November 19th, 2012 -- WZCW SuperShow
Chaos is abound inside the ring. Sam Smith stands in the corner with a steel chair in hand, menacingly stalking his prey, "Showtime" David Cougar. On the other side of the ring, a referee is occupied with Rush, unaware of Smith's sinister intentions.
Cougar slowly crawls to his feet, turning directly into a brutal chairshot to the head from the Elite X Champion that echoes through the arena. Cougar crumples to the canvas while Smith slides the chair under the ropes and yells out for the referee. The ref turns and sees Smith covering the fallen champion, beginning his count. Through a chorus of boos, a few fans chant along with the count:
ONE...
TWO...
THR--
No! The champion gets his shoulder up at two and a half. A shocked Sam Smith stares down at the broken champion while pulling at his own hair. He lets out an agonized scream, in absolute disbelief at the champion's resolve.
Sam: "Stay down, Cougar!"
The scene re-opens inside of Sam Smith's home. The home is unusually empty -- save for Smith, the camera man, and a box upon which Smith sits, it is completely barren. Smith stares deep into the camera, silently pondering his next words. The Elite X Champion's appearance is a vast departure from what has become the norm as of late. The champion's hair is carefully cut, his face is cleanly shaven, his clothing -- a suit -- is immaculate, and -- as a final touch -- the Elite X Championship shines brightly from its position around his waist.
Sam: "Have you ever had everything you've ever wanted yanked away from you? Have you ever seen the one thing you dream about -- the thing that keeps you up at night, the thing your life revolves around -- slip between your fingers? Have you, Celeste?"
Smith pauses, almost as if he is waiting for a response from Celeste herself.
Sam: "I have, Celeste. I have."
Smith pounds the canvas in frustration, trying to think of further punishment to inflict upon the World Heavyweight Champion. All hell has broken loose ringside, where Rush and Matt Tastic are brawling into the crowd. Smith hollers at the ref while getting to his feet. He once again begins stalking his opponent, that sinister grin of his slithering back into place.
Showtime shakes the cobwebs out of his head while using the ropes to stand back up. Smith pulls him towards the center of the ring, hoisting him up for Nightfall! Showtime shifts his weight and transitions off of Smith's shoulders, countering into the Commercial Break!
Smith flails wildly, trying to break the hold, but Showtime has it locked in tight. Smith uses every ounce of upper body strength he has left and begin at clawing his way to the ropes. Inch by inch he moves for what seems like an eternity. The ropes continually evade his grasp, like a mirage in a desert. Smith's fingertip reaches the bottom rope, but the World Heavyweight Champion finally manages to drag the weakened Smith back into the center of the ring.
Smith solemnly continues on.
Sam: "It hurts, Celeste -- so much so that even you would feel the pain. It breaks your will. You feel incomplete, you feel violated. You become that little kid again, wanting nothing more than to dive into your mother's arms and weep. Think about it, the meaning to your existence -- the reason you crawl out of bed every morning -- is gone. It's out of reach. You don't have it."
Smith looks down at his feet for a moment, mumbling a few words out.
Sam: "So, Celeste -- do you know what that's like? Better yet, have you ever been in that position?"
Smith screams out in pain, slowly beginning to fade. He stares out into the crowd and sees the cheering masses, egging Showtime on to break him. He searches for the strength to break out, but he doesn't have it. With his last ounces of energy, he meekly taps the canvas. The crowd lets out a mammoth roar in support of the World Heavyweight Champion, as Smith lies in a puddle of his own sweat face down on the canvas.
The referee raises Showtime's hand, handing him his belt, while his music courses through the arena. Showtime celebrates, raising his belt and pointing to the fans a few times before stepping out of the ring.
Smith lies in the ring for a while longer. At this point, Showtime's music has already cut off, but Smith hasn't so much as moved an inch. He eventually moves, turning onto his back and staring at the lights over the ring. A gamut of emotions runs over the Elite X Champion, as he seems transfixed on the lights. The fans boo Smith, but he doesn't seem to notice. Finally, Smith begins to break into laughter -- cackling as he rises off the canvas, grabs his belt, and goes backstage -- leaving the fans perplexed as to what they just saw.
Smith stands up off the box, pacing around his empty living room, vehemently shaking his head.
Sam: "I don't think you know that's like. I don't think you have any idea, Celeste! The realization that everything you've ever wanted is gone hits you like a ton of bricks -- it takes you to a place you never thought existed. That place is cold, it's dark; Celeste, it's a terrifying place to find yourself in. You're confronted with a reality that most people suppress for their entire lives and you question everything about yourself.
So, Celeste, take a nice, long and hard look at yourself. Who are you? Are you the family woman, who loves her husband and child without question? Are you the brutal destruction machine, incapable of feeling pain? Or are you that scared little girl, searching for her place in the world, coming to me for validation?"
Sam stops pacing. He leans against a bare wall in his living room, continuing on. A look of sincerity -- seemingly -- comes across his face.
Sam: "Here's what I think, Celeste: I think you've barked up every tree in the fed, trying -- for years -- to prove your worth, to prove that your words aren't hollow. You've jumped from Rush and the EurAsian belt, to me and the Elite X Championship belt, to the tag team ranks, and now back to me. Throughout all that, you've never been able to do it. Sure, the fans still love to cheer you on, but it's because they're stupid and don't realize that you just keep lying to them."
With at, the look of sincerity is wiped off Sam's face, as a sly grin replaces it.
Sam: "Listen, I get it, I do. A long time ago, I tried to wear all those caps too -- the family man, the wrestling machine, the champion -- but I finally came to the realization that I just couldn't do it. Nobody can. You can't keep spreading yourself so thin, Celeste. You lack focus. You'll never beat me -- ever -- if you keep trying to juggle all your roles. It's why I fell short against Showtime. I tried to rebuild my family and what did I get for it? A humiliating defeat, in what was the biggest match of my career.
It took me losing to Showtime and losing my family to realize what I needed to do. I needed to evolve. I went from that dark place and became better. I haven't lost since. It's been months, Celeste. I've beaten everybody WZCW has thrown at me inside of the ring -- including you. I was strong enough to come out of that dark place alive and better for my troubles, and now I want to take you there."
Smith slithers back over to the box in the middle of the room and slumps down onto it.
Sam: "Crimson, I have no fears. I will -- without a single ounce of doubt -- do whatever it takes to beat you. What do I have to lose? The last remnants of my old life sit in this box and I will destroy them today. All I will have left is wrestling, the Elite X Championship, and destroying WZCW alongside Rush. It's all I need.
What separates me -- someone who sits at the apex of this profession -- from you, Crimson, is that fearlessness. I don't walk out into that ring with the fear of losing or the fear of disappointing the fans weighing on my shoulders, I simply do not care. Can you say the same?"
Smith shakes his head.
Sam: "You'll come out at All or Nothing and you'll fall short. Just like you always do. You, too, might have the opportunity to turn your career around then, but it'll take changes. You should be thankful, honestly. I'm giving you the same treatment "Showtime" David Cougar gave me. It takes a cold slap from reality to realize that you're reaching, that you need to hone your craft more to make it on the upper reaches of this profession. It's an evolution we all need to make, if we want to succeed."
Smith stands up from the box and tips it over, spilling its contents on the floor. A plethora of items litter the floor. Smith begins rummaging through them.
Sam: "I complete my evolution today."
Smith reaches down and picks up a photo, he points at the faces in the photo.
Sam: "This is me with my father. I was, maybe, seven years old. He was a scumbag and a raging alcoholic. I depended on him."
Smith reaches down and picks up another photo.
Sam: "This should be a familiar face to WZCW fans -- it's my brother Scott. I depended on him, too."
Smith drops the photos and grabs a small chain with an engagement ring hanging off of it.
Sam: "This is my ex-fiancée Chelsea's ring. I loved her more than anything. She was just another thing I depended on."
Smith gently puts the ring back onto the floor, before removing a picture frame from the mess. He proudly turns the frame to the camera.
Sam: "This is my law degree. I depended on it to define who I was."
Smith tosses the frame to the floor and stands up.
Sam: "Every single one of these people or things has something in common: They failed me. I depended on them to take me to the top, but they only served as distractions. As of right now, I can confidently say they mean nothing to me."
Smith reaches behind the camera man and brings forth a sledgehammer. He maniacally stares down at the pile of possessions. He begins violently smashing the assortment of items.
Sam: "I don't need any of these things anymore! Not a thing!"
Smith throws the sledgehammer aside, staring down at destruction in his wake.
Sam: "No more distractions, no more weaknesses. Celeste Crimson, you'll face the toughest test of your wrestling career at All or Nothing. I'm the mountain you can't climb, the obstacle you can't overcome -- I'm everything you've ever feared. Come All or Nothing, your quest for validation will come to an end. You'll leave the PPV empty handed, forced to come to terms with the fact that you just couldn't beat me, forced to deal with the fact that you were just another tally in my win column.
Good luck."
The feed cuts to black.
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Some time later, Smith stands in his empty living room. The camera man is gone, but the pile of rubble still lays there. He takes on last look at it and makes his way to the front door. He turns his head, looking at the now-empty home he had bought a few years ago to house the family he was going to have with Chelsea.
Sam makes his way through the door, locking the house behind him. He steps into his car and looks at his house once more, specifically staring at the "For Sale" sign poking out of the lawn. He takes a deep breath before zooming out of the driveway, leaving the house in his rear view mirror.
He was days from the PPV -- no real destination yet -- he just wanted to drive. A buzzing noise broke the silence in his car. His phone sat on the dash -- he was getting a call. He looked at the caller ID, it was his brother Scott. Sam ignored the call, letting it go to voice mail. A few minutes later, he called up his voice mail to listen to his brother's message.
Scott: "What the hell is this, Sam? I hear you're selling the house? Running from your problems, running from your family? You're a coward, Sam -- always have been. Go to he--"
Scott's voice is cut off as Sam rolls down his window and hurls the phone out, which shatters across the concrete. Smith smiles and pushes the gas, speeding toward the sunset.
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February 23rd, 2013 -- The night before All or Nothing
Sam Smith sits on the bed in a top of the line hotel room, his eyes transfixed on the television.
Sam: "God, there's never anything on. Cooking, news, more cooking, reality TV."
Smith turned the TV off and tossed the remote aside. He looked at the clock, it was only 9:30 -- there had to be
something to do.
Sam: "AGH!"
Smith let out a yell as a sharp pain in his knee derailed his train of thought. The pain was nothing out of the ordinary, his knees had long ago reached their expiration date -- years of bumping will do that.
Smith leaned over and began rifling through a duffle bag next to his bed.
Sam: "Pills, pills, pills -- anywhere?"
He finally found the bottle he'd been looking for, he grabbed a few painkillers and tossed them back. Smith laid on his bed for a few moments before the familiar grip overtook him and swept him off of his feet.
He slung on a dark hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants to match. He pulled on some sneakers and grabbed a bundle of cash. He bounded out of the hotel, walking deeper and deeper into the heart of the city. He walked for what seemed like ages -- his energy renewed. Weathered and unfamiliar faces stared back at him suspiciously, buildings became more decrepit the further he walked.
Though a new city, the surroundings were all too familiar for Smith. He'd spent many an hour walking the streets after his beating at the hands of the Sons of Destiny. He'd leave at random hours of the night, leaving Chelsea to think about where he could be, if he was safe, when he'd come home, or -- worse --
if he'd come home.
Smith's mind raced.
Sam: "Chelsea. It's been almost a week since I left, and I still can't stop thinking about her. She's the only one I care about. Always has been. She just doesn't get it -- she doesn't understand me. We've been through too much together, though.
Almost a year to the day I lost my Elite X Championship, and the same thoughts are running through my mind -- the same demons are consuming me. Is fate doomed to repeat itself? Am I really all talk?
No. I need to stop. I can't go into a match thinking this way."
Smith continued to walk, completely wrapped up in his thoughts. Eventually he came back to his hotel and walked back up to his room. A familiar face met him at the door, as Sam -- for once -- was at a loss for words.
Chelsea: "Why did you leave, Sam?"
Sam: "How did you find me?
Sam didn't know what else to say. How
had she found him?
Chelsea: "You're not all that hard to find, Sam. I know what you're like -- I've known you since we were children."
Sam: "You need to leave."
Chelsea: "Sam, shut up. You need to stop being a coward. You can't just leave your family -- your brother and your ailing father -- it's not like you!"
Sam: "And how would you know, Chelsea? How?! I'm not the Sam you fell for anymore! I was naive -- but now, my eyes are open to the world; Scott and my father don't love me, they only use me because they have to, they have no other choice. I'm starting to think you're only here to do the same thing."
A familiar back-and-forth argument followed. It wasn't the first time they'd fought like this, nor it would be the last. The screaming got louder and louder until everything suddenly went quiet. Chelsea's face began to fade, the room began to spin, and it all just faded to black...
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...everything came back into perfect focus. It had all been a dream. Smith was laying on the bed of his hotel room, the pills next to him. It was still dark outside, he turned to the clock and found it was only 12:30. Smith's head throbbed, he felt miserable. He stalked over to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face, looking at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. He let out a loud groan and laid back down on his bed. A sharp knock on the door pierced through the room.
Sam: "Really?"
Sam walked over to the door and pulled it open. Chelsea Shaw's exhausted face greeted him. Smith shook his head.
Sam: "This is unreal."
Chelsea: "Can I come in?"
