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Thread: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

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    FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    Post your promos for Back in Business XIV PPV in this thread. Promos are due Saturday, February 29, 2020, at midnight Pacific time, which is Sunday, March 1, 2020, at 3 a.m. Eastern time and 8 a.m. British time zone.

    There will be no extensions.

    I repeat: NO EXTENSIONS.

    You essentially have 10 days to write a promo, on top of the time you've had since the results went live two days ago. NO EXTENSIONS for this show. Everyone has enough time.

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    VOLUME 27.
    “When nothing is pleasing and everything that happens is an excuse for anger.”

    She was here again. Back home in Rotterdam - not that you’d be able to tell, if you didn’t know it already. She was surrounded by the same four off-white walls that she had seen a hundred times before. They seemed to gradually press in around her, intent on suffocation. In front of her were two large wooden boxes, the lids absent but their contents just out of view. She was fine with the blind spot. She had no inclination to peer inside.

    “What will you do with the ashes?” her cousin asked, as he always did when they came here.

    She shuffled from right foot to left, adjusting stance through nothing more than awkwardness. A vague sound could be heard through the wall, as if motors and mechanisms were awakening in some unseen room. Gradually, forebodingly, two rectangular holes appeared in the wall, and through them Michelle could see the flames licking their hungry lips as the caskets glided towards them.

    “I don’t know,” she said. She shrugged dismissively: the very idea of this being her problem confused her. “What do people usually do with them?”

    The boxes had both entered their pits, and Michelle suddenly felt a great urge to pull them out again. To force herself to confront the bodies. But it was too late: this burst of curiosity would bring her only anguish and third degree burns. She turned to her cousin instead, awaiting an answer. She was yet to discover any use for him, so she didn’t hold out much hope.

    “People usually scatter them,” he said. It was then that she realised he was crying. She felt no pity. “You know, in a place of significance.”

    The suggestion hung in the air for a moment, but before she had the chance to think about it the main door to the room threw itself open, revealing a hallway. She stared down the corridor, noting how sterile and unfamiliar it appeared. She couldn’t quite remember how she’d arrived at the crematorium. Something told her that this was the path she was meant to take and she dutifully obliged. One foot in front of the other. As she made her way down the hall it seemed to grow dim. The walls became more distant. She felt an odd sensation in her finger tips, and when she lifted her hands she noticed that thin streams of smoke were emanating from beneath her fingertips. She was close to the end of the corridor, another open door only a few metres ahead. The lights were off, but through the open frame she could hear the low, persistent cries of a child in need. The room smelled like death.
    The library smelled of life. Old books and homeless people and musty furniture. There was nothing quite like the distinctive smell of a public library at almost midnight. In a corner, three old men with no hair and dirty clothes sat around a copy of And the Sun Also Rises, the oldest and baldest of the three reading aloud to his garrisoned audience. He struggled with the polysyllabic words, but at least he was giving it the old college try. One of the other men was transfixed with the bottom of an empty coffee cup, whilst the third was struggling to stave off sleep.

    She wrenched her eyes away from her homeless comrades, focusing her eye-line and her energy on the computer screen in front of her. She scrolled through the news updates on, reading the latest dross that had been posted on twitter or whatever it was called. The tag champions and their latest challengers were having a banal spat. Sullivan and Diamond went through the motions promoting their tepid Back in Business main event. Garcia was throwing shade in every conceivable direction as if he was having a seizure at his keyboard, much like he had been doing the last time she’d competed here (and, most likely, for the intermittent three and a half years). Since Gabrielle had tossed a few condescending words in her direction on the platform, Michelle had made more of an effort to keep up to date with what her new adversaries were saying to each other. For a split second, she had even considered setting up an account. But less than a minute trawling through the inane nonsense that her new colleagues were spewing was enough to know that this wasn’t for her. Still, at least they were saying something...

    Her primary purpose here, though, was to educate herself on the group of degenerates and misfits that had been thrown together in her upcoming X-Division Championship match. She had been doing so for the past handful of hours, watching some combination of her five competitors trading blows and victories in a pointless series of zero-sums matches. She shook her head, the words beginning to form on an internal projection of a page. As she closed her eyes her head was filled with a vision of her standing inside a wrestling ring within a large arena, discussing the men that were lining up at her door, a steel chair or a kendo stick in their hand in place of a bunch of flowers. Her mind fought with itself, unable to decide whether this projection should have an assembled audience or not. Eventually, she removed the fans from the picture, and the projection of her began to outline the series of wins and losses - other peoples’ losses - that had led to this moment.

    “Back in Business.” She would start, she assumed. It seemed only right. The name seemed to evoke something resembling gravitas in the FWA locker room. The ants that scuttled those corridors regarded the event with great reverence, going the extra mile on their costumes or entrances, pointing at inanimate signs like that was meant to mean something. The more inexperienced would begin to quiver, the very mention of those three words enough for them to piss in their boots. Maybe a repetition next? She imagined herself saying ”Back in Business” again, but decided it was too much.

    “We’ve all come so far over the past few weeks, have we not?” No microphone would be necessary in an empty arena, and her focus could remain solely on the camera that existed only in her mind. “And now here we find ourselves, ready to go into battle in Lord Vincent’s mad playground, throwing ourselves like willing victims into his horror-show vision of our industry. And so, we have been locked in this little game, where each of us strives to out-do the other five, embroiled in an ever-escalating procession of daredevil stunts and sado-masochistic displays. Headed, irrepressibly, towards our macabre playdate in Orlando. Bring along your favourite toys.”

    The vision of Michelle lifted a hand, and found it empty. Only now, she realised that the promo would improve with a prop, and the blood-splattered steel chair that she had been swinging freely over the past few weeks suddenly materialised in her outstretched hand.

    “Jason Randall drops Kayden Knox through a table… Eli Black throws a steel chair into Izzy van Doren’s face… Donovan Moore builds some momentum at the expense of El Franko, Gerald Grayson, and the ridiculously-named Orion... and Amadeus realises he has no dancing partner for Sunday and absolutely nothing better to do with his time. Each week, one more name is added to the list of men who fancy themselves extreme enough to emerge from this bloody danse as the champion. Black beats van Doren, Randall beats Black, Cromwell beats Randall…”

    Michelle thinks about this line, disliking the formality of it. She takes her mental eraser and deletes the previous few seconds of the monologue. She tries it again.

    “Eli beats Izzy, Jason beats Eli, Kevin beats Jason. And we go round and round on the carousel, leaving a few more brain cells behind each week…”

    At the mere mention of a carousel, the scene of her imagined soliloquy is transformed, and Michelle now finds herself in a fairground. The large, white horses of a merry-go-round ploughed onwards on their circular, pointless path, the bright lights and confusing soundtrack of a carnival in full swing swarming the viewer. She pictured herself slowly walking around the circumference of the attraction, barefoot in the grass, tracing a hand across the supporting poles of the tent surrounding the ride.

    “And now, after this merry-go-round of mediocrity, we find ourselves virtually back at square one. In any other industry, where competition is abundant and thriving, this win-trading wouldn’t be rewarded. But in the Blackbird’s madcap interpretation of what qualifies you to challenge for championships? Well, anyone is welcome, it seems. Each of the men that dares to present themselves to me on Sunday have had the pathway to success closed in their faces, repeatedly and firmly, and - even more confusingly - by each other. But when one door closes, another opens, right?”

    She forced herself on down the corridor towards the opening in the distance, each step harder than the last, only for the door to slam shut as she reached out towards it. But when one door closes, another opens. And sure enough, to her left was another door and another room. She strode into it with purpose, as if presenting the notion that she had no fears would be enough to allay them. It stank of stale tobacco and marijuana. It was sparingly decorated: an expensive-looking but weather-worn portrait of an old man with a red coat and a hunting rifle hung next to the only window, the light from which was obscured by ancient floral curtains covered in a thick layer of dust. Only one of the sun’s beams was visible through a tear in the curtain, and particles of dust and smoke danced with each other in the column of light. A handful of cupboards sat in corners, drawers and doors open but nothing of note beyond old scraps of paper inside. An armchair sat in the middle of the room, its material worn and ripped and the colour faded. Next to the chair was a small table, and upon it were the remnants of a recent binge. An ashtray overflowing with cigarette ends and black powder. A small, circular mirror, upon which was a modest but enticing mound of nondescript white powder alongside a rolled up bank note. A bottle of Jameson’s, tipped onto its side, contents spilled onto the tabletop and slowly dripping onto the carpet below.

    Sitting on the chair was a young man - late twenties, perhaps - dressed only in a pair of black, silk underpants. Despite his disheveled look, he still possessed striking features and natural charisma, and his body had retained some of its old athleticism. Draped over the arm of the chair was a woman’s sweater, a blood-like substance arranged in randomized droplets around the collar and down the right sleeve. She recognised both objects instantly: the man was Jean-Luc and the sweater was hers. In front of him, on the floor, sat a small television set, playing grainy footage of a private encounter between the two of them. He stood behind her, arms on her shoulders, lips on her neck. The televised Michelle closed her eyes, as if in a rare state of serenity. He moved his hands down her arms and to her waist, pulling her sweater - the same item of clothing that sat on the arm of his chair, only without the blood - over her head. Her skin was pale and unblemished, and she turned towards him, her body pressed tight against his. She was surrendering.

    She remembered the scene on the television screen. Berlin, or maybe Frankfurt. Late 2017. But the one in the room was alien, familiar only in how often Jean-Luc would find himself in this state. His eyes were glazed over, his motions sluggish and uncertain. He was dead behind the eyes. It was exactly how she remembered. She felt sick.

    As if on cue, the same door that she had entered swung open, but the corridor revealed to her was almost the exact opposite of the one she had traversed earlier. It was brightly lit by wall-mounted candles and grand chandeliers on the ceiling. The wallpaper was bright and decadent, the carpet luxurious, the many locked doors on either side of the hallway promising lavish scenes behind them. Only one was open, at the opposite end of the corridor, and within that room all was black. Above it was a clock, and just now she noticed that a second hand had been clicking solemnly and persistently since she’d been in the crematorium. Only it wasn’t constant: the deliberate and predetermined movement of time seemed to be quickening. She stared up at the clockface, watching as all three hands came to rendevouz at ‘12’.
    She found herself staring at the clock, away from her screen and the gradually diminishing number of people that still inhabited the library. It was midnight, and through the window she observed the streetlights, the moon, and the stars conspire to throw an odd, unnatural glow over the scene. Two of her three homeless friends were now fast asleep, but the third continued reading his story aloud. Intermittently, the fattest of the three would let out a snore, causing the librarian to turn and scowl at them, or whisper in disgruntled tones with one of her colleagues. How long was long enough until she could turf them out onto the cold streets but still keep her conscience clean?

    Michelle forced her eyes back onto the screen in front of her, listening carefully to Jason Randall going through another of his poorly lettered monologues, this time focusing on Kayden Knox and some perceived lazy similarities between the two of them. It was late and she was tired. She squinted through her fatigue, scratching her head and searching desperately for an angle. Closing her eyes and taking his words in, she returned to her planned promo, expecting to find herself back within the fairground that she’d only just left. Instead, she was still inside the library, only in full ring gear and standing atop one of the desks, talking in an animated fashion before an assembled crowd. There were the three homeless men and the library staff, each sat in a reading chair and listening attentively to everything that she had to say. She held a copy of And the Sun Also Rises, the book that the men had been reading, aloft in her right hand.

    “It transports us back to a time when to be young and to be intelligent and to be American was impossible. When they banned and burned James Joyce in the streets of New York, they sent men like Hemmingway - and those that he wrote about and for - to Paris and to London. Europe promised them the respect that they required. The low culture that you and your countrymen prize leads to men like Eli Black experiencing moderate but ultimately meaningless success. Who is this safely-extravagant artiste, who never passes on an opportunity to remind us of his name, - no doubt because he's fully aware of how forgettable he actually is - and graces us with his presence roughly once every two months? A man who balances out wins and losses as if he is taking Newton’s third law of physics a little too literally. Wins against El Franko and Thomas Princeton do not hide his weak underbelly. It was exposed by Jason Randall, of all people, and if our oh-so tepid Wildcard can find your weaknesses he mustn’t have had to look very hard.”

    She threw the book down onto the desk on which she stood, and the thud with which it landed startled two of the homeless men, fending off their slumber for a little while longer. She continued, the provisional plan of her speech beginning to take a firmer shape within her mind.

    “Or Gerald Grayson, a man whom I fortunately know next to nothing about. He likes doing sports. He’s scared of hardcore matches. He is at least, I guess, smart enough to realise all you had to do to get into this match was, well, get in someone’s face and ask for it. Sure enough, it matters very little that his only in-ring experience is a loss in a triple threat match to Donovan Moore. The ’Man Of The Hour’, as he calls himself literally every other fucking sentence. We’ve listened to Donovan for a few weeks now, as he rambles on and on and fucking on about the clock and the time and the Hour and the hands on the clock and how they tick as the Hour elapses and so on and so forth. I mean, please: the metaphor is already worn out. And what exactly are you telling us? Are we ticking towards the start of YOUR time, YOUR hour? Or is the hour your career, and we’re already in its opening throws? I’m not sure you even know. It’s clumsy and tired and it all falls down when you realise that every hour ends. And after that, then what? What will be remembered of your hour when we move on to the next? I’m no oracle, and all I know of time is that it marches on regardless of how often you pine on about it, but I will hazard this guess. When the final seconds of your hour tick by, I imagine the next one will start, and the world will feel much the same as it did before you left your meagre stamp upon it.”

    The homeless men and library staff that her projection held court over immediately began clapping. No, she thought to herself, growing as tired of her imagined scene as she was of the actual library that she sat in with her eyes closed. The setting was too passive. Almost dormant. Slowly, she removed each of the furnishing that her imagination had strewn around the room. Out went the desks, the reading chairs, and the bookcases. Soon, she was surrounded only by blackness. Her mind reached, floundering desperately for something to populate the place-holder background with. The first thing that came to her was a gym, and quickly the scene was populated with punching bags and skipping ropes, Michelle sat on a bench next to a loaded bar, two hooded figures sparring in a training ring behind her. She hated it even more. She’d gone too far the other way. She deleted it all once more, the image of herself again surrounded by nothing, her speech paused as she pondered a new setting. Eventually, she declared there no need for one, and continued to plod through her soliloquy with no distracting props or clumsy metaphors to distract her.

    “I've mentioned the Wildcard, our rough-and-tumble antihero. And I must say, I'm impressed: in-between throwing Kayden Knox or Eli Black through tables, Jason Randall even finds the time to dispense life advice. He and Kayden, they’re the same, you know? He and Kevin Cromwell, guess what? They’re the same, as well! Each week, Randall steps up to the microphone and into the shoes of a new opponent. He tells us that he knows how this adversary feels, how he’s been through the same shit, and how it made him a better man. For an off-the-wall lunatic type, our beloved Wildcard sure is in touch with his feelings. And I’m sure the sage advice you feel fit to dish out has steered many young padawans in the right direction. So long as they do the exact opposite of what you have done, and disregard every insight you fumble around for, they’ll grow up to be fine, well-adjusted members of society. What more could a young boy wish for?

    “Take Cromwell, for instance. You talk about how he and you have both had your grubby little palms on the X-Division Championship, and how you’ve both fallen on tougher times since that cheery interlude broke up the monotony of your disappointing day-to-day lives. And then your big close-up, Jason, as your eyes well up and you consider what you’ve considered only on your darkest days: that’s you almost gave it all up, and thought about hanging up your wrestling boots. Well, of course you have. Nobody is surprised by this. A win or two don’t change the facts. Your tepid rage against the machine act isn’t fooling anyone: the only man that’s holding you down is named Jason Randall. You are a victim of your own normality. Your spot in this match is only a reward for your persistence, for your odd satisfaction in making up the numbers.

    “Which brings us, at last, to Kevin. So very serious, so very dependable, and so very, well, boring.”
    In a laboured fashion, she stares around herself at the imagined blackness, the lack of furnishings to accompany her musings suddenly seeming the perfect metaphor for Cromwell’s character. “What to say about a man who approaches his job as if he is a craftsman, fulfilling a duty to the art that he has practised for the entirety of his useless existence? We all know the truth about you. I’m sure you’ve even worked it out yourself, Kevin. Because when we finally let you know that your act is about as interesting as a recently painted wall, and you realise that you’ve dedicated every molecule of yourself to something that literally nobody wants to watch you do, what happens then? Do you crack like so many of the FWA’s bright young stars? Do we find you in the asylum, in the next ward along from Bell Connelly? Or do you wallow away what time you have left on an industry that is, well, bored to fucking tears by your contributions to it?”

    She was brought back to the ’real world’ with a crash by the soft tones of the library’s PA system. She jumped slightly, in unison with the startled half-snore of one of the more soundly sleeping vagabonds, and turned to see the mousey librarian huddled over a small microphone at the main desk. Michelle blinked at the woman, her edges blurred by her fatigued eyes. Her mind played tricks on her, the features of the woman’s face retreating to nothingness. Michelle squinted hard but she couldn’t hold her image. The librarian chewed and swallowed the first bite of a sandwich that was carefully placed in front of her, cleared her throat, and made her announcement.

    “Your attention, please. The library will be closing in approximately thirty minutes. Would you please make your preparations to leave the building.”

    Half-way down the lavish, decadent corridor was a desk. Sat behind it was a man in a tuxedo, scratching away at a piece of paper with a sharpened pencil. He was entirely ordinary in every way, other than that he had no eyes, nose, or ears, and he was completely bald. His notes were simply a list of names: her name, to be precise. ’Michelle von Horrowitz’ was typed over and over down the left hand side of the page, and next to every entry the man had marked either a tick or a cross. She studied the pattern but found none. To his right was a plate of sandwiches, each of which had been bitten exactly once and then returned to the pile.

    “It’s lovely to see you again,” he said. His thin, pursed lips were the only feature on his entire head. “It’s been years! Do you have your invitation?”

    “I don’t have an invitation,” she replied, suddenly feeling very underdressed. She wore baggy grey sweatpants and one of her Aunt Maude’s knitted jumpers, which was easily big enough to house three of her.

    “Oh, I see.” His tone was still polite, but she could sense his disappointment. “Well, I’ll have to send for someone. Feel free to take a sandwich whilst you wait. They’re rather good. I’ve tried them all.”

    She shook her head.

    “Do you know that your hands are on fire?”

    She nodded her head.

    The open door still sat at the end of the corridor, and from it - far behind the man’s desk - the sound of a baby crying out returned, more incessantly, as if its need had become dire. Not far behind it was the familiar stench of death, filling her nostrils and choking her. She felt an urge to jump over the man’s desk, throwing him backwards on his chair, and darting to the end of the corridor. But once she was settled on the idea the door slammed with a thud, and another door to her immediate left opened with a creak that resembled a howling wind. She looked down at her hands: they were still smoking, and her fingertips were blackened and charred.

    She inched to the new passage and peered into the void, but her eyes found nothing in the thick darkness. She turned back - her intention being to remonstrate with the doorman - and found that he and his desk and his sandwiches had gone. Where there had once been a door there was now only concrete. She sighed and stepped through the new passageway, robbed of all agency, finding herself in a dark, narrow stairwell. Each step brought more light, and as she reached the bottom it opened out into a large ballet studio. The floor was laminated and, directly ahead of her, one of the walls was lined with a huge, floor-to-ceiling mirror. Along this mirror, perhaps a metre from the floor, was a wooden handrail. She could see the entrance reflected in the glass, but as she stepped forward it swiftly closed itself behind her. Another door, ahead of her and to the right, opened, and through it strode a tall, elegant woman in a black leotard. Behind her came a string of children - perhaps eleven or twelve - dressed identically and walking with equally immaculate posture.

    “Okay, children, warm up," instructed the instructor. Each of the girls were lined up next to the handrail, stretching out their limbs and joints in unison. The third from the front was familiar. The girl placed a foot on the rail and then reached out to her toes with outstretched fingertips. 'Isobel,' Michelle thought. 'My sister'.

    “You can’t be here,”
    Michelle tried to say. Her voice sounded as if it wasn’t her own. “You’re dead. I watched them burn your body.”

    Nobody heard her. Or, if they did, they ignored her. The instructor eyed up her proteges, walking along the line of infant dancers and critiquing their technique. She began to run them through their drills. As she watched Isobel attempt a pirouette, the door behind her opened up once again, but the staircase she’d descended was no longer there. Through it came a middle-aged man with pockmarked skin and a balding crown. He was dressed in white robes, as if ready to fight (or at least teach others to fight). Behind him came a girl, fourteen years old, with short blonde hair and a dirty face. It was herself, a decade and a half ago.

    She turned around to see them with her own eyes, instead of their reflection in the mirror. The dancers disappeared. There was only a young Michelle assembling mats on the wooden floor, and the older man, his hands on his hips, keeping a close eye on the girl. When she had assembled the makeshift arena she stood on the edge of the padding, lifting two fists in front of her face as a guard. The man smiled, joining her on the mat.
    One of the homeless men, the oldest and the most alert of the three, was staring at her. His smile was kindly enough, and she didn’t feel threatened, but it made her uncomfortable. The only noise left in the ever-emptying library was the soft, incessant ticking of the clock. She had fifteen minutes until they’d turf her out, her next destination the bus station. Many kilometres sat stubbornly between her and Florida. The idea of meeting more of America’s migrants on the road was a tiresome one. She tried to focus on the screen, which was playing clips of her own match from two weeks ago. Dominic Dust surrendered quickly and meekly, as she knew he would. They hadn’t seen enough of her to know what was coming, but it had been a good start.

    When she closed her eyes again, she was stood outside of the Greyhound station in New Orleans, her next and final port of call on the way to Orlando. The moon would be peering over the lip of the city, the twilight hour beginning to bathe her surroundings in an odd glow. She would stare out towards the street-lights, visible over the densely wooded park and the now ever-present roadworks that littered the memories of a city she once lived in. Of all her ideas for settings, each working in their own limited manner and speaking to only a fraction of her audience, she hated this one the most. The metaphor of her walking along the dilapidated streets of the city’s suburbs, remembering the time in her life that she had last called America her home, was clumsy and unoriginal. And it relied on this being home - in itself an alien concept, and one that she wouldn’t associate with this corner of Louisiana. It was a city whose prime was far behind it, entering its twilight in more ways than one.

    Still, it was late, and this would have to do. Her internal monologue continued, the picture was of Michelle stalking the streets of New Orleans and addressing the non-existent camera. She refused to throw the towel in before she’d got the bare bones of a promo manically scrawled upon the page.

    “I suppose, my tulips, there is one question that I would like each of you to ask yourself. And by each of you, I mean both those who plan to step through the ropes with me on Sunday and those that will watch them do so. What will a win mean to each of them? To Randall, it will be confirmation that there is life in the old dog yet. It may delay his final exit from the public eye for another year, even. For Cromwell, it would at first seem as if things are getting brighter for our stoic professional, but soon enough we’d realise it is only further evidence that Amadeus has ’found his level’. Would this one trinket be enough to hold the interest of men like Eli Black and Gerald Grayson, the short attention spanned thrill-seekers? Or do they only desire accolades and additions to their trophy cabinets? What would they do as champions that you haven’t seen a million times before?

    “No. It cannot and will not
    be. Each of you knows what fate has in store for us all on Sunday night. You know that this is a match that I am meant to win, and that championship belt is meant to be around my waist, for it is the only way forward for a company so intent on dragging itself backwards. And really, in the long run, what is best for you? For the ultimate realisation that you’re simply not good enough to throw hands with Michelle von Horrowitz to be delayed a few more months? Or for the truth to be revealed in all its glory, so that you can best determine which direction to take your sorry acts next? It’s time to wake up, boys, and realise that the woman shaking you from your slumber is not your enemy. No. I am your salvation.”

    Unsubstantiated bravo, for sure. But she was ready to provide the evidence in Orlando. Of course, she had been fed only minnows until this point. The organisation didn’t want their newest commodity to be eating a loss so early, and as a result she would waste her time at the bottom of the card for the foreseeable future. Her dealings with the Blackbird had one clear and obvious purpose: to fix a nameplate reading ‘Michelle von Horrowitz’ onto the X-Division Championship. This would at least give her early efforts here some semblance of purpose. A gold belt around her waist would be the perfect distraction, both for herself and for the trogs in the audience. Her real purpose could wait. Fortunately, she had been taught patience.

    ”You seem impatient.”

    The man in white robes stared at the young girl, and particularly her guard. It was defiant but sloppy.

    “You remember where we left off, then?” he asked, his smile beginning to resemble a smirk. “Okay, we will continue. Hit me.”

    Up until this point, the young girl had been passive, almost indifferent. She had raised her hands in expression of duty, not anger. But, in the moment she lunged towards her teacher, a flash of pure wrath crossed her face. She feigned a forearm, but he telegraphed it and refused to even flinch. He was unblinking. She followed up with two jabs and a hook, but the first strike only glanced across his chest and the other two he easily parried. She thrust a palm at his stomach, only for him to swat her hand away with a thick, strong forearm.

    “Slow,” he said, shaking his head. “Slow and predictable.”

    Unhappy at being simultaneously schooled and taunted, she let out an involuntary wail and threw a wild kick at his midriff. He caught her leg, his hands seeming to linger uncomfortably around her thigh. Almost in desperation, Michelle threw an elbow at his ribs, but he absorbed the blow before easily throwing her to the ground.

    “No control. No discipline.”

    He walked away from her, and Michelle watched as her younger self rolled over onto her front, struggling to suck hasty lungfuls of oxygen into her body. With one hand clenched tightly to steady herself, she began the unenviable task of climbing to her feet. The young girl lifted her fists once again, an expression of sheer intensity resolutely fixed upon her face.

    And then the mirror behind them broke. Smashing into a million shards, it crashed onto the laminate flooring, the shards spreading themselves across the entire room. The teacher and student recoiled backwards, throwing themselves to the ground, exiting the scene as they left her eye-line. Without thought, broken by unseen puppeteers and malleable to their will, she moved towards the broken glass. What used to be a wall was now a wide passage into a dense thicket of woodland. The glass crunched beneath her bare feet, but she felt no pain. As she reached the wood a sense of dread and foreboding surrounded her, the trees seeming to creak and murmur as a stale, cold wind passed through them. And they whispered: through the branches she could hear snippets of long-forgotten memories. She stared at her hands, plumes of smoke now rising from her palms, her fingers alight with thin, flickering flames. She stuffed them into her pockets, stepping between the trees and wanting nothing more than to pass through them unmolested.

    “We all wait, holding our breath, inching forward in our seats, for something to happen.”

    Her own voice: little more than a whisper but commanding none-the-less. She was confronted with her own mockery and disdain, parroted back at her by an unseen adversary.

    “Nature cares not for what these people deserve. Nature does what is natural for it.”

    Now another spoke. Low and rumbling, calm like the sea before a storm. A third and final voice:

    ”The snow is deep and cold, and you have been shivering for hours already.”

    And all-the-while, seemingly from beneath her, she heard the sharp wails of a discarded infant, and a corpse smell fogged her head. She paused, and the trees seemed to sense her hesitation. They pressed in around her, probing her weaknesses. In nothing more than defiance, she bradished her hands and the fire that she carried. She scorched a nearby branch, gaining respite, but found her foot tangled in a root. She fell into a bed of autumnal leaves, the crackling sound of them burning immediately surrounding her. As she sat up, she found herself enclosed by a ring of flames. They quickly climbed higher than her head, encroaching upon the small patch of land that she occupied, dominating and intimidating her. The woods shrieked in terror, the ground shaking under their useless protest. She lifted her arms in front of her face, her forearms now entirely alight, the fire wild and dark and deep. In desperation, she closed her eyes.

    And then there was silence. She thought burning to death would be more painful. Certainly louder. When she allowed herself to glance upon the world once again, the burning leaves were replaced with an entrance ramp, and the forest by a huge stadium. Her forearms were still raised in front of her, but there was no sign of any fire. She stood up, taking in her new surroundings, glancing at the rows upon rows of fans. Tens of thousands of them, packed into every corner of the four-tier arena. All were sat on their hands, and their mouths were closed zips. Hesitantly, she stepped onwards towards the ring and climbed the ring steps. The referee held the ropes open for her, a smirk on his familiar, smug face. Time ticked onwards solemnly. She wasn’t in her ring gear. Her feet were a bloody mess. She didn’t even know who she was meant to fight. But here she was. Her opponent turned towards her, a steel chair in hand. Michelle was looking at a mirror image, pale and unnerving and dead behind the eyes. It was only at this moment - as she watched a flash of anger pass over her own face - that she realised she was dreaming. The lucidity washed over her like a calm, cleansing wave. Some people might even say that this wasn’t real. But they are shortsighted, and not worth your time.

    Michelle watched as her carbon copy lifted up the chair, and brought it crashing down onto her head. And then she woke up.

  3. #3
    The Maniacal Martyr
    BMJ Maniax's Avatar

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    *The Valanders are in a hotel pool area, sitting in some chairs, discussing strategy for their match at Back in Business*

    Mike: So Louis, here's what I got for our match-up coming up, these guys seem like a big deal.

    *Louis nods his head, but not at his brother. His focus is entirely upon a stunning brunette that has just emerged from the water. Time seems to slow down as she elegantly climbs out of the water, dripping wet in her little bikini that reveals so much caramel skin. It is of course Gabrielle Montgomery who is currently dropping jaws all around the pool area. She grins from ear to ear and then tussles her hair over her shoulder.*

    *Mike notices this and tries to make Louis snap out of it*

    Mike: Come on, Louis. Lose the distraction, yeah she's a hot woman but focus man.

    Louis: Yeah but come on, that bikini, that body, what kind of man wouldn't want her?

    Gabrielle glances in the Valanders direction, recognising her two colleagues, and the look of infatuation upon Louis’s face. So with a slight sway to her hips she walks over towards them, still dripping wet.

    Gabrielle: Hello boys.

    Mike: Hey, you must be the Gabrielle chick we've been hearing about ever since we got to FWA, my name is Mike Valander and this is my broth……

    *Louis is not even paying attention before Mike snaps his fingers*

    Louis: Errr what?

    Mike: As I was saying this is my brother, Louis, we're the newest tag team in FWA, we're just going over our match at back in business.

    Gabrielle glances at Louis, feeling his attention locked upon her as she squeezes some of the water out of her hair before directing her attention upon Mike.

    Gabrielle: You two have been rather impressive so far, picking up win after win. You must be looking forward to Back In Business.

    Mike: Hell yeah, we are. As soon as we are through this team we have up next, it won't be long before you're looking at us beating the undisputed Alliance to become the tag team champions.

    Louis: Yeah babe, I'm pretty sure you've had success in tag teams? Have you, I mean you've won gold before, haven't you?

    Gabrielle raises an eyebrow and chuckles.

    Gabrielle: Yeah Louis I’ve enjoyed success in tag teams. I’ve had fun, I’ve won Championships with the right partners. I love hearing that kind of Confidence Mike, you need it to be successful, you need to set your goals for the top.

    Mike: Trust me I have, FWA is not my first rodeo, I have set goals elsewhere in other companies, I've toppled hellish demons, and had to deal with northeast wives. FWA is different, because now I have my brother with me, and together we'll make my momma proud.

    Louis: Yeah because we know I'm her favorite, but you're right, we need to set goals, I'm new here too, not just FWA but in general, I know what it's like to be in a team, I was a state champion in high school football.

    Mike: I know, back to back and you're not her favorite, I am, I do more than you do at the house.

    Gabrielle chuckles at the brotherly bickering.

    Gabrielle: That experience and motivation will definitely come in handy boys. I’m sure your mother is proud of both of you, even more so after everything you’ve done in the FWA already.

    She tussles her hair over her shoulder and then adjusts her little bikini top.

    Gabrielle: I’ve always wanted to learn more about Football.

    *Louis is shocked when he hears that*

    Louis: You do? I mean you do, I'll give you the rundown on my achievements, I had 21 touchdowns in one season, nobody could touch me.

    Mike: And Five Fumbles……..don't forget about that.

    Louis: Ehhh, those don't count. I fumbled a couple times, big deal, the team kept winning because of me.

    Mike: There's no I in team Louis.

    Louis: Yeah, well there's a M-E in that, Mike.

    Gabrielle chuckles again.

    Gabrielle: That all sounds very impressive Louis. We all drop the ball from time to time, you just have to keep getting back up. That’s all that matters, and makes the wins sweeter, right?

    But tell me guys, are you excited to beat the Wave at the biggest show of the year?

    Louis: Yeah it does make it sweeter, you're right.

    Mike: Absolutely positively, 100% percent exactly, we are ready to kick the waves ass, I can't wait.

    Gabrielle: You'll have to teach me to throw a Football one day Louis.

    And I’ll be rooting for you too this weekend. Another exciting, young tag team is just what we needed. Kick some ass for me out there.

    Gabrielle playfully winks.

    *Louis, meanwhile, is fascinated*

    Louis I will, honey. I will kick some was, for you. I'm extra motivated.

    Mike: Yeah, be motivated.

    Gabrielle leans forward and hugs Louis tightly, wetting his clothes with the water coating her skin.

    Gabrielle: Hear that Mike, your Brother is extra motivated. The Wave won’t know what hit them.

    With a playful little wave and a sway to her hips Gabrielle leaves, leaving Louis all fascinated and happy.

    Mike: Oh no, now he's extra motivated way hard.

    Louis: I'm going to kick some ass now, you see.

    *Segment ends when Louis walks out of the pool area*

    OOC - Thanks to ETE for helping out with this promo.

  4. #4
    Squash Fodder

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    One time, a long way away from here in a town that was barely even known to the locals who lived five minutes away if they had no requirement to visit, there was a young boy who had a dream that wasn’t befitting of said town. You take one look at the streets, yes streets was technically in the plural but the truth was that there was only one road that goes through the town itself. One way in, one way out, and then a few side roads to navigate between those that also live there that you have unfortunately become too friendly with out of necessity. It was the type of place that if you went to the bar one night and hit on the first lady you saw, she would either be related to you or you would have every male member of her family aware of it and coming to chop your balls off before you even had enough beer drank to see the bottom of your pint glass as you tilt it to take a swig. It was the type of place that if you looked outside onto the main street, as we call it, you would be just as likely to see a car as you would a farmer moving his sheep between two fields, a dog nipping at their heels keeping them in line. And yes, that actually is a thing, although you don’t know if anyone really knows why the sheep have to move. This isn’t the 1950s, this is Ireland in the early 2000s. The main cities of Belfast and Dublin have certainly been built up and modernized and there are even cities not as well known to the wider world that wouldn’t be out of place in the modern world. This place, this town, however, is almost the town that time forgot. If you manage to ignore the ‘traffic’ you will see that the town houses two churches – each of differing religion because diversity is important given the history of the country – three stores where you can read how the outside word is bypassing you from the newspapers, a post office, somewhere to place a bet, a restaurant and six bars. Let it not be said that this place, for all its supposed flaws, doesn’t have its priorities right. You might run out of bread but you will never run out of a place to go for a beer.

    Back to the boy, however, the boy with a dream that was almost two big for the locals to even comprehend never mind think possible. His parents worked hard and that meant that they were able to obtain one of the properties on the outskirts of the main street in the town that basically made them the upper class. A long drive up the house, acres of land to play with and a nice covering a trees and mountains to keep you hidden. Hidden from who? His father, who lived through the troubles, would often tell tales of the fact that it would keep you well hidden from the British. The tone in which he said British was enough to give you the idea of what he meant, but that was a different time and the wounds that had been inflicted on that proud Irishman over time may have slightly faded with time but never truly had healed. These days, instead of hiding in his secluded house from those he felt used to persecute him and those he cared about, he spent most of his days frequenting the six bars, giving each a rotation in what he called in the ‘interest of fairness’ but in what others called moving to where you weren’t cut off at any single point. His mother, she kept working hard, saving away the money that she knew that one day would help her boy achieve his dream if possible even if neither of them were no longer around to see it. His father would spend the time collecting his, admittedly well earned, pension and turning it into a drinkable liquid before pinching some extra from the fund of his son’s dreams. This, of course, wasn’t done with the intention of stopping his son achieving what he wanted or hampering his ability to achieve his dreams but was taken with a very short term view of what he needed at that point, with the long term and slightly deluded view this was only a loan that would be repaid whenever the immediate need had faded.

    But again, back to the boy with the dream that was too big for where he came from. He wanted to be a wrestler. One of the free to air channels that you only needed a television for broadcasted an hour of programming each week and it was for this hour, every week, that he was no longer the boy with the dream too big but he was the boy with the improbable dream. That is a subtle distinction but it was a critically important one. When he was training on his own, running through those hills or begging his friends to help him practice, the fact that the switch in his head had turned from improbable from pretty much impossible kept him motivated. And, in what might surprise you, his father was supportive in his words if not his actions – although this was largely dependent on how many of the six bars that he had managed to visit before your spoke to him. Towards the higher number of the six, whilst the support may have well still been there, the ability to translate the thought into speech had the tendency to escape him. Although, this was largely true, there was the one day where his father was perched on his favourite chair that rocked ever so slightly to give him a stir should the alcohol be taking effect and about to send him to sleep, yet he managed to mutter:

    “You can only control who you are, you cannot control what others think of you Mikey. They do not control who you are in here. They are not worth it if they cannot see who you are in here”

    He slapped himself on the right hand side of chest, the impact of all the drink meaning it was a sloppy slap with probably more force than intended.

    “Just do me a favor and remember, that when your old man is no longer here that you always be proud of who you are, who you represent and where you came from. You are a smart kid, whatever you end up doing, you be proud of who you represent and you be proud of who you are and what you did to get there. I love ya kid”

    The fireplace in the bar crackled as the logs burned, taking his father’s attention off of his speech and distracting him from that moment of affection. Sure, he was always good for a hug but it was more of a generational thing where you would tend not to articulate any such feelings unless, of course, you had a little alcoholic accelerant to help you on the way. For a young adult who rarely ever got this verbal affection, you could see his eyes watering slightly as he looked up expectantly at his father, who had unfortunately not had the little rock needed to keep him in the land of the awake and was now snoring loudly as his beverage teetered precariously over the edge of his armrest no longer being afforded the support of a hand of someone intent on taking another drink from it. ‘Mikey’ shook his head with a slight sense of regret before walking over and kissing his father on the forehead and sitting the beverage safely on the table, giving the barman a look as he left. Remember about this town knowing everyone? The barman was his father’s best friend in school so at this point he would just have a space where he could sleep it off with the added bonus of then being in prime position to start the process again the next morning. A depressingly frequent occurrence that would repeat on a regular basis.

    Repeat, that is, until the excess eventually got too much for any human to handle and something cracked. So the rocking chair remained but it gathered dust over the years as the fire stopped crackling away. Instead of regular visits to the bars in the town, the ever maturing young man would instead visit one particular bench that was in the middle of the town square, named as such as most of the stores and bars formed a loose square around an area, where there was parking and seating already present along with a small floral display and a couple of trees just for the tourists that have taken a wrong turn but that they could still get a nice photo for their trouble - and maybe splash the cash on some of the local establishments since they have stopped for said photo. But there was one particular bench that the boy visited and sat and watched the town pass him by knowing that one day that improbable dream would mean that he wouldn’t be so lucky to soak this in as often. As he leans back against the bench, his hand rests on the top just above a small golden plaque with an inscription that reads:
    He was proud of where he came from. RIP, love from Mikey


    Just days before Back in Business, The Prodigy is seated in front of one of too many camera that he has had to face in the intensive media build up to the event. Being in one of the big marquee matches has that effect. Whilst there is a wide array of activity around him being conducted, making sure everything from the lighting to the knot in a tie are correct, he appears to be lost in thought staring at picture he is holding in his hand, one of what appears to be a wooden bench with an inscription.

    “Nobody knows what is in here” Mike announces, catching a few people around him off guard. One of the sound crew hurriedly approach and tell him to wait for the camera to start rolling so they record some material for the VT ahead of the match, but it doesn’t appear that Prodigy is in any sort of mood or headspace to entertain any type of instruction.

    “Everyone can just sit back and think that they’ve got this nailed down, that this showdown at Back in Business is just your stereotype of good versus evil. Everyone is taking one single look at this and is thinking about how it is hero vs villain. But how much does anyone truly understand? What makes me the villain? I’ve been in the FWA for years and for some reason, because I have people who would call themselves my friends around me to help from time to time, that makes me a bad person? That makes everyone dislike me more than some upstart who came from a rival promotion and walked into the main event scene with some sort of grand sense of entitlement for what he achieved in the B leagues over there? How come that someone who has proven himself over years in the same place, earning his spot from the curtain jerker on CrossFire to one of the longest reigning champions in modern FWA history is booed and is turned on whereas someone who walks in and demands the attention of our then World Champion is cheered and treated like a hero? Why does it make me a villain to be confident in my own abilities or my own looks? Why does that deserve everyone to decide that I’m a bad person when I’ve made more sacrifices than any of those animals that would sit out there and boo me for at least a momentary sense of enjoyment in their pathetic existen---you know what, I don’t actually think it’s worth it.”

    Mike pauses and paces around, causing a technicians worst nightmare as wires and microphones get tangled potentially impacting sound quality ahead of securing that soundbite that they are all desperate for the record this promotional VT. One of the backstage staff again tries to make this point to Parr, who is suitably dismissive of her concerns. He is ready to talk now and if the rest of the world doesn’t want to listen, like the usually don’t, then he will just get on with his life and they can go and cobble together something to appease the masses.

    “It is too simplistic to tell you all that you don’t know what it is like to be me. You don’t know what it was like to become as good as I am, what I had to do and what I had to survive. You don’t know what it’s like to walk out into an arena full of people and each and every one of them don’t understand. And you know what? That is on you. I can’t control that. I cannot control the fact that you are too simple or you are not willing to try and understand or grasp who I am and why I should be appreciated and applauded. So screw you. Screw the entire lot of you, stuff your faces with popcorn, down your beers and just about drag your fat asses out of the seats that you are wedged into if you can just to shout abuse at me because I don’t care. You aren’t worth it. I’m already the bad guy, I’m the villain of the piece, even against an entitled asshole who has lucked his way into one of the main spots on the card. But I’m proud, I’m proud of getting here and you know what? It is that pride that eats away inside of me because as proud of who I am and where I came from in spite of your lack of acceptance, I know that it could and should be so much more. It should be the main event, no the co-main event, because I deserve it. I know it deep in here that I deserve it because the World Champion is a fraud who is more concerned about props and fake royal titles than anything else. He is a fraud who is going to use his inevitable victory of the runt of the FWA litter to proclaim that he is the best in the business when the guy that he couldn’t put away when he was allegedly at his best waits in the wings to punch his teeth down his throat at the first opportunity.”

    The stagehand ushers to Mike to change the topic, after all, talking about Dave Sullivan isn’t going to sell any further interest Prodigy’s own North American Championship title match. Although not as a consequence of the direction, Parr does change his focus of attack back to the present.

    “There is something that has stuck with me since I was a very young age, words that were spoken to me. Be proud of who you are be proud of who you represent. Some of you might struggle to grasp that and few of you might be able to relate, but that is what drives me. I am proud of who I am, even if that person if someone that everyone else in this company hates. I am proud of the New Breed and how they have progressed. I am proud of being in this company for nearly five years. I’m proud of beating people who will one day go into the Hall of Fame. I’m proud of being me, I’m proud of truly believing that I am the best wrestler in this company and I’m proud that I stand by those beliefs despite the fact that you see fit to boo me for that pride. That….everyone….that is a reflection on you more so than it is a reflection on me and there would’ve been a time earlier in my life where that might have gotten to me but now, now it is something that fuels me. BUT in spite of that I’m proud of what I represent. I am the champion of North America, from the glaciers of Greenland to the magaritas in the south of Mexico and anywhere beyond or in between that identifies as North American, I am your champion and even if you don’t like it, I’ll like it enough for the both of us. I’d like it enough to carry this belt with pride and defend it against anyone that thinks they are good enough to rip this from my grasp and devalue it like has been over the last few years. I will like it enough to ensure that some entitled ass who has achieved the sum total of zero in this company thinks that he is going to walk into my house, shit on my carpet and take this with him as some sort of trophy.”

    “Oh, before I forget, for any of my Mexican friends that care to join me on this crusade or indeed as the proverbial middle finger to the face to those of you who don’t, Le meteré una botella de tequila en el culo por tu, México.”

    For the first time in a while, Mike grins. He still has that fire and passion that only a big match, and despite him not admitting so it is a big match to him, brings out in him. Even that irritating stage hand that was trying to direct him has settled down now, more than happy that their coverage at this point if it were to stop dead would be more than sufficient.

    “So, Krash, the hero of the hour, I hope you get to hear some of this eventually…well, I suppose that is if your head has stopped ringing after Fight Night, and I hope you realize that you have picked a fight too far. I’m nothing like anything that you have ever faced here or faced in CWA and this stage is grander than any stage you have ever seen in your life. If I’m this confident, you might be asking yourself why I felt the need to attack you on Fight Night? It was because I could, it’s because I wanted to. It’s because you walked down into my ring and you interrupted me like you owned this place, like you have achieved shit in this place. How dare you. How dare you think that you are even worthy of my attention, never mind this championship belt at the biggest show of the year. You could write down every last one of your CWA accomplishments on a piece of paper and I would scrunch it up and wipe my ass with them because they mean absolutely nothing to me. They mean nothing to me just like the fact that these people have anointed you their new hero means nothing to me. Because I know who I am, I know who I represent and I am proud of where I have come from to get here. I don’t need anyone’s acceptance to. I don’t need to be people’s champion….you can keep that title, because you sure as hell aren’t getting anywhere near mine.”

    With that, Prodigy rips out what you can only assume is thousands of dollars of audio equipment without a second thought, throwing it back towards those staffers that, whilst looking pleased with themselves, begin scurrying around to prepare the set for the next person to face the thousandth camera or microphone they have been obligated to speak into this week. Mike takes one more look at his photograph, before folding it and placing it in a custom designed insert on the right hand side of his jacket, chest height.

  5. #5

    Jimmy King's Avatar

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    The scene starts out cliche as can be in a dimly lit room with nothing to really be seen. Then a light turns on, illuminating the room in light and a familiar face enters the scene, it’s Penny. Penny hasn’t been seen in many months now after an unfortunate incident put her out of action, but she looks to be in better shape and is moving fine as she walks to a rocking chair and she takes a seat in the chair and looks at the camera.

    “Hello FWA fans, it’s me Penny!”

    She says with a smile and a quick wave.Then she grabs what looks like a children’s story book and opens it up and places it in her lap.

    “Now I’m here today to tell a story, and this story begins on October 6th, 2017. Now why that day? Why is that day the day that this story begins? That’s the day that a man lost something he held near and dear to him. For about six and a half months this man held this item of his and he did anything to keep it in his possession, even if it meant doing unspeakable acts towards others, as long as it meant he kept this item with him that’s all that mattered to him…”

    Penny pauses as the scene slowly fades out and it shows this man she is speaking of, Jason Randall. Jason is inside of a wrestling ring and surrounding him inside that ring is a steel cage. Jason is kneeling down on his knees inside of that wrestling ring surrounded by a steel cage, and he’s holding what looks like the X-Championship as Penny’s voice is heard once again but as a voice over.

    “This man held that championship with pride, although he may have had a funny way of showing that aforementioned pride, it was there nonetheless. It made him feel like he meant something and the sense of accomplishment that he had was something that he never wanted to lose…”

    Suddenly the championship that Jason is holding inside of that ring, vanishes from his hands and he sits there now empty handed and his head hung low.

    “Unfortunately all good things must come to an end as they say, and this man was never the same since. He forgot about what had got him that success that he desired so dearly, he had forgotten about the hunger he had and he became...complacent. He was just another spoke on the wheel as it turned to the next man that held what was his prize. He had to watch as his prize was held by three other men, and there were times where he tried to get his prize back but it just wasn’t meant to be…”

    Jason stands up in the middle of the ring and begins to pace around the ring in a circle, much like a wheel on a bicycle going around in circles and circles with no real meaning or purpose.

    “It wasn’t all bad though, he got to form a team with his closest ally and the two seemed destined for great things but alas just like before when he tried to regain his prize, it just wasn’t meant to be. He began to doubt himself and wondered if it was even worth it anymore…”

    Jason walks to the turnbuckle, climbs up it and sits on top of it and stares blankly at the canvas below him.

    “He tried to reassure himself that it was worth it but there was still that lingering doubt in the back of his mind, that feeling that he was nothing more than a failure. He felt like a joke and was treated as such by his peers. He mostly just shrugged it off and let his actions in the ring do his talking as a way to show that he was no joke, but for the most part all he did was prove that he was just a joke; at least in his mind that’s how it seemed. He was beginning to lose his self confidence, and although on camera he may not have shown it; that was all just a facade because inside, deep down he felt lost. He was just going through the motions, gaining wins every now and then but in the end they were meaningless to him. He was unhappy but he put on his best face and continued to do what he loved to do most, entertain people…”

    Jason looks out through the cage and into the distance where fans would be in their seats cheering him on. He hops off the turnbuckle and leans on the ropes now, looking down at the apron.

    “Despite all of his lows and unhappiness, he still felt a sense of something hood hearing the roar of the crowd. Inside he felt lost but these fans didn't care about any of that, they just loved watching him in that ring doing what he loves. They got behind him and cheered him on despite all of his misfortunes and downward spirals, they stuck with him and for that he knew that he couldn’t give this up…”

    He leans more into the ropes now and places his fingers through the cage as he looks through it.

    “After seeing his closest ally suffer an unfortunate injury at the hands of someone that she believed was a friend, he began to get angry. This anger and this pent up rage built up inside of him for so long, since that fateful day on October 6th, 2017. Unfortunately, he became complacent again and just let that rage boil inside of him and didn’t do anything about it. He began to once again lose sight of what mattered until he was reminded of who he was by an old nemesis. This same nemesis is the one he defeated to claim his prize that he treasured…”

    What looks like a hologram of Vincent Blackbird talks to Jason in the ring while he holds on to the cage sides still, his grip tightening with rage and his teeth beginning to grit.

    “This nemesis reminded him of what he once was and helped him realize that he needed to find himself. Fast forward to now and we find our main character back where he feels like he belongs and where he’s one more step closer to regaining his prize. He’s so close that he can taste it and he’ll do whatever he has to do in order to get what he desires most…”

    A close up of Jason is seen now. Looking more pissed off than ever before.

    “Despite all his rage, he’s still just another rat in the cage....”

    Now it’s Jason’s turn to finally speak.

    “Donovan Moore...Michelle von Horrowitz...Kevin Cromwell...Gerald Grayson...Eli Black...all of you and myself share one thing in common, we all want that X-Championship. There’s just one difference though, none of you are me. None of you are as hungry as I am. None of you are driven to succeed as I am. All of you are nothing more than my next unfortunate victims as I look to reclaim my most precious…”

    “It doesn’t matter if you call yourself The Man of the Hour, Amadeus, or an Artist because in the end you’ll all just be chalk outlines on the pavements after I’m through with you. Donovan Moore sure talks a big game and he certainly can’t keep my name out of his mouth, he thinks he can take me on but he’s going to find out that he’s bitten off more than he can chew…

    Cromwell and Black...two men that I have faced already fell to me while Cromwell was the one bump on my road to my former glory. I hope that you two know what you’re getting into with this match, no amount of rest holds or submissions will stop me from caving your skull in with a steel chair…

    Grayson, still wet behind the ears in the FWA and in only his second match in the FWA on the big stage at Back in Business and already in a championship may think you’re on cloud nine now kid but don’t let it get to your head before I stomp your head in. That or they’ll knock you right off that cloud for the next flavor of the month that walks in the doors of this company...

    Michelle von Horrowitz...the one name that reminds me of my old self and the one that I’m looking forward to the most facing off with in this match. You went any extreme measure possible to get yourself in this match, in a way I can respect that but don’t take that respect for kindness or weakness because I will stop at nothing to break you and make you bleed in this match. Don’t think just because you’re a woman that I’ll take you lightly, I’ve seen what you can do and what you’re capable of and all of that will pale in comparison to what I do to you in this match…”

    Suddenly he starts rattling the cage and shaking it with everything he’s got and then bangs his head on it multiple times until he’s bleeding from his forehead…

    “I’m not afraid to bleed and at Back in Business I hope none of you are too, if you are well that’s too bad. This is my match to win and I’ll be damned if I let anyone else take this away from me, so I hope you’re all ready for this because I was born ready for this…”

    He removes himself from the cage and returns to the center of the ring and kneels down once again, and he finds the X-Championship in front of him on the mat. He reaches down to grab it and once he has it in his grasp he clings on to it and makes sure to never let go as the scene fades out.

    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business


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

  6. #6

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    The scene opens with a shot of the Camping World stadium in Orlando, FL. It’s been home to the Citrus Bowl and come Saturday, February 29th it’ll be home to the FWA’s annual premiere spectactle, Back in Business XIV. Everything is all set up, the stage, the ring and everything else that you can imagine that’ll go into making such an event. Pan to the seats in the arena we find none other than the FWA tag team champions, Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage, The Undisputed Alliance. As usual they’re accompanied by Britney Adams, who is wearing a lovely dress while Jackson and Nate are dressed casually for this promo as they hold their championships over their shoulders. Jackson adjusts his championship some before looking into the camera and begins to speak.

    “There’s been many football games played right here in this stadium, many championships were won and many watched right here in these seats as they witnessed history being made. Come this Saturday, February 29th at Back in Business XIV history will once again be made as thousands of people will watch myself and Nate Savage successfully defend our FWA Tag Team Championships after we decimate The Elite.”

    “Now, you’re probably asking yourselves, why is he so confident? Or you’re thinking to yourselves, don’t count your chickens before they hatch and to that I have to ask one question, haven’t you been paying attention? Since we first stepped foot in this company we’ve been on the fast track to success and in only what was I believe our third match as a team in this company, we walked away as the FWA Tag Team Champions when we defeated The New Breed. Since then we’ve beaten almost everyone that has stepped in our way, we’ll be the first to admit that there was one bump in the road…”

    Savage scowls at the thought of him submitting to Trevor Ocean on Fight Night.

    “But that doesn’t matter, all that matters is that we still remained the champions. Hell, we even have a win over the current world champion, the self proclaimed King, Dave Sullivan. So if you ask again why am I so confident, it’s pretty simple, and if you don’t know why well then you clearly still haven’t been paying attention…”

    Jackson adjusts himself in his seat as Nate leans back in his.

    “You see this whole thing between us and The Elite has been going on for several years now, since our time in the CWA. As you can see whenever they appear on Fight Night, The Elite carry around the CWA Tag Team Championships like they are still relevant but that couldn’t be any more further from reality because the reality is that CWA is dead and it should stay dead. The Elite carrying around those belts just goes to show me that they can’t let go of the past, them holding those belts are them clinging on to their past like it means something but it means squat now. What they accomplished in the CWA is irrelevant now, none of that matters anymore. Nate is a former two time champion in the CWA, you don’t see him clinging on to the past do you?”

    Nate shakes his head at that question.

    “No, you don’t see me doing that because I’m not an idiot. Am I proud of my time in the CWA? Sure, I got my big break there and I was introduced to a more mainstream audience and the world learned who I am. I haven’t forgotten about any of that, but I have chosen to move on and live in the now where I am one half of the FWA Tag Team Champions with Jackson Fenix. Maybe, just maybe, The Elite should try that and see what it feels like”

    Jackson nods in agreement with Nate.

    “You couldn’t be any more correct my friend. All they can do is cling on to the past because that’s the only time they were ever relevant. They can bring up the fact that they beat us on more than one occasion in CWA but again, that was the past and this is now. We aren’t the same team we were back then, hell we don’t even have that name anymore that you found to be so cute to bring up when making this challenge to us. We shed that name because this is a new start for us, a new beginning, a fresh slate if you will…”

    Britney puts her hand up interrupting Jackson as she looks to the camera now, a look of seriousness in her eyes.

    “Noah, Trevor, don’t think for one second that I have forgotten what you did to me in a match. You laid me out with a steel chair. I haven’t forgotten about that and I would love nothing more than to repay you for that. When my boys are through with you two, you’ll get your receipt…”

    Britney wraps her around Jackson and leans in closer to him.

    “I haven’t forgotten about that either. It goes way beyond any championships, you two have made this personal. That is why we want to end this and send you both packing with your tails between your legs. After it’s all said and done, we’re going to go on and reign supreme over this tag team division, something that you two couldn’t do when you came here for a cup of coffee and then split.”

    Jackson and Nate both lean forward now.

    “It’s time for you to forget about the past”

    “As the song goes, it’s time for you to get on your knees and bow down!”

    They hold their championships to the camera as the scene fades out.

    Rest in power, Flock U
    Rest in power, TCON

    Team Cyrus T is Best for Business


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

  7. #7
    I'm a Stone Cold Lee Guy.
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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    As the scene opens up within that local gym, we come to find Kevin Cromwell absolutely exhausted. He's hunched forward and leaning upon the long row of dumbbells as they sat within their allocated sections of the sturdy designed structure. He's taking deep breaths in an attempt to fully catch it, as the beads of sweat upon his forehead continue to break out and drip down from upon his face. He would close his eyes momentarily, before lifting his head, now staring into the mirror that covered the majority of the backing wall. Did Kevin Cromwell see in himself, a man who was willing and able to go the distance? Looking into his eyes from the distance of the camera's view, it was hard to deny that thought. He was a man built entirely on focus. And after coming so very close last year, this year he'd vowed against making the same mistakes twice. He knew that 4this was specifically designed to hurt. He was the only one in this match, who knew what he was getting himself into to. There's so many ways one could injure themselves, and so many more to injure others. It was the most dangerous match, and the risks involved were as high as they could ever be. But the reward at stake; could only come once a year.

    Kevin Cromwell How do you prepare yourself for X-rules?

    Cromwell pauses briefly

    Kevin Cromwell:You can't. In this gym, you can train every element of your game. You can go beyond what your body is capable of. You can build yourself an ass-kicking machine. And this place will bring out the best in you, and kick the crap out of you, all at the same time. But what's going to go down at Back In Business? I don't think my opponents realize just how punishing it actually is to be a match like this. It's going to be hell on earth. To stand within one of those chamber pods prior to starting that match, you'd have to consider yourself lucky. Very lucky. Because you gotta fight from the get-go? And when you're in a match like that, you're in trouble. There's no denying your backs against the wall, and you're behind the eight ball. There's no escape. Your strongest advantage is your best advantage. And even then, you gotta find it first. Which is a lot easier said than done. I mean, you either win it, or you don't. And if you don't, you will, without a doubt, learn from that experience. Because win or lose, the fact of the matter is; you're gonna get hurt. When you wake up the next morning, you won't be doing jumping-jacks that's for damn sure. You'll be in pain. And quite possibly limited to movement. When you wake up, you're gonna feel every aspect of that match reminding you of everything you just went through. Reminding you that; that was no dream. That's reality. And unless you walk out the victor, you will be sore and sorry for that reality.

    Kevin takes yet another breath with the slightest of pauses)

    Kevin Cromwell: Last year at back in business I looked failure in the face.

    Kevin points toward his own face with his index finger whilst raising his eyebrows

    Kevin Cromwell My face. I woke up the next morning and what I saw in that mirror whilst brushing my teeth, was far from the regular routine. What I saw was a guy who had to give absolutely everything in order to win.

    Kevin shakes his head in disappointment.

    Kevin Cromwell And he didn't. I didn't.

    Kevin turns away from the mirror, turning toward the cameras as he spoke)

    Kevin Cromwell:
    At the time, and as it were happening? I thought I did. Don't get me wrong; I went out there with nothing but the utmost intention to walk out the winner. But when I woke up the very next morning and I didn't have that title? I knew otherwise. I knew that I didn't give that match enough. And you know, it's like they say. 'Most of the time, ninety-nine per cent is good enough'. Just not good enough for success in the wrestling business... And I know that now. Believe me; I know it all too well. I've been experiencing it since I returned I've been there before, and Tonight I will be there again. Only this time?

    Cromwell pauses, taking a deep breath whilst nodding with assurance.

    Kevin Cromwell This time; I will conquer Back In Business I will give this match one hundred and TEN per cent. I will walk away the victor; I will take that back MY X championship.

    With a face that was determined to be certain, The most important thing for Kevin right now was preparation. He knew that if he wasn't willing to do the hard yards, he had no chance of winning. And the one thing Kevin Cromwell wanted to achieve, almost desperately in fact; was victory. He needed this victory. For every failure he'd ever had, Tonight was about righting his wrongs After losing at Back In Business last year. After losing to Dave Sullivan in humbling fashion, his first step back was Tonight, And he wasn't about to let anything or anyone stop him from achieving such a goal. The scene at hand would fade out slightly, skipping ahead of time apparently, now coming to find Cromwell sitting upon an otherwise empty bench. He has a towel resting around his neck, draping down over his shoulders. Possibly post-shower.

    Kevin Cromwell: The last few weeks leading up to Tonight have been a really challenging sequence. A fine-tuning, actually. From losing to Dave Sullivan to last week defeating Jason Randell, It's been quite an interesting turn of events. And last week was damn challenging. 'Cause Jason Randell can go. He's an absolute work-horse in the middle of that ring, and to walk out on the other side of an absolute war was one victory I'll always remember. And even though that match took its toll, If anything? It only strengthens you. Both physically and mentally, and I now know that I have that advantage. But I also know that Jason Randell is gonna come out all guns-a-blazing. I know that if all else fails, he wants my head on a stick because a match like this plays into his strengths but whereas Jason Randell in this for revenge, I'm not looking over my shoulder for anybody. I don't have any distractions whatsoever. The only goal in my mind is to win the entire thing. Jason Randell, in my mind, is now nothing more than yet another competitor. Last week, we settled our differences. This week, I'm moving on—bigger and better things. I will not let anything get in the way of everything I've worked so very hard to achieve. Everyone in this match to me is equal. Because each and every one of them are attempting to stop me. But they will all fail. BECAUSE I REFUSE TO LOSE!

    Kevin voice had risen momentarily, as he takes a quick pause following his words

    Kevin Cromwell: If Jason Randell wants his revenge, that's fine. Come and get it. But know that I will not be denied. Because I will run anybody and everybody who gets between me and that title. I've been there before, and yeah... I lost. But I'll damned if I lose again. King Kong couldn't stop me, so if Jason Randell wants to climb that tower he better prepare himself for the fall. Last week he got schooled in his own game, Tonight he's gonna come face to face with mine. And although I'm almost certain that Jason Randell will sell me short, Tonight's victory will be as predictable as Jason Randell's weak attempt to play me down. 'Cause let's face it, for everything Jason gon' say about me? We've heard it all before. His mouth's like a music box. You open it up, and it's the same song and dance. But if you close the lid? It's nothing but silence. So Tonight, Jason Randell's glass jaw is one false claim away from breaking point, and one hard stiff right fist away from shattering. So he better hope to find that dragon-tail. Or better-yet; flip a coin. Find a lucky rabbit foot. Hunt the garden for a four-leaf clover because he's You're out of luck, you're out of touch, you've said everything there ever was to say, AND NOW, YOU'RE OUT ON YOUR ASS! And yet here I stand—your; Biggest Problem.

    Cromwell pauses with a raise of the eyebrows and a slight tilt of the head. Almost now speaking directly to Jason in the hope he was somewhere watching

    Kevin Cromwell: And whilst you stand there with nothing to do but repeat yourself. I am here, fit and ready, fresh as a daisy, without as much as a bloody' horse-shoe of luck. Why? 'Cause I don't need it. All I need; is what I'm good enough to earn. I earned my spot And Tonight; I will earn that title once again. And that much? You can bank on.

    Following those previous words, the video feed fades out yet again. And just as it had done previously, it appears to have yet again; moved ahead of time. Only this time, we're out of the gym. We're out of the sweats. And now? It's much more formal than it previously was. As the scene opens up, we find ourselves a stage. A stage of which Kevin Cromwell can be found standing behind a pedestal, dressed very neatly in a suit, leaning forward before a microphone in what appears to be some sort of a press conference. The Back In Business logo is pasted all over the backing wall, and the current atmosphere is surrounded by the supporting noise as it was provided by the thousands of FWA's most faithful. Kevin Cromwell appears to be waiting for something. Listening. And before you knew it, we could now hear a voice behind the camera. Picking it up quite clearly, thus now entering mid-sentence, we find ourselves within the official press conference.

    ...would you consider him to be somewhat of a darkhorse, considering the amount of talent he's displayed over the past year? I mean, surely it can only be stalled for so long before he finds yet another way to win.

    Cromwell holds his arms out and shrugs his shoulders very lightly whilst responding with a smile.

    Kevin Cromwell: Y' see. That's the beauty in it, right there.

    Cromwell pauses whilst lowering his arms, resting them up on the podium.

    Kevin Cromwell, There's no clear winner. It's anybody's match to win. And when that bell rings, from the moment I enter that match. I will be doing just as much as MVH to win that match. But to answer your question, would I consider Donovan Moore to be somewhat of a Darkhorse?

    Cromwell pauses, narrowing his eyes in thought. Moments later, he would nod with a response.

    Kevin Cromwell: Yes. And he's probably gonna hate me for saying that. Because he's just arrived, but Moore seems like the type of bloke who would much rather you forgot he was actually ever in the match to begin with, then for you to ever refer to him as the 'darkhorse'.Donovan Moore is all about the shock factor. Proving people wrong, and then rubbing it in their face. Smearing every aspect of that victory, till it seeps deep down and into your pores. So far, in fact, you could never forget the day. The man of the hour trumped you.I think Tonight will be a true turning point for I mean, it's the perfect stage for an upset. And the prize attached, is a prize in which Donovan Moore would just... torture you with.

    A few chuckles can be heard from within our audience, as Cromwell continues to assure them.

    Kevin Cromwell: He would. He'd carry that belt around like he was god's gift to wrestling and he would ensure you that you couldn't forget about him. For every corner you turn, if he's holding that title, then he's the only face you wanna see. Cause that moment you miss it, you're gonna lose everything. He is as humanly sly, as they come. But whereas some of the others involved in Tonight's contest might come to underestimate exactly what Moore is capable of, I for one, will not. Moore will do anything to win this match Tonight. Only problem is, I've held that title before. I know what it feels like to be in this type of match And whilst Moore will do anything, I will do EVERYTHING, to ensure that not only does Moore lose?

    Kevin smirks as he points his index finger down and onto the podium top, just to make a point and make it heard.

    Kevin Cromwell: But he will be reminded just how big a PRICK he really is,

    Cromwell takes pause, awaiting those in charge to select someone from beyond the camera's view, to ask Cromwell yet another question. A question in which Cromwell prepares himself to answer, taking a sip of water whilst waiting.

    Kevin, I was just listening to you refer to Moore as a possible Darkhorse. And if that be the case, where does that leave the likes of Gerald Grayson and Eli Black.

    Kevin screws the lid back onto the bottle of water he was previously drinking from, placing it back upon the podium top. He then leans toward the mic with a straight face and answers accordingly.

    Kevin Cromwell: Now that's a good question. And honestly, it appears as though they're getting Donny Moore treatment. Or at least the treatment he was after. Y' see, Gerald Grayson and Eli Black are walking into the Back In Business, one win away from a title after being here for a cup of coffee. But in the minds of many, their mere shadows compared to the competition. For me, personally? I think for any man to be given, or better yet, for any man to have EARNED such an incredible opportunity, this is the one time above all other's to prove your critics wrong. And you'd be surprised what an under-dog can produce when you put them up against the sword, but just close enough to get a real taste and feel for that victory. And that's what this match is. It's an opportunity. You gotta go through hell in order to live up to that opportunity, but there is nothing more dangerous than a man that's been cornered and left with no other option but the instinct of survival. You would be surprised what some men are willing to do in order to survive. And I think for Gerald Grayson and Eli Black, this is the perfect opportunity for them to excel beyond what anybody ever thought they were capable of. I mean, when you look at these two guy's, they both have potential. And they both earned their places in this. Gerald has no fear, and Eli Black is the PERFECT example of a man with nothing to lose. The perfect example of a man who was cornered, but a man who found a way to adapt, and overcome. Which is something I very strongly believe in. Because I feel as though, you can adapt to anything. And I've never seen any challenge to be impossible. I don't allow myself to be caught up and into that negativity. Eli has the potential to be anything. The sky's the limit. And Tonight, that sky sits within the x-title. Same goes for Gerald. That's what this business is all about. That's the prize we all seek. So, to put it simply? It's easy. Tonight, Eli Black and Gerald Grayson have an opportunity to shock the world. To make a name for themselves. But standing in there way, is a kickboxing, judo throwin' Wrestling wiz' kid genius, Amadeus Kevin Cromwell. And after last year, if you think for one second that their sense for victory is stronger than mine? Then you have another thing coming. This X Match Tonight is an accumulation of an entire year's work. I've been up, and I've been down. But Tonight?

    Kevin shakes his head.

    Kevin Cromwell: I refuse to allow an entire year's worth of work, to just go to waste and evaporate to nothing. There are six men in this x-match, but not one that wants this victory more so than me. And I promise you, no matter what they say, no matter what they do. I will not lose. This is my match to win and my time? IS... NOW!

    Our cameras faded out yet again, as it appeared as though Cromwell was leaving the podium as we did so. So far, we'd progressed through a full Cromwell day ahead of Back In Business. A very busy one indeed. As time progressed forward yet again, we open up backstage within said arena. We're panning the area, as a door opens in the distance, and outcomes Kevin Cromwell! Officially arriving for Tonight's event, where he would compete in the hopes of earning that X-Belt As he steps toward the camera, a voice off-camera can be heard immediately asking him a question. A question to which Cromwell would willingly stop and listen in for.

    OFFSCREEN VOICE ★ FWA CAMERAMAN: Kevin, I'm sorry to hold you up. But I gotta ask you. What's your take on arguably the favorite Michelle Von Horrowitz who had some quite pointed remarks about this match at Fight Night

    Kevin chuckles in what appears to be disbelief of MVH's intentions, shaking his head from side to side before speaking.

    Kevin Cromwell: Haven't we seen, and heard all this before? Honestly? I don't get it. I've seen these sudden outbursts for attention, and I get it. Like, I understand that Michelle is very good at what she does. I understand that she's very good, at twisting the screws and sucking you in. But what I don't understand, the one thing that confuses me... is why? Because apparently; she feels as though no one deserves it but her? Who in the hell, does she think she is? Straight up; not one person is bigger than this business. And I'll tell her that to her face. The X-title represents hard work and sacrifice. That title is won only by those who truly deserve it. Those who have earned it. Now, I don't know what Michelle was thinking. But if she thinks that after spouting off with that stuff that he's just gonna walk into Back In Business, win the X-Title just like that? Without a fight? She has another thing coming. Because I'll be damned if I'm to fall victim to her ego because she suddenly decides that she wants to be the centre of attention. NO! For an entire year, I've waited to write what happened at the last back in business. I promised myself the next time around, I would fight my way back into the fold, and I would win. My intention was to win that title But now? Now I have an additional goal. A goal to ensure that MVH does not win. A goal to ensure that Michelle gets nowhere NEAR winning that belt. Because I will not allow her to take that title and leave. I have promised an entire nation that Tonight, I would win that belt. But if by some miracle; Michelle Von Horrorwitz just so happens to win?

    Kevin lowers his head, shaking it back and forth before raising it back up to speak

    Kevin Cromwell: Then, there's a group of people who are gonna hate me for it. Some official's backstage who might see it to be unjust, based on the fact it's nothing but an empty threat until it happens. But if Michelle wins that belt, I will do everything within my power to ensure she doesn't. Because that title means everything to me. And Michelle Von Horrorwitz I can see that title in any light he chooses to. But to me? It's damn sure not a toy. It's not something you take for granted. It's not just something you take for the sake of taking it. And who's MVH to tell anybody she deserves anything I mean, think about it. What exactly has MVH done lately? WHAT HAS SHE DONE!? She's been here for a month and thinks she's better then anyone else? Sure she talks a good game she can always find something... to talk about. But y' see, that's just it. MVH is all talk. Which is quite unfortunate. But to be honest with you, at the end of the day? It doesn't even matter. Because it won't happen, because this is my moment, this is Back In Business, and I'm Amadeus….Time to write a masterpiece

    Cromwell would immediately storm the scene, with that built up anger and aggression burning very brightly within his being. With Cromwell nowhere to be seen, the scene fades out yet again. Thus concluding our Exclusive...

    OR NOT?!

    Just when you thought the exclusive was over, another scene would now suddenly appear. A scene that was sure to be the last one. A scene that came from within the bathroom, of an FWA locker-room. In that locker-room, of coarse, was Kevin Cromwell. A mirror on the wall could now be seen. One that reflected Kevin Cromwell, as he was leaning upon the sink below it with his head down. His forearms are resting upon either end of the sink bowl. And a toothbrush in his mouth, with one hand being used to produce the circular motion's in order to brush with. Cromwell removes the brush, and soon spits out the mixture of toothpaste and water, watching it flow down the sink in a circular motion. He would then reach for a towel from a bar on the wall beside himself, wiping his mouth clean of any excess paste. He would then lift his head rather swiftly, coming face to face with himself in the mirror. Inhaling slowly, and exhaling even slower. The cameras would zoom in upon Kevin Cromwell's face, exactly as he was seeing it. There was a look of sheer fire in his eyes. Determination. Passion. And after a few moments had now come to pass, the scene itself would slowly begin to fade away. But just as it did so, one thing had now significantly changed. At that thing, was an emerging smirk upon Kevin Cromwell's face

    Redemption was coming
    Last edited by An Original Name; 02-28-2020 at 08:59 PM.
    The most amazing thing about this recent conversation is that I've learned AON is even more of a waste of space than I thought he was previously

  8. #8
    Friendship King

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    Feb. 18th, Melbourne. 6:58pm.

    It’s a grizzly, overcast evening, somewhere in downtown Melbourne. The bright orange sun, hidden by the dark grey clouds in the sky, had just started to kiss the lip of the horizon, as a cherry red, somewhat beat-up ’58 Plymouth Fury came to a halt outside a rusted warehouse. The engine – once proud and roaring, now rickety and clattering with age – fell silent, as the sole, forever sole, occupant of the car switched off the ignition and leaned back in the plush, pale leather seats, his gaze settling on the warehouse with an expression that would’ve been indifferent, if it weren’t for the slight tilt of the eyebrows, the shadow of a frown, the eyes that didn’t shine nor sparkle.

    The man tapped a finger against the steering wheel with no rhythm or pattern, before he tore his eyes away from the warehouse and fumbled for his phone. A trio of tapping and scrolling, before he found the text log he was looking for.

    Violet Dreyer

    Feb. 9th, 11:13pm.



    Feb. 9th, 11:28pm.

    pick up your damn phone


    Fuckin FINALLY what kept you

    I... Had a match? On FWA?

    oh right

    you won??? wow that’s cool

    Is there something you want, Violet?

    oh man do I have a list or what

    but nah

    we gotta talk

    Is that not what we are currently doing?

    yeah but nah

    like in person and shit

    you me and dad

    Must we? I have plans.

    sure you do

    plans to LOSE

    fuckin gottem
    Ouch. My pride. How shall I ever recover from this third-degree burn.

    oh I get it

    3rd degree burn, like what cyrus is gonna get at back in business


    uhhuh sure

    so anyway meet us at the warehouse


    No. Not ‘k.’ I have a very important match to train for, and I’d rather not be distracted by the whims of a wheelchair-bound leech and his sycophant of a daughter.

    hey that’s me, i’m the sychopant of a daughter. see i’m self aware

    Congratulations. Point still stands.

    god you’re a headache

    this is important


    rock the foundations of society important


    dad says hell get out of your hair after this talk

    he promises

    You and I both know your father’s words hold about as much weight as a feather.

    yeah nah for real this time

    I’m sure. And I bet he’ll say the same thing next time, and the time after that, and so on.

    jesus christ quit being difficult

    itll be like a ten minute talk tops

    and you can tell him to shove it afterwards

    you love telling him to shove it don’t you???

    I do admittedly find an inordinate amount of pleasure in telling him that he’s full of shit.


    he talks, you tell him hes full of shit, everybody goes home happy

    Fine. I’ll be there. I’d better not regret this.

    you probably will

    *won’t. autocorrect.
    Flicking his phone off and tossing it into his pocket, the man stepped out of his car, locking it behind him. Soothing out the creases in his outfit – a pair of olive green trousers, a white shirt, a brown waistcoat and a pale pink tie beneath an olive green overcoat – the man known worldwide as simply Krash approached the warehouse, the home of Victorian Combat Arts Association. He ran a hand over his tone black hair, neatly pressed, as the wind ruffled his luxurious moustache, and tugged on his overcoat tighter against the cold breeze. Quietly stepping through the large metal doors with only the slightest of squeaking, Krash stepped into the warehouse and let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

    The dilapidated innards of the warehouse never changed. Why would they? Krash was certain he just saw a mouse scurry under one of the three audience stands surrounding the ring in the centre of the warehouse, where a handful of would-be wrestlers were training under the eyes and voice of a sagging, decrepit old man in a wheelchair. Or, more specifically, the old man berated the trainees while a handful of them took turns body slamming an undersized, pale, flabby man.

    “Cradle the head, Yoshida! This is a body slam, not a piledriver! I would’ve thought you’d be smart enough to know the difference, but apparently not! Leaseman, step up and show me what you think a body slam is! I’d expect better from a man of the law, that was sloppy! Huxley, you’re up, try not to drop Joe on his neck!”

    “Oh hey, you made it.” A voice beside Krash said, and Krash had to try very hard not to jump. He glanced at the woman who had walked up beside him with nary a sound, and nodded.

    “Perhaps against my better judgement, Violet.” Krash greeted, before gesturing towards the scene in the ring, where the poor fellow who had taken at least three, but likely more, sloppily-driven body slams, had started to plead for a brief break. “Should I be concerned about that?”

    Violet glanced at the scene unfolding, before she shrugged. “That? Nah. Burr couldn’t afford this week’s training, so he ‘volunteered’ to be a test dummy for the others to practice on.”

    Krash frowned. As Burr took another body slam that landed too much on the hip rather than the back, Krash turned from the scene, coughing. Violet arched an eyebrow.

    “Flashbacks.” Krash mumbled, gesturing vaguely at the ring. “I did the same thing when I started. Unpleasant.”

    “Ah. Right. Maybe we should go wait in the office while dad does his... thing.”


    “Probably won’t be for much longer. C’mon, I’ll get you a drink or something.” Violet beckoned, retreating to the office that overlooked the ring. Sparing a brief glance back at the ring, Krash followed, not wanting to enter, but not wanting to wait either.

    As the door to the office swung shut behind him, Krash shrugged off his overcoat, and sat himself down on a dusty couch, glancing at the portraits and photos on the wall, all of Murphy Dreyer’s training graduates, at the height of their careers. Which meant there weren’t a lot of photos, but there was a notable amount of photos depicting Krash himself with a title of some kind. Meanwhile, Violet dug around in the desk of the office, before producing a bottle of whisky and tossing it to Krash, where it landed on the cushion next to him.

    Krash raised an eyebrow, inspecting the generic bottle.

    “You’ll probably need that.” Violet remarked, leaning against the desk and crossing her arms. “Oh, and as an aside, can you talk to FWA security? They threw me out like garbage when I was there last time.”

    “Because you were trespassing, Violet, and openly so. I distinctly recall you announcing your intentions to swipe something from Gabrielle’s locker room.”

    “That’s no reason to kick me out.”

    “That’s absolutely a reason to kick you out, Violet. I’m surprised they didn’t get you formally arrested.”

    Violet snorted, but refrained from speaking as the door swung open. A creaky wheelchair pushes itself in, accompanied by a frail old man with eyes as sunken as the Titanic. The old man wheeled into the office as the door swung shut behind him, shooting a squinted glare at Violet.

    “Get off my desk.” He demanded.

    Violet rolled her eyes, but she relented, standing and moving away from the desk, instead leaning against a windowsill. The old man glanced at Krash, realizing for the first time his office had another occupant, and his eyes widened.

    “Krash! About time.” He wheezed, his mouth expanding into a cavernous maw that could be slightly described as a ‘smile.’ “Ran out of excuses to stay away from here, huh?”

    “Something like that.” Krash replied, eyes anywhere but on the yellow, rotten teeth of the man who was, at one point, his trainer. “Violet said you wanted to talk, Murphy.”

    “There’s not much else I can do at my age.”

    “Then talk.”

    “What, you’re skipping the pleasantries? You? The fuckin’ self-proclaimed Heartbeat, the goodest of two shoes? Mr. Hugs and Handshakes? ” Murphy Dreyer snorted sarcastically, wheeling his way to his desk. “Krash-”

    “Allow me to be so bold as to venture a guess.” Krash interrupted, standing. “You’re going to say something along the lines that I still owe you for... Something, anything, really, that I’m forever indebted to you for one reason or another. Then you’ll start questioning why I’m losing so much and how much of it is due to this ‘good guy’ persona you think I’m projecting. And maybe, if I’m still here after that tirade, you’ll swing it back to some sort of business proposition. I’ll tell you I’ll think about it, then I’ll completely ignore you for another six months until Violet here convinces me to talk to you again. And the cycle repeats, into infinity.” Krash leaned onto the desk, hands splayed in front of Murphy. “How close am I?”

    Murphy Dreyer huffed. He shot a glance towards Violet, who could only shrug.

    “Well?” Krash repeated. “Because if that’s the road you want to go down, again, then I might as well skip to the ending and leave.”

    Murphy was still looking at Violet. A silent conversation seemed to occur between the two, within the span of seconds as Krash straightened, before Murphy nodded, relenting. “Krash.” He began, before pausing. “Jake.” He corrected, finally looking at Krash in the eyes. “Would you like to know why I keep hounding you? Why I refuse to let you go on into the world, twelve years after you finally escaped my training facility?”

    Krash stepped back, adjusting his tie slightly. “Because I’m the only student of yours that has any modicum of success?”

    “No. Well, yes, but...” Murphy grimaced, hating that Krash had a point, but conceded to it anyway. “It’s more the method of your success.”

    Krash squinted. “What do you mean?” He asked, already suspecting.

    “Ever...” Murphy took a breath. “Ever since you stepped through those doors, all those years ago, and told me you were eighteen, I knew you were a good liar.”

    Krash glanced at Violet, who stared impassively back at him.

    “You said it with such conviction that I didn’t even stop to ask for an ID or anything.” Murphy continued, eyes glazing over slightly. “Like you had some kind of... Golden fuckin’ tongue. It didn’t hit me until after you got signed with OWW that you were almost certainly a minor, and I was a blind fool not to see it.”

    “To be fair, Dad, the optometrist said you should’ve started wearing glasses at least nine years ago.”

    “Fuck ‘im. Point being, it wasn’t until you were out of my hands that I realised how insanely good you are at pretending to be something you’re not.”

    “I can see where this is going.” Krash said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve been down this path before, Murphy. ‘Krash, you’re not as good a person as you think you are, no one buys you being a good guy despite the fact that you’ve been a good guy your whole career, etc, etc.’ What makes this time any different, huh? How much longer are you going to bang the same drum without changing the tune?”

    “Because I wanted you to realise it yourself, godamnit!” Murphy spat, slamming a fist against the desk. He paused, steadying himself. “Because I only want what’s best for you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

    “Really?” Krash retorted disdainfully, pacing to and fro. “So hounding me for years, spreading lies and misinformation, that’s your idea of... of trying to make me achieve the best of myself? Simply because I told you I was three years older than I actually was when we met? Is that it? This seems like a stupid question, but Murph, are you out of your goddamned mind?”

    “It’s not an isolated incident.” Violet piped up from the doorway. “I mean, you taking those FWA title shots when you didn’t do a thing to deserve them doesn’t exactly paint you as a good guy.”

    “And I suppose you’d refuse the offer, Violet?” Krash turned to Violet, venom in his voice. “Act like those titles are beneath you? Come off it, Violet, you of all people would leap at any chance.”

    “Yeah, but the difference between you and me is that I’m pretty open about what a self-serving piece of shit I am.” Violet replied, puffing her chest out as if this were a badge of honour. “You don’t get to play the ‘good guy’ card AND take easy shots at the first opportunity. It’s contradictory. That’s not how the world works.”

    “Why the fuck not?” Krash said in exasperation, throwing his arms in the air. “I’ve spent the past eleven years killing myself, fourteen if we include that overpriced hazard regime you call a training program, Murphy. So fucking what if people recognize the time and effort I put in over the decade, and think I’m due a reward? I’m not going to be rude and turn that down.”

    Violet’s face scrunched into a sneer, and she looked away. Krash turned back to Murphy, placing his hands on the desk. “Admit it.” He snarled. “All this is, all this has ever been, is you trying to refute the fact that I’m a global success, a multiple-time world champion, and I’ve done it the RIGHT way, while you and your whole family tree spent generations blaming everyone but yourselves because you couldn’t go a match without an eye-poke, without a groin kick, without a single shortcut! You and your entire family are jobbers, all because of yourselves, so don’t go trying to drag me into the mud because I came out clean.”

    Murphy gritted his teeth, face twisted into a snarl. “You are missing the point. Mike Parr-”

    “What’s your godamned point?!?” Krash interrupted. “Mike Parr what? What about, Mike Parr? That you wish I was more like him, an insecure dirtbag who surrounds himself with a goober squad to wash his feet for him? A man who was touted as ‘The future’ four years ago when he won the North American title, only to stall, and stall, and stall, until the future passed by him? Who got a second chance at being the future when he won the title for a second time, only to make the title an afterthought almost instantly? The man took that title from Dave Sullivan, but the only way you’d know is when Sullivan himself cries about it! Do you want me to be like that? Is Mike Parr supposed to be your godamned point?!?”

    Murphy Dreyer bit his lip, tapping a finger against the desk. “I just...I just want you to realise your full potential.”

    Krash laughed, a dry, mocking laugh. “Murphy. Whether you want to believe it or not, I don’t care. I’m not like you, no matter how much you wish I was. I’m a good person. OWW, CGS, CAW, CWA, FWA, I’ve spent entire my career being a good person. Telling a lie here and there or accepting a title shot I’ve earned through years of service in this business doesn’t impede that, and nothing you say can change that.”

    With that, Krash turned, grabbed his overcoat, and approached the door to the office. He shot a wordless glance at Violet, who avoided eye contact, and grasped the doorknob, when-

    “AJ Tornado.”

    Krash froze.

    A thin bead of sweat trickled its way down the back of his neck.

    “That was his name, wasn’t it? AJ Tornado, or AJ Storm, or AJ Hurricane, something like that, right?”

    Slowly, Krash turned to face Murphy Dreyer, his palms suddenly feeling very clammy. Murphy still sat at his desk, having not moved an inch, but his attention was focused on the wall. The wall of photographs, specifically the ones centred around Krash. Krash followed his gaze to one specific photograph, and his heart sank.

    “Good kid, that AJ. Enthusiastic, eager to learn. Bit rough around the edges, but with a bit of polish he could’ve been something.”

    Nailed onto the wall, was a photo taken more than ten years ago, at the crowning moment of Krash’s first title win. Back when he dyed his hair all the colours of the rainbow, when he was still finding his place in the world. Back when he formed a tag team with a similar man who called himself AJ Tornado. OWW Takedown Tag Team Championships around their waists, the two held each other’s arms in victory, both achieving their first taste of gold. For Krash, it was the first of many. For AJ, it was the only taste he’d ever have.

    “Now, stop me if this sounds familiar, but the problem with AJ is that he couldn’t look forward.”

    “Word is, he had trouble looking behind him, too.” Violet piped up. Krash shot a glance at her, and Violet pantomimed aiming a gun at her head and pulling the trigger. Disturbed, Krash turned back to the photograph, eyes trailing to the photo next to it, taken a month later. The OWW Takedown Tag Team Title was still in Krash’s possession, but the one that had belonged to AJ, was now firmly in the hands of Steve Storme, shaking his free hand with Krash’s. He didn’t have to look at the date to know when the photo was taken. The 20th of March, 2010.

    The day Krash sold his soul to get ahead.

    Quick as a flash, the memory came back. The night he ignored and pushed deep within him, never acknowledging what happened that fateful night when his career skyrocketed. Never admitting how his career started to skyrocket.

    It was a tag team title match. Krash & AJ vs Steve Storme, the Indy God himself, and a mystery partner. But when the bell rang, Steve Storme was alone. AJ Tornado took to the fight, but soon found himself out of his depth. And when he reached out to Krash, hand outstretched, eyes pleading for a tag...

    Krash stabbed him in the back, and joined Steve Storme on the other side of the ring.

    Two rookies, barely a month into their first tag title reign, having finally broken through the glass ceiling, and within a month one had already taken an offer of a fast track to success to ditch his partner when he needed him the most.

    “And look at how your careers panned out. You won the world title four months later, kickstarting the start of your global dynasty. While AJ was never heard from again.”

    “This is what we’ve been trying to make you understand. You tried being the good guy, but it wasn’t until you stabbed an ally- no, stabbed a trusted friend in the back, that you finally broke through and became the superstar we knew you could be.”

    “Lying about your age to a trainer who didn’t give a shit? Accepting title shots unearned? Child’s play. Stabbing a friend in the back, when he needed you the most? That’s the mark of a bad person. Mike Parr, for all his faults, probably hasn’t stabbed a dedicated tag partner in the back. Something you’ve been trying to ignore and hide for a decade now.”

    “You know the bitch of it all, though? By the time you were a worldwide sensation, AJ Tornado was already forgotten from memory, so you could still act like the good guy and as long as no-one looked too deep, they wouldn’t find anything remiss.”

    “You started success when you made the choice to sell your soul. Being a good guy got you a foot in the door, but it took betraying someone you trusted to kick that door down. All I ever wanted you to do was acknowledge that fact, acknowledge the person you are, and admit that this fancy-pants good guy act is a thinly-veiled mask you wear to help yourself sleep at night.”

    "You don't need this mask to succeed. FWA doesn't need that mask. It's for you, only for you, and it's limiting your potential. Surely you see that, right?"

    As the poisonous words of the Dreyers echoed within his ears, Krash was silent. The glint from his eyes had vanished. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

    Finally, he let out a sigh, and carefully sat himself down on the couch. As Murphy & Violet Dreyer exchanged glances, Krash ran a trembling had through his hair, and let out a strangled laugh, devoid of any humour, warmth, or happiness. A laugh that wasn’t laughing at a joke, a laugh that was a combination of stress finally getting to him, of memories he buried in the dirt unearthed, staring him in the fact. A laugh of... relief.

    “I guess there’s no use pretending anymore, is there?”




    A white mist surrounding.

    A black fog enveloping.

    Two forces, forever opposite yet forever tied together. Two sides of the same coin. Pushing and pulsating, fighting for room. Taking and giving, taking and giving, over and over again.

    The Light would always prevail. Always. The Dark would slither for space, but the Light always occupied at least 75% of the room. All the Dark could do was snake around the edges, hungrily eat at small, isolated patches.

    And in the middle of the room, bathed in the Light, sitting on the floor that wasn’t a floor, was Krash.

    The room had no details. No discernible floor, walls, or ceiling. An abstract piece surrounding a man who called himself a Heartbeat, a Hero, a Liar, a Scoundrel. The sole physical object in the room, if you could call it that, was a lantern, giving of a small, orange glow in front of Krash. It did not light up the room. It merely illuminated the battle between the Light Mist and the Dark Fog, forever fighting over the soul of Krash.

    Krash stared into the lantern, watching the weak fire within it crackle. The Dark encroached upon the room slightly.

    “I’ve noticed a worrying trend in today’s world.” Krash began, his voice barely a whisper. “In that a true, pure-blooded hero, is a rare and infrequent thing.”

    The battle for between Dark and Light continues. Dark pushes forward, but Light pushes back. “Just look in FWA yourself. You can count on one hand the amount of people who would even come close to sharing a similarity with the term ‘Hero.’ You’ve got villains, anti-villains, lone wolves, people who stand in the middle, but heroes? Heroes are a dying breed.”

    Light shines brighter. Dark scowls, jabbing. “The world needs more heroes. In CWA, CAW, CGS, APW, OWW... Everywhere, a pure hero was few and far between. So for the past ten years... I’ve played that hero. Everywhere I went, I put on the smiling face, the friendly persona, the good guy mask, because people needed it. They needed a hero to believe in, even if it was someone who got their ass kicked more often than not. They needed a hero, and more importantly I needed to BE a hero. We both needed it, and I was happy to play the part. And people were usually so happy to have someone to believe in that they didn’t look into why he’s a hero in the first place. They never considered that he’s a hero because he did something so awful, he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror for months. They don’t consider that he’s a hero because one night, he let something happen that shouldn’t’ve, he shook the hand of someone he shouldn’t’ve, and finding out how easy it was to let an awful thing happen to someone who didn’t deserve it horrified him to the core. They were happy to believe in this idea that there’s one, good-hearted person, who does things because they’re the right thing. And I was happy to let them continue believing that idea. If that hero were to be rewarded with gold, trophies, titles, and legacies? All the better.”

    A pause. A beat of silence. The battle between Light and Dark stops briefly, as if both are keenly aware of how futile it all is. “At least, that’s how it used to be. And I liked it that way.”

    Suddenly, Dark surges, snapping forward with sudden speed and intensity. “But things have changed. The landscape has changed. The world may need heroes, but FWA... FWA doesn’t. Maybe it never did. The tag titles are being fought over by two sides of the same egotistical coin. Nova Diamond is the lesser of two evils with Dave Sullivan. We’re about to watch Cyrus Truth and Gabrielle try to set each other on fire, for goodness’s sake, while everyone cheers and eats popcorn. No, there’s no room for the hero in FWA. No humility. No civility. No heroes. No matter how much I tried over the past year, the Darkness still outnumbers the Light.”

    Light struggles, but it’s grip is slipping, as Dark encroaches on territory it hasn’t felt in years. “Maybe, for FWA, it always will.”

    The scales have tipped. Dark now controls the majority. “Mr. Parr... Mike. Mike, I have a confession to make. I am not a hero.”

    Light offers a comeback, a response. “I’ve tried to be a hero. Be the friendly, respectful sort. And I was being genuine about it too. Every offer of a handshake, every compliment, every mention that you, Garcia, anyone, could be a better person than they are, I meant every word of it. Mike, when I called you someone with unlimited potential, I want you to know and understand, that I genuinely mean those words with every fibre of my being. I can’t stand what you choose to be, but I can’t deny your potential.”

    But Dark plows through Light, ripping and tearing through it. “But the truth of the matter is, I’m not a good person. Maybe at the heart of it, I never was. Accepting title shots I didn’t earn, lying to those who trusted me, shaking the hand of a friend while weighing the knife I’d stab into his back in the other. The mask of civility kept slipping, until I started wondering why I wore it in the first place. Maybe I’m just a very good actor, a man with a golden tongue, someone who knows exactly what to say to get people on his side.”

    For the first time in years, Light is on the defence, and it’s struggling. “And for this, I apologise. Because while you’re waiting for the hero to come riding on his stallion, the same hero you’ve pinned twice, at Back In Business you’re going to get something different. Something you haven’t prepared for. Because I have accepted something about myself that I’ve denied for a very, very long time – that being, at the heart of it, I’m an awful human being, capable of acts that would make the hero persona I put forth gape in horror. There is no longer any point pretending I’m anything different.”

    Dark is everywhere. Light is reduced to a thin lining, cowering at base the lantern. “At Back In Business, you and I are going to face each other in the ring once more. You’ll bring that same game that enabled you to pin me twice, and I applaud you for it. But know that there is no hero coming to greet you for a last stand at Back In Business. There is no good guy to counterbalance you and your deviant ways. There may be glimpses of the honorific athlete I am, but once that bell rings, all bets are off. There is no low I will not stoop to, no line I will not cross, no bridge I will not burn, if it means I exit the night with gold around my waist.”

    Reaching a hand towards the lantern, Krash opens up the thin door, allowing the remaining sliver of Light to retreat inside, as Dark overtakes the rest of the room. “At Back In Business, you’re facing a man who doesn’t belong in this world. A man who tried to be what the world needed, until he realized this world isn’t like any other he fought in. A man who realised heroes don’t succeed in this world. A selfish man, a lying man. A man whose heart is scarred with the sins of his past that. And I wouldn’t change a thing about it.”

    Locking the lantern door, Krash holds up the lantern to his eyes, inspecting the fluttering, beating heart of Light shivering within with a curious, almost saddened gaze. “I’m not the man I thought I was. Not the man I hoped I was. And you, Mike Parr, are not the man you could’ve been. For a man touted as the future, you can’t take the necessary step forward into the next chapter. There’s something you’re missing, some part of you that prevents you from ascending to the level that you belong.”

    Cradling the lantern in his hands, holding it tight against his chest, Krash slowly stands. The Dark makes room from him, as it always has. “For your sake, I hope you find that missing piece. I hope you find that consolation prize after I take the North American title out of your hands, and I turn your title reign into a footnote of history instead of a new legacy in your career.”

    Krash turns, walking away into the Dark, his figure slowly vanishing, enveloped by the mist.

    “Above all, I hope you can one day forgive me, for what I’m going to do to you at Back In Business.”


  9. #9
    Squash Fodder
    Rawr is War's Avatar

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    Feb 17 2020 @FWAofficial Alyster Black has signed with FWA

    - FWA on YouTube exclusive interview Feb 21 2020 –

    Under the bright lights and against an FWA banner backdrop are two stools. Sat on stage left is FWA backstage interviewer Katie-Lynn Goldsmith, and stage right sits FWA’s newest acquisition, the masked man himself, Alyster Black. “Greetings everyone, it’s my esteemed pleasure to introduce to you all, for the first time in nearly seven years. Alyster Black!” Katie holds a hand out towards Alyster who greets the camera with a wave and a smile that could almost be seen through his mask.

    “Hello Katie. HELLLO FWA!” Alyster raises his hands out, trying to summon the love of the non-existent studio audience. “It feels so good to be back.” He remarks looking out amongst the mostly empty studio.

    Katie raises an eyebrow at Alyster’s bizarre behaviour. She consults her notes and begins the interview proper. “Welcome back Alyster...” Alyster interrupts her, “Mr. Black please.” Katie lets out a sigh, “Welcome back Mr. Black. First of what we at FWA and everyone watching at home wants to know. Where have you been?” “Since I left? I’ve been around. Mostly hanging around my home until all the money I earned during my illustrious career ran out. You wouldn’t believe how comfortably a man can live on royalty checks when he wrestles on enough shows. Unfortunately, with CWA shutting down the checks stopped coming.” Alyster laughs, Katie doesn’t.

    “So, your return to wrestling is only for monetary purposes?” Alyster shakes his head. “Of course it isn’t Katie. I like everyone else in FWA have an intense love and passion for professional wrestling. I would be nothing without it. And wrestling…it’s like a drug, and I’m addicted.” Alyster’s energy drops at that last line but Katie perks up a little bit, “Why did you leave wrestling for seven years” Alyster shifts in his seat, feeling a little uncomfortable with the question. “I mean, I was at the top of my game. I achieved everything I ever wanted and more. Though I won’t lie and say there aren’t any regrets. I didn’t win any singles championships in CWA, something I will most definitely be doing during my FWA run. I have my eyes set on that X Championship. But as to why I left…” Alyster pauses, rubbing his chin, trying to think of the best way to answer this annoying question. He resorts to giving the best answer he can possibly give. A shoulder shrug that leaves Katie a little annoyed to say the least.

    “You have a match at Back in Business against Captain El Franko. What are your thoughts going into this match?” “That someone in the office must really think highly of me if they want to showcase my return at the biggest show of the year in singles competition. Does just anyone get to make such a grand debut as that? No. Only the best of the best. And hey, it makes a guy feel special. So shoutout to management for that kind gesture. Oh, and Captain El Franko, I apologise in advance but I’m going to be tearing you limb from limb. Nothing personal, I just really want to make a good first impression here.” Alyster bursts out laughing at this. Katie is none to amused.

    Alyster turns his attention away from Katie and looks straight into the camera. “I’d just like to say that it feels great to be back. I’m in the best shape of my life right now. I’m older, smarter and the bloodlust is at an all-time high. I cannot wait to get into that ring and fight each and every member of the FWA roster. It’s going to be spectacular.” Alyster turns his attention back to Katie. “Thank you very much for having me here today Katie. It was good talking to my fans again.” He stands up, reaches inside his shirt and starts pulling out the microphone. Katie goes bug eyed, “But we haven’t finished yet. I still have more questions.” Alyster starts walking away, “Wait!” Katie shouts out but Alyster just ignores her. Katie is bewildered as the cameras fade to black.

    - Adrenaline Rush, live from Paris, France -

    - July 26 2013 –

    Blight hits the Piledriver!




    Blight has defeated Alyster Black! Blight has his hand raised in victory as Alyster lays flat on the mat, not moving for a worrying amount of time. Paramedics and members of the ringside crew enter the ring and attend to him. It’s not long before he starts responding and they manage to get him out of the ring and moving up the aisle with their assistance.

    Alyster stumbled through the curtain clutching his neck and cursing at himself. He mumbles the words “useless” and “has been” ad nauseum. The CWA personal that had helped carry him backstage were trying desperately to attend to his injuries but he wasn’t having any of it. He swung at them and shooed them away. Too angry, too prideful, too self-loathing to accept their assistance.

    Krash was waiting for him, just a few feet away from the curtain. A look of concern crossed his face as his masked partner approached and then practically collapsed against him. Krash supported Alyster on his shoulder and carried him into the locker room. He helped Alyster sit down on a bench and brought him an icepack. Alyster was sweating, panting like an exhausted dog, and in a tremendous amount of pain.

    “I can’t do this anymore.” He muttered under his breath. Krash raised an eyebrow, “What are you talking about Alyster?” Mr. Black slammed his fist down on the bench, shaking his head, crying from behind his mask. “I can’t do this…” He raised his arm, motioning around him. “The travel, the fighting, the constant performance. I can’t deal with this, everything hurts, everything is bleak and shit and I’m not coping. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

    Krash’s face dropped. This wasn’t the first time he was hearing an overly dramatic speech like this from his best friend. Alyster was barely a month into his return from an injury suffered at the hands of Shawn Summers and in the days leading up to his return his demeanour had changed from bright and optimistic to downtrodden and blue. On the days leading up to Alyster’s return Krash has received at least a dozen late night phone calls from Alyster. Phone calls from a man uncertain about his place in the wrestling world. Lacking confidence in himself and dreading the prospect of returning.

    Krash clenched his teeth and bit his tongue. He wanted to lash out at Alyster, grill him about why he was acting like this, what went wrong for him? He decided against speaking too harshly, “Why are you even here Alyster? If you’re so miserable why did you come back?”

    Alyster looked up at his friend and shrug his shoulders. “It’s like a drug.” He stood up and walked over to grab his bag, nearly losing his footing along the way catching himself against the locker room wall. He picked up his bag and looked back at his partner. “I don’t want to be addicted anymore.”

    - The home of Alyster Black, sunny San Dimas California, Feb 27 2020 –

    Alsyer was sat at home in the early morning. Wearing a red velvet robe that would make Hugh Heffner pound. Nursing a perfectly healthy and not at all alarming second glass of single malt scotch. He was on the couch, filling the familiar groove he had created in the cushions over the last seven years. On the TV played the latest edition of Fight Night. He was watching the opening segment featuring the FWA North American Champion Mike Parr, the New Breed, and his best and only ‘friend’ in the entire world, Krash.

    Alyster watched as the New Breed attacked Krash from behind and how he managed to fight back until a steel chair shot from Mike Parr put him down. He winced at the cowardly attack perpetrated on his friend by that cowardly gang. He drank more and watched the segment again and again. The image of them attacking Krash over and over was burned into his mind and he was angry.

    He put his tumbler down on the coffee table and reached for his phone. He went through his contacts and found Krash’s phone number. He opened the file and was about to hit the dial button but stopped. He looks out a bay window to the side and stared off in the distance. “I’m the last thing he needs to deal with...” He mumbled to himself before turning off his phone and watching through the rest of the episode. He had a million thoughts about what he witnesses. A burning desire to jump into that ring and fight each and every person on screen overcame him. He smiled; it was a feeling he had only just started to experience again and he was glad to be feeling it again.

    He picked up his scotch and stood up. Walking through the halls of his home until he found himself in front of a full-length mirror. He took a sip of his scotch and started talking to his reflection, “You’re going to show them all Alyster. Show them all what you can do, you’re going to fight everyone. You’re not going to win every fight but you’re going to feel alive again. And you’re going to keep fighting until you can’t anymore. That’s the goal.” He smirked to himself and felt tears welling up in his eyes, “And you’re going to feel good about it, you hear me?” He threatened himself. “Besides, Krash needs you. He’s all alone out there and he’s your best friend and you abandoned him. You can’t do that again.” He was stern. “Good, glad we could come to an understanding.”

    He finished his drink then went to go finish packing. He had a flight to catch and a match on the biggest show of the year and he was ‘happy’.


  10. #10
    The Maniacal Martyr
    BMJ Maniax's Avatar

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    *In a gym somewhere near the location of back in business, we see a blonde with a business suit, Alexandra Marie right behind Orion who is doing machine arm squats*

    Alexandra: I can't believe this, your first match and you lose? What the hell is with the management here?

    *Orion is still doing arm squats, not saying a word, while Alexandra Marie is pacing around in the back*

    *Orion grunts*

    Alexandra: Like seriously? A triple threat match, seriously? They had the galls to not know what you're capable of.

    *Orion still grunts and squats as usual*

    Alexandra: You're right, this is bull…… they don't know anything.

    They should know that you're the brute of bombs, the most celebrated real strongman.

    *Orion stands up and runs around the gym, Alexandra follows him*

    Alexandra: Yeah Orion, you go run, prove them wrong.

    *Alexandra's phone beeps interrupting the run*

    Alexandra: Oh, hold on Orion, my phone is beeping. I got this.

    *Orion stops as Alexandra grabs her phone*

    *Alexandra picks up the phone and sees a text*

    Alexandra: Well, FWA is promoting a match you have for back in business, yeah you're having a match.

    *Alexandra Marie laughs when she finds out who Orions opponent is*

    Alexandra: Against Kayden Knox, what a joke, seriously? Kayden Knox?

    *Alexandra puts her phone back in her purse*

    Alexandra: Orion, show people who don't believe you, show people what you do to phony losers.

    *Orion complies and grabs a steel pipe and bending it in half, Alexandra is evil smiling*

    Alexandra: Yes yes, you are my big solver.

  11. #11
    People's Champion
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    Jan 2012
    Perth, Australia
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      Country                    New Zealand

    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    It feels like the beginning of a celebration after Executive Excellence has again ensured that the FWA World Championship remains around the waist of Gabrielle Montgomery. Camera’s are rolling in their exclusive locker room as Thomas Princeton, Danny Toner and Christian Quinn enter the room ready to party. The trio are all smiles, and loud cheers. Sure there’s some friction within the group but retaining the World Championship amongst their ranks is a goal that they all share. Thomas is greeted by his wife Aja Melissa, while an uncomfortable looking Raquel Wednesday receives a kiss from Danny. And then Gabrielle herself, the Caramel Coated Goddess, the Sinful Goddess enters last and she noticeably doesn’t share her stablemates enthusiasm. She’s drained of most of her energy physically and mentally, her lip is busted, her hair is a mess. There’s some of Chris blood on her arm. She just went through a war with her ex-Husband after all. But she should be celebrating regardless, she should be happy, beating Chris Kennedy was something she dreamt of for four long years. Instead she looks broken as she drags the World Title along behind herself.

    She trudges into the lavishly decorated lockeroom and ignores the trio who are popping champagne bottles and getting ready for a big night. Gabrielle just brushes past them and steps into the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind her.

    Thomas Princeton: She’s just exhausted guys, that was a close one.

    The wedges being formed between them are forgotten for tonight, they just want to have fun. So Princeton knocks a hand on the bathroom door.

    Thomas Princeton:
    You just need to freshen up Gabs? Hell of a match out there.

    No reply.

    Thomas Princeton:
    The boys and I have invited some people around, they cant be far off. We’ve got to celebrate this.

    No reply again, just silence.

    The Fight Night GM looks back at Toner and Quinn and shrugs his shoulders.

    Thomas Princeton:
    She’s just freshening up.

    Executive Excellence only hang around so much longer. Its awkward that Gabrielle hasn’t replied to any of them over the last twenty minutes or so. They get the idea that Gabrielle might just want to be alone right now. So they leave, taking their Party vibes, their Wives, and their Girlfriends elsewhere. The camera crew remain though, they were commissioned to film the celebration and aftermath of a HUGE match like Gabrielle vs Chris Kennedy for the first time ever. The trio of camera men just sit there awkwardly looking at one another. It feels wrong to just sit here, but what are they to do in this situation? None of them really know Gabrielle, and barging into a bathroom after her seems like a bad idea. But its only so much longer before one of them gets up and approaches the bathroom.

    Hi, Gabrielle, are you okay? Are you…decent?

    Again she doesn’t reply.

    Can…can I come in? I just want to make sure you’re okay.

    Silence for a while….


    He opens the door and steps inside where we can hear the water running out of the shower head.

    Are you okay?

    One of the other cameramen can’t help himself, he points his camera in her direction. Though what we see isn’t what he was expecting or hoping for. Gabrielle is sitting on the shower floor, still dressed in her ring gear and soaking wet. She just sits there under the water nearly oblivious to everything else around her.

    Am I bad person?

    Her question catches the camera crew off guard, none of them really know what to say. But they get the feeling Gabrielle isn’t looking for an answer from anyone else anyway.

    Then the footage stops rolling and we’re once again at Gabrielle’s Estate. Once again inside her house, inside one of the many rooms meant for entertaining. This one in particular is a Media Room dominated by a massive, oversized TV that was just playing that backstage look at Red, White and Bruised 2015. Our attention is quickly pulled away from that though and upon the Gabrielle we know now. Just watching that footage is a tough experience for her, she’s never even gone back and watched the match to this date. One of her biggest ever wins, no matter how she achieved it. Yet it has always been marred, even to her. Her expression is pained, almost distraught, though she does her best to retain her composure as she stares into the camera, and beyond it to a man she’s seeking to burn alive.

    I needed to show you this Cyrus. This video that never aired and was never going too air until now. Until it needed too.

    I needed to show you this because you think you know me so well, you think you know who I am, what I am. You think this idea you have of me is it, and I couldn’t be possibly be anything except for who you frame me to be.

    I have done things I’m not proud of Cyrus, all people have. All of ‘us’ have. In this industry we all have moments we regret, shortcuts we took that we later wish we didn’t. We have moments where we are so narrow minded that we focus upon just ourselves and hurt anyone who comes near us just to keep stoking our own egos.

    You’re not innocent in this Cyrus, you’re no Saint. You’re not perfect despite your insistence in looking down your nose at everyone else and claiming you’ve never hurt anyone.

    But this isn’t about you. It is about me.

    You claim I hide from my past, you claim I just gloss over it and ignore it, pretend it didn’t happen and just put on this act. I did all those monstrous things, I screwed people over, I took every shortcut I could, I had General Managers in my pocket…I even started a riot.

    I’m not proud of these things, but I did them. I cant hide from them, I cant pretend they didn’t happen, even if I wanted too. I’ve been ‘that’ Goddess you fixate upon before, the Goddess you act like I still am. Evil, manipulative, cold…a bitch who ended a career and used her own family as a weapon. I was that person…WAS.

    It’s not me anymore, and it hasn’t been for a long time now, not for years, not since that video I played you was filmed four and a half years ago. It’d be so easy to think that on that night I won. I did beat Chris after four years of wanting to get my hands on him, in so many different ways. Four years that saw breakups, Marriage, Divorce, and a Daughter.

    But while the history books say I won, I didn’t really. That was the night that I retired, truly. Not those months later after everything around me in the FWA fell apart. It was because of that night that everything crumbled. It was because I took a step so far to win that I broke myself.

    I sat in that shower for hours, all night in fact. The next morning I came out and everyone was gone, everyone had left even the people I thought were my friends, and I didn’t blame them. I felt like I didn’t deserve anyone at the time. I did something I’ll never ever forgive myself for, something that replays in the back of my mind every time I look at my Daughter. Something that replays in my mind every time I wonder if Chris and I could ever have that happily ever after that will always elude us.

    You claim I’m some Monster Cyrus, and cant be anything else. I have been a Monster and it broke me. I was a Monster up until that point, up until I hurt my Daughter just to get a win. I knew I’d gone too far, I knew I’d done something I would always regret and even hate myself for. I knew I’d stepped over a line that I never should have.

    But that’s not me anymore Cyrus, I changed in that moment, I couldn’t go on just being who I had become anymore.

    Even after the Riot a month earlier where I got Drew Stevenson sent packing from Fight Night I came backstage and celebrated. While the fans lost their mind, trashed the ring and screamed “Slut” at me I went backstage and Executive Excellence partied with friends, colleagues and even a Stripper or two. There was great food, great drinks, dancing, music, games, everything you want at a party, everything.

    But I couldn’t celebrate on this night. I just couldn’t.

    Gabrielle pauses after having unloaded so many thoughts and words that had been kept to herself for so many years. She dwells on her own words and then gets to her feet and approaches a large floor to ceiling mirror that captures and reflects her image. Her complexion, her curves, her brunette hair, her jeans and blouse, and the way her stoicism upon her face is cracking and revealing just how much all of this still pains her. She stares at her own reflection for a while, studying how she’s trying to remain composed as she replays the tears of her Daughter in her head over and over again.

    I’m not this Monster you claim me to be Cyrus. But I do see that Monster deep within me. DEEP within me.

    I’ve buried who I once was in the past. I cant be that person anymore, that cruel person. I cant be the Goddess anymore either.

    But I still see her within me too. Just as I see the Hero who stood up for the FWA when Jimmy King tried to destroy it. Just as I see the Mother who celebrated in the ring with her Daughter and her ex-Husband after dethroning Phillip Jackson. Just as I see the Woman who has inspired a Generation of Women and Men.

    I’ve done things I regret, but I’ve done things I’ll be eternally proud of. I can accept my duality, I can accept my own sins, my own flaws, my own transgressions. But I cant accept a man like you Cyrus trying to paint me out to be just that hateful, egotistical Goddess. Week after week I’ve had to deal with you trying to portray me as just that and nothing more. Week after week I’ve had to endure you blaming me for your failures.

    Your opinion may be worthless, I may no longer hold any respect for you at all, but I cant accept you continuing too spout such Lies and act like they are Truths.

    There’s a fire and intensity to every word she speaks, and a growing confidence to her image.

    I will burn you for your Lies Cyrus, it is the only solution. It is the only form of punishment you deserve after being such a hypocrite. You wont see the Goddess, you wont feel her Wrath, you wont suffer for you Sins. You will simply have to answer to a Mother, a Daughter, a Friend, a Role Model that you try to besmirch. I don’t aim to burn you out of a sense of pride or simple need to make you suffer. I want to burn you because it is what you deserve, what your Lies have brought down upon you.

    Her confidence grows and grows, her reflection in the Mirror is grinning from ear to ear, a familiar playful smirk plastered upon her face. But…Gabrielle, the living, breathing Gabrielle isn’t smirking. Nor does Gabrielle match the way her reflection slightly tilts her head to one side and giggles.

    Reflection: You think you can cast me aside!


    Reflection: You’re nothing without me, I made you what you are. I gave you everything you have.

    Gabrielle stares upon her own reflection confused. Unable to understand what has just happened, unsure if maybe she’s just simply cracked under the pressure after all these years.

    What…is this?

    Reflection: You know WHO I am. You know WHAT I am.

    Her reflection continues to stare back at her, a determination upon her features. Her face seems less soft than the flesh and blood Gabrielle. There’s a stark grimness and edge to her.

    You know…

    Gabrielle exhales, loudly.

    Goddess: Yes, Gabrielle…yes.

    You. Owe. Me. Everything.

    Yet you just cast me aside. You try to move on without me. You seek to leave me in the past. You actually think you can be even a shadow of what we once were, without me?

    You were nothing before you let me in. You were just Jack’s arm candy. You’d follow him down to the ring, shake your ass, show off your tits, then follow him backstage and let him plough you like a cheap whore.

    A snarl escapes the lips of the image of the Goddess still within Gabrielle.

    I made you special, I made you Divine. I made you Immortal and Eternal. You became an Icon, and a Revolutionary. You were THE Caramel Coated Goddess. You struck a mixture of fear, reverence, respect and lust into the hearts of all you came across.

    Every woman in the World wanted to be you, every man in the World wanted to be with you. I made you special, I gave you Championships, Accolades, Titles…Glory. I made ‘CARAMEL’ mean something to the World. I made the complexion of your skin mean something to the World. I made Gabrielle Madison Montgomery mean something to the World. I made you good enough to rise to the level of your Idol, I made you good enough to achieve every childhood fantasy that Kerry Kennedy had instilled within you.

    How many years was it Gabrielle?

    How many years was I a part of you, making you great?

    The Goddess, bathed in Caramel glares upon her ‘vessel’, demanding answers but only receiving silence.

    And you cast me aside because Cyrus Truth that hypocrite, that Liar…THAT SINNER bested us…ONCE.


    It wasn’t Stu St.Clair, Duke Drazin, Moira Crawford, Ryan Hall…or Chris Kennedy. It was Cyrus Truth? He’s not special enough to cast me aside, he’s not special enough to remove me from the spotlight and leave you as just a pathetic mortal droning on and on about her dreams and her family.

    We are better than this.

    Gabrielle clenches her fists. She’s finally adjusted and accepted this bizarre situation and has heard enough.

    You…you were only ever just a small part of me. I did everything I’ve achieved with you, not because of you. Those dreams were what inspired me, Kerry is what motivated me. This yearning desire to be great is what made me reach for the Stars and become great. You and your ego were just holding me back. While I dreamed of more World Championships you were comfortable just being Divine and having everyone lust for you.

    You… Goddess have ruined my marriages, have damaged my relationships with friends, with lovers, and even with my own daughter. One man was never enough for you, you wanted to give them all a taste and have them all bow down.

    The Goddesses haunting grin twists and turns to become even more macabre as she chuckles to herself. There’s no sweetness or softness to that sound, it’s just…evil and mocking.

    You blame your libido on me. I’m not the one who lusted for flesh. That was always your appetite Gabrielle, YOU lusted for it, needed it…yearned for it. All those men, and women in and out of your bedroom…that was your desire that you embraced when you felt like you were Eternal. For a Goddess can relish in and enjoy her desires to the fullest...and you loved it. I would have never chosen broken men like Ashley O’Ryan or Chris Kennedy. I wanted someONE better than Jack…you wanted EVERYONE better than Jack.

    The Goddess smirks upon Gabrielle, she’s enjoying this. She’s enjoying finally getting to speak to the woman who once let her exist out in the World. While Gabrielle’s shock has subsided and is gradually being replaced by indignance and a fire to prove her wrong.

    I indulged what we both wanted. You loved making a man like Matthew Robinson with all his Power and Control over so many others experience things so grand that he would never experience again without us.

    Goddess: I wrapped him around my little finger…for you Gabby. Having the Boss in our back pocket brings certain perks. And when it wasn’t Mathew it was Thomas Princeton. I wrapped men like them around our little finger so we could be successful. You just wrapped yourself around every man that complimented your tits. But I don’t blame you for it, second to your desire to become just like Kerry Kennedy was your desires to never sleep alone, to experience unparalleled pleasures, and to simply embrace your sexuality.

    A Goddess can embrace all her vices, and joys. You knew that, you hid behind being a Goddess to enjoy what as a Mortal would have you branded a…well the arena full of fans at Red, White and Bruised all those years ago put it so well didn’t they…Slut.

    The Goddess grins arrogantly as she continues to dissect the body and mind that she once called ‘home’. Gabrielle just grits her teeth, the ridiculousness of her telling herself that she’s not a Slut keeps the words from escaping her mouth.

    And you didn’t enjoy naïve young men like Danny Toner or Dave Sullivan?

    The Goddess chuckles to herself, rather sweetly this time.

    The Goddess:
    As I said a Goddess can embrace her vices. And just look at sweet, young, naïve Davey now. He’s got what you so desperately want, but wont get without me. I lit that spark within him all those years ago, and now look at what he has done…without out, but knowing that once upon a time a Goddess looked favourably upon him.

    But how has casting me aside worked out for you Gabby? You thought my usefulness had been all used up, you thought being Divine was no longer what you needed to be successful. You thought you could just go it alone and everything would be so much better? I’ve seen you lose, and lose…and lose again. Every high-profile match…you failed in all of them. We beat Dave Sullivan together, we beat Izzy Van Doren together. We were the Best of the Best…together.

    Apart what have you done, what have you achieved without me?

    Nova Diamond is going to the Main Event of Back In Business because without me…he is better than you.

    That last sentence stings Gabrielle deeply. She doesn’t reply, she doesn’t know what to say.

    And you know it. Without me Nova Diamond has proven himself to be superior to you. And that stings at you so much. Young, promising upstarts aren’t meant to get the better of Gabrielle…they’re meant to fall before her. Gabrielle is meant to be Eternal, meant to be the pinnacle of every Era and Generation. But without me you are being left behind. Without me Cyrus Truth’s insolence and mockery has only grown louder…and how did you fare last time you shared the ring with him?

    Oh…you lost again.

    You need me back Gabrielle. You wont best Cyrus without me, you can barely beat anyone without me…or without him in your corner.

    Gabrielle: ENOUGH.

    Goddess: Oh tell me what are you going to do oh great and heroic Gabrielle? Start screwing Matthew Robinson again? Or maybe just keep it simple and part your thighs for Vincent Blackbird? Any of the Referee’s would kill to have a taste of your sweet caramel. Or maybe you should just romance Dave Sullivan again…I know I could wrap him around our little finger again…what about you?

    Gabrielle: I SAID ENOUGH.

    I don’t need you anymore. You think only you can defeat Cyrus, you had your shot and you failed…twice. Now it’s my turn. Now a Gabrielle not fixated so completely upon herself has a shot at beating, and scarring Cyrus Truth. You are not taking that away from me. You’re not stealing anymore glory for yourself. You’ve had enough and you have tainted so much of what I have achieved.

    The Goddess just mockingly smiles back at Gabrielle.

    Cyrus Truth will burn at MY hands.

    Goddess: Burn…do you think you could burn him?

    Do you think you could have actually burned MC Fromage all those years ago?

    Or what about Ryan Hall or Stu St.Clair, could you have burned either of them?

    How about Shannon O’Neal…a woman that reminded us so much of you whether you wanted to admit it or not. Could you have burned her?

    Can you burn Cyrus Truth?

    The Goddess continues to mockingly smile upon Gabrielle, as she in turn just glares daggers at her.

    Can you?

    I have my reservations, I have my apprehensions. I have my doubts about this match. Three times before I’ve stepped into a Trial By Fire match, and only once did I escape feeling my flesh burn. Even then I didn’t win. This is my bogey match.

    But its our bogey match Goddess. You were along with me every step of the way. You felt our skin burn, you smelt it, you heard the horrifying noise it makes. I didn’t lose three Trial By Fires, we did…YOU did. You failed me in the past so many times, now you want to act like I’ll be helpless without you?

    Goddess: You will continue to be a failure without me.

    Gabrielle: You’re the failure without me. You don’t exist without me, you hear no prayers without me. You need me…don’t you Goddess?


    Goddess: We need each other. We both want Cyrus to burn…you never answered me either, can you burn Cyrus for his Lies?

    Gabrielle: I can, I will. He needs to suffer for everything he has done, he needs to suffer for all his Lies. I’ve never needed to make anyone suffer more than I do Cyrus.

    Goddess: I can make him suffer, I can make him pay for his Sins. I need my own retribution Gabrielle, he has me here sitting alone, in the back of your mind. It’s because of him that you cast me aside. He’s not worthy of that feat, he’s not deserving of breaking us. I need to make him suffer, I need to make him feel pain. I NEED to make him feel the fires of HELL itself lapping away at his body. Give it to me, give me this…you owe me this much Gabrielle…

    There’s a Stalemate as Gabrielle and her reflection, Gabrielle and her inner Darkness, inner Depravity, Gabrielle and this homage to her Ego and her past stare at one another.

    No…I cant. I need this myself, I need to be the one to make Cyrus suffer. He thinks all I am is you at your worst. He thinks all there is to Gabrielle is the things the Caramel Coated Goddess did at her lowest. I can’t give in too you, then he wins. Then he goes on thinking that you are all there is too me.

    Then he goes on lying more and more, while deluding people into thinking he is some Hero. I accept that you Goddess are a part of my past, I accept that everything you ever did is a part of me. Cyrus wants to paint himself as being perfect and without flaw. Without weakness, without doubt…

    Goddess: Without Sin.

    Gabrielle: Cyrus continues to hide behind his words, hide behind this World he has crafted around himself where he’s so untouchable. I may be zero and three in Trial By Fire matches, but Cyrus is zero and three at Back In Business, so someone’s losing streak will come to an end.

    Gabrielle glances back over her shoulder. Acknowledging the camera, and ‘us’ again for the first time in a while. The Goddess meets her gaze too, these two sides of Gabrielle both looking upon Cyrus Truth.

    You will be able to blame me for this loss Cyrus. But you wont be able to protect your fragile ego from the reality that ultimately I am better than you, and that I disfigured you.

    Goddess: Has he accepted that he’s not World Champion anymore?

    The Goddess and The Dreamer share a look of mocking and mirth.

    He still tries to pin it all on me. He still tries to act like I cost him the World Title, or that I got in the way. He refuses to accept that HE was the one who lost to Dave Sullivan. He refuses to accept any responsibility for anything he does or anything that happens around him. Everything is always someone else’s fault in the World of Cyrus and his Lies.

    Goddess: Everything.

    Gabrielle: This is the ultimate Truth.

    Cyrus doesn’t know any Truth’s. He only knows that he needs himself to be successful, lest he get jealous and spiteful. All I ever did was challenge Cyrus Truth for the FWA World Championship. All I ever did was return after being called out by Izzy Van Doren. Return to defend myself and my legacy. I went onto win the Quest for the Best tournament, a moment, a victory that rekindled a spark and a belief within me.

    I respected Cyrus back then, I admired him. I thought he was a stand-up individual that we could all be proud of as Champion. But the closer I got to him and that Championship the more hate, spite, greed, ego and Lies I saw. The closer I got the worse he became, the more insulting and belittling he became.

    Goddess: Cyrus feared us. We almost took that Title away from him. He denies it, he belittles us, he acts like it was nothing. But we know it was a close match, we know WE almost had him. He knows that as well. He acts like we’re unworthy, undeserving of ever fighting for the World Championship again because he beat us once.

    Once, Gabrielle. Just once remember.

    That look they shared before has dissipated, and we see an uneasiness grow between them again.

    Once too many. You’re not worming your way back in.

    Cyrus just ignores everything and anything that doesn’t suit his own narrative. Other people act like he’s so wise and see’s so much, knows so much. But its because for so long he has excelled at convincing people that he is right and everyone else is wrong. I’m not just the Goddess who ended Drew Stevenson’s career, I’m also the woman who went to war with Stu St.Clair in the name of love.

    Goddess: Just as Cyrus claims to speak the Truth…and calls himself ‘Exile’. Just as I fell to Cyrus once, but will burn him this time around.

    That wickedly macabre smile plasters itself upon the face of The Goddess once more.

    Enough! I am the one who gets to burn Cyrus. For everything he has said about me, for everything he has done to me. No one deserves to burn more than him, and no one needs to burn him more than I do.

    Silence from The Goddess this time.

    I’m the one he has criticised, mocked and belittled in pathetic attempts to satiate his fragile ego. I’m the one who has been here week after week trying to bludgeon as much blood as possible from his being. I’m the one who gets this moment.

    It is my Legacy he has questioned so often while painting his own to be so perfect. It is my achievements he has cast into doubt while pretending he has never experienced loss, or failure, or arrogance. I know everything you have done Cyrus, I know how you think.

    Goddess: WE know how you think.

    Gabrielle: Everything you say and do is masking something. Every word you speak, every step you take is engineered to hide the real Cyrus Truth. The insecure, petty Cyrus, the jealous Cyrus. The Cyrus that needs constant validation and acceptance.

    As Gabrielle looks upon this image of the Deity within her, the Deity she once was a smirk crosses her lips, that familiar smirk of hers.

    The Cyrus who cant accept when he falls, the Cyrus who cant accept when he isn’t as great as he thinks he is. You have been failing Cyrus, YOU have been falling short time after time. I heard those stinging words before that I have been failing without the Goddess in my heart. Well Cyrus you have been failing lately as well, you have been losing match after match. If it wasn’t for me securing us a few wins in Tag Team action your recent record would be rather dire.

    You lost to Dave Sullivan Cyrus.

    Goddess: Yes, YOU lost to King Davey Cyrus.

    Gabrielle: You lost to Dave Sullivan Cyrus.

    Goddess: He did…I SAW IT HAPPEN.

    A gleeful giggle slithers forth from The Goddesses mouth.

    You’ve been blaming it on me. Calling me a distraction, acting like I got in the way when Dave Sullivan put you on your back for those three seconds that took away the only thing you have. You need to accept responsibility Cyrus, as much as I would love to be credited for your downfall, it was Dave Sullivan that put you down in the middle of the ring. Just as he had done months earlier.

    I know its hard Cyrus, its hard to lose the World Championship, it is. I can only imagine how empty it leaves you feeling. I have family, I have friends, I have an endless list of people who would love to be either of those groups. What do you have Cyrus?

    Now that King Sullivan is walking around with the FWA World Championship, what do you have left?

    Memories of the CWA. Memories of being Champion in the FWA. Nightmares of losing at Back In Business every year. A Mentor who has lost faith in you.

    No friends, no family, no supporters. Even Krash has distanced himself from you, and there’s no one else you have left. So I know why you lash out at me, I brought your World crumbling down around you. Ever since I came along the supposedly great Cyrus Truth has appeared so much more pathetic. Mike Parr, Dave Sullivan, Devin Golden, they’re all getting the best of you. Even Michael Garcia is proving to be too much for you. You were untouchable when you were dealing with my ex-Husband and his…

    Goddess: Bitch…Bell Connolly.

    Gabrielle: But ever since you only just eeked that win out over me, things have started to fall apart around you. It’s a sad sight Cyrus, I wont lie. You’re always alone, always in the dark, always angry. It is all we ever see of you.

    Goddess: We can bring light to his life though Gabrielle. He can become a human torch whose flame dances and flickers upon his World, bringing warmth and brightness to it all.

    Another chuckle from the Goddess, and this time Gabrielle, THE Gabrielle joins in.

    Maybe you can blame us Cyrus…maybe one touch from the Divine has been like a kiss of death for your career. Maybe one night with the Caramel Coated Goddess was too much for you too handle. Maybe all your Lies have caught up with you, and standing across from a Goddess who you cannot lie too has crippled you.

    Who are you now Cyrus? What do you have? What do you offer? Is it just a warm body to be sacrificed? A warm body to be set alight and burn before the World that you once reigned over as Champion?

    It is all I see you as now Cyrus. Where there once was a great Champion I now see a man at the end of his long winding road just waiting to be put out of his misery. Waiting to become an effigy, waiting to become a sacrifice unto a GODDESS.

    Gabrielle: Enough. You are not needed…here!

    Its sudden as Gabrielle’s reflection no longer holds that Deity of Gabrielle The Goddess. Her reflection instead now matches her movements perfectly as Gabrielle turns away from it and stares into the camera.

    Cyrus…I have looked within myself. I have changed myself, altered myself in attempts to be better, in attempts to be stronger, in attempts to become what I once was…and then be even greater.

    You have been in the back of my mind for far too long. You’re there with memories that have made me who I am and you don’t belong there Cyrus. One match…so long ago now and you won by the skin of your teeth. In the time since we have both lost parts of ourselves. You in particular have lost all that you know and hold dear. We’ve needed this match so we can move on, the flames will cleanse us both. It will cleanse you of all your lies, and it will cleanse me of your influence upon my career.

    You are going to burn Cyrus, it will be the only warmth you have felt for so long now. I urge you to embrace it and accept it. Your long and winding road has come to an end now, you are to be sacrificed, you are to burn for everything you have done.

    There’s a coldness to her words, and yet a delighted warmth, a little flicker of flame and madness that used to consume her eyes in years past.

    I know what I once was, I know what I am now. I know who I want to be…and Cyrus I have accepted it all now. The Goddess I was is not needed within a mirror, nor is the Goddess I was needed to burn you Cyrus, but I hear her in my head now.

    She…will make you suffer. She will burn the skin from your body. She will melt everything away. She loves the flame…for when Angels and Gods fall they become something else entirely. Something darker and more macabre.

    She just stares into the Camera intensely.

    The Fallen Goddess Gabrielle:
    This is the dawn of a day that befalls all Man. The day when everything around you crumbles and burns. The day it all ends. The day you are EXILED from everything. We’ll see you soon Cyrus, and we’ll be standing at the Gates of Hell, ready to drag what is left of you down…

    Gabrielle giggles…sweetly. It’s a haunting sound against the way her smile has twisted her mouth. This is a Gabrielle we’ve only ever seen so few times before. A little bit mad, a little bit macabre…but even more dangerous than a Goddess.
    Credit to Comeback Kid for the GFX

  12. #12
    Jam's Avatar

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    The air was coursing through my body on this mighty fine Thursday afternoon. It made my jacket flow in the air as if I had a cape on. However, with how strong the winds are, they were putting slight pressure from the bruises I’ve gotten from my debut match. They’re not serious but they’re serious enough to leave a few bumps and bruises. One by one, I would maneuver through the various vehicles in my path as I took this as a challenge to get to my destination quickly. My 2018 Suzuki Hayabusa sure is a beauty. Sure, my 2005 model did just as good a job but unfortunately, it’s made its way to bike heaven – but that’s a story for another day. Navy blue would cover it’s interior while the white trim would glisten if the sunshine hit it just right. In fact, I’m sure I’ve gotten a few honks here and there after blinding a few cars as I race past them. This baby goes from 0-60 in just 2.6 seconds and you best believe I was going even faster than this. It was definitely a good day to have the visor on my helmet on because I was a freak of nature with this baby of mine on the road.

    Listen, I ALWAYS use my turn signals so I don’t know why all these people are beeping at me. I mean, I guess I’ve cut it close a few times but if I see an opening, I’m definitely making it – no doubt about it. Before long, I would pull up on the side of this “park.” It’s not considered a park but it’s got park-like things. It’s got a sidewalk, trees all around, benches, tables, everything. I guess you can call this one of my favorite places to go. It’s more of a park for older people, as there is no playground here so I’m not sure what kids would do here.

    I look around and see two old guys playing chess – that’s Ernie and Bill. Those two old timers are always here when I’m here. As soon as I step off my bike, they already know that it’s me as both men meet me with a nod. I take my helmet off before returning the gesture. Contrary to the flowing air earlier, it was actually quite calm but cooling as I sat down on the nearby bench. I take it all in because moments like this don’t come often.

    In this moment of peace, I began thinking to myself, “What if I’m not good enough for this?” I haven’t figured out the answer to that question yet but it sure is a possibility that I may have entered a situation where I have bitten more than I can chew. Honestly, my mind has been all sorts of whack after coming up short in my debut match against Donovan Moore and Orion. I had that match won but I took my eye off the ball and lost. THAT QUICK. In THAT moment, had I done something differently, would I have come out with the victory? Who knows. But I needed to get it together because it’s traveling day tomorrow and my match at Back in Business will be a tough one. Hey kid! Get over here!” Ernie shouted. I turn around and see both Ernie and Bill motioning me over.

    “Hello gentlemen! Don’t let me bother your chess game, continue on.” I said as I took my seat. Doing well boy. How you doing after your debut loss?” Bill nudges Ernie on the arm prompting Gerald to laugh. “You get right to the point huh, Ernie?” Ernie and Bill were two army veterans that served in WWII. They were great company to have especially after their experience. And you know me, I’m biased towards the extreme lifestyle and what’s more extreme than war, right? Anyway… “You know I’m a straight shooter.” Ernie shrugs. I let out a laugh again, “That you are, Ernie. That you are. I started out the day not too worried about it but the more I think about it, the more the loss bothers me. I know what I’m capable of. I know I can bounce back from this but just thinking about it more and more is making me stressed.” Saying that out loud felt good as it made it seem like Ernie and Bill could shoulder some of my worry. Bounce back from this? Don’t you mean you’ll be Back in Business?” Ernie let out a heartily laugh and so did Bill. “Good one!” Bill slapped hands with Ernie. “But really, how you doing, Gerald? We saw the card for the next pay-per-view, which by the way, we aren’t paying $60 for. Think you could hook us up?” I let out a chuckle. You bet. Hell, I’ll have some catering sent to your place so you guys can really enjoy the show.”Ernie and Bill were neighbors not too far from here. They were being taken care of by Bill’s daughter (Allie) and her family. “Aww that’d be great. You know that Brad (Allie’s husband) is a big wrestling fan and the kids will love the food.”

    “Not a problem at all, gentlemen. But going back to my next match, I guess you can say that I’ve got a tough road ahead of me with the caliber of opponents I’m up against. Jason Randall, Donovan Moore, Michelle von Horrowitz, Kevin Cromwell, and Eli Black. These are all names that are on the cusp of greatness. Then there’s me. After my loss, I’m surprised that they let me into this match.” I let out a sigh before seeing a look of concern from both Ernie and Bill. “I’ve seen a lot of people on social media say that I don’t deserve to be in this match. I’ve also heard rumblings backstage at the shows that people are upset that someone as new as me is getting an opportunity like this. It’s weird. When I see a tall mountain to climb, a steep hill to ride my bike off, a difficult hike to trek, I don’t second guess myself. But when it comes to hearing people actually talk about me, I have my doubts. I don’t get it. I guess my mental isn’t that strong. This is also one of the reasons why I like the extreme lifestyle, I get to escape from the negativity and nonsense of this world.” Ernie nods his head while Bill continues looking at me with concern. “It’s all in your head kid. You’ll be fine.” Bill said.

    “Bill’s right. In your line of work, you win some, you lose some.” I was looking at their chessboard seeing where the pieces were. Then my eyes focused on the timer that Ernie and Bill use for their chess matches. I wasn’t really sure what the standard time each player had to make a move but I know with Ernie and Bill, they set that limit to 30 seconds. They saw me focusing on their game as they both made moves… and that’s when it hit me. “HUZZAH!” Ernie and Bill looked at me with surprise. I pointed towards their timer.

    “You see how confident you guys are in the moves you’re making when you play chess? I need to be that way in my match at Back in Business. There is no one in the world who expects me to come out with the victory in that match and that’s okay. Like I said before, I am more of a man of action rather than words. However, while everyone will talk a big game, you best believe I’ll be bringing my best talking game as well. To Jason Randall, I will be more unpredictable than you. To Donovan Moore, I will tell you exactly how time works and it will be against you. To Michelle von Horrowitz, I will quell the fire you have started. To Kevin Cromwell, I will show you what a true artist looks like – an artist of extreme nature. To Eli Black, I’ll show you what true chaos looks like.”

    “Ernie, Bill, The X Championship is tailored-made for me and my lifestyle.” The two old fellas nod. There are no rules when these types of matches take place. In the extreme lifestyle, you make the rules. It is up to you to come up with a method that will lead you to success. I’m making my own success at Back in Business.” All while this was happening, I noticed Ernie moving a few of his chess pieces to get in better position to win the game. “I’m not beneath doing that too!” I point towards Ernie who is mid-move with a queen piece in hand. “Damn it, Ernie! You always do this!” screams Bill. “I always win don’t, I?” Ernie questions. “Yeah, but you and your underhanded ways will get you in trouble one day.” Ernie lets out a laugh while Bill lightens up and adjusts his hat. Until that day, I will do anything to put things in my favor.” Ernie winks at me while Bill shakes his head. “You know what Ernie, I might just do the same.”

    It was all in my head. My headspace has never really been the best once bad times came around which is why I adopted the extreme lifestyle – to escape. But my headspace is in a better place now and good thing too, since Back in Business is a few days away. I can now say that I’m truly… Back in Business.

    Tough times don't last, tough people do.

  13. #13
    Jungle Life
    OMB's Avatar

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    The camera pans to see a crowd of people inside the arena days before BiB during a fan access expo. FWA GM Lord Vincent Takaab Blackbird is getting ready to address the crowd with a sit-down interview. The crowd get to their seats sit down as the interview is about to begin but, there is a loud crash heard from the back and the camera pans over to see Kayden Knox standing tall in the back he looks on very angry as from the loudspeaker a voice can be heard.

    ???: They keep making promises they can't keep. They dangle it like a carrot in front of your face ready to use and abuse you until you are left with nothing left. I am so sick of this same shit different day story. You have forsaken a promise to this man. He literally broke himself at the seams for you and this is what you give him? The biggest card on the year and he is set to face a nobody? What kind of insult is this? You are liars and bigots, from upon your ivory tower you look down on a man like Kayden Knox.

    AJ Drake appears as he stands among the crowd his plaid blue suit with a pink tie and his sunglasses indoors he walks his way to the stage his smog arrogant walk that tells you he is about to have the attention of the room. Kayden Knox makes his way to Drake as the crowd starts to make a little noise unsure of what is going on. We can see that some of the crowd pulls out cell phones to record.

    AJ Drake: FWA is a joke... and not a funny one they are the kind of joke that kills a room. You see we got some grievances to air so get ready cause this is straight from the source not some dirt sheet. Kayden Knox deserves more then being on the undercard in some throw away match against some no name rookie.

    Knox & Drake begin to walk their way to the front and seem to have their sights set on Blackbird who looks on unamused but his attention is on them. Drake looks at Lord Blackbird as Drake takes the glasses off putting them in his suit. He makes his way up the stage where the interview was set to happen and with Knox by his side they look directly at Blackbird. Drake takes a moment looking back at Knox before turning back to Blackbird.

    AJ Drake: FWA promised Kayden Knox that if you work hard that you make some noise we will reward you. Kayden Knox he obliged he want out there and he busted his ass and what did he get in the end nothing. Knox had a hell of a showing at your little rumble he laid everything on the line and what did FWA do? They said big things were coming and Kayden Knox felt good he felt like he was worth something that things were looking up. That wasn't the case.

    Knox looks to get closer to Blackbird but, Drake holds him back instead he goes on talking to Blackbird not allowing him to speak.

    AJ Drake: They lied because they need someone around that is a punching bag that is the butt end to your jokes that just makes other guys look good. If Kayden Knox wanted that he would of stayed as Sterling Jagger he would of kept drinking he would of been dead in a ditch in six months time.

    He didn't do that. I came in. I could tell he was better then that I told him to show the world exactly who the hell he is and to kill Sterling Jagger to kill the demons that came along with him.

    FWA... What happens next on your grand stage with millions of eyes watching that is on you. Orion you are just to example and maybe it will awaken something in you. Orion we have no doubts that someday you will be good that you may even be great but, this is not your time.

    Orion maybe it will open your eyes to see this place for what it really is or maybe you fall victim to not kissing the asses of the locker room because you aren't in there little "cliques".

    Is that breaking a forth wall for you? Is that a little to meta?

    Drake doesn't smile after the remark instead it turns to straight anger with him yelling with passion his eyes met to the crowd as he turns with a sea of cell phones from the crowd aimed at them.

    We are sick and tired of busting our asses for something and getting nothing absolutely nothing in return. You wanna call it sour grapes? You wanna say its a bad attitude that we are living the gimmick but, I hate to tell you but we are. We know how good we are and we are sick of having to do the same shit over and over with the same result and the same flaws that this company has.

    Kayden Knox deserves more then being some name on a card battling for nothing he has proven he can hang with the very best this company has and he wants what he deserves he wants a chance. He wants to feel like he has some meaning then just being told one thing and then shown another.

    If you don't wanna give us what we want. What we are entitled too. Well, we have no other choice then to take it and it will be at the cost of your FWA Roster because we will come out here and we will speak the gospel of the injustice and we will be its swift hand of punishment and the blood that comes with it will be on your hands.

    AJ Drake turns to Blackbird before back to the crowd flicking the mic as it drops to the ground. Drake turns to Knox as they leave you can hear Drake tell them they been warned as they exit.

  14. #14
    Indy Talent
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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    White. All we see is white everywhere. We zoom out to find.. snow? There's snow coming down and it's heavily layered on the ground nearby. There's trees powdered with snow and we see the giant silhouette of Andre Mack, moving logs followed by short wind sprints, clearly running through a workout. Johnny Devlin is finally seen, and he's motivating Mack, yelling at him to finish strong.

    Johnny Devlin: That's right baby it's Back in Business week! Keep going! Two more! Let's show them what we do! Nobody works as hard as you!

    Mack finally slows down, as his workout comes to an end. Mack is sweating - his body steaming as the snow hits his massive chest. Devlin, who's wearing a sweat suit to stay warm, is hyping him up.

    We're firing on all cylinders bro! They aren't ready for us!!

    Big Dre smiles, drinking his water, trying to catch his breath for a moment.

    Andre Mack: They're going to know who we are by the end of the night. The Valanders have been talking on twitter, trying anything they can to be relevant. Don't just talk about it, BE about it.

    Now hold on a minute Dre, the Valanders are 3-0. They actually might be a big deal, they m-

    Hell nah! We're FIVE and oh. We had one no contest, and we rectified that match last week by defeating The New Breed.

    And we didn't finish the job last time because we underestimated the other team. So I want ol Mike and Louis to know that we're not underestimating ANYBODY again. We may have made a mistake once before, but we learn from our mistakes. We improve. And we THRIVE under pressure. The bright lights of Back In Business is the ideal scenario for our coming out party. We're going to come out and let the world know the Wave is crashing down. You better ride it, or it's going to take you under!

    The Valanders will lounge in our luster!

    Mack laughs, and tosses his empty water bottle into a recycling bag, and he pulls out a yoga mat, setting it out to do some yoga in the snow. Devlin shakes his head as if to say he's crazy before laughing as we fade to black.

  15. #15
    Cyrus Truth's Avatar

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    Exile Chronicles (Volume 2)
    Chapter 18: Coming to Terms

    It has been an eventful year since Back in Business XIII for the man known as Cyrus Truth.

    It started with fighting Chris Kennedy for the World Title, losing in a nailbiter. A loss that was soon avenged at Aftershock, and ended in the reclamation of the World Title in a brutal Iron Man Match.

    The next challenge was Phillip A. Jackson at Revival...then, it would lead to a fight against both Bell Connelly and Shannon O’Neal in what would be each woman’s final match. Cyrus Truth would endure.

    And then came Gabrielle Montgomery...a challenge that would define much of The Exile’s year in a way no one expected. Least of all, him.

    He would defeat the Goddess, strike her down and make her question her divinity.

    She would not leave him be, continuing to haunt the man who she had grown to hate more than any other.

    He would lose the World Title in a match she was involved in, but she was not the one to claim the prize.

    Both would enter Carnal Contendership...and she would take that opportunity from him before losing the match herself. Words, vicious and toxic, have been spoken. And now, Cyrus Truth and Gabrielle Montgomery find themselves across the ring, one-on-one, once more.

    A dance in the inferno...a Trial by Fire.

    Many things have happened to make Cyrus Truth face his critics and adversaries. Every action taken, every word spoken...all have been questioned and confronted. The aura of invincibility is diminished, and shades of The Exile’s past have returned to warn him that his path, his vaunted journey down the Long and Winding Road was heading for a brutal end.

    It has left him vulnerable for the first time since coming to FWA, and has threatened to ruin him.

    She has threatened to tear him down. To expose him. To render him to ashes.

    Days before the titanic showdown, the culmination of a blood feud that has been boiling over for months, we find Cyrus Truth wandering in a rather hostile and unforgiving environment...though perhaps not as hostile and unforgiving as FWA.

    Out in the middle of a frozen lake sits a lonely forested island. The winds are howling, the snow is blowing, and as evidenced by Cyrus’s face? The warm thermal gear he is wearing is doing little to keep out the biting cold.

    Still, The Exile presses on in the dead of night, carrying only an oil lantern to guide him as he walks across the lake, boots crunching in the snow and ice. There are several audible cracks, signifying that the lake is definitely not frozen solid. The Exile, however, marches forward. Always forward.

    After what seemed like an eternity, Cyrus finally reaches the shore of the island. With the benefit of being closer, we can see that the trees on this island form a ring around a central clearing, with gnarled and twisted branches out in the middle of this ring creating some kind of entranceway. Shuffling the heavy pack back across his shoulder, Cyrus presses into the forest, deeper and deeper still until arriving at the clearing in front of an old longhouse, made of resin-treated oak logs. It looks ancient, but still stands as testament to those who built it centuries ago.

    Cyrus trudges through the knee deep snow to the door of this building, and finds it locked. Grimacing, Cyrus removes one of his gloves and wipes away some built-up snow in front of the handle, where a series of gears and dials rests. As if he’s done this thousands of times before, Cyrus quickly fidgets with the mechanism to reset the gears (while using the heat from his hand to defrost some of the trickier bits) which all click into place, unlocking the door.

    Cyrus enters, and finds himself in complete darkness for a few seconds before producing a wax tipped lighting taper from his coat. Using the lantern in his hand, Cyrus takes the taper and uses it to take some of the flame from the lantern and light a nearby wall sconce. The longhouse starts to light up as Cyrus continues to move along the wall, lighting sconce after sconce until we see the inside of this ancient building as clear as day.

    There’s no real furnishings or tapestries or any sort of aesthetic decoration. The only thing here are three floor-mounted braziers loaded with coal and incense forming a triangle in the center of the building. In the middle of these braziers is a dais with a small rack on top, as if waiting to hold something.

    Cyrus removes his heavy winter gear until he is only wearing a set of simple black robes with a hooded cloak. With a tired, somber expression, The Exile rummages through his pack, producing a familiar-looking porcelain mask. With the mask of his Mentor in hand, Cyrus places it on the center dais before lighting the three braziers. The fires in the braziers burn a multitude of colors as Cyrus kneels in front of the dais, closes his eyes...and waits.

    What seems like hours pass as Cyrus sits in silence, unmoving as the fire in the braziers burn, casting shadows on Mentor’s Mask. Odd-colored smoke emerges from the, blue, and yellow wisps that fill the room, but not entirely to the point of suffocation. The silence is eerie, unsettling...and is broken by a loud, booming voice shouting:


    Cyrus doesn’t even flinch as he keeps his eyes shut and his mouth closed...but the voice that shouted? It was his. We see the source as a figure wearing a red cloak appears from out of the same-colored smoke. While his face is mostly obscured by the hood, the jaw and chin we can see looks very familiar. This new figure walks up to Cyrus and growls in his ear.

    “You are weak! Pathetic! Useless! You waste your time in this shithole trying to find answers when the answer’s right in front of you! There’s no deeper meaning, no higher answer. Just rage. ONLY rage!”

    “P-p-please...stop s-s-shouting.”

    Another voice speaks out. The same voice...but instead of being full of hatred and anger, it is timid, passive...afraid. Emerging from the yellow smoke is another similar hooded figure, with the same exact build and jawline. This one, however, is sitting on the floor curled up in a frightened ball, jammering and stuttering.

    This seems only to anger the figure in red as he shouts at the man in yellow:

    “YOU BE QUIET! You’re not wanted here! You’re even more useless than he is!”

    “I know...I know, I know...I’m too scared, too s-s-scared…”

    The Red stomps over to The Yellow and towers over his prone form, sneering at him with an expression of pure disgust. This only serves to rattle The Yellow even more until a third voice chimes in.

    “What’s the point of fighting, you two? We’re all doomed no matter what we do.”

    Both The Red and The Yellow turn towards the direction of the blue smoke, which reveals yet another duplicate, this time in blue robes. This one is sitting against the wall, head down and speaking with a mournful, sorrowful tone.

    “Everything that he’s accomplished...what’s it been for? What has he...have we actually gained? There’s no hope down this path. Even the Observers can see it. They are trying to pity us…”

    The Red snarls as he approaches The Blue, leaving The Yellow cowering on the floor.

    “The Observers are WEAK! They are fools, and they are mocking us! Why else would they wait until now to speak to us?! They want us to be like them...passive, statues of flesh and bone! We LEFT that! Or did you forget, you sniveling little bastard?!”

    “We left to seek Truth. We left to find the impossible. We were looking for something that nobody could ever hope to find. It was hopeless to begin with...we were the fools, not the Observers.”

    “What does ANY of that matter now?! We are at war...surrounded by enemies and false friends. Every single one of our peers wants us to fall! And the bitch...that fucking bitch has the GALL to challenge us to Trial by Fire?! We should’ve KILLED her when we fought her the first time. Should’ve DESTROYED her and made an example out of her. But because of weaklings like you two…”

    The Red turns back to The Yellow, who is a simpering mess on the floor, rambling in terror.

    “We’re doomed. The shadows we cast...they’re coming to c-c-consume us. We have l-l-left hell in our wake...and it’s c-c-come for repayment.”

    “He is right. It’s over. We’ve lost. And we’ve nothing left. Save for our lives and our legacy...and she wants to reduce all of that to ashes.”

    The Red looks at The Yellow and The Blue back and forth, seemingly getting more and more angry as time goes on. However, his anger may not be at them as he continues to roar.

    “DAMN IT! DAMN IT ALL! This entire journey, everything we’ve done, and it’s going to be ended by that fucking whore?! That bitch clinging to her legacy as if it means a damn thing?!, no, no no NO! She needs to DIE! To suffer for the bullshit she’s put us through! I don’t care if it kills us. She deserves NOTHING but agonizing, burning PAIN for everything she’s done!”

    The Red then turns his attention to The Yellow.

    “And to hell with you…”

    Then to The Blue.

    “...and you as well. You two are completely useless! You’re not wanted here. I’m the only one we can rely on, the only one with the power to…”

    “...Shut. The hell. Up.”

    All three...The Red, The Blue, and The Yellow, immediately snap at attention and turn their head towards the formerly silent Cyrus Truth. The Exile opens his eyes...and in his gaze, we don’t see anger or resolve. We see...nothing. Cyrus rises to his feet, arms crossed behind his back shifting his gaze towards the three figures, the three manifestations from the smoke of the braziers. His gaze eventually settles on The Red, who’s hateful glare now burns with seething rage.

    “ fucking DARE?! You have the gall to tell me to be quiet?! Everything that’s happened...everything wrong that’s happened to us...that’s because of you! Because you ignored me! You thought I was BENEATH YOU!!! And not just me...but them as well!”

    The Red points to The Yellow and The Blue as he continues ranting.

    “Ignoring them, I can understand...but me? ME?! Have you forgotten the times you listened to me? The times I gave you strength, the times you allowed me to guide you to victory?! I am NOT a weakness. I am not something to be ignored! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

    With a calm, dispassionate tone, Cyrus looks at The Read, locking gazes with him...and says:

    “I know.”

    The Red, for just a brief second, is shocked out of his anger. It returns, as you would expect...but it’s partially replaced with curiosity.

    “What...what did you say?”

    Not only The Red, but The Yellow and The Blue focus their attention on Cyrus.

    “Why do you think I’m here?”

    The Red, Yellow, and Blue tilt their heads quizzically, not too dissimilarly from Cyrus himself as he puts his right hand over his heart.

    “The journey has been hard. Brutal. All-consuming. Mentor was will destroy me in the end. Even if I reach the prizes I want at Journey’s End, I will have suffered much to acquire them. Especially if I keep denying your existence...denying the only Truth that matters.

    “This brings clarity. It was built to allow those wayward travelers to seek the Truth about themselves. The parts they’d rather ignore, the parts that they despise. I came here to see you...face you and come to terms with you.

    “I took the name of Truth. Dedicated myself to the Truth. Not just professional Truth or worldly Truth, but personal Truth. Regardless of where the Road will take me, I know that I cannot face it until I face myself. And that’s why I came look you all in the face and see you for what you are.”

    Cyrus walks up to The Red, and calmly states:


    The Exile walks past The Red, and towards The Blue.


    The Blue looks at him with a sad expression as Cyrus walks over to The Yellow and places a hand on his shoulder.


    The Yellow is startled, but seems to calm himself a little as Cyrus looks at the others.

    “And perhaps...perhaps I needed to admit one uncomfortable Truth about myself. The Truth about who I am...who Gabrielle is. I’ve wanted to pretend that she and I are completely different people, that I held the moral high ground because I have never stooped to her level. But strip away the accomplishments, strip away the actions, and I see for the first time that she and our cores? We are the same."

    The Red snorts at that.

    “We are NOTHING like HER!”

    Cyrus sighs and shakes his head.

    “Really? We both seek glory. We both seek...validation. Different paths, different cultures...but the same Road. Had the circumstances been reversed...have our upbringings and education been swapped? Who could tell the difference?

    “That doesn’t excuse the things she has done. Certainly not the words and slander she’s used against me. But to keep pretending that I’m better than her has accomplished nothing save pain and suffering and loss. Gabrielle and I are two sides of the same coin, and because of my actions and her reactions, we find ourselves thrown into the fiery crucible. And I, more than ever, that this doesn’t end until one of us destroys the other.”

    “Then what hope is there? If she is us, and we are can we possibly escape this?”

    Cyrus looks over to The Blue, and walks over. He grabs him gently by the arm and picks him up onto his feet.

    “I’m sorry I tried to deny you existed. That overwhelming sorrow over what may well be our ultimate destruction...the ultimate loss of everything we fought so hard to achieve. But what I’ve said in the past still rings true: hope is not something you can be given. It’s something you have to fight for. I see you, acknowledge you...but I will not let my despair stay my hand. Nor will my fear hold me back.”

    Both Cyrus and The Blue look over at The Yellow, who has finally started to stand up. He’s still trembling in fear, but he does not look away from the rest of them.

    “I am afraid. Afraid of what’s to come. Afraid of what the rest of this journey will entail...and afraid of what pain will come from continuing forward. But one can only truly be brave when they are afraid...when they choose to look their fear dead in its eye and push forward.

    “I remember now the lesson I had forgotten. Keeping your eye on Journey’s End will only blind you to what twists and turns await right in front of you. No longer will we lose the forest from the trees. Today, we rededicate ourselves to the challenge ahead, not to the prize at the end of the Road. I will not concern myself with the World Title or who holds it or how to get it back. The only thing that matters...the only thing that can ever matter, is the enemy in front of me.”




    The Red, The Yellow, and The Blue speak one after the other, as Cyrus listens. There’s a look of focus, of clarity in the eyes of The Exile. Rage, fear, despair...but not overwhelming, not consuming. There is balance...peace...understanding.

    “ do we win?”

    “She must be destroyed. Completely, utterly, and without mercy.”

    “If she is us, then her sorrow is as ours. If she will not face it and accept it, then we must drown her in it.”

    Cyrus nods in agreement...but all three of them are surprised by The Yellow speaking up...without a hint of fear in his voice.

    “She is...afraid.”

    The Red scoffs with a brazen grin.

    “Of us? She damn well better be.”

    Cyrus, however, shakes his head as he walks up to The Yellow.

    “No...she’s not afraid of us. By rights, she should be, but she’s not. She’s too far gone to know to be afraid of us. But that’s not what you’re saying, is it?”

    The Yellow nods his head as Cyrus sighs.

    “Her legacy, her accomplishments...that’s all she has. Though she and I pursue glory for the same purpose, we are not solely defined by our legacies. We...I...I am a student of the Observers, a disciple of the Long and Winding Road, and a seeker of Truth in all things. When legacies crumble and glory fades, I still am who I was raised to be. Nothing Gabrielle can do will ever tear that away from me.”

    “But she...she has none of that.”

    Cyrus nods as both The Red and The Blue nod in turn, realizing the Truth about what The Yellow is trying to say.

    “All Gabrielle has is her accomplishments. All that she has is the legacy she’s built in FWA. Tear that away, what is left? Just a woman, a human being too easily broken under the weight of the Truth. Without them, she cannot stand. Without the promise of future glory, she has nothing to live for. And here I stand...a living and constant reminder to her of that. She understands...maybe not consciously, but deep down, she knows that she has nothing without the legacy she’s built in FWA.

    “It’s why she fights to protect it so fiercely, why she is so adamant about her actions not mattering. The ends have always justified the means for Gabrielle, and even when she admits wrongdoing, she doesn’t disavow the fruits of those actions. And she despises me because, in me? She sees the same person struggling to build an untouchable legacy. The same soul unrelentingly pursuing glory...but never having to do what she has done to achieve it. Gabrielle will blame anything and everything as justification for her actions, but the Truth is that she is afraid...deathly afraid that everything I’ve said about her legacy being a fragile one is no lie. Her sins crawl up and down her back, a reminder of her weakness in the face of adversity. And it is her sins that will be her ultimate undoing.”

    “She is like us.”

    “Yet nothing like us.”

    “And her fear will consume her, like fire.”

    The fire in the braziers seems to burn just a bit brighter as the mask in the center looks as if it’s glowing in the heat. There’s a sense of calm, of unity as The Red, Blue, and Yellow take their places beside their respective brazier as Cyrus returns to the middle.

    “At Back in Business…”

    “I will let loose my anger and rage...not wild and reckless, but honed and focused like a blade to her throat.”

    “In Trial By Fire…”

    “The fire will consume her, drown her, and burn away her legacy, bringing her face-to-face with her greatest fear.”

    “And Gabrielle Montgomery…”

    “She will see everything come to pass that she dreads...and wallow in despair as she is left with nothing but charred flesh and shattered dreams.”

    “This...this is the Reckoning. For Gabrielle Montgomery...and for me.”

    Haunting, melodic music plays as The Red, Yellow, and Blue fade into smoke, returning to the braziers...but only for a second, as all the smoke converges onto the mask in the center. The mask...changes, as chromatic lines form along the cheeks and eyes of it. Cyrus sees Mentor’s Mask undergo its metamorphosis and smiles...not the cocky smile of a former champion, nor the smirk of an all-knowing traveler...but a genuine smile, one of a man freed from his own personal shackles.

    Cyrus reaches out and takes the mask in his hands…

    The next thing we see, it’s the door opening outside of the longhouse...and walking out is a man in black robes, wearing the porcelain mask of the Observer known as Mentor. The focus is squarely on the man as he trudges through the snow...but it seems to do nothing to slow him down. The cold, though bitter, doesn’t seem to affect him. This is a man on a mission, with the will to walk from Point A to Point B in a straight line regardless of whatever may be standing in his way.

    And as the longhouse goes out of focus, as we continue to focus squarely on the man in the mask...we see the hint of reds and yellows.

    A sweeping shot over the longhouse reveals that the ancient building is now on fire, and being consumed rapidly. The music, as if to drive the point home, very clearly sends the message.

    “In blood and tears,
    “A thousand times,
    “We rise against, we’ll always hold the line…
    “...of Reckoning.”

    As the next line in the song is belted out, we see the fire not only consuming the longhouse, but all the trees surrounding it.

    “Red tears fall down like a river.
    “Don’t close your eyes; it won’t disappear.
    “No fear, you wanna end the pain.
    “Don’t let go, don’t back down.“Hold the line...we’ll bring the Reckoning”

    The masked man reaches the frozen lake as the forest of the island is now a blazing inferno, consuming everything in an unnatural fire. The man doesn’t look back, doesn’t even pause...he presses forward, only forward.

    We hear the voice of Cyrus Truth speak one last time as a voiceover...calm, focused, and without a shred of hesitation.

    “Gabrielle, at Back in Business? You and I have one last dance to dance. In Trial By Fire, one of us will lose everything. One of us will be stripped bare as the flames consume that which we both seek to protect. But only one of us is prepared to leave that past set it ablaze and render it to ashes. My past can burn...but I will not. All that I care about, the only concern I have is moving forward. Taking that next step onto the Long and Winding Road...with no thoughts of the rewards at Journey’s End, only thinking about the next goal in front of me. You are the challenge that lays before me. The challenge that refuses to step aside and allow me to pass it. So...I will crush it. I will dismantle it. I will reduce it to dust so that it will never rise up against me again.

    “At Back in Business...the legacy of Gabrielle Montgomery is burned and scattered. The mystique of Gabrielle Montgomery is destroyed for good. The career of Gabrielle Montgomery...ends.

    “Nothing will be left behind. No honor, no glory, no legacy...just an Exile walking forward, and a woman too defined by her past, who will die without it. Farewell, will not be missed.”

    The masked man crosses the lake and makes it back to solid ground...but doesn’t stop, not even for an instant as the island is completely engulfed in flame. As we cut to black, we hear one last time...the song, the anthem for a reborn Exile...

    “I see your face, find peace of mind
    “Between the madness and the sadness and the fire burning
    “The end of war, the great divine
    “We'll see the day...Of Reckoning”

    “In blood and tears, a thousand times,
    “We rise against, we'll always hold the line...

    “In blood and tears, a thousand times,
    “We'll rise against, we'll always hold the line…

    “Of Reckoning.”
    Something Witty!

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

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

  16. #16
    World Champion
    Main Event Sayer's Avatar

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD


    Everything old is new again…

    Come on, damn it, there has to be something here….”

    A dark condo, lit only by the light of the TV flicking from scene to scene as Michael Garcia pressed down impatiently on his controller. An endless stream of FWA segments being forwarded through, showing such blasts from the past as “Rockstar” Randy Ramon, Ayla El, Chris Kennedy, Shane MacLean, Jack of Diamonds and more . A pan around the room shows that the Monster of the Midway is sprawled out on the couch. He’s laying on his left side, facing the TV. His hair is a mess, and he looks like he hasn’t shaved in days After being screwed out of a victory against Krash by Mike Parr and being left hung out to dry on the previous Fight Night, Garcia has had a rough couple of weeks. With no shows being scheduled in the days leading up to Back in Business, Garcia took a day off, doing completely nothing, but watching some “film” about his upcoming opponent. A bag of Doritos lays on the floor, some of the contents pouring out into the carpet. A half drank bottle of Hennesy rests on the table, the cap next to it. If it weren’t for his stomach moving in and out, showing he’s obviously breathing, and his vigorous thumb movement then one might mistake him for dead.

    “The Mist? The fuck ever happened to that guy?

    Garcia reached down and grabbed a handful of Doritos and basically stuffed them straight into his mouth. With a massive muffle from the numerous Doritos, he managed to get out the next phrase…

    “ Oh, yeah….I crippled him.”

    Garcia reached down beside him and this time pulled out the Jameson. He, rather haphazardly, swung the bottle to his lips before pulling his head back and taking a giant swig of the Irish whiskey. After carelessly putting the bottle back on the carpet, Garcia pushes himself up a bit so that he could reach his phone on the end table. He quickly checks the notifications. Free coins now available at 8 Ball Pool! Cavaliers showing interest in Gordon Hayward! And a new update available in Sniper 3D! But the one thing he wanted wasn’t there…No missed calls. No voicemails. No text messages. No missed Skype. Nothing. Malik hadn’t called, so back to the bottle it was. The camera spun around to show the TV, back to the FWA network, and now going through the final match…Gabrielle Montgomery vs Jack of Diamonds in lightening speed. It was actually kind of amusing to watch Jack move at the speed of a cruiserweight. As the show reached it’s end, with Gabrielle’s hand raised in victory, Garcia tossed the controller aside in frustration.

    “Jesus, how far back do I have to fucking go to find a decent “Prime” Devin Golden match?”

    Mike took another swig of the bottle before pulling himself up to an almost seated position.

    “Ah, you know what? Screw it. Let’s see what else is on…”

    With that, Garcia raises the remote in the air and in a half zombie-like state begins cycling through the channels. He stops when he sees in his DTV guide that popular sports debate show, Undisputed, is on. Garcia cracks a smirk as he leans back into the sagging couch, spreads out his arms, and gets comfortable.

    “Might as well hear whatever asinine opinion, ol’ Skip’s makin’ today... Guy’s always sayin’ something completely off the mark.”

    He turns up the volume as the show as it comes back from commercial. Host Jenny Taft is looking stunning as always in an aqua colored dress with her long blonde hair was pulled back and made into short beachy waves. Shannon Sharpe sat in his usual spot on the left side wearing a black pinstripe blazer with a purple Oxford shirt that nearly jumped off the screen. On the right sat the notorious Skip, or should we say “Drip”, Bayless, who was wearing black on black (a black blazer with a black T-Shirt underneath, and his gold “Skip” chain around his neck. Jenny was all smiles as the show’s music began to fade.

    “Welcome back to Undisputed, finally on today’s show, the FWA is presenting Back in Business this weekend, live on the FWA Network, and each day we here on Undisputed are making our picks on each of the marquee matches of the show. And today’s topic is one that many might feel is a foregone conclusion, as “The Monster of the Midway” Michael Garcia faces off one on one against “The Golden One” Devin Golden. Both of these men seemed to have a deep rooted hatred for the other that became more and more evident when the FWA executives decided to put them both on the same commentary team this past year. Tensions only grew as the man they call “Main Event Mike” got involved in a situation with then World Champion Cyrus Truth, Dave Sullivan, Gabrielle, and Krash himself. Devin Golden tried to diffuse the situation and found himself defending Krash, which in turn, infuriated Garcia, who called Golden a “traitor” for defending what he called “CWA trash”. Shannon, let’s start with you…Golden…Garcia…who do you see walking out victorious this weekend?”

    Shannon was already leaned back in his chair, twirling his pen between his fingers.


    Shannon leaned his chair forward and set his pen on the desk.

    “Come on, Jenny, I mean…this ain’t a real question, is it? I don’t know how anybody believes that Michael Garcia has a legitimate chance of winning this match. Look, Skip, I am so tired of going through this cycle with Garcia. It’s beyond old. It’s beyond tiresome. This guy comes out every week, hell, every damn day and tries to sell us on why he’s the baddest man in the land. Hell, Mike, I don’t need to you to tell me…I need you to show me! I need you to quit makin’ excuses why you keep comin’ up short! I’ve been down this road with this guy too many times before to buy into the idea that he’s going to win at Back in Business. Think about it, Skip. This man comes into the FWA 8 years ago and he beats Jason Gryphon senseless for weeks on end. I think he actually beat Gryphon the first three times he faced him. Correct me if I’m wrong, Gryphon was about to LEAVE the company out of frustration at that point, am I right?”

    “He was…”

    “ And what happened when these two fought for the X Division Championship? I’ll tell you that, Skip…that ws one of those rhetorical questions that you love so much….Jason Gryphon wlked out with the X Division Championship. Let’s talk about the North American Championship. Michael Garcia is 6-0 against North American Champions in non-title matches. Guess what his record is in North American Championship matches? 0-6, Skiiiip! He’s the biggest man in the FWA yet he consistently comes up short to guys half his size, like Ryan Rondo, Krash, Wolf, etc. I’m tired of hearin’ about the potential, Skip, I want to see the results! It’s been eight years! The man is seven feet tall! He’s three hundred and eighty five pounds! He’s the only man near that size in the company! And he can’t win a singles championship?

    Look, Skip, physically, I believe Mike Garcia is absolutely capable of beating anyone in the FWA. I believe he’s physically capable of winning any championship. I’m not saying that the man isn’t talented. But there is some piece to the puzzle, mentally, that he just hasn’t put into place yet. And in any sort of combat sport, you know as well as I do, Skip, that the mental aspect is just as important as the physical and that is where I believe that Devin Golden has the major edge,the major advantage of Ol’ Midcard Mike. I don’t usually do it, Skip, but ol’ Shay Sharpe gonna be opening up the restaurant late on Sunday, and I’m gonna have a big table for 1 ready. I hope the Carnegie Carnivore is hungry because Chef Sharpe is gonna be servin’ up them Hot “L”’s, all you can eat for the big man….And he’s used to eating a lot of them.”

    The camera pans around the table over to an anxious Skip Bayless, who looks like he’s ready to pounce.

    “Is it my turn?”

    “Yeah, it’s your turn. Go ahead.”

    “Well, half the shows over after all that nonsense, but alright, Jenny, I believe that I sat right here at this table last week, and I pounded my fist into the table,screaming at the top of my lungs that…I don’t know….I just have this gut feeling that 2020 is FINALLY going to be the year of the “Carnegie Carnivore” and that I still believe that this man is the most “Over-criticized, under-appreciated” wrestler in the HISTORY of the FWA!”

    “ D-d-d-on’t do that, Skip. Don’t do that.”

    “Oh, I’m doing that! Ever since the “Monster of the Midway” returned late last year, I don’t know…I’ve been pleasantly surprised with what I’ve seen from him! He looks like he’s gotten stronger and I’m even seeing a bit more burst or explosiveness from him. No…no..I’m not kidding, I believe this is a far more motivated and far more cunning person than we’ve seen in the past. And to your point, yes, there have been some issues in the past with him coming up short, but those matches in which you referenced, against Mike Parr, I think he looked REALLY good in those matches and had he been against any other competitor on that night, I believe Michael Garcia would have been the FWA North American Champion, and then we likely aren’t even having this discussion. And you want to talk about Cryos, that guy would have been a 2 time World Champion by now if he had stuck around and by the way, in that second match against Cryos, it took involvement from a guy named Nightmare to help him retain his championship. Now, fast forward to this year, Jenny already told us the story about how he nobly tried to step up and defend the FWA this year and really, how can you vilify him for that?”

    “He was in it for himself, Skip…he didn’t give a damn about CWA vs FWA. Mike Garcia was doing what he always does…putting the spotlight on him and him alone. He wasn’t gettin’ enough attention on commentary, when he was all over the show…now he wants to be in the World Title picture, so he just bullied his way into it!”

    “He knew what we all know…that he was too good to be stuck at the table…”

    “Then what’s he done since then?”

    “Well, I’m about to tell you. He came within an eyelash of beating the World Champion Cyrus Truth…”


    “He would’ve won the Carnal Contendership match had it not been for the most obvious coordinated attempt for everybody in that match to eliminate him…”

    “SKIP! SKIP! SKIIIIIIPPPPPPP!!!!! Stop it, Skip Bayless! I’m not gonna let you do that! You see, Skip, this is what you do…you bring that up as if it’s some sort of collusion between Krash and Golden, no…Skip, if you gonna be that guy that makes an enemy out of everyone, you gotta understand that you’re always gonna have that target on your back! This is what he does! He makes enemies out of everybody and he wonders why he’s got a bullseye on his back! You don’t think the champions have those same bullseyes on their back?”

    “Well, I didn’t see three guys making it their only goal to eliminate Cyrus Truth from the Carnal COntendership, but moving on, he DOMINATED Jason Randall. He obliterated Devin Golden and Krash in the weeks to come, and then two weeks ago, he was well on his way to beating Krash, when for some inexplicable reason, Mike Parr comes out and costs him the match! But then,we head to this past week on Fight Night and….I don’t know what all happened, but his team just…dropped like flies! Parr went out, Gabrielle got eliminated, Sullivan left him high and dry and I thought he held his own pretty well being left in the ring with two future Hall of Famers and he nearly won the fight! At Back in Business, Cyrus Truth won’t be there, it’s just gonna be one on one, and from what I saw this week, I honestly do not believe that Devin Golden has what it takes to physically match up with Michael Garcia.”

    “You wanna put 2 cases of Dew on it”

    With that Garcia flicked off the TV and tossed the remote onto the pillow. With a glimmer of rage in his eyes, he took a deep breath before looking up to the ceiling and shaking his head in disgust. This wasn’t the only place he had heard this. Doubting fans, anxiously awaiting him to the eat pinfall at Back in Business, treating it as if it were a foregone conclusion. At the airport. At the arena. At the local restaurants. Hell, he was nearly certain the bellboy last night was giving him an unusually smug smirk a couple days ago.

    “So I was right…that IS how people really feel.”

    The camera zooms in a bit to get a more up close and person feel to it, but all they get is a frustrated smirk.

    “Heh…what do you want from me? You heard it just as well as I did. The world thinks I’m a joke. A loser.A choke artist. They all think that I’m all talk and no walk. So…what? You want me to tell you how I think Devin Golden is a washed up relic from the past just clamouring for “one more run”? I could. I could remind you all of the fact that Devin Golden has disappointed more people in more big spots than anyone I can remember. Who’s the biggest reason Dave Sullivan is walking around with that FWA Championship right now? Devin Golden. Remember when he turned his back on all of you to become Rotten Gold? But what’s it matter? None of that matters until I start backing up my words with action! Even if I give you an impassioned speech about all of the horrible things that I am going to do to Devin Golden at Back in Business, all it’ll be is hollow words from a never-was, right?

    All I can do is make sure that things go my way at Back in Business because this is is the final stand for me. If I lose at Back in Business, I don’t know what comes next. It’ll just be yet another example of big, bad Mike writing checks that he just can’t cash. Forget all the times that I’ve faced Chris Kennedy or Cyrus Truth or Ryan Rondo….forget Carnal Contendership..screw those North American Championship. This match, in Orlando, against Devin Golden is the biggest match in my career by a wide margin because I honestly don’t know what’s next in the career of Michael Garcia if I fail one more time. No pressure,right?

    So,Devin, if you’re listening, I need you to understand one more thing. Fuck the fans, and the talking heads, no matter what I say…it’s just gonna fall on deaf ears. To them, this is just Main Event Mike, being his usual arrogant self and talking out of his ass. I ain’t talking to them. This is to you, Devin Golden. Two time X Division Champion. Four time Tag Team Champion. Three time FWA Champion. From a man who’s never held singles gold in the FWA. To you, this is just another match. I’m probably the least prolific guy that you’ve ever fought at Back in Business. This match is probably more to you about proving that you still have it. That you can still compete, week in and week out, with the current crop of FWA talent. But most importantly, this is about you being the self-indulgent little bitch that you are. Looking for the adulation of the crowd by shutting up the most narcissistic guy with the most over-inflated ego, thinking that it would be one of the quickest ways to relevancy. Well, Devin, I am through being a stepping stool. Go ahead and roll your eyes or mock me all you want.

    There’s an old saying “The most dangerous man in the world is the man with nothing to lose.” Well, I’m coming in to this fight with absolutely nothing to lose…respect, dignity, reputation…nothing. The only thing that I DO have is a chance to turn things around. At Back in Business, I will do anything, and I mean anything, to make that happen. Because I’m terrified of what will happen, if I don’t.”

    For the first time ever, there’s a look of uncertainty, maybe even fear, in Garcia’s eyes as he utters those last words. His trembling hand reaching down to pick up his next drink as the scene fades to black.
    Last edited by Main Event Sayer; 02-29-2020 at 08:32 PM.

  17. #17
    Oz's Avatar

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      Country                    Turkey

    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    Nova Diamond proudly presents:

    It was another ordinary day in Historically Extraordinary Museum of Extraordinary History. Despite the long and silly name, the museum boasted a variety of artifacts coming from dozens of cultures coming from dozens of places. And the name problem was easily avoided by calling the place just HEMEH or HEMEH Museum, since it was significantly easier to keep the acronym in mind rather than recalling the entire name and thinking about how silly it is for such a prestigious museum. The huge building contained numerous of exhibits, divided by categories like History of Trade, History of War, History of Education, History of Sport and many more, with one recent addition had been made by an anonymous but immensely generous donor. It had proven to be a very popular addition too since its opening, with numerous visitors having spoken to the media outlets about a certain surprise waiting for anyone who wished to visit it, and the administration of the HEMEH Museum are also reported to be delighted with how well it is performing. The customers were also very diverse, varying from history enthusiasts to actual professors, from casual museum-goers to classes of children in a school trip.

    And it was another case for today, this time they were middle school children who were loudly boarding out of their school bus, their teacher trying to keep them in line while walking them to the entrance. It had taken a lot of effort and convincing to make this trip happen in the first place, so the teacher knew she had to be extra cautious with kids, especially since she was unluckily made aware of the fact that how most of the boys in her class liked professional wrestling and were very prone to emulate the wrestlers they liked regardless of where they were. She did not know what ‘Back In Business’ was, neither did she care but that was all they were talking about. She even had to warn her class a dozen times in the bus about how they represented not only themselves, but the school as well and therefore they should do ‘no wrestling or whatsoever’ today.

    The children passed through the revolving door, followed by their teacher. After she ordered kids to stay together and not wander anywhere, she was left with a choice of where to take the kids first. History of Education could be too boring and History of War could be too brutal. History of Sport could be nice, she thought, but the slightest mention of fighting sports could make kids pretend they were Nova Diamond again, whoever that was. Then the light bulb finally went off in her head and she remembered reading about the new addition. History of Revolutions, if she could recall it correctly. She could not recall what it was about but she had guessed it was about revolutionary ideas, discoveries or intentions that changed the world, like fire or writing or stuff like that. She felt pretty good about it, unaware of the irony awaiting her. The teacher approached one of the museum workers, asking about where ‘History of Revolutions’ were. The worker gave her an amused look before describing the location. She didn’t understand why he would look at her like that but she thanked him regardless and took the children there as it was described.

    After passing through the signs and arriving there, the teacher saw two another museum workers who were saying goodbye to another group. One of them was tall, and presumably was a male while the other was a short female, both had black hair and standard museum worker uniforms, though the male had a purple vest instead of the red one she had seen worn by the other workers. She was going to approach them until the female worker turned back, saw them and warned the male to turn back as well, which caused gasps and ‘ooh’s from the children for some reason…but it all made sense once she read the tag.

    ‘Hello, my name is: Nova Diamond’

    So, that was the Nova Diamond she kept hearing about. The teacher wasn’t sure if she wanted to rip her hair out because of not being able to save herself from the clutches of ‘pro wrestling’ for a single day or admire the figure of this Nova guy because the uniform fitted on him rather nicel-

    That thoughts vanished instantly upon seeing the female workers gaze on her. No matter how attractive she found Nova, the teacher was in no mood to deal with overly possessive girlfriends.

    “Hello, kids! Welcome to ‘History of Revolutions’. I’m guessing you are to here to bare witness to some great revolutions in human history. Well, you are in the right place! Before we begin, are there any questions?”

    Several kids raised their hands, the teacher was pretty sure the questions would be about wrestling.

    “Are you the real Nova Diamond?”

    “Why are you working in a museum? Don’t you gain plenty of money from FWA?”

    And many more questions, not a single one about the content of the museum. To her surprise, Nova was actually very patient and easy going when answering the questions. Well, she supposed being able to deal with fans came with the package of being a public figure. Still, that didn’t stop her from being impressed, she had always assume professional wrestlers were brutes who always resorted to violence and promoted everyone to do the same. But here was one of them, working in a museum, trying to educate kids about history. If only his girlfriend would stop giving her that look.

    On the other hand, Nova Diamond was glad he had something to occupy his mind just days away from the biggest night of his life. Sure, he felt better after getting one over Sullivan after the last Fight Night and he definitely felt like a champion after tossing Sullivan’s kingly possessions into the fire. But the issue wasn’t resolved at all, and Nova didn’t know why. He didn’t have to think why either because he had a task to do, educate these children about revolutions, how they were done and exactly why they were needed. As Nova and Min-Su begun to guide the group through the place, Nova started to talk in general.

    “Mankind, through the beginning of existence, has lived through constant revolutions that caused permanent changes in their lives. They discovered fire, now their caves were warm, they could cook the animals they hunted, they could protect themselves from predators and more. They discovered writing, now they could communicate with each other, they could record what they have lived through more easily. They discovered agriculture, they didn’t need to migrate anymore. They could grow their own food now. They established cities, to live more organized, more easier, with the rules they have established. Then they needed the rules to be actually enforced. They essentially created the position of leadership to a community, something that has continued to exist to this day. Classes have class presidents, schools have principals, nations has presidents. The position has taken several new names throughout history, and one such name …was ‘King’.”

    Before Nova can continue, one of the kids shouted rather excited.

    “Ooh, like King Dave Sullivan, right?”

    Nova took a sharp breath after hearing his name loudly. He didn’t do anything but to smile to the kid.

    “You can say so. While he is not a real king in the true sense of the world, he fancies himself as one and carries himself as such. Well, until last week he dressed like one too.”

    He smirked before continuing.

    “What was I saying? Ah, yes, one of the most common positions of leadership was kingship. Ruling large kingdoms, living in fancy palaces and lots more. Eventually they let all that glitz and glamour go over their heads, and started to think they were not just better than their subjects, but they owned their subjects and they were basically above the law, above everything. This was the case in my native country England back in early 1200s, during the reign of King John….which brings me here.”

    Nova stops in front of a glass box, and inside the box is displayed a paper which is framed.

    “King John was… a tyrant. Despite being a hard-working and able man, he was a petty, spiteful and a cruel king who thought being a king meant he could do anything he wanted. His bad qualities, his tendencies to not keep his promises to his subjects and many more finally caused the baronies to declare war on him and eventually defeat him. This is, children, what happened afterwards: The treaty that was called ‘Magna Carta’ was signed, and it was the first time a king’s power was ever restricted. After it was signed in 1215, the king was not allowed to arrest, imprison, exile or outlaw someone in a way that is against the country’s laws. Even in this day, ‘Magna Carta’ bears a huge amount of significance because, like I said, being the first instance where a king’s powers was limited, in a world that now has democracies and republics and only kings that still exist are either still exist for the sake of tradition and they don’t do much else, or they are in fifth world countries, or the worst: they are charlatans in wrestling companies.”

    Nova chuckles again, then looks at the kids who still look at him like they have seen the messiah or something.

    “This was my intention in the beginning, kids, when I gained the North American title shot against Dave Sullivan. I wanted to take that title off his shoulders and limit his ‘powers’. That was going to be my ‘Magna Carta’, a revolutionary event where it was just not going to be about the start of Dave Sullivan’s regression, but my triumph as well. But certain things happened, and I’ve decided just limiting a King’s powers weren’t enough. You need to be much, much more radical when it comes to men like Dave Sullivan.”

    Nova turns around and comes eye-to-eye with the teacher which is giving him strange looks, probably about the values he is unintentionally giving kids, about how to treat an opponent. He sighs.

    “I know, kids, your teacher probably tells you that whenever you are in a competition, you should treat your opponents with respect and dignity. I want to believe that too, but I’ve pretty much experienced that some of your opponents will be douchebags beyond belief and you can do nothing to change it. While I hope you kids may never face such situations, I do believe you should be able to stand up to yourself and do more than turn the other cheek. This is why I feel comfortable presenting you the ultimate solution when dealing with people like them.”

    Nova then turns again, continues to walk until they stop in front of something really big but completely hidden by a black cloth.

    “Min-Su, would you mind doing the honours for me?”

    She smiles to him before slowly walking to the cloth and suddenly pulling it to reveal…a guillotine of all things. The teacher was sure she was nearly going to faint upon seeing that mass-murder weapon in its infamous glory.

    “Sadly, ‘Magna Carta’ wasn’t an end to tyranny of kings all over the world. In late 1700s, the situation in France got so bad that Queen of France, Marie Antoinette was telling people to eat cake if they couldn’t afford bread. Well, eventually people decided to eat the royals and risen up against monarchy to brutally end it. After the French Revolution was successful, the French revolutionaries used tools like this bad boy near me to execute the tyrants, namely the Queen…and the King who terrorized his entire country. What happened…wasn’t pretty and certainly too brutal and barbaric in today’s standards but that is what happens when you live under such conditions and it finally dawns on you that you have no choice but to change that situation, to turn it upside down and influence the whole world to follow your footsteps.”

    A sudden surprise smile appears on his face.

    “Now, enough with the boring stuff. I’m sure you kids are excited to see this in action. Very well then, Min-Su, I know I’m asking you for too much but…”

    Min-Su disappeared to get something and came back quickly, driving a wheeled platform that carried a life-size Dave Sullivan wax sculpture. The two then grabbed the statue, sticking its head to the hole in the middle of the guillotine where the blade would go through.

    “Are you kids ready?”

    The kids cheered while Nova held the rope that would let the blade fall…and the blade eventually fell to cut the head of wax Sullivan, the head dropped to the floor and Min-Su picked it up to give it to Nova. He smirked while holding the wax head of his Back In Business opponent.

    “This, is what I intend to do in Orlando. Obviously not literally cutting his head off, but making him even worse, taking the last thing he holds dear. His crown is burned, his robe is burned, his scepter his burned, the two titles he used to held are gone, and Dave has no choice but to hold on to that world title, to defend it with his life. I want him to come to Orlando and understand that even with the everything he has got, he is destined to lose to me, that his tyranny is over for good and all it takes is right man in the right time, right place and with right motives. Because I’m not going to do it just to become the world champion, kids, no, I’ll be giving the all professional wrestling fans worldwide a gift, the end of Sullivan, and the era of yours truly: Nova Diamond.”

    Nova was smirking even though the teacher was looking at him rather harshly right now. She coldly thanked the couple before taking the kids who are still excitedly talking about what they have just witnessed. It was rather obvious that the things Nova had talked about really did not sit in with a middle school teacher, justifiably so, but Nova didn’t really care, not everyone had to like his surprise. Though he would be rather surprised himself if he had known about the black car that was approaching the museum at that moment.

    The car stopped before the entrance and Atticus’ right-hand man Jason Highlander came out of the vehicle, walking to the museum. He finds the ‘History of Revolutions’ section rather quickly and pokes Nova in the back, which turns around in a very annoyed manner.


    He calmed a little and tried to give a smile upon seeing Highlander.

    “Well, hello, Mr. Highlander. Didn’t take you for a history enthusiast. Are you here because you want to learn about history or does Atticus want to see me again?”

    Jason is rather serious at the moment so he prefers to keep it short.

    “The latter. Just come with me.”

    Nova looks at Jason in the eyes with a stoic expression, then looks at the wax head of Sullivan he’s holding again before turning to Jason once more and shrugging.

    “Alright, I would be surprised if he didn’t have anything to say.”

    Nova then punted the severed wax head and it went flying next to its body. The trio went their way into the car to meet the most important person in their lives once again. The car ride was bearable, no visions and hallucinations of Dave Sullivan haunted him this time, but Nova could swear that did not mean that he was one hundred percent alright with everything. So, he said nothing to initiate a conversation with Jason. They were back in the headquarters again and Atticus was waiting for him, Nova just hoped he wouldn’t find the museum worker outfit embarrassing.

    “Come in.”

    The man had spoken, and Nova took a deep breath before entering. He sort of knew what Atticus is going to talk him about. And he imagined it would not be pretty. After entering the room, Nova locked eyes with Atticus, measuring his face that was bearing a very cold stare. Obviously, the man did not seem happy and Nova could think of reasons why.

    “How have you been?”

    His voice was cold, and Nova was aware it wasn’t his well-being that Atticus was currently concerned with.

    “Pretty al-“

    “Don’t bullshit me. Spill what’s wrong. First of all, you nearly make an ass out of yourself during Henry Gilmore Show, then I find out you spend my money on museum donations, buying yourself guillotines and making custom wax statues for some fucking reason. The latter I can forgive, it’s only money, barely the money I make in a fucking hour, but the former pretty much indicates that there is something wrong with you and I can not trust you to take care of it by yourself. Take a seat, tell me what’s wrong and hopefully we will find some way to fix it. If we can’t and you make yourself look like a fool again when I need you to be not one…well Nova, you pretty much should know that I don’t particularly love working with fools. As much as you would like to think otherwise, you are not irreplaceable. I can cut ties with you as easy as I have made those ties. You can find yourself where you once were, in the slums of mediocrity, wrestling for five bucks. I don’t particularly claim that I have made you, but I can pretty well claim that I can break you. My apologies for being so stern with you Nova, but I want you to know that I am very, very serious about this. And quite frankly, I want you to succeed not just because I have invested in you or just because you are dating my daughter. No, Nova, I know that you are very capable, I have seen it, that’s why it angers me to see you this way. In a very important meeting, when I proposed getting into the professional wrestling scene, the board have told me their suggestions about who we should invest in. Mike Parr, they said, he is the prodigy who is always on the verge of being a world champion. Gabrielle, they said, she is a true professional who worked with several brands before. And they suggested Dave Sullivan too, in fact, the majority had suggested your Back In Business opponent. I, I was the only one in the meeting that said you were the future. My men have accused me of nepotism, they thought I was choosing you just because you were the one who had won the affections of my daughter. I have withstood them all because you were more than a boytoy of Min-Su. I wasn’t the biggest fan of your actions or your personality but I never doubted your abilities to become the number one of this business. So, what am I telling you to is to act like one. Tell me what is fucking wrong with you lately.”

    Atticus spoke fast, with fury cold as ice in his voice. And honestly, Nova was expecting it. He said nothing, just sat.

    “Honestly, Mr. Henley. I was pretty disappointed with what happened at Chicago with Gilmore. But since then, I believe I had taken many steps of progress to not allow it to happen. I was rather excited at be-“

    “Fucking bullshit.”

    “Excuse me?”

    The last two words came out instantly, like a reflex while Nova raised his eyebrow.

    “You are lying. At least, I hope you are lying because if you think what you just told me is the problem, then you are denser than I have ever thought.”

    Nova stands there, not being able to say anything. Atticus was right, and Nova was pretty sure his potential father-in-law could tell the problem like hitting the bullseye, the man was smart like this and he would not be in this position if he wasn’t that clever to begin with.

    “Just keep sitting and let me explain what I think about all of this nonsense. One day, Nova Diamond was a mid-carder who was never expected to jump into the main event scene overnight, then the next day, he actually jumped into that scene overnight, he was guaranteed to be in the main-event of the biggest show of the year. Despite what you and I think, the consensus believes that this rise was…pre-mature, to put it mildly. And people were very vocal about how surprising was to have you in bigger positions so quickly. In general, people were very loud indeed and despite what you claim, you let them get to you. It doesn’t matter what you think about the actual situation, doesn’t matter if you actually believe you are worthy of your spot or not, you let them get to you. You let them make you insecure. You let them make you hear them all the time. Where do you think my daughter got her people-reading skills, Nova? I am not a fool. I have watched you. I have seen your discomfort. I don’t know what your visions tell you, but I can pretty easily predict they aren’t nice. But let me tell you this: no matter if you see visions or not, if they are kind or not, you have won the Carnal Contendership and you have a match in the main event of Back In Business. This is not something you can escape from, this is a duty you must endure, and in the end lies glory that can immortalize you. So, what am I suggesting is this, Nova, and you better open your eyes real good and listen: You are going to face Dave Sullivan regardless, you can’t change that, so don’t make it harder on yourself by letting people you have already beaten get to you. But if you are content with torturing yourself with thoughts and being a fool: then you are not the man you think you are, you are not Nova Diamond, you are nothing more than Andrew Saturday you so desperately wanted to get rid. And especially, you are no worthy man of Min-Su.”

    Nova had to admit, Atticus was spot-on once again. And especially those last sentences stung like a bitch. Stung so much that Nova found his heart actually beating faster, and the world got a little bit darker.

    “And you are the one to decide that, Atticus?”

    For the first time, Nova finds himself calling the man by his first name. That also takes Atticus by surprise, who in response just raises his eyebrows.

    “Are you the one to decide who ‘deserves’ your daughter or not? Like you have any kind of say about her. Oh, look at Atticus Henley: Fucking father of the year. You weren’t even aware that you had a daughter until a few years ago, you piece of shit. The only reason she is in your life because she decided to be merciful to the man who decided not to stay after getting her mother pregnant, then decided to avoid that woman for years. You can tell me anything you want, Atticus, and quite frankly, you are right. This is what is wrong with me: I am aware of what all people say about me, they think that I am unworthy, they think that I was just lucky, they think I will crash and burn against Sullivan. Maybe they are right, maybe they are wrong, I don’t care. They are already slandering my name through the mud, hell, I have been slandering my own name through the mud, you can do it too, I won’t mind.”

    Nova can feel the world getting slightly darker, his heart is racing as he is standing up to the man he never thought he would. The world is getting narrow, he feels stuck, suffocated, the only way he feels he can get out is to keep talking and talking. His voice is louder and louder, almost shouting while Atticus is grinding his teeth, waiting for him to finish before he gets to give Nova a piece of his mind.

    “But what I will mind is that you bringing her into this like she is some sort of prize I have to earn. No, we already earned each other, years before in those damned therapy sessions. What happens beyond isn’t your concern and I’ll be damned if I….I….I’ll be damned…“

    The darkness grows and grows, the colour of black consumes his world and with a thud, he loses his grip on his consciousness and finds himself become one with the floor.

    Everything is blurry. The familiar bright white lights mainly fill Nova’s vision. The smell is distinctive enough to remind Nova where he is right now. He would laugh if he could even do that at that moment, it seemed like he could not get out of hospitals recently. The hospital bed he was laying on was pretty comfortable, at least that helped with his discomfort right now. His vision got clearer, so did his hearing. He could hear the door close of course, and the footsteps that followed. His eyes turned to the owner of these footsteps and smiled. Min-Su was here in his side, just like she always was. She walked near his bed before sitting on the edge of it, looking at him with a concerned expression.


    Min-Su kept looking at him for a few seconds before getting her phone out and typing quickly.


    It was at times like this that Nova wished he could hear her voice, that she had never endured an incident that damaged her vocal cords, but ironically, that incident was what led her to seek therapy and meet him. One door closes, one door opens. Such was the principle of life, but at the moment, Nova did not feel that optimist about his situation. He was hospitalized just days before the biggest match of his career, his relationship with one of the most influential man in the world was severely damaged as well. He was too busy with his own thoughts that he didn’t see her continuing to type, so he was caught in surprise when the screen of her phone was suddenly inches away from his eyes.

    ‘We made sure this situation will be handled, at least with the press. They won’t know that you are here and they won’t be able to create mountains of molehills.’

    He sighed in relief, making more headlines for wrong reasons was one of the last things Nova currently needed.

    “Thank you.”

    Min-Su reached to his cheek, the concern in her eyes even bigger.

    “I’m….I’m sorry. I should’ve handled all of this better, ever since winning the Carnal Contendership, my life has been a rollercoaster for all the right and wrong reasons, and I’ve been letting every misstep get to me and now that I’ve gone and pissed of Atticus and now everything has gone to shi-“

    His incoherent rambling was cut short by a soft kiss in the lips. Nova found himself getting calmer.

    ‘It’s okay. Dad is pissed, I’m not going to lie. But I’m sure he already forgave you and not just because of me. He even told me that these kind of things happen time to time, he was partially at fault too and the best way that you can make it up to him is going to Orlando and not returning before kicking Dave Sullivan’s ass into oblivion.’

    He smiled, touching her shoulder.

    ‘But forget about pops, I also want to talk to you. Ever since I met you, I knew you were someone special. I knew one day you would end up in big positions like this. I wanted to be at your side and help you go all the way, because you were a kindred spirit. I helped you, I befriended you, those were all my choices. But falling for you, caring for you actually beyond that wasn’t a choice. You made that. And seeing you slip back, or doubt yourself isn’t something I can bear to see. Fuck FWA. Fuck wrestling. Fuck Back In Business. Nothing is more important than you, more important than us. This is more than what we agreed upon all those years before. We have come a long way ever since I promised you to help you be a better version of yourself, and you promised me to help me be a better version of mine. I just want you to know that I believe in you, even if the people don’t. You can slap the shit out of Dave Sullivan any given day, and you don’t need to set imaginary barriers in your head because you are so much bigger than those barriers. But, if those barriers get to you, if the impossible happens and if you happen to lose to Dave, I want you to know that it won’t be the end of the world. I will still be here with you, pops will still support you. One match does not define you, nothing they say about you does define you. I just want you to understand that…and stop tormenting yourself. Those days are behind you. Do you understand?’

    Nova read all of that text, trying to hold back his tears. He smiled at the end of it, letting one single tear drop onto his arm before pulling her for a hug.

    ‘Well, I better leave. The visiting hours are coming to an end soon. And I should give you your phone back, thankfully it didn’t see any harm after you passed out.’

    Min-Su then laid the phone at the seat near his bed. She got off the bed and slowly walked to the door once again. After a little wink and a smile, she left, leaving Nova alone again.

    Yes, he was alone with his own thoughts. Recently, it did not mean good things for Nova, ever since Carnal Contendership. His brain had not been kind to himself, giving him all those thoughts, all those doubts, all those foul visions. He was starting to realize most of the ‘they’ in the ‘they don’t think enough of me’ was…himself. Maybe, just maybe, Andrew Saturday was trying to cling onto the person he was born as, maybe he had never left at all. Maybe, Nova thought, Andrew Saturday and Nova Diamond was the same person in the end. Or maybe, it was just bullshit he had to get through his systems before he headed off to the biggest match of his entire career. He didn’t know, he didn’t know anything at all.

    “Or maybe…”

    He says loudly, not knowing who he is talking to, just talking in a room where there is nobody but himself.

    “…maybe, I was too busy…making all of it about myself…looking at all my flaws…measuring every aspect of myself.”

    He raises his upper body, holding his knees closer to his chest, just looking at the hospital room around him, a place he definitely visited more than he liked to.

    “I was too busy with myself that I did not have time to think about Dave Sullivan. Even when I was rolling him up to pin him, or tossing his possessions into the fire, I was thinking about myself. It was never about Dave, but it’s high time he enters this equation.”

    Nova lets out a deep breath.

    “A man that is considered a ‘veteran’ around here, a man that has gone through a lot, a man that has done the impossible. Maybe, just maybe, this was the narrative I should’ve been focusing on…

    Or maybe, I should’ve said more, be more critical about him, tear him apart like I should do to him physically in a few days. Dave told me that he did not want somebody who had fewer matches than he has fingers get a title shot at his title. That he wanted to cancel my victory. And yet here I am, thinking a guy who thinks like this is capable of destroying me.

    This pettiness, this kind of logic he feels comfortable revealing to the public when he appears on those shows, vomiting those words onto the microphone. I know who I am, and I know even if I somehow lose to him, it won’t break me apart. But nobody can say the same for him. He is a lunatic, he dresses like a king but behaves like a jester. If I take that last thing away from him, it will be the end of him. He isn’t a glorious dragon who holds onto all his wealth. No, he is Gollum holding onto his ‘precious’. Yet again, Dave himself had the same chance to win the Carnal Contendership and challenge then-champion Phillip A. Jackson a few years ago. That was the match where Cyrus Truth debuted and won it all. He had the chance to do what I would do years later. But he couldn’t do it, and now he is shitting on me for doing something he couldn’t and getting that title shot for myself. And here I am, thinking this man can ever have my number, this man can have that psychological advantage over me.

    Being the bad guy is easy, so I’ve said, so he had said. Dave feels content with being the man he is, being a liar, cheater, hypocrite, he cherishes it. Because we all saw Dave Sullivan’s career unfold to the point of his semi-retirement. When all he did was falling flat on his ass then fucked off to host a game show whose winner he ended up sabotaging his career, so he can come back and be that bad guy who does all of that stuff without blinking at all. Dave failed, and failed, and failed until he started to do all those stuff. Well, this sounds very familiar to me. I was like that, I was like him.

    But at one point, I’ve looked into myself and found that this just wasn’t the path that made you more than a champion, all those cheating can get you to one point, but after everything is done and you’ve winded down, all they will remember you for will be the evil you had done. Your name will be known in history, yes, but they will know you for all the wrong reasons. And even if you feel good about yourself at the moment, when you die, your legacy will all be that remains. And your legacy will be your infamy.

    I don’t fear Dave Sullivan. No, I foolishly thought that was the feeling I had because of the things he had achieved. But all those achievements are, as far as I’m concerned, are empty. Because I know that everything he has done that I can do it far better.

    Mike Parr, the one guy he could not beat after ‘the King’ hubbub began. Mike Parr, the guy I pinned after dropping him onto his head.

    Viktor Maximus, the guy he barely survived. Viktor Maximus, I’ve crippled.

    Gabrielle, I’ve beaten clean as a whistle. Gabrielle, the only person who pinned Dave after his return…well, she was the only person until I did the same the last Fight Night.

    Risky Douglas, Dominick Armistead… we all know we don’t even have to discuss them.

    I don’t fear Dave Sullivan. No, I pity Dave Sullivan. Whenever I see Dave Sullivan, it is so obvious that he lives in his own world, where all that matters his himself and what he had achieved. He slanders my name because I had the ‘audacity’ to join here the last summer and won all my matches. I’ve launched myself into the top in my ‘rookie’ year, where he had to wait for 8 years to do that.

    Come to think of it, Dave, you had all the time in the world, and what the fuck you had done?

    Instead of gold, you decided to bury your face in white, a stupid decision that you made that took a lot out of your career. You came back as a masked freak who amounted to nothing, then you suddenly…well, you weren’t just you, there were like twenty you’s. You continued to amount to nothing until Jean-Luc Watkins decided to send you packaging. You left, as a nobody. Then you were a game show host, where all the people you would blame in the future were still wrestling and hunting for glory. Then you screwed Ty Johnson out of a decent career, and somehow managed to get the guy to develop a Stockholm Syndrome.

    You did fuck all for 7 years, and managed to break the ceiling in your last year. You did fuck all for 7 years, then blamed me for not doing fuck all for 7 years. This is how out-of-touch you are with reality. And yet here I am, tormenting myself because of the slightest possibility of our match going in a way that I don’t want it to go.

    Now, you are something, you are winning matches, winning championships, congratulations ‘King’ Sullivan, it took you 8 years, but still, congratulations. You were a man in the right place at the right time. You decided that you were the authority of who should get title matches or not, and then you and Kennedy went out to attack Krash, and you were rewarded for it. Cyrus had gone soft, and Gabrielle was too busy with her own obsession with beating Cyrus, so you cleverly took advantage of the situation. Congratulations ‘King’ Sullivan, congratulations.

    And yet, despite being the number one champion of this company did not stop you from making an ass out of yourself at every possible moment. Beating up fans in the ring, making them wash your feet, beating up Burger King sponsors, getting yourself tazed for more than one occasion. God fucking damnit, you are the most immature FWA champion of all time, and that is something that title once belonged to Bell Connelly of all people.

    Dave, I won’t hide the fact that I am not used to this stage, but neither are you. This is my first Back In Business main-event, so it is your first one. You are not accustomed to the ‘big leagues’ more than me. This is your 15 minutes of fame, just a good form that you had caught. You managed to make the most of it, but now, it all comes to an end.

    I’ve spent the entire road to Back In Business looking at myself, nitpicking all my weaknesses, trying to be perfect, trying to work on all my flaws so it does not in a disaster for me. I spend so much time... that I just forgot to take Dave Sullivan into consideration because I sure as hell know that in no world he is better than me, even if I'm not perfect all the time.

    This is my story, not his. This is my world, and he is just living in it. I am the hero, I am the protagonist, I am the diamond in the rough, I am the man of miracles.

    I will win, I will shine on and I will do it on the biggest stage of all time.

    Even if it is the last thing I have to do.”

    what exactly is a dream?
    what exactly is a joke?

  18. #18
    Striving for a B+ in life
    The Golden One's Avatar

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    Nov 2013
    Orlando, Florida
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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    Watch and Learn

    or Don't ... and Burn

    The clear glass window covers the entire western wall of the building. It's perfectly clean, not a single noticeable smear or object pressed against. This is done for a reason: to view the crashing waves over meteor-sized rocks that have been sticking out of this water for centuries. The elevated view looks down as the white cresting of enormous waves over and over as they dwarf the normal water level and bang violently against these rocks. Their residual waves and current are halted and bounce off the rock wall structured along the land coast.

    Three sailboats are visible, riding the strong wind and managing the currents of the Pacific Ocean. They're far off in the distance, far away from these dangerous shore obstructions. Distance is a funny thing, too. Looking at the sailboats as we are now — through these floor-to-ceiling window screens and easily 400 yards away — they appear to be moving at the snailest of snail's paces. In reality, they're zooming.

    Distance slows down movement and reduces size. Seagulls, pelicans and other birds look like ants as they fly above the water and look for fish to scoop out close to the surface. The boats look like they fit into the palm of a child's hand.

    Why does distance play tricks on our eyes and minds?

    How did those rocks get there?

    How far away is the beach?

    How much would it cost to b...

    "Like the view, huh?"

    The voice of a shorter-than-average, slim, middle-aged black man interrupts this train of slightly connected thoughts. This person, one of the most well-known in the wrestling world, sits down in the only vacant chair left in the room.

    This room, by the way. Let's talk about it. The pristine white walls fit with the Pacific oceanfront view. There is crystal glassware, beautifully framed pictures hanging on the wall, a fit-in-the-wall big-screen television that must be 1,000 inches wide (in actuality, it's 98 inches wide). Sitting in the middle of the living room are two chairs, positioned close to the ocean side and facing one another. A small table sits between them, and a couch rests to the right and facing the television.

    Everything else is open space, with the kitchen to the south side and some gaudy number of bedrooms and bathrooms to the north side and up the stairs.

    "Retired life isn't so bad, to be honest. When the FWA board let me go, they gave me a pretty big settlem... Severance. Whatever you call it. But they let me stay on in an advisor role for a long time. So I still got paid regularly."

    Matthew Robinson seems happy as he describes his departure from the FWA some four or five years ago. This wasn't one of those on-screen "kayfabe" departures, either. He really did take his leave from being principal owner of the company. He handed his share off to the board of directors and let them do what they wanted with it.

    He's talking about himself, doing his usual self-centered dance, which is a bit comforting for Golden as he listens to his former boss. But it's also a bit irritating, as it always is ... for everyone who talks to Robinson. But the conversation topic shifts. Thankfully.

    "I do miss it, though. I'm surprised you're still kicking it around."

    Matthew Robinson's smile sort of changes in that moment. It's almost like he's ... disappointed in "The Golden One" Devin Golden for not being long gone from the FWA, from the wrestling world in general.

    "This wasn't my plan, but I think I've talked about that enough lately."

    Matthew nods his head, and then he reaches down to the table where his expensive drinking glass rests. He grabs and sips from his whisky on the rocks, and then he props up his right leg and rests his arms and hands on the limb in a studious position.

    "So ... you call me up two days before Back in Business. We're in Orange County, California, and the show is in Orlando, Florida. You call me up and want to talk. As soon as I can. Today, if possible.

    I'm a busy man. I've got a lot going on, so I can't give you small talk for another 10 minutes. You asked to talk. Why?"

    Finally, we get a good glimpse of "The Golden One" Devin Golden. His purple highlight tips stick up to complete a messy-hair appeal. His My Chemical Romance "Black Parade" T-shirt is black with white lettering and a white marching skeleton right in the middle. The attire seamlessly fits with the lightly presented black eyeliner. His black pants aren't jeans, but they have a jeans style to them. They're casual, and they fit with the black tennis shoes.

    Black has been Golden's look throughout his twilight FWA career, ever since he returned in 2014 under the monicker of "The Rotten Gold", a name he's used in two stints. Even when he reset to "The Golden One" for the final push, he kept the same dark vibe.

    "I wanted to talk to you ... about ... when I first was hired. And I first started in FWA. How I was. How I acted. That sort of stuff.

    I mean ... you hired me, you know? I don't know how people perceived me. I was so wrapped up in my own head and trying to make this work. I don't know how I was or who I was to other people in the FWA. And ... I guess I've just been struggling a bit with that, upon reflection.

    I just don't know a clear picture. Like, I think I know. I can assume. But it was 12 years ago. It was 2008. Maybe you don't even know."

    Robinson smiles as he thinks back to 2008, some 12 years ago, when he was at the height of his run owning FWA. The company was still in its baby years, maybe 3 years old at the time. And it was growing, under his direction.

    "No ... I know. I remember when I hired you. Man ... those were fun times. Those were fun times.

    I mean ... you weren't a wrestler. You didn't have much of that background beforehand. But we had started Crossfire in 2008 and we needed people. We needed anyone who wanted to join. And you applied. You said you were a fan, said you watched, etc. I remember that.

    We took you on the roster not thinking you'd become ... you know ... you. We thought maybe a X Champion, maybe could fit into a North American Championship match at times. But nothing ... like what you became.

    I remember thinking that we underestimated your ceiling. I'll admit that, and I don't admit much about being wrong. HAH."

    Golden nods and smiles thinking back to this time of his life.

    "What about how I acted at first? Like ... was I overeager? Trying too hard? Too involved? You know ... how some people are and stuff when they come into FWA. James Raine. Drew Stevenson. Michael Gryphon. People like that, you know? Those are extreme examples but ... you know what I mean."

    "Yeah, yeah, I know.

    And ... I mean ... you were young. You were new. You weren't anything out of the ordinary. Not unlike everyone else when they first start. Like, you definitely came in and wanted to be X Champion. I remember that. And I had that vision for you. I was right about that. You helped define the X Championship for a while. So you were already one of the best hires I made at that time.

    And you definitely wanted to go against the best ... right away. But who doesn't, right? Eventually, you got better about this. Just like everyone else.

    You always were thinking of the next step, but you ... you learned, you know? You watched. You were patient and waited for ..."

    Golden sits up in the chair and leans forward. He even points at Robinson, who pauses as if he's about to receive life-changing news. "The Golden One" was hung on one word he heard, and he couldn't really concentrate on anything else after.

    "You said I 'watched'. What do you mean?"

    Robinson is almost surprised by that question. But he gladly answers. He has no problems with this really. But he does sort of look down at the ground and off to the distance.

    "I don't know. I mean ... you watched, you know? You watched how things went. You soaked it in. You didn't press yourself into anything or push yourself into everything going on. You sat back and watched how things were done. You learned from everyone. From Stu. From Shawn Cortez. From Darnell Porter. From Wolf. From Bullseye Johnson. From everyone on Fight Night.

    And then you became the person people learned from. You became the teacher. So yeah ... I think signing you was a pretty good move by me."

    There's Matthew Robinson, making it about himself again. But that's OK. Golden heard exactly what he needed. "The Golden One" slaps his hands on his knees and nods his head.

    "So ... what do you think about Garcia? What will you say to him before the match? This is all so interesting talking shop ... like the good ole days."

    "Well ... I'll proba..."

    Golden is about to answer, but before he can, Robinson's phone buzzes. Loudly. With the phone's case vibrating on the glass table until it's picked up.

    "Sorry, I have to take this."

    The former owner of the FWA answers and walks out of the room. Not a moment too soon, either, because this allows Golden a chance to reflect further on what he heard.

    Deep in thought, a few seconds turn to a minute or two. Golden snaps out and notices he can hear Robinson talking in the other room — and it sounds like a bit of an argument. So it could be a while.

    Everything that follows is thoughts going through Golden's head as he thinks about Back in Business. He was about to answer Robinson's question. He has it ready. It's all in his head.

    Might as well practice it now. With no one around. No people watching or listening. No cameras. Nothing. Just ... putting it out into the universe.

    "What frustrates me most about you, Michael Garcia, is ... you just refuse to sit back and watch."

    Golden rises from his chair and goes toward the tall glass window. He looks to the water and sees the waves still crashing into the singular rocks and shoreline rock wall. He's at peace with this view. It's old. It's learned. It's been here for many decades and, knock on wood for climate change progress, it'll be here for many more. People can learn from it.

    "Think about everything that has happened for you and I the last few months. Hell, you can think back to everything that has happened since 2013 when you joined the FWA.

    You have always expressed this ... eagerness ... to be at the cusp of everything. You've wanted your hands in every cookie jar. You've wanted to be front and center to everything. Even from the get-go.

    But that eagerness is admirable at first. I had it. Chris Kennedy had it. Gabrielle had it. Stu St. Clair. Ryan Rondo. Phillip A. Jackson. The list goes on and on. Everyone comes to the FWA and they want to go one-thousand miles an hour, running before they've learned how to walk.

    And they they learn ... they learn that they have to walk first. And they learn ... that they need to watch other people walk. And then do it. And before they run, they need to watch other people run. And then when they want to sprint, they watch other people sprint.

    It's like anything really. I came into the FWA with that eagerness and hunger. I wanted to step into the ring with Stu St. Clair on Day 1 and pull off the biggest upset in FWA history. I wanted to do that because that's who I am. And that is part of what makes me great.

    But I also learned. And I took a breath. And I watched. I will say that over and over and over again. Those two words: learn and watch. Or watch and learn."

    This topic has been in his head for weeks now. He's been thinking back to his early FWA days, thinking back 12 years ago. When he was just a kid. 24 years old. 25. 26. 27.

    "Mike, you ... you were like that, too. At first. And everyone just sort of assumed you'd grow out of it. But ... somehow ... something really strange happened. And not like a positive, feel-good strange.

    You got worse about this."

    Now Golden is 36 years old. He's an elder statesman. He's got age on nearly every member of the roster. But as a 24 year old, 25 year old, 26, 27, how was Golden? Was he immature? Did he go about it the wrong way?

    From what he heard, no. And that's comforting.

    "Don't go back to just a few months ago. That's not really where this story starts, is it?

    Go back a few YEARS ago. On October 11, 2016, at the FWA's 11th Anniversary Show, I was inducted into the FWA Hall of Fame. Myself and Stu "The Snake" St. Clair.

    It was a great moment for me, a great night. I should remember the speech vividly. I should remember walking down the hallway and getting applause and gratitude from all of the people on the roster, people whom I've taught and helped. People whom watched me. People whom I had a great impact on, and it's something I hold dearly. Because I helped preserve the lifeblood of the FWA.

    And then I should remember getting a forearm to the back of my head. Then I should remember getting thrown into a brick wall. But I don't remember any of it.

    Because I got a concussion that night. From you. I only can watch it played back to me. On YouTube. Wherever.

    I don't remember getting punched repeatedly by you, thrown onto the hood of a car by you. Don't remember grabbing a steel pipe and hitting you in the ribs. I don't remember breaking the car's window and getting headbutted. I don't remember getting hit in the skull with that same pipe. Or being a bloody mess and laying on the ground for minutes."

    Golden's tone changes from somberness and relaxed to angry. He's struggling to keep his composure. His fists are clenched. He's leaning against the window pane and putting his head tilted down, towards the ground.

    "I should remember it but you took it away from me, Mike. Because you wanted to have a moment for yourself. Because you saw me go into the Hall of Fame and felt you needed to have some part of this, some role, something. You needed people to talk about YOU instead.

    What I do remember, Mike, is you kept gloating about this sneak attack for weeks and months after. I was retired, at home and happy. You used this moment you stole from me, this selfish act by you, as a way to keep you relevant.

    So you talk about stuff like me bullying you and making fun of you and taking jabs at you. But you deserve it. You DESERVE it for what you took from me on the night of my Hall of Fame induction. You deserve me paying you back for that. And you deserve to be made fun of because you don't do things the right way."

    A pause, and the fists are clenched. Golden is even sweating a bit. He's really upset remembering back and voicing it all in the open.

    "But maybe I didn't need to pay you back. Because since you don't do things the right way, and because you don't actually WATCH ... and LEARN ... you faded. Again. And you ended up on the announcer's booth. With me. Because your career was going nowhere. And you wanted a way — ANY WAY — to ensure that people ALWAYS heard you. No matter the match, the feud, the division, anything ... you could comment on it. No matter what it was, you could voice your opinion and have a part — even the SMALLEST part — in it.

    Because you never learned that the greatest FWA wrestlers are the ones who take time to sit back and watch. They take time to absorb what others are doing. They don't think they have all the answers. No one does. I still learn every show from people, even people who are younger and newer than me. Hell, even rookies teach me. Constantly.

    But you wanted to be an announcer because you wanted your voice to be in it, front and center. Like always."

    Golden can still hear Robinson in the background, now yelling into his phone. "The Golden One" doesn't recall having such drama in his retirement. He misses that time a bit. But he's also invested in a long-term run, one more run, in the FWA.

    "Then ... on August 16, 2019 ... it happened again.

    I interjected in a dispute between four people: Chris Kennedy, Dave Sullivan, Cyrus Truth, and Krash. What did you do, when you felt like you weren't in the limelight again?

    You got involved. You got involved in something that wasn't about you. And you got involved so aggressively and so antagonistically that you made it ... about you. Or you tried to make it about you.

    It was never about me. It was about seeing a tense moment and trying to bring that tension down. You made it about you, though. You saw a chance to get back into the ring because you felt your voice on the announce table was softening. Your impact was lessening. And so you tried to do something dramatic again.

    And here we are, going round and round, in circles.

    Tell me, Mike. How many times have you interfered in my matches or tried to get involved in stuff? Why are you coming up and confronting the FWA World Champion, staking a claim to some future title shot that you don't deserve? Why are you starting stuff with Mike Parr, with Cyrus Truth, with Gabrielle.

    You just can't help yourself. You have to be involved IN EVERYTHING. It's exhausting following your career or trying to keep tabs on what you're doing. I'm exhausted even talking about this."

    Golden sure is, somewhat out of breath as he takes a second between rants. He once more looks out to the waterfront view and relaxes himself a bit. If he didn't have this, then he may have punched the glass window and broken it by now.

    "Mike, you're like me back in 2008. You're like that kid who wanted to beat Stu St. Clair on Day 1. Except it's not Day 1 for you. It's like Day 2,100. And you haven't learned.

    Mike, you've never won a singles championship in the FWA. In seven years. You're 33 years old and you've never won a singles championship. You have just ONE tag team championship reign.

    Don't you think there's a reason for that? Don't you think you're doing ... SOMETHING ... wrong? Maybe you're trying too hard. Maybe you're thinking TOO MUCH about being a top guy.

    It's like the guy at the bar who wants to date this girl really bad. So his plan is that he will be everywhere he knows she goes, to try and expose her to his presence as much as possible. He thinks that by doing so ... he will eventually just make her think of him enough to like him. He thinks he can overdo it and sort of force her into liking him, just by constantly talking to her and being with her.

    But that never actually works.

    If anything, it has the reverse effect.

    It's annoying. And it's over the top. And it's a bit psychotic.

    It's fine when you're inexperienced and new to dating. But not when you're 33 and have been doing it for years now."

    Golden pauses once more. He hears Robinson conclude the phone call in the other room — finally — and senses his time is running short. This is just practice anyways. No people watching or listening. No cameras. No one to judge. Just Golden going on a rant, getting out some steam, connecting the dots for how he feels going into Back in Business.

    "Mike, you can learn so much from me, if you wanted. I could teach you how to be great. Right now, you're this massively strong dude with a huge personality. You have enormous potential. You have the natural athleticism and skillset to be legitimately one of the all-time greats.

    But your mentality sucks. How you go about stuff ... sucks. Your desire and overeagerness to always be part of the action, the discussion, the story ... it sucks. And it's holding you back.

    Chill the hell out, dude. Please. And please ... sit back ... take a breath ... and watch and listen. I promise ... PROMISE ... you'll be better for it.

    But ... you won't. Because that's the whole problem, isn't it? You just don't listen.

    So at Back in Business XIV, I'm going to do my best to pay you back for all of the annoyance, all of the input where it wasn't needed, all of the times you interjected yourself into something that didn't involve you.

    I'm going to make you pay back for taking my Hall of Fame moment from me. I'm going to make you pay for always wanting to make it about YOU. I'm going to make you pay for not learning, not growing, not getting better as a person. And I'm just going to make you pay for trying to use ME as a way of making a name for yourself. Over. And over. And over. Since 2016. And on the announcer's table. And back in August. And since then. Numerous times.

    I want to bring up how proud I am of helping preserve the lifeblood of the FWA. How I've helped put people up, propped the up, helped their careers, helped make a name for themselves. How I've helped make new stars, taught them what I know, given my years of knowledge to people.

    But at Back in Business ... I'm not thinking about that with you.

    I want to wreck you. And I'm going to try really hard to do it."

    Robinson enters the room and immediately begins explaining something about a TV producer and billing. "The Golden One" doesn't really care, but he lets his former boss finish the longer-than-it-needed-to-be rant because he's a nice person.

    When it ends, Golden uses that chance to skedattle.

    "Matt ... thank you, sir. You've given me a lot of clarity."

    "Um ... okay. Well ... do you want to stay for a drink or something? You didn't get anything."

    "I thought you were busy and had to run off in 10 minutes. That was like 15 minutes ago."

    "Well ... I have SOME time. Just to kick back and remember old times. I enjoy it."

    Golden looks at his phone, checking the time, and tenses up a bit. He isn't a huge fan of disappointing people, especially people who have given him something in the past. He's sitting in front of the person who hired him to the FWA. He allowed Golden to pursue what became the greatest part of his life for a good seven years, and something that has held a significant part of his heart for more than a decade.

    "I'm sorry, Matt. I ... I gotta run. But you helped me tremendously and I want you to know that I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. I'm glad I've done things the right way. I'm glad I learned and grew up since when I first came into the FWA.

    So thank you for affirming that."

    "Of course, yes. You know how I roll. I'm always open. Counselor Robinson. Hah."

    Golden and Robinson shake hands and that's off. Golden walks out of the room and toward the door, and Robinson follows. When "The Golden One" gets to it, he quickly walks off. The last we see is him smiling with Robinson looking off in the blurry distance as one of his favorite hires departs.
    Last edited by The Golden One; 02-29-2020 at 11:06 PM. Reason: fixed one small coding thing

    3x FWA World Heavyweight Champion
    2x FWA X Champion
    5x FWA Tag Team Champion

    2020 North American Sports Poster Of The Year

  19. #19
    Young Gunz
    Comeback Kid's Avatar

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    The scene opens to the previous Adrenaline Rush with Noah Stocke and Trevor Ocean standing on the stage, staring down at Nate Savage and Jackson Fenix. The fans are buzzing after the heated verbal exchange between the two tag-teams in the final build for Back in Business XV. The arena lighting dims as the ring crew and segment producers begin to clear the ring area and the stage of the two tag-teams in preparation for the remainder of the show.

    Trevor and Noah make their way backstage, walking past the outward stretched hands of the producers attempting to congratulate them on the segment. The two men clutch the CWA Tag-Team Championship belts as they walk down the corridors, passing by The New Breed at one point and The Cheshire Cat Clan at another. Walking past the teams reminded Trevor of the backstage area of a drama production more than it reminded him of the backstage area of a professional wrestling show.

    Their walk comes to an end as the two make their way through the exit doors of the arena. Trevor lets out a deep sigh as Noah reaches into his pocket and illuminates his face with the glow from the screen. Noah feverishly taps away on his phone as Trevor paces back and forth.

    Trevor Ocean
    That fucking sucked. That was terrible! What was the point that I was even trying to make out there? It just seemed like I was rambling and stringing together anything I could. Trying to find the next zinger. The next insult. Public speaking isn't my thing. I don't know why we thought tonight would be any better.

    Noah's face dissipates into darkness as he finishes what he was doing on his phone and places it in his pocket. He chuckles at the embarrassment of Trevor that is on display in front of him.

    Noah Stocke
    I'm better at promo, we know that. You're...slightly better at technical and submission wrestling than me. But, that's what makes us a good tag-team. We make up for the shortcomings of one another. And, that's what I just did. I'm going to make up for the shortcoming of that promo you gave out there. The world wants to know why we call ourselves The Elite? We'll show soon as Daniel gets here.

    Almost on cue, the doors to the arena open and out walks former CWA commentator Daniel Oakley. Since the closing of CWA Daniel had taken on a position within the digital media team of FWA marketing. Daniel casually walks towards Noah and Trevor with a black backpack slung over one shoulder and his iPhone and microphone at the ready.

    Noah Stocke
    Are they in the bag?

    Daniel Oakley
    Yeah, I've got them right here. I think you're going to like the way they turned out.

    Daniel drops the backpack on the ground, reaches in and pulls out two white t-shirts. He tosses one to Trevor and one to Noah. The two admire the shirts before turning back to Daniel.

    Noah Stocke
    Simple, but to the point. I like it. Trevor, what ya think?

    Trevor Ocean (reviewing the shirt)
    I like it. I like the grunge look of it. It looks less polished than the stuff that you see on everyone else's stuff.

    Noah Stocke
    That's because what we do isn't polished. I wanted this to be a reflection of not only the message we're trying to send but also a reflection of who we are.

    Noah tosses his half of the CWA Tag-Team championship belt to Daniel Oakley, who just barely catches it. Noah shoots a sharp stare at Daniel before removing his black t-shirt and replacing it with the new white one. He smooths the shirt out over his chest and stomach, revealing the design. A taped "X" with Tag Team written on one of the lines of the "X" and "Renaissance" wrote on the other line. Trevor removes his shirt and replaces it with the new "Tag-Team Renaissance" shirt. Noah puts his hand out Daniel hands him back his CWA Tag-Team Championship belt.

    He allows the championship to drape over his shoulder as Daniel hands him the microphone and begins a countdown to filming. Noah looks over at Trevor who slowly begins to pace back and forth. He smirks as the countdown reaches one and is given the cue to begin.

    Noah Stocke
    Nate Savage...Jackson Fenix...I had plans. I truly had plans for you two. I had plans for the PLANS that I had planned for you two. And they were good, no, they were great. It would have REALLY sold this match to the fans and REALLY made our match at Back in Business a must-see affair. But, I just couldn't pull the trigger on it.

    Perhaps it was the fact that you two just didn't seem that interested in engaging with us. You skipped appearances at house shows and episodes of Adrenaline Rush prolonging our inevitable face to face meeting here in FWA. And, I have to say, our meeting did not live up to the hype. You two were pathetic, but you were smart. You two didn't engage in much trash talk and you two didn't make a bunch of nonsensical promises about what you would do to us in our match. You had to have known that attempting to go word for word, insult for insult with us would have ended badly for you. You had to have known that making promises that you couldn't keep would only further tarnish your legacy after we beat you. I admired that, I respected that. But, that's the last nice thing I'll say about you two leading up to Back in Business because from now until the end of our match, I plan to disrespect both of you.

    Noah adjusts his tag-team championship on his shoulder as Trevor stops pacing behind him. Trevor stands next to Noah as Noah smirks and begins again.

    Noah Stocke
    We're going to disrespect the two of you in the same manner that you two disrespected and bastardized the tag-team division here in FWA. Do you think it's commendable of you two to give little to no effort in promoting the tag-team showcase on the biggest card of the year? Do you think someone should give you two praise for winning those tag-team titles against the weakest crop of tag-teams that this industry has ever seen? You two think we give a damn about who you've beaten and what you've accomplished in this company? We don't. We only give a fuck about taking those tag-team championship belts off of you and fixing what you two ruined since coming here.

    And the only way to fix what you two ruined is to use you two as an a warning. And you two have seen first hand what a warning from The Elite looks like. If you need a little memory jog on that, just ask your girl Brittney Adams how her jaw feels. She ate the first warning shot in our little feud back in CWA and I'm sure you two are STILL bitter about that. She was a casualty in our little feud but at Back in Business, you two will be a full-blown sacrifice. In order to revitalize and spark interest in the tag-team division, we're going to have to sacrifice your bodies, your careers, your TEAM to cleanse the tag-team division and rebirth it in the vision that we have for it.

    We have a vision of a tag-team division that rivals that of the World Championship division. Our vision sees wrestlers lining up to prove themselves week in and week out just for the opportunity to test themselves against us. Our vision sees the tag-team division main eventing pay-per-views and daring other divisions to attempt to top what we do in the ring. But, most importantly, our vision of the tag-team division doesn't include you two.

    So, at Back in Business, we want you to bring your best and put on the absolute greatest performance that you've ever done as a team because it WILL be your last. You two won't be returning to Back in Business XVI as a tag-team. You two won't be returning to FWA as a tag-team. You two will be sacrificed along with your FWA Tag-Team Championships so that we can rebuild the division in our image.

    Noah hands Trevor his half of the CWA Tag-Team Championship belts. A confused Trevor holds the belt as Noah approaches an SUV in the parking lot. Daniel continues to film as Noah opens the door forcefully yanks an individual out from the backseat. The individual's muffled screams can be heard as Noah drags them into the view of the camera.

    Trevor Ocean
    Noah, what the fuck?!?!

    Noah Stocke
    They need to be motivated to give their all. I'm going to give them a reason to go all out for their last performance.

    Noah reaches down and grabs the individual by the hair revealing their face to the camera.

    Noah Stocke
    Ladies and gentlemen, this is Ashley Adams. The sister of Jackson Fenix's girlfriend Brittany Adams. You all may remember her as a CWA legend and one of the most prominent women's wrestlers in our industry. I see her as...motivation (laughing).

    Noah lifts Ashley to her feet and smirks at her before gently grabbing her wrist and staring into her eyes. He grabs her and delivers the Curse of Ham (Wristlock transitioned into a short arm high knee). Her body falls to the ground as Trevor Ocean can be seen rushing over to check on her in the background. Noah grabs the phone from Daniel and stares into the camera.

    Noah Stocke
    Are you two motivated now?

    He drops the phone as the scene slowly fades to black.

  20. #20
    Sulley's Avatar

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    Re: FWA Back in Business XIV PROMO THREAD

    The Mighty Adventures of King Sullivan:
    Volume IV: The King vs The Evil Doctor Diamond

    Everybody is the superhero in their own story. And every good superhero story starts out with some dramatic superhero music. A score that just sets the entire tone for what you're about to read, a tune that makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. But the score for a story isn't what inspires fans.
    No, what inspires the hero himself. Or more so, the hero's story.

    And as we know, this hero's story is a long one. One that we'll go back all the way to Desert Storm, where our hero defeated villains Captain Cyrus and General Gabby to save the city, and reclaim the FWA World Championship for the mayor of Kingsburgh. And the mayor tasked our hero with guarding the title at all costs, and keep Kingsburgh safe from all evil. Who better than King Sullivan himself? The King's super powers were all the classics. Super strength, super intelligence, and the ability to fly. All the things that made him super. All the things that made him King.

    The Mayor didn't appoint King Sullivan as the title's protector for no reason however. For he knew that something of great power, would be greatly sought after. Villain after Villain would come to Kingsburgh in an attempt to steal the World Championship.

    But who better tasked to defend the title than someone who was used to defending the championships of the city night after night? Just look at what King Sullivan was able to do with the X Championship and the North American Championship.

    Night after night after night. King Sullivan defended the city from evil, and he won every single time.

    But nothing was as big and as important to the city of Kingsburgh, as the FWA World Championship was. As you see, the FWA World Championship is what powers the entire ego of the city. Take it away, and the city falls.

    King Sullivan has vowed to never let that happen. Not after all the hard work taking down two of the biggest evils the city had ever seen. General Gabby was one thing. She had used her powers of seduction to spread terror all throughout the city. She even got the best of King Sullivan in a battle once. A battle that Sullivan promised to redeem himself for.

    Which he did...when he fought Captain Cyrus, the true terror. Cyrus had stolen The FWA World Championship, and had all the power in the world. No matter what superhero tried to stop him, Captain Cyrus put them down. Up until King Sullivan came around...King Sullivan was Captain Cyrus' kryptonite. And after already losing two battles to Sullivan, the Captain was weakened. After one more third battle, King Sullivan destroyed Captain Cyrus and General Gabby both, and finally saved the FWA World Championship.

    But the citizens of Kingsburgh thought they were safe from all evil...but King Sullivan knew it wasn't over.

    It's never over.

    Evil will always come.

    And that is indeed what evil did.

    When one villain is defeated, another is born. And that is exactly what happened here, but not by accident. No, instead there was a competition. A villain's gauntlet to determine the toughest of the tough. The baddest of the bad. The evilest of the evil.

    Every villain from all over has come to compete.

    The citizens of Kingsburgh were concerned once again. But King Sullivan reassured them, while simultaneously condemning the event.

    King Sullivan: People of Kingsburgh. This type of...gladiatorial barbarism will not be enough to bring us down. No matter who they send at us, I will defeat them. I always have, and I always will. If Captain Cyrus, or General Gabby, or Maniac Mike, or any of those losers want to come at me, I WILL defeat them.

    It takes much more than one little gauntlet to determine who is truly the best.

    Look at what I have accomplished. Look at what we've accomplished.

    No matter who wins, it does not matter...

    We will come out victorious. Because WE are the heroes.

    But what happened surprised everyone.

    For Captain Cyrus did not win. General Gabby did not either. Neither did Maniac Mike, or Wildcard Randall, Krazy Kaden Knox.

    What happened, was the birth of a new villain.

    A villain named...Doctor Diamond.

    Doctor Diamond was a special kind of villain, because unlike the others, Doctor Diamond was brand new. King Sullivan knew nothing about him. He did not know what powers he had, or what motives he had. The only motive that King Sullivan could see was that Diamond was hungry. Hungry for the championship that lay locked away in Kingsburgh. And Diamond would do anything to get it, and prove himself as the best.

    Doctor Diamond was a special kind of villain to King Sullivan. Very special.

    You see the entire time during King Sullivan's rise to be the greatest hero Kingsburgh had even seen, he was viewed as the underdog. When he battled General Gabby, everyone who watched thought General Gabby was going to win. When he battled Captain Cyrus, again everyone expected to see Captain Cyrus do what he did to every other hero who tried to take him down. No matter who King Sullivan fought, he was always viewed as the underdog...up until now. King Sullivan defeated Captain Cyrus, and finally did what he longed to do for SO long...prove he was the best hero in the world.

    And he did just that.

    But now, he is no longer the underdog. He no longer has that advantage. The advantage of the pressure being off of his shoulders. The advantage of having no one expecting you to win yet doing it anyway. The advantage of not having an opponent who's determined to do anything possible to be the one to take down the king.

    Instead, for the first time, that advantage goes to someone other than the King.

    Everyone in Kingsburgh is expecting King Sullivan to defeat this brand new villain. Nobody is worried. Nobody is scared. They trust their king. And the King trusts himself...but still, the lack of the advantage is apparent.

    But one advantage is not enough. The King had many more. Like the fact that he was the only person to bring three different championships to the city of Kingsburgh all at the same time. Or the fact that he has absolutely dominated anyone that's come into his city for the past year and a half. Or even the fact that The King would be fighting off against Doctor Diamond at Back in Business, a place where The King has NEVER been defeated.

    The worst thing Doctor Diamond could do...would be to give The King another advantage. Like perhaps, making things personal?

    In one night, the success of King Sullivan came all crashing down onto his head.

    He watched as both the X Championship and the North American Championship were taken away from the city of Kingsburgh. One city does not need THREE Championships people said. And so despite the pleas from the city's hero, the titles were gone. But, the city was not upset as they still had the world title. The title that powers the ego of the entire city of Kingsburgh. The title that keeps Kingsburgh alive and thriving. As long as that title lay safe in the mayor's office, then all is well.

    But King Sullivan was still mad. For he blamed the loss of at least one those titles, on his new rival. Doctor Diamond.

    For Diamond had distracted King Sullivan. And although King Sullivan won the battle, the energy spent allowed the Maniac Mike to come into Kingsburgh and swipe his title right out from under him!

    There was not much more he could do. The title was gone, and he had to move on.

    The King addressed the people of Kingsburgh once more.

    King Sullivan: Citizens, let me assure you. This is more of a gain than it is a loss. Those two championships, while nice, were distracting to us as a city. Kingsburgh can thrive off the power of the world title alone. As long as we have the FWA World Championship, nobody can bring us down.

    The X Championship? Purely decorative.

    The North American Championship? Flashy sure, but it's value is nothing compared to what we have.

    And now, the focus can be centralized on the true evil.

    Doctor Diamond WILL be stopped. I will not let him get away with this. I have already defeated him in battle once. I kicked his butt out of Kingsburgh. And I will do it again, and again, and again. He will heal from his injuries sure, but only to get them once again from my FIST OF JUSTICE.

    The crowd cheered on their hero.

    The King went on to beat a few more villains, such as the likes of Circus Cromwell. The more villains defeated, the more Kingsburgh felt safe.

    And the safer Kingsburgh felt, the angrier Doctor Diamond got. And so the evil Doctor did something that nobody was expecting. He made things personal.

    Up until this point, King Sullivan's goal of defending Kingsburgh and it's World Championship was all business. It's not too often The King gets personal over things, and when he does it usually doesn't end well for his challengers.

    But yet going into this day, something told Doctor Diamond to really attack the King.

    Somebody gave Doctor Diamond the idea that pissing this man off was the smartest way to go about the challenge. The logic can be rationalized. Maybe if Sullivan gets extremely angry and involved, he'll distract himself and bumble away the battle? In theory, it's not a bad idea. That is if you don't know who Sullivan is.

    The last somebody to make things even the slightest amount of personal with King Sullivan, was a villain named Dominik Armistead. And by personal, we're talking trash talk over social media. All leading up into their battle, this Armistead fellow had been running his mouth about The King. He was attempting to take Kingsburgh's North American championship, and he had all the confidence in the world that he was actually going to defeat The King and do it. He went on and on with these little speeches about "the death of kings", talking about how he was going to prevail.

    Finally, it was time for the battle.

    It was not close. Dominik Armistead and The King battled right in Kingsburgh for all to see.

    Armistead threw the first punch, before getting thrown threw a couple skyscrapers by The King.

    The King had him defeated. He had kept the North American Championship safe. And normally, the quick victory would have been satisfying enough. But for this King? It was not. No, this night King Sullivan wanted more. King Sullivan wanted to send a message that if you make things personal with The King, he was going to make sure you never forget it. And so, King Sullivan took Dominik Armistead's arm, and he snapped it in half like a twig. This ended Armistead's career as a villain, and it was the last time that anyone even thought about making things personal again when it came to battling with The King.

    Up until today.

    The day started just like any other. King Sullivan was saving the city of Kingsburgh from one dumb crook to another. When he wasn't doing that, he was signing autographs for kids, or saving kittens from trees. When suddenly, a Kingsburgh citizen ran up to their favorite hero with a panicked look on their face. The King immediately jumped up ready for action, but he had no idea that he news was going to be this bad...

    "King's your mansion! It's on fire!"

    Now everyone knew which house in Kingsburgh belonged to King Sullivan. It was the biggest house in the entire city, and it sat on top of a very large hill that overlooked that entire town. It was a house that was literally built for a king, and it looked the part being ar
    chitecturally similar to The White House in Washington DC.

    But suddenly it was engulfed in flames. The firefighters of Kingsburgh were still so far away, but The King himself was there in seconds. He flew over there like Superman, and landed on the front lawn with force and determination. He busted through the door, only to be knocked back by a dark powerful force. The King jumped to his feet, but not before his Kingly robes and crown were telekinetic thrown off of his body.

    The King screamed in anger, as he was forcefully held back by the dark power.

    All he could see was a dark shadow. But he knew who it was...the doctor.

    The Doctor smirked, as he held Sullivan back.

    He threw Sullivan's kingly robes into the fire engulfing the house. The hero screamed in anger, as the dark shadowy figure continued to smile. The King's crown and scepter went into the fire next.

    The King's anger was at an all time high now. Higher than when fighting Armistead. Higher than when fighting Captain Cyrus.

    The Doctor had officially made things personal.

    He officially made this battle for more than just Kingsburgh. More than just that title hanging in the mayor's office.

    Finally, The Doctor's force field wasn't enough to hold Sullivan back. He roared, as the blue force field began to shatter into pieces. The dark shadowy figure then escaped out of the mansion, as The King fell to his knees as he watched his mansion burn to the ground.

    The King was now more focused than he had ever been. Doctor Diamond did the one thing he should have never done, and that was make things personal with The King. Maybe he thought that it was going to make things easier, or maybe he just had a death wish.

    But nobody has ever seen The King this angry and this determined to defeat a villain. To protect Kingsburgh.

    But one thing needed to be done, and that was for The King to come out and address the people of Kingsburgh one more time. But more so, The King had other plans. He needed to address Doctor Diamond himself.

    So he got up on the podium right in front of the mayor's office, and he spoke.

    King Sullivan: What happened last night, here in Kingsburgh, was an act of terrorism. An act that I promise all of you will result in justice. The city of Kingsburgh has dealt with it's fair share of villains, but I want you all to know that this one is different.

    This villain is the worst kind of villain.

    This villain thinks what he is doing, is just. He does not see that he is the BAD GUY. Instead, he commits acts of burning down MY STUFF...and then continues to pretend like what he is doing is for the greater good? To take down our beautiful city of Kingsburgh? No, I don't think so. That kind of thought process is akin to cult leaders, who tell their followers that the crimes they commit are in the name of god. Or politicians, who claim to be supporting the people but are really supporting the lobbyist filling their pockets.

    He is NOT the good guy. He only thinks he is.

    Everybody thinks they are.

    But me? I AM the good guy. Because I am fighting for this city. For all of you people.

    Doctor Diamond asked for a battle whenever he made it past the Carnal Contendership gauntlet, and claimed he was coming into Kingsburgh to take our championship. But, Doctor Diamond started a WAR when he came into Kingsburgh and he attack me personally.

    You think you know everything, Diamond. And it makes me absolutely puke. You are just a little boy, in a big big world. I have 8 years experience on you. I've come to terms with the fact that you're where I wanted to be WAY faster than when I got there. But, I am above that point...and you? You still aren't. You still have so much to learn. And when we finally do go toe to toe, I will definitely be teaching you some lessons.

    The first lesson will first and foremost be to grow some more hair on your balls before trying to come after my title again. You are about to see what I did to so many people before you, and that is...a hard dose of reality. Look at the egos of all of those who came before me. Kevin Cromwell's was the biggest, and when I defeated him a year ago I crushed his spirit entirely. He had to take a leave of absence from the FWA.

    Dominik Armistead's career has ended because of me. And that big ugly giant Viktor Maximus barely had the motivation to fight anymore when I beat him back in July. Gabrielle changed her entire personality after losing to me at Desert Storm. And Cyrus? Have you seen that mopey son of bitch lately? Dude is out there sounding like Eeyore from Winnie The Pooh.

    So many people who have tried to cross me have been crushed. If not physically like Armistead, then mentally like the rest.

    Nova Diamond will just be one more person to add to it.

    The good thing for him is, he's still so young. He can rebound, just like I've had to. He thinks that he has gotten off to so much better of a start than me. But just wait, let me tell you boy. What comes up, always comes down. Do you think I don't know that my time on top has an expiration date? Everyone's does. It may be years from now, or it may be tomorrow. But the clock ticks down. And yours is ticking the same as mine. The stakes are just as high.

    If and when you lose to me, you'll be falling. You'll probably lose your next match after that, and then another one. Then maybe you start drinking, getting depressed, and the next thing you know you're face down in a Tijuana bar with a pounding headache and women's panties around your waist. It's your future Diamond.

    And it could've ended there. Until you went, and you made things personal. You thought you were being big and bad, taking my Kingly robes, and my crown, and my scepter, and throwing them in a fire. And then that cocky little smirk on your face...the smirk that a little boy has when talking back to his mum, up until the point where she smacks it right fucking off him. You smirk at me like that face to face, and I'll smack your ugly lips off and shove them down your throat.

    But enough talk. You think you're so bad? You think you come came into Kingsburgh, and take our championship? Well, let's see what you have. I'm challenging you. You're going to come to Kingsburgh. You're going to come to King's Square Garden, and you fight me in that ring. Winner walks out with the championship, loser gets nothing.

    I'll be waiting for you.

    The citizens of Kingsburgh cheer for their hero. The King smirks, the same way Doctor Diamond has his evil smirk.

    Some citizens are nervous that the King is letting a villain get so close.

    Others are confident the King will take care of the villain once and for all.

    For the next few months, King Sullivan trained.

    He trained harder than he had ever trained before. Working himself with 16 hour training sessions, watching tape on Doctor Diamond in between. He studied Doctor Diamond's powers. He studied on how to stop them.

    The King would do jogs around the city of Kingsburgh, "Rocky Style", with Kingsburgh citizens following him for motivation.

    It was your classic 80s montage.

    After one hard day of training, King Sullivan at alone in a dark locker room. Towel on his head. He began to talk to himself. Preach to himself. Remind himself of how he got to where he is today, and why he needs to stay here.

    King Sullivan: Remember who you are Dave.

    You are the man who won the X Championship more times than anyone in history. You're the man who's held it longer than anyone else has too, a record shattering sixteen months..and you never lost it.

    You're the man who became a double champ, and held two singles titles for 9 months and 3 days.

    And you're the first person to ever hold all three singles titles at the same time. Nobody before you accomplished that feat, and there's probably a good chance they'll never let that happen again.

    You are a triple crown champion. And you're one tag team title match away from joining the short list of Grand Slam champions in the FWA. Nova Diamond insults me for how long my journey has taken me, but he doesn't realize that his insults are actually boomerangs back at him. For if he even is able to defeat me...that will ensure he will never have the career I have had. Like Cyrus, his skyrocket to the main events will have skipped all the other accomplishments he could've earned.

    Do you think Nova is ever going to compete for the X Championship now? He may get demoted back in the North American title picture. But he'll never do what I did. He'll never win the X Championship four times, he'll never break my record for longest reign, he'll never hold all three titles at once. He'll never become a triple crown champion, and he'll certainly never become a Grand Slam champion. His best case scenario now is to beat me for my title, and have a career in the main events..but he'll never match the accomplishments I'VE had.

    If I lose this match, I go after the one thing on my bucket list. Becoming a Grand Slam champion. I've already done everything everything else.

    If Nova loses this match...he goes back to having NOTHING.

    But yet, the stakes have never been higher for me.

    I refuse to lose in my first title defense. I refuse to lose in the first time I'm main eventing Back in Business.

    I refuse to lose for the first time at Back in Business in general, going undefeated after being fighting here two years.

    And I definitely refuse to lose to a rookie who thinks he knows it all.

    If I lose at the next Pay Per View and that's the end of my story, then so be it. But here? In the main event of Back in Business. I gotta put it all on the line. Every single bit.

    And that's exactly what he planned to do.

    The big battle at the King's Square Garden was just around the corner.

    The citizens of Kingsburgh were excited for it, but nobody was quite prepared for the destruction it would cause.

    Every citizen in King's Square Garden was packed into the arena.

    This was the fight of the century, and their entire city was on the line.

    The Doctor was already in the ring. Waiting for his opponent to arrive. Waiting to take that title away from the city of Kingsburgh. Waiting to humilate The King. He sat in the ring, with that shit eating grin The King hated so much. The same grin The King compared to that of a misbehaving little boy.

    The shadowy silhouette like figure waited patiently. Calmly.

    When just then, the citizens of Kingsburgh roar. Their superhero has arrived. The King flies down into the ring. And stares his opponent down. The hero is brandishing a brand new get up. A fancier robe and crown set than he had before.

    The shadowy figure smirks at The King...

    And the King smacks him square in the face. The shadowy figure falls to the ground, as the bell rings. The battle for Kingsburgh is on it's way, as The Doctor and The King begin their brawl. The Doctor uses his telekinetic force field to throw The King around, but The King is dodging everything that comes his way. The Doctor finally gets impatient, and runs at The King, who grabs the shadowy figure and throws him through the ceiling. The King flies up to follow outside and on the street, The King looks around for his victim, but he's nowhere to be seen.

    When suddenly, The King is attacked from behind. He's thrown face first through a box truck. The crowd gasps...but the hero gets back up. The King throws a car at The Doctor, but the figure ducks, and the car goes smashing into an apartment building.

    The figure runs at The King, and tackles him into a school building. The two go crashing into the school like a meteor, where the fight continues inside a classroom. They're throwing desks back and forth at each other like grenades. The King will launch a desk, but then The Doctor will catch it with his telekinetic abilities and throw it back. The King finally gets a hold of The Doctor, and throws him out of the building and into the town's library. The King flies over to follow him.

    Now inside the library, The Doctor gets to his feet, and starts throwing book cases as The King. Once hits The King straight in the face, which sends him flying backward, back into the street.

    After several more cars and trucks are thrown, The King and The Doctor finally make it into the Kingsburgh Park.

    Both the hero and villain are exhausted. But The King has more energy...he tackles the shadowy figure right at the park lake, and wraps his hands around his throat. The King smirks as begins to choke the life out of the doctor. The crowd now watches, as The King has clearly won...but he won't take his hands off the figure's neck. He just keep squeezing, and squeezing, and squeezing.

    The crowd is in shock, as they see just how far The King has gone.

    Suddenly, the shadowy parts of the Doctor begin to fade away. The Doctor is no longer a shadow...The King looks down...and is shocked at who he sees. Laying lifeless on the ground...

    A younger version of himself.

    The King is in disbelief, as are the citizens of Kingsburgh. Absolute silence...

    The King looks around to see the destruction he's caused. Turned over cars, demolished buildings, hurt citizens. The city of Kingsburgh looks as if a tornado has ran through it. All because of the fury the King has brought down.

    King Sullivan: I...

    I don't know what to say. I don't know what I've done...

    Suddenly, a little boy appears.

    In his hands, the FWA World Championship.

    He hands the title to his King.

    The crowd's stunned look suddenly turns into a look of pride. They cheer King Sullivan's name. "You did it!" one yells, "You saved Kingsburgh" yells another.

    But The King is still shocked. He destroyed the entire city.

    The King looks down at the water resting in Kingsburgh lake, and he sees his reflection. What he sees back is something he was not prepared to see...

    He sees a villain. He looks back at the younger version of himself, laying lifeless on the ground. Then looks again at his bloody hands. But yet, the crowd is still cheering his name. The crowd is happy. He saved the city.

    The FWA Championship still belongs to Kingsburgh.

    But at what cost?

    “Heroes are more than just stories, they’re people. And people are complicated; people are strange. Nobody is a hero through and through, there’s always something in them that’ll turn sour... you’ll learn it one day. There are no heroes, only villains who win.” ― Joel Cornah, The Sea-Stone Sword

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