All or Nothing 2012:
Constantine carefully fixes his tie, a wide smile plastered upon his features. The locker room is empty now. The losers and winner from earlier on in the card have gone now, the rest of the wrestlers involved in matches elsewhere. Constantine, for the first time that night, is all alone with his thoughts. After such an explosive match, a moment with his thoughts pleases Constantine.
As Constantine finishes fixing the details of his pristine appearance, a dejected former Elite X Champion bursts through the far door, his head dipped and sweat still rolling off of his brow. Smith moves inside the room, not even noticing the smiling Power Trip across the room. Smith rests himself against the wooden construct that holds his belongings, He slams his hand against the side panel, frustrated with himself seemingly. With a sigh, Smith turns around and plants himself on the wooden bench. Finally, Smith raises his chin, noticing Constantine for the first time.
Constantine stares at Smith, that same prevalent smile still etches upon his features. Smith shakes his head in disbelief as Constantine begins a slow walk towards the former Champion.
Constantine: Don't be upset, Smith.
Smith continues to look at the approaching Power Trip, his bottom jaw hanging slightly as the effects of his match take hold.
Constantine: At this point, you're probably feeling as thought you've let everyone down. All those fans in their seats watching you finally bend to breaking point.
Constantine finally reaches Smith before bending down to match eye contact with the defeated former Champion.
Constantine: But you can't think about them right now.
The Power Trip's understanding words are betrayed by his smug expression and the condescending tone behind them.
Constantine: You have to focus on yourself now. You have to focus on the fact that you are not good enough to share a ring with two legends like myself and Holmes.
Smith's reaction to Constantine's sudden scathing words is now what is widely expected as he darts up from his seated position. Constantine shoots to a vertical basis also, meeting Smith's forehead as Smith presses his brow against that of The Power Trip.
Constantine: Now, now, Smith. Let's not do anything hasty. I mean, this night has already been a bust for you. You've lost your beloved Championship, how would you feel about losing your livelihood too?
Smith holds his ground, a proudly aggressive look on his face. Constantine smiles once again, backing away from the former Champion.
Constantine: You can't be surprised by what happened, Smith. How long have I been telling you that you don't have what it takes. You've been matched against two icons of this business, two men who will surely go down as the best that this company has ever had to offer.
Constantine's smile fades now as a look of passionate venom replaces it.
Constantine: Face it, Smith, you're pathetic!
The prideful former champion backs away from Constantine, shaking his head.
Smith: Harsh words coming from a puppet, John. Go take a long and hard look in the mirror -- you're Steven Holmes' errand boy. You think this partnership will take you to the top? You think you and Holmes will wreck havoc through WZCW?
Constantine's face shrivels up with anger.
Smith: I can't say I'm convinced. The Elite X Championship should have been yours tonight, not his. You let him take what you had earned, you let him make you his bitch. I don't know about you, John, but I'd rather be the one that took the pin than the one that gave it away.
A stunned Constantine struggles to find a rebuttal.
Smith: We both lost to Steven Holmes tonight, John. We were both second best. I'll remember this night if we ever share a ring together again -- whether it be at Kingdom Come, Ascension, Meltdown, or a bingo hall. I'll remember what a spineless bastard you are, Constantine. But hey, you got what you wanted out of our match-up tonight, right?
Constantine gathers his things and storms out of the locker room, leaving the former champion standing all alone.
One loss can change a career -- it can change the entire course of someone's life. A few months after Sam Smith lost his first Elite X Championship, he had fallen off the map. Sam Smith was a ghost, a shell of himself. A transformation had been brewing inside of Smith -- as was evident upon his sudden and unexpected return to WZCW. In his own words, Smith had said he was ready to destroy the company and fans that had destroyed him.
As he laid in the ring, consciousness fleeting after an attack at the hands of Sons of Destiny, fear overtook Sam Smith. A fear so great that shattered his psyche -- a fear that he would never wrestle again, that he would be the world champion that he had dreamed of being since he was a little boy, wrestling around his backyard with kids from his neighborhood. Days passed, weeks passed, and the fear only grew greater -- it consumed Sam. Sam wanted nothing more than to be in the ring, but he couldn't.
With every passing show, Sam watched as his name was never mentioned. The fans forgot about him, WZCW forgot about him. Just like that, one of the greatest Elite X Champions of all time in WZCW had been erased from the annals of history. All of Smith's fears had been realized; Sam's career was over and he was left to put the pieces together on his own. His fears had alienated him from those he cared for most, he'd completely disconnected from the outside world. Staring at the harsh reality of what his life had become, all of Sam's fears faded and slowly transformed into anger. It wasn't his fault he'd been injured -- yet, he was abandoned.
Sam directed his anger and focused, he would once again be in that ring and the spotlight would shine on him. Nobody would take away what was rightfully his. Upon his return to WZCW, Smith was once again cast aside, his character shift viewed as nothing but cheap talk. Smith's anger grew, as he wasn't going to allow himself to fade again. WZCW and its fans would realize what they had done.
Another Elite X Championship reign and a 7-match win streak followed, but his anger had finally reached its boiling point when he was told he would face John Constantine at Ascension 61. The seeds of hatred hadn't been planted inside of Smith's head as he lay on the canvas with his career in jeopardy, they had been planted during his encounters with John Constantine.
Constantine was a slick-talking, conniving rat of a man who couldn't take Sam Smith's gold alone, try as he might. He lost to Sam, yet was granted another title shot -- with Steven Holmes in the mix. Constantine was stupid; he gave up his chance at glory because he was deceived by Holmes' speeches promising fame and grandeur. He was blinded by the promise of bright lights, never once taking a step back to realize that Holmes was using him.
Smith watched as Constantine served Holmes, almost like a slave. They were not equals. Holmes was Constantine's master, but Constantine didn't realize it. The proverbial shackles grew tighter around his wrists as he gave up his chance at glory to Holmes, but he didn't realize it until the bitter end. What struck Smith most was the ease with which his title reign had been ended. The challenger -- Constantine -- had somehow received another shot at the gold, stacking the odds against Smith even further. It was like WZCW
wanted Smith to lose his gold. After all, it was the title reign that was never meant to be, right?
Smith was never supposed to beat Baller to get a shot at the gold. He was never supposed to beat Winters for the title either. As more challengers fell at his feet, the odds seemed increasingly steeper. A few snide words here or there, and Constantine had managed to convince Sam that it wasn't just a coincidence anymore. The seed had been planted -- Smith's distrust for WZCW was alive and well, all because of John Constantine.
One would think that Constantine, who was so aware of Smith's problems, would realize that the wool was being pulled over his eyes before it was too late. He didn't. Instead of fighting back against it, Constantine decided to become that which had left him defeated. Constantine built his own empire, he had his own stooges now.
Sam Smith's hatred for John Constantine is second only to his hate for WZCW and its fans. Smith's first encounters with Constantine are what began unraveling the corners of Sam Smith's life and left Sam Smith in the darkest place imaginable. Smith's journey to the World Heavyweight Championship -- and, by extension, the top of WZCW -- travels along a hate-filled path of retribution. He will right the wrongs committed against him and then return them tenfold, tearing WZCW down brick by brick.
Defeating John Constantine isn't just another brick to be torn down, it's the equivalent of an old west standoff -- the battle that looms on the horizon, only to be broached when the time is right. The time for John Constantine to fall at Sam Smith's feet is long overdue; Smith needs to defeat Constantine to validate that he truly is "back" and ready to fulfill the goals which he has spoken of since his return to WZCW.
This isn't about good guys or bad guys. This isn't about championship gold. This is about a deep-running hatred between two men, setting the stage for a bloody beat down inside the WZCW ring. This one, however long overdue it may be, is personal.
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Scott Smith's car came to a stop at a clearing overlooking a small lake; this little spot was his sanctuary. He'd been coming here for years, just to get a moment alone -- a moment of clarity. This wasn't a place he shared with many people. It was a private patch of land, but the owners had been neglecting it since Scott was a teenager. The fences and dirt roads had been overrun by wildlife, the beauty of nature running its own course -- it's what made this place so special.
Scott found himself coming here more often lately. His father's health was getting worse and it was weighing on Scott. He was alone to deal with it, his brother Sam was running from his problems leaving Scott with no choice. Scott sat on the hood of his car staring out at the serene water, accentuated by the sun dipping off behind the horizon. A memory from a day very similar to this (just over 12 years prior) began washing over Scott...
...A younger Scott Smith sits on the hood of his beaten-up pick-up truck, his younger brother Sam by his side. The two brothers were sharing one last moment of peace together before they had to split off into the real world -- the elder Smith back to his job, the younger Smith off to his first year of college.
Scott hands his brother a bottle of beer and starts speaking.
Scott: This is the last time I'll be sneaking you one of these for a whole, but I doubt you'll have much trouble finding these at college.
Sam laughs at his brother's remark.
Sam: You're probably right, man.
Scott sighs, patting his brother on the back.
Scott: I can't believe you're already in college, Sam. It seems like just yesterday we were playing basketball in the driveway and you were running into the house crying to mom because I wouldn't let you win.
Sam shoves his brother lightly.
Sam: You were an ass.
The older brother lets out a chuckle.
Scott: We need to do this whenever you're in town -- make it a habit of coming here. Before you know it, we'll be grey old men back here for another set of beers.
The two brothers silently peer out at the water for a few moments before Scott speaks again.
Scott: What do you think you're going to be like in ten years, Sam? I remember thinking about that question before I went out to college and just being overwhelmed.
Sam shakes his head.
Sam: I have no idea, Scotty. Ten years is a long time. I mean, I can't imagine I'll be too different, but I can't see into the future. What about you? You've got this fresh new job under your belt -- you think it's a long term thing?
Scott scoffs.
Scott: Just because I'm older doesn't mean I know any better. Who knows? I'm just going to let things unfold as they may and enjoy this one life I have.
Sam raises his bottle as Scott does the same. The Smith brothers clink the necks of their beers together and take a long drink.
Sam: To wherever the hell this wild life takes us then. 
