LL - 30-person Lethal Lottery Match

Discussion in 'WZCW Roleplay Board' started by Monster Amongst Men, Feb 23, 2018.

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  1. Dave

    Dave Administrator
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    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
     
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  2. Dave

    Dave Administrator
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    PC Stevie Broon

    In

    A Window To The Future



    Present Day

    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 ***** 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 ****. 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 **** 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...
     
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  3. Lee

    Lee Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No it's Supermod!
    Staff Member Super Moderator E-Fed Mod

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    Matrix has been granted a 12 hour extension*

    *This is not my RP
     
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  4. Prince Vee

    Prince Vee Better than I think I am

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    “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”.

    “Vlad”

    “Pardon?”

    “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!”
     
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  5. Ty Burna

    Ty Burna WZCW World Heavyweight Champion

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    [​IMG]


    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!

    Tyrone: You....

    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: Clack.

    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.
     
    #5
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  6. ABMorales787

    ABMorales787 Lord And Master
    Staff Member Administrator

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    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===

    Matt: He called me a legend. But legends don't fall. He said I don't like Callie Clark. I'm merely indifferent. He said me being a multi-time Mayhem Champion somehow will make me able to defeat Vox. As Callie Clark has shown, that does not matter. I'm just not feeling it after the loss. With the title out of reach and Lethal Lottery away, I'm simply--OUCH!!!

    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.

    Matt: Leave.

    ???: 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?

    ===Meltdown 148===

    Following the match, Matt Tastic makes his way backstage with an ice pack on his neck. The winners are applauded in the back and Lynx is also assisted and praised for his effort, but Matt has none of that and tosses his ice pack before walking away. Off to the side, general manager Becky Serra witnesses Matt and looks on, not pleased.

    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===

    ===Some days after Meltdown 148===

    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.

    *SPLASH!!*

    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.
     
    #6
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  7. Dan Severn's Moustache

    Dan Severn's Moustache Patent Pending

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    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.

    Harald: Mmm...

    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...

    Harald: RELEASE THE KRAKEN!

    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...
     
    #7
    Infinity likes this.
  8. Theo Mays

    Theo Mays Part Time Poster

    Joined:
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    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.
     
    #8
  9. FlexAmerican Dynamite

    FlexAmerican Dynamite RIP Cooper's Title Reign

    Joined:
    Dec 27, 2011
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    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.

    Flex: Who?

    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.

    Flex: 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.
     
    #9
    Infinity and Bernkastel like this.
  10. K Web V3

    K Web V3 The Premier Provider

    Joined:
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    Backstage Meltdown 148
    Tokyo Dome
    Tokyo,Japan​


    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's House
    Boston, MA


    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...

    Logan set the phone down as he could feel the anger building up inside. He wanted to do nothing more than get his hands on Goldman. Logan stood up and out of frustration, chucked his remote across the room,shattering it to pieces, snapping Logan out of it and he began to calm himself down. Goldman would get his eventually. But not yet. For now Logan would play nice, and just focus on his chance at the Lottery. A victory there and he's straight to the top, just like that. It won't be easy.


    Day of Lethal Lottery
    ANZ Stadium
    Sydney, Australia



    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.
     
    #10
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  11. CyberPunk

    CyberPunk The Show himself

    Joined:
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    2 days before Lethal Lottery

    “When will you realize you can never be me?”

    She bugs me more and more now.

    “I will be more than you. I’ll be better than you.”

    The checking counter girl looks at me funny.

    “What are you looking at?”

    “Nothing.”

    An awkward silence follows.

    “In your dreams.”

    “SHUT UP!”

    The whole store comes to a standstill.

    “It’ll be $40.”

    I hastily pay up and leave the store while everyone’s eyes are still fixated upon me.

    I walk on the sidewalk, a little embarrassed about what happened in the store. But Ellie won’t let me be.

    “Why are you so angry?”

    “I’m not angry. I’m just sick of you. You seem to follow me everywhere now.”

    “Do you know why that happens?”

    “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. I just want you to disappear and never come back.”

    “Come on, be honest. I know you want to understand what’s happening.”

    “Yes, I’m going insane. Because you won’t leave me alone. You’re dead! Go away to whichever realm you belong to.”

    Honk!

    “Lady! Watch it. Do you want to die?”

    How dare he? I walk up to his car window.

    “Hey! What’s your problem?”

    “My problem is you. I’ll walk wherever I want, and I’ll do whatever I want. I’ll break your fucking legs right now if I feel like it.”

    “Ok, ok! Jeez. Get a grip. Somebody’s gotten up the wrong side of the bed.”

    He speeds away before things escalate.

    “Hahahaha! Look at you. All that anger”

    “Fuck you. I don’t know why you keep messing with my head, but get this. I am Wren. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

    “You’re nothing but a cheap imitation who can’t hang in with the real professionals of wrestling. Your jig will be up soon enough.”

    “Are you jealous that I may become a better Wren than you ever were?”

    “No. Absolutely not. I’m sad that in your mission of survival you had to betray the only friend you ever had. The only person who may have ever cared about you.”

    “You have absolutely no idea what it takes to survive. For all the ‘hardships’, you spent an incredibly protected life. First by me, and then by, what’s her name… Horigishi, Horigashi, I don’t care. So, you don’t tell me what I need to do to survive.”

    “Is this why you keep seeing me?”

    I have no answer. Why do I keep hearing her? Seeing her? Why won’t she leave me alone?

    “Soon, you’ll be stepping in the ring with 29 other superstars, once again pretending to be me. But for what? What will you gain by fighting as me? You obviously don’t like or hate anyone on the roster and while everyone wants a shot at the championship, what will you be fighting for?”

    “I’ll be fighting for what I’ve always fought for. Unlike you, I don’t fight for honor. I fight to survive. You can try and spin it as you like, but there are damn few in that match who want to survive as badly as I do.”

    Was I really trying to convince an apparition?

    “You think I took over your persona to be you. I didn’t. I want to bring a semblance of life to my survival. To kick start something I have never had, a life where I no longer need to run. And you gave me that opportunity. I’m thankful for your naivety, for putting your trust in me. But I don’t owe you anything.”

    “Nope. You owe an explanation to yourself. You think somehow this will make everything you’ve ever done go away. It will not. You’re just living a lie.”

    “May be I am living a lie. It’s still better than anything I’ve ever lived before.”

    A small child is staring at me in confusion.

    “Who are you talking to?”

    “No one. Why are you alone? Where’s your mom?”

    “She’s over there. She thinks you’re insane.”

    I kneel down to her height.

    “Do you think so? Am I insane?”

    Before she runs away, leaving me to ponder.




    ***







    Backstage - The day of Lethal Lottery

    The show is still a few hours away. I have Wren’s gear in front of me, but for some reason I don’t want to put it on yet. There’s something inside me that doesn’t want me to put that thing on. I decide to leave the locker room to get some fresh air. I see all the staff hard at work. I walk into the inside of the arena where the show would take place. Wow! What a stadium! I hear that at full capacity, it can accommodate more than 100,000 people. And we are expecting a full house! I walk through the stands to the middle of the arena where the crew is propping up the ring. I walk around it.

    “Hey, who are you?”

    “I’m with Wren. I’m her manager.”

    “Performers or their crew are not allowed ringside before the show. You have to leave immediately.”

    I wasn’t going to hang around to be lectured again. I take in the view one more time. The massiveness of the arena bewildered me. I take off to backstage area.

    “You see all this? This is what we professional wrestlers strive for. Being at one of the biggest stages of ‘em all. And here you are, someone who will never understand what it’s like to struggle day in day out just to be here, let alone try to win the whole thing.”

    “Not you again. See, I get it. I truly get it. Somewhere deep inside me, may be I did care a little about Ellie, but this is my life now. This is who I am. I understand what’s it like to be here.”

    “Do you though? Do you understand how much each of these performers have given up just to have a chance at it? Do you understand the feeling of winning the championship? Or do you understand when you’re oh so close, yet so far from winning it?”

    “I may not be a professional wrestler, but I know what it’s like to survive. I know what it takes to come ahead of everyone. There are 29 other superstars who will be trying to win this thing, just so that they can have a crack at the championship. For me, it means more. It means beginning a new life. It means shedding a skin to dawn a new one. I may not be a very good ‘you’, but I’m going to be a damn good Wren. I’ll change they people look at Wren. A Wren who’ll do anything to get ahead. A Wren who isn’t trying to please people with her eye catching performances, but who’ll trample on anyone to get what she wants.”

    I look at the arena once more from the stands. For everyone else, it’s just a shot at the title. For me, it’s a reboot. Wren 2.0 is ready.
     
    #11
  12. Skairipa Matrix

    Skairipa Matrix 3 Time Elite Openweight Champion

    Joined:
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    #LethalLottery

    Three Days After Meltdown 147: A Bar In New York

    I had finally gotten Vox to leave me alone, at least I hoped. Sure I had to agree to donate to his stupid charities, but money is nothing I can make back whatever I donate to him in a day, and beating Lynx and Tastic? That'd be priceless. For now though I needed to finally catch up with Harper, now that the distraction was taken care of. I walked back into the bar and sat back down at the table, shaking my head in annoyance upon doing so.

    Harper: Fun times dealing with the troll?

    Harper laughed, and I did too.

    Callie: Think I took care of that problem finally, but just to be safe i put my phone on silent. I came here to catch up with you and that's what I intend to do. So, what were we talking about before all that?

    Harper: Uhh you were saying something about the Elite Championship and what you've done for it and how those two guys your facing this week are ruining that.

    Callie: Ohh right, well yes they are the scum of the earth and I hate them both. But forget them, they're irrelevant right now. Are you still doing the art thing?

    I watched her nod her head.

    Harper: Yeah, it's going alright. Not going to be some world famous artist anytime soon but it's going alright.

    I smiled.

    Callie: That's good to hear, and don't worry one day you'll be world famous just like me, or well almost as famous as me, even Gabi isn't as famous as me.

    I laughed and flipped my hair with a bit of arrogance.

    Harper: Uh right, how is Gabi doing anyway? Still recovering from her injury?

    I shook my head.

    Callie: Not really recovering anymore, but she won't be wrestling anymore either. The doctors told her if she was to wrestle anymore she'd risk reaggravating her arm and truthfully I think the injury scared her too much to try a return anyway.

    Harper slowly nodded.

    Harper: Can't say I blame her, that was scary to watch when she got injured in that mayhem match.

    Callie: I know! And yet my petition to ban the mayhem got shut down.

    I shook my head in disgust.

    Callie: But oh well I don't really need a tag partner anyway without tag team championships to win, and I know if I ever need her to be in my corner for a match she'll be there. That's what matters.

    We continued talking and had another drink each, staying there for about two hours before deciding to leave. We vowed to keep in touch and I planned to keep that promise. Sure Harper was a little weird but she was the closest thing I had to a real best friend and she was the first person not in my family to believe in me, and someone like that will always have a place in my life.

    The Day After Ascension: Inside An Airport, Tokyo, Japan

    I was getting ready to leave Japan and head for Australia for the Lethal Lottery, fresh off my victory at Meltdown over my two biggest enemies and once again I had pinned Matt Tastic. I had proved again that without weapons, he can't beat me and I sent a message to Lynx in the process, my championship would be coming home to me soon, hopefully at the Lottery. As far as I was concerned, I was done with Tastic I had nothing left to prove with him and a paper champion like him didn't deserve a rematch, unlike me who was raising that championship to heights it's never reached before just by having my name on it. Suddenly my train of thought was interrupted by getting a text from Gabi.

    I raised an eyebrow at reading this, what could she be referring to? Was Tastic getting a rematch before me? Was I being forced to enter the lottery first? Was it both? I had to go look and see what it was. Upon seeing it, I was shocked and furious, no Elite Championship match!? I knew Becky didn't like me but now she's showing favoritism and not making Lynx defend his championship? I bet if it was me still champion she'd be making me defend though, this is sooo unfair! I quickly texted Gabi back.

    I put my phone back in my pocket and went up to the ticket desk. I had a plane ticket to exchange.

    The Next Day: WZCW Headquarters, Las Vegas, Nevada

    I finally made it here, the headquarters of the company. I still wasn't sure what or who exactly I was looking for going in, but I couldn't think of a better way to get answers if there was a conspiracy against me, so my plan was to go in, look around, and see what I can find. As I walked in, I debated heading up to the offices, but then I saw a sign with an arrow pointing towards the shipping department, and decided to head that way first, after all I need to make sure my merchandise was the top seller. I walked in and saw about a hundred people working, I walked over to the first line I saw, people packing up t-shirts.

    Callie: Oh look some t-shirts, let's see who we got here...oh Lynx! Big surprise. But nobody needs that.

    I rolled my eyes and threw the shirt on the ground and stomped on it. I went through some other shirts I saw along the way.

    Callie: Let's see here...Batti, Matt Tastic, and Logan McAllister. Two people I've beat multiple times and a crappy tag partner from Boston, nope, nope and nope!

    I took the three shirts and tossed them in a near by trash can.

    Callie: Seriously? People are buying this stuff? What's wrong with them? And where's my t-shirts?!

    I looked around until a worker spoke up.

    Worker: Um you don't have any t-shirts for people to order...

    I glared at the man and walked over to him, he might have been a foot taller than me but I could see the fear in his eyes as I approached. I like when I can do that to people.

    Callie: And why's that!?

    Worker: I...I don't know, that's not my department.

    I shook my head in disgust and walked away, that guy sure was an idiot. Let's try and talk to the merchandise makers, see if they can give me answers. I walked into their office, surprising them in the process as I stood in front of them.

    Callie: HEY! I just found out there's no shirts for me, what's up with that!?

    I glared at the startled employees who scrambled to come up with answers. I waited and tapped my foot in annoyance, finally a woman spoke up.

    Woman: Well, we tried to come up with some designs but we haven't come up with anything we thought was good enough to show you for approval...

    I rolled my eyes, does WZCW just employ a bunch of idiots? This isn't hard.

    Callie: Good enough? All you need to do is put this,

    I waved my hand around my face.

    Callie: On shirts and it'll be the best selling shirt you could ever make! Duh!

    I walked to the front of the room and stood next to a board full of ideas for new merchandise, I looked at it, saw nothing on there for me and kicked it over.

    Callie: Forget all that, here's your new idea. A mystery box full of items, and every one of them is something to represent me. Shirts, plaques of my championship wins, posters, action figures, pillows, everything you can think of!

    The same woman from before spoke up again.

    Woman: Well I guess we could come up with some merchandise for you, and mystery crates are actually an idea we've been working on, but just having your merchandise in there wouldn't really work...

    I glared at the woman, who does she think she is arguing with me?

    Callie: Excuse me, what's your name?

    Woman: Janet...

    Callie: Well Janet, let me tell you something. I don't know who you think you are talking back to me, but I am a two time Elite Openweight Champion and the future Lethal Lottery winner, and if you dare talk back to me again I will show you why I'm so successful in the ring and beat some sense into you. Now unlike you, I have a life and I have places to go and things to do, including heading to Sydney to win the Lethal Lottery, so I need to leave but I expect to see lots of merchandise made for me soon and I better see a Callie Clark collector's box, or else I'll be back.

    I held up a fist to this Janet woman and watched as she nodded her head. I smirked, satisfied with how that went and walked out the door, but stopped before walking out.

    Callie: Oh Janet, one more thing. Since you seem to be in on the conspiracy against me, you can tell the people in charge of this company that I will get my title back, and on top of that I will win the lottery, because the only thing better than being champion of one division is being champion of two!

    I walked out the door and shortly after that, left the headquarters after finding out that I couldn't talk to any of the losers that place. I wasn't happy about not getting my way, but I got my point across and at the end of the day there's no better way to get my way, then by winning matches like I usually do?

    Two Days Later: Callie's Hotel Room, Sydney, Australia

    After my little detour, I finally made it to Sydney and brought with me a brand new costume, ready to make it's debut at Lethal Lottery. I had just finished settling into my hotel suite, because I deserve a suite after all I've had to deal with recently, and sat down on the bed. I needed a moment to relax. Before I could even turn on the TV though, the room phone rang, who's calling my room and why are they bothering me? This better be good...

    Callie: What?

    ???: Hello Callie this is Leon Kensworth, I was hoping to get an interview with you about the Lethal Lottery Match coming up. Do you have some free time right now?

    I thought about saying no, Last time I talked to Leon he got on my nerves, but then I thought about how I had some things I wanted to say and that would be a good way to do it and make sure everybody heard what I had to say. I guess I could tolerate Leon for that, after all at least I can put him in his place if I have to.

    Callie: I guess I can do that, but it better not be long, I have a massage to get today.

    Leon: Okay great, we'll be right up!

    15 Minutes Later:

    I sat down in a chair after waiting for Leon to get set up, it took him long enough. Finally it was time for the interview to begin.

    Leon: Ladies and Gentleman I'm here with an exclusive interview with former Elite Openweight Champion, Callie Clark. Callie, some are mentioning you as a favorite to win the Lethal Lottery this year, how do you like your chances of winning?

    Callie: Well first of all, everybody should consider me one of the favorites Leon, I mean look at my win-loss record, only 3 people can say they've beat me, and two of them, Lynx and Tastic, I've beaten just as much if not more times than they've beat me. I'm not worried about the lottery Leon, the only thing I'm worried about is getting a good entry number, because that's the most important thing.

    Leon nodded his head as he listened to what I was saying, knowing it was the truth.

    Leon: Good points, obviously entering into the match later is a huge advantage. But some would say your size is going to be a big disadvantage in a match like the lottery, what do you say to that?

    I laughed, the fact that people still think that is hilarious.

    Callie: Leon, when was the last time the biggest person in the lethal lottery won the match? The bigger they are, the harder they fall, and in some cases, the dumber they are. I know I'll be one of the smallest competitors in the match and some might think that'll hurt my chances, but I know I'll be one of the smartest competitors in the match and that's what matters. I'm not going to try and throw out a competitor like Harald Var Krigare by myself, I know I can't lift him, but all I have to do is wait for people to gang up on him and join them, or wait until he's on the apron and knock him off. So to answer your question, my size isn't a disadvantage. Now let's move onto the good questions.

    Leon slowly nodded his head, and went through his note cards finding the next question he wanted to ask.

    Leon: Um right okay then, there will be a good number of people in the lottery match you have never faced, and there's sure to be some surprise debuts or returns during the match, do you have a plan for those people?

    Callie: Oh what kind of stupid question is that?

    I shook my head, I might have to request a different interviewer next time.

    Callie: What kind of plan will I have for them? Simple. I'll punch them in the face and do what I can to try and eliminate them from the match obvi. I don't care about legends, new superstars, or anything else you wanna call them, everybody in that match is standing in my way of getting to the main event of Kingdom Come and winning the World Heavyweight Championship. I'll do everything I can to get there, and I don't care who I have to go through to get it. Now for real, ditch the stupid questions or I'll cut this interview short.

    I watched Leon shift in his seat, and think for a moment before asking his next question.

    Leon: Okay, you mentioned the World Heavyweight Championship, and at the Lethal Lottery, history will be made as 3 of your fellow female superstars will be competing for it, the first ever all female World Title match, who's your pick to win that and do you think this is a big step for the women of WZCW and wrestling as a whole?

    I rolled my eyes, I was already sick of the hype that match was getting.

    Callie: Ugh who cares if they are facing off for the World Title? The fact that a loser like Batti who can't beat me got that spot over me, is a bunch of crap. She shouldn't have even been in the #1 contenders match, and now she could become World Champ? Well I'll tell you this Leon if she gets that title and I don't get the first shot it just further proves that this company is trying to hold me back. And then you have Eve the choker, trying once again to prove she can win the big one, and Kagura, who could only win the world title while the champ was knocked out. I don't care who wins that match, and I don't care about all the "rah rah girl power!" everybody expects me to have, I hate Batti, I hate Eve, and I'd probably hate Kagura if I ever dealt with her. I hope they beat the hell out of each other and the two losers don't make it to the lottery match so I have two less people to deal with how about that Leon?

    I grinned and saw the surprise on Leon's face, clearly he wasn't expecting that answer to his question. He took a moment to gather himself before speaking again.

    Leon: I guess I can see your point there. One final question then, who are you most worried about going into the Lottery? Anybody you're wanting to get out quicker than anybody else?

    Callie: I want to eliminate everybody as soon as I possibly can, but I'll play your little game. If I'm in there with Lynx I'll make sure he's eliminated before me, and I think everybody would agree with me that it's important to get rid of people like Titus, Blades, and Tastic as soon as possible since they are widely considered the "favorites" to win by the idiot fans. Oh that reminds me, I'd love to throw out Tastic too, it never gets old getting one over on him, that always brings a smile to my face. Now let me ask you a question Leon, what did I do when I successfully defended the Elite Openweight Championship?

    Leon: Well most say you broke the curse on it.

    Callie: Exactly, and you could even say I made history, and another question, when I won the Elite Openweight Championship for a second time what did I do? I'll give you a hint, you said Batti, Eve and Kagura are doing that same thing earlier.

    Leon: Umm, make history?

    Callie: Bingo. I make history Leon, I'm the curse breaker, the only female to win back a championship, the woman who has been damn near unstoppable since I joined this company almost a year ago. And guess what? At Lethal Lottery, I'm going to make more history by becoming the first female to ever win the Lottery.

    Leon: Well that's certainly possible, and I wish you luck with that. You'll certainly need it with how strong the field is going to be.

    Callie: Luck is for losers Leon, save it for my opponents.

    I smirked and winked at the camera just before it finished recording. I was confident and ready for whatever craziness the Lottery match might bring, as ready as I could be at least. All that was left to do was find out where I was entering, eliminate some losers, and add another accolade to my resume. Once again Callie Clark is going to make some history as the first female to win the Lethal Lottery. Nobody will stop me, this is my time.
     
    #12
    Infinity likes this.
  13. Dmbfantomas

    Dmbfantomas Bald Billy was Better

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    302
    [A scene is shown in technicolor. There is a dream like cloud surrounding it. It is set in an arena, and there is a wrestling battle royale going on. There are 9 men in the ring.]

    Play-By-Play Announcer: We have one man left to enter! We have nine men in the ring. Who could be the last man in?

    Color Announcer: Oh goodness, it's the shortest person here. I can't believe they let him in! Who let a CHILD into this competition?

    *A child who looks like a younger version of Vox runs out to the ring. The crowd is cheering him on loudly*

    Child Vox: I'm here to kick your butts!

    Giant Man: HA! I'd like to see you try, little boy!

    *Child Vox picks the Giant Man by his leg and then over his head. He quickly throws him out of the ring*

    Play-By-Play Announcer: MY GOODNESS! HE MUST BE THE STRONGEST MAN ALIVE! Giant Man is 12 feet tall!

    Color Announcer: More like shortest CHEAT alive! I can't believe that coward would let him win!

    Play-By-Play Announcer: You're a butthead, shut up!

    *Child Vox then runs at three other men in the ring, and they jump over the ropes in fear*

    Play-By-Play Announcer: No one wants a piece of the 4 year old Irishman!

    Color Announcer: I do!

    Play-By-Play Announcer: Then go get some!

    Color Announcer: He was the last person in the match, it wouldn't be fair.

    *Child Vox eliminates two more people, and the other man in the ring evens it to just Child Vox and Weird Man*

    Color Announcer: HERE COMES WEIRD MAN! HE HAS BEEN CHAMPION FOR 55 YEARS! IT'S ALL OVER NOW, BABY BLUE!

    Play-By-Play Announcer: How do you know that reference?

    Color Announcer: WEIRD MAN!

    *Weird Man picks Child Vox up and tries to throw him over. He succeeds in throwing Child Vox over the ropes, but Child Vox turns around in midair, and goes to dive at Weird Man. He hits him in the chest which causes Weird Man to back all the way up to the other ropes and fly over.*

    Play-By-Play Announcer: It's OVER! The Young Irishman wins! He is the champion of the universes!

    Color Announcer: I'm disgusted. Give him the stupid thing. I'm gonna go cry and eat my boogers.

    *A man with a corded microphone comes into the ring, he goes to interview Young Vox*

    Interviewer: What a performance! What are you going to do?!

    Young Vox: *Points to the air strongly* THIS IS FOR MY DADDY! I MISS YOU DAD!!!

    *The scene hard cuts to Young Vox standing on his bed, wearing a cape and wrestling pajamas still pointing at the sky with a tear in his eye*

    Young Vox: I'M THE BEST, AND I DO IT FOR YOU!

    Young Vox's Brother: Shut up. Mum wants you downstairs.

    Young Vox: But...I'm the best...

    Young Vox's Brother: Go be the best downstairs.

    Young Vox: Ok...

    *Young Vox gets off the bed and starts to leave the room*

    *Young Vox's Brother grabs Young Vox's cape*


    Young Vox's Brother: Hey buddy, did you beat Weird Man this time?

    Young Vox: Ohhhhhh yeah! But it wasn't easy.

    Young Vox's Brother: Hey, it ain't always easy. Even if you're the best.

    Young Vox: Yeah, but it's all over now, Baby Blue.

    Young Vox's Brother: Why do you know what that is?

    *Young Vox shrugs and runs downstairs*

    *Young Vox's Brother picks up a picture of their Dad and smiles at it, longingly. A tear falls onto the picture.*

    *The scene hard cuts again to an adult Vox, he is staring at a photo album, the same picture that was stained with one of his brother's tears*

    Vox: I'm the best, and I do it for you. *He smiles* I have the chance to do it here, too. I'm the best, and I'm going to do it for you. I don't care if there will be five, ten, thirty, or one hundred men and women in that ring. I am the best, and I do it for you.
     
    #13
    Lee likes this.
  14. ShinChan

    ShinChan Gone. For. Good.

    Joined:
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    We see Yemrez standing in the balcony of a hotel. The air was cold yet they felt soul-soothing to Yemrez. She drinks a full bottle of water. There was a bunch load of stress. Concerned about what lies in her future after she does what she was doing to do. It wasn't gonna be easy for Yemrez. To spill out what was choking her from inside. Or may be, making her hollow from inside. We rarely get what we always want from our life. But that never stopped Yemrez to try it. With utmost dedication. But this time, the result was known. It is like a race is rigged before it is started. Unlike the predetermined endings where winner is decided, here in Yemrez's, the sole loser was decided. And unfortunately, the loser was Yemrez Reqonic. Not just in the Olympic Finals. Where she came second and claimed the silver medal yet considered that a loss. Not just in the life where she had lost her would-be husband and her daughter-like sister. Not just in wrestling where she lost more than she won. But as a whole. How? That's what Yemrez wanted to reveal to each and everyone in this WZCW world. A confession that she would love to hide. But that won't be justified. Those who believed in Yemrez. Those who loved Yemrez. Those who were inspired by Yemrez. Each and everyone of them must know what's up with Yemrez. With all the might in her, Yemrez proceeded to post it on WZCW.com. Just a day before Lethal Lottery. Where she wasn't even near being a favourite to win the match.

    Yemrez posts it and then closes every network connection. She wanted to be alone before the huge event. Alone with Goddess Pikne. Who was invisible yet present. Where? In her. The calling has been made. Once again. Shall it pay this time? Only time knows.
     
    #14
  15. Dagger Dias

    Dagger Dias Natural 20
    Staff Member Super Moderator

    Joined:
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    March 9th, 2018
    15:30 PM

    A towering building is in view. It had finally come down to this. Lynx was sure of it that he and Doreen had tracked down Josh Browning. Now it was time to confront this mysterious individual. Lynx looked over to his friend Masamune and his cousin, Willy, who were standing behind him.

    Lynx: You two. Make sure no one enters or exits this building until I come back.

    Masamune: You got it, dude. Willy, anyone getting past us?

    Willy: Nope!

    Lynx nods his head and opens the door. Masamune stands to the left of the door and Willy to the right, prepared to not allow anyone to pass. Lynx sees the lobby to be very quiet. An old man is behind the counter. The name on the sign in front of the man reads "Hershel Hogue - Admin Clerk". The old man looks up and sees Lynx.

    Hershel: So good of you to stop by, Lynx. Mr Browning is waiting for you on the top floor.

    Lynx: So he really is here? Ok. Good. I'll just hop in the elevator and be on my way up there.

    He turns over to the elevators only to find a sign on the elevator door. "OUT OF ORDER! PLEASE USE STAIRS!" is what the sign reads.

    Lynx: Oh you've GOT to be kidding me. Hey! Is this thing actually broken or is this another mind game of Browning's?

    The old man looks in Lynx's direction.

    Hershel: No, sir. It's broken. We ordered new parts to fix it but they have yet to arrive because my coworker that ordered it failed to put the correct destination address on his documents. Quite frustrating, really. You will have to use the stairs.

    Lynx pauses for a moment. He did not mind the workout that taking the stairs may entail, but this seemed to be too much of a coincidence.

    Lynx: How many floors up is he?

    Hershel: 30, sir.

    Lynx: Unbelievable. Ok, thanks.

    He walked over to the stairs to begin his climb up. The stairway led to a door, which he opened. He looked upward and saw several flights of stairs in the vertical hall. Once he entered the vertical hall, the door shut behind him and he heard a voice over the intercom.

    Josh: It's me. Josh Browning. I have been waiting for this encounter, Lynx. I'm issuing you a challenge. Each floor contains a different picture of one of your opponents in the Lethal Lottery. If you truly believe you can defeat the competitor in the picture, feel free to move up to the next floor. If not, then turn back the way you came. See you at the top of this tower, bro!

    As soon as Josh stopped talking, a catchy yet ominous melody began playing over the intercom.

    [YOUTUBE]rauabAi55dI[/YOUTUBE]


    1. BLAZING TIGER

    Lynx looked around for the pictures of which Browning spoke. On the other wall he saw a picture of Blazing Tiger, a new WZCW rookie. Underneath the picture was a note with Tiger's name. Lynx recalled Browning's challenge. Sure, he felt confident he could defeat Blazing Tiger. Without any hesitation, Lynx made his way to the stairs to go up to the next floor.

    2. JABARI KASIM

    On this floor he found a picture of another new wrestler with a similar note. This was Jabari Kasim. He thought to himself for a moment. He knew very little about this wrestler, but still felt confident in being able to defeat him in the Lottery. Lynx took a breath, exhaled, and he went up the stairs to the next floor.

    3. STEVIE BROON

    Right by the stairwell was a third picture and note. This one was of Steve Broon. There really did seem to be a lot of new wrestlers coming in lately, Lynx thought to himself. Another new face who he was still unfamiliar with. His level of experience would be in his advantage at this time. He wondered if the order he was seeing these pictures had anything to do with the order that Browning had made for the Lottery entrances. He shrugged and headed up the steps.

    4. HARALD VAR KRIGARE

    On the fourth floor he saw yet another new face in the picture. Lynx looked at the picture of Harald for a few seconds. Later down the line he might not be so sure, but for now Lynx felt confident in being able to eliminate this large new competitor due to his own level of experience. Still unsure if this was Browning's entrance order or not, he continued up the stairs.

    5. YEMREZ REQONIC

    On the fifth floor Lynx found a picture of a familiar face, that of his opponent from the Gold Rush event, a match that Lynx had won. The chaos of the Lottery match adds many additional variables, though Lynx was not concerned. He continued his upward climb.

    6. WREN

    He reached the next floor and saw a picture of Wren. Their paths had crossed before, in the first round of the Gold Rush tournament. Lynx was victorious in that encounter. Feeling sure that he could replicate such a victory he made his way to the stairs and then stopped. He turned around and looked at the picture of Wren again. Surely this couldn't be the order selected for the entrances. Why would Browning provide that information? There had to have been a different significance in the order places for these pictures. Lynx walked up the stairs.

    7. VEE ADZ

    The picture on the seventh floor was that of a very intelligent competitor. A former Eurasian number one contender. As smart as Vee is, the chaotic nature of the Lottery match would work in Lynx's favor. He wouldn't have to worry about outsmarting Vee here. The upward climb continued.

    8. RANDY STUDD

    The eighth floor had a picture of a competitor that would benefit from the mayhem (pun slightly intended) of the Lottery match. A former Mayhem Champion. Someone like Studd could do well in this match, but could Lynx eliminate him? He thought for a moment and then recalled having been victorious against Randy Studd before. Up the stairs he went.

    9. VOX

    A picture of a friend awaited Lynx on the ninth floor. Vox had been both an ally and an opponent to Lynx. Much like Randy Studd, Vox would benefit from any mayhem the match would bring. He then pictured Vox asking an opponent mid-match for a donation and getting eliminated as a response. After laughing to himself he went up to the next floor.

    10. CAN YOU DEFEAT AN UNKNOWN OPPONENT?

    Lynx had completed 1/3 of his climb up the flights of stairs. What was on the wall of the tenth floor surprised him. There was no picture here. Just an empty picture frame on the wall with a note underneath it that asked him if he could defeat an unknown opponent. He knew there were always surprise returns and random appearances in matches like this. Was he prepared to face someone without knowing who in advance? This one really made him stop and think like none of the previous nine had. No. He was not going to let any kind of fear of the unknown stop him. He nodded his head and walked up to the next floor.

    11. WHAT IF THERE WERE MULTIPLE UNKNOWN OPPONENTS?

    Another unknown? Lynx knew and understood the likelihood of this happening. The best thing to do would be to study some footage of past Lethal Lottery events. He had no idea who may show up unannounced, but he was confident he could make himself ready. Expecting to find another unknown, he made his way up to find out what was next.

    12. TONY MANCINI

    Instead of a third unknown, Lynx saw a picture of the current Mayhem Champion upon arriving at the twelfth floor. Mancini had improved a lot as a competitor and Lynx was awar of this. Lynx was also aware of an advantage he would have over Mancini. Lynx is entering this match at 100%. Mancini would still have to defend the Mayhem Championship against Randy Studd. This decreased Lynx's concerns of whether he could defeat Tony or not. He then walked over to the stairs to proceed upward.

    13. LOGAN MCALLISTER

    On the thirteenth floor he saw a picture of Logan. A wrestler who at last year's Lethal Lottery had won the very title Lynx held. Logan lost the title that same night. Lynx's reign as Elite Openweight Champion had lasted longer than Logan's and he felt confident he would last longer than Logan in the Lottery as well. Some associate the number 13 with bad luck. Logan didn't have the best of luck last year, Lynx thought, and he won't this year if they are in the ring at the same time either. He walked with confidence to the stairs to move on up.

    14. VEGA

    The picture on the fourteenth floor further proved the pattern Lynx had begun to notice. With each floor the difficulty of opponents had been increasing. Vega was one of the greatest Mayhem Champions in WZCW history and even competed for the WZCW World Heavyweight Championship at one point. It took a moment for Lynx to find he did have an advantage. Vega had been gone for almost 4 years. Luckily for Lynx it was not 2014 Vega who he may end up in the ring with. This gave him the confidence to proceed to the next floor.

    15. ACE STEVENS

    He had made it halfway up the tower. On the fifteenth floor was a picture of one of the Eurasian Championship contenders, Ace Stevens. Lynx pondered for a bit and then recalled Ace's contendership status. Ace has a massive challenge in trying to dethrone Titus before the Lottery even begins. The same would hold true for any of the Eurasian challengers. Lynx proceeded to the steps.

    16. TRIPLE X

    The next floor had a picture of a former opponent, Triple X. The man in the picture was one of Lynx's biggest challenges he had come across in WZCW. He defeated Triple X at Unscripted. He could do it again if their paths crossed in the Lottery match. Not to mention how much the Eurasian match might take out of Triple X before the Lottery itself. On to the next floor.

    17. MARK KEATON

    Now the competitors were really getting tougher. Lynx had met Keaton in the ring before and lost. For the first time in his climb up the tower, he felt unsure. He did have an advantage, though. Keaton will have the same problem that Triple X and Ace will. Having to wrestle for the Eurasian Championship first before the Lottery match. He looked at the Keaton picture for a few more seconds. Yes, I can do it, I can defeat him this time Lynx thought to himself. He slowly approached the stairway, looked back at the Keaton picture again, and then walked up another flight.

    18. WHAT IF A LEGEND RETURNS?

    On the eighteenth floor came the third unknown that Lynx had expected a few floors below. An empty picture frame on the wall with a message bringing up the likelihood of a much bigger name making an unadvertised appearance. It has happened at previous Lotteries and could happen again. Lynx hesitated a bit, but nodded his head and walked up the stairs.

    19. WHAT IF MULTIPLE LEGENDS RETURN?

    Sure enough, the likelihood of more than one legend making an appearance was brought up on the nineteenth floor. Lynx knew this was quite possible to happen. Maybe the legends show up at similar intervals and they end up eliminating each other? He would have to depend on the unpredictable nature of the match to work in his favor if he shares the ring with multiple legends. Feeling he still had a chance in such a scenario, he walked over to the stairs to move on to the 20th floor.

    20. CALLIE CLARK

    He had now completed 2/3 of the climb. On the twentieth floor he saw a picture of his recent rival, Callie Clark. The woman he won the Elite Openweight Championship from. Sure, he defeated her in their last match, but they were all but destined to cross paths again. She was by far one of his most dangerous opponents in the Lottery given that he took her title. Eliminating her after having taken her title would give him momentum for any future encounters with her. He stared at her picture, right into her eyes.

    Lynx: Your time was up at Meltdown 157. I'll see you at the Lottery, where I plan on eliminating you.

    Callie had been picked by many fans as one of the favorites to outlast most of the competion in the Lottery. Lynx was ready to prove those fans wrong. He took one last look at the Callie picture and went up to the next floor.

    21. THE BEARD

    A former World Champion and one half of the Kingdom Come 6 main event was in the picture on the twenty-first floor. Do I have what it takes to defeat him? Lynx wondered. He really wasn't fully sure. He had come this far though. He could not let intimidation hold him back. Lynx was willing to accept the challenge of possibly having to eliminate someone like The Beard. Being willing to do his best and still try was good enough for him to keep moving on upward.

    22. FLEX MUSSEL

    Now the competition in the picture was reaching very high levels. Flex was another favorite to outlast many in the Lottery. Lynx knew that Flex would be one of the more challenging opponents. He had not forgotten what Flex had done to Theron, the legend who had inspired Lynx to join WZCW. Lynx didn't just know he could eliminate Flex. He knew he HAD to. For Theron. Wherever he was. Lynx walked up to the next floor.

    23. BATTI

    Just when he thought the competitors in the pictures could not get any tougher, he saw a picture of one of the three women competing for the World Championship at the Lethal Lottery event. Under Batti's picture was a note that read "If she does not win the World Championship, can you defeat her?". He knew the likelihood of encountering any of the three World Championship contenders in the Lottery and how difficult it would be to eliminate them. His only hope was that they, like the Eurasian and Mayhem contenders, would not be at 100% walking into the match. The odds would be against him, but he knew he could still do it. With that he proceeded upstairs.

    24. EVE TAYLOR

    The next floor's picture had another of the World Championship contenders. Eve Taylor was in the picture with a note just like Batti's. Lynx had been a tag team partner as well as an opponent of Eve's in the past so he had an idea of what to expect from her if they crossed paths in the Lottery. He then remembered how she was the favorite to win last year. He wondered if the failure from a year ago would come back to haunt her, causing another shocking elimination. That, plus it was not her only match that night. With some hesitation he kept moving up the stairs.

    25. KAGURA

    The first female WZCW World Champion was in the picture on the twenty-fifth floor. Under Kagura's picture was a note that read "If she does not retain, can you defeat her?". Kagura had shocked the world when she cashed in the Queen For A Day opportunity. Lynx had defeated Kagura in a previous encounter once before, back when he was still new. They bad both improved as competitors since then, but he knew it was still possible, even if the odds would not be in his favor. He took a deep breath. The intimidation was starting to get to him. There were still five floors remaining. All of which could even be tougher than the current World Champion. He had to keep going. Lynx walked up the stairs.

    26. MATT TASTIC

    A former Lethal Lottery winner and one of the most successful wrestlers ever awaited Lynx in the picture on the twenty-sixth floor. The level of competition was reaching the top tier now. If Lynx was going to defeat Matt Tastic in this match it would take everything he had. Tastic had done it all including winning this very match. This would be a big opportunity for Lynx to step up. What if he did get the chance to eliminate Tastic, the one who won the WZCW World Championship in a past Lottery? After reassuring himself mentally that he was up for such a challenge, Lynx decided to continue up the stairs.

    27. TITUS AVISON

    A legend among legends. The man who had held the Eurasian Championship ever since Kingdom Come 7 was in the picture on the twenty-seventh floor. Titus had become one of the most feared men on the roster and surely was another of the favorites in the match. Were it not for the fact that Titus had to defend his title first, Lynx did not think he had a chance at defeating him. As luck would have it, Titus was not expected to enter the match at 100%. Maybe he COULD do it! Lynx was determined to continue his climb. So he did.

    28. TYRONE BLADES

    The man that many considered the greatest ever was in the picture on the twenty-eighth floor. The mighty Tyrone Blades. The one who made everyone step up their game no matter who he was facing. Could Lynx do the unthinkable and defeat the best there is? He knew that there was no greater opportunity. If he got a chance to eliminate Blades it would do wonders for him. It would be hard. Extremely difficult. There's no turning back now. He was not going to give up on this climb to the top of the tower and he won't give up when he gets to the Lethal Lottery match regardless of if it were to come down to Blades and Lynx in the end, he would do everything he could to get that win. He felt a shiver down his spine as he looked at the picture of Tyrone Blades and made his way to the stairs. Two floors remained. Lynx suspected his own picture may be one of the two remaining, but what about the other? Who could possibly be left if Tyrone Blades wasn't number 30....?

    29. CAN YOU DEFEAT A HERO?

    Slowly, one step at a time, Lynx walked up the stairs. There was no picture on this floor. Only a note asking if he would be able to defeat a hero. Who could that be? Lynx wondered. No one is better than Titus or Tyrone. This individual being placed at a higher challenge must mean it would be tougher for Lynx due to who it is, not necessarily to the opponent's skill level. Could it be? The one who inspired him? What if he were to share a ring with Blackjack Theron Daggershield....? Having to eliminate his hero would be bittersweet. Lynx knew there was an opportunity there, if Theron were even to appear. No such moment had been advertised. If he ended up having to do it, he was willing to eliminate the one he had looked up to. He looked up and saw that only one flight of stairs remained and it led to a closed door. He walked up the stairs very carefully and slowly. His heart was racing.

    30. CAN YOU WIN THE LETHAL LOTTERY, LYNX?

    He opened the door at the thirtieth floor and saw a framed silhouette of himself. Not even a clear picture, just a shadow matching his own self. A note underneath asked him if he truly could win this match.

    Lynx: YES I CAN....!

    A response from Josh was heard over the intercom, while the music continued playing.

    Josh: Then come on up to the roof, bro!

    He could hear footsteps of someone running up stairs from behind the door next to the Lynx silhouette. He opened this door and saw a microphone next to a bunch of security computer screens. There was another stairway next to that. He walked up that stairway and opened the door at the top of the stairs. It led outside. The music is still playing, but the wind blowing and thunder in the distance are also heard. He saw a large muscular figure in a blue robe with his back to Lynx so he could not see the individual's face. There is a pillar next to the robed figure.

    Lynx: Josh Browning. We meet at last.

    Josh: Yep. How did you like the game we played today? Feel ready for the Lottery?

    Lynx: Turn around and face me.

    Josh: You sure, man?

    Lynx: Who ARE you!?

    Josh: Someone who knows you can't stop the end times from coming.

    The man turns around to face Lynx. He has a hood over his face, so his mouth and beard can be seen, but not his full face.

    Josh: I know of your desire to stop the Apocalypse. I wanted to teach you a valuable lesson. Fixed points in time cannot be changed without divine intervention. Bro, you can't prevent the world from ending. God made it and one day He will come back to end it.

    Lynx: Wait, I thought you were a coach. Now you sound like a pastor. Is Josh Browning even your real name?

    Josh: It is, but you may have heard me be referred to by a different name. A hero who inspired you is a disciple of mine. He once called me.... Mark Flight.

    Browning takes his hood off to reveal his face. He has long dark hair and a dark beard.

    [​IMG]

    Lynx: Mark Flight? The guy from the World Magic Conferences that Theron used to speak at?

    Josh: The very same, bro. Although, the actual name of the event is the World Missions Conference. I have not led a World Missions Conference in almost two years. I went into the missionary leader oversight field after that and then took up coaching for a bit back here in the states.

    Lynx: And then you got hired by WZCW to randomize Meltdown Madness as well as coming up with the Lethal Lottery entrance order?

    Thunder is heard striking in the distance.

    Josh: No, bro. Why would they hire a pastor turned missionary turned coach to make the Lethal Lottery entrance order? Come on now. Some guys from your Talent Relations department do that. Just like every year. I don't know any more than you do about who is competing at the Lethal Lottery. I only gave James that message about making the Lethal Lottery entrances so that you would come here.

    Lynx: So.... WHY did you want me to come here!?

    Josh: Don't you get it, bro? You CAN'T stop the Apocalypse! You CAN'T control the WZCW! This was all a learning exercise to teach you about FATE. Here's the deal, bro, you can't stop what is already fated to happen. What you can do instead is trust in God to give you wisdom and guidance.

    Lynx: You wanna talk about FATE!? The only fate I have is ensuring that the world never ends in the future I was sent back in time from! If I still exist then the wrong results at any given show at WZCW could put the world back onto the brink of destruction!

    A few seconds pass before either speak.

    Josh: Then who's winning the Lethal Lottery?

    Lynx: I AM!

    Josh: I see. Bro! Come on out.

    From behind the pillar next to Browning a familiar face is seen walking up to Lynx. Long blonde hair, red cammo pants, a huge sword in one hand, and zelda triforce images on his red boots.

    Theron: It's been a long time coming, Panther. Nice job on winning the Expert Prestige Championship. If you want to know what REAL courage is, do well in the Risky Raffle and then come find me.

    Lynx: I thought you were overseas saving the world? Where would I find you?

    Theron: Oh, I won't be hard to find. For now, focus on the Risky Raffle. You already did something I couldn't when you defeated Mint Morrison to win a title that eluded me during my career. Now I want you to do something else I couldn't, and win the Risky Raffle. Good luck, Panther. Everyone is counting on you.

    Lynx nods his head. The music stops playing. A long bolt of lightning is seen in the sky behind the three men and a loud thunder strike is heard.

    Lynx: I won't let you down.
     
    #15
  16. Rainbow Yaz

    Rainbow Yaz Sing about me, I'm dying of thirst
    E-Fed Mod

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    The scorching African heat had been beating down on us all day. It was mid afternoon when we reached the outskirts of the town of Katsina. Most of the roads in the area were in poor condition, as had become increasingly normal as we traveled further north in our journey. The camels we used for travel were visibly tiring as we approached a stable just inside the city proper. I still recall some of the jokes the inexperienced team made when we were told camels would be our means of transportation for much the remaining journey.

    Nigeria had a rich history if breeding powerful pack horses, among the strongest and most durable in all of Africa, but our main financial backer, Maxwell Hunter insisted we were spreading our budget too thin at this point. So he labored on, for the better part of two weeks in the region. The proper cities in the northern part of Nigeria were more spread out than most other areas, so we took ample time to rest and recharge each time we stopped. The terrain was not as rough as other parts of our journey. We were in an elevated region, but the major mountain ranges were far rougher than this. Most of the thick tropical jungle we encountered was along the border with Cameroon. The issue was this region was so arid, water was scarce. It sounded like a bad infomercial for Save The Children or Action Against Hunger, but unless you had the pleasure and good fortune to live in a populated area, you often had to travel miles for fresh water.

    We helped a couple of the stable boys unload our gear and were pointed in the direction of an inn where we would be staying overnight. This is where we would meet our local guide and translator, Ode. Most of the people we encountered spoke very passable English. Not to the level of a native speaker in Britain or America, but education had come a long way in civilized regions of most of Africa. Ode was there because many of the people in isolated regions of Northern Nigeria and Southern Niger, where we would be for the next few weeks, instead spoke some variant of the Hausa language. It was one of the many native languages of Africa that was slowly being replaced by more modern languages.

    All I knew of Ode was that we was a native of the region, actually being born in one of the many isolated villages. His mother died when Ode was young and he grew up in an orphanage in Kano after being found by missionaries. He had a US college education though, and was interested in film, which made him far more qualified than the vast majority of the film crew.

    We took a quick stroll through town before we made our way to the inn. Once inside I was greeted and asked if I was here for anything in particular.

    "Business." I replied.

    "Do you know De-Wey?" The man asked as I sat down my bag.

    "Yes, I am Dewey. Dewey Westbloom. Film maker."

    The man smiled as we shook hands and motioned for me to follow him.

    "I have heard of you, though I cannot say I have seen any of your work. I hear you intend to profile the native people."

    "Yes, it is my goal to allow those all around the world to view the life of traditional tribesman in their day to day lives. To dispel the notions of rampant cannibalism and savagery."

    The man stopped, then turned to face me.

    "I respect your goal, to show us as people just as anyone else, but the myths of tribal life were not built on nothing. They are more than tales of epic white men who tamed the wild African savages of the eighteen hundreds/ However, like all myths, there is some truth to the stories told."

    "My journalistic integrity drives me to uncover truth, no matter how outlandish the truth may appear."

    "Much of the African wild remains a mystery, tall tales still abound. There is one, rooted locally, of a man who is more god than man. A giant in the flesh. Maybe your journalistic integrity will lead you to the truth about him."

    We arrived at my room and I was told Ode would be up shortly.

    I rummaged through my bag, to find a journal I had kept. I opened to a page I had marked with a dog ear. This legend of a giant who roamed the land, this was not the first I had heard of him. I traced back the notes, the first mention was when we arrived in Nigeria in the southern city of Lagos. The same myth popped up in the cities of Kano and Jos. As we moved further north, the legend of a literal giant became more frequent, but the crew and I wrote them off as ancient myth. Surely with so many mentions of a legend, they were trying to cut a scathing promo on a historical champion.

    I pulled out my satellite phone, hoping to make a call to Maxwell before my meeting with Ode. The conversation was quick and one sided. The budget was empty and we didn't have enough material for the full film. We had to find something to recoup costs soon, or the plus would be pulled and the entire trip would be for naught.

    Soon, a knock came at my door. A deep voice came from the other side.

    "Mr. De-wey, it is Ode. I have a small errand to run but if you will meet me in about fifteen minutes in the dining room, we can discuss your intentions."

    I rose to greet him, but when I got to the door he was gone. I took a moment to gather my journal and maps, and made my way to the dining room.

    When I arrived, I did feel eyes on me. Being a white man in exotic lands wasn't new to me, but it occurred to me I still had the stink of the day on me. I was given a menu and a glass of water by a waiter, and was told Ode would be along shortly. Sometimes being the only white man in a room had its advantages.

    I looked over the menu and settled on some beef Kilishi, a local favorite of mine, and Luru soup. I also asked for an order of funkaso to be delivered to my room later. The local take on pancakes was a sweet dish that I had never experienced elsewhere.

    Soon I saw a man who had to duck to fit through the door frame walk in. he smiled when he saw me and took a seat across from me.

    "Mr. De-wey, pleased to meet you. I am Ode, I was hired by Mr. Maxwell Hunter to accompany you on this portion of the trip."

    I shook his hand, a powerful grip. He was a large man and though I tried to avoid the cliche, I instantly knew how he had achieved a college education.

    "Pleased to meet you Ode. I'm sure your inside knowledge will be a great help along the way. So I must ask, what position did you play?"

    Ode smiled before he spoke.

    "While I was not particularly good, I was center for the varsity team. Being blessed with such height made up for a lack of even basic basketball skills."

    Ode was indeed tall, his hands much larger than mine. I noticed he wore open toed shoes, likely a product of the difficulty in finding appropriately sized footwear.

    "It was actually at Notre Dame that I was introduced to Mr. Maxwell. He was my sponsor when I arrived in America. He always spoke of my greatness on the court, but those American players, they are so much more skilled than those from my village. I was a big fish in a small pond, literally. I think my failure to develop into a serviceable player, especially after my knee surgery, did not sit well with Mr. Maxwell. He still continued with, what phrase did he use....under the table? Yes, under the table gifts during my four years though."

    I could not help but laugh to myself over Ode being given special attention and privilege due to his status as a collegiate athlete.

    "I hear you have an interest in film."

    The smile on his face widened.

    "Oh yes, I have always loved American cinema. It is why I was so eager to help on this journey.

    "Well I am glad to have you on board." I reached beside my chair and pulled up one of my maps. "Are you familiar with the region circled?"

    His smile faded a bit.

    "I am Mr. De-wey, and if you intend to go there my presence will certainly be required. There is much tribal conflict in the region, and without my acting as your guide, you may end up in an unsafe area."

    My eyes widened a bit. We were never told of such strife in the region, but it was not something I had not handled before.

    "I'm sure we will be safe, but I am glad we will have you as insurance. Before I chart our path, there is something I want to ask you about." I pulled my journal onto the table and opened to my bookmarked page. "This may sound silly, but have you heard the stories of a giant that reportedly roams the wilderness?"

    Ode chuckled. "If you intend to send someone else to college on a basketball scholarship, I don't think Mr. Maxwell would be so happy."

    I smiled back. "It must just be a legend after all."

    Ode checked his watch. "I apologize, but I have another errand to run. I have been trying to find funding to set up a theater here, and that requires my attention again. What time would you like to meet in the morning?"

    I checked my journal and maps again. "The village I'd like to film tomorrow is more than an hour away, so I would like to be geared up and ready to set out by nine."

    Ode shook my hand again and stood to leave. He took a couple of steps, then turned back to face me.

    "You know, I can get you a truck. There is no need to continue to burden the crew with camel back travel."

    I smiled. "That would help us greatly."

    Ode nodded back at me before he turned to walk out, again ducking under the door frame. My food arrived and I decided to take it to go, so I would have more time to chart out our course.

    When morning rolled around, I packed my gear and met the crew and Ode just outside the inn. Ode came through on his truck, and a few of us packed in and set off. Ode warned again of the potential danger. Our intention was to profile Dambe, a traditional and violent spectacle akin to bare knuckle boxing.

    "Ode, do you know the name of the village in this region?"

    Ode turned back to face me. "I do not. All I know is that it is one of the few villages along the border that still practices Dambe as a mean to prepare for war. Many of the villages have turned it into a traveling spectacle. They play up the event to entice crowds to pay money."

    One of the issues, as was common place, is that there is no official record of the villages in the region. We only had an approximate location based upon the migratory patterns of their sport animals.

    After more than an hour of following the roads, we were forced off road in search of the village. The truck had some issues, but the terrain cooperated with us for most of the trip. Soon, we began to find signs that the tribesmen had been in the area. It took some time, the sun was at its peak, before we finally came to the outskirts of our destination. Some farmers tended to small flocks of cows and sheep, so we knew it wouldn't be long before we reached the actual village.

    When we arrived, Ode was the first to step out and did his best to quell any fears and concerns the tribal elders had. They were skeptical, so Ode came to the car to fetch me.

    "Some of the elders speak some English. They want to hear in your own words why you are here."

    I nodded and walked with Ode back to the elders. They were never hostile, but it was obvious they were on guard. We spoke briefly, with Ode filling in the gaps. After a few minutes and my reassurances that I meant them no harm, they invited us to watch their Dambe tournament that afternoon. I thanked them and offered what provisions I could to show my hospitality. One of the elders was particularly interested in the chocolate bar I had, so I broke him off a piece. He shoved it in his mouth and a smile broke out on his face. This caused those of us around him to laugh.

    Ode and I walked back to the truck to get some equipment.

    "I have never actually witnessed a tournament, this is a lucky occurrence for us."

    "Was this a common sport in your village?"

    "Not as common today as it once was. I have heard stories of a death in one such contest before my birth. This lead my village to reduce to number of fights."

    "How did he die?"

    "My father, he was a respected fighter with an impeccable record. One day, he was to fight a rival. Tradition says you are to wrap your lead hand, the spear hand, in a thick cord wrap. My father's rival, without anyone knowing, dipped his spear hand in resin and rolled the wrap in broken glass. An illegal practice."

    "Ode, that is awful, I am sorry that...."

    Ode burst out into a fit of laughter. "Haha, I got you Mr. De-Wey. It was a joke."

    "Very funny."

    "My father was killed before I was born though."

    "My condolences."

    "Yes, I still have the head of the lion that killed him on my wall."

    I shot a crooked glance at him. He smirked.

    "Actually, my father was the one who wrapped his hand in the glass."

    I looked at him, he was still smirking. It was clearly a joke to him. We arrived at the site of the fights. A crude ring has been set up with sandbags and the crowd had gathered, most in the shade of the nearby trees. One of the crew set up a camera and after a few moments to find the best lighting, Ode and I stepped in front. The cameraman gave us the signal that he was rolling.


    "As our journey through the untamed African wilderness continues, we have a special treat for you today. I am here with Ode Okeke, Nigerian native. Ode, can you give us an explanation of what is about to take place behind us?"

    Ode was a little nervous as he spoke.

    "In Nigeria, we have a sport called Dambe. Put simply, Dambe is the literal translation of the Hausa word for boxe. While exact rules vary from region to region, it is essentially bare knuckle boxing. It dates back to the days of tribal warfare and was originally used to prepare tribal warriors for combat. Two men, know in traditional Hausa as daæmaænga, start by wrapping their strong hand, known as the spear, in a thick clothes wrap. They then traditionally wrap a knotted cord around the wrap. This is their primary means of offense. The off hand, known as the shield, is held open and can be used to grab and hold an opponent. In many tribes, the daæmaænga will also wrap a heavy chain around their lead leg as a means of both offense and defense. Though originally only a boxing event, the sport has evolved into more of a pure striking sport with more and more men using kicks. Violence is expected, with the referee only stepping in to end the fights. Fights last until one of the two men if knocked down, known as a kill. If at any time either fighter has their hand or knee touch the ground, a short break will be called by the referee to allow the fallen man to regain himself. While the violence is expected and the goal is to essentially knock your opponent out, the men typically have no desire to do long lasting damage."

    I nodded at Ode and allowed him to take a seat under a nearby tree.

    "Thank you Ode. According to the tribal elders who have allowed us to film, we will be witnessing a full fledged tournament today. Ode made mention before we started filming how rare this is and how lucky we are to witness such an event."

    With that the cameraman stopped filming and we made our way to Ode. He seemed excited to be helping, but I noticed a grimace upon his face when the cameraman set up to begin filming the men prepping for fights.

    "Is everything okay Ode?"

    He took a deep breath. "I am proud of my people Mr. De-Wey. I would not change who I am for anything, but my time in America showed me that not everyone views my people as equal. I am no savage. I am educated, I have degrees in both Film Production and Sports Science from Notre Dame University. I have value in this world, but many of these people, my people, they are nothing more than savages. In my time at Notre Dame, I saw many people in Indiana are not good people, quick to judge those that are different. Many Americans, hell, many people all over the globe, are quick to judge what is different. I do not want my people painted in a negative light."

    I put my hand on his shoulder. "The world will always be home to terrible people Ode, it is simply the way humans are. My goal however, is to show that these people, your people, may be different, but they are still human. How is this ritual any different than the UFC or professional wrestling?I give you my word, I will not allow your people to be painted as ignorant bloodthirsty savages."

    Despite being much taller than me, Ode smile seemed to have a childlike quality.

    "Thank you Mr. De-Wey."

    I patted his back and settled in next to him to watch the tournament.

    For the next couple of hours, we watched the intense action. Men of all sizes did battle. Many were left bloody from the affair, but there was always a show of sportsmanship after the fight. I made mention to Ode that the compassion the men showed after their battles was more than many civilized people could say, and he agreed. Finally the tournament finale was upon us. The two men who had advanced wore their battle scars with honor as they stepped into the ring. One of the tribal elders made his way between them and began to speak in his native tongue. Ode gave me the gist of what he was saying, how the winner of this fight could challenge the gods themselves. Suddenly, as the elder introduced the men by their names, something that had not been done before, Ode laughed.

    "Something funny?"

    "The man on the left, his name is Akachukwu. His name means 'the hand of God' and he is in a fist fight. How can he lose?"

    I did not find the joke as funny, but I faked a smile. The other man, Ochuko, took the early advantage in the fight and knocked Akachukwu down on two separate occasions in short order. Soon however, the crowd began to chant something, and Akachukwu seemed to come alive. His attacks forced Ochuko against the edge of the ring, the referee having to warn him many times to not step outside the border. Finally, with a thunderous right land, the right hand of God, Akachukwu floored Ochuko, sending him falling outside of the circle and flat on his back. Ode and I could not help but join in the cheers for the winner.

    "That truly was an amazing sight."

    Akachukwu was soon mobbed by his friends and family. The referee helped Ochuko to his feet, just as the sound of a drum rang out. In an instant, the crowd fell silent. The elder began to speak. Ode whispered to me as he did.

    "I have never heard this before. The elder, he says that Akachukwu has earned the right to prove himself to the gods."

    I took a few notes in my journal so I would have something for a voice over later. The crowd around Akachukwu began to leave his side and a worried look came over his face. From a nearby hut, a tribal shaman emerged and began to chant something. Ode himself was unsure what was happening. Soon, from the hut, emerged the source of legend.

    Ode's eyes widened. "This man, this giant, he is the god they speak of."

    The giant man, who stood even taller than Ode, was the largest man I had ever seen. I couldn't tell from where I was sitting, but he stood well over seven feet tall. Some of the crew pulled out their phones and began to film.

    "That is one big nig...."

    "Dude! You can't say that!"

    "Nigerian?"

    Ode and I stood in awe as the man was lead to the ring. Akachukwu approached him nervously, as the other fighters formed a circle around them. One of the elders banged the drum, and Akachukwu began to strike at the giant. The blows had no effect, the giant simply swatted them away as if they were flies.

    As Ode, the crew, and myself all stood, the giant threw a single punch and sent Akachukwu to the ground. The giant stood over the fallen man, before glancing at the shaman from before. The shaman gave him a look, and the giant placed his foot on the neck of Akachukwu. Akachukwu struggled, arms flailing as the life began to be choked out of him. The rest of the fighters realized what was happening and rushed at the giant. With ease, he threw them aside. Multiple men tried at once to attack the giant, and all failed. In the commotion, Akachukwu managed to crawl away. Soon the giant stood tall over the bodies of the fallen men. The shaman motioned for another elder to sound the drum, then the shaman shouted something in Hausa to the giant. The giant then proceeded to walk back to the hut and disappeared from view.

    Ode and I looked at each other, doing our best to make sense of what just happened. Suddenly my satellite phone rang, it was Maxwell. I walked some feet away from the crowd and spoke. Maxwell however, gave me only a number to call. He said he had a business opportunity and he needed input from Ode and myself. I wrote the number down and said I would call when we returned to the city. Maxwell informed to to call right away and do exactly as I was told. He hung up with no warning.

    I called Ode over and I dialed the number Maxwell had given me. I pressed the button to put the call on speaker so Ode could listen in. It rang a few times before someone picked up.

    "Hello?"

    "Hi, this is Dewey Westbloom, I was told by Maxwell Hunter to call this number."

    "Ah, Mr. Westbloom, I was expecting this call. You are prompt, I like that. My name is Kenneth Banks. Mr. Hunter and I have a business deal in the works and we need you to help us complete it. Before I go any further, I need you to make sure you are alone."

    I motioned to Ode, who nodded and went back to the crowd.

    "What I am going to propose is unconventional, but it will make all of us involved a lot of money."

    I noticed some of the crew watching over the video as I took the phone off speaker, wondering what I was about to get myself into.
     
    #16
    Bernkastel and Infinity like this.
  17. Infinity

    Infinity Starving (Martial) Artist

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    "Sometimes, you don’t have to pull the trigger." -Priya



    We are welcomed by the serene sounds of a flowing river on this sunny day. Immediately we see Vega sitting on bright, almost neon green grass beside this river, his glassy eyes glaze unfocused towards the rushing water. He sees something out of the corner of his eye and slowly moves his head in that direction upstream. He squints while studying what captured his attention. Vega’s head tilts as it becomes clearer;

    a human body gently flows down the river towards him.

    Vega doesn’t react as the body floats passed him and slowly disappears into the distance. Before he can formulate a coherent thought, another body approaches in the river. Vega sits there, legs stretched out, watching the lifeless body float on by. Right on cue, another body enters the scene, followed by another, and another. Dozens of naked, lifeless corpses begin floating by. Vega calmly gets to his feet and begins walking towards the water.



    Will?


    Vega doesn’t respond.

    He just continues to wander towards the river until, without breaking his stride, he just walks right into the water. Vega floats down the river surrounded by the drifting deceased, making no effort to stay afloat. His head bobs above and below the water as the speed begins to pick up. With every second that passes it feels as if more and more bodies float beside him. It gets to the point where the amount of bodies become too much, and a proverbial log jam is created. Vega hits this human dam causing him to come to a halt. Bodies begin piling up on him, and slowly he disappears in a sea of lifeless limbs.



    Are you in there?


    Vega doesn’t respond.

    He isn’t even visible. All the color in the scene begins to change as the sun abruptly decides to set. Movement begins within this lifeless landfill. Vega shoves some limbs out of his way as he gets to the surface. He crawls over an endless array of bodies on his hands and knees when a rumble in the distance catches his attention. He looks up to see man on a motorcycle riding at a blazing speed right towards him. Vega finds himself standing straight up with a jet-black handgun in his right hand and aiming it directly for the biker. He has the biker right in his sights, but nothing happens. He furrows his eyebrows as he curiously stares at the side of his gun. Convinced there’s nothing wrong, he points it back towards the biker. This time he notices that the biker is brandishing a pistol of his own. Vega wants to shoot, but before he can he hears…



    -Click-


    -CLACK-



    …the piercing sound of a gun reverberates inside his head as the biker zooms right passed him. Vega turns to see where the biker went but is blinded by flashing lights.

    The lights are from Hollywood style spotlights shining down in front of Vega, illuminating a tall man with a crimson red face, wearing a golden belt. He is holding small golden statues in each of his hands as cameras and photographers surround the scene. Vega approaches the man and reaches for his crimson face. Slowly, Vega pulls the man’s red mask off to reveal a faceless figure with sunglasses. After taking a deep inhale, Vega steps back and aims the gun at his faceless foe.



    Are you okay?


    Nothing. Again. Vega helplessly stares at his gun, when the lights, and the faceless man suddenly disappear. A piece of paper floats in the air. Vega grabs it. It’s an autographed picture of the man behind the red mask.

    Vega lets go of it. It slowly floats down to the ground, next to a closed briefcase he’s just now noticing. He bends at the knee and opens it up. Inside, he finds a crown fit for a King… or Queen. He grabs it with his left hand, but as he gets to his feet a hand reaches out and takes it away. A woman with long black hair and a golden belt places the crown over her head. It glows like a blessed halo. Vega takes aim for the woman’s head, but she stands there fearlessly staring down the barrel of the gun. His hand shakes, and he lowers the weapon, shaking his head in disbelief. The royal woman turns her back to Vega and walks until she fades away.



    -Clank-


    A metallic banging sounds off in the distance. Vega starts walking towards it when he hears something else… a countdown.











    Complete darkness covers the scene for just a moment before the light returns along with a futuristic looking man with a golden belt holding a clock in his hand. The man opens his mouth, but we can only hear the sound of a ticking clock. Vega aims the barrel of the gun directly into this man’s clicking mouth.



    -Clank-


    The metallic banging in the distance draws Vega’s attention long enough for the futuristic man to disappear into the darkness to continue his travels. Vega ignores his disappearance and continues towards the sound. A door appears in the distance. The door knob rattles with another loud bang metallic bang is heard.


    -CLANK-


    Vega points the gun at the door but can’t pull the trigger once again. Suddenly, the sound of the river returns. Vega holds the gun close to his eyes to study it closer. Unable to figure out what he is doing wrong, he falls to his knees… and inches the barrel of the pistol right up against his temple.


    -CLANK-


    The smashing of a fire extinguisher down against a bathroom doorknob breaks us into reality. Priya stands there in a growing puddle of water holding the extinguisher as the door slowly swings open. There kneels Vega on the wet tile floor of his bathroom with a jet-black FN Five-Seven semi-automatic pistol nestled up against the side of his head. The sound of the water rushing out of his faucet into the porcelain bathtub sounds like a flowing river, the overflowing water crashes down next to Vega, who just kneels there looking up with his glassy bloodshot eyes and wildly dilated pupils. Priya, however, is literally blind to all of this, but still senses something is very wrong.


    Will… are you in there?

    Are you okay?



    Vega doesn’t respond.

    Instead, the hand holding the pistol begins to shake. Priya hears the weapon rattle and remains calm, vaguely aware of Vega’s history.



    Will?


    He motions his head towards her.


    What’s wrong?


    With the gun still at his head, Vega finally responds…


    I can’t pull the trigger.


    Priya walks into the flooded bathroom and kneels down in front of Vega. She gently caresses his face with her fingertips, sliding them from his mouth, to his nose, to his eyes, and slowly to the weapon. Vega lets Priya grab the pistol without a struggle.


    It’s okay, Will. Sometimes, you don’t have to pull the trigger.


    Priya turns her head over towards the overflowing bathtub.


    Sun Tzu once said, “If you wait by the river long enough, the bodies of your enemies will float by.”


    She leans towards the bathtub while reaching for the faucet. Priya shuts off the water with one hand while still holding the gun in the other. She sits against the bathtub, both her and Vega drenched.


    You know Will, sometimes I think the only reason you ever allowed me into your life is because you thought I would never be able to see the real you.


    Priya lifts herself up off the floor.


    The truth is… I can see the real you…

    and this isn’t it.



    Vega looks up towards Priya. He reaches out his hand… but Priya is blindly unaware of the gesture. She turns around and exits the room, leaving Vega alone, on his knees, with one hand stretched out.
     
    #17
  18. Lee

    Lee Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No it's Supermod!
    Staff Member Super Moderator E-Fed Mod

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    [​IMG]

    Chapter 1: The Dollar


    "I've looked around the locker room lately, and I see giants, but I don't see any monsters."

    Ramparte sat in the corporate office with the General Manager of Ascension. Becky Serra glanced up from the forms she was filling out and sat Kenneth Bank's old pen aside. The Recluse fidgeted a little in his seat, barely composing himself.

    "After tonight...oh boy...you're going to kiss the soles of my feet, Becky."

    "Big words, Ram. Glad to see you out of your wheelchair by the way."

    "Thanks. But tonight isn't about me. It's about you. It's about you and how much money you're willing to make."

    Serra turned back to her signing. "Not sure I follow."

    "I have a gift. There is a man in my care who can help liven the place up a bit. A modern monster. Somebody who...has a few things wrong upstairs. Poor guy survived in a demolished movie theater for years. Fairly sure you heard about this online."

    "Might have skimmed over it. This sounds like a liability. No dice, Ramparty."

    Ramparte gritted his teeth, realizing his name was still a joke among the higher ups. He nodded, stood up, and picked up one of the folders on her desk. Rebecca stared hard at the former tag team champion.

    "They're only liabilities when they're on the books, Miss Serra. Like I said, this man is my gift to you. Off the record. He doesn't need a paycheck. He's the government's problem. You can write him off as a charity case, because in all actuality that's what he is. You could be a true humanitarian if you let him have a match here and there. Makes the company look good, you'll rake in money - that thing you love so much, and the public never has to know our secret. What they don't know won't hurt them. And besides, it's not like we haven't hired a crazy now and then." The alumni dropped the folder back onto the pile. "Everybody loves them a monster in the Lethal Lottery."

    "Alright, but why aren't you asking to get in yourself? You know your credentials are more than enough to enter. I'm having a tough time understanding what's in it for you to help out some guy you met. Not to sound insulting, but I'm not stupid. This is sketchy, especially with your history in WZCW."

    Ramparte walked across the Prussian blue rug and gazed out the window; it stretched from floor to ceiling. His reflection grimaced. "I'm genuinely offended, Serra. I have always done right by WZCW. Never took up arms. Never questioned yours or any authority figure's decision. That's more than I can say for someone like Tyrone Blades, and that **** he's with...forgot her name. But anyways, I know I'm hard to work with. I'm doing all I can to do right this time around. Karma has been important to me the months I was confined to a wheelchair. I prayed to God every single day that, if I walked again, I'd pay it forward. So this is me trying to be a human being, Miss Serra. Trying to give somebody else a chance. Someone who desperately needs it."

    "And you think a large disturbed man is a good fit for this company?"

    "This is wrestling. Where else could he go?"




    Chapter 2: The Destroyer












    [​IMG]





















    Chapter 3: The Debut



    "He's not going to be in a straight jacket or chains is he?"

    Ramparte chuckled as they walked down the hall together. "No no, nothing silly like that. He's no different than you or me. He can even speak, though he doesn't do it often. I should say there are a few assistants with him, though. They're here to aid him as he transitions back into society. And don't worry - they aren't equipped with cattle prods and night sticks. Professional counselling is their defense, and it is solid."

    Becky Serra looked relieved. They came around the corner and the aids were there, speaking calmly to the sitting man.

    "So this is our new superstar. Hello there friend!" she said with syrup in her voice.

    "Please don't speak to him like that. He's an adult and he knows as much."

    "Okay okay. Well I hear you're a big guy wanting to work with us tonight. I'm someone who can make that happen. Want to wrestle?"

    The man stared at the General Manager for a brief moment. His eyes peered down, deep in thought. A minute felt like an eternity for Ramparte and Becky Serra before he put his hands on his knees and pulled himself up. He towered over both of them, swallowing up most of the hallway. When Serra spoke to Ramparte, she did it without breaking her gaze.


    "What's his name?"
     
    #18
  19. Lee

    Lee Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No it's Supermod!
    Staff Member Super Moderator E-Fed Mod

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    "Phones are forbidden inside the sanctuary Michael, you are aware of this."

    I shot my head up and turned around. Anjo, one of the head monks was standing behind me. I sighed, hit pause, and hung my head and handed my phone over.

    "Sorry."

    Anjo took a moment to look at the phone. He started the video from the beginning. He watched for a few seconds before he spoke.

    "You are in no trouble. Many of us come to this place to distance ourselves from our old life, and we struggle with moving on. Even Buddha himself was tempted many times by the demon Mara with promises of beautiful women."

    I stood from the mat in the floor, taking a moment to straighten and stretch my back.

    "I promise, Anjo, I am no longer tempted to return to that lifestyle."

    Anjo chuckled slightly.

    "Other than your reluctance to cut your hair, you have shown great devotion thus far. you are even starting to look more and more like Budai each day."

    Anjo poked my stomach. It was true. At my peak in WZCW, I was weighing in at three twenty five. Last time I had checked myself here, I was over three sixty.

    "Old habits die hard."

    As I said this I motioned to a cheeseburger wrapper at the foot of my bed.

    "Ah yes, your reluctance to adhere to the vegetarian diet. Or in your won words, 'I ain't eating no rabbit food!'"

    I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. Anjo smiled back.

    "Walk with me Michael."

    He motioned for me to follow, so I slipped on my sandals and followed him out the door.

    "How long have you been here Michael?"

    I took a moment to think and count on my fingers.

    "Well I got out of the hospital in early August of last year. Took about three or so months of rehab before I was able to get around again unaided. I remember spending Christmas alone."

    I trailed off a moment as we rounded a corner and stepped into the monastery garden.

    "It wasn't long after that, that I decided I needed a new start. Did some research, ended up in Denmark by mid January. Found this place a few days later. So six weeks maybe?"

    "Do you know in that six weeks you have made more known about your old life than anyone? This place was completed in twenty fifteen. Hundreds have passed through here. Some just needed a quick boost, others seeking long term salvation. Out of all of them, no one has revealed their inner demons and pains like you have."

    "I'm desperate to move on from my old life."

    "You say that, but you still cling to your old ways. Cutting your hair, trimming your beard, they will not lead you to enlightenment. Nor will giving up the consumption of meat. However, you have been reprimanded multiple times for using forbidden technology. Each time you accept your punishment without issue, but you turn right around and do it again."

    "It is only the one video."

    "We have noticed. Each time you are caught, and it appears you want to be caught, you take the punishment in stride. Not a single complaint or utterance of discomfort at the punishment, but you continue to go back. Why?"

    I stop walking, pausing to look at my reflection in the nearby koi pond. I don't answer, I just watch the fish that swim by, expecting food.

    "This is why I have asked to talk to you today Michael."

    He begins to walk to a nearby meditation hut and motions me inside.

    "Come, and allow us to reflect for a moment."

    I walk inside with him and we take a spot on the rug, facing each other.

    "Please, use Quarter Lotus position."

    I try to get into position but struggle a little.

    "Is it okay if I use Burmese? Easier on my thighs. Cheeseburgers and all that."

    Anjo nods his head and we take our positions and close our eyes.

    "Focus only on your inner self."

    I did my best to concentrate, and soon the world around me began to fade away.

    "When you find yourself alone, void of the world, please tell me."

    I focused only on myself, tuning out the faint sounds around me. Soon, in my head, I found myself alone in a dark room. I acknowledge to Anjo that I was ready to continue.

    "Now, Michael, I want you to look deep within and tell me, why did you come here?"

    Instantly I spoke.

    "I told you, to start over. To kind peace for myself."

    "Your actions betray your words. Look deeper. Speak only when you are sure of the answer."

    My mind raced. It was as if in that dark room in my mind, my life started to play out before me. I saw myself as a child. Bullied, abused, abandoned. The image of me crying was a constant.

    "To find peace. "

    Anjo did not speak. The pictures continued in my head. To me as a teenager. More bullying. Rejection. Lack of friends and isolation.

    "I told you, to find peace with the life I lived."

    Again, Anjo did not speak and my life continued to move forward inside my head. I got to my early adult years. All I wanted was peace.

    "Peace Anjo. Peace."

    Anjo spoke, catching me off guard.

    "Open your eyes."

    As I opened my eyes, Anjo pulled out my phone and brought up the video again.

    "We all want peace Michael, that is why we are all here. Your actions though, they render your words useless. your actions continue to betray you."

    He hit play and spoke over the video.

    "Many of us come here directionless. At low points. When this place was founded, our mission was to use the teachings Siddhārtha Gautama bestowed upon us to help people end struggle and find peace. We have helped drug addicts, criminals, the mentally ill. We do not discriminate and we do not turn away. We work with any and everyone to help them achieve peace. Your reluctance to commit full stop to a Buddhist lifestyle is not the reason you fail to find peace. You fail to find peace because you continue to lie to yourself about why you are here Michael."

    I was impressed at his ability to call me out without being angry. I was also impressed at his ability to see through my bullshit.

    "I just want peace. It is all I have ever wanted in life."

    Anjo handed me my phone.

    "Though many of us who serve here are not as connected to the world as most, we are not ignorant to the outside world."

    I handed my phone back to Anjo, he motioned me to stand. We slipped our sandals on as he motioned me back outside.

    "We know who you are Michael."

    I quickly cut him off and corrected him.

    "No, you knew who I was. Everyone knew who I was."

    "You were one of the best professional wrestlers in the world. Your name was on marquees, your face in the cover of magazines. That was taken from you, and you are angry."

    I motioned to some rocks on the far edge of the pond. Anjo nodded and we made our way toward them, resting upon them.

    "I am not angry at what Mark Keaton did. What Mark Keaton did is commonplace in my line of work. Even I took advantage of shortcuts."

    I raised my robe enough to show Anjo my leg.

    "See this?"

    I pointed to a black and yellow bar code tattoo.

    "This was the symbol of James Howard, my first tag team partner. James was like the older brother I never had. He and his wife took me into their home, they cared for me when I was at my lowest. How did I repay him? By beating the hell out of him, lifting him to the top rope, and slamming him as hard as I could. All so I could win a title."

    I then pointed to another tattoo. Script of the words "Live Más."

    "This was the name of the team Matt Tastic and I formed. Guy was my best friend in the entire world. He even tried to help me the night Mark Keaton tried to end my career. What did I do for him? Used him to catapult myself into a number one contender position. It wasn't even for an actual title, and I threw that away."

    I pointed to a third. A broken heart and lipstick print.

    "This one, for Eve Taylor. I loved Eve, no two ways about it. I valued winning more than her love though. So when it became obvious what I was using her for, she bolted. I don't blame her one bit."

    I let my robe fall back down my leg.

    "I'm no stranger to using other people. Shit, my entire career is basically me using others as a stepping stone to success. Look at every title I ever won, then look for the boot print on the back of someone who got me there, I was supposed to be a good guy too! The crowd loved me!"

    Anjo looked as if he wanted to speak, but he allowed me to continue.

    "Ever since I could remember, every single fiber of my being, I just wanted to find a place to fit in. That place was WZCW. Not many people know, but I didn't start my career in WZCW. I was wrestling small shows in bingo halls and high school gyms around the Midwest. It was by a stroke of luck that Johnny Klamor was doing a story on the Midwest wrestling scene, and happened to be at a show I main evented. He pitched me to WZCW brass, and I got hired a few weeks later. From day one, when I walked from behind the curtain on Aftershock, I knew I found my home. WZCW has plenty of stars who had lives outside of wrestling. Titus is still one of the best actors in Hollywood today. John Constantine was a senator before he was ever World Champion. Justin Cooper was the worst person to win a Grammy since Milli Vanilli. Ace Stevens was about as funny as Dane Cook, but both of them had a life outside of WZCW. Eve Taylor was a world renown model. They all had success outside of WZCW. They all had a life outside WZCW. Me? I dropped out of community college because I couldn't stop playing Modern Warfare Two. WZCW was my success. WZCW was my life!"

    Anjo smiled.

    "Thank you, Michael."

    "For what?"

    "For admitting what you seek."

    I look at Anjo, a bit puzzled.

    "Many people, they come to seek peace, but do now know the peace they seek. Your peace, is acceptance. WZCW was your peace."

    "And it was taken from me."

    Anjo nodded.

    "While I do not wish you had moved far from your home, to a foreign land, I am happy you have found your answer."

    Anjo handed my phone to me, he had the number of WZCW HQ pulled up, ready to dial.

    "Anjo, I have done all there is to do in WZCW. I have won World Titles. I have main evented Kingdom Come. I have set records in the tag team division. Why would I want to go back? I hold no hatred to Mark Keaton. I hold no ill toward anyone."

    Anjo smiled.

    "To regain your peace."

    I smiled at Anjo as I took the phone.

    "Thank you Anjo, I will never forget this place and what you have done for me."

    "I wish you the best, Mikey. You are always welcome here. Just please, next time, shower before you visit. It will take us weeks to get the smell out of your room."
     
    #19
  20. Lee

    Lee Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No it's Supermod!
    Staff Member Super Moderator E-Fed Mod

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    The Kübler-Ross Model of Coping with Loss: A Case Study.

    Stage 1: Denial

    The rain hadn’t stopped for weeks. Torrential downpour after torrential downpour. Tonight it was even worse. A howling wind swirled around the darkened steeples of the building, which loomed over the street, scarecrows but for people. A lone individual was walking through the storm, clutching an overcoat around him as he walked. His gait was peculiar, a well-defined man, he was clearly sportingly active, yet he walked with a laboured limp.

    Shut shop shutters lined the boulevard on both sides with a sole light spilling out into the darkened air. The light belonged to a bar, a run-down beer shack with no real character or anything there. The tattered sign had seen better days, but the name was just about visible on the broken wooden board. The Dream Inn. The Dream had certainly turned into a nightmare. The man didn’t want to go in, who would? But it was getting colder and wetter so he had to. Any port in a storm.

    Inside wasn’t much better than outside. The carpets were sticky and an air of stale beer and disillusioned souls permeated the atmosphere. Nicotine stained woodchip wallpaper and faded photographs of forgotten patrons decorated the wall. With his arrival, the number of customers had doubled. His sole company was a sweaty man playing on the fruit machine. He didn’t look like he ate a lot of fruit. Beside him stood a pint of Guinness, which was by now the warmest thing in the city. Pound coin. Down the slot. Another. Down the slot. Another. Down the Slot. Jackpot! Down the slot.

    The Gents toilet door opened a bar manappeared, carrying a mop and a cloth. The unmistakable smell of an ancient, freezing urinal trough followed behind him. He took the cloth and mop behind the bar and took his place at the beer pumps. Without washing his hands, naturally.

    With a voice as gravely and broken as the road outside, he looked at the Soaking Manbefore him.

    So, what’ll it be?

    The soaking man couldn’t bring himself to speak yet. His bloodshot eyes perused the back bar, but it was hard to read the labels through the dust on the bottles and the tears in his eyes. The bar man looked at him, and added a little more force to his words.

    What would you like to drink?

    I need a drink to help me forget

    Forget what, comrade?

    Nothing

    The bar man nodded solemnly, and began to pour a large whisky into a glass that was either frosted or filthy or possibly both. Neat. No ice.

    He slid it across the bar, and returned to toilet cleaning duties, inviting the smell, which had only just ceased lingering back into the room. The room fell silent but for the beeping and coin falling sounds emanating from the man at the Fruit Machine. The soaking man looked at the whisky, the rain still falling from his hair and nose, dripping into the whisky. Diluting its efficacy.

    He drank the whole glass in one, and loudly banged his glass on the table. The bar man, and the smell of urinal cakes, came back into the room as the sound occurred. He went behind the bar.

    Another

    The bar man dutifully obliged before returning to clean the toilets. The door opened wider this time, and for the first time the soaking man could see inside the toilets. There was not enough disinfectant in the world to fix the scene he saw. Nor enough weedkiller.

    And so the scene repeated itself five or six times over the course of the next couple of hours.

    Seat. Drink. Weep. Repeat. Seat. Drink. Weep. Repeat.

    Then, finally, another customer arrived in the bar.

    Like the soaking man before him, he had difficulty seeing what was at the bar. He turned to the soaking man on his stool, who was looking at the tumbler of whisky, refilled for the seventh time.

    Hey Buddy! What you got to do to get service around here?

    It comes

    The soaking man turned towards the new customer, and when he did so a flash of inspiration appeared in the new customer’s eyes.

    Heeeeyyyy, I know you. You’re that wrestler aren’t you?

    No.

    Yeah you are, what was your name?

    You’ve got the wrong guy.

    Garth Black! That’s it, you’re Garth Black

    No. I’m not.

    Yeah you are, you lost your title match last week! To Justin Cooper. You got knocked out.

    I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong guy.

    Mind if I get a selfie?

    Yes.

    The new customer ignored this and got his phone out anyway. As he was attempting to get them both in frame, Black snatched the phone from his hands and dropped it straight into his glass of whisky. The man was flabbergasted.

    What did you do that for, you asshole!

    I said I didn’t want a selfie.

    You have an attitude problem, no wonder you’re no longer the champion.

    With this, the soaking man got up from his stool and landed a right hook on the face of the new customer.

    I told you, I’m not Garth Black.

    The man who was not Garth Black took the phone from the glass and threw it at his prone antagoniser, sparked out on the floor. He then downed his drink and waited for the barman to come back out. When he did so, he walked past the fruit machine, stepped over the man on the floor and poured another drink.


    Stage 2: Anger

    My name is Jezebel Jones. And this is my tale. It’s how I learned that you should never meet your heroes. I’ve always wanted to be a wrestler. Always. From the day I was born, I’d put my little twin sister in headlocks. I could run the ropes before I could walk. All I’ve ever wanted was to do this. All I’ve ever wanted to be was a wrestler.

    But, you know, I don’t look like other girls. My hair is short, my nose is pierced, and I can’t help it if I like awesome music and nobody else does. I’m gonna be huge. But there’s one wrestler who always inspired me. One wrestler who I always thought I wanted to be like. His name? Garth Black.

    Garth Black speaks out, just like me.
    Garth Black looks different, just like me.
    Garth Black conquered his daemons, just like me.
    Garth Black stands up to the man, just like me.
    Garth Black believes in women’s rights, just like me.
    Garth Black is a world champion, just like me.

    One day, anyway.

    When he left, WZCW just wasn’t really worth watching any more. These people, Vis Imperium, Constantine, Tony Mancini, Hollow Ones. They were precisely that, Hollow, completely lacking in the deep down things that matter. They didn’t speak to me like he did, they didn’t have anything to offer. If a guy like Randy Studd turned up at my front door, I wouldn’t even recognise him.

    So I heard that there was going to be a signing event at an indie show in town. I haven’t started to train just yet, so I knew I’d have to buy a ticket. So I bought the ticket, bought three bus tickets and traversed the city. It cost me nearly a hundred dollars and three hours of my time to see him, but it was going to be worth it.

    I knew he wasn’t going to charge me for a photo or an autograph. I knew he’d tell me all about his time on the road. I knew he’d give me some pointers, maybe he’d even offer to train me. Or introduce me to Daddy Mack. I don’t even know. I wanted so badly to speak to him. In the queue my heart started to race. I was getting closer, I could see him. It was wonderful, third in the queue, my idol, second in the queue, my idol…

    My drunk idol. What a waste of space.

    I told him how much I respected him. I told him how much I wanted to come back. I still remember every single word he said back to me. I had recorded it, hoping to get on record the words of a great man. Instead what I got was the angry ramblings of a drunkard.

    “YOU DON’T EVEN CARE WHO I AM! I AM THE GRREATEST WORULD CHAMPION THERES EVER BEEN AND THEY PUT THAT SAP, THAT CHEATING SAP IN THERE IN MY SPOT. WHAT MORE DID I HAVE TO DO? WHAT MORE COULD I DO. YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT ME JELABEZ, YOU ARENT A TRUE BELIEVER. IF YOU WAS YOUD BE TELLING SERRA YOU WANT ME THERE. YOU DON’T GET TO DECIDE FOR ME, I WANT TO GO BACK. I’M SO ANGERY!”

    And so it continued. I’m not even sure I still know what he was trying to say, but I think the general gist was that he was angry. His subsequent actions certainly suggested it. I had poured my heart and soul into this, the only man I trusted, and this was how he repaid that trust.

    Black then flipped the table before him, and the one’s before the other wrestlers. He called them all sellouts and stormed out of the arena. It was like Jesus in the temple. Except Jesus was now the bad guy, and my Jesus, who I’d poured all of my devotion into had let me down. I think that was the day I gave up on all men.

    Garth Black is an angry, pathetic asshole.


    Stage 3: Bargaining



    Stage 4: Depression

    West London Psychiatric Rehabilitation Centre Case Notes.

    Patient name: Garth Black

    Admitted three weeks ago suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Alcoholic tendencies. The patient has seldom seemed himself since he has been admitted. He is withdrawn, to the point of silence at times. Initially he was in the general ward, but it has become clear that he requires constant suicide watch. He seems to have driven himself to this point through constant revisitation of a traumatic incident a few months ago.

    The patient has been very reticent to talk to us throughout the course of his treatment, having a clear aversion to authority figures. At first his proclamations seemed fanatical, but having contacted friends and former colleagues we have seen that rather than being delusional, the patient has been driven to despair by being proven right. Having asserted that the centre believe his story of how he ended up here, he has now indicated that he will be willing to talk to one of our counsellors, providing it is a junior member of the team. We have agreed to this request, and henceforth the notes in this case file are those of Dr. Robert Taylor, a complete and utter novice, but a specialist in dealing with the mentally incapacitated:

    The patient was never really ok with the situation that he faced in WZCW. He felt outside of the kliq. This led to him being very isolationist in his approach from the outset. Having been betrayed by multiple opponents and partners across the time he was in the company, he said that he was no longer capable of trust. The only people who had never let him down, he had turned on in a fit of anger a few weeks ago. There seems to be a great remorseful streak within his mind.

    The redemption is not yet complete though. He feels a sense of tremendous betrayal at his former employers who he felt have punished him for the identification of their own shortcomings. It is the opinion of the medical staff that he is likely to seek revenge on his employers, but the sad fact remains that he is a bigger danger to himself than he is to any outside agent. His stated aim is to ‘be able to get up in the morning, look myself in the mirror and not want to smash it.’

    With that being said, I believe if and when discharged he will seek retribution from as many of his former colleagues as possible. It is my understanding that there is an upcoming work event which will see many of his colleagues competing together. He has stated that his desire is to eliminate as many as possible, particularly any of the turn coats that rode his coat tails. He has repeatedly referred to a Mr. Tastic, a Mr. Blades and a Mr. Avison as people he holds personally responsible for having led to his decline as a performer.
    The Centre was worried that this talk of elimination meant we should contact the police, but having looked into the patients notes, it is clear that he is a professional wrestler, and the event to which he is referring is a wrestling event named ‘WZCW Lethal Lottery’. It is clear he fears nobody within this event, but the Centre fears that should he be included, he is likely to make a spectacle of himself, and rather than making himself the spectacle as he intends.

    Having spoken to a Miss Serra, a senior manager at Wrestlezone Championship Wrestling, she has reassured me that the patient’s invitation to the event is as a guest only, and he will not be invited to perform. It is the belief of the Centre that this is for the best as in the patient’s current fragile mental state, I feel he will wish to seek too much of the audience’s attention and should he fail to get it, he will feel feelings of rejection and dread.

    This patient does not have any identifiable characteristics, but is very clearly suffering from feelings of being unfulfilled, unsupported and unappreciated, and in the medical opinion of the centre he will only be able to remove himself from this spiral of his own creation if he is to open up himself to accepting his own responsibility in his downfall. The patient seems unwilling to do this, so has built himself a mausoleum to misery that he is reluctant to remove himself from.

    It is the opinion of the Centre that it is in the patient’s best interest to leave the Centre and to try and find some self-motivation, but my fear and suspicion is that this sadness that he feels within will be directed outwards towards his former colleagues if he is to come into contact.

    I’d rather them than me.


    Stage 5: Acceptance

    It was half past seven in the morning and the sun was breaking through the crack in Garth Black’s window. The ray of sun had made its way patiently around the darkened room and now it found itself slowly sweeping across the pillow. It had been a long few months, with some ups and a lot of downs, but for the first time in months he slept peacefully. Sure, he still had his plan of action, and he was still going to burst on the scene, but he would be doing it for himself and nobody else.

    He dreamt of the countdown, and as each number was clamoured by the audience is heartbeat raced slightly faster. Who needed alcohol when you could have adrenalin? In Black’s dream he was in the gorilla position peeking through the curtain, just as the sun was doing in his room. He looked at the ring and he could see the blurry figures of the former colleagues that he was about to see. It didn’t matter who they were, and the fact that they were a little wooly around the edges as he looked at them was unproblematic- they looked like lambs to the slaughter because that’s precisely what they were.

    As the countdown reached zero, a faceless wrestler in black tights ran past him. He looked like the base model on create-a-wrestler. But of course, to Black, most wrestlers looked like that. Black realised what the problem was – he didn’t have an entry number. Luckily, one rolled up to his feet. Excited, he cracked it open to reveal that he…

    …didn’t have a number. Heartbroken and struggling, he started to feel very unsettled. Perhaps this wasn’t a dream after all, maybe it was the Dream Inn. Then when despair was all around him, his mentor, his one saving grace, Daddy Mack appeared next to you.

    Brother, if you build it, they will come!

    Build what?

    The Ring. Then the wrestlers will come, yeah.

    There already is a ring, and wrestlers! The problem is that I’m not one of them!

    Well, then brother, just hit one of them with a chair and take their number, yeah.

    Now you’re talking my language! I’ll do it. Thanks, Daddy Mack!

    Avenge my death!

    You’re not dead, I’m staying in your spare room!

    In which case, yeah, knock them dead, yeah!

    Thanks Mack Daddy.

    Black felt his heartrate slow, he was back into a deepened slumber in the spare room in Daddy Mack’s house. The sun had by now started to move across his face, and he was slowly awakened by the sunlight. He looked around the room, happy to be in familiar surroundings and now blissful in his awareness of what happened in his dream and the idea that his mentor had given him in his dream.

    Mack would have never told him to do anything underhanded in the real world, but the Daddy Mack that occupied his dreams was a little less of an altruist. Black thought to himself that he preferred the Mack of his dream. Not everything has to be black and white you know. Sometimes you need shades of grey.

    Black stirred in the bed and put his feet on the floor, one after the other. He thought to himself that putting two feet on the floor like this would be suicide later on in the evening, when he was going to surreptitiously enter the Lethal Lottery. For now though, it was the way to start the day and the way to be prepared for action.

    He turned on the radio, and Lovely Day filled the air. He knew it would be exactly that. He moved across to the shower, and cleaned himself, before drying dressing and putting on his lucky sweatbands on. Now he was fully clothed, with his wrestling attire underneath, invisible to any outside observers, but he knew. And he knew exactly what it meant.

    He brushed his teeth, ran a comb through his hair and walked back into the bedroom. Before him stood a full length body mirror. He didn’t usually like looking in the mirror, but he thought that he had better check that his attire really was discrete. And it was, but that’s not what he saw in the mirror. He saw himself, and everything about himself.
    He knew he was flawed, he knew he could be neurotic and he didn’t have the body he had when he started in this business, ravaged as it was from time and the extra-curricular activities. But it was him. Every inch of what he saw when he looked in the mirror, ready for the Lethal Lottery was the sum total of his copious life experiences.

    He wasn’t perfect, nobody is. But he looked at himself and he saw the man he was, and it was the man he wanted to be.

    For the first time in a long time, maybe in forever, Garth Black was content.
     
    #20
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