"Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate." - Dante Alighieri
The smell of cheap liquor wafted through the equally-as-cheap motel room Sam Smith was staying at. The TV illuminated the room with white and black static -- the sound was nearly as jumbled, with only a word standing out here-or -here. Sam Smith stood on a chair in the center of the room, tapping on the lone lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. It flickered momentarily and cast a dreary yellow light across the room; a look of satisfaction spread across Smith's tired face. Sam looked as though he hadn't looked in the mirror for a week and reeked of booze, as though he hadn't stepped foot in a shower for nearly as long. He stepped off the chair and slid it back into the corner of the room.
Smith turned to slump back into his bed, but his room was once again drenched by darkness as the light bulb burst. Smith went to examine the light bulb once again, but screamed out in pain as he stepped on a shard of glass from the shattered lightbulb.
Smith: Shit!
Smith hobbled over to his bed and took a look at his foot. The blood had already soaked through his white sock. He made his way to his feet and took a few steps toward the bathroom. As he reached the darkest corner of the room, the hairs on his neck began to tingle and sweat dotted his brow. Smith shook his head and started to take another step forward, but stopped dead in his tracks when a hand gripped his shoulder. The hand yanked him toward the wall, but the wall gave way. Sam toppled for what seemed like ages and blacked out shortly before impact.
***
Sam slowly came to. He couldn't see a thing around him -- everything was dark. He felt his way around, but couldn't reach a wall, his bed, anything. He got to his feet and squinted his eyes, hoping to make something out. He felt warm air on the back of his neck and instinctively reached back and swung -- he connected with nothing but a fistful of air. From a few feet away now, Sam could see two glimmering red slits, about even with his face -- they were eyes. He began to approach whoever it was, when they spoke.
???: Stop.
Sam did as he was told. He was disoriented, it was sweltering, and he couldn't see a thing -- but, more than that, the voice had a certain... command to it. It was deep, but cold -- he knew better than to defy it.
???:
Do you know where you are, Sam?
Sam was taken aback. How did this person know his name?
Smith: No.
???:
Do you know who I am?
Smith: No.
???:
Do you know why you're here?
Sam had finally had enough.
Smith: Enough of this fucking farce; you damn-well know I can't answer a single one of your questions.
Suddenly, Sam felt a grip around his throat, holding tighter and tighter.
???: You're speaking out of turn. While you may not know it yet, this is your own creation. You wanted me to be here -- you wanted me to get you.
Sam felt the hand move from around his throat and gasped for air. Right after, a small crack of light came from the pitch black sky and illuminated a small area of wherever Sam was. He looked across at the person who had been grilling him and did a double take -- it was unlike anything he had ever seen before. The man had no face -- just two red slits for eyes and a small, black crack for a mouth. He cocked his head to the side and looked at Sam.
???: Do I intimidate you, Sam?
Sam stared back at the person, refusing to respond.
???: We both know the answer to that. Let me shed some light on what's going on, Sam. I'm your guide -- nothing more, nothing less. And you, Sam, are here to take a journey.
Smith: A journey through what?
Guide: Your own personal hell, Sam. People like you -- people who base their lives on hate and anger -- all have a place like this. It's because you all share a common trait: fear.
Sam starts to speak, but is cut off.
Guide: You fear the fact that you're failures. You fear the fact that your life crumbles around you. So, you all project that fear onto everybody else. You're a little man, Sam. A weak man... and now, you're going to be punished for it.
Off in the distance, agonized wails can be heard.
Guide: You're going to pay for a life in which you committed so many wrongs -- a life in which you abandoned everybody around you. Sam, it's your turn to feel abandoned. You can't beat me at this, Sam -- your fate is sealed.
Sam's frustration boils over and he takes off for his guide, lunging out to tackled him. The man easily moves out of the way and Sam topples over an edge which had been shrouded in darkness. Once again, Sam plummets for what seems like an eternity and braces for impact... but the impact never comes.
***
Sam awakes with a start in his hotel room. It's still dark outside and Sam had apparently fallen asleep in the chair in his room. He examines his surroundings and looks up at the lightbulb -- as intact as ever. Sam shakes his head and walks to the bathroom, mumbling to himself.
Smith: I'm a grown man and I still have nightmares. Heh.
He stops in front of the sink and washes his face with cold water. He looks up into the mirror and his face suddenly loses all color. Sam starts shaking his head.
Smith: No, no, no, no.
In his reflection, he sees a sock hanging on the towel rack. He wouldn't think anything of it, if it wasn't soaked in blood.
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A WZCW.COM EXCLUSIVE.
The clip opens in a dark room. The shot is tight on Sam Smith's face, as he begins to speak.
Smith: You are the problem. All of you are one and the same. Technosa? Saxoteur? You're nothing but symbols for the decay this company has gone through.
Smith shakes his head.
Smith: People are intimidated by you because you're crazy -- you're unpredictable. I'm not and neither is my tag team partner, Rush. I see you for what you really are: insecure, scared men. You feign insanity -- pretending to be an assassin or a robot, hiding your insecurities in your over-the-top characters, like a Blacksploitation star or a schizophrenic lunatic.
Sam pauses for a moment. An uncomfortable silence crops up.
Smith: You act crazy because it's a defense mechanism. I'm here to challenge that. I'll descend into true madness -- I'll unleash all my anger and all my fear for all to see. I don't fear you, but I know you fear the idea of me. What's scarier than a man with nothing to lose, willing to go one step farther than you?
Sam clears his throat and grins slightly.
Smith: I lost the Lethal Lottery that I gave up everything to win. I was eliminated by a ghost, by Ty Burna, and saw MY dreams thrust aside! I saw MY efforts get dragged through the mud, while you freak shows were praised! I don't care how long Barbosa and SHIT lasted in the Lottery. I don't care that Saxoteur won the tag team titles. I care about one thing: vindication. I'm going to see my hand raised this week, alongside my partner Rush, when we defeat Technosa, and then, we're coming after the titles. We want Saxoteur at Kingdom Come.
Smith laughs for a moment.
Smith: I'm going to enjoy every minute of this. The beloved, kooky heroes of WZCW -- Technosa and Saxoteur -- get stopped in their tracks by someone even more deranged than they are. Rush and I don't just plan to run through the tag ranks and win the titles -- we want to leave the division a barren wasteland.
Smith stops and stares directly into the camera, breathing heavily.
Smith: I'm going to show you the very darkest recesses of my personality -- I'm going to take you all to a place you don't want to go to. This is what I have to do -- or I risk falling into obscurity. Technosa is first in a long line of many people that stand in my way -- and in my partner's way -- and I will not allow myself to fail again.
Smith pauses for another uncomfortable silence.
Smith: I don't speak machine and I don't speak jive, I don't speak in rhymes and I don't speak in riddles -- I speak truth. I know you all fear me and I enjoy it. Rush and I will make our mark on the tag team division. Mark my words.
Fade to black.
