LL - 30-person Lethal Lottery Match
The time is now for 30 wrestlers to become 1. The yearly spectacular known as the Lethal Lottery match will crown a number one contender once more – the winner of the match booking their place against the Heavyweight Champion at Kingdom Come. The field is stronger than it has been for many years now, so the challenge is even greater. Who goes on to Kingdom Come against the Heavyweight Champion? It's anyone's guess...
RP deadline is Tuesday the 6th of March at 23:59 EST
Reinstate The Fox!
PC Stevie Broon
A Window To The Future
It had been 6 weeks since the Chief Super-Intendant terminated me like I was Sarah Connor. Bills to pay, life to be lived, a difference to be made. It felt like ah looked everywhere for a job before ShopSmart gave me an interview. The boss, Boaby Gordon was well impressed when ah told them that ah'd been a Polis for so long. He got a big smile on his face and a stauner in his pants when he thought about what ah could bring to the table, ah bet. After a few questions about the force, he offered me a job that day. It wisnae perfect by any means, but it would pay the bills and that's all that really mattered. For now anyway.
WZCW had been on the blower already. I knew it was just a matter ah days until I clocked out ae mah daily grind job and started hitting the canvas like Pablo Picasso. Chuck Myles and Becky Serra thought a lot of me, I could tell it a mile away. But paperwork was paperwork and ah knew that better than anybody.
So, to the daily grindstone ah put mah nose. And soon enough, it was pretty obvious that there was more to being a Customer Service Agent in Glasgow's 8th biggest supermarket chain. Nah, there was a deep web ah corruption, scandal and violence at the heart of daily operations. Until WZCW came callin' again, this was where ah was callin' home. And ah was gonnae bring the whole system down it's head, one way or another.
In the early days at ShopSmart, makin' pals didn't seem to be that hard actually. Maybe it was just mah natural charisma but ah seemed to be the talk ae the place. People couldn't wait to come an' meet me, shake ma hand. Big Pedro fae the meat counter was a right specimen – a big unit to be sure. His name badge said Peter but he told me he preferred Pedro. I was a unit too but the look in this guy's eye told me he'd sooner put me through the mincer on his counter than be called Peter. It's all about picking your battles, ye see. Mary fae the front desk was decent as well, ah suppose. She kept feelin' ma muscles as if ah was a part ae some Glaswegian slave auction. Like she was some toff and I was getting' sold to pull a plough in a field somewhere. The whole time ah was talking to her, I couldn't help but smell the unique scent of tuna – a scent that made the whole ordeal just a wee bit more creepy.
Pals were all well and good, ah thought. But pals were the least of mah worries quicker than a heartbeat in this shite-hole. Danger and deception were everywhere, ah could feel it like a warm breath on mah neck. It wasn't until day 4 of mah new career that I realised everything wasn't as it seemed.
Mary had agreed to do a wee shift swap wae me for a feel of my triceps – a deal in anyone's books. WZCW had been on the dog 'n' bone again to tell me about mah first match. A try-out no less. They liked me, that much was obvious. It's not just anybody that gets a phone call fae some ae the top brass and 2 weeks later gets in the ring. They knew ah had been swinging jakey's about like empty track suits for years now. It impressed them. Myles looked me up and down like a new sports car when I walked into his office that first day. Ah thought, for a second, ah could see dollar signs in his eyes like Bugs Bunny or somthin' oot a cartoon.
Friday, 7 o'clock, they told me. Be there and be ready to wrestle, they said. I wrote mah resignation oot that day, planning to hand it to Boaby later in the week if everythin' went well. But as the pen left the paper on the final stroke, an almighty smash took me by utter surpise. The sound of glass breaking into a thousand pieces. The sound of crime and punishment. The sound of my life springing back into action.
Me: It's go-time!
Ah had tussled with some ae the fiercest in Glesga. Ah'm sure they all knew what had happened to me by now. This was it, ah could feel it. I felt ma pulse racing through me again, it was beautiful. Ah raced out to the scene and took scope ae it all.
Boaby: Oot there, Stevie! They're oot there!
Who was oot there, ah thought silently. Was it Mad Molly fae Clydebank here for revenge on me for battering her son like a chip shop scampi? Was it Shug the Gun fae Shettleston trying to get his own back for me sending him doon like an elevator on the top floor. Either way, justice was about to served up like the dish ae the day.
On the horizon, ah saw a group ae people – ah gang ae aboot 10 or so. It was aboot time that I doled oot some street justice, ah said to mahself. The crooks and lowlifes of Glesga had their way for too long now. The urge to ram some pleb into a wall was growin' on me like a tumour. Ah removed mah badge, knowing' the law and knowin' that things were not gonna go well for these wee neds. A brick through a window was somethin' that I wasn't prepared to deal wi' and the low lives were gonna find that oot fast.
Ah swallowed hard in mah throat, feelin' that same rush ah had felt for 9 years patrolling the streets. These wee dicks had no idea the level of hurt that was coin tae them. 10 on 1? Aye, ah'd take they odds, every day ae the week. I got closer, walking hard on the cobbled bricks towards a bunch a twats that were about to be set about on like a tramp on chips.
What was their fighting style? What was their motivation? It didn't matter frankly. As ah moved closer, ah prepared masel' for the foxtrot of fists... Only to find a vape gang. A gang ae people showing off their best tricks wi' their fake fags. I just aboot shat ma knickers when I realised the company I now stood amongst. This couldn't have been the scummy bastards that carried oot the attack, breaking their virginity would have been a start...
Me: FUCK SAKE!
Ah trudged back tae the shop with ma tail between mah legs like a scalded dug. Boaby stared at me, hoping for answers that I didn't have. He wanted heads on spikes and aw I had was 10 scud books with fake fags and nae self esteem. In that moment, ah realised that the window was just the top of the iceberg. The reignation form, so masterfully crafted fae mah own fair hand, was no longer sitting on checkout 5. The last form in the shop was gone. The Lethal Lottery was close but if ah didn't get the day aff for it, there was going to be somethin' lethal awrite...
The mystery continues soon...
Reinstate The Fox!
Matrix has been granted a 12 hour extension*
*This is not my RP
Last edited by Lee : 03-04-2018 at 05:26 PM.
“Are you afraid of losing, Mr. Adzenhan?”
Dr. Bartholemew Wolper said with a compassionate smile, which made Vee uncomfortable. Dr. Wolper is regarded as one of the most successful psychiatrists in all of the United States. However, it was quite difficult for Vee to believe in that, because the question was completely out of the context. He was in the psychiatrist room for an evaluation not to answer the same questions he would’ve been asked by Leon Kensworth or Stacey Maddison.
It didn’t take too long for Dr. Wolper to notice the grimace on Vee’s face. He placed his notepad in the table infront of him and leaned a little forward from his chair. He raised his eyebrows and looked at Vee.
“I want to consider all the possibilities that has caused your trauma, Mr. Adzenhan”, he retorted.
Vee gusted out a breath; closed his eyes and leaned back to his chair. He raised his both hands and covered his face.
“I’ve never had any trauma in my life, doctor. My parents are the best and you can only wish for girlfriend like Sara. I’ve chosen the profession I love and desire. I haven’t had great success, albeit, I was happy for what I’ve been handed. Until…”
Vee paused. Silence filled the space between Vee and Dr. Wolper. Vee felt the cold creeping through his bones just by thinking of what happened in the last few months. He felt cold sweat forming across his cheekbones.
Dr. Wolper leaned forward and turned a few pages back in his notepad before making his back lay comfortably against the chair.
“Until you’ve met the person you’ve presumed to be your doppelganger. I’m very curious about his Mr. Adzenhan. You have chosen a profession where you doesn’t fear to tear your muscles and break your bones but you’re afraid to even speak his name. You have to face your own demons, Mr. Adzenhan”.
Vee let his hands to slide down to the armrest. He arched his head back to face the ceiling. His eyes were still closed. His lips trembled slightly.
“You don’t want me to face him, Doctor. No one is ready to face him. He is a walking nightmare. I want your help to wake up from that nightmare”.
His lips shuddered when he spoke. He felt the cold sweat roll down his cheekbones.
“Let me make this clear, Mr. Adzenhan. Stop me if I’ve understood this wrongly. I want to make sure we both are comprehending this situation correctly. In that way, I can help you”.
“Go ahead, Doctor”.
The horrid tale of what happened in the last few months is incomprehensible; Vee only wanted to see to which extent Dr. Wolper has managed to decipher it. However, he wasn’t totally ready to listen to that tale again. But he wanted to see if there is any possible way he can survive and escape from the traumas.
“A person, if I’m not mistaken, not from your future but from the parallel reality visited you. However, this person seemed to be atleast 15 years older than you, for which, he gave you an indistinguishable reason that he was trapped between the two realities for a prolonged period of time”.
Vee hadn’t opened his eyes, but his ears were listening carefully to every word the doctor has to say. He didn't want to hear the torrid tale. He wanted shout at the doctor to not narrate the story in a very detailed way but felt his lips glued together. He felt like he was trapped between the reality of what’s happening and what he wanted to happen.
“His methods were unintelligible and his personality is inconceivable. Nevertheless, he was only helping you for some reason. When you sorted out that, he was helping you not to find your better-self but turning you slowly into him for his definitive goal was to turn you into him”.
Vee felt himself trapped in a deserted space which was only filled with darkness. He couldn’t open his eyes but only felt a rope slide around his wrist fastening him to the chair, although, his arms were resting in the armrest without any trouble.
“This is where everything turns very interesting, Mr. Adzenhan. This person, wanted to replace you in this reality but his physical form isn’t definitive, since he is from an alternate reality. So he wanted you to completely transform into him, so that he can merge his reality with yours”.
Vee had his heart pounding heavily; he wanted to run, scream and yell but he could not. He was helpless in his chair. The emptiness concealed him completely. He opened his eyes to see his hands clutching to the armrest.
“Apparently, from your side of the narration, he succeeded. Yet here you are, Mr. Adzenhan. I firmly believe I am talking with you, Mr. Adzenhan and not this person you’ve created, I presume”.
“The person you’ve sculptured so far with your enticing narration is named Vlad”.
Before Dr. Wolper could take his eyes off the notepad, something slammed him hard across his head knocking him out cold. Small stream of blood from a cut above his left eyebrow flow down and covered his cheek…
…when Dr. Wolper opened his eyes, a strong stench of dry blood pierced through his nostrils. A pair of boot slowly walked near him and kicked him right across the face to shatter a couple of teeth. He screamed in agony and tried to crawl where his hands could reach. He reached his hands as far as it can go and landed it on something which was covered in fur. As soon as his hand touched the fur, as if it came to life, a big rat hurried past his touch, rattling Dr. Wolper.
“This… is a place where I used to evaluate filthy swine like you”.
Vee squatted near Dr. Wolper’s body. The doctor desperately tried to crawl to escape when Vee started to speak.
“He tried to stop you from summoning the demon, doc, but here I am”.
He let out his maniacal laugh that echoed across the room, scaring Dr. Wolper even further.
“I was wondering how much you have deciphered about me, doc. You didn’t disappoint. No wonder, you’re one of the best psychiatrist in the United States. Nonetheless, you were wrong about a few things…”
After crawling his way all across the room, Dr. Wolper found himself sheltered in the corner of the room.
“I succeeded in transforming Vee into ME! Not entirely, however. He still has a firm control of his mind unless someone provoke the thought of me in him. That’s why I let him see his lovely girlfriend and made him give her a small present. Aw, you don’t know about that present, do you, doctor?”
He let out another hysterical laugh but uncharacteristically stopped it midway and hurried himself to the doctor and grabbed him by his shirt.
“Or… do you? Do you know about the present?”
He pulled the doctor up by his shirt; Dr. Wolper whimpered in pain.
“I do… I do… but I don’t know what that is…”
He threw Dr. Wolper across the room and shrugged his shoulders.
“Who cares! That wooden box is empty!”
Dr. Wolper, for a moment, stopped crawling and turned to look at Vlad in utter confusion.
“It was just a ploy, doc. Every time he thinks about Sara, he thinks about the wooden box only to think about me. That’s how I can take control over his mind”.
He placed his boot over Dr. Wolper’s finger; making him cry in agony and squatted close to him.
“Don’t you wonder why I made him to go back to WZCW?”
Dr. Wolper is weeping in pain; his cheekbone was cracked and he lost his two teeth; he barely could open his mouth. But the menacing look of Vlad made him understand, Vlad is demanding him for an answer.
“Be.. because… you want him to lose… and suffer… feel the pain.. chaos…”
Dr. Wolper struggled for his words.
“YES, chaos! His life has no traumas I can play with! Lovely parents, wonderful girlfriend, good bunch of friends! FUCK! He had a great life! The only chaos left in his life is WZCW! I don’t want him to lose, though, doc. I hate losing. I just want him to be in that chaos. I want him to fight every day. I appreciate the fight in him! He fights for his pride, for his passion and for his success. Soon, I will make the greed to consume his pride, lust his passion and then I will succeed. I want him to win, doc”.
He stepped off the doctor’s hand and walked to the other corner of the room. He reached down to swat a rat off the notepad which was lying on the floor.
“Tomorrow night, he will be battling in one of the toughest challenges he has ever faced. A lethal lottery match; I don’t care if you know about that or not. That match you can describe as a playfield of chaos. No friends, no allies and no rules inside that square circle tomorrow night. It will be painfully long. I want him to feel all of that pain. I want him to be in the match as long as it takes. He had battled in tag matches, King for a day elimination chamber matches, even had won handicap matches but none of that is close to the pain he will have to endure in the Lethal lottery match. I want him to soak in that pain and come out it as a victor. I want him to be the sole survivor. The anxiety, anticipation and the outcome of the match will toil him hard, making it easier for me. That’s why I chose this particular time for him to return to WZCW”.
He walks to the door with the notepad in his hand, smiling as if he had achieved something. But something made him stop. His eyebrows shrunk when he notices something in the notepad.
“You thought that Vee is suffering from Split personality? Or a bipolar disorder? Those two doesn’t impress me, doc. But this one…”
He pointed something in the notepad to the doctor. Dr. Wolper quivered looked at his own scribbling which read, “perhaps it’s the truth”.
“You truly are one of the best psychiatrist I have ever encountered, Dr. Bartholemew Wolper. Before I go, I have a quick question. Why would I decide to kidnap of the most famous psychiatrist without regarding the consequences? Don’t be shy and answer the question, Doctor”.
Tears roll down the eyes of Dr. Wolper’s eyes. He wet his pants in fear but the Vlad’s grin was demanding the answer he doesn’t want to say. But he has no choice.
“Becau..case… my wife left me and I have no.no.. children. Nobody likes me in the hospital.. I barely have friends and no one except my patients would notice.. if.. I…. disappear… please don’t kill me… please… please”.
Dr. Wolper dropped his entire body to the floor and hung to Vlad’s boots and begged for mercy.
“Now you know why I called you a filthy swine and chose this place to evaluate you, doc? For some reason, I don’t feel the necessity to kill you. But you’re a very smart man, doc. I’ll leave you here with these rats and I don’t care if they eat you to survive or you eat them to survive, have a good day”.
He kicked Dr. Wolper off his boot and walked out of the room, leaving the cry of Dr. Wolper behind. He shut the large door and turned around to feel the sun across his body. He stretched his arms and felt the adrenaline pump through his body.
“Tomorrow is the beginning of a new day. At lethal lottery, I will cause chaos for I am the causes of all causes!”
The scene opens on top of a roof of a building in Cleveland, cloudy skies stretching as far as the eyes can see. Tyrone sits on the edge of the building, staring at his phone for a few moments longer before sliding it back into his pocket. He lifts a lit cigarette up and takes a deep drag as he takes in the grey shrouded cityscape. Lethal Lottery was a week away but instead of getting a head start on yet more world traveling, he finds himself sitting in his old stomping grounds. Soon a door opens behind Tyrone, and out walks Mr. Jones, wearing a full fur black coat with a big smile on his face. Tyrone turns towards his compatriot, quirking an eyebrow at him.
Tyrone: You uh, gonna go find some girls for the corner or something Jones?
Mr. Jones: Man if I'm yo manager, I'll be sending your raggedy ass out to the corners and get me my money.
Tyrone: Take it y'all got your bonus?
Mr. Jones: You bet yo ass I did. Sweet Daddy Jones is back in business partna'.
Tyrone rolls his eyes, mocking like he's going to throw himself over the ledge to the street below before swinging around and standing up. He finishes off the cigarette and sends it flying off the building as he looks towards Jones.
Tyrone: You got everything arranged for going down under?
Mr. Jones: Oh you best believe Sweet Daddy Jones is going all the way down under on some Aussie hunnies.
Tyrone: No I mean did you get..
Mr. Jones: Or shit, maybe I get that Aquarius girl and ask if I can hop in her sack like a kangaroo. We can go bounce around the Outback while I hit it from the back you feel me homie?
Tyrone: Jones, shut the fu...
Mr. Jones: And then we can throw a few shrimp on the barbie if you know what I mean.
Tyrone: That's not even a euphemism.
Mr. Jones: You called me a what now mo'fucka?
Tyrone: JONES! DID YOU GET THE FUCKING TICKETS?
Mr. Jones: Well shit mo'fucka why didn't you ask right away? I got them right here.
Jones reaches into his pocket and withdraws an envelope. Tyrone grits his teeth as he snatches it out of his hand and checks the inside.
Tyrone: Ight, it's like some god damn ridiculous sixteen hour flight from here to whatever you wanna do with shrimp and a kangaroo in a sack while you're in the Outback, with a barbie? You're a sick fuck Jones.
Mr. Jones: Now hold the fuck up a minute...
Tyrone smirks as he pockets the tickets before pulling his hood up over his face as he looks back out at the hood below. Jones walks up next to him and looks down at the street.
Mr. Jones: Ain't nothin' changed man. Still the same fucked up hood we grew up in.
Tyrone: Nah there's beauty in the streets Jones. Look past the concrete at the people. They struggle every day like we did, but they don't see the cement prison around them. This is still their home, and they do the best with what they got.
Mr. Jones: They thinking we always looking for a helping hand, all them rich mo'fuckas writing the rules to the game that they break when it's convenient.
Tyrone: Funny you should say that Jones.
Tyrone leans down and picks up a large backpack, opening it up to reveal it filled to the brim with money. Jones' eyes go wide as he tries to reach for it but Tyrone zips it up immediately.
Mr. Jones: Yoooo what the fuck man?
Tyrone: The wolves are at the gate for some of our people down their Jones. We been homeless before, and my deal in Japan tripled after our trip last week. Time to go make a difference before we dip down for LL. And you ain't gon' be wearing that fur coat asking for a god damn handout from me. Ain't that right Sweet Daddy Jones?
Mr. Jones: Pachinko machines goin' real well ain't they?
Jones grins widely as Tyrone's eyes cast downward, a single crack of thunder suddenly shaking the roof a bit as Jones' grin fades away quickly.
Mr. Jones: Alright Mr. Cult Leader, knock it off.
Tyrone: Knock what off?
Mr. Jones: You didn't cast that Voldemort?
Tyrone: Whatever you're smoking Jones find me some for tonight. Look I gotta get going and play Robin Hood. You coming with or what?
Mr. Jones: Shiiiiit I ain't finna play Little John in your band of Merry Men mo'fucka. 'Sides, one of us has to actually fucking pack for this trip.
Tyrone: Suit yourself Lil John. Meet you back at the spot tonight.
The scene fades away as Tyrone walks through the door back into the building. It returns to Tyrone walking through the streets, stopping at various houses and chatting with the people inside. At each stop he withdraws a stack of money, placing it in the people's hands. Their faces tell it all, some breaking down into tears, some hugging Tyrone. The montage continues on until Tyrone finds himself in the city park. He sits down on a park bench, shrugging the backpack off and setting it down in front of him. He zips it open to gauge how much money he has left before leaning back, lighting up a cigarette. He gazes out to the dimming sunlight when an older black woman sits down next to him. Her clothes are ragged, herself carrying a pack as well. She sets it down as Tyrone gazes over to her, a smile forming on his face and a look of recognition.
Tyrone: Ms. Constance. It's been far too long.
Constance: Oh, hush yourself boy. You saw me three weeks ago right here.
Tyrone: And every week I sit here hoping you make your rounds through the park.
Constance: These old bones don't make it around the block as well as they used to young'n.
The two share a laugh as Tyrone pulls another cigarette from his pack. He lights it up and hands it over to Constance who takes a drag from it. She exhales but coughs a bit as she covers her mouth.
Constance: This winter has been colder than usual.
Tyrone: Have you found a spot at the shelter yet?
Constance shakes her head as she pulls her coat tighter around herself, the light posts by the bench begin to flicker off and on before finally pushing through and illuminating the area around them. Tyrone looks over concerned at her.
Constance: I'm afraid they're all full. Times is hard for all of us 'Rone. Better the younger generation gets a warm bed, they got a lot longer time ahead of them.
Tyrone: Nonsense, they can handle the cold better. I should know.
Constance begins laughing as she takes a drag from her cigarette, the smoke mixing in with her breath freezing in the air. She sighs as she leans back, giving Tyrone a stern look for a moment.
Constance: Child please. You remember the first time we met?
Tyrone: Sure do, right here in this spot. Mom and dad had died, blood relatives threw me out the moment they had the life insurance money.
Constance: Mmmhmm. And then I found you huddled up on this bench crying your eyes out with an empty stomach. Stupid boy you didn't even have a coat on.
Tyrone: Didn't exactly have a choice in that matter. But then you comforted me, used your own coat to keep me warm while you shivered through the night. Shared what little bit of food you had with me. Still don't know why though, even as a kid I learned survival of the fittest was real in the hood. You should have just left me on my own.
Constance: I could've just left you there. Let you freeze to death on that bench. Just another number. But I didn't 'Rone, and because of that you out here today taking care of people's mortgages and debts. If we don't look out for others, we'll all find ourselves eaten alive.
Tyrone: It's funny, you tried teaching me that over the years, but I was too busy hustling to make whatever money I could. Take what I thought was owed me. Now that I realized the mistake, it's too late for my reputation. Got every mo'fucka out there saying I'm still the same ol' Tyrone. Got them greedy eyes that wants the world, wants to use whoever he can to get to the top. No matter what I do it's met with that same fuckin' disdain.
Constance: Watch your mouth, you're in the presence of a lady.
Tyrone: Sorry ma'am.
Constance: Why do you care what they think about you Tyrone? When you were doing what you felt you needed to do, you didn't care then. But when you do good you want a pat on the back? Do good for the sake of doing good. Those that want to continue hating you despite your change of heart cannot have their minds changed. What's most important is what you feel is right baby.
Tyrone stares forward as he takes in her words, as if reaffirming through what she said in his own mind. He takes a long drag and ashes his cigarette, a smile forming on his face.
Tyrone: Always knew what to say to make me smile Ms. Constance. Look, can I please get you your own place? I have the means to do so, and you can finally rest comfortably instead of sleeping on park benches and in shelters.
Constance: I told you a long time ago 'Rone, I won't accept your charity. Who would check on the other homeless around here then? You take care of what you can with your money, I will take care of those that fall through the cracks and push them back up.
Tyrone: At least a hotel room for the night? It's going to be below zero tonight...
Tyrone looks over at Constance who gives him that stern look once more as Tyrone sighs and looks down.
Tyrone: Ight, ight. Will you at least accept a new blanket then?
Tyrone reaches into his back pack, withdrawing a quilt blanket from the bottom. He stands up and wraps it around Constance who smiles warmly at him. She reaches up and hugs him, which he returns the favor.
Tyrone: I gotta hit the road Constance. Take care of yourself, and you know where my spot is. If you need a place, mi casa es su casa. You know where the key's at.
Constance: Hush yourself baby, this old lady can take care of herself.
Tyrone nods as he collects his backpack and slings it over his shoulder. He begins walking off as Constance pulls the blanket around herself more. Suddenly a stack of cash falls from the folds in the blanket into her lap. She looks down at it, a flash of anger forming on her face for a moment before she laughs heartily.
Constance: That boy just can't help himself.
She picks up the stack of cash and places it in her own pack before looking up at the last moments of sunlight before closing her eyes. The scene quickly switches to Tyrone back on the street, walking towards his place when suddenly a hooded figure rushes him from a side alley. Tyrone turns but can't react in time as he gets a shoulder rammed into him. Tyrone hits the ground, his bag spilling open and cash begins to fly into the air. He gets his bearings back just in time to avoid a bat being swung down at his head. Tyrone gets to his feet and into a fighting stance as he stares down his assailant.
Tyrone: Look here motherfucker, if you needed some paper all you had to fuckin' do was ask.
???: I don't want your money Burna. I want your blood on my hands!
The hooded figure swings wildly again but Tyrone deftly dodges the attack, grabbing the bat. The two tussles over control before Tyrone forces the figure against a wall. Tyrone grits his teeth as he tries to pull the weapon away.
Tyrone: I shoulda known you'd come looking for me. About time you grew a set of god damn balls and face me head on!
Laughter echoes through the empty streets as the figure shakes almost uncontrollably. Tyrone finally wrestles the bat away, tossing it off into the road before getting shoved back. The figure reaches up and pulls his hood back, revealing himself to be Ramparte. A manic look is on his face as he stares down Tyrone.
Ramparte: You should have acquiesced my desires Tyrone. I wanted you to suffer the same fate you put me through. Beaten with a baseball bat to an inch of my life, only to wake up in a wheelchair.
Tyrone: Oh, I can put you right back there Ramparte. Trust me.
Ramparte: Idle threats Tyrone. I know Batti will not let you harm me. She wants to take care of that herself.
Ramparte suddenly swings at Tyrone, hitting him in the stomach. Tyrone doubles over for a moment but as Ramparte goes to grab him Tyrone knees him in retaliation. Ramparte has a shocked look on his face as Tyrone follows up with a right hook, connecting right in the face. Ramparte stumbles backwards as Tyrone grits his teeth.
Ramparte: Batti will not appreciate this!
Tyrone: Keep talking, I'll drag your half dead carcass to her, so she can finish the job.
Ramparte: And why didn't you just finish the job when the Hollow Ones had me laying in my own blood? You should have just killed me then and there Burna. Instead I lived in agonizing pain for the last year and a half. I watched as my own muse became more popular than I ever was. I watched as you paraded around as some vigilante, saving WZCW while I was busy trying to figure out how to hold a spoon the right way again!
Tyrone: So, what do you want then Ramparte? Your business is with me not Batti.
Ramparte: I want the last year and a half back. I want the life I had before you came into the picture! You promised she wouldn't join the Hollow Ones, so instead you made her one of your hood rats. The one shining light in my life, the one thing worth holding onto, and you just had to steal the last good part of my life for your own.
Tyrone: You dumb motherfucker. You pushed her away because of your jealousy of her popularity. You undermined her, broke her down. I was the one that built her up, nah I can't even say I did, she did all that shit on her own. She didn't need me and she sure as shit didn't need your worthless ass acting like an anchor. She ain't no fuckin' hood rat. She's the girl that's brought the best out of me in the longest of times.
Ramparte: Oh yes, the charitable Ty Burna. Looking out for the downtrodden and the unfortunate. How soon will you stab Batti in the back if she were to win the World Title?
Tyrone suddenly throws a straight right at Ramparte. Ramparte dodges to the right as Tyrone's fist leaves a small crater in the brick wall, Tyrone seething as he withdraws his bloodied up hand from the mess.
Tyrone: You figure out how to do wheelies in that chair Ramparte?
Ramparte: Pardon me?
Tyrone: Did you figure out how to do wheelies?
Ramparte: Of course not you fool.
Tyrone: Well let me give you some more practice time then!
Tyrone turns and squares up to Ramparte, his hands clenched in fists with blood dripping down his right hand. He narrows his eyes at Ramparte who's confident gaze fades for a moment, a look of horror forming on his face as he looks Tyrone in the eyes before he pulls the hood back up over his head laughing.
Ramparte: Touched a nerve I see? And no answer given either. I'll make sure to tell Batti when I see her next time. Until next time Burna!
Ramparte turns and dashes off into the night, Tyrone not bothering to give chase. The scene fades away before returning to a dock in Sydney Australia just a couple days before Lethal Lottery. The sky is dark yet clear as the stars and moon shine down onto the ocean below. Tyrone stands with his back to the ocean, his hood up and bandanna wrapped around his face. He spins a baseball bat in one hand before lifting it up and resting it on his shoulder. He stares straight forward, his eyes narrowed and focused.
Tyrone: For the last few weeks I've made it a purpose to not talk about the Lethal Lottery. For the past few weeks I've been bored out of my fucking mind. I got put on ice after everything I did to Banks and his cronies. Which fine, whatever, ain't no one finna talk about Tyrone Blades. My name's become one you don't mention, it's feared more than whispering Bloody Mary in a mirror three times. And y'all know why that is. I can sit and spit game bout how I've finished no worse than sixth in any Lottery I've been in. I could sit here and toss dice, talk the numbers and percentages but I'm not about to give y'all a math lesson. Oh fuck it, here's a cliche for y'all, my road to Kingdom Come starts at Lethal Lottery where I secure my spot in the main event. There, I hope those morons working for the WZCW website can get their rocks off on a basic bitch headline. Tyrone Blades Guarantees Lethal Lottery Win. Fuck you pay me for that one now.
Tyrone walks forward along the dock, the sound of water crashing into the beach can be heard around him while large ships pass by off in the distance. The serene quiet almost unnerving compared to the loud streets of Cleveland, Tyrone takes note of it as well as he looks around for a moment.
Tyrone: But there's one thing that's been bothering me the most as of late. I end the overbearing bullshit of Mr. Banks. I give everyone in the back a clean slate, no more favoritism, hell I didn't even get invited to the number one contender's match. I ain't even on the power rankings. Yet everyone's just waiting for me to fill that power vacuum. Why? Why do y'all want the Harbinger to return so god damn bad? Ain't this a much better version of myself? I went to war for a year while the rest of you waited in the back, scared to lift a finger. Or in Eve Taylor's case being too much of a stuck up bitch to think she's above all that. Speaking of Miss Taylor, she had a lot to say about me last week, saying I'm just the same old man ready to use mo'fuckas up. See now while I'm rather used to hearing that from the jealous types, it's getting real fucking tiresome. Same old shit different day. Talk about the shadow I cast over WZCW. Maybe it's just the brick fucking wall y'all mo'fuckas keep running into over and over and over again casting that shadow instead of, I don't know, climbing the god damn thing? Ya see that's what's different between me and the likes of these punk motherfuckers I gotta face in the Lottery. Just because I think outside the box while they can't tear through a wet paper bag, I'm the one holding all you down. I'm the fucking one that took the people out that were actually holding you down. Eve Taylor didn't get handed a chance to get a title shot, Batti didn't get a title shot, hell we were going to sit through Justin Cooper bitching his way towards a rematch. A rematch? What a novel fucking idea. Ain't that the thing where you get a second chance at getting your title back? I've never seen one of those, yet he was finna get one before he turned bitch made and ran off to fondle his Grammy's like they mean anything. But nah, soon as I was able to do what I said I was gonna do, shit started to change. Now we got some fresh blood for the World Title. Y'all can drop your thank you cards off in the mail any time now. You know, after y'all are done talkin' shit like you got something to hold against me. Batti, you just keep doing that thing with your tongue and the...oh right this ain't rated NC-17. Not yet anyway.
Tyrone chuckles as he paces up and down the dock, slowly dropping his bat down onto it and it rattles along between the gaps. He stops and looks up at the starry sky for a moment, taking a deep breath before lowering his head, looking down at his bat as he lifts it in front of him. His voice grows a bit softer as he lowers his tone as well.
Tyrone: Look here man, I know I ain't gon be greeted with open arms by everyone. I know I can't wash away the sins I committed overnight. But for me to sit here and listen to every fucking person that faces off with me act like I ain't ever done anything good to try and redeem myself, it's frustrating. I left carnage on my path. I left broken bodies, blood stains these hands like no one else in WZCW's history. I played the games and survived the politics. But just once, just once can anyone see I've tried to do good by this company? I ain't gonna be some fuckin' choirboy anytime soon, but I will fucking protect WZCW. I will protect this business from those that try to abuse their power over it. This is all I know, this is my life. Without it, I'm just another two bit criminal on the street corner hustling for every god damn dime he's got in his pocket. I go back to being one of the problems for my city. You know over the years I've grown as a man. I've grown from being that young'n just hungry for just a bite of success. I had to destroy everything to take it all. and I ain't that same person anymore. Some of y'all just wanna stay static, stay the same as you first walked in. Ty Burna was a plague on this company, but Tyrone Blades will be the salve. I got my second chance, I got the opportunity to make a god damn difference. And I'm going to do everything I fucking can to make sure WZCW grows stronger!
Tyrone suddenly spins around, pointing his bat right towards the camera as his eyes narrow once more, one could almost see the sneer behind his mask and the anger in his voice.
Tyrone: Do not take my kindness for weakness! I want my title back. It's been far too long since I last held what is rightfully mine. Put that god damn target on my back. Put me at number one for all I fucking care. I'm going to prove why I am still the fucking best wrestler in this company. Rock stars to legends to thieves, I don't give a damn who you are. Everyone falls to the greatest. Y'all wanna talk about the same shit every time against me? Then y'all just gonna fail the exact same way. Beaten, battered, and thrown the fuck out of my ring. Lethal Lottery is my playground. I've waited far too fucking long to let loose, and now it's time to show the whole god damn world that I'm still here. For those that do nothing but hate on success, shotgun another bottle of that jealousy because I'm finna just add more fuel to the fire. Show me that hatred in your eyes. Show me that desire to rise above me. Or nah, because not a fucking one of you have the ability or the mindset to do just that. I want, nah son, I need that title back. I need to erase what happened last time with it. I need everything that it stands for. I need to give this company a champion it can be proud of. The new blood is rising but I'm finna not stand in front of the incoming wave, I'm the one that's going to tame it. I fucked around the past few weeks. I listened to everyone say I'm still the same Ty Burna. They somewhat right. Because just like Ty Burna, Tyrone Blades ain't someone to fuck with. The name Tyrone Blades will not just be feared like Ty Burna, it will be respected. I'mma get mine while y'all get blinded thinking about those lights shining down on you. Be happy you might get a chance at greatness. I'm just expanding mine. I'm earning my title shot at Kingdom Come, and anyone standing in my way, they're getting that hollow point tip right to the dome. Because the last thing you're gonna hear is that Click...
Tyrone suddenly reaches out with his free hand in the shape of a gun, pointing it at the camera.
Tyrone suddenly shoves the camera in a different direction, the camera ending right on the Sydney Opera House.
Tyrone: With Love,
The camera slowly zooms in to the side of the roof, revealing a giant circle crosshair graffiti on it.
Tyrone: The Hollow Ones.
I felt the water rushing into me. I swam as best as I could, but the water would just weigh me down. My lungs struggled for air the same way I struggled to stay stable. The same way water rushed into me, it also pushed and pulled on me. And unending battle with me having no foot on the ground. How can a river like this be so casual to get to? I guess life is just that easy and dangerous at once.
The scene is a river with rapid water crossing through it. Seeming as if its rocks surrounding it had been recently shattered somehow. Suddenly, a voice emerges from the water, crying out.
Matt: Help me out! I'm drowning!!
I scream as best as I can as I struggle to stay afloat.
???: Climb up.
A voice echoes. I can barely hear it amidst my struggle, but I can make it out clearly.
Matt: I can't! The current is too strong!
I continue to struggle to stay afloat. What is this? Where did it come from? And how did I end up in it? It doesn't matter right now. I have to get out.
???: Climb up.
The voice responds with a firm command. How do I climb up? I'm not told.
Water rushes by across a river, held by pretty high riverbeds. A good three or four feet stand above the strong current of running water and clear ground. Hands emerge from the water, battling to stay above and a head peers out as well. Clinging to air and searching for something to grab. Above, on the riverbed, three legs stand. Two normal ones. The third is a cain.
===Some time before Meltdown 148===
In the dark room, Matt thinking it was closed, he's suddenly hit in the back of the head by what seems to feel like a stick.
???: I think it's time I whip you into shape, 'mijo.
Matt's eyes open wide as he realizes who's voice that is and he turns around to face that person.
???: You've disappointed me. The so-called most decorated professional wrestler. And here he is. Once again, down and on the ground. Weeping about losing. It's the same with you. Over and over again. When will you learn?
Matt: I'm on my own, now. I only work for myself now. I'm the only person I need to satisfy.
???: Are you satisfied?
My eyes open wide at those words. I was thrown face-first against the truth. I respond by standing in silence with a deathly stare in my eyes. But the person is unfazed. Something I have not seen in years from the man standing across from me. But I also stood my own ground. I've long been an adult. I can make my own choices. And I made them.
???: Hm, hm, hm. I will be back, boy. You're going to need me. It's not wrong to depend of others. It's what led to your biggest success.
His words cut deep. For years, I would always hear how I won Lethal Lottery and the WZCW World Heavyweight Championship thanks to Mikey Stormrage's help. After time, seeing him leave, I chose to move on myself. By myself. Not dependent of anyone. It's almost become me desperate to prove myself over and over again. But then HE comes here. Like I haven't seen him in years. Asking me such a question. Am I satisfied with myself? No. It's....... The truth.
How do you cope with truth?
The loss angered me. We didn't mesh as a team they said. These days, being a team is utterly pointless in a company with no tag team titles. And the reason we don't have tag team titles is because no two people can work together anymore. We all just want to work on our own. But yet, we still have to have tag team matches. Callie pinned me again. This time it wasn't by cheating. It was just because we were all confused with what was going on.
===Right After Meltdown 148===
Serra: I think we're set. The show is almost over. I'll get ready to head out soon. Food? No, I already ate. Shut u-- I gotta go.
Serra hangs up her phone and turns around.
Serra: Wondrous. You're here. I take it your ride here was pleasant.
A person stands across from Serra. Noticeable, the person stands firm, grasping a cain as he stands straight.
???: I hate airplanes. But I swallowed my fear to come here and retrieve my grandson to set him straight.
Panning out, you can witness the cain wielding figure. A familiar face we haven't seen in 7 months: Granpa Tastic.
Serra: Yes. I have been quite concerned about him. It seemed he was on the cusp of a breakthrough when suddenly he loses the title he worked so hard to win and falls off the face of the earth. As the general manager of the most important show of WZCW I must ensure my performers are at their peak. Especially so close to the biggest show of the year. Not to mention that even though it did not last long, he was my brand's Champion. Even if it was for one week. I was hoping you could whip him into shape.
Granpa: Matt Tastic. The last time I saw him, our tiny island home was still in one piece. He left in it's darkest hour to focus on himself. And I must say the result was pathetic. I will whip the boy back into shape. Thank you for the aid, Ms. Serra.
Granpa slams the tip of his cain against the ground before walking out.
===A Long Memory===
The tag team match still bothered me. Again this girl beat me. She's become so clever now. I almost feel a sense of pride knowing I brought that out of her. But I'm too selfish to feel the need to mentor someone. I still want that Elite Championship back. Winning it would make me the first person to hold it three times. But a more pressing matter is at hand: Lethal Lottery. Four years ago, my greatest moment took place at the Lethal Lottery when I won the World Championship for the first time right after losing the Eurasian title in my home country. But Four years later, when I return, I get humiliated. Sometimes I wonder if it was karma for my selfishness. Maybe I want too many things. It's a pro wrestlers curse. We always want to win something. And if my list of accolades says something, it's that I liked that a lot more than most. Still. Whether I'm really selfish or not, I don't feel like stopping. And being the first ever two time Lethal Lottery winner is even better than being the first ever three time Elite Champion. The question is how do you prepare for that match. Even though I won it, it's still a total mystery. A vortex of luck and chaos. But if I could just train myself to focus, maybe I could do it again. For all my loses, I do still win.
Matt stands outside on what looks like an open field. Nothing but the grass he lays on as he wonders. Behind him, Granpa appeared and walked towards him.
Granpa: Thinking out loud, boy?
Matt: And there he is. He wouldn't dare board a plane before, but somehow he got here. Hounding at me about whipping me into shape. Granpa used to be a manager, but I've never seen that side of him in my life. If I want to win the Lethal Lottery, I can't go around with excess baggage.
Granpa: You loom on your losses way too much, boy. It seems every time you lose a match, you break down, thinking you were crippled. It's frankly pretty boring at this point. You're constantly dissatisfied with yourself. Never happy. It's fine to want more, to win more. But if you're going to have an existential crisis every time you get beat, you're just doing a disservice to the people you have beaten. Just look at you. The most decorated man in profesional wrestling. Questioning himself because he got beat by a little girl. What's worse is that you beat her before. Did she push you to your limit? Good. Otherwise, what's the point of a fight if you're not testing yourself?
Granpa slams the tip of his cain on the ground with authority, to make a point and to show he stands firm. This is not the same affable man from before. Granpa Tastic looks serious and stern. He will not take any crap from anyone.
Granpa: I think its about time you quit your sulking and you get to training. How else will you prepare for the Lethal Lottery?
Once again Granpa slams down his cain. But this time, something happens. As a deathly stare comes from his eyes, from under the cain, the floor starts to crack. The ground beneath us starts to shake and crumble. As I panic, I see him. Perfectly calm. But that stare. Straight at me. If looks could kill.
Granpa: I feel you need to drown that constant self-pity you have in you.
As that happens, the ground beneath me falls and under me, somehow, there's a river. As powerful as the rapids from the Grand Canyon. I feel into them.
Matt: Help me out! I'm drowning!!
I scream as best as I can as I struggle to stay afloat.
Granpa: Weren't you complaining about not needing help? Help yourself. Climb up.
I can barely hear it amidst my struggle, but I can make it out clearly. He said "Climb up".
Matt: I can't! The current is too strong!
I continue to struggle to stay afloat. What is this? Where did it come from? And how did I end up in it? It doesn't matter right now. I have to get out.
Granpa: Climb up.
Granpas voice responds with a firm command. How do I climb up? I'm not told.
Water rushes by across a river, held by pretty high riverbeds. A good three or four feet stand above the strong current of running water and clear ground. Hands emerge from the water, battling to stay above and a head peers out as well. Clinging to air and searching for something to grab. Above, on the riverbed, Granpa stood. I reached out to him as best as I could. I could barely move to the edge and stretch my hand out. I grabbed something. I couldn't say what. But I started to climb. The water was in my lungs. I had no time to cough it out. I just clawed my way up. I struggled to pull my heavy body, my clothes soaked just to weigh me down. And then my hand reached the top. I made it. I pull myself up. I cough out the water. I catch my bearings. But then....
Granpa: Great, now do better.
My cough stopped. My eyes went from shut to wide open. I look at him. I see it. The cain, coming towards me. With mere seconds to react, I try to reach out but it hits me in the face. The reality struck through me. I fell down.
The struggle began again. It was at that time that I realized it. What Granpa did. And why. The water once again rushed past me. It was so hard to move. But now it was clear. I had to move quick. Once again, my lungs were getting filled with water. Life is never easy. Staying afloat is a challenge to anyone. But we still have to move forward. And I did. I grabbed the wall of this hellish river that just came out of nowhere. Bit by bit, I started to climb. I was slower. Tired from the first fall. But I was bound and determined to climb again and again to make it back to the top. No matter how many times I was knocked back down. The fact that it was a case of life or death made it clear to me. Slower than before I climbed, but my grip was tighter. As I recall all the names I've seen climb and fall. Vengeance. Showtime. Steve Kurtesy. Constantine. So many more. I started to see deeper meaning to this climb now too. The Lethal Lottery. So many would have to struggle to hang on the same way. Ultimately, all but one had to fall. Callie Clark. As much grief as she has been. Now that I stood by this wall, I'm even more proud of how she advanced to best me. Cute kid too. Tyrone Blades. A former rival, reinvented. He's one of the two that remind me that I can in fact climb this mountain or wall again. Titus Avison. The other one. The standard bearer of reinvention. The one who stands at the top and holds on, never falling again. And so, I reach the top of this wall. I pull myself up and over. There he is. My dear grandfather. Who made me realize. He raised his cain again. Prepared to make me learn. But I already did.
Granpa: Good job. Now try again.
Matt: Not this time!
I caught the swipe of the cain with my bare hand, barely holding on given how exhausted I was. A powerful wind echoes from the impact. I clenched as tight as I could. My hand bled from the difficult climb and holding this artifact that someone cracked the floor and produced this infernal river. But Granpa stopped and finally lowered his guard. And I collapsed.
Granpa: Hopefully this makes you ready. If not, I guess you'll need more training.
I woke up. I turned to see him walking away. Then I realized. The ground. No river. No cracks. Nothing. It was all back to normal. I look to him as he has his back turned. I look at the cain and ask.
Matt: What did you do to me?
Granpa stood still. What happened? But he didn't answer. He just stood there before continuing.
Granpa: Come now, my boy. It's a long way ahead. We better get a move on.
I get a grip on myself and stand up. I felt so exhausted. But now I was curious. But as I get up, I'm dry. Still though. I feel an odd hot sensation in my hand. I look at it. Blood. The wound. But how? I turn back to him. But I don't bother asking about it. I ask about something else.
Matt: Where are we going?
He turned to me. He smiled.
Granpa: To the Lethal Lottery. Where the road to Kingdom Come begins.
A WZCW logo slowly but steadily faded onto the screen against a pitch-black background. It is soon accompanied by the words "WEBSITE EXCLUSIVE" beneath it, printed in large, bold font.
The scene then dissolved to a face every WZCW fan would be familiar with: Leon Kensworth. His modest, albeit warm smile was the central focus of the screen, supported by the creamy, dilapidated stone walls of the backstage area, suggesting the filming location was most likely a stadium tunnel. There is an ambient hush from the feed for a few seconds, broken by Leon's greeting to the audience.
Kensworth: Welcome everybody, to an exclusive broadcast, courtesy of WZCW.com! I'm live here with one of WZCW's newest signings, Sweden's very own "Lion From The North", Harald Var Krigare.
The camera then calmly panned rightwards to the subject of interest, only to discover a curiosity. The woolly mammoth of a man was present, sitting on the end of a dull grey folding chair, but gone was the dynamism once found on his application tape. Instead, he sat, facing away from his interviewer, with a colossal hand over his mouth, his index finger and thumb pushing against his cheekbones as he contemplated to himself, his eyes giving away the impression of apprehension.
Leon took note of this, and, ever the professional, continued with his task.
Kensworth: First of all, Harald, thank you so much for putting the time aside from your hectic training schedule. Some of our audience have already spent some time getting familiar with you on WZCW.com, and I'd like to recommend to those unfamiliar with Harald to check out his roster page on the website. We've fixed that quite frankly disturbing glitch in the system that caused all of our newest superstar pages to link to notorious WZCW alumni The Destroyer, best known for assaulting funeral directors and doppelgangers of me, so I think we can get to the heart of this interview.
As Leon finished recounting the legend's tale, the camera had subtly began to focus more on Harald. He in contrast was still relatively unmoved, aside from an occasional and unsteady rhythm of trembles in his left leg. Picking up that Leon was about to finish his sentence, Harald chimed in, attempting to mask his obvious anxiety to not appear rude.
Leon by this point could already tell something was up. But during his tenure with WZCW, he had learnt that inquiry and asking questions wasn't just for him and the WZCW audience. It was also a great means of allowing WZCW superstars to properly articulate their feelings and grievances, and to provide an avenue for potential peace of mind.
Kensworth: Your very first match is none other than perhaps the most anticipated match of the year, our annual Lethal Lottery. Could you clue us in a little bit about your strategy for the match, especially considering our audience has yet to see you perform in the ring.
At this point, Harald let out a arduous, laboured sigh. He lowered his bear-like paw from his mouth and began to shake his head slowly, his eyes now concentrating on the plain concrete floor beneath him. Leon made the judgement call to be more direct.
Kensworth: What's the matter?
Harald lifted his head up, and aligned his body to face the interviewer standing to the left of him. Harald's eyes met with Leon's own, as he gently but firmly uttered his first proper words of the interview.
Harald: I know exactly how these matches play out. Anyone with even a modicum of wrestling insight does, and I respect the intelligence of everyone here, even the Tarzan man-child that Baltimora didn't account for. So it makes perfect sense why I've been given the cold shoulder by the staff and talent here. They expect me to be just another gear in the machinery, to enter the Lethal Lottery, have a cute moment, maybe get an elimination to my name, and then pad the statistics of some repugnant assclown like Titus, and I become a dead hyperlink reference on the Lethal Lottery IX WZCWpedia page. Everyone here expects me to be a mediocre walking punchline, a one-note caricature that will fade into the background. Tell me Leon, those people, those punchlines, do they ever main-event Kingdom Come? Do they ever even make it on the biggest show of the year?
Kensworth: But Harald...anyone can win the Lethal Lottery.
Harald: Don't try and deny the facts, Leon. Veterans dominate the Lethal Lottery match, and everybody knows it. I really do appreciate your gesture of good faith of reaching out to me, but I can't shake the sense that you're taking pity on me. And believe me, the second-last thing Harald Var Krigare requires is pity.
Kensworth: And the first?
Harald: Indifference. Which puts you echelons above everybody else, more than certainly.
An awkward silence filled the tunnel for a few seconds, as both Leon and even Harald came to terms with the words that had been said, as Harald's eyes averted to the floor once again, the camera panning out to a wide shot to see both men in thought. Harald then signalled to Leon with his hand in a quick grasping motion, his desire for a microphone evident. Leon quickly obliged, handing Harald his own microphone, before briefly stepping out of shot to retrieve another one.
Harald: I have a huge amount of respect for the heavy-lifters backstage. I don't think I could ever do what they do, and both their dedication to WZCW, and their proficiency at their craft is something to be admired by everybody, and really, does not get enough praise. In my spare time, I honestly think I should pitch in and help out whenever I can, give my feedback when possible. So, whilst what I say next may be...strongly-worded because of my proximity to the subject matter, I say this with all due respect, and with constructive criticism in mind, a mutually beneficial...ordeal perhaps, for both parties.
At this point, Leon stepped back into the shot, a new microphone in tow. He smiled nervously, unsure of what exactly Harald would say, let alone how he would express it.
Kensworth: The floor is yours. Just don't...get Hausman, our social justice officer on our back.
Harald gave an appreciative nod in Leon's direction, before slowly standing up to face the camera he now commanded the focus of. He then placed one colossal hoof on the folding chair, pivoting sideways to the camera, his hand once again rising, but to his beard this time, his fingers running through it leisurely as he pondered how exactly he wished to phrase his complaints.
Harald: It's funny...downright hilarious in actual fact, that the Lethal Lottery sells itself on the principle that anybody can win, something even you, Leon, in your admirable, but ultimately naive optimism, seem to believe. But even a cursory glance at the past winners shows that they all had something in common. All of them had been given a chance to establish themselves prior. All of them have had the marketing machine behind them. They had a grasp of themselves and their wrestling personality, they knew how to play to their strengths, and they knew how to win a match. In short, they were invigorated; they were validated.
Harald then hoisted his foot to the floor once more, taking a tentative step towards the camera before pointing directly at himself with an enlarged digit.
Harald: On the flip-side, you have someone like me, an unknown entity. But the self-proclaimed smart fans online don't give me a prayer of winning. And that's because they know the head honchos don't give me a prayer of winning. So when they crack their jokes about me being a slab of meat to throw over the top-rope, or sarcastically quip about me being the first official cuckold character in WZCW, they make those jokes knowing full well what everybody else here thinks of me.
Harald shook his head and huffed to himself once more, falling back gently onto his chair, a dejected look on his face, inspecting the ceiling off-screen.
Harald: But those aren't the comments that hurt the most. What hurts me the most are my native Swedes, once proud followers, trying to look both objectively and with a degree of sympathy, but ultimately brushing me off, with great disappointment, dismissing me as a one-note stereotype. And I can't help but get furious at that, not at them, but at how others have perceived and, subsequently, presented me. I feel like a moth in a ferocious hurricane, pushing against the winds of the status quo, a valiant, but ultimately hopeless kipper, stuck trying to fulfil a thankless endeavour.
Harald rose to his feet once more, his fists clenched, his physical grip more secure than an anchor, his emotional grip far from it, as his entire skin began to turn crimson, his voice progressively getting more and more virulent.
Harald: To be clear, I'm not saying that I should be handed the same privileges and resources as the Lethal Lottery winners of the past; on the contrary, I want to earn them, and I want to build upon myself whilst I'm in this company. But here I am, given zero frame of reference to establish myself, treated by others as if I'm another brick in the wall, just another guy to skim over and be told "You're good, but you're not Matt Tastic, or Tyrone Blades.", with time being the primary factor holding me back. And yet, the marketing team has the gall to tell the audience that everybody has a chance to win, despite their actual feelings proving otherwise, lying to the faces of their audience, perhaps the biggest lie they could muster, the greatest lie of them all?
At this point, Harald suddenly turned and punted the folding chair with all his might, as if it were an football. The seat was launched off-screen with a wicked thud, coupled with a few mildly surprised sounds from the backstage crew to Harald's left. As the frame of the chair fell pathetically to the floor, Harald walked as close as he could towards the camera, his piercing gaze alone almost cracking the lens, as he uttered the next two words with malevolence unseen on-screen before from Harald Var Krigare.
Harald: Fuck off.
As Harald stepped away from the camera, a stern look still upon his face, Leon entered shot once more, to continue the interview, perplexed, but perhaps more than that, intrigued by the events occurring before him.
Kensworth: With all due respect, Harald, you mentioned Matt Tastic and Tyrone Blades there. These are men who have been through thick and thin with WZCW, and have paid their dues. Surely, you aren't comparing your tenure here to what these men have contributed to this federation?
Harald: Absolutely not. I have an immense amount of respect for both Matt Tastic and Tyrone Blades. I am going to pay my dues at WZCW just like they did, as well as earn the respect and admiration from the WZCW audience across the globe, not just from my native Sweden.
Harald then turned around to see the remains of the chair that had endured his wrath. He let out a brief chuckle at the sheer ridiculous state of the situation, before turning to Leon.
Harald: No chance you could get me another chair, Leon?
Kensworth: Oh, certainly. Just...please don't pick on the chairs anymore.
Harald: Thanks, Leon.
Harald then once more turned to the audience at home, his right hand commandeering the microphone, the other in a restless state, trying to find something to occupy itself with, at that precise moment twirling like a skewered kebab.
Harald: There just seems to be this preconceived notion here that I'm going to fail, that I'm going to be a punching bag, and make another wrestler feel better about themselves. By far the most charitable interpretations see me as a run-of-the-mill solid stage hand, who will eventually fade away, not infamous enough to be a laughing stock, but not famous enough to be taken seriously.
At this moment, Leon returned with another folding chair, already prepared for Harald to sit on. Harald gave Leon an enthusiastic thumbs up and sat down, clasping his hands together, and lowering his head to gaze between the gaps of his outstretched arms for a few seconds. After composing himself, he faced the camera once more as Leon dragged on a third chair for into the shot, one for his own use. After sitting down, he shuffled along the floor with it, determined to get closer to the Swede's ravings.
Harald: I actually have an interesting WZCW alumni case-study for comparison: The former Elite X and Tag Team Champion, Fallout. And truth be told, I do not want to be in anyway associated with someone who seems as if he came from the mind of a pseudo-intellectual, chronically depressed teenager who overuses a thesaurus. I want to greatly surpass the man I deem "Flakeout", for the amount of times he dropped the ball and disappeared from this federation, leaving his tag-team partner John Doe in need, his stable leader Dr Zeus in need, not to mention his lack of discipline when it came to...needing extra time week in and week out.
A cursory smirk came across Harald's lips as he said that final line, running it through replay in his mind a few times. But his smile quickly subsided into a threatening frown as he realised something. If this was how the most charitable viewed him, what of the least?
Harald began to tremble profusely at the thought as he rose to his feet, feeling deeply uncomfortable in his own increasingly scarlet skin.
Harald: On the one hand, perhaps I should be grateful that I'm being perceived similarly to a former champion, and a good wrestler in his own right. But with the positives, come the negatives, and the baggage of preconception. Fallout was a known quantity, and as far as known quantities go, he never reached his own potential entirely through fault of his own. And I will vehemently refuse to be treated either as a brooding, dark soul who will never achieve his full potential; or a footnote on the history of the Lethal Lottery and WZCW as a whole!
With Harald seemed set to detonate once more, Kensworth interjected out of gut instinct.
Kensworth: But...from your own account, it seems like you're...extremely pessimistic about the entire thing, a trait I would have never have suspected from you when I watched your application tape. You seemed so...carefree, optimistic and full of heart.
Harald's neck twisted in a mechanical manner to face Kensworth, like an owl of the night sensing prey had entered its domain. Looking at Harald's face, Leon couldn't tell if he was touched or infuriated by Leon's recent comments.
The interviewer ran the possibilities through his head. Yet something told him consistently that there was a sense of gratitude emanating from the Swedish warrior. And if all else fails, the show must go on, after all.
Kensworth: Forgive me for asking this, but I think, as a respected interviewer here, I would be remiss in not asking you this: Why, if you are feeling so negative about your prospects, are you not only making the Lethal Lottery your first match with the company, but desiring to win it also?
The stoic face of Harald let out a seemingly polite smile towards Leon. For a short moment, Leon felt as if he had made a mistake. But his instincts assured him he hadn't, for Harald's tone towards Leon suggested no harm.
Harald: That's a very good question, Leon, and please, don't be afraid to speak your mind to me.
With Leon's fears resolved, it was now Harald's turn to think to himself and to reflect upon what he'd said so far. As he stared at Leon, he began to realise something.
Did he really mean all of what he just said? Was it empty words and would he be seen as a coward, rightly perceived as one not to be taken seriously? Or was he truly the disgruntled monster he just portrayed himself as being?
He needed more time to think. He couldn't leave this much dead air in the interview now.
Harald continued, his words very pensive, as his mind raced for some kind of clarity, some kind of answer.
Harald: You're right, I have been extremely pessimistic so far. But I've actually expressed the reality of the situation so far as well.
And then it hit Harald like a burst of flame.
He didn't need to succumb to the darkness, to the depression, to the doubt.
They had come for a fight, and Harald was going to fight tooth and nail, to the grave. These negative feelings wanted Harald to self-doubt and pity, and he would not be a slave to them. He would not surrender who he was to these plagues, these impurities.
It was the way of the warrior, the way of the krigare, to resist and annihilate these temptations.
Harald: And yet, the biggest lie of them all is indeed the biggest truth of them all. Anybody CAN win the Lethal Lottery.
Harald began to grit his teeth, displaying them to the world, preparing himself for the fight ahead, as he began to encapsulate his gladiatorial spirit.
Harald: Everything I've said so far might be true, but to say this is all I am, a man who voices his grievances to the world, and does nothing to act upon them, isn't just a lie; it's an objective falsehood!
Pointing upwards with his right arm, Harald continued his rallying cry, a bonfire of both passion and sympathy on display from his voice and glance.
Harald: Do you honestly think I'm going to blame the people upstairs, and not try to prove them wrong? Of course not! Not out of malice, and not just out of pride, dignity and self-respect, but because the WZCW audience deserve a surprise, they deserve an upstart, they deserve a bold lion from the north to mount an offensive on prejudice and assumptions, an avatar that embodies that you should never solely rely on the odds! Now more than ever, WZCW needs a brand new, thermonuclear commodity to show the world that effort never goes to waste!
Harald then brought his right arm down, thumping his chest, his own personal drummer boy for his own personal war, Harald began to nod vigorously, a maniacal, yet ecstatic gleam across his face as he continued his drumbeat.
Harald: Despite my own limitations, despite my odds, despite EVERYTHING that stands in my path, I will march into the battlefield, I will stare the beast that is pessimism square in the face, and I will bombard it with all my will and strength until only I stand tall. There might be 29 other men and women entering the ring, some more capable than others, some perhaps more driven than others, but in that ring and in my eyes, they are but a monstrous amalgamation of doubt, fear and apprehension. None of these men and women quite realise that they have been swallowed and digested by this bane, this hivemind, because they've never confronted this horror, they've never overcome this horror or worst of all, they think they've made a friend of horror, when in actuality, they have completely surrendered to it.
As Harald's continued to pound his chest to rally his troops, with his free hand, he began to slap the steel frame of the chair he was once sitting on with multiple wide palm strikes, creating a harmonic melody.
Harald: Ultimately, the Lethal Lottery does boil down to being a meritocracy, and the best man or woman will win. And I have the confidence in myself to stick my flag in the sand, declare my intentions, and secure them in that ring. I don't wish to invoke the cliche of "veni, vidi, vici", but I don't have a doubt in my mind that I will conquer the ring, and be the last man standing, not out of arrogance, but because I cannot afford to even consider defeat an option. Whether they be legends who have been in WZCW for years on end, or optimistic newcomers like myself, every single last one of them are an obstacle in my path to reaching the heights I aspire...no...I deserve...to reach!
As Harald continued his monologue, the beats began to increase in frequency, and what was once a steady beat was now akin to a drum-roll of anticipation. Upon finishing his sentence, Harald abruptly ceased, freezing in place momentarily before approaching the camera once more.
Harald: But what makes me different, you may ask? You've seen right before your eyes what makes me different. You've seen this monster come before me, you've seen this beast attempt to seduce me during the course of this interview, and I have remained defiant in the face of its crippling splendour. And all that remains is to mount a final offensive, to conquer my demons, not only for my own benefit, not just to inspire my native Swedes to overcome their own regional strife, but to inspire everybody the world over that we will overcome our greatest obstacles, no matter what it takes! I will not turn my back on the audience, and not only will I entertain them and make them laugh, but I will inspire them and make them stronger, no matter the temptation or stronghold before me!
Harald then took a great stride backwards, before pointing directly towards the camera, driving his point home with a pairing of perfect accuracy and strength.
Harald: It's not the path of least resistance, far from it. But I cannot, and will not doubt for a second, that I will secure the greatest truth in WZCW history with sufficient citation, I will slay the demons that loom before me, doubting my ability, my dedication and my resolve. I will exert every fibre of my being to win the Lethal Lottery, but perhaps most importantly of all, I will do exactly what I set out to do here in WZCW! I will...
Click for Spoiler:
Harald himself then released a calamitous bellow of pride, rearing his head backwards to visually demonstrate his dedication to ensure victory, his call to arms complete. He then marched away, dropping his microphone carelessly on the ground behind him, an authoritative stride from the man hellbent on liberating the pressure that had once enslaved him.
As he stomped away, and before the scene faded to black, the camera caught Leon's reaction, he himself beaming with pride from the morale-raising speech. He couldn't help but let one of his thoughts slip to his audience.
Kensworth: He could actually do it...
My journey it starts here. At Lethal Lottery. Thirty stars enter and only one can go on to main event Kingdom Come. I’ve done that once. It’s in the history books forever and for everyone to see. An amazing story of a deranged man who accomplished the unthinkable. He became the World’s champion and then disappeared. As a big F-U to the company.
The company then made the Lethal Lottery for the most prestigious prize in the whole game, the WZCW World Heavyweight Championship. Seeing another man bask in what should have been my glory set a rage inside me that I’ve never felt before. The fact that someone walking out with THEIR championship didn’t phase them one bit. In a moment that should’ve made an impact, a moment that should’ve tarnished the company’s legacy, it was nothing more than a small speck on the screen.
On that day Matt Tastic become the champion. Not once did anyone see him as a placeholder. He was the real deal. He was THEIR champion. I saw enough. I had to strike. I made the the world knew that I was the champion. Matt Tastic was the placeholder. And at Wrestle Kingdom, it was I who was going to prove once and for all that I was THEIR champion.
But I failed. And from that point in time it haunted me. It held me back. I was never meant to be a champion. I was meant to be the novelty act. The guy that got the crowd hyped. The guy that was a good hand. The guy who would fight a bear if he had to. And I did. And I won. And now we’re moments away from Lethal Lottery. And I sit here, talking to you. Tell me Pablo, how can I win Lethal Lottery?
We see Beard lying on a couch staring at a chair at Pablo. Silence echoes through the room. Beard sits up, waiting anxiously for the answer. Finally Beard nods his head frantically and he jumps up and throws his fist in the air.
Throw everyone over the top rope and keep yourself from going over the top rope.
YES!!! YESSSSS! THAT’S IT!!! PABLO YOU’RE A GENIUS! To win Lethal Lottery I must throw everyone out of the ring and be the last man standing. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Thanks Pablo, you’re the best.
No Beard, you are the best. For you have given me life.
I love you Pablo.
And I love you too buddy.
Beard lunges towards the chair, nearly attacking Pablo. Suddenly a pineapple launches into the air and Beard catches it. Beard stares directly at the pineapple, almost in a trance.
Now that I have you by my side Pablo, there will be no stopping me.
There will be no stopping us.
I’ve been gone awhile, allow me to reintroduce myself…???: Oh my...I think he’s finally waking up.
???: What should we do?
???: We must hurry and go find Ms. Maximus, she has instructed us that she must be the first and only person he see upon recovery.
The moniseur of muscle can hear voices in the distance. His eyes start to open into a foggy state of consciousness but he has no idea where he is. He has a hard time adjusting to the light so he instead closes them once more. He tries to move but feels that his arms and legs are attached to something. His confusion is at an all time high once he feels his heart rate begin to increase at a rapid pace. This is followed by the sound of an unknown voice calling his name.
???: Flex...Flex, are you with me?
The bodybuilder attempts to open his eyes yet again. The light is still harsh to him but he manages to fight through it. Everything is blurry at first but he soon regains his eyesight and is able to see who is calling him. It is a woman unfamiliar to him, dressed in very formal business attire with glasses and a blonde ponytail. He looks around to see that he is strapped to a table with wires going into his body. He is also encased in a clear glass rectangle.
???: Flex, can you talk?
Flex: Who….are you? Where am I?
???: Good, your vocal chords are still in tact-
Flex: I said who are you!?! And where am I?!?!
Flex’s heart rate continues to spike and the mysterious stranger attempts to calm him down.
???: I need you to try to relax Flex, it’s imperative for your recovery. My name is Suzeus Maximus, I work for Flex Fitness Industries, and I’m only here to help.
Flex: Help with what?! Why I am I strapped to this table? Where’s Svetlana? Where’s Maria? Where the hell is Charles?!?
Maximus: I know this is all very jarring Flex but if you do not relax your heart may explode.
Flex: HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? MY CHOLESTEROL LEVELS ARE FINE!!!
Maximus: I need you to listen to me very carefully Flex. You have been in a coma for roughly the last six months.
The fitness entrepreneur is in shock as it feels like he’s only been asleep a few hours. He looks around at his body and it seems he hasn’t missed a single day of working out. A six month coma seems impossible to him
Maximus: I know what you’re thinking, The machines you are strapped to have not only been keeping you alive and monitoring your well-being but also keeping your...enhancements in tact…
Flex: ENHANCEMENTS??! THIS IS A DRUG FREE BODY!!!!
Maximus: And technically it still is, all these machines have done has added a new double strength Flex Fitness shake into your system everyday of your slumber.
Flex: Double strength? I don’t recall that existing.
Maximus: For better or worse a lot has changed while you’ve been in a coma. That’s why I’m here to help you adjust to things.
Flex: Adjust? What the hell could have happened in six months? Just let me out of here.
Maximus pulls out a remote and presses a button that removes the restraints keeping Flex on the table. This allows him to remove wires that are in him. He attempts to exit the rectangular container he’s in but it doesn’t seem to have a door.
Flex: So you gonna let me out of here or do I have to break this?
Maximus: We both know you aren't breaking it, it's Flexiglass. We haven’t finished discussing things.
Flex: Discussing what? You work for me, so let me out of here!
Maximus: Technically not just you…
Flex: What does that even mean? Look I don’t know who you are but I’m sick of being caged up like some low poverty criminal let me out at once!!
Maximus: Things have changed Flex, there is a lot you need to know before you-
Flex: I don’t care what new technology the company has innovated, I can find that out at the next board meeting. I’m more concerned about why I’m in a coma, who put me there, and where the hell is my world title?
Maximus: Ah yes, I was told you’d be asking about it.
Maximus presses another button on her remote and the rectangular glass cell begins to raise high above Flex. As he walks from under it Maximus hands him a protein shake along with his customized FlexAmerican World Championship. The bodybuilder clutches the title like a blanket while quickly chugging the shake.
Maximus: A wrestler named Triple X bashed your skull in, hence your coma.
Flex: WZCW has a pornstar wrestlers now? Jeez that place must've really gone low brow since I've been gone. And does this mean they had only you monitoring me all this time?
Maximus: No actually, a team of specialists around the world were hired to try to wake you up. And I led that team.
Flex: Well you could’ve got the job done a bit sooner don’t you think?
Maximus: We ran into complications, this isn’t exactly on the book.
The bodybuilder looks around the room to see a lot of expensive looking equipment and none of it resembles any of the athletic machines that Flex is comfortable.
Flex: Now that you mention of it I’ve never really seen any of this before. Where are we?
Maximus: A lab in the deep basement of Flex Fitness Industries. Only a select few know you’re here.
Flex: Well let’s get them down here because they have a lot of explaining to do.
Maximus: Unfortunately that’s not possible, Svetlana is the only you would know.
Flex: Where is she?
Maximus: Like I said we ran into complications, it was her idea to create a new formula that could keep your muscles intact no matter how long you were unconscious. Others didn’t approve.
Maximus: Your sister Maria. She wasn’t too keen on the idea and with you in a coma there was no one to protect Svetlana so she called the FBI on her. Luckily for you Svetlana was able to set this all up before she was locked up. And while she’s incarcerated I shall be overseeing your personal needs and progress.
Flex: She’s in jail!?!? How dare Maria, where is she?
Maximus: I believe she’s in the building.
The muscle head puts on a Flex Fitness jumpsuit and his new assistant leads the bodybuilder into the elevator and the two leave the laboratory and enter the administrative offices of the building. Immediately upon getting off the elevator people are shocked to see him upright and walking, like nothing ever happened to him. He walks toward his office and upon entering he sees something that will be burned into his memory for quite a while: Maria kissing his friend Charles, who has lost a significant amount of weight.
Flex: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!
Maria and Charles: Flex?!
Charles immediately runs over to hug his friend but the bodybuilder is shocked that he can fit his arms all the way around him. This shock quickly turns to anger and Flex picks him for a monstrous bear hug until Maria and Maximus pry Flex’s arms loose.
Charles: What the hell man?
Flex: Don’t what the hell me, what the hell you!! Why are you kissing my sister?!
Maria: Because we’re together.
Charles: Well as of a few minutes ago we’re actually engaged.
Flex: YOU’RE ENGAGED??!?!?!?!?
News of his sister and friend planning to tie the know only further enrages Flex. He quickly pounces toward Charles but is quickly stopped by Maximus who pulls his arm and quickly brings him down to the ground. He is shocked that she was able to restrain him with such ease.
Maximus (Whispering): Like I said, there’s a lot that’s happened while you were asleep.
Charles: I take it you’re not thrilled….
Maria: First thing you do after getting out of a coma is attack your best friend? Really Flex?
Maximus releases Flex on the condition that he not attack anyone and he composes himself before responding.
Flex: Don’t act like this is normal! One minute your repulsed by him and the next your engaged? What happened?
Maria: You’ve been in a coma for six months Flex, a lot has happened. And in those six months with you gone Charles and I grew closer, and as you can obviously see he’s no longer repulsive. In fact he never was, he just needed the proper training to trim the fat.
Charles: Exactly! Your sister is a great trainer! Because of her I was able to lose all the excess weight! I look great now!!
Charles strikes a pose that is reminiscent of a young Flex who just got in shape. The resemblance in Flex’s mind is uncanny and this only infuriates him more.
Flex: So you take advantage of my grieving friend and put the love of my life in jail? Some sister you turned out to be.
Maria: Svetlana needed to be put in jail Flex, she was bad for the company, she was a fugitive wanted for child labor.
Flex: What do you care about the company?!
Maria: Well I own fifty percent of it now.
Flex: ….Excuse...me…..what did you say?
Maximus: Try to relax Flex.
Maria: You were in a coma and no one was sure you were ever going to wake up. I’m technically the next of kin, I’ve got the Mussel name, and the board of directors thought I should take on the position while you were incapacitated.
Flex: Well I’m awake now so get the hell out of my office.
Maria: It’s not that simple Flex and you know that.
Flex: Well apparently I don’t know anything because a guy takes one stupid chairshot and now the world has gone upside down! The next thing you’re gonna tell me is Batti is one step away from becoming World Champion.
Maximus, Maria, and Charles all look at each other as none of them want to be the one that breaks the news to an already angry Flex.
Maximus: Speaking of WZCW, this may be a good time to talk about the Lethal Lottery.
Flex: Lethal Lottery? What about it?
Maximus: It’s happening soon, you must go and contact WZCW headquarters if you wish to participate.
Flex: You’re right...it’s been far too long since the rightful world champion has stepped foot inside the ring. They took the title from me once, but once I win the Lottery they’ll have no choice but recognize me as rightful Undisputed World Champion.
Maria: Do you honestly still think you won that match at Gold Rush?
Flex: Excuse me?
Maximus: Now is really not a good time.
Maria: And who are you? I’ve never seen you in this office before.
Flex: She’s my new assistant! And so far she’s doing a much better job than you ever could have Charles! Come on Manimus.
Maximus: It’s Maximus.
Flex: Whatever! Just follow me, I’ve gotta go reclaim my throne.
Flex and Maximus leaving Charles and Maria to wonder what just happened.
Maria: Seriously who was that girl? I’ve never seen her before.
After Ascension 125
Flex Mussel can be seen sitting on the couch of his apartment watching the end of the Ascension broadcast with Kagura raising the world championship high into air. Maximus is also in the room crunching numbers on a computer at a nearby table.
Flex: Wow...so that’s it.
Maximus: Indeed, it seems you have a new target.
Flex: Not that, I don’t give a damn about Kagura winning. I care that all anyone is talking about on social media is her winning and not my return! No fanfare, no congratulations, no nothing! I wanted it announced in advance so the people would have time to flock to their King but I haven’t even heard a semblance of talk about my return.
Maximus: Well it is a newsworthy week.
Flex: Fake news!!! That’s all it ever is with this country, that’s all it ever is with this company, and that’s all it ever is with these people. We’re too busy celebrating that we have three women in a world title match that we’ve ignored the fact that we don’t even know if Kagura has a proper work visa in the United States. We put the women of WZCW on a pedestal and that will no longer be tolerated!
Maximus: I’m not sure you’re ready to go after them just yet.
Flex: Ready? Who do you think you’re talking to? I’ve been ending careers and beating people down for the better part of a year. Six months ain’t gonna change my ability to do that.
Maximus: You’re unfocused, you’re mad, you’re stuck in the past. Don’t try to rush to be in the spotlight. Use this is as an opportunity to be under the radar and strike when the time is right.
Flex: NO! There’s no more waiting for my turn, six months of my life was taken from me that I’ll never get back, and I don’t intend to spend another six months building myself back up. I refuse to let this world forget about what I’ve done and sweep me under the rug. I’m not going to let my snake of a sister take my company away from me, I won’t let my ex-best friend think he can overtake me as the Alpha-male of my own family! And I sure as hell won’t let WZCW forget that I’m Flex-no, that I’m KING FUCKING MUSSEL! I’ve retired and destroyed legends, I’ve defeated the very best WZCW has to offer, and I was the World champion until the company robbed me of the title so Constantine and Justin Cooper could have a hissy fit. That’s why I proclaim myself to be FlexAmerican World Champion. Because in FlexAmerica we do not tell lies, we do not praise false gods, we get buff, we get tough, and we get rough!!!
The monsieur of muscle picks up his world title and straps it around himself.
Flex: The truth of the matter is that a lot has changed in WZCW. A lot of people have stepped up their game, a lot of people are going into Lethal Lottery thinking this is their time to shine and this is where they will finally show the world that they can go after the greatest prize in professional wrestling. But little do they know they’re chasing after a fake title. Because the WZCW championship became irrelevant the moment they took it from me to give back to Justin Cooper. It was irrelevant when Constantine won it, and it’s still irrelevant now that it’s being contested for by two people I’ve beaten and someone who will never be in my league. While a lot has changed in WZCW a lot has stayed the same. Titus is still EurAsian champion, Eve Taylor will still probably choke in a World title match, people like Matt Tastic and Tyrone are still coasting off past accolades, but the most important thing is that I’m still the same vicious wrestling machine that was running through the roster. I realize no one is talking about my return because no one expects me to win the Lethal Lottery, just like no one expected me to retire Showtime, just like no one expected me to beat Matt Tastic at last year’s Kingdom Come, and just like no one expected me to become World champion but as you can obviously see when no one expects me to do something I like to break their expectations in half! So regardless of who is trending on twitter, who is in your stupid chatroom final four, King Mussel will always do what he does best, and that is beat the odds and thrive when everyone wants to hold him down. I’m the embodiment of truth in a country that only wants to tell lies. People like me have to create their own nations when they are wronged by the ones they trusted. The fans have wronged me, WZCW has wronged me, and even my own family has wronged me. So at the Lethal Lottery it's time I started doing what’s right, it’s time I start back on the mission I live by, it’s time to MAKE AMERICA HEALTHY AGAIN!
Flex immediately chugs a protein shake before leaving the room to start his exercise. Maximus picks up the phone and begins making a call.
Maximus: You were right, not even six months of a coma could stop the motivation within him, he seems to be on track nicely, I’ll keep you posted about his progress.
Make America Healthy Again! - King Mussel
Credit to Dave
Backstage Meltdown 148
A victorious Logan McAllister walked back to the locker room. Finally, a win and just in time to hopefully ride that momentum to victory at the Lethal Lottery. Vee and Yemrez tried their hardest, but tonight Logan was Godzilla compared to them. Goldman was nowhere to be found, probably slithered off somewhere to plot. Logan didn't trust him but he was stuck with him for now.
Logan walked intently into the room, stuffing his stuff into his bag,and after slinging it over his shoulder he started off towards the parking lot. Back to the hotel and another attempt to reach Brittany. He still hasn't been able to talk to her and he doesn't know if she really had an accident or whether Richard was lying. Either way, he was heading home tomorrow, before heading to Australia for the Lottery.
As he approached the car, Leon Kensworth ran up, trying to get a few words with Logan before he left.
Kensworth: Logan! Quick word if you don't mind. Can you tell us your thoughts heading into the Lottery?
Logan pauses,before popping the trunk and tossing his stuff in carelessly. He finally turns towards Leon and places his hand on the interviewer's shoulder.
Logan: Leon, I'm just gonna head to Australia and hope the right numbah comes up for me. I've seen who's entahed the match,and it won't be easy. Guess what though Leon? All that mattahs is I have a chance. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got places to go. See you down undah.
Logan turned back to the car, getting in and quickly starting the car. He pulled out of the spot and sped off to the hotel for some rest.
Week before Lethal Lottery
Logan still couldn't get in touch with Brittany, and he still hadn't seen his son since he broke free from Richard's brainwashing. He had found out she was in an accident,but it turned out to be just a minor fender bender. Richard would have some explaining to do. Logan kept trying to call his fiancee,but he had no luck. Each time it went straight to voicemail. He would have to wait and see if she responded. He wouldn't blame her if she didnt. He treated her wrong,and Logan hopes she can forgive him because he needs his family.
Logan gets up and goes to the couch,grabbing the ps4 remote and loading up some Assassins Creed Origins. Rather than stress Logan decided to get lost in Ancient Egypt instead....
Few Hours Later...
Logan woke up, from an apparent nap, controller still in hand. He checks his phone and sees five missed calls, all from a random number. No voicemails were left, but there was one text message...
Day of Lethal Lottery
Richard Goldman rushed up to greet the just arrived Logan McAllister, quickly grabbing his bags as the two headed to the designated locker room. Richard seemed quite jovial tonight, which for some reason irked Logan. Silently the two entered the room, Logan switching into his gear before he started to walk the halls of the arena, Richard following like a stray dog.
Logan approached the stage for tonight's event. He stared out into the seats and pictured all the fans screaming for their favorites. Logan started to chuckle as he figured there won't be many pro McAllister cheers likely. Hell he's likely not on most people's radar to win.
Logan: Richard,I know people don't expect me to win. Not with the likes of Eve Taylor, Tyrone Blades and Matt Tastic involved. And that's fine. I honestly prefer it that way. Don't expect much out of Logan McAllister. Makes it all the better when I prove them wrong.
Logan takes a few steps down the ramp walking casually down before sliding into the ring. Standing up again he looks around and sees a banner for Kingdom Come.
Logan: Tonight in this ring I'll get my chance to headline Kingdom Come,yet even if I fail, I'll still find my way to Kingdom Come. Win or lose, Logan McAllister is not going anywhere.
Logan heads out of the ring,Goldman following still as they reach the top of the ramp. Logan stops and looks at Goldman.
Logan: You don't believe I can win either Richard. But Brittany does.
Logan continues walking, leaving his manager alone on the ramp. One way or another Logan will be at Kingdom Come. With his family.
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