Inside of his own office during the hours of dusk visible through the staring window, Dr. Steven Kurtesy sits in his clinical chair... head bowed in deep thought. His eyes awaken as he lifts his head, yet still pondering so. Sandy Deserts approaches him with a glass of whiskey in hand, which she pans to him. She slowly descends herself onto the arm of the chair, placing her hand on his shoulder. Steven takes a sip and begins to swirl his glass, studying it's movements.
Promnesia... the experience that makes people feel that they are repeating several events in a sequential order which could of happened in the past.. an act commonly defined as Déjà vu. This trick that has played on the mind of many victims has yet to be scientifically tested, despite the amount of instances recorded within many psychological studies. There aren't many methods of determining why these things occur and won't be available until society begins to accept other, alternate forms.
Steven takes another sip
Recently, I have been one of these victims. An image has been replaying in my head of the darkest time in my career... a time when I was spiraling downwards. I suffered an unfortunate loss to a sub-par tag team that just recently formed, something I was able to overcome in the past. And it wasn't dark for me either, it was dark for everyone. Doug Crashin needed my medical consultation to re-evaluate himself. The tag team division was slowly began to be extinct with all teams disappearing off the face of the Earth... and that one ludicrous team who took advantage of two mentally weakened men went on to become the champions representing the division.
Steven skulls the rest of the glass and gives it to Sandy, who gets up and puts it away.
I keep envisioning the man that took away my chances of inevitably reigning atop the division once again... Hunter Kravinoff. A man who is no stranger to the world of psychology. A man who takes time and studies his opponents very carefully, understanding their very nature. How they act, how they wrestle, how they eat... he essentially knows everything there is to know about anyone. Sometimes when I look at him I swear I am staring into a mirror. It's quite unfortunate that he is only but a mere reflection... an object that I can groom.
A smirk runs across the face of Steven.
Kravinoff had an easy objective to aspire to. All he had to do was study one specimen and he wouldn't have to worry about the rest. Under this mindset, he will overlook the fact that I am now not the man he once faced. I have evolved and adapted to my surroundings, eliminating all the traits that I don't need. Men like Gordito have felt my wrath and the pain that I have suffered... men like Baez are too afraid of showing their face in public because have them listed as my next... favourite patient.
Steven begins to rub his hands together.
I will thoroughly enjoy this encounter... not only won't I have to endure any more garbage wrestling matches, I will, alongside Mr Crashin, make everyone believe in the Movement... even if I have to do it at the expense of Kravinoff. We will rise to the top and I will reclaim what was rightfully stolen from me... the WZCW Tag Team Championships... a memory that I will personally see to it replays in your head forever. Mr Kravinoff, grab the best 50. caliber rifle you've got... you're going to need it when the prey will stalk the predator. The hunt... is on.
Steven pulls out his pipe and begins to light it.
When I skin you alive out there using a little bit of Prescribed Sedation and some Kommon Kurtesy... how will it make you feel?
Steven blows out a huge smoke puff that clouds the room, with Steven maniacally laughing in a soft, sadistic tone as he knows that he has to be or not to be...
... hunt or be hunted.
