly pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

    “I just don’t want you to see me end up hurt, or god forbid, even worse because of this.”

    “Dad, no matter what you do, you have my support. Heck, I wish that I could be there with you right now to cheer you on. But, if this is what you want to keep on doing, if it makes you happy, then it makes me happy so just keep doing it.”

    “Thank you, sweetheart, but are you not worried about what may happen to me if I continue to do this?”

    “Of course, I’m worried, but I also know that you’re the toughest person there is, and you’ll get through anything. Even whatever it is that you’re going through now, you’ll get through it.”

    “Thanks again Abby, that means more than you know. I’m going to go, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”

    "Alright, Dad, I love you, bye-bye.”

    The call ends, and Clint is back with his thoughts as he stares out at the ocean.

    As long as this makes me happy, I’ll keep doing it. Billy Hatcher, Johnny Vegas, and XYZ may think that they’re stepping into the ring with an old, washed-up fool. Maybe not XYZ; I had shared the ring with XYZ before, as a matter of fact, at last year’s One Night Stand event. It was a losing effort, but I gained a lot of respect for the man known as XYZ, and XYZ didn’t seem like the kind of man to look past someone like me just because of my age.

    Billy Hatcher came up in CWA right around the same time I signed a contract, maybe a little after; my memory is a bit fuzzy. I do remember that Billy has always had a chip on his shoulder. He always had an attitude with something to prove. He can prove whatever he wants, but it won’t stop me from proving that I still got it.

    Johnny Vegas is someone that I never shared a ring with, but I do recall watching his matches and thinking of how immensely talented he is. A bit too much on the daredevil side for my liking, but if that’s what makes him happy, then so be it.

    I may not know what the future holds for me just yet, but I’ll worry about that later. For now, I’ll focus on the present.

    Whatever happens, happens.
    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

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    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.

  5. #5
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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]


    When she awoke, Pyotr was still sleeping not-at-all-soundly in the bed that she had evacuated. He was a large man with a barrel chest, and in what was perhaps a direct result of this stature he was a loud and cumbersome man to rest alongside. He’d let out intermittent, unconscious grunts and would roll over frequently, monopolizing the covers and bed space to the point where she’d given up on the bedroom and relocated to the small lounge area between his quarters and the kitchen. She hadn’t slept much, instead making the most of the view from the small, rectangular window on the eastern side of the lounge. It was a familiar vantage point, and she remembered the short time she’d spent there in 2019. The suspension bridge - a colossal and impressive thing, if you went in for man-made landmarks - loomed up in the forefront, spanning a wide estuary that was perhaps a stone’s throw from the mouth of the Pacific Ocean. It was still early: too early for a sunrise. She imagined one anyway, dredging up the memory from 2019 when she’d sat upon a thin tract of land that jutted out into the sea, thinking about the collision course that she found herself on with a twinned soul…

    She’d met Pyotr four evenings prior in a bar in the nucleus of the city. He’d been drinking Belgian beer in a bout of luxuriousness that she wasn’t used to seeing in Russians this far out from Moscow. He worked in a book shop and liked Gogol but despised Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy. He was prone to bouts of sullen and highly-agreeable silence, particularly when he’d reached double digits on the Leffes and the evening was coming towards its end. She’d taken a seat next to him by chance and they’d enjoyed each other’s absent-minded company so much that, on the second such encounter, she’d gone home with him and taken up temporary residence in his humble but well-located abode.

    This morning was her last in Vladivostok and, by extension, in the Russian Federation. It had not been a happy experience. It never was, really. Russia was not a nation for gaiety and frollicks. It was as dour and solemn as it was large and unwieldy. Its people were slow to trust and Michelle was sometimes unwilling and sometimes unable to put the time and effort in to break down their barriers. The result was a cold and unforgiving atmosphere that went well with the winter temperatures. Fortunately, Michelle wasn’t in any particular opposition to cold and unforgiving atmospheres. For her, it was her laboured and ultimately unsuccessful exploits in the Gold Rush tournament - rather than her infrequent interactions with the frosty natives - that were dragging her mood down. Things back in the States were going well. Parr had been half-crossed from her list, although Sullivan’s involvement muddied the waters somewhat. Bell’s appearance at Back in Business was promising, too. She sensed the possibility of another encounter between the two before long. But Snowmantashi?

    The mountain still stood, unconquered and sheer and without a visible summit. She had thrown all that she had at the kaiju on Olkhon Island, and he’d simply endured it. Water off a duck’s back was a phrase that sprung to mind, if only the duck was gargantuan, semi-mute, and utterly impenetrable. It had taken five years to maneuver herself into a position where Jon Snowmantashi stood across the ring in all his glory. She had manufactured conditions preferable to her and her intentions, disregarding each and every one of the other competitors in the tournament - all of whom would’ve been worthy scalps in their own right under other circumstances - in favour of an attempt to scale the mountain. She had fallen in the foothills, and now she brushed the snow from her clothes with an ever-burgeoning sense of helplessness and hopelessness.

    She lit a cigarette and cracked open the window, leaning her head out of it and breathing in the fresh morning air. She always felt that the first lungful of the outdoors, usually intertwined with the thick fog of tobacco smog, was the most invigorating of the day, and each subsequent breath was a victim of the law of diminishing returns. It was this thought process that led her onto Lilith. After Snowmantashi, anyone would’ve been a letdown. But Lilith was a woman with whom her interactions had been limited to two nights. The Mother of Ravens (Michelle reasoned that Lilith, for all of her pseudo-darkness and her embrace of the occult, must’ve been a huge HBO fan when she’d first come up with her numerous and embarrassing monikers) had impinged upon her victory parade following One Night Only’s High Voltage Tournament. She’d hardly planned fireworks and pageantry, but she had hoped to rub the noses of the CWA executives in her superiority over Clint Shepherd, XYZ, and Humanity. Three men who, at least in comparison to the organisation’s black sheep, had held up the Clique’s banner with varying degrees of pride and gumption through the years. And each of them in turn bested by a woman who had been quickly and merrily scrubbed from their history books. She’d wanted to break the trophy in the middle of the ring and leave the disassembled pieces in a bin bag at Noah Hanson’s office door. Instead, she’d finished the night face-down in the middle of the ring, the victim of Lilith and her ravens and her mumbled soliloquies.

    This had become all-too-common for her in a CWA ring. The thought of her reputation here made her grimace. She was usually quick to rage, but the knowledge that one more opportunity to correct some of these wrongs - albeit a tepid and thrown together one - was soothing.

    It was easy to look at Lilith, this comic bookish character that seemed - on initial examination - paper thin and full of internal contradiction (not to mention the sheer lack of logic around the woman’s entire existence), in a derisive and condescending manner. She was the sort of wrestler that arrived two or three times a year, advertising their ability to shoot fire from their eyes, promising eternal damnation to their opponents, and appearing through smoke before their matches in black clothes and black eyeshadow and black whatever else. Invariably, these dimensionless demons petred out after a few weeks, never to be heard from again as they were left to contemplate their humanity and ultimate lack of uniquity…

    But Lilith? Lilith had endured more than most, and had achieved more in the CWA than Michelle had during her own short time with the company. World Champion. Undefeated (apparently: but there was never an adequate explanation of how Brayden Bridges had ended up with her world championship). Biggest of all: she had climbed the mountain. With the kaiju, Lilith had succeeded where Michelle had failed. She didn’t often like to frame scalps in their relation to other characters in her story, but she would make an exception at South Pactific. Certain truths needed to be reiterated, and this would happen at Lilith’s expense.

    She flicked her cigarette out of the open window as the door to the bedroom opened. Pyotr walked into the living room in his boxer shorts, scratching at the hair on his chest with one hand and rubbing his temple with the other. Last night’s Leffe was hanging heavily upon him, and he yawned groggily as he made his way over to the old, battered armchair that was evidently his favourite perch.

    “You leave today?” he asked, absently. His voice dripped with a Russian accent, but his English was more than serviceable and he was sometimes capable of bouts of eloquence. Like Lilith, she had no real attachment to Pyotr, but there was a symbiosis about the relationship that made it agreeable. Almost comfortable. Like Lilith would act as a solvent for the past’s disappointments, he was a band-aid for the mundanity and loneliness of the present.

    “I leave today,” she confirmed.

    “Where are you going?” he wondered out loud, still scratching away at his chest hair and now staring through the window. The sun was beginning to make its daily appearance, and he squinted through the harshness of its opening gambit.

    “Vanuatu,” she answered matter-of-factly.

    “Where the fuck is Vanuatu?” he asked. When she shrugged, he went on. “Are you going to the airport?”

    “The harbour,” she corrected, shuddering at the thought of a flight over the South Pacific. She was still staring out of the window, at the sea and its promise of what lay beyond. She had once mused that Snowmantashi was the mountain; Bell the sea. She breathed in deeply, wondering where that metaphor had been lost amongst the muddled thoughts that had led her here… to Vanuatu via Vladivostok, Tsushima, and Paris.

    “You want me to go with you? To the harbour, I mean.”

    “Do you want to come with me?”

    “Not really,” he said. She smiled at his honesty whilst nodding her head and turning away from the window.

    “You can order me a taxi,” she instructed, moving away from the window and busying herself in dressing for the day. “And pass my rucksack.”

    He did as he was told. When he picked up the bag he found himself momentarily startled by its weight.

    “What the fuck do you have in here?” he asked, eventually managing to lift it up and onto the bed.

    “My world championship,” she said, pulling her socks over her feet. She could only find one of her shoes, and disappeared into the bedroom to find the other. He laughed at her comment, disregarding it as a joke, misreading her honesty for sarcasm.

    He ordered her a car and she found herself hurtling through the city, at the mercy of the man who had answered the call and arrived in his yellow Hyundai Solaris. The streets were still mostly empty, the people of Vladivostok making the most of Saturday and the respite from work that it afforded them. Those that were up and about walked with their heads bowed, moving this way and that towards the supermarket or the bank or whatever other mundane chores they busied themselves with this weekend. All of them seemed old and none of them seemed happy. A man with no shirt on, his torso a collage of hair and sunburn and stretch marks, dropped a watermelon onto the street and stood over the resultant mess. He scratched his head and then bellowed to the heavens, as if the Gods involved themselves in such trivialities. And then they rounded a corner and he disappeared.

    Ahead of them was the harbour. The boats were multitudinous and varying: everything from one man row-boats to huge cruise liners. Some hadn’t been used in years, it seemed, whilst others were packed with explorers waiting to disembark and discover themselves in the Russian Far East. A particularly striking ship, one of the largest in the harbour, had a white hull with gold lettering naming it as вестник. Its cabin was huge and black and she could see no doors. There were three smoke-stacks on top of it but only one was still standing, the other two having toppled at an unknown point in the past. There seemed to be little effort to carry out repairs on the behemoth, and instead it was left in stasis, the soon-to-be victim of slow decay and neglect.

    Michelle stood at the ticket office, and was fortunate enough to find an English speaker amongst the bored and po-faced attendants. She was a squat babushka who blinked back at her and asked her for her destination. The Heart of Darkness, she thought of saying, but she reasoned that the vendor was probably looking for a destination of the more geographical variety.

    “Vanuatu,” she answered.

    The woman pressed keys on her computer one at a time. Michelle could feel the sun creeping higher and higher, beads of sweat beginning to form in her pores.

    “That’s three journeys,” the woman replied, impatient and bored despite the promise of morning. “Tokyo. Then Brisbane. Then Vanuatu. It’ll take you more than two days.”

    “That’s fine,” she said. “It’s still early.”

  6. #6
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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]



    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “We in South Pacific. Vanuatu. You know a country we ain’t even know was a country until money man Hanson announced it.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “But we did our research.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Course, course. We learned a lil’ about its history. It’s the history of the world. Colonialism. Once upon a time, fifty thousand American soldiers stamped their feet on this little island here. Imagine having your home turned into a military base for an army that outnumbers your entire citizenry with soldiers alone for a war you’re not even a part of?”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “They got out of it though. Like, thirty years later. They did. Independent. Lotsa corruption. But, that’s how it goes. From military base to tourist trap.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Tourist destination, man. And that’s what money man Hanson got us out here for. Come vacation in South Pacific where the one and only CWA stars will go head to head in an exclusive one night only showcase this summer. A special attraction worth making this summer, the summer you finally make that trip. I bet they paid money man Hanson some good money for that, huh.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “That means we getting paid too. You know, we wrestle all over the world man. We ain’t too picky. But this a pretty good paycheck. We can get used to this.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Nah, man. Money changes people. I’m just happy to make a living, but for a couple nights a year, yeah man, I’m here. And you know, I’m sure the people who cave in to the whole spectacle, they’ll have a good time. Vanuatu’s a great place to vacation in. I would’ve loved coming here as a kid.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “You never went on vacation.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Exactly. But this definitely ain’t settling.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “You ain’t lying. Never even knew ash boarding was a thing till I got here.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “And you did it! That shit gonna take a couple years off your life, b. Can’t be good for you to inhale all that shit.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Man, that wasn’t shit.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “We from Canada, b. Just go sledding. The only reason anyone goes ash boarding is to say they went ash boarding.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Sheeeeeeeeeeit. All I know is I got one more conversational topic than you do.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Fuck. Imma just lie I did it too. No one gon question it.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Fuck outta here.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Ash boarding aside, they got everything here. You know, them vacation montages they always got in movies, where they go rope swinging off cliffs into these all natural pools.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Blue holes.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “That this. This that place. They got waterfalls. They got them caves. They got this one cave, man. It’s like those video game things. You gotta dive in, go underneath a cave, come out the other side and you in this magical place, man. Shit’s wild.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “They got dugongs out here.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Dugongs?”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “The fucking sea cows.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Word, word. I ain’t know that’s what they were called. The manatee-type shit. Yeah, man, they got animals here you ain’t ever heard of too. And of course, the tour de force, the fucking volcano.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “I wish I did that shit on shrooms.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Fuck that, b. We’re not gonna be on the news for falling into a volcano. My ma’ wouldn’t live it down.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “You a coward.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “I ain’t no coward, b. You think I’m scared to die in Vanuatu. Nah, man. I’m ready to die here, I’m send to go back home in a fucking casket. But if that’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen in Jailhouse Blues.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeit. We’re Murder Inc, Kendrick, we the ones coming out here to do some killing.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Oh, no doubt. No doubt. One way or another, there’s gonna be a few body bags out there. This a big match, b. Lotsa bodies here. And this a tiny, tiny island. We might push the daily average death count a decimal or two.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “That ain’t gonna happen. You seen Nate Savage and Jackson Fenix, man those a couple a punk ass bitches, you think they ain’t gonna bail as soon as we get a little too rough.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “I see what you mean about Fenix, but you can’t knock Nate. That dude’s a bad man.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Just cause he don’t talk as much and weight a hundred pounds more ain’t mean he’s a bad man.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “He pinned Snowman, that’s a tough motherfucker.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Five years ago. He ain’t done shit since.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Pure champ, too.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Shut up, man. Jackson Fenix ain’t bottom feeding on his own, he’s body feeding with Nate next to him. Don’t go defending his ass. They’re lap boys man. You know if you got two tag teams, The Undisputed Alliance are losing all day, every day. You got three tag teams, The Undisputed Alliance are the team that loses to the team that ain’t champ, so that team can get a shot. You got four tag teams, they the ones without a win in the win column. You got five tag teams, once in a while you can run a fun little three way match to decide who gets the next go at the champs, and hey, The Undisputed Alliance just make the cut. And sheeeeeeeeeeeit, when you get six or seven tag teams, that means The Undisputed Alliance finally find people they can steal a win or two from.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Damn, man. I’m just trying to give them their props.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Nah. Fuck the Undisputed Alliance. I don’t respect them. If I get a chance, Imma fucking ram something into Fenix’s balls. They gonna have a hammer in that Jailhouse Blues. Too much to ask for a shiv. Fucking Castrate Inc that dumb ass.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Goddamn, b. Leave a lil some for me. Been wanting to break that motherfucker’s jaw. But you ain’t wrong, b. We ain’t sweating The Undisputed Alliance. You think we’d be worried about them two in a straight up fight. Hell nah. The only reason The Undisputed Alliance even got any odds of winning this shit is cause they got two other teams to distract each other. But here’s the thing, this still a tiny little cage we all locked up in. There ain’t no ladder for you to run up and steal a belt. There ain’t nowhere to hide. This is a fight fight. A real fucking fight. Fenix ain’t going on no more dates after we done with him. I will shave that fucking pony tail off his head using that steel. And Nate Savage, boy, he may have done some tough shit a few years ago, but this 2021, nobody fucking remembers that shit no more except you. You got a lil kid back home, man. But I’m sorry. They’re not gonna recognize you no more when you get back home man. They ain’t gonna be calling you daddy no more. You gonna have to wear a paper bag over your fucking head. You dont wanna traumatize your lil kid. You dont wanna ruin the image they’ve got of you. You dont wannna embarrass them. Hey man, you know what I’d do right now, if you’re listening to this. Take a selfie man. Take a few. Smile. Cry. Emote, my man. When I fuck your face up, and you go back, you’ll thank me that I told you. They can get you, you know, a screen to plaster on your face, you just pick the right picture man. It’ll be like we never disfigured your cute fucking face.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Yo fuck that shit. I’m going to stomp in his fucking throat. He better record his ass saying ‘good morning’ and ‘I love you’ because that kid and your wife gonna throw the fuck up if they gotta hear your ugly ass voice after I’m finished snapping your damn larynx.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “You heard em, Nate. Record them voices too. Murder Inc ain’t nothing but gracious. We gonna give you your warning.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “And be grateful about that shit. Y’all ain’t gonna live much of a good life after Vanuatu, but at least you still gonna be walking.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “But the Echo.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “We’re killing the fucking Echo.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “Wiping them from existence.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “No one gonna remember the Echo after tonight. They joining Brooklyn in the black hole where forgotten memories go.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “We got to. We’ve gotta make that happen, because the Echo represent the worst memories either of us have. Murder Inc came into CWA many, many, years ago. We were going to steal the show. We were going to become the new faces of tag team wrestling. We were going to do what… some people say Gang Stars are doing. We were going to revive tag team wrestling. They had us teaming with the Snowman! The goddamn motherfucking killing machine, KAIJU. And then, they had us lined up against the only other team in CWA worth talking about, the Echo. A chance to make our names in one night. To live on in infamy. And we dropped the ball. The Echo beat us. Those tiny annoying pieces of shit were tougher than us. They proved they ain’t fluked them ways to the belts. We underestimated them. Ya can’t blame us. Look at them. Anyone would think they could take the Echo in a fight. They don’t look too tough. But they beat our ass. I ain’t afraid to admit it. We went back home.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “We worked on our shit.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “We went back to beat the best out there. We traveled the world. We wrestled in places where tag team wrestling matters. Where its appreciated. We got our asses kicked. We fucked people up. We collected belts as often as we lost them. And what’s the Echo done since then?”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Got their asses beat a few times.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “They ain’t the mans they once were. Yeah, they can still talk a whole fucking lot man. You wanna hear two dudes go on and on forever, it’s gonna be those fucking brothers, b. You want two amoral assholes who ain’t got any fucking reason or restraint in their heads. The Echos are there for you. They’ve shown it all along the Gold Rush. Had me switching channels, almost missing matches because we got tired of seeing that shit. Yall proved you still got that, but don’t think you’ve still got IT. The Echo ain’t the shit it once was. But we’re not going to let that hold us back. Murder Inc is going to Vanuatu to make sure no one ever wants to remember The Echo again. Drew, Ethan. The good days are done. These last few days until Vanuatu, they are the remnants of the good times. They are the last instances of pride y’all gonna be feeling ever again in your life. The last chances for you to still have that confidence in your soul that tells you - this is your world, you can do anything you want. You gonna learn that it ain’t your world no more. You don’t do whatever you want when we around. It’s our fucking world now.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Vanuatu is Murder Inc territory.”

    (KENDRICK LETHAL): “It is. Whole world is Murder Inc territory. We ain’t here for no vacation. We’re here to work. We’re getting paid to live up to our goddamn names. The Echo. Y’all think you already past this. Y’all looking ahead to the Gang Stars or the Division. We know y’all give even less of a shit about TUA than we do. And we know y’all two are too damn fucking dumb to acknowledge Murder Inc. And hey, y’all beat us. Fair is fair, I wouldn’t be thinking much of y’all if the positions were switched. But that ain’t our problem. If y’all don’t realize this is the end of the road for the Echo, then don’t sweat it man, we gon kick your fucking teeth in fast enough, give you a quick reminder.”

    (JERMAINE CREED): “Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeit. It’s not like it’ll matter either way. Whether they know what’s coming or not, this shit’s Final Destination. You can’t avoid that shit. At the end of this journey, it’s Murder Inc waiting for you. Nothing you can do bout that.”

  7. #7
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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

    Life's a beach

    Somewhere on the island of Vanuatu, more specifically on Champagne Beach on Espiritu Santo in Vanuatu is CWA backstage correspondent, Michelle Kelly. Normally at a beach one would be relaxing and taking in the beauty of the scenery, well not Michelle. Nope, instead Michelle is in search of someone or something, who knows for sure, well Michelle knows, maybe. Anyway, at least she’s dressed comfortably in beach attire, a white tank-top, jean shorts and a straw beach hat to shield her from the sun. Behind her is her faithful camera man, let’s call him Henry, yeah that works. She stops in the sand and begins to scan the beach area for whatever it is that she’s looking for.

    Michelle Kelly: Where are these guys?

    Well there we have it folks, Michelle is looking for someone or rather, more than one person. Who is she looking for? Beats me, I’m just a narrator. Anyway, Michelle looks to be defeated and takes a seat at what appears to be a bar, are there bars on this island? I’d imagine a beach named after an alcoholic beverage would have a bar, so for the sake of whatever this is, there’s a bar!

    Michelle Kelly: I don’t get it Henry, I was told to meet them here at this beach.

    ???: Michelle! What are you doing here?!

    Michelle knows that voice from anywhere and turns around to find a shirtless Jackson Fenix. He has on sunglasses, his hair is done up in a bun, and he has on a pair of board shorts with colorful flower print on them. She finds herself entranced by his glistening chest in the sun and her eyes start to make their way down below (who can blame her) before she shakes herself out of it and shoots a glare at him.

    Michelle Kelly: Looking for you!

    She says in a sharp tone that catches the lax looking Fenix off guard.

    Jackson Fenix: Looking for me? For what?

    Michelle Kelly: I was told to meet you and Nate here for an interview in regards to your match at South Pacific!

    Jackson Fenix: We have a match? Here in Vanuatu?

    Michelle Kelly: Yes, it’s for the CWA show, South Pacific. You didn’t forget about that, did you?

    Jackson Fenix: Forget? No, of course not! I haven’t forgotten about that match at that show here on this island, that would be downright silly of me to forget about that!

    He begins to laugh nervously; obviously, he forgot about the match. He hopes that she doesn’t realize that he failed, so he begins to laugh even louder and even more nervously.

    She’s not buying this.

    He thinks to himself, clearly realizing that Michelle is much more competent than she appears.

    Michelle Kelly: You did forget about it, I can tell.

    Jackson Fenix: What?! No way!

    Just then, Nate Savage comes jogging up to the newly existent bar area of the beach. Nate is wearing a sleeveless white shirt and some black gym shorts.

    Nate Savage: I came to check on you because you seemed to be taking longer than I expected you to, but I see that you found some-HEY! It’s Michelle Kelly! She’s here just in time for our interview!

    Michelle Kelly: You remembered the interview?

    Nate Savage: Of course I did! Why would I forget?

    Michelle Kelly: Well, maybe you should have reminded your friend here about it and while you were at it, maybe remind him about the match you guys have at South Pacific.

    Nate looks at Jackson and just shakes his head.

    Nate Savage: Did you seriously forget why we were here on this island?

    Jackson Fenix: I’m sorry, I just thought we were taking a well-deserved vacation!

    Nate Savage: I don’t know how you could have forgotten it’s been in the making for months now! We even did an in-ring promo with our opponents! All of us worked very hard on that promo!

    Jackson Fenix: Look, man, don’t yell at me! I’m under a lot of pressure right now!

    Nate Savage: Under pressure from what? Look that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we do have a match at the South Pacific event being held by CWA. It’s not just any ordinary match either; it’s a Jailhouse Blues match.

    Jackson Fenix: What is that? Is that a match where we’ll all be serenaded by an Elvis impersonator while he sings that song?

    Nate looks dumbfounded and at a loss for words.

    Nate Savage: What? No, that’s even remotely what it is. Look, I’m not even sure what it is. I think it’s some kind of cage match with some fancy bullshit gimmick name. You weren’t even close; Elvis doesn’t sing that song; he sings “Jailhouse Rock.”

    Jackson Fenix: Whatever, man, I knew that he sang a song about a jailhouse.

    Michelle is busy sipping some alcoholic beverage that she wasn’t even paying attention to the two friends bickering.

    Jackson Fenix: Who are our opponents?

    Michelle finishes up her drink and orders another.

    Michelle Kelly: It’s Murder Inc.

    Jackson Fenix: Ugh! I hate those guys.

    Michelle Kelly: and The Echo.

    Jackson Fenix: Double ugh! I hate those guys even more.

    Nate Savage: They are annoying, I’ll give you that.

    Jackson Fenix: Oh, look at me, I’m one of the Connor brothers! Oh, look at me, I can throw a superkick! Big deal; everyone and their moms do the superkick these days! It’s overdone!

    Nate Savage: Don’t you do the superkick?

    Jackson Fenix: Look, don’t try to make this about me, okay? This is about those two unoriginal bozos. I hate them and everything that they stand for! I hate them so much that I could superkick the next person I see that walks by!

    Right on cue, some poor unsuspecting worker at this bar walks by with a tray of drinks.

    Jackson Fenix: Hey, goober!

    The worker turns around right into a sandal-covered superkick from Fenix! The tray of drinks goes flying all over the place; it’s a big mess, but at least Fenix managed to get his frustrations out, and he managed to keep the sandal on his foot.

    Jackson Fenix: Those two clowns wish that they could throw a superkick like me!

    Nate Savage: That was impressive; what do you think, Michelle?

    Michelle is about three sheets to the wind by now on her fourth or fifth drink. She’s not paying attention, but she gives a thumbs up anyway while sipping away.

    Nate Savage: Well, Michelle is in no shape to give us her usual spiel of cliche questions, so I suppose that I’ll fill in. Jackson Fenix, you’ve already offered your thoughts on The Echo; what do you have to say about Murder Inc?

    Jackson Fenix: What is there to say about them? Why are they even in this match? Let me tell you why they’re in this match; it’s because CWA is trying to be diverse, so they have to have a token black tag team.

    Nate Savage: Are you sure that you should be saying that? Aren’t you concerned at all about getting “canceled,” as the kids would say?

    Jackson Fenix: For what? Telling it like it is? Please! Everyone knows it’s the truth; they just don’t have the guts to say it as I do! I’m not scared of shit! The Echo? Fuck them! Murder Inc? Fuck them! All of them are nothing but a bunch of scrubs! They wish they could hold a candle to us, but they can’t, and they never will!

    Nate Savage: I can’t argue that, nor would I even try to because there’s no disputing it. My friend here speaks the cold hard facts. The Echo - Sure, they’re former CWA tag team champions, but what else have they done besides that? Lie about having a sister?

    Jackson Fenix: What was her name? Kasey? Brooke?

    Nate Savage: They’re all talk, that’s all. Sure, we talk, but we can back it up. I’m a two-time CWA Pure/High Voltage champion. The last person to ever hold the title. I pinned Jon Snowmantashi. I also pinned Michelle von Horrowitz.

    Jackson Fenix: I’ve banged a bunch of broads.

    Nate Savage: See? Drew and Ethan, you guys are nothing. Come at us when you have more to say, but until then, we’re done with you.

    Jackson Fenix: What about those other guys? Token black guy one and two?

    Nate Savage: It’s like you said, what is there to say? What have they done? I can’t think of a single accomplishment that they’ve achieved while I just listed off a resume of things I’ve done.

    Jackson Fenix: Again, I’ve banged a ton of broads.

    Nate Savage: See? It doesn’t matter what any of them have to say. It doesn’t matter what any of them will do in Jailhouse Blues. The only thing that matters and the only that will happen is us walking away from the victors. Thus earning us that CWA Tag Team title shot against either The Gang Stars or The Division, Elite, whatever those dweebs are calling themselves these days!

    Jackson Fenix: Don’t even get me started on those guys! Especially that prick Alyster in his goofy mask and that idiot Krash with his dumbass-looking mustache!

    Nate Savage: You’re getting ahead of yourself there, pal. We’ll get to them when we get there, and it’s not a matter of “if” because we WILL get there. The Echo and Murder Inc are in way over their heads, and at South Pacific, we knock their heads clear off!

    Jackson Fenix: That, my friends, is UNDISPUTED! Isn’t that right, Michelle?

    Michelle has passed out at the bar and is unaware of what is even happening. Nate and Jackson being the two upstanding gentlemen they are, help her to her feet, and walk her back to her hotel room as the scene slowly fades out.
    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business


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

  8. #8
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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

    The picture flashes up with a movie-style certification board, declaring that the following footage has been rated PG-13 and helpfully advising parents that some material may be inappropriate for children under thirteen. Opening into a bleak-looking shot of an empty arena, obviously filmed somewhere on CWAs touring schedule. The shot is in black-and-white, and some needlessly downbeat background music adds to the heavy-handed feeling that the viewers are supposed to be depressed right now. As if on cue, a resonate voice comes booms across the video in a suitably melodramatic, movie-trailer style.

    “In a world without heroes. Where mediocrity is celebrated as greatness.”

    The "trailer" shows black-and-white, slow-motion images of tag teams celebrating with their title belts. The Elite and the Gang Stars are shown lifting their championships into the air, but the muted clips and somber background music completely eliminate the cheering of the crowd that should be accompanying these moments. Instead, the tone of this video makes it seem like those championship reigns had all the excitement and appeal of a, particularly depressing funeral.

    "Only one name has the strength... the passion... and the ridiculously shredded abs... to rise above the rest."

    The clips start to show some fleeting images... a pair of tasseled boots here, or the back of a head there... of another individual. Of course, it is not exactly a mystery who this team actually is, but the trailer continues to run its course.

    “And that name is….CONNOR”

    In an instant, the entire tone of the video changes. The wrist-slashing background music is abruptly replaced by the bombastic sounds of The Backstreet Boys “Everybody" ... a song associated with The Echo themselves And to the shock of absolutely nobody, the brothers that the video had been hinting at is suddenly revealed when the images are flooded with vibrant colour. The speed of the clips picks up as well, no longer moving at a snail's pace but instead showing rapid-fire shots of some of The Echo's in-ring antics. The team is shown hitting Superkicks, dropkicks, and suplexes galore on a who's who of CWA superstars, all having apparently been relegated to the status of glorified extras in this feature presentation.

    The name on everybody's lips... is ECHO.

    The action shots are intercut with a montage of Echo infamous antics, showing the brothers disrespecting various familiar faces. None of these other CWA stars actually get a speaking part, as the focus is all on the Echo.

    "From The Trailer Parks of Georgia. And weighing two-hundred and thirteen pounds of sheer unadulterated talent! They are three-time CWA World tag team champions, undefeated for three years and the collective shining light in an otherwise dark CWA Universe!"

    The lightning-fast editing of the video is only getting quicker, as more and more clips of The Echo’s in-ring performances and cut together with shots of them thrusting their belts in the air. These victorious poses are accompanied by a few more choice sound-bites, including "You all came to see us!" and the oh-so-humble gem: “Suck it...Dorks."

    More than men. More than brothers. They are perfection. They are The Echo, And this is...

    A huge movie-title logo bursts onto the screen, giving everyone a way to mentally describe what they have just witnessed. Other than a staggeringly self-absorbed attempt to promote themselves, obviously. The title is still flashing across the screen, even as the narrator announces it in his most over-the-top and melodramatic style.


    Coming soon to an arena near you. Book your tickets early to avoid disappointment.

    A few token credits flash across the screen, including "Starring Drew Connor as Drew Connor and Ethan Connor as Ethan Connor" and "A Brooke Connor Production."

    ???: “Can I just say something?

    ???: “What?”

    ???: “Fuck yeah!”

    ???: “Fuck yeah!”

    The camera pans back to reveal a smaller screen, and watching that screen? In matching deck chairs, in their own personal workout gym, the subject of said video, Drew and Ethan Connor.

    Drew Connor: “Let's see the Undisputed Alliance pull that shit off!

    Ethan Connor: We play that after we win the cage match, no one is gonna give a shit about whatever the Gang Stars are doing in the main event, so one is even going to care about it when they see this…

    Drew Connor: ...Is it a cage or a cell? I thought it was a jailhouse or something…

    Ethan Connor: “Look, who cares? What it’s called, we’ve been fucked around by CWA during this entire tour, but now we take the power back, now we-

    ???: Uh... excuse me? Gentlemen? If I could just have a moment of your time...

    Almost in perfect synch, they turn over open-mouthed, momentarily speechless at the audacity of this Man to interrupt their conversation... The Echo looks daggers at the other man, clearly not amused.

    Ethan Connor: Who... the hell... do YOU think you are?!

    Ethan storms forward to where the unidentified Man is waiting, angrily pushing while Drew sits back. Ethan gets straight up in the smaller Man's face, looking down on him with utter contempt.

    Ethan Connor: Don't you know who we are? We’re The Echo, damn it! You do NOT interrupt us. Just... who the hell are you, anyway? And this had BETTER be good...

    The Man with the Briefcase: Well... I must apologize for interrupting you.. but this really is quite important. You see, my name is Lionel Burgess... and I'm here representing CWA legal department. We've received a -

    Drew Connor: “Oh, here we go; took them long enough.”

    Ethan Connor: Let me guess... you're here to try and re-negotiate the terms of our contract? Well, fine... since you're here, let's get this over with. We’ve meant to hammer out a new deal, anyway. One that gives us all the extra perks and privileges that we truly deserve, y'know? Although... I've got to be honest with you... a contract re-negotiation REALLY could have waited until we got those titles back

    The Man with the Briefcase: Actually... I'm not here to re-negotiate your CWA contract. I'm here because... well... you're being sued.

    Ethan Connor: “Wait, what?!”

    Drew, who has been looking bored up until this point, looks up alarmed and joins his brother, who can't believe it! He immediately devotes ALL of his attention to the lawyer, wanting some answers to some very important questions.

    Drew Connor: Woah, Woah Woah, we’re being sued for what? What the hell have we done to anyone? Who would want to sue US?!

    The Man with the Briefcase: Actually, quite a lot of people, over the years

    The lawyer opens his case and removes a large stack of papers. He opens a small file and checks the information he needs... all while The Echo stands there, looking outraged.

    The Man with the briefcase: Ah, here we are... it appears that for the last five years, you’ve spent your time randomly attacking and super kicking several CWA backstage workers none of these people were wrestlers the company did not cover the costs of their medical care. And from the looks of things... there were rather extensive costs...

    The Echo has a mixed reaction to that news. On the one hand, they look rather proud; on the other, this might be trouble

    Ethan Connor: Son of a bitch! They want to sue the US? US?! Just because we roughed some dorks up? That is the most pathetic thing I ever heard! Well... We’re not going to stand for it. C'mon... you're a lawyer! What are my options?

    The Man with the Briefcase: You can settle out-of-court. That really is your only option at this stage... unless you prefer to take your chances in a court room, where on the strength of the evidence, I'm quite sure that the case would go against you, but don’t worry we have reached a deal that I think should be acceptable to all concerned parties... including yourself. That's why I'm here. I need you to look over the deal, and if you agree to the terms... sign it. Here, take a look.

    The lawyer hands over the stack of pages to a less-than-thrilled Drew, and Ethan Drew begrudgingly starts to flip through the settlement deal while Ethan peers over his shoulder.

    Drew Connor: OK, let's see what we've got. Hmm... well, it says here that CWA will be covering all the medical expenses, plus compensation. So... if CWA is footing the bill, then we don't have to pay a penny, right?

    The lawyer nods his head, which prompts a smile from The Echo. Safe in the knowledge that their bank accounts are free from any liability, he starts flipping through the documents with far more enthusiasm.

    Drew Connor: Well, that's something! And honestly... Noah Hanson got deep pockets. I'm sure he can handle one little lawsuit without it breaking the friggin' bank. Especially when...

    Drew trails off as he spots something in the settlement that he doesn't like. He points it out to his brother, whose eyes go wide. He looks up from the documents at the lawyer, with a shocked expression on his face, and points an accusing finger down at the paragraph that has caused so much offence.

    Ethan Connor: ... Hey, what the hell are you trying to pull?! Do you seriously think we’re going to agree to THIS?!

    The Man with the Briefcase: Well... I'm afraid THAT particular clause was insisted upon as part of the settlement agreement. CWA as a corporate entity really should be shown to be accountable for the actions of their contracted superstars... and take steps to deal with any "unacceptable" behaviour displayed by those superstars. And your unprovoked assault certainly qualifies. So I'm afraid the CWA legal team have already agreed to this particular condition.

    Ethan Connor: “No fuck this! You have GOT to be kidding me…

    Ethan has a fit while Drew rolls his eyes and wonders what he has done to deserve this.

    Ethan Connor: ... I mean... do we seriously strike you as the kind of guys that needs to go to friggin' ANGER MANAGEMENT?!

    A snort of amusement comes from one of the cleaners in the background who can't help but laugh, rather loudly, at Ethan’s rhetorical question. This triggers a reaction from the temperamental younger brother... who immediately turns on the spot to fix the crew member with a withering glare.

    Ethan Connor: And YOU can just shut your God-damn mouth, you friggin' moron! Do you think this is FUNNY? I ought to slap that dumb look right off your…

    He pauses mid-sentence as Drew holds his raised hand back, realizing what he was about to do. A slightly sheepish Ethan turns back to face the lawyer, fully aware that his latest outburst can't have done him any favors.

    Drew Connor: ... alright, alright... we get it. God... We really DON'T need any of this crap right now. We’ve got a cage match to prepare for... in less than a week! OK...

    He takes a deep breath and sighs, looking to his brother, but he looks as annoyed as him

    Drew Connor: ... so to make all of this go away in a hurry, how many of these Anger Management classes would I need to take?

    The Man with the Briefcase: You'll need to attend six hour-long sessions, plus receive an official statement from your counsellor to confirm that you have adhered to the program...

    The Echo can't believe they’re hearing this... but as they haven’t objected lately, the lawyer just takes the opportunity to press on.

    The Man with the briefcase ... We already have a counsellor lined up, with an available slot in one of his sessions this Thursday; if you want to get the ball rolling as soon as possible? He's really very good... we've used him before with some of the company's unruly talent, with noticeable results...

    That recommendation doesn't really do much for The Connors, who still looks like they really want to punch somebody. The lawyer senses that they’re not impressed and changes his approach

    The Man with the briefcase: ... Look, think of it this way. Six hour-long sessions... and then you're free-and-clear. All of this legal trouble just goes away, and you can get on with your life without any worries. Doesn't that sound like a good deal to you?

    The Echo thinks it over for a few moments... but they really don’t have a lot of choice in the matter. They need to get this over with, and if agreeing to attend Anger Management is the easiest way to do that... then that's what it has to be. Ethan sighs again, then grumbles as the lawyer hands over a pen. Drew is still muttering darkly as he signs his name on the dotted line of the contract.

    The Man with the Briefcase: There we are. Thank you for your cooperation; I'll have someone from the office send you a copy of this documentation and also the attendance arrangements for your first Anger Management session...

    The lawyer packs everything back into his briefcase and turns to leave... but stops himself just in time to turn back around and offer The Echo one final word of encouragement

    The Man with the briefcase: ... Oh, and best of luck for your match.

    The lawyer offers up a friendly smile... but is met with nothing but blatant hostility from a fuming The Echo! Deciding to get out while he can, he scuttles out of the studio and leaves behind an extremely unhappy Echo…

    The day that The Echo had NOT been looking forward to had arrived. Their attempts to find an alternative means of avoiding their legal responsibilities had all come up short, which meant they had no alternative other than to show up for their counselling session. And needless to say, The Echo were not happy about it. But despite their reluctance, The Brothers Connor still arrived bright and early at the private clinic where their Anger Management class was scheduled to take place. They were dressed in simple black shirts and jeans and were giving off the distinct vibe of people who really didn't want to be there. They had not come alone, either. Part of their settlement agreement involved providing evidence that they actually had attended the entire session... and not simply signed their names and walked out after five minutes or sent someone else to sit through it in his place. And what better way of proving The Echo were present-and-correct... than by capturing the whole ordeal on CWA cameras? The Echo wasn't exactly thrilled to have their therapy session filmed for a pay-per-view audience... but hey, any publicity is good publicity... and really, that was about the LEAST of their problems right about now.

    After making their way through the reception area as quickly as they possibly can, The Echo finds themselves confronted by a small frizzy-haired man dressed in a loud, rainbow-print sweatshirt. He has a huge grin on his face and hurries over to shake both their hands.

    Jim Wesley: Hi there, friends! You must be...

    The overly-enthusiastic man checks a clipboard he is holding for a name

    Jim Wesley: ... ah, here we go! Drew! Ethan! Wow, it's a real honor to have two superstars of your esteemed status in our little group today; let me tell you! Now... I know you're probably a little reluctant about this, but please... don't worry. I've had PLENTY of...

    He starts making air quotes, which warrants a raised eyebrow from Drew ...

    Jim Wesley: "Sports-entertainers" ... pass through my door, and I've helped each and every one of them transform from a big scary Rage-Monster into a well-adjusted member of society. As a matter of fact, I'd say that helping people like you master their inner demons is a specialty of mine! So... if you'd like to come inside, most of the others are already here. And I just know you'll fit right in... because we actually have a few of your fellow... "sports-entertainers"...

    The therapist makes his air quotes again, which is now officially starting to annoy The Echo, Ethan looks rather twitchy and subtly begins to line him up, instinctively getting the angle right for his favorite movie, but Drew gives him a look as if to say “not now”. The Echo does a remarkable job of suppressing the urge to launch into a venom-filled tirade directed at the little man, for the sake of the cameras, if nothing else

    Jim Wesley... here with us today. Believe me, guys.. you're in good hands!

    Mister Wesley shuffles in Ethan rolls his eyes, and Drew punches him in the shoulder accordingly; nevertheless, they follow Mister Wesley into his counselling room. It is a fairly large room, with a circle of folding chairs arranged to fill the majority of it. The only other notable feature is a buffet table where a few people are milling around helping themselves to some rather poor-quality breakfast. An excited Mister Wesley hurries off to go "mingle" with the guys at the buffet while Drew moves forward, and Ethan shoots a distinctly unimpressed glance over at their camera crew. Even so, they soon head over to find themselves a seat in the circle... and, shockingly, someone actually walks up towards them, a tall biker with sunglasses who extends a friendly hand...

    Tony Burton: “I’m Tony Burton; this is my human form.”

    Ethan Connor: “Um, hi. Weren’t you in CWA like a million years ago?

    Drew Connor: Yeah, sure, who cares. Listen-

    Drew nudges Tony in the ribs, then points discretely over at Mister Wesley... who is currently laughing hysterically at someone's joke

    Drew Connor: So... what's this idiot's story, anyway? He can't really buy into all this touchy-feely crap, can he? He's GOT to have an angle...

    Tony Burton: I don't know, man. I've only been to two sessions so far... and he's seemed like he's on the level to me. But... I guess you'll see for yourself, right?

    Mister Wesley finally claps his hands and motions for everyone to migrate from the buffet table to the circle. The chairs all soon fill up... and The Connor Brothers spot another somewhat familiar character sitting across from him. Although it isn't someone he ever really associated with, it's still pretty hard not to recognize a man dressed in head-to-toe tiger-stripes and sporting the worst pair of mutton-chop sideburns in human history. It's CWA Hall of Famer Frankie Enzo who smiles back at The Echo

    Jim Wesley: OK... OK, that looks like everybody...

    The therapist consults his clipboard, mentally checking off names in his head... until he realizes that one person is still absent

    Jim Wesley: Oh, wait. We're missing one!

    As if on cue, the final member of the Anger Management counselling group walks through the door... after stooping down to allow himself to fit through the narrow frame. Once he's safely inside the room, the man stands up to his full height... a towering seven feet! Even The Echo can't help but be a little impressed with the sheer size of the Australian Career Killer! The enormous Lord Of Darkness slowly lumbers into the circle and helps himself to an unoccupied chair... which groans under the weight but somehow manages to support him. With everyone now present-and-correct, Mister Wesley gets things underway.

    Jim Wesley: Well, alright-ee... it looks like the gang's all here, so let's get this show on the road, friends! Now... most of you already know each other, but we happen to have two brand new faces joining our happy little group today! So everyone... please give a very warm welcome to our new best friends... more "Sports-Entertainers"... Drew and Ethan Connor! Stand up, boys! Tell us a little about yourself!

    The rest of the group all give a polite round of applause as they wait for Christian to do as he was told. But they're in for a long wait... as The Echo shows no signs of moving from his chair. Mister Wesley looks confused, Drew and Ethan; Ethan looks like he couldn’t give a fuck, so Drew decides to put the guy out of his misery and explain what's going on.

    Drew Connor: Alright... it's like this... We’re just going to sit and watch what's going on for a while if that's OK?

    Although he phrased it as if he were asking permission, Drew’s tone-of-voice and no-nonsense facial expression clearly let EVERYONE know that he isn't asking... he's TELLING them what is going to happen

    Drew Connor: We just want to see how you guys do things first. So then…

    He glances over at the camera, remembering that this is going to be evidence for their legal settlement, so they need to make at least a token effort

    Drew Connor:... after We’ve seen how you guys roll, we'll be... uh... more comfortable participating….

    Ethan looks up at his brother, an eyebrow raised; don’t count on it.

    Jim Wesley: Well…

    The therapist thinks it over... but in the end, he gives The Echo the benefit of the doubt. His huge smile is still firmly in place, and he nods his head at the brothers

    Jim Wesley:... Sure, OK! Whatever helps you settle in, my friends! Because in this group, we're all about offering our love and unconditional support. That's how WE roll! This circle is full of love and understanding. Everyone... join with me now. Push out the bad vibes!

    Mister Wesley starts waving his hands out from his body and breathing out as hard as he can... and, to The Connor Brother’s utter bemusement, most of the other people in the group go along with this nonsense!

    Jim Wesley: Now... breathe in the love!

    This time, the therapist starts breathing deeply... sucking up the collective "love" of the counselling group. And again, most of the others join in... which leaves Drew utterly baffled, but Ethan has a little smirk of amusement creeping onto his face.

    Jim Wesley: OK... that felt good, right? It's all about finding your emotional center, my friends... that "Happy Place" inside you where you can go when things get rough. Whenever you feel that mean old Rage-Monster taking hold... you can just go run and hide in your "Happy Place" until he goes away! Doesn't that sound just fantastic? And SO much more socially acceptable and emotionally rewarding than blowing a fuse and screaming and shouting until you're red in the face. Because giving in to your anger, friends? That just isn't the way to be a happy camper!

    Drew Connor: Kill me....

    Drew rolls his eyes, finally feeling like he has the measure of Mister Wesley. the therapist is a complete idiot. Ethan just laughs to himself and gives his brother another nudge in the ribs.

    Ethan Connor:... This guy's kidding, right? Nobody could be THAT much of a tool and still be allowed to go out in public. He must have escaped from a mental institution somewhere...

    Drews smirks... but Mister Wesley is not as amused. For the first time, his big super-happy smile falters ever so slightly. But he quickly regains his composure and looks straight at The Echo. not impressed; however, they just stare straight back at him... with an infuriatingly cocky grin on his face.

    Jim Wesley: I see you're feeling "comfortable" enough to make a few contributions to the group discourse now, guys? Well... that's super! Such rapid progress, I can tell you're going to benefit so much from these sessions! But please... if you have something, you want to add... why don't you go ahead and tell it to the WHOLE group?

    Ethan Connor: “Naa”

    Drew Connor: Yeah, I'll pass on that if it's all the same to you?

    Drew keeps on smirking...

    Drew Connor: But I think that biker guy has something that HE wants to say.

    Never one to miss an opportunity, Tony Burton stands up... and, with all eyes on him, hits his favorite line...

    Tony Burton: I’m Tony Burton, and this is my human form:

    Tony stands proudly, but the rest of the group aren't finished with him yet. Mister Wesley leads them in, echoing back, "Hi, Tony!" ... at which point the CWA Original starts to look a little emotional

    Tony Burton: There! That wasn't so hard, now was it?! But... you guys have no idea how hard it is to get someone to just say "hi" back to you in my line of work. Everyone acts like they're too good to say hello or something. I mean... I'm a nice guy, I try to be polite and introduce myself to people, I came up with an icebreaker and Everything, And they just look at me like I'm something they scraped off the bottom of their shoe! Why the hell can't they just say "HI, TONY, I LIKE YOUR HUMAN FROM" back to me? Is that really so much to ask?! GOD!! It just makes me want to... want to...

    An increasingly furious Tony balls up his fist, then violently pounds it into his own palm again and again!


    Jim Wesley: OK, that's good, Tony... let it all out. We need to get all of those violent urges out in the open, so we can shoo them all away! Then the next time someone doesn't say "hi" to you, you'll be able to just wave it off with a friendly smile!

    Ethan Connor: “Fuck that-!

    Drew Connor: You're joking, right?

    Drew and Ethan lean forward in their chairs almost in perfect time, unable to resist giving their own advice.

    Drew Connor: Listen, Terry... if you ask me, you really only need to do one thing. The next time someone pisses you off... and you feel like punching them? Well... just go right ahead and pop that son-of-a-bitch in the mouth!

    Mister Wesley's smile DEFINITELY disappears this time, as he goes into shock at that outrageous advice! Tony Burton, however, is all ears... and seems to be hanging on every word.

    Drew Connor: Seriously... if you want to make it in the wrestling biz, then you've got to learn to go with your instincts. Chances are, they won't lead you wrong. I mean... following OUR instincts is what's made us the men we are today. And... last time I checked... that was the single greatest tag team in the world today, am I right? And yeah, sure... sometimes, going with your gut means making decisions that a lot of people don't agree with. You can probably forget about something like getting the fans to cheer for you...

    Ethan Connor: unless you take a page out of our book and just try to keep the marks on-side long enough to make a killing off of all the crappy merchandise you sell them.

    Drew Connor: True, But you also have to deal with so-called "experts" thinking they know better. People will always be there to tell you you've made a bad call or a wrong decision... right up until the point where you PROVE that you knew what you were doing all along and get the sweet satisfaction of shoving it right back in; their faces! Take us, for example. We got screwed out of a tag team title match-

    Ethan Connor: “Damn straight!

    Drew Connor: And now, to get to the belts we never lost in the first place, we have to go through a jailhouse blues match..a really nasty match... against those imposters, The Undisputed Alliance, and those losers Murder Inc... And because we went with our gut... followed our instincts and acted on impulse... we accepted his challenge on the spot!

    Mister Wesley: “I don’t think that’s how that happened-

    Ethan Connor: “Hey, we’re talking here!”

    Drew Connor: And ever since, I've had to listen to people questioning that decision. I've heard them all talking... saying they think The Elite suckered us in, That they’re playing mind-games, That The Echo is done, and TUA and Murder In care going to put the last nail in our coffin, But honestly, Ton... you can't let those kinds of doubters get to you. When someone's as good…

    Ethan GREAT...

    Drew Connor:..As we are, there will always be jealous dorks that are desperate to try and tear us down. You just have to learn to live with it. Because at the end of the day... it doesn't matter what they say, or what they think. The simple fact is... We know why we’re getting into that cage.

    Ethan Connor: And it doesn’t have anything to Noah Hanson, The Gang Stars, The Elite, or proving ourselves as Number one contenders, because quite frankly we ain’t gotta prove shit.

    Drew Connor: But it had EVERYTHING to do with our belief in ourselves... and that, in our collective trailer made hearts, we know with a complete certainty that we can jump through any hoops Noah Hanson puts in front of us, we can outfight Murder Inc., and we can beat the Undisputed Alliance at their own game. That's why we didn't hesitate to accept this match because we knew we were making the right call. And that, my friend, is called following your instincts!

    Ethan smirks, and Drew leans back in his chair while Tony nods his head... obviously impressed by the brother's words of wisdom. Mister Wesley, however, is nowhere near as keen on The Echo’s brand of advice. The therapist quickly steps into the middle of the circle, hoping to set the group straight before they get the wrong idea.

    Jim Wesley: OK... OK... now, there really are no "wrong" answers, friends... but I don't know if The Connor’s, uh, advice would really be your best bet for long-term happiness. Tony.. I think if you just try to find your Happy Place and let all those bad vibes slide right off you, then you'll do just fine!

    The therapist beams an enthusiastic smile at Tony... but it's too late. Burton shakes his head, then sits down next to The Echo... who looks pleased to see that someone had enough sense to listen to their expert opinions. Mister Wesley isn't happy about this turn of events... but he has an entire group to counsel and can't fixate on just one man

    Jim Wesley: Alright... let's move on, gang. Does anyone else have a problem they would like to share with the group?

    Frankie Enzo: “Ahhhh! Me! Ooh, me!

    The flamboyant New Yorker hops up off his chair and brushes down the creases out of his tiger-print jacket. Mister Wesley gives an encouraging nod as Frankie prepares to vent his frustrations

    Frankie Enzo Well... listening to those wise guys over there got me thinking about MY problems... because I'm in the wrestling business too. And boy... is it ever a harsh mistress! You see... I'm used to living in a world where the image is everything...

    Frankie Enzo strokes his own sideburns before casting a dubious glance over at Mister Wesley's questionable wardrobe choices

    Frankie Enzo:... and FYI, bub? The rainbow-print pull-over is seriously not working for you. But anyway... I'm used to being a dedicated follower of fashion but in the ring... I want my skills to do the talking for me. I'm a black belt in over a half-dozen martial arts! But people just WILL NOT take me seriously, no matter what I do or how hard I work! And it's SO DAMN FRUSTRATING!! I mean... I know that I look Fab-U-Lous in my tiger-stripes... but people shouldn't forget that this kitty still has claws! And she LOVES to scratch!

    Jim Wesley : Well... I think I see what you're saying, my friend. And I have a solution for you. You see, Frankie... it's not about what's on the outside that really matters. It's about what's in here...

    Mister Wesley pats Frankie’s chest, indicating his heart

    Jim Wesley:... on the inside. If you have a wonderful spirit... then all the negativity and criticism in the world won't be able to put a downer on that!

    Ethan Connor: “You’re bad at your job, and you should feel bad!”

    This time, The Echo stands up out of their chairs and marches across the circle toward the other two. Ethan gives Mister Wesley a fairly gentle push, just to clear the therapist out of the way and in synch, he and his brother get face-to-face with Frankie himself.

    Ethan Connor: Listen... it's like this, Frankie.. you've got it spot-on. The image really is everything... especially in our business. And people are ALWAYS going to judge you on the way you look. If you turn up to your matches dressed in an outfit that even Elton John would consider too campy... then what the hell do you expect to happen?!

    Frankie gasps with shock that his impeccable fashion sense has been called into question... but Ethan has already switched gears onto a topic that is near-and-dear to his heart; The Echo.

    Ethan Connor: Anyway, it's not like you're the ONLY guy that's ever had to face a little bit of prejudice because of the way you look. Even we had to put up with that kind of stuff! People tend to look at us... and they get fooled by the good looks... by the oh-so-pretty face! They assume that just because we take care of the way I look, I won't want to risk rolling with the hardcore-types, y'know? But for me and my brother? We’ve been in cage matches, hardcore matches, No DQ matches. Ladder matches...and guess what? We’ve won them all! We know what we need to do in cage matches; those other teams ain’t ready.! I'm not even going to mention all of the Ladder matches I've put myself through... or the fact that we put the friggin' TLC match on the map! Hell, even just in the past year... We’ve STILL been more extreme than anyone wants to give us credit for! Last year...we came within a heartbeat of beating The Gang Stars at their own game! That's Alyster Black and Krash... the friggin' POSTER BOYS for that kind of shit....

    Frankie Enzo: “What cage-”

    Drew Connor: “But hey, it could be worse; you could have no image and no personality, You could have to resort to stealing from a FAR better tag the Undisputed Alliance.

    Ethan Connor: Damn straight-!

    Drew Connor: Trust me, you don’t wanna be THOSE guys, you don’t want to be jobbers in CWA, sucking out the entire company, and then when THE best tag team in the world rides towards the sunset, you STEAL all their shit.

    Ethan Connor: “All of our stuff.”

    Drew Connor: They took our moves.”

    Ethan Connor: “Our SUPERKICKS-!

    Drew Connor: “Mom, can we get The Echo? We got a perfectly got Undisputed Alliance at home!

    Ethan Connor: “Everything we are, Those two jokers copied and made into a sucky version of us. Difference being? They’ve happy being JUST a tag team, to play the role every tag team have been handed since the dawn of man. To be supporting cast. To be the mid-card. To be the opener. To be the preshow.

    Drew Connor: “Oh sure, Michael Garcia, we’ll do your dirty business! So you can be the main event star!”

    Ethan Connor: “..Let me tell you something, FWA should be glad they got the lame rip off version of The Connor brothers because we would have burned the building down if a tag team title match main evented a PPV and they tried to put us on the preshow? We would have raised hell, but The Undisputed Era was just happy to be booked. They were just good little soldiers for FWA, and that’s what really the difference between us; they WANT to be the best, they want to be main event players….but us? We are the best, and we’re going to prove it.

    Drew Connor: “Point is...Be anyone you wanna...just don’t be Nate Savage or Jackson Fenix.

    Mister Wesley starts to splutter out a few feeble protests... but it's no good. Frankie is already sold on The Echo’s way of thinking! The fashionista nods enthusiastically at the brothers before returning to his chair. The Echo heads back to their own seats, too... but soon finds himself blocked by the therapist. And Mister Wesley's big smile is long gone. Now... he looks pissed!

    Jim Wesley: Listen... I'm all for encouraging people to speak their minds and give voice to their inner emotions. But guys... if you disrupt my session one more time... then I'll have no option other than to resort to special therapy for you!

    Drew just smirks and rolls his eyes, and Ethan sarcastically shows fear and waves trembling fingers at Wesley, not at all intimidated by the therapist's weak threats. Mister Wesley tries to save a little face by turning back to the circle and opening the floor one more time.

    Jim Wesley: OK... let's try to move on, guys. Anyone else wants to open up and share their feelings?

    Everyone seems a little reluctant to step-up... since The Echo is still standing in the circle and showing rather blatant disrespect for their therapist. But from the smiles that are spreading across the group, it seems that most of them are actually enjoying The Echo’s antics... and also finding a lot of sense in some of his controversial "therapy". After finding no willing volunteers, Mister Wesley turns back to face The Echo. They engage in a tense stare-down, with no one willing to give an inch... until the battle of wills is brought to a sudden conclusion by a last-minute volunteer from the group. It is none other than the immense Lord Of Darkness himself, who soon towers over the three.

    Jim Wesley Uh... Lord? You have something you want to, uh, share with the group?

    LOD nods, then starts to talk...well, more...grunt...and yells which nobody present can understand. The LOD is met with nothing but blank looks and vacant stares from the group. Even Mister Wesley is at a loss to provide any answers..

    Mister Wesley: Well... OK... that's great, Lord of Darkness. Thank you for sharing! And I'm sure that, uh, admitting your problems is the first step on your personal road to recovery…

    This doesn't seem to do the trick for LOD, who starts yelling! Mister Wesley's eyes go wide as saucers, and he backs away from the angry giant. The Echo, however, is not intimidated... and makes a big show of pointing out the therapist's obvious fear! Mister Wesley spots The Connors laughing at him and angrily turns on the infuriating duo... finally losing his cool!

    Mister Wesley: Oh... well, if you think YOU'RE so smart, why don't YOU talk to him?!

    Drew Connor: If you insist...

    The two approaches the raging Lord of darkness, who is still ranting and raving. The Echo holds up his hands, indicating that he "comes in peace" to the giant.

    Drew Connor: Hey now, take it easy, big fella. We're all "friends" here... right? And I've got to be honest... I think I get where you're coming from. A lot better than THAT dork does, anyway...

    Ethan tilts his head back at Mister Wesley, then makes a rather unflattering hand gesture at his expense. LOD seems to understand THAT at least and gives a deep laugh

    Ethan Connor: There we go! Yeah... it seems to me that you're a little pissed-off that people can't understand you, right? That you keep talking... but nobody's listening? Am I in the ball-park, big guy?

    LOD doesn't say anything... but he has calmed down a lot since The Echo started chatting away. This fact has not been lost on Mister Wesley, who looks completely embarrassed at having been shown up by The Echo. Meanwhile, they continue to "counsel" LOD

    Drew Connor: Right, I thought as much. And believe me, buddy... we can relate. I mean, don't get us wrong... we talk A LOT... but I don't think people really listen to what we’re saying. We’ve been calling ourselves the best in the world for a long damn time... but nobody understands what that REALLY means. They all just think that we’re mouthing-off... talking for the sake of talking, like the Undisputed Alliance and Murder Inc, who have to try and convince themselves that they're as great as they just LOVE to say they are. But we’re in a whole different league. We’re the guys with the proven track record... the guys that have backed up every single thing we’ve have ever said. It isn't arrogance if you can back it up, big guy... and we can walk the walk as well as talk the talk!

    LOD laughs again, obviously enjoying The Echo’s company even if the conversation is a bit one-sided. The Echo smirks back at the giant...

    Ethan Connor: Yeah... people don't listen... they don't understand. And even after EVERYTHING that we’ve done... they still doubt us. They doubt what we’ve capable of. They doubt that we can defeat Murder Inc... in this jailhouse blues match. And I've got to be honest with you, big guy... it makes me ABSOLUTELY SICK!! These are the same people that wonder why we do the things we do. They wonder why we hate them so much! Well... how the hell can anyone blame us when THIS is the kind of treatment we get! Well... I can promise you that this is going to be the last time that ANYONE doubts what we’re capable of. Once they've seen the horrors that we will unleash in that match, then there will be no more doubts in anyone's mind WHO the best is. Who the real number one contender is. They will all have no choice other than to acknowledge that we truly are the one-and-only GREATEST WRESTLERS OF ALL TIME!!

    The Lord Of Darkness raises both of his arms in the air and gives a loud bellowing cheer in appreciation of The Echo, And he isn't the only fan that The Echo has made in the group. Tony Burton and Frankie Enzo both hop to their feet, starting a rousing round of applause that soon spread across the other members of the therapy session. Mister Wesley is left in a state of complete shock... which only gets worse when they start up an enthusiastic "Connor!" chant that really catches on fast. The Echo stands in the middle of all this spontaneous adulation, soaking it all in with a pleased smile on their faces... until a furious Mister Wesley kills his buzz!

    Jim Wesley: Stop it! Stop this right now, all of you! This is supposed to be a GROUP THERAPY SESSION... not a God-damn PEP-RALLY!!

    The enraged therapist marches his way across the circle toward The Echo... but slows down when he sees the Lord Of Darkness moving to support his new friends. However, The Echo waves off the giant and gets right in the therapist's face himself. Mister Wesley doesn't back down.

    Jim Wesley: You two! You've ruined my session, you narcissistic jerks! All of your whining and self-pity... it's pathetic! And that "Look at us, Look at us!" attention-seeking crap? It might impress a bunch of low-lives like THESE guys...

    Mister Wesley gestures at the group, ensuring that none of them will be paying him for another session...

    Jim Wesley: ... but it won't cut it in the REAL world! You, two... are quite possibly the single WORST human beings I have ever met in my entire life! And... and... I hope that these “Murder Inc and Undisputed Alliance guys KICKS YOUR ASS!!

    Ethan Connor: Wow... I guess that was you "pushing out the bad vibes", huh?

    Drew Connor: Now... I'll admit that we’re not exactly an expert when it comes to all this therapy crap. But we know enough to understand that just sitting in a circle talking about your feelings isn't going to help. If you want to make a difference, then you've got to go out there and make it happen yourself. That's what we plan to do... when we step into that cage, South Pacific. And it's what all of you had better start doing as well…

    They look around at all the members of the therapy group, who are now hanging on their every word.

    Ethan Connor:... because it's the only way you're ever going to get what you want out of life and be anywhere near as successful as we are! You damn sure aren't going to improve yourselves by listening to anything that THIS chumpstain has to say!

    Ethan makes a dismissive wave in Mister Wesley's direction, not even bothering to look at the therapist; a moment of silent communication seemed to occur between them, both clearly reaching some kind of understanding.

    Drew Connor: Y'know, Wesley... I've got to say... this "session" of yours came pretty highly recommended, but it's been a real let-down for me.

    Ethan Connor: Truth. I mean... you didn't even get us doing any cool therapy games. Like role-playing...

    Drew Connor: or maybe a little bit of aggression-release?


    Before poor Mister Wesley even has a chance to consider where The Echo could be heading with his current train of thought, the answer becomes all too clear. While smirking, Connor brothers stand over him... surrounded by the therapy group, who are all whole-heartedly supporting the brothers!

    Drew Connor: See what I mean? I feel better already!

    Ethan Connor: Y'know... maybe there is something to be said for this whole "therapy" deal after all...

    Drew crouches down next to the unconscious body of Mister Wesley and slaps him gently across the face a couple of times... to no reaction

    Drew Connor: So Wesley... same time next week? We’ve got to get through five more of these sessions, buddy...

    If the therapist were in any condition to answer, he would no doubt give an emphatic "NO!" to Drew’s mocking request... but he will be sleeping off that superkick for a while longer yet. The Echo has more pressing issues to concern themselves with, though... namely, the rapidly approaching jailhouse blues. That match is certainly already on their collective minds... as they turn back and address the camera.

    Drew Connor: It looks like we've still got some time before the hour-long session is up... so I think I'll take this opportunity to talk about Murder Inc!

    Drew says that without even a hint of irony, considering he had just spent the entirety of the therapy session mouthing off about their match.

    Drew Connor: Now, don’t get us wrong, Murder Inc. Kendrick Lethal, Jermaine Creed. They’re good. Great even, people forget, they were brought in with the express purpose of taking us out, and hey, they came close...They TRIED. They tried. Again...and again...and again...and again.

    Ethan Connor: And every single time, they ended up staring up at the lights with our arms raised.

    Drew Connor: ...Like let’s be blunt; Murder Inc. is not on our level, and we’ve proved that conclusively over and over again. They can’t hang with us on our best day and trust me, we’ve seen their best day. Who were the guys that brought out the best in Murder Inc? Who forced Murder Inc out of the bingo halls and into the mainstream? Who forced them to raise their game so that everyone could see the kind of performances they’re capable of?

    Ethan Connor: Oh, that's right... US! And when Murder Inc brought their best, we put on some unforgettable matches... but even their best STILL wasn’t enough to beat us! And sure, OK... maybe people believe that Murder Inc has 'improved' since then but do these people that believe Creed and Lethal have somehow raised their game since the last times that we faced each other think that we’ve been sitting on my hands for the last year?! Do they not think that maybe, just maybe, the team that dominated the world for THREE YEARS just might have improved a little bit somewhere along the way?

    Drew Connor: So if Murder Inc wants to take another shot at shutting our mouths, They’re welcome to try. But if they seriously think that all it's going to take is flippy bullshit off the top of the cell, bring us down? Then he really needs to get a clue and figure out just who they’re dealing with. Because their plan is to trade kicks? We’ll be MORE than happy to SUPERKICK both their head so far down their necks they'll be using dreadlocks as a couch cushion!

    Ethan Connor: Listen, we don't need anyone to tell me that Murder Inc is a tough competitor... I don't need anyone to tell us what they’re capable of. Because we already know what they’re NOT capable of, and that's beating us when we’re at the top of my game! Murder Inc might be one of the best teams in the world, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing to us.

    Drew smiles again... a slightly warped grin, full of malice as his diabolical mind conjures up all kinds of horrific things that he might do inside that jailhouse. The other members of the Anger Management group... .. are all flanking The Connors by now, showing their support for their newfound "ring-leaders" as they mentally prepare themselves.

    Ethan Connor This match is about a lot more than becoming number one contenders ... SO much more. It's about creating a legacy... that will live on forever. It’s about REMINDING the world who we are. It’s about getting our damn spot back. We have literally done it all... and earned the right to call ourselves the best team of all time, and we refuse to let it all come to a bitter end at the hands of some Echo wannabees and some loser tag teams that could never hang with us. Winning or losing this match is the difference between winning one more five-star classic, getting back our spotlight.. something that will cement our status as Living Legends for all-time… we become side notes in someone ELSES story. We become like EVERYONE ELSE. And we will NOT be that team.

    Drew Connor: We will achieve OUR destiny... and take that all-important final step to get back our titles and make sure that the legacy of the Connor brothers one that will never... NEVER... be forgotten! But no matter what it takes... what we have to put our bodies through... we will PROVE we’re just...better.

    With that said, The Echo takes one last look around the assembled Anger Management group and then heads for the exit. They receive several wishes of good luck from the others, plus some encouraging pats on the back as they walk past... but they don’t care.
    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

  9. #9
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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

    There are degrees of Darkness.

    Tucked safely in our beds, we turn out the lights at night and fall asleep in what we call the dark. In reality, there is almost always some light-from the light down the hall, from a street light outside, the blinking dot of a cell phone charging. Our eyes adjust, and we can see enough at any rate to find an additional blanket or a glass of water or other such comforts.

    Then there is the Darkness away from cities and towns, in the middle of the town, the world at night with only the stars at night mere pinpricks of light….but still, light in the face of eternal Darkness.

    But then there is The Dark.

    The type of dark that you wouldn't be able to move

    I to open and close your eyes, to touch your own face to convince yourself that the hands you couldn't see were, in fact, there. Were you alive or dead? How would you know? Perhaps her panicked breathing could give you a clue, or the racing heartbeat you heard in her ears, the heartbeat you've convinced yourself is yours.

    It wouldn't take long to get used to the screaming; you'd think that it would. At first, it would chill you to the core, but soon you will become so desperate to hear or see or feel or smell anything, anything at all, that soon it will become your world. Some screams would be closer, while others sounded far away; it might give you an idea that you were in a larger place than you thought, even though you was still alone. The screams, you would know (How would you know?!) came from no one who was still alive. They were the piercing, unearthly screeches of the dying, uttered under the worst kinds of duress. But when they stopped, you lose your sense of space—you could have been in a box buried underground, or the bottom of a canyon, or on the moon. You would have no idea.

    So it wouldn't take long to get used to the screaming….

    In the end, we all embrace the heart of Darkness.


    Viewers who had clicked on the video (entitled "For Whom The Bell Tolls") were immediately confronted by a blank screen. It was only the sound of winds howling across an unseen landscape which evidenced that a video was playing at all. This endured for some moments until a second noise began to grow in prominence. Barely perceptible at first, then rising, slowly, softly, until it became unmistakable…When at last the scene opened, viewers were greeted by a nightmarish hellscape, the likes of which seemed at odds with some of the more family-orientated segments in CWA programming: Graves rose from the ground like the broken teeth of some long-slain beast, and an eerie fog rose up from fissures in the ground to choke the atmosphere and herald a mood of profound foreboding. All of this gloom was set against what appeared to have once been a cathedral, now laying broken and ruined amid the utter desolation of its surroundings. The colourless, lifeless scene was made all the more harrowing by the sepia filter placed on the video to rob viewers of even the comfort of the light. This, undeniably, was the lair of a Demon.

    "Time… waits for no man."

    Lilith's words were a voice-over, but they heralded a fade to black. When the scene reopened, the video had transposed to what appeared to be the clocktower of the ruined cathedral, in which we see a long thin hallway. There was a haunting melody in the background that only added to the sense of the supernatural being at play. As the corridor rattled along, doors appeared and disappeared on either side and walking along the corridor. There stood the mother of Ravens, Lilith. She did not smile nor look directly at the camera. Instead, she surveyed the scene around her. She looked behind her and observed behind her a clock face welded to the wall. It was twenty minutes to midnight. High above, the ancient bells hung, swaying softly in the bite of the wind. Lilith paid them no mind.

    The clock ticked on.

    Lilith: "So many many sins….so many tortured souls....

    The camera flew along a corridor - seemingly infinite - shadow clutching at the edges of the frame so that nothing felt quite real. There was a haunting melody in the background that only added to the sense of the supernatural being at play. As the corridor rattled along, doors appeared and disappeared on either side. There was no end to them. Each was sealed, concealing whatever was held within from view,

    Lilith: The nature of dreams is beyond me for so many years. I dreamed of nothing so much as I dreamed of being able to grow this… home. This… the house that The Darkness built."

    Lilith walked over to a crumbling wall and gazed out across the horizon.

    Lilith: "All those years… I stood in this tower, the mistress of all I surveyed. This… was my kingdom. And I watched it vigilantly. But now it has fallen into ruin."

    Lilith walked across to the candles and sighed to herself.

    Lilith: "Housed within these walls… I believed that there were no more challenges. My shadow would endure forever.. Yet upon my return, what is it that I find? At the first opportunity...I find a world eager to forget me; Upon my return to the battlefield, I find myself forced to feed off the scraps of those deemed to shine brighter. Instead of receiving a chance at the prize that the world saw plainly was stolen from me, that chance goes to the less deserving, and I am left stranded waiting for my lone challenger, to afford me the basic courtesy of acknowledgement, and when I am offered the barest of recognition from the Dreamer….it was like I acknowledge that I was some kind of irritating fly, that needed to be crushed under your heel.

    Lilith looked down at the ground momentarily, a slightly amused sneer coming to her face as if she was not used to the feeling of being treated like was amusing to her but not entirely welcome.

    Lilith: So. That is your choice. Michelle. So be it, It is not dreams that define destiny, but choices, and instead of mentally preparing yourself for what will be, you locked yourself in a room with your demons and put all your attention on Jon Snowantashi. And lo here I stand...your consolation prize. If that's how you choose to see me, then on your head be it. You don't expect a fight; You expected one from Snowmantashi, but this? This is a meaningless fight for you. Merely a warm-up match for your grander pursuits; "I want you to remember that line of thinking; I want you to meditate on that line of thinking when I scatter you to the wind, and everything that you hold dear… belongs to me. When I drag your broken body into one of these cells like so many that thought they could challenge fate, I want to look in your eyes as the sands of time shift beneath you, great Dreamer, and you realize what a grave mistake you have made. As I prove once and for all that it is I who is the master of fate. It is I who commands the forces of Darkness, and now… it is I who holds the keys to your kingdom. I have become… the Reaper of Souls."

    A haunting laugh accompanied a flash of demonic glee in Lilith's eye.

    Lilith: "This house will be rebuilt from the ruins of your destruction, Michelle. I will become the true power in CWA once more. While you are consigned to watch me from the shadows as I exceed every accolade and triumph that you ever achieved...I will rule you and each and every soul that was ever yours. The Age of The Dreamer has passed with a foolish declaration of superiority over nature...and The Age of Darkness…rises once more."

    Lilith stalked forward, looking once more out of the crack in the wall at the lands she claimed for her own.

    Lilith "The natural order was ever thus. In time, the old must make way for the young, and a new generation will rise to supplant the last. Such is the fate… of a mortal man. I alone can claim dominion over the grave. And I alone will reign… forever…As for you, great Dreamer?

    With palms held upwards, she widened her arms out keenly, gesturing to her surrounding.

    Lilith: "Here is where you will stay; within the places where all those that come across my path end up...locked up, for all time in prisons of their own makings. Locked in an endless battle with the sinful demons in your head

    As if on cue, there seemed to be some tormented screaming coming from one of the nearby cells, some poor soul pounding on the door, desperate for some kind of escape. This was ignored

    Lilith: I can not help but to wonder, what will be your sins of choice, Michelle? What demons will you be locked in with, let us consider for a moment-ah

    Lilith suddenly stops dead in her tracks, pauses for a beat, and backs up -Without turning- The corridor groans to a halt in front of a plain wooden door. A star hung on it, 'PRIDE' emblazoned across in golden lettering.

    Lilith:: "Of course, your favorite sin Michelle. PRIDE…"

    The door yawned open, and the camera moved inside. All was Darkness and quiet until a sudden burst of electronic interference brought a pale blue light into the room. It was an ominous glow – a row of old television sets. The camera rested on them for a long moment, but the interference was never broken. Neither sound nor image could penetrate the snowy-white screens. Pale light pulsed from behind each device, almost like a heartbeat.

    Lilith: "This is your lifeblood, isn't it, Dreamer? Your pride. Your ego. Your inflated sense of self-worth. Everything you do, everything you've EVER done, is all about feeding that ego. It's all been about getting that gold star hanging on your door. It's about getting millions of people sat around these TV sets drinking in the glory of Michelle Von Horrorwitz, and I understand that this is nothing new. This world that you and I choose to inhabit, you merely have to look around who you associate with these days to understand ego, but you're different. Everyone else wears ego like armor, but with you, it's almost compulsion. You're defined by your pride and helplessness but to react when it's challenged. When anyone even so much as suggests that you're lesser than what you claim to be, let's be honest, and quite honestly? You would be if your pride didn't make so WEAK. You could have come back home years ago. You've chosen to WASTE your peak in far off lands because you felt disrespected by CWA. They claim you are cerebral, that you're calculating, but whenever you feel like you've been seen as lesser then, you're like a bull zoning out anything else to gore that red rag, Jon Snomantashi, Mike Parr….Bell Connelly. The list goes on and is well established; you sought out challenges that only served to hinder your ascent to where you want to be, not because you saw any glory in it, but because you must, because it's all you've ever lived for, to prove people wrong. If there's no challenge in it for you...
    you don't care… Isn't that what I am to you? Just another battle, Isn't that how you see me? You don't see it as a worthy fight, and therefore, you have no idea how to come at me? Will you attempt to undermine that which you don't understand? Laugh it off? Come at it with venom? Do you even understand what you're fighting? How do you combat something that doesn't trigger your pride? IT'S ALL YOU KNOW!! You can't measure success any other way; you can't measure STRENGTH any other way. No, for you, it comes down to one word: validation. There's only one time I've ever seen you smile, was when you thought you finally got the better of Jon Snowmantashi….the one thing that could slate your ego...but that was taken away from you, wasn't it? After that? You don't care anymore, do you? You have nothing to fight for...While I fight for my name, meaning something once more, while all you desire is a glittering spotlight held over you, And fighting is just an excuse to get your fix to relieve yourself from that echo yawning void that lays deep within your soul.

    The televisions continued to flicker, the pulsing light seeming to quicken. Her distaste was becoming clear.

    Lilith:" Let's not be glib; When you step in front of me, it's a mere warm-up match for your date with destiny. You're fighting for one more fix, But What do you know about fighting for survival, Michelle? How many times have you stepped in the ring fearing not a loss… but fearing for your LIFE??? Because that's what you need to start doing., that's how you survive the Darkness, but you don't want to survive, do you? You want to glitter-! You want to impress. Constantly you allow your lust for FAME to overcome you. You want to make sure that the entire world has to stand up and look at you. You want every man and woman to have a glorious view so that they can stand and applaud and give you the validation that you so desperately need. You crave being seen as the best. And that? That weakness? It's trapped you into a path that you can't take back. It's set you on a path to complete and utter RUINATION!! Because when you allow pride to take over your mind… when you allow your identity, your DNA to be DEFINED by your ego and how you might look in front of other people. Then you've already lost. Pride might matter to you, Michelle but make no mistake: it doesn't matter to me… Real champions don't concern themselves with the opinions of those around them, but you… since the first day you came here … every call you've made has been in pursuit of validation. And at south pacific, when you're looking up at me, standing over you, and you realize that I've taken EVERYTHING, YOU EVER HAD… you'll realize the truth of that. But by then? By then, it's too late. Pride comes before a fall, Michelle… and at South Pacific ?" Down...down...down you go!

    On cue, the TVs all went dark as though all the unseen power cables had been cut at once. The room was silent and eerie black once more, and then without warning, the camera whirled out through the door and back into the corridor, back through the labyrinthine passageways and cul-de-sacs that made up the tortured mind of tonight's challenger. Wails came from behind some of the doors now. Others were being hammered on from within, dull thuds threatening to knock them from their hinges. Lilith had disturbed the balance. When next, the camera stopped at one of the doors; this one looked different to the last. There was a large brass handle in the centre of the wood, spinning this way and that. The door didn't open, though. It seemed to ooze uncertainty. Lilith smiles.

    Lilith: "Everyone suffers this one, Michelle, and at South Pacific, it's your turn. DOUBT..."

    The handle, so wracked with its own doubt, finally spun one way, and the door flew open. Inside this time was a creature, a hideous beast! The beast made no motion forward and indeed didn't seem to pay any attention to the camera. It was anxious, its hands on its head and a pained expression on its face. It was the embodiment of anxiety and self-doubt. Bell had evidently found the demon of doubt that resided in MVH's head.

    Lilith: "I must admit, you hide this door well, Michelle, but I always knew it was here if I looked hard enough. You see, I know your words were hollow. Since this match was announced since I cut you down at One Night Only, and you refused to acknowledge it. I could see it. With everything you say, every prediction… every vow… every promise you make, there was a time when you believed that you could deliver on them. There was a time when the idea that you could fail never even entered your head. But now? Now you've had plenty of evidence to the contrary, haven't you? You thought You could break the one they call Parr before he became a problem and blighted your route to the one prize you wanted...but look at what happened, he baited you. He pushed your buttons, and you gifted him with what he wished for all along when you didn't need to, and this is the closest you've come to the world title in the last year. That's the sign. That's the PROOF that you are not the one to lay me to rest….But no… that won't do for you, will it, Michelle? You can't accept defeat until it's staring you in the face. You can't give up… you're immortal You have to WIN. You have to prove the rest of the world wrong; you're the best in the world...Just like you planned in regards to Jon Snowmantashi, that you were finally going to break him...Just like you were going to humble Bell Connelly? Just like you planned to honour your friend Gerald Grayson and become tag team champions.. All those times, you told everybody that this time it was different. This time you were going to win. But then you can't back up your words! But still, you repeat the cycle No. Not MVH! Michelle Von Horrorwitz is different! MVH is unstoppable! What kind of wrestling genius needs an army of denial just to try to keep this doorway to doubt slammed shut? You're no Queen. You're no Goddess.. You're just a woman wrestling against the inevitable. And at South Pacific? When I lift back the veil again, You're going to have nowhere else to go. And when I beat you, offer you before the Darkness and prove that I am the one true force of CWA and take your dreams of Back In Business from you. This demon of doubt is going to break loose, Michelle… and he's going to run WILD around the corridors of your mind… poisoning EVERYTHING, he touches. Trust me, I know; better than everyone what the demon of doubt can do….and so do you. You know what awaits you when you fall before me.… and that's why this isn't the only door that you've kept hidden from the watching world."

    Lilith leans forward in a hushed voice.

    Lilith:: But I found it, Dreamer...I found it.

    She stays in that position for some time, letting her words sink in before a dark smirk comes to her features.

    Lilith: Come. Let me show you.

    The camera whirled around again, leaving the doubt demon to writhe and moan in the dark. The door closed behind it, and once more viewers took off down the corridor, turning this way and that around sharp bends and whizzing past an endless procession of doors large and small, black and white, wood and steel… on and on until the Darkness deepened and a sense grew that this was a blacker and distant corner of MVH's mind than any they had yet visited. There weren't even shrieks or thumping or clawing sounds coming from behind the doors down here. There was only a silence more soul-sapping than any of the previous disturbances. The air seemed close. At the end of the corridor, the door they stopped at was wooden but chipped and scarred as though marked by the claws of some great beast. Bloodstains smeared it, etching out a single word in their crimson hue: 'FEAR'.

    Lilith: You understand, of course, what's behind this one, don't you, Dreamer? This is the final destination... when doubt manifests, and there's no other escape. This is the part of your mind you'll go to when all others have failed you. This is where you'll go… when you're afraid of the dark."

    The door was flung open, and the camera peered inside, zooming further and further into the blackness. There was a shuffling noise and a rattling of chains, as though a prisoner had been awoken. As they crawled forward, a single shaft of light picked up on their left eye. As it opened, it was wild and animated, like no human eye could be. Darting this way and that as though for some unseen peril, unblinking, unceasing, the eye ignored the camera.

    Lilith: "You already know where doubt will lead you, Dreamer, because you've felt it. I saw it in your eyes the second you failed to defeat Jon Snowmanatshi and I see it each and every time I've looked at you. The fear of failure. You feel different now, don't you? You know what awaits. You know how it feels… to be ALONE IN THE DARK. This is where your mind brought you. After you lose at South Paerfic? This is the fate that you were consigned to. But you couldn't stand it. Unable to beat all those you became obsessed with, You made promises that time after time you failed to keep, but each time you made a new promise, you had a purpose, and you broke free of the chains that held you here, But no matter where you go, no matter who you target, all the time you kept coming back here, Michelle. To this room. You kept asking yourself the same question. You kept waking up at night hearing the same words echoing around the Darkness. 'What happens when the promises run out?' And that's the REAL question, isn't it? What happens after tonight, when there are no more promises? What happens when you have to look people in the eye and tell them all that you FAILED? That you're mortal? Your forced exile bought yourself some time, Michelle, but that's all. And now that time runs out. Now the chains that you've been trying to fight off ever since you returned … they're going to snap closed around you, and they're going to drag you into the Darkness. There will be no light… no glory… no fortune, and fame… and there will be no FWA Championship. No hope. No future. Down here, in the dark…? There's only FEAR. You know you're not special. You've always known. You don't have the MIND of an immortal. That's not what scares you. What scares you is that the rest of the world is about to find out too. And when they do? When you become NOTHING? Then everything you ever stood for… everything you ever wanted… everything you ever WERE… will belong to me.

    Lilith puts her hand on her collarbone and pauses to underline her words.

    Lilith:...You'll be left here to rot, Michelle. I'll leave you here as a testament to what happens to those that believe that I'm not a threat anymore. Those that doubt me. That there is no women's division. There never was in CWA. There is ONLY. LILITH. THE DARKNESS. INESCAPABLE. UNYIELDING. UNSTOPPABLE. When your mind is as broken as your body… when I've thrown open each and every door, you see here tonight, and everything is chaos and fear and Darkness…? THEN. AND ONLY THEN- Then you have my permission to crawl into the darkest hole i put you in and GIVE UP. But until then? South Pacific …? I want you to fight me, Michelle. I want you to shake off the fear and the doubt, and I want you to give one last effort; I envision you to be that rarest thing; I want you to be a sacrifice worth my time. So cast off this fear, Michelle Cast it off and give yourself an ending that people will talk about for YEARS to come. Let another emotion command you. Let a corner of your mind that you've never tapped into be your guiding light..."

    In an instant, the heavy door swung shut, and the camera was surging back down the corridor the way that it had come. Higher and higher it climbed, out of the realm of fear. Lighter grew the corridors, louder the doors and faster the travel. Higher and higher, more than ever before. Up staircases and ramps, taking corners sharp and narrow, until the doors grew much fewer. On the camera went until it faced a massive staircase that seemed to have no end. It still climbed even as Lilith spoke.

    Lilith: Up here resides the purest of all emotions, Michelle. This is the corner of the mind that fuels me. This is what I've released. And it is your only hope of survival…"

    The stairway ended at last, and at the top was a single door. It was ornately carved with an elegant golden handle. When it opened, a vast landscape that yawned before us; there was a line of trees stretching out – an entire world beyond the door. And overhead the deafening and awesome power of a lightning storm as it struck its anger upon the sundered earth below.

    Lilith: The one thing that can help you in the heart of Darkness; RAGE-!

    The lightning flashed again. It was a devastating show of raw, natural power.

    Lilith: Since the rebirth of CWA, I have been neglected… I was marginalized… I was written off...It was my title STOLEN from me. Left to feed off scraps at One Night Only...ignored for a year...set aside for The Gold Rush... locked up like fear and doubt and pride and so much more. All the ways that you're going to feel after I defeat you? I've felt them all but the difference between you and me? I have no interest in living my life for the approval of anyone. But what I am… is a demon; every one that stands in front of me I cut them down with fury. I cut them down to SPITE, a world that never knew me. I take them to DEVOUR those that choose to mock and undermind me. I release the demon inside me, and I BREAK… I TEAR… I DESTROY. I have sensed her rising incredulity at being confronted by the world that did not bend to her whim or offer her a shortcut to the success to which she believes that her brilliance entitles her. For women like Michelle… there is no responsibility, and there is no accountability. There is neither duty nor honour. There is only… the self. MVH alone is not concerned by her mortality because her pride has blinded her to the vulnerability of her position. Her doubt has destroyed her ability to understand and empathize with the world around her. And now? Her fear has led her down a road which she will be immensely sorry that she had embarked upon because mortality does not have an obligation to respect you, Michelle. The Darkness does not concern itself with your attributes or achievements. One by one, each and every mortal will be judged on the scale, and it is only their soul which will determine their fate. I… am that scale. And I will measure The Dreamer, and I will find her soul to be unworthy of the opportunity she has been given. I will find… you … to be unworthy."

    Lilith raised her arms, outstretched, and offered her hands to the camera.

    Lilith "Mortality is not evading you, Michelle and make no mistake about it: the rules do apply to you despite what your pride may tell you. I am to be the embodiment of your destruction. And soon, you will learn what countless others have learned before you: that when the hour of your demise draws close at hand, there is no bargain to be made. There will be no reasoning with the finality of my judgment, and there will be no deference to the status that you perceive yourself to have. There will be a shortcut for you, but it does not lead to Snowmantashi. It does not lead to Mike Parr. It does not lead to Dave Sullivan. It does not lead to Bell Connelly. It does not lead to titles. It leads… to enteral Darkness. And I will ensure that you occupy it."

    Lilith sniffed and turned her head, clearly unwilling to spend any more time debating. She was no respecter of entitlement, believing that only that which you took by force was ever truly yours.

    Lilith: "The souls that I have has taken… countless… stretch out from this place into the great beyond. Every one of these rooms marks a… a life… whose path ran across that of the Darkness, Each and every one of those men were weighed… and measured… and laid to rest. How many of them fight? How many of them, in that final moment, found the courage and the determination to resist the inevitability of their ultimate defeat? Michelle will resist She offers only her toil and her heart, and in the end, she represents the purest form of resistance to mortality that can be imagined: Each room that you see before you mark the ending of a story just… like… yours. Whether they resisted, whether they faced their final moments upon this earth with a courage and a defiance of the facts that lay so stark before them… or whether they simply offered themselves willingly to the Darkness… it does not matter. The result… is always the same. There is no defying the odds in life's final battle, Rage, Rage against the dying of the light….They all do and you like them will fail.

    Lilith turned back from the wall and cast an eye at the clock face. It was two minutes to midnight. The ticking of the clock, the seconds marching ever on just as they would in the scramble, was taking on an air of finality. Lilith looked up at the bells which hung above her and then returned back to the camera.

    Lilith "Soon... I will begin the work of rebuilding the world around me. The Dreamer will come to the heart of Darkness, and she will become the foundation upon which my new kingdom is founded. She will become… a symbol of the fate of any man who opposes The mother of ravens.… Time will be the undoing of my enemies, and I will prove that it is I… and not The Dreamer… who truly holds dominion. I will prove that it is I who is the mistress of CWA... And I will prove that I… am….Forever. Your mind will fall, Dreamer, and there will be nobody there to catch you. You will break, and all that will be left for you is a very mortal...fear.

    Lilith pauses momentarily; she looks back at the clock behind her….in just a few seconds, all hands will turn to twelve. Any moment now

    Lilith: Michelle Von Horrorwitz... Your time approaches."


    Lilith: "Ask not for whom the bell tolls…"


    Lilith: "For it tolls for thee."


    Lilith: "It tolls for all mankind. And the end of the Age of Dreams."


    Lilith: "It heralds… the Heart of Darkness."


    The door to the fury slammed shut, and suddenly the camera was falling. As high as it had climbed, now it was cascading down stairways and corridors and deeper and deeper into the Darkness of this clocktower Faster than it had ever moved before, toward the black abyss of fear. Still, the camera fell. Past the door marked Pride. Past the door marked Doubt, where the doubt demon was now loose in the halls and tearing at the wallpaper, howling like a banshee and beating itself on the headThe camera arrived all the way back at the door marked 'Fear', and it yawned open to receive it. The camera was sucked in, and the door slammed shut. A lock clicked. In the Darkness, the camera thrashed around looking for an escape, for light, for solace.

    But there was none.
    Last edited by An Original Name; 07-04-2021 at 05:32 AM.
    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

  10. #10
    Friendship King

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    Apr 2011
    The Pillow Fort
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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

    Prologue; the voice of Sam Elliot begins his narration.

    I’d be remiss if I said that the Gang Stars weren’t experiencing internal issues.

    Quote Originally Posted by FWA Desert Storm 2020
    Alyster sprints forward and nails a soccer kick right to the ribs of Krash! Krash gasps in pain, but Alyster does not relent, unloading with stomps and knees to the downed man! He drops to his knees and follows with forearms, elbows, the odd headbutt! It’s a Violence Party! He finally stops, if only because of Krash’s blood staining the face of his mask, and kicks him out of the ring.
    There’s wounds. Pain. Heartache. You think they’re healed but the truth is, they aren’t. Sometimes the scars never properly fade.

    Quote Originally Posted by FWA Desert Storm 2020
    But as the dust clears, Krash still has Discordant Serenity locked in tight! He wraps his legs around Alyster’s torso for extra oomph, and constricts as much as possible! Alyster struggles, flailing, his free hand grasping for anything that may help, before curling around a wooden shard from the table! He raises it, jabbing it in Krash’s direction, but the motion is weak! His grip falters, the shard drops from his grasp! And in a barely audible whisper, with the last of air in his lungs, Alyster speaks.

    "I quit."
    Friendship is a fickle thing. A rollercoaster. It has its ups and downs. Highs and lows. For the Gang Stars, those lows eat away at them.

    Quote Originally Posted by APW on HDnet 2012
    Krash climbs up the opposite side of the ladder. Both men reach up for the APW world championship. Scraping at the leather belt. Alyster pie faces Krash, trying to knock him down. Krash responds with a vicious elbow shot. Alyster responds with one of his own. They trade punches atop the ladder. It wobbles, threatening to topple over at any moment. Krash ducks a wild haymaker from Black then claws at his mask, gouging his eyes. Krash climbs up higher and grabs Alyster by the head and dives off the side of the ladder. Hitting a vicious DDT. Krash locks in the Discordant Serenity on the floor!
    Forgiveness is implied but often hard to give, or accept. The issues the Gang Stars face, swelling under the surface, behind a veil of friendship, is the kind that keeps them up at night. Pretending everything is okay for the Gang Stars is second nature, like a dog licking its balls.


    Gang Star HQ

    Krash: We’re here.

    Alyster blinked, sitting up and rubbing a palm over his eyes. It felt like only seconds ago, they had landed at LAX airport. Only moments ago that Alyster let his head drift against the window, closing his eyes just for a heartbeat. Then another. Then another, then… They were here. He bit back a yawn, stretching, as Krash idly tapped a thumb against the steering wheel.

    Alyster: What?

    He spoke in a sluggish, exhausted tone. Sleep never came easily, let alone on a flight or a car ride. It was a miracle he managed to nod off during the drive.

    Krash: We’re here.

    Krash’s tone was low, measured, evenly careful, with a hint of discomfort, as he gazed out the window, an unrecognizable expression encroaching on his face. Alyster leaned forward, glancing out the window at absolutely nothing.

    Alyster: Where the hell is here?

    Krash let out a rattled sigh, unbuckling his seatbelt.

    Krash: The old Gang Star HQ. Or what’s left of it.

    With that, he pushed open the car door, and stepped outside. Alyster did the same, stretching his limbs in the fresh air, and finally noticed the isolated lot where Krash parked lacked the once glorious homestead of the team.

    A rancid, decayed shell of a home stood, the foundations burnt black and twisted from sheer heat. It sat, abandoned by any owner and ravaged by time, a blackened eyesore in the middle of an empty lot. Alyster stared at it with disbelieving eyes. Surely this was some mistake. Surely the years of his life, the time spent growing into one of the best wrestlers and worst people on the planet, didn’t happen in this rusted carcass of a house. Surely, all his favourite memories didn’t occur in this glorified homeless shelter.

    Alyster: It’s a burnt-out husk. What the hell happened?

    Krash coughed awkwardly, drumming his fingers against the hood of his car. Alyster turned, pointedly glaring.

    Krash: I was… going through a rough time a few years back. One thing led to another-

    Alyster: And you burned our old house down?!?

    Krash made a desperate shushing motion as Alyster’s offended shrill cry echoed across the area, having at least had the common decency to look ashamed

    Krash: It sounds bad when you put it that way.

    Alyster: It sounds bad because it IS bad! What the fuck, man?!?

    Krash: Look, it was a rough time! It was during that time period where you-

    Alyster: Where I what, Krash?!?

    Krash froze, his words stuttering to a halt. Despite Alyster’s eyes being locked behind a thick mask, Krash could feel the venom in them bore into his skin, all from a slip of the tongue.

    Krash: I-... Look, it’s not important, let-

    Alyster: Where I wasn’t there, right?!?

    The pained expression on Krash’s face told Alyster that he had hit the target dead-on. He groaned in exasperation, rubbing his face with his hands.

    Krash: Alys-

    Alyster: No, no, I get it now. I get my ankle shattered, get my heart ripped apart, and you decide it’s a good time to burn our old house down!

    Krash: It was a rough time, alright?!? I-

    Alyster: I don’t fucking believe you. This- This fucking building, we spent YEARS in it. It was our home. It was our sanctuary. It was where the Gang Stars LIVED. And you burned it down one night because you were fucking lonely?!?

    A noise that was a cross between a stunted laugh and a hacked cough escaped from Krash’s lungs as he shook his head in disbelief.

    Krash: You don’t get it. I- This is fucking incredible. All this time and you still don’t get it.

    Alyster: What don’t I get?!? What bit of information am I failing to understand that somehow justifies you burning our house down?!?

    Krash: You broke my fucking heart, Alyster! You gave me the best years of my life, then you took it all away without a word! Do you know how long I spent waiting at the door, waiting for you to come waltzing up the footpath? Do you have any idea of the nights I spent on the couch instead of out celebrating being a champion, because I was too sick with worry about you to live it up?!? Do you have any godamned idea what I went through, not even knowing if you were still alive because you didn’t even have the common fucking decency to answer one godamned text message?!?

    Alyster: I thought you were over this!

    Krash: I thought so too! I don’t know what it is, but trying to drag ourselves down memory lane isn’t making me feel better about how things turned out!

    Alyster: I don’t know, you turned out okay! ‘Behold, Krash, King of CWA, forever and a half!’ You did everything and anything without me, so clearly the times couldn’t have been all bad, right?!?

    Stammering, Krash took a step back, his hands gripping the car door.

    Krash: That is NOT what this is about and you know it!

    Alyster: Oh yeah? Alright. Alright. Look me in the eyes. Look me in my eyes and tell me you weren’t more successful after I left you.

    Krash: Oh no, fuck this. I’m not-

    Alyster: Why did you do so well when I left?

    Krash: I’m not doing this with you, A-

    Alyster: Was I holding you back the whole time?

    Krash: Don’t yo-

    With uncanny speed, Alyster suddenly leapt forward, grabbing a fistful of Krash’s shirt and shoving his face into Krash’s.

    Alyster: Answer me!

    Silence reigned, with nought but the heartbeat in each other’s chests echoing in their ears. Too many emotions, brimming to the surface. Anger. Frustration. Irritation. Krash slowly brought his hands to Alyster’s wrists, and pried his grasp free from his shirt/

    Krash: … You know what? Fuck this.

    And with that, Krash ducked back into the car, slamming the door and revving the ending.

    Alyster: Where do you think you’re going?

    Krash: I don’t know. Anywhere but here.

    Peeling away in a cloud of smoke, Krash abruptly sped off into the distance, leaving Alyster alone in the wreckage that was once their home.

    The masked man couched and waved his hand through the air, batting the smoke away and turned to the burned wreckage of his former home.

    Alyster: God damn it…

    He looked out into the street and watched as the car drove into the sunset and out of sight.

    Alyster: I’m sorry Krash.

    Alyster was heartbroken. He didn’t mean to lose his temper like that. But the man burned his home down, damn it! How would you react?

    A sigh escaped his lips as we walked up the pavement to the porch, the doorframe was still intact. The door itself hadn’t survived. Alyster stepped over the rubble and walked over the scorched and dusty floorboards.

    What was Krash’s problem anyway? He really was just fine without his ‘buddy’ holding him back. Ruler of the Ring, Wrestle Royal, tag team, Pure, NA and World championships. All without his partner!

    When Alyster Black leaves everyone is better off for it. Even Krash.

    The masked man kicked a pile of debris, sending flakes of ashy wood into the air. The particles lingered and Alyster was forced into a coughing fit. He moves down the charred hallways and into one of the many bedrooms. His old room.

    What laid out before him was the perfect metaphor for his life. Everything he’d ever loved and cared for. Burned to ash and unrecognisable. It’s the exact sort of dwellings he deserved. He knew it, he just couldn’t stand to deal with it. The way he treated Krash, walking out on him the way he did. It’s a wonder that Krash was able to forgive him. A testament to his patience for the ever-loving fuck up that was Alyster Black.

    The bed was somewhat intact. He sat down on the edge of it, the springs creaked loudly and he sunk down low. His head slunked down into his hands and he rubbed his temple. Thinking about things. They were well and truly supposed to be over their issues. A united front against all that would challenge them. The Gang Stars of old. Young, vicious, hungry and willing to go out and take what was owed to them.

    So why did it feel so...inauthentic?

    Alyster fell back across the bed, bouncing on the rusted springs and let out a pained groan. Something was jabbing his back. He rolled over and reached under himself. Pulling out a small framed photo. The corners of which had been burnt down to a nub, but seemed to be perfectly fine otherwise. He flipped it over and beneath shattered glass was a very old picture.

    2011, a bar in Cairo, Egypt. Following CWA’s Meltdown pay-per-view where the pair had just been crowned the CWA World Tag Team champions for the first time.

    They looked so young and so happy. Both of them. Krash was sitting in the foreground, laughing while Alyster stood behind him with his mask folded up, mouth agape and tongue hanging out, one arm wrapped around his partner's neck to force him to pose for the camera while the other hand was outstretched with a fresh pint. The titles were nearly folded and sitting on the table in front of them. In the background you could just make out the large figure of one Chubby Carlos photobombing the happy moment.

    Alyster remembered that day clearly. Fresh off the disappointment of losing their first title match, having earned a second shot and starting what would turn into nearly two years of the pair being involved in every single CWA tag team title match.

    It was so much easier then. Everything was easier, because they were together. Because they weren’t capable of abandoning one another. Steve Storme left, Dash Blade left. Alyster and Krash were the only two who remained. The only soldiers willing to continue fighting for the Gang Stars.

    They took the name for themselves, made it about only the two of them. They became synonymous with tag team wrestling in CWA.

    And Alyster threw it all away.

    He snapped the frame in the corner and pulled the picture out. Folded it in half and put it in the pocket of his jeans then just continued to lay on the charred remains on his bed, staring into the now night sky above.


    Krash’s fingers twitched against the steering wheel as he sped away in silence. The Gang Star HQ, or what rusted husk was left of it, rapidly faded from his rearview mirror, and with it, the lone, solitary figure of Alyster Black - tag team partner, ally, and friend who still couldn’t understand - disappeared.

    He released an agitated breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. Alyster. Fucking Alyster. How hard was it to simply understand, understand and accept that shit was terrible years ago? Yeah, Krash burned down their old home. So what? By that point, Alyster hadn’t set foot in the Gang Star HQ in years. The fuck did it matter to him? Krash was the one who came back to that empty house again and again and again, constantly being reminded that he was waiting for a ghost that wouldn’t return. So yeah, one night the constant silence and loneliness got to him, and he torched it. Not the first time, probably won’t be the last. Besides, anything of value had been moved away from it long ago. All that house was, was memories. Memories and nothing more.

    But wasn’t that the most important keepsake? The memories that kept him moving forward?

    Krash’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel, turning a corner.

    It’s not about the memories. It’s not about the house. It’s about Alyster and his absolute fucking inability to just listen and understand. It’s not too much to ask for, right? He didn’t even know why he agreed to show Alyster what happened to the Gang Star HQ. In what other world would things have gone differently?

    The silence was getting to him. On the drive to the Gang Star HQ, even if the stereo was off, the soft sound of Alyster breathing in his sleep was soothing enough. Fumbling, Krash jammed a finger against the stereo, willing something - anything to start playing.


    Not that.

    Krash didn’t even like Hollywood Undead.

    But as his fingers rushed to skip the song to literally anything else, his hand stopped. Faltered. And fell to the side.

    Of all the songs to start playing, it had to be the Gang Star’s first theme.

    Krash’s grimace softened, as the car began to slow down.

    Sure, it was the theme they had when Steve Storme formed the group, and Krash didn’t have enough say to shoot it down. But it was the theme they had right at the beginning, all the same. When it was just him, Alyster, and occasionally Steve, against the world, before everything went to shit.

    The car slowly ground to a halt, and Krash smacked his forehead against the steering wheel, groaning.

    He was being unreasonable.

    Yeah, he suffered. He went through shit that still clings to him to this very day, despite his best efforts.

    But fuck, so did Alyster.

    The fuck kind of friend was he, to push away the worries and insecurities of his best friend, because he got lonely once or twice?

    If the roles were switched, if it was Krash who snapped his ankle into pieces and vanished for years, watching from afar as Alyster created a king’s legacy for himself, would he be lying if he said there wouldn’t be a hint of insecurity?


    For all of Krash’s fears that Alyster abandoned him, at least it was only due to radio silence and mental health issues.

    For Alyster’s worries of abandonment, he had the misfortune of watching Krash win everything there is to win while he sat on the sidelines.

    Imagine a world that is exactly the same as yours, except for one thing: You’re not there. You don’t exist. You never did. You’re watching from the outside at a world you had no influence in. And then imagine everyone in your life doing better without you. It didn’t matter if on the inside, they were falling to pieces. You wouldn’t be able to know. All you could see was the outside and how fucking grand everything was going.

    Who wouldn’t feel like they were a leech, holding the people they loved back? Who wouldn’t feel completely and utterly worthless in the grand scheme of things? How the fuck did Krash not see it earlier?

    Because he was being selfish, that’s why.

    The tires screeching, Krash abruptly pulled a u-turn, speeding back to the Gang Star HQ, in hopes that Alyster would still be there.


    The car’s engine snapped into silence outside the ruins of the Gang Star HQ.

    Stepping outside, Krash approached, letting out a sigh of relief at the masked figure sitting on the front step, idly drawing in the ashes of their former home. Barely reacting to Krash’s re-appearance, Alyster wiped a smudge of charcoal on his knee, before finally glancing at Krash in acknowledgement.

    A long, awkward silence stirred between the two. Krash scratched the back of his head awkwardly, while Alyster’s face - expression and all - was hidden behind that familiar mask.

    Krash: Hey.

    Alyster: Hey.

    Off to a good start. His voice didn’t sound bitter or irritated. It sounded pensive, contemplative.

    Krash: Kinda surprised you’re still here.

    Alyster: Where the fuck else would I go?

    Krash opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. An apology was on the tip on his tongue, but it went unsaid. It would’ve been an empty gesture, and they both knew it. Instead, he sat down on the front step next to Alyster, the ruined husk of the Gang Star HQ rotting behind them.

    Krash: What happened to us?

    Alyster: We grew up. Things changed. That’s what.

    Krash: We used to just spend every week talking shit to anyone and everyone. Hanging out on the couch with hardly a care in the world because what the fuck did it matter, we were already the tag champions. We’d record us talking shit about whoever we were facing and call it a day. Sure, there was drama, but fuck, nothing this bad. Why can’t we just… Do that, anymore?

    Alyster let out a sigh, shaking his head.

    Alyster: Do you miss it?

    Krash: Miss what exactly? The old days?

    Alyster: I don’t know. This. That. The good old days where nothing really mattered. We’d just show up, drop a few wisecracks, pop each other, then go beat up whatever tag team CWA carted out for us. It was simple, it was fun, it was… I don’t know. Real. What happened?

    Krash: I don’t know. Shit happened. Life happened. Fuck, dude. We happened.

    Alyster scoffed.

    Alyster: What’s that supposed to mean?

    Krash: Means we got ahead of ourselves. Got ahead of our goals. Lost sight of what really brought us together, and we paid for it by either getting injured or drifting apart. What we're doing now is trying to recapture the magic, put the genie back in the bottle, but it's not the same. I want it to be the same so badly, but it’s not. This road trip, we're not trying to change the world, we're trying to recapture the good old days but we just… Can’t. That's it.

    Alyster: Like I asked. Do you miss it?

    Krash: I don’t know.

    Krash sighed, placing his head in his hands. After a second, Alyster leaned back, exhaling.

    Alyster: Do you think The Division do this?

    Krash: Get hung up on the past and prevent themselves from looking to the future? Probably. They’re holding on to something just like we are.

    Alyster: They’re holding on to the shit days of CWA where the pure stuff was all the rage, yeah?

    The arch of Alyster’s eyebrow was somehow audible, if not visible, behind his mask.

    Krash: At least they’re passionate about what they love. They poured their heart into trying to make the pure stuff work and it ended in sweet fuck all. Can’t help but be a bit sympathetic to them, y’know? I know it’s not my scene but I know how it sucks to watch something you helped build go nowhere.

    Alyster: Is it wrong that I’m still of the opinion of ‘They’re Shawn Summer’s lackeys, so fuck them via association’?

    Krash shrugged.

    Krash: Not necessarily. You didn’t get to know them in CWA. To you, that’s all they are - Summer’s lackeys. And to me, they’re a duo with two loves - Pure wrestling, and tag team wrestling. One was already taken away from them and pissed on by anyone who passes by, the second is something they worked their assess off to build into what it is today, and for what? Nothing. They created the tag team tournament and left it empty handed. People are going to say ‘FWA’s tag team division stepped up after Golden Rock or The Toners - or fuck, let’s be selfish, The Gang Stars - stepped up to the plate.’ But let’s be real - if The Division hadn’t pushed and pushed for tag team wrestling in FWA, would Golden Rock or The Toners be main eventing? Hell, would we even be together?

    Alyster: Honestly? Probably not. Fuck, do I have to thank these cunts now?

    Krash: No, don’t.

    Alyster: But that’s the crux, ain’t it? Without the FWA Tag Team Tournament, we’d still be awkwardly waving at each other in the hallways. That’s it. Without The Division, the Gang Stars wouldn’t have the motivation to say ‘hey, what the fuck’ and ruin shit. I’m not thanking those cunts, mind you, but still.

    Krash: Honestly, you might like Noah Stocke if you had the chance. He once beat the shit out of Nate Savage’s manager just for shits and giggles. And I think he had Noah Hanson tied up in his basement at one point.

    Alyster: Sounds like my kinda guy. Can’t wait to trade fists with the cunt.

    Krash: And Trevor Ocean… He’s a good kid. He follows Noah’s lead, but he’s a good kid. Get him away from Noah, let him talk as himself, and he’s… Not too bad, y’know.

    Alyster: But they’re with Shawn goddamn Summers. He’s like 40% to blame for our issues.

    A stern unamused look, followed by a reluctant sigh.

    Alyster: No… you’re right.

    Krash: I know.

    Alyster: That isn’t going to stop me from whooping both their asses at South Pacific.

    Krash: I know. Won’t stop me either. I’m just saying - we kinda owe a lot to The Division, in a roundabout sort of way.

    Alyster: Yeah but we’re not going to say as much to their faces.

    Krash: Fuck no, even I have my limits. It just makes me think that, well, they’ve been through a lot of shit. Kinda like us. They stuck to what they thought was right. Kinda like us.

    Alyster: One’s a sadist sociopath and one’s a quiet friend.

    Krash: Kinda like us.

    Alyster: The thing that separates us from them, though. They fought in a division of scraps and realized once they dragged the big fish into their little pond, they were going to be bait and nothing more. We fought in a division of some of the best in history, and when the big fish bit, we bit back. They’re passionate, they’re a team that deserves to be spoken of with some sincerity - but at the end of the day, they’re a team who talked the talk, and couldn’t walk the walk.

    Krash: And what about us? We’re barely talking to each other, let alone talking the talk. Reckon we can still walk the walk too?

    Alyster: Fucker, we’ve been through so much shit, together and individually, that we shouldn’t be walking any kind of walk. But look at us. Look at where we are. We’ve walked too far to let a pair of gatekeeping purists drag us back to the starting line.

    Krash: … Hey.

    Alyster: Hey what?

    Krash: You were right.

    Alyster: Of course I was. Right about what?

    Krash: This. Us shooting the shit before verbally pissing on our rivals of the week. I did miss it.

    Alyster: Me too, man. Me too..


    Epilogue; the voice of Sam Elliot, dulcet, warm, an ever welcome pleasant sound to our ears, returns to finish our tale.

    There you have it friends. No friendship is perfect. All people have issues. Even the Gang Stars. But in spite of those issues, those boys are still the best of friends.

    Quote Originally Posted by CWA In Exile 2012
    Guardian Devil is down on his knees, looking up at Krash and Alyster Black, begging them off. The two Gang Stars shake their heads and reel back, winding up for something big. They both strike like shotgun shells and put Guardian Devil out of his misery with a pair of superkicks. Krash makes the cover and the Gang Stars are now two time CWA Tag Team Champions.
    Adversity breeds acceptance.

    Quote Originally Posted by FWA Fight Night 18.09.20
    The referee counts three on Alyster and the bell rings. Parr and Krash have eliminated Black Caramel from the Division Tag Team Classic Tournament. Krash immediately pulls Alyster Black into a tight hug. Krash whispers into Alyster’s ear, consoling him, apologising and thanking him. Alyster manages to lift his arms up and wrap them around his friend.
    Trials breed trust.

    Quote Originally Posted by Desert Storm 2021
    There’s a commotion and the sound of body’s falling! When the lights come back on Golden Rock are down on the floor and standing over them are the Leather Boys! Decked out from head to toe in motorbike gear. Jackets, gloves, helmets... and wielding a set of lead pipes.

    Krash: Alyster?

    The Leather Boys look at each other then out to the crowd. There’s a murmur amongst the audience, a low rumbling of boos and an anticipation. The Leather Loys look at each other once more and then reach for the bottom of their jackets and begin to unzip them. Their jackets open and around their waists sit the CWA Tag Team Titles! The crowd perks up, the rumbling growing louder as the two biker boys remove their helmets... Revealing a mask and a moustache!

    Alyster: Yeah?

    Krash has a bandage around his head, bloodied and raggedy-looking, while the state that Black is in is hidden by his mask, it’s safe to assume that he looks as rough as his partner does following their I Quit match earlier tonight. Indeed, as the two sway unsteadily on their feet, they look and feel like two patients who just got released from a back alley surgeon… And yet, here they are. They take a moment to look out amongst the crowd, giving everyone a good view of just who they are and as they do. Some are booing the pair, while some are cheering, and Devin…

    Krash: How long would you fight for me?

    Devin Golden gets up to his knees, grasping at the leather pants of Krash. Krash kneels down next to him, and looks him in the eyes, smiling as he would an old friend, and offers a hand. Knocked loopy, Devin doesn’t realize the danger he’s in as Krash helps him to his feet, brushing the grit off of Devin’s shoulder’s. Devin’s eyes finally focus on the leather garb, the leap pipe in one hand, and the face of Krash in front of him, and his eyes narrow in confusion, before widen in shock- Right before Alyster Black strikes with a leap pipe to the chin! Devin goes back down, his hand falling free of Krash’s, who looks on with an unreadable expression. Randy Ramon throws himself at the duo, pushing Alyster back, only to catch a snap superkick to the just by Krash! He’s down again!

    Alyster: To my last breath.

    Alyster Black and Krash high-five each other, before walking up the aisle, limping slightly. Pausing at the head of the ramp, the two take off their CWA Tag Team Titles, clink the faceplates together, and turn back to face Golden Rock with a grin... Before disappearing behind the curtain.
    And calamities... breed connections.
    Last edited by Smooth Jazz Wolf; 07-05-2021 at 03:22 AM.


  11. #11
    Young Gunz
    Comeback Kid's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jul 2011
    Viridian City
    Rep Power
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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

    I REALLY wanted to finish this and post it before the deadline, but I procrastinated too long and couldn't figure out where to go when I finally sat down and started to write. Apologies to SS, Krash, and Rawr as I know how hard they worked to put together the story and make this match big.

    Anyways, here's the incomplete Division Promo

    The sun rages with intensity down on the Sonoran Desert as the clouds remain nonexistent. The soil of the desert, deprived of proper moisture for quite some time, embedded itself into the lower back of the white male dragged by his heels. His head smacks upon the side of a boulder drawing the attention of one of the two females that drags him. Her hair was long and shiny like darkened silk. Beads of sweat trace her face, showcasing the contours of her beauty before quenching the thirsty soil below. She loosens her grip on the ankle of the man - her face painted with concern.

    "Sh...should we be doing this," she wonders aloud. Her counterpart stops walking and looks at the white male that they've been dragging. Their brief immobilization ceases by the deep raspy call from an elder man walking ahead of them. His hair, silver due to his advanced age, is long and braided down his back. The valleys and creases in his face are deep with experience and filled with stories that would make the career of a Hollywood writer.

    "He asked for this," he says with a whisper. "He sought us out for this. We must not deny him of this experience." The elder tugs at the reigns of the trio of horses behind him. The three horses snort and clap their feet together before continuing their journey into the desert with him. "He must face his demons...alone. Only then will he be able to know that he can survive as an individual and work as a duo."

    The elder looks towards the sky and smacks his lips together to produce moisture in his dry mouth. The desert was always hot, but today it seemed as though the sun had taken residency within the orbit. "This young man...seems different from the many that come and ask for this," he remarks aloud. "Too many times, men have become consumed and overwhelmed by the manifestation of their demons. Men have shown that they've lacked the mental capacity to understand the need for help. They've shown that they depend too much on assistance - weakening both their body and mind. They could not understand that one plus one equals one." He stops his advancement and turns to the girls, raising a hand to signal them to stop. The elder slowly turns to examine the young white male that they have dragged out here. "Relieve him of his worldly possessions," he commands. "Should he endure, they will find their way back to him."

    The young women quickly work to strip the man from his clothing and electronics. Upon removing his items, the two rush to store them in a saddlebag attached to one of the horses. As they return to the man, they notice him groggily stirring awake. A dry cough escapes his lungs, drawing a look of concern from one of the women. The other reaches into another saddlebag and removes a flask and seashell before approaching the man. She kneels beside him and signals for the other girl to join her. While one of the women cradles the man's head in her hands, the other pours liquid from the flask onto the seashell. She places the seashell to the lips of the man, forcing him to drink. She repeats the process a multitude of times until the man attempts to refuse further. The girl pulls the seashell away, but the elder snaps his fingers at her - a command signaling to them that they must not stop until told. The man attempts to refuse the drink, but the other girl grabs his chin, forcing it down to allow an opening for her counterpart to deposit the liquid into his mouth. The man, too weak to fight back, reluctantly swallows. The girl attempts to pour the liquid onto the seashell once more, but the pour produces nothing. The two girls slowly begin to back away from the man as he bellows over. The two girls accept the reigns of their horses from the elder as he slowly approaches the man. He mouths words to himself as he ritualistically waves his hands over the man's body. The man's eyes become too heavy for him to carry, forcing him in and out of consciousness. As he drifts, his head pulsates like a drum - matching the rhythmic cadence of the elder's ritualistic chant. The elder finishes his chant and stares down at the man with worry. "I pray for you to find the peach you desire and the success you deserve, Trevor Ocean." The elder slowly mounts his horse and leads it in the direction that they had come. The young women do the same as Trevor Ocean lays sprawled out onto the desert floor.

    ACT I - Consumption of the Demon

    As the rays from the sun beam down onto his face, Trevor Ocean's eyes begin to flicker open. He turns his attention away from the sky and looks down upon the mauve-colored sand beneath him. He firmly places his foot on the ground, rests his hand on his knee, and raises to a seated position. Trevor looks around himself at the fuchsia-colored sky and neon orange sun. The desert, baron, and miscolored seem void of life. Trevor rises to his feet but quickly attempts to cover himself. His hands leave an afterimage as they race to shield his crotch from the world. Trevor slowly removes his right hand from his crotch to confirm his hands produced after images with each movement. He looks around for validation of the fact from someone, anyone, but no one was around. He was alone.

    This feeling, both calming and scary, was what he had searched for since leaving professional wrestling at the FWA 15th Anniversary show. To be alone. A state that he had wanted for so long. A feeling that he needed to find himself. The last year in professional wrestling had been aggressive on his physical and mental well-being. Yuna, stealing and stockholming his dog, had broken him mentally. The tag-team tournament had fragmented him emotionally. The CWA tag-team ladder match had splintered him physically. The thought of finally being alone caused him to erupt into hysterical laughter. The laughter echoed back at him.

    Trevor couldn't believe that after months of searching, he'd finally gotten what he wanted. He'd found the euphoria that was promised to him by so many. It was a good feeling but made to feel better because he discovered it without the help of either Shawn or Noah. He smiles to himself as his heart rhythmically thumps at a hurried pace. The smile slowly begins to fade from his face as reality begins to set in for Trevor.

    He was naked and alone in the desert with no food or water and no idea where civilization was. The thought of his death begins to fill his head. His breathing becomes sharp, and his heart begins to pulsate at an alarming pace. Sweat begins to bead up on Trevor's forehead multiplying with each swipe from his hand. Trevor Ocean was experiencing a bad trip. He was going to die.

    He steps and stumbles, catching himself with a palm on the dry soil. The palm of his hand hitting the ground felt like it had emitted shockwaves throughout the desert. The experience causes Trevor to begin to panic even more until he stops and begins to think about his studies up to this point. He'd done hours of research on the effects of taking hallucinogenics and how to stay grounded when on a bad trip. Trevor closes his eyes and begins to control his breathing. He slowly takes deep breaths in before blowing the oxygen out.

    "You're name is Trevor Ocean. You're 31 years old. You're a former professional wrestler. You choose this experience. You sought out help for finding yourself and understanding your place in this world. This is all part of the journey. You are going to be okay. chill. You need to chill. You need to..."


    Trevor opens his eyes and looks around for the source. He turns slightly and notices a small child of Asian descent - dressed in an oversized knapsack, no shoes, a black makeshift eye patch, and a pirate hat. She gingerly passes by Trevor atop a snow sled slowly pulled by a mangy-looking German Shephard. A colorful winged creature, that resembles a bird, sits upon the shoulder of the young girl as they cruise past Trevor at the speed of a brisk walk.

    "Yu...Yuna?" he wonders aloud. The girl turns around before quickly turning back with embarrassment. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a black and white flannel sheet holding it back towards Trevor.

    "Have you no respect for your captain, boy? Cover your shame when in the presence of your leader, boy."

    Trevor cautiously grabs the blanket from the young Yuna and wraps it around his waist - covering the lower half of his body. She peeks to make sure he's decent before pulling out her telescope and examining the area.

    "Leader," Trevor asks curiously.

    "Yes, you heard her right, boy," answers the winged creature sitting upon the shoulder of the captain. "Leader - the person in charge. The captain of this ship. You'd be wise to mind your manners when the captain is in one of her exploring moods, boy."

    "Yuna, what the hell are you doing out here?"

    The young captain's body becomes stiff as a board at the name that Trevor called her. The flying creature squawks and shrieks before pecking Trevor on the head repeatedly.

    "How dare you address the captain by that name! You have not earned that right, divided boy!"

    "Divided boy? I thought this was one of those Stars of the Gang."

    "No, no, no." The winged creature flies and lands atop Trevor's head. It grips his hair with his Talons and begins to pull.

    "See, no mask. And no curly mustache. He's one of those divided boys."

    "Is he the mean and scary one or the fool we pillaged the treasure from?"

    "The one we pillaged the treasure from."

    "Ah, yes. The mangey bitch that pulls our ship. Quite a good haul."

    Trevor stands, frozen, as he watches the young captain smirk at him as she slaps the hide of the German Sheppard. Bella, the beginning of his mental break with reality. The captain had invaded his private life and stolen his best friend. She violated him in a way that no one had done before. It had eaten him alive from the inside out ever since.

    Why would Bella willingly go with a stranger? Was he not good to her? Did she feel neglected? Did she feel like a pawn and not an equal member of the team that they had formed? These thoughts had eaten him up inside since the moment she disappeared. Sure, they got revenge on Yuna, but what consequences did she suffer? Her career continued to flourish despite the loss. She never felt the pain that Trevor had continued to feel post-match. She never had her nights consumed with thoughts of "What could I have done differently?"

    "What're you doing over that, boy," the captain shouts at Trevor.

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