AS62: Sam Smith vs. Mick Overlast - Non Title

[Ty Burna]

These two men didn't have such a great week the previous round. The WZCW Elite X Champion, Sam Smith failed, but not without much force, against The King of The Empire while Mick Overlast came out flat in his returning match against Alhazred. Now, in a follow up of Overlast confronting Smith on the Roulette Rounds, both men have something to prove. Smith will try to brush Constantine off as a fluke win and build momentum into their rematch while Overlast tries to prove that he still has it by knocking off his ring rust. Stay tuned!


Deadline is Wednesday, 10th of April - 11:59pm Central Time.​

 

[Mick Overlast]

"Get a chair, Scott," I told Hammond as we delivered blow after punishing blow to Sam Smith in the middle of the ring. I stood over Smith's limp body as it lay there, then looked over to see Blade holding Austin Reynolds up on the entrance ramp. I flashed Blade a wicked smile and turned back as Hammond got into the ring, chair in hand.

"Wrap it around his leg."

Hammond did as I instructed, and I climbed to the top turnbuckle. I perched myself atop it and stared down at the still-lifeless body of Sam Smith, one of the great Elite X champions and a man revered by the WZCW fanbase.

If I wasn't so hopped up on adrenaline and chasing one of the top spots on the WZCW roster, I'm sure I would have thought twice about inflicting that much pain on another human being. But when you're hellbent on making a name for yourself, nothing -- fans' hatred, family looking down on you for your line of work, even someone's well-being -- will stop you. And I was willing to sacrifice everything for the spotlight.

I took that leap of faith, and what followed was a scream that I didn't think could come from a human being, let alone a man of Sam Smith's stature. I rolled off of him, never bothering to look at the damage I knew I had done; while my eyes would've loved to take in the sight, I knew my stomach wouldn't. My ears told me all I needed to know. As Smith was lifted up and thrown out of the ring with seemingly little effort, I knew his life would change forever. Mine certainly did.

And you know what? If given the opportunity, you can bet your ass I'd do it all over again, and even more, I'd love every second of it.

---

I had not planned on doing this so early upon my return, but the circumstances called for it. I stood in the Gorilla position and closed my eyes, waiting for a cue.

[YOUTUBE]QSw_Au4ndSE[/YOUTUBE]

When the music started, I opened my eyes and just stared ahead. Pushing through the curtain, I walked out on stage and down the ramp. There may have been cheers, there may have been boos; I wasn't paying attention. The music took over in my head and the adrenaline flowed through my veins, just like the old days. I got into the ring and looked around. I was back in my comfort zone, a 20-foot-by-20-foot soapbox that propelled me into stardom my first time around. Now, I was going to use it as a stepping stone to get back to where I wanted to be.

I grabbed a microphone from a stagehand and walked back toward the center of the ring.

"Cut my music."

The music died down, and the boos commenced. What surprised me were the small pockets of smarks dispersed throughout the crowd cheering for me. They appreciated me for my work; they remembered me. And now I would repay them by giving them what I knew they paid to see.

Me at my best.

"This week, I'll be getting a chance to do what I came back to do, and that's to be in a position to take my Elite X Title back."

Some cheers followed, probably because of a disdain for Smith, but there were boos, probably because there are those that just don't like me.

"So that's why I can't blame Sam Smith for sticking his nose in my match with Alhazred and causing me to lose; he's the champion and he knows I pose a great risk to him. Of course he'd try to hold me down. He did a fair job at that, and so he should be credited. But in the back of his mind, he knows he can't hold me down forever. In fact, the name 'Mick Overlast' should bring back some very special memories for your Elite X champion...that is, unless he blacked out from being in so much pain and doesn't remember them."

I spun slowly, pointing at the fans as I continued to speak.

"I challenge any of you to go back through the annals of WZCW and find a more horrific beatdown than the one the Sons of Destiny administered to Sam Smith the night of Ascension 44. You losers will probably get right on it since you don't have lives."

I stopped at the sight of a trio of kids with long, dark hair that were wearing Triple X shirts and brought them to the crowd's attention by pointing them out. They looked like absolute slobs, and I bet I made their lives by noticing them since no one else probably does.

"The fact is, you won't. That night, I started on my path to becoming one of the most reviled men in WZCW history. I shattered Sam Smith's leg and forced him out of action for a long time. But while you may all think that an event like that would change someone's life for the worse, it's just the opposite. I saved Sam Smith's career and his life that night."

That last statement was met by a number of confused faces, as if to ask what twisted logic I was using to jump to that conclusion.

"Before that injury, the name 'Sam Smith' was synonymous with the word 'average.' He was nothing special in the ring; he had a run as Elite X champ, but he was never a person you found yourself in awe over. Like his name, he was bland and unimaginative.

"But that night at Ascension 44, I gave him life! I gave him a personality! The upstanding man with the gorgeous fiancee and the nice house with the white picket fence was boring! I changed that! Now he's addicted to pills, he lost his fiancee, and he hates everyone. All I left him with is the unrelenting drive to be the best in this business.

"But because I'm such a good person..."

My train of thought got run off its tracks by the loud booing that followed. I smiled and started again.

"But because I'm such a good person, I didn't stop there. With the help of a friendly UPS man by the name of Justin Cooper, I was able to give Sam the Elite X Title in just one week when I left WZCW because he knows damn well he can't beat me himself."

The smarks laughed, and some applauded, at the obvious jab at Cooper's ridiculously short title reign.

"Sam, while you may cling to Rush and look up to him as the one who helped you become one of the best wrestlers in this company, it should be me whose ass you're kissing because I made you the man you are today. Without me, you would be a nobody.

"And you know something, Sam? We're after the same thing -- we want to run roughshod over this company, and in any other circumstance, I'd probably form some kind of alliance with you and Rush. But you have something that I want, and if I have to go through you to take it, then I have no problem with that.

"There's only room for one sadistic son-of-a-bitch in this company, and that's me. I know that, and what's more, I know you know that. I know deep down inside, Sam, you fear me because I've put you in a crippling amount of pain and would do it again in a heartbeat. I created the monster that you've become, Sam Smith. At Ascension, I take the first step in killing it."

 

[The Crock]

New Orleans, Louisiana -- July 1983

The sounds of Summertime pierce through the air; children's elated voices echo through the streets as their frantic parents try to maintain order. Vacationers walk and point at the sights, their best and brightest vacation clothes stick to their backs and sweat dots their brow. A relentless heat wave has spread through the southern United States, with no relief in sight. The usual street performers line the sidewalks, halfheartedly playing their instruments in the hopes that can make a few dollars; the generally up-tempo pace of the music has taken a step backward due to the heat and serves as a sleepy soundtrack to the hustle and bustle of the movement all around it.

Amid the massive crowd of people stands an out-of-place family of four: a stern patriarch with a perpetual scowl on his face at the helm, a clearly tired, yet loving wife at his side, a small bundle of a boy -- no more than three weeks old -- lays silently in his mother's arms, and a little boy lags behind his mother, holding her hand, mischievously scanning his surroundings.

The Smith family had taken a small week-long vacation to New Orleans -- baby Sam's first ever vacation. Sam's mother tugged on her husband's sleeve, pointing in the direction of a small corner shop.

Julia: Oh, come on, Henry -- let's try it!

Henry rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

Henry: A fortune teller? You can't honestly believe in that crap?

Julia: I just want to try it; I want to hear what she has to say about Sam.

Henry: It's a bunch of bologna. Besides, I have meetings to get to -- if you were looking for a real vacation you should have gone to your sister's.

Julia looks over at Henry.

Julia: We might as well make the most of it, Henry.

Henry looks around momentarily and relents.

Henry: Fine. Scott and I will wait out here while you and the baby go in.

Sam's mother grins as she enters the small shop. As she steps into the main room, the old wooden floors groan loudly underneath her with each step. The smell of old, stale booked, mixed with the smell of incense wafts into her nose. In the center of the small room stands an ornate antique table and chairs. A small black woman sits at the head of the table, being made out to be even smaller than she is by the grand bookcases lining the walls of the small room -- she looks like a miniature figurine in a full-sized room. The woman speaks up with a deceivingly husky and throaty voice.

Woman: Welcome. Please, have a seat.

The old woman extends a frail, bony hand across the table.

Woman: I'm Viola. Do you want a reading?

Sam's mother shakes her head, holding up her baby.

Julia: No, I want him to have one. His name is Sam.

Viola leans forward and studies the child. The candle on the table shines across her face and casts a malicious shadow on the wall behind her. Viola's old face has the texture of an old baseball glove -- it's rough and ridged, her wrinkles run deep into her face. Viola's dark eyes glare across the table as she runs her hand through her wild, frizzy, white hair.

Viola stands from her seat and walks over to young Sam and his mother, peering down her nose directly at the child. Her dark eyes widen slightly and she shakes her head.

Viola: I cannot give this child a reading.

Sam's mother looks perplexed.

Julia: Why not?

Viola: I look into his eyes and they're cold; I'm afraid this child will go down a dark and wicked path.

Sam's mother shoots out of her chair, clutching her child.

Julia: How can you say that?!

She turns and storms out of the shop, leaving the fortune teller all alone.

Viola: I've seen it before; I won't forget eyes like those.

As Viola trails off, Sam's mother bounds to her husband angrily.

Julia: She said he's cold and heading down a wicked path! What a witch!

Henry coldly shoots back at his wife.

Henry: Quiet down, you're making a scene! I told you, it's nonsense. Let's go.

A human being is shaped from the moment they are born -- their surroundings, their upbringing, and the like all chip away at the raw block of clay and mold a person into what they will become. Is anyone truly born a hero or a monster? Nobody can say for sure, but it's doubful. Every innocent little infant has the same eventual destination -- adulthood -- but none of them share a common path. Sure, they may be predisposed to be angry or cheerful, but that doesn't change what they will eventually become; the true molders of men are their circumstances and what they need to do to succeed.

All men shall evolve. No single man is immune; even the greatest men, those who go down in history as beloved and revered, had to be shaped into who they eventually became by their experiences. Sam Smith is no different. Sam Smith is not a villain by design -- he was not born a villain -- no, Sam Smith became a villain. Smith's journey dictated to him what he needed to do to succeed, and he did it. That ability -- the ability to do what needs to be done -- is the ability that takes the greats one step above everybody else.

With Ascension 61 coming to an end, the fans have begun to mill around and make their way to the exits. Sam Smith makes his way down the ramp, limping to the ring, a microphone in his hands, with a camera man in tow. He speaks to the fans to get their attention.

Sam: Stop it! Sit back down in those seats -- I haven't said this show is over yet!

The crowd rains boos down upon Smith, but they all seem to stop heading for the exits.

Sam: Now, now, that is no way to greet a champion, is it? You should be grateful, I'm here to enlighten you.

The crowd continues to boo Smith. His demeanor doesn't change, as he plows forward.

Sam: Tonight, you witnessed history. You saw a legend -- the greatest Elite X Champion, no, the greatest CHAMPION in all of WZCW -- lose. I fell short facing John Constantine; I was pinned in the middle of this ring, with my shoulders down. You can now say that you witnessed the last time Sam Smith would lose a match on his path to the World Heavyweight Championship. You guys were here on the night that I, Sam Smith, began my road to winning the Lethal Lottery and taking the championship belt from around Showtime Cougar's waist.

The litany of boos continues.

Sam: Next week, I take the first step toward winning the Lethal Lottery when I face Mick Overlast.

The crowd becomes focused at the mention of Overlast's name.

Sam: My history with Mick needs no re-telling. He was one of Blade's goons when Blade decided that he needed to make a statement with his stable. I harbor no ill will toward Overlast for seeing that opportunity and taking it -- but I most certainly do harbor ill will for Overlast after his actions on the a Roulette shows.

Smith calls for a steel chair and unfolds it in the center of the ring, taking a seat.

Sam: Mick Overlast had the audacity to step in front of me and to think he had any claim at this championship around my waist. Honestly, I had to look Overlast up after his return to make sure I wasn't mixing him up with any of the other wrestlers who have had a cup of coffee here in WZCW. The man's entire claim of fame is being Elite X Champion, for all of half an hour or something... But he, just like every Elite X Champion from my first reign until now, underwhelmed as champion, because he couldn't live up to the bar that I set.

As a matter of fact, it's a problem much of the roster -- including John Constantine -- has a hard time dealing with. They just can't seem to cope with the fact that I'm better than they are. My legend, my mystique, is too much for them to grasp.

The crowd boos at Smith as he continues to play to his ego.

Sam: Mick, you can't beat me. Try as you might, you'll always be remembered as a forgettable henchman for a second-rate superstar, Blade, who couldn't ever get past being midcard fodder himself.

Smith stands up off of the chair and looks into the camera.

Sam: And John, I want you to know just how much I look forward to facing you in the main event of Ascension 63. You beat me tonight, but just as you always have, you'll fall short when it matters. Against me, against Holmes, or against Showtime -- you've never been able to win the big one. Remember that, John; you lost to me for the Elite X Championship and then lost again when you got another shot with Steven Holmes in the match, too. Face it Constantine, you will never be anything more than a stepping stone for stars to get by. You'll never win the big one. I know how much you crave the validation of having this gold around your waist, but you just can't get it done. See you soon.

Smith drops the mic to the ground with a dull thud and makes his way backstage.

-----------------------------------------------------------​

Chelsea Shaw lays in bed and dials a number on her phone. She listens to the phone ring, but gets no answer.

Chelsea: Hi Sam, it's me. I've been trying the number you left me, but I keep missing you. Give me a call back.

She clicks out of the call and sets the phone down. She crawls out of bed and begins walking, but doubles over and rushes to the bathroom quickly. She stands over the toilet and vomits, until she eventually slumps down on the floor next to the toilet.

She'd felt like this for a week or so now, but she kept hoping it would just go away. She figured it was from stress, but who knew? It had all begun overwhelming her. She needed Sam, but Sam was nowhere to be found. He'd walked out again leaving her all alone, abandoned once more.