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 CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!

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Edible14
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FMW Superstar: Apostasy
Championship: Abandoned Championship

PostSubject: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Wed Oct 03, 2012 12:28 am





The FMW faithful stand on their feet. Silently, P Thurston Devreaux stands in the ring.

Devreaux: Welcome everyone... to CATALYST!

The crowd cheers as Devreaux collects his thoughts.

Devreaux: Tonight, Full Metal Wrestling stands at a cross roads.

A large sign is seen in the background, which reads "Drew Michaels Where Are You?". Another sign shows love towards the departed Tyrant, a man in a Christian G Smitten shirt waves a gavel.

Devreaux: Tonight is a rebirth of sorts for us. A Catalyst for a new era in Full Metal Wrestling. There are new champions. There are new championships. There are new powers coming to be. We strive to bring you the best in Wrestling, and that goes double for our home base... right here in Toronto.

An "FMW" chant breaks out. Suddenly, "Been to Hell" by Hollywood Undead blares. The crowd boos as Matt Dunn, Sage Braxton, Santana Braxton, Leviticus, Jeff Whitt, The Mystery Opponent, Crusoe and Jonathan King make their way out.

Dunn: You had... one thing right. Tonight is a rebirth... of sorts. You look around, and you see that FMW has weakened. It is a sickened dog, waiting to be put out of its misery. Meanwhile, Gold Standard Wrestling grows stronger. Tonight, we will deal FMW its greatest blow yet.

Whitt: Tonight... I'm retaining this Ultraviolent Championship. Leviticus... he's walking away as the C4 champion. We will have another champion in our midst as well, perhaps unveiling a new Gold Standard Champion...

Santana: But most importantly is that tonight, Gold Standard Wrestling is unveiling our newest signing. We unleash a power that will be the catalyst... for the destruction of Full Metal Wrestling. Which will lead to the rebirth of Gold Standard Wrestling as the dominant wrestling company in North America!

The GSW group smiles as they circle Devreaux around the ring. The begin to climb up on the apron, surrounding him. As things look bleak, "Futurism" by Muse hits. Paul Brooks, Apostasy, Sean Jensen, The Gray Inferno, Skyler Striker, Hostyle, Hannibal Frost, Outlaw John Andrews, and Brett Jackson all come sprinting out. GSW clears the ring and high-tails it through the crowd as the faces in FMW shirts stand tall.


CATALYST, LIVE FROM TORONTO, CANADA
Tonight's card:

Abandoned Championship Match:

Kuruk (c) vs King Sharpedo vs. Antonio Grimelli

New Title Fatal Fourway:
Santana Braxton vs. Outlaw John Andrews vs. Jonathan King vs. Brett Jackson

Tag Team Championship:
Gray Inferno (Damien Inferno and Nick Gray) vs. YNG (Nick Bryson and Mark Johansson)

Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship:
David GS vs. Morpheus vs. Blake Vendetta

C4 Triple Threat
Special Guest Referee: Hostyle
Skyler Striker vs. Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus

Corruption Ultraviolent Championship Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Apostasy

Full Metal Championship:
Chris Austin vs. Seth Rotunda


PROMO IS OPEN TO EVERYONE! SHOW UP, PROMO, AND YOU WILL BE BOOKED EVEN IF YOU ARE NOT CURRENTLY ON THE CARD!
PROMO ONLY until Wednesday, October 10th at 11:59 PM EST
VOTING ONLY until Freday, October 12th at 11:59 PM EST
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Wed Oct 03, 2012 12:32 am

Villian

A child sits by a hospital bed, his hands folded together in prayer. In the bed, another small child with nearly identical red hair, pale skin and freckles lies sleeping, with tubes and wires attached to him. The window to their left reveals that it is night time. A nurse comes in and taps the praying boy on the shoulder.

Nurse: Hank, you’re such a good little boy, praying for your brother like that. How old is Chris?

Hank: Five

Nurse: And that makes you four, doesn’t it?

The child coughs. At first it is a slight cough, but it quickly spirals into a fit of weezing and whooping that removes the smile from the nurse. After a moment, the boy wipes tears away from his eyes and forces a smile across his face.

Nurse: You’re a brave kid, Hank. And for all of your bravery, today you’re getting a big reward. Today, the people from the Make-a-Wish foundation have brought you your favorite wrestler to visit you and your brother. Hank, say hello to Apostasy…

The camera turns to this man.



Narrator: Hank Sanders was a six year old boy about to meet the good-guy wrestler he always dreamed of meeting. Apostasy, the wrestling atheist, an unbeliever who had taught the world that you don’t need faith to be a good person. The man who stood up for what was right, and always fought with honor. But little Hank Williams wouldn’t meet that Apostasy on this day, as he had unknowingly turned straight into…



Apostasy: Hey there, sport.

Hank: Oh my god!

Apostasy: That’s an odd choice of words, but I heard that you wanted to meet me. And how could I say no? I mean, what could possibly be more valuable than the smile of a child…

Hank: Thank you so much! Thank you!

The nurse smiles and exits the room as Hank rushes forward and hugs Apostasy.

Apostasy: So, Hank, I take it this is your brother Chris?

Hank: Yeah… he’s real sick. I wish he was up to see his favorite wrestler visit him.

Apostasy: It looks like I got here a bit too late. But at least I get to hang out with you!

Hank: It’s not too late. I’ve been praying really hard. He’s going to get better.

Apostasy: You know kid, I really like that optimism on your part. It’s kind of endearing, in a naïve kind of way. But I can see that hope building up in your eyes… and I’ll be honest, I just can’t stand to see kids like you getting hurt.

Hank: What do you mean?

Apostasy: Hank… your brother has cancer in several different areas. They stopped treatment on him last week because, well, it’s not looking like he’s going to be cured. The only thing that would help him is a miracle…

Hank: So… god does miracles. And he’ll make it better!

Apostasy: Kid, it pains me to see you lied to like this. I just… I just couldn’t agree with that. Hank, there is no god to make things better. That’s just another lie your dad told you.

Hank: Why would dad lie?

Apostasy: Because it made things easier on him. Just like how he told you all that cigarette smoke he was blowing wouldn’t harm you. But instead, you and your brother are sick. It was a little lie to help him live a little easier for a little while. But kid, I won’t lie to you. You can believe in me.

Hank begins to tear up, looking at his brother, whose respirator heaves his chest up and down.

Hank: Why… why

Apostasy: Why did your dad lie? Because he might have believed those lies himself. Kid, there’s no easy way to say this, but you’ve only got so much time left. And I’m hoping, that I can make your last few weeks a little less like hell.

Hank: It’ll… it’ll be okay. Suffering only lasts so long.

Apostasy: About as long as your life lasts. And then… that’s it, you’re done. No more experiencing anything for you. No heaven where everything’s easier, not even a hell to at least let the universe acknowledge that you existed. You’ll only be in the memories of your cancer-ridden dad, the social workers who had to witness the horror of your story, the nurses who were saddened to see such a cute young tyke die so soon, and me. You’ll have caused everyone you’ve ever known to be a little bit sadder for you having existed. But hey, that’s all inevitable now. Let’s make something of your last moments. What d’ya say?

Hank: That’s not true! I’m a good boy, a boy who prays and god will make things right for me.

Apostasy: Oh, that’s adorable.

Hank is visibly crying, trying to muster up some courage to stand up to the much larger Apostasy.

Hank: And nothing you say can change the fact that I believe!

Apostasy: You know, that’s just precious. I was like you once, a believer. And then, I grew up. I learned about the world, and I learned what utter bullshit the church feeds to its congregation. Unfortunately, you’ll never grow up to an age where you can begin being a rational human being and see for yourself just how stupid you sound right now. Kid, I want to take you to Cedar Point. I was going to ride coasters with you, let you drink all the pepsi you wanted, buy you all the cotton candy and ice cream your tiny little stomach could handle.

Hank: But Chris needs me!

Apostasy: Hank… you’ve only got so much time left. I don’t want to see you waste it here, clapping your hands together and thinking that things are magically going to get better if you think really hard towards an imaginary being. They’re not. The only thing you can do now is make the rest of your life something decent. I don’t want you miserably sitting here, watching disease take your brother away from you and slowly putting you right where he is now. I want to see you laughing, I want you to enjoy one last taste of awesomeness before you no longer exist.

Hank: You’re mean! I’m not leaving my brother!

Apostasy: Such a shame. And I thought I could help you. But I hope that praying thing helps you out… somehow. And doesn’t totally leave you feeling like you’ve wasted your life. Later, kid!

Apostasy salutes Hank as he walks off. Hank buries his face in the blankets of his brother. The nurse comes in as Apostasy exits. They exchange a few inaudible words, with the nurse nodding along in agreement.

Narrator Little Hank had not met his childhood hero, the incorruptible Apostasy. He had met a twisted version of Heath Yates. This version was not an agnostic atheist who respected all viewpoints while maintaining his own morality. This Apostasy was an egotistical, cocky and preachy jerk. In wrestling terms, he was a heel. This Apostasy will never be found in our world, but only… in the Twilight Zone.

-----------------------------

My stomach lurches and threatens to spew hot, acidy vomit all over you. Your figure is almost cartoonishly grotesque. The doctors say you weigh in at over 500 pounds, and that honestly might be a bit thin. The fat drapes off of your taxed bones, spilling over the confines of the hospital bed that was built with the other 99.9% of the population in mind. The engineers who built it couldn’t have imagined you in their worst nightmares.

The condition is called cellulitis. It’s an infection of the skin, caused by a simple cut. But it’s not so simple with you. Your skin is stretched like an old shirt, breaking in points from the stress you’ve added to it with your carelessness. The apathy that it takes to get to where you’re at is simply staggering. You could have stopped eating so much 10 years ago. You could have thought about getting bariatric surgery when you became too fat to move about without a wheelchair. Maybe you could have come in when someone first pointed out that your leg swelled up past its normal girth and became discolored.

You are breathing shallow, taking up air that you shouldn’t even get to breathe. You’re hardly even human anymore, just an infected bag of fat that needs to be carted around by bleeding hearts who still think you can be saved. They still think you might be salvaged. But I know better.

I wish I hadn’t come across you in this damn hospital. The sight of you was oddly fascinating. It’s not everyday you see the effects of apathy so clearly and so pronounced. It’s sometimes hard to think that there might be a thinking person inside that blanket of hideous blubber. It relates to a fundamental human flaw – we can’t think of other people in terms of them being a completely different person – we can only think of people as somewhat different versions of ourselves. And I know that there’s no version of me that could give so little of a shit as to let myself become you.

The prognosis isn’t good. They say you aren’t responding to treatment. You’ll probably lose your leg, and it’s possible the infection is bad enough that you’ll die from it. As I look at the cross-shaped necklace that chokes your wrist, I can only become more disgusted. You’ve become so fat that you can’t wear a necklace where a necklace should go, and even your wrists are almost too bloated to contain the thin strand of gold wrapped around them. Suddenly, though, it makes sense.

I bet in some secret place, you kind of wish you would die. It was hard when people told you that you were fat, and nobody was attracted to you as a result. You couldn’t bring yourself to stop eating, since it was the only thing in life that seemed to fulfill you. You didn’t get a surgery because you realized how painful it would be to not be able to eat as much anymore. And you didn’t want to get treatment because you would have to admit that your carelessness had gotten you to a point of no return.

I bet you think that life is so hard. I bet you think that you’ve got some heaven waiting for you, where you won’t be fat anymore. Where everything will be easy and loving and you’ll be happy for the rest of time. At some point in time, you had to know that you were slowly killing yourself with a fork, but you decided that death wouldn’t be so bad. Everyone told you that you were a good person on the inside, mostly because you were so unattractive that nobody could scrape up anything nice to say about your looks. And you think that means that you’ll be free of this soon enough, and eating your way to heaven wasn’t such a bad plan.

You’re so stupid. I wish that you got to learn that there’s no heaven. I wish you were forced to confront your own mistakes, knowing that you can’t fix them now. It would be justice if you were forced to realize that you had fucked up your only time in existence, and that it tortured you and left you feeling as sick as I feel looking at you. But sadly, there is no such justice in this world. You will cease to experience this world, blissfully unaware that you have contributed nothing but misery, anger and a whole lot of tired muscles from the unfortunate people who will have to cart you off to the cremation chamber.

I understand why you people believe. You people are week, and need to believe in foolish fairy tales because you want to believe that the world is just. You want to believe that doing good things will net you a good existence. But what gives you a good existence is effort. It takes giving enough of a damn to fix the problems in your life, and maybe live long enough and well enough to have good things happen to you. But you have poisoned yourself with apathy. It reeks from your pores, and makes the room feel vile and sick.

But I guess the world needs people like you, to remind the rest of us how not to live.

-----------------------------

We see Apostasy in a suit and tie, in the rear of a church. The pews are filled with somber people, murmuring amongst themselves. At the front, a large picture of a red headed child sits, right next to an urn that is placed center stage. Many eyes are fixed on Hank, who is now hooked up to an oxygen tank and has his nurse at his side. Hank kneels on the altar, looking downwards out of depression and exhaustion. Apostasy looks towards the man on his right.

Apostasy: Lucas Sanders, right?

Lucas: Yeah… that’s me. My boys are up there.

Apostasy: It must be so hard for you.

Lucas: Yeah. It puts things in perspective, you know? The choices I’ve made, the things I’ve spent so much time doing. You never want to have to bury your own kids, you know? It’s a fucked up feeling.

Apostasy: Yeah. I can imagine.

Lucas: It’s supposed to be a celebration of life, but you can’t help but be a little sad.

Apostasy: Well, at least you all had the decency not to bring any bagpipers in.

Lucas chuckles at this.

Lucas: That was a spot of contention, actually. My parents said that the boys needed that tradition here.

Apostasy: Well, I’m not one for tradition. Besides, you can only hear “Amazing Grace” so many times. Sometimes I wonder if bagpipers know any other songs. I wonder why you’d even become a bagpiper, an instrument rivaled only by the accordion and vuvuzela in universal hatred.

Another laugh from Lucas, who reaches into his inside coat pocket. He withdraws his hand, shaking and balling up a fist.

Lucas: Right… I’m not doing that anymore.

Apostasy: Quitting smoking?

Lucas: And drinking. I started going to rehab after they took away Chris and Hank.

Apostasy: Good for you.

Lucas: Preacher told me that God doesn’t want you to poison your mind with such things. If you’re going to be absolved and loved by god, you’ve got to worship with your whole person. You can’t destroy half of your brain cells and be constantly high out of your mind.

Apostasy: So, you needed the threat of hell to get you to stop being a complete trainwreck?

Lucas: It took learning about what god wants from me to understand why I can’t do these things anymore.

Apostasy: I wish I could say I was surprised.

Lucas: What do you mean?

Apostasy: I don’t know if you know this, but I’m an atheist?

Lucas: An atheist? Well if you’d ever like to go to a church…

Apostasy: I’ve been to plenty. Technically, I’m in one right now.

Lucas: But you’ve got to…

Apostasy: Listen, I understand why you need God. You need this idea because you’re weak. You weren’t smart enough or strong enough to be a good person on your own. But I am. I’ve got an IQ of 137. I’ve got physical and mental toughness that you could never even dream of. And I’m generally a well-liked person because I can do the right thing, even without those all-too-reassuring lies of yours.

Lucas: They’re not lies.

Apostasy: I don’t expect to convince an idiot like you. Besides, you’re probably better off with your delusions. How else could you possibly live with yourself after all you’ve done to those kids?

Lucas: I didn’t….

Apostasy: Save it. Take a look around this church. Nobody wants to be near you, because they all loathe you. They look at you and know that you’re the reason they all have to be sad today. If I were to knock you out right now – and I could in a variety of ways – I bet they’d all love it. They’d cheer me. They would all wish that they could have done it themselves. Because they see you for what you are… scum.

Lucas: I’ve made mistakes. I can…

Apostasy: Make amends? You think that if you think really good thoughts and keep your body clean, that somehow it’ll improve your standing with god?

Lucas: I know so

Apostasy: You keep thinking that. It’s probably better for you, than constantly having to live with the fact that nothing will undo the damage you’ve done to yourself, your kids, and everyone that’s ever known those kids. You keep thinking those magic thoughts, and maybe you’ll be something slightly better than human garbage on the inside.

Apostasy gets up and makes his way towards the front of the church. The crowd continues to talk amongst themselves, the ceremony having not yet begun. Apostasy approaches the young Hank, who regards him with tears in his eyes.

Apostasy: How are you holding up, kid?

Hank: I’m okay.

Hank coughs, and slowly he begins convulsing as his coughs turn into a long fit of weezing. The entire crowd looks at Hank in sympathy, as he wipes his mouth.

Apostasy: You’re a tough kid.

Hank: Apostasy…

Apostasy: Yeah?

Hank: Can we still go to Cedar Point? I think I’d like that.

Apostasy: Well kid, they don’t allow air tanks on those rides. And in any case, I’ve got a flight I’ve got to catch in an hour. I wish I could, but sometimes life is tough.

Hank looks towards the picture of his brother.

Hank: Yeah, it is. I just wish everyone would stop feeling so bad for me… I want them to be happy.

Apostasy stoops to Hank’s level, and whispers into his ear.

Apostasy: It’s tough, but the tough part’s almost over for you. You won’t be a burden for much longer.

Hank’s eyes begin to glaze over. In the background, Lucas has approached Apostasy and attempts to sucker-punch him. Apostasy sees this and ducks, and Lucas instead wildly swings his arm into the rubber tubing connecting his son to his oxygen tank. His arm becomes tangled and the cord pulls his soon off of his feet, flying head-first into the tank.

Apostasy: You… monster!

Lucas looks down at his knocked-out son, wide-eyed and full of regret. He is lifted off of his feet by a half-nelson, and thrown onto his head by Apostasy. Lucas falls unconscious as the crowd looks on.

Apostasy: I… Hank… are you okay?

The crowd looks on in shock. The nurse checks Hank’s vitals and attempts to revive him.

Nurse: He’s… he’s okay. Still breathing, but we better get him out of here.

Apostasy takes Hank into his arms. He carries the young child away from the procession, while crowd members pat him on the shoulder and clap. The nurse carries the tank behind. They walk out of the church, and load Hank into a waiting ambulance.

Nurse: Thank you so much for everything. You really did wonders with this kid.

Apostasy: It was my pleasure. Wait… you dropped something.

Apostasy reaches into the ambulance, and grabs a ring from behind the oxygen tank. He hands it to the nurse.

Nurse: Oh… right. Thank you so much.

Apostasy: I help however I can. Only so much time on this Earth to do good things, you know.

Nurse: You truly are a wonderful man.

The nurse looks up at Apostasy, who grins. She leans her head forward and kisses him.

Apostasy: Now… that’s much appreciated.

Nurse: I’m sorry… I’m married… you must think I’m such…

Apostasy places a finger on her lips and shakes his head. He procures a pen from his pocket, and writes a phone number on her hand.

Apostasy: Don’t worry. You will have no judgment from me. Call me if you need anything.

The nurse grins and kisses him again. The scene fades out as she climbs into the ambulance, with Apostasy admiring her figure. He smiles contently.

Narrator: Such an odd thing, to see such a good character behaving so poorly. Kissing married women, talking down to addicts, making children cry and generally seeming to only care about his own happiness. This version of Apostasy is not one you’ll find in our world, but only… in the Twilight Zone.


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John Andrews

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FMW Superstar: John Andrews
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Wed Oct 03, 2012 2:58 am

A New Destiny... A New Man Full of Faith and Confidence...

Bodies fill the fields I see, hungry heroes end
No one to play soldier now, no one to pretend
Running blind through killing fields, bred to kill them all
Victim of what said should be
A servant `til I fall


John Andrews can be seen sparring in a wrestling ring with Father Bling providing insight on how to over come his opponent.

Father Bling: That's it Johnny! Just like that... Now carry your weight over and reverse it... There ya go you got him son go for the finish we've been practicing for Catalyst...

Andrews picked up his opponent on his shoulders then after getting to the center of the ring quickly tosses his opponent into the air before catching him in the air and turning into a cutter planting his opponent's face into the mat.

Father Bling: It took you long enough to get it down pat... Now again!

Andrews walked over to the corner and took a sip of coffee from a thermos before wiping sweat from his brow

OJA: I think we've done enough for today... We've practiced this move at least sixty times today and I am feeling pretty confident about using it. Besides if I keep going at it with Mark... We're going to need to find me a new sparring partner.

Mark waved his hand from the corner...

Father Bling: I don't care what you think kid... You don't become a champion without training... Look at Ali, he hated training but took every minute of it in stride because he knew he'd be the best one day. You've only got a few more days before the Pay Per View... We have to make sure this goes right...

OJA: Hell I am starting to think you're more nervous about this match than I am Father...Trust me I am ready for the Pay Per View and GSW... After all... Their greed and ignorance will suffice them and make my job just as easy. I am in this match to win it... It is time that the FMW locker room gets a 'W' and shows these GSW thugs where they belong on the food chain.

Father Bling: Now Johnny... We've discussed your need to control your anger... You've shown great progress and are actually in the best shape of your career right now. Stay focused and you will overcome your adversaries...

OJA: Best words of advice from a wise man... I am going to go wash up and call it a day... I will see you tomorrow...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Echos From The Past... A Taste of Southern Discomfort...

Ahh come on

Under the lights where we stand tall
Nobody touches us at all
Showdown, shootout, spread fear within, without
We're gonna take what's ours to have
Spread the word throughout the land
They say the bad guys wear black
We're tagged and can't turn back

You see us comin'
And you all together run for cover
We're takin over this town

Here we come reach for your gun
And you better listen well my friend, you see
It's been slow down below,
Aimed at you we're the cowboys from hell
Deed is done again, we've won
Ain't talking no tall tales friend
'Cause high noon, your doom
Comin' for you we're the cowboys from hell

Pillage the village, trash the scene
But better not take it out on me
'Cause a ghost town is found
Where your city used to be
So out of the darkness and into the light
Sparks fly everywhere in sight
From my double barrel, 12 gauge,
Can't lock me in your cage

You see us comin'
And you all together run for cover
We're takin over this town


Andrews is seen walking into a gym where a reporter is waiting...

Reporter: Mr. Andrews... A moment for an interview for your upcoming match at Catalyst?

Andrews shrugs knowing he cannot dodge the reporter...

OJA: Sure why not... Tell me you're at least going to report the facts this time and not spin it around to make GSW look like gods...

The reporter chuckled before lifting a notepad...

Reporter: Obviously you don't know my work... We report on REAL wrestling and REAL wrestlers... We've been eying you for awhile but you never seem to match up to Chris Austin; however your struggle against the plague of FMW has indeed caught our attention.

OJA: Well I am glad we agree on one thing...

Reporter: That would be?

OJA: GSW being a plague in FMW...

Reporter: Especially those devious twins... Sadistic little bitches aren't they...

OJA: You don't even know the half of it pal... Anyway lets get this interview underway you're cutting into my training schedule...

Reporter: Right... Okay, so Andrews... How does it feel to be in a four way match for a championship belt that the winner will get to re-name whatever he or she desires?

OJA: To honestly answer that I guess I could say a bit of apprehension... but in a good way you know. I have studied all my opponents leading up to this match and know their strong points and their weaknesses. Unfortunately, I have spent too much time with Santana Braxton and one thing that I can say about that is within that time of being their "Man Servant" I have learned what makes both of those twins tick and I have learned their secret. Brett Jackson, I am not too worried about... As for Jonathon King... He is too afraid to go toe to toe with ya and depends on numbers and hit and run antics. In reality I see him as my biggest adversary in this match though...

Reporter: Out of three superstars you consider only one a threat? How is that? Is that a safe strategy to go into the match with??

OJA: Don't get me wrong Santana and the Brett Jackson are both decent wrestlers... It is just that Jonathon King holds a bit more experience in the ring and can be a rather sneaky fellow when he needs to be... It would not surprise me if King lets Santana do all the fighting for him...

Reporter: Ya know John... You seem a lot more different than the last time i've seen someone interview you. You seem more laid back and more focused...

OJA: That would be true... I have taken a lot of personal time I guess you could say to re-gain my confidence in the ring. If I hadn't done so I wouldn't even be in this match at all... as a matter of fact I probably would of hung up my boots and called it quits. After meeting Father Bling my mind is totally back on wrestling 100% and controlling my temper to fully focus on the match at hand.

Before the Reporter could ask another question Andrew's cell phone rang...

OJA: Mind if I take this? I've been waiting for this call for the past week...

OJA: Hello? Hey bro... Glad you could finally get back to me... So have you thought about my offer?

After a brief pause Andrews noticed the reporter was still writing...

OJA: Look... Right now isn't really the best time to discuss this... All I will say is I need ya here brother... I need ya in my corner for Catalyst... You've seen what these guys have been up to... Alright, be sure ya call back soon... Have a shot for me...

Reporter: I don't mean to pry but that sounded a lot like you are bringing in back up for Catalyst... Are you that concerned with GSW being at ring side and in the arena in general?

OJA: Look pal... I am not commenting on that... The only thing I will say is that there is a good chance GSW may get a chance to meet an old friend... As far as this interview is concerned... It's over...

Andrews got up and walked away from the reporter...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Old School Values...

This is the year where hope fails you
The test subjects run the experiments
And the bastard you know, is the hero you hate
But cohesion it's possible if we try
There's no reason, there's no lesson
No time like the present, tell me you right now
What have you got to lose, what have you got to lose
Except your soul...who's with us!?


The camera pans out revealing Andrews walking slowly towards a wrestling ring

OJA: When I first started in this business I had a lot to learn and to some degrees I still do, yet i've learned a lot along the way. My father trained me to be the best and to be the best you must achieve great victories throughout your career, not just be apart of some little group that prances around like little divas thinking they're the best that professional wrestling has to offer.

As I stand in this ring I realize that the members of GSW have forgotten the true reasons behind being a professional wrestler. It isn't the fame... The glory... It is about waking up night and day despite the bruises, heart aches, and tribulations wanting to provide the best top notch scale of entertainment for the crowd. I hold my head up high knowing full well that I give the fans 110% regardless of if they are cheering for me or booing me. After Catalyst I will be walking out as the NEW Southern Light Heavyweight Championship and the strap will have a new look... Deer antlers in the center encircled by the stars and bars for my heritage. I may not be the king of old school but I have a few tricks up my sleeve... It will ensure my victory and ensure that the gold doesn't go to GSW but remains in the hands of a FMW superstar. Catalyst is only the first step to the demise of GSW... Their days are numbered...

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Faith or Stupidity?...

Company Always on the run
Destiny is the rising sun
Oh I was born six gun in my hand
Behind a gun I'll make my final stand
That's why they call me...

Bad company
And I can't deny
Bad company
Till the day I die
Till the day I die
Till the day I die...

Rebel souls
Deserters we are called
Chose a gun and threw away the sword Now these towns
They all know our name six gun sound is our claim to fame
I can hear them say...

Bad company
And I can't deny
Bad company
Till the day I die
Till the day I die
Till the day I die...


The camera zooms in on Father Bling and Andrews having a conversation...

Father Bling: Damn it Johnny ya can't bring him in... You cannot get re-affiliated with him... I will not allow it. I have read of his exploits and I will not accept you going back towards the dark side.

OJA: He's changed... Everything... He has changed I can assure you... He's my brother I wouldn't bring him back unless he had gone straight...

Father Bling: I guess... When is he supposed to get here?

OJA: Don't know... He said he'll give me a call when his plane's landed and that's all that he has told me thus far...

Father Bling: See... Already being shady and secretive...

OJA: You're suspicious of everyone... Don't you remember that hot dog vendor in New York that you clotheslined because you thought he was a member of GSW?

Father Bling: Hey... In my defense he looked just like Jonathon King... Perhaps a brother maybe... I simply thought King was working his second job and we just happened to cross paths with him. He also put too much relish on my dog... BASTARD!

OJA: My point exactly... You need to give him a chance... He will be a good ally to have in this war with GSW... If GSW only knew what was in store for them...

The camera faded out as Andrews began walking towards the camera man...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Champion of Relish?

Well I'm an Axe Grinder... Pile Driver...
Mother says that I never never mind her.
Got no brains, I'm insane...
Teacher says that I'm one big pain...
I'm like a laser 6-streamin' razor
I got a mouth like an alligator.
I want it louder...
More power...
I'm gonna rock ya till it strikes the hour...


Andrews is standing on the corner waiting for Father Bling to re-join him, as he watches the Priest he notices the man beginning to grab the vendor by the arm, pulling him forward into a lariat clothesline... Andrews dropped his backpack and scrambled across the street...

OJA: DAMN IT... NOT AGAIN!

Father Bling began yelling at the Vendor lying on the ground...

Father Bling: And you can go back and tell your pals with GSW that we're onto your antics... You're not going to catch us with our pants down... and for Christs sakes you went heavy on the relish!

OJA: Padre you cannot go running around knocking peoples heads off because they put extra relish on your food.

Andrews hears the sounds of sirens wailing in the distance as the Priest begins putting the boots to the Vendor on the ground...

OJA: C'mon we gotta go... The cops are coming... Really your putting the boots to the man...

Father Bling: You see what happens when you give a stranger too much Relish!?!?... Do you see what happens when you fuck up a strangers hot dog!?!?

Andrews finally caught Father Bling's attention whom finally realized what was going on...

Father Bling: Ya could of stopped me lad...

OJA: Really...

Father Bling: Lets get out of here before the fuzz arrives...

OJA: Who still calls the cops the fuzz?

Father Bling: I do now lets go...

Both Andrews and the Priest strode down the side walk and loaded up into Andrew's 1968 Ford F-250, which Andrew's had customized to his liking, Andrews threw in a Lynyrd Skynyrd CD...

OJA: Alright what's gotten into you? This is twice in the past three weeks you've taken out a hot dog vendor, do you just have a vendetta against vendors or what?

Father Bling: Just as a candle cannot burn without fire, men cannot live without a spiritual life.

Andrews raised a brow...

OJA: Come again?

Father Bling: It is simple my son... We must break their spirit in order to break their break their will...

OJA: Right... Right... Sure... So we take the fight out of them they accept defeat and that involves taking out hot dog vendors every other state or country and you call me the sadistic one of the group...

Father Bling: Something like that...

OJA: I have some things to get done before the Pay Per View... Can I count on you not to take out anymore vendors?

Father Bling: Of course...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Flashback to Sweet Water...

October 31st, 2007
Sweet Water, Texas
"Bad Man" Brody Mulligan versus "Playboy" Bobby Rose in a Lumberjack Match

I'm living on an endless road...
Around the world for rock and roll.
Sometimes it feels so tough...
But I still ain't had enough...
I keep saying that it's getting too much...
But I know I'm a liar...
Feeling all right in the noise and the light...
But that's what lights my fire...


Kevin Stutter: Welcome to Sweet Water folks... Tonight Texas Championship Wrestling presents "Bad Man" Brody Mulligan versus "Playboy" Bobby Rose in a Lumberjack Match... These two have clashed before, especially during Mulligan's debut match.

Mark Jenkins: That's right folks it is guaranteed to be a good ol' fashioned brawl... One question is can the Playboy tolerate the match type and last long enough to go toe to toe with Brody Mulligan. History has built between these two and it is time that these lay it on the line in a nut up or shut up type match.

Ring Announcer: Ladies and Gentleman... Tonight's contest is a Lumber Jack Match... Introducing first... From Houston, Texas... Weighing in at 215 lbs... he is "Bad Man" Brody Mulligan!

"Thunder Kiss 65'" by White Zombie begins playing as Brody Mulligan makes his way slowly from behind the curtain rattling his cow bell and raises it with his right arm, whipping his hair back in a fit of rage hyping up the crowd. As he nears the ring he throws the cowbell over the top rope and slides beneath the bottom rope, getting up to run the ropes several times.

Kevin Stutter: To keep the interference to a minimum... Right who is to say the lumberjacks won't decide to become participants themselves?

Ring Announcer: Introducing the challenger... From Hollywood, California... Weighing in at 210 lbs... he is the "Playboy" Bobby Rose!

"Sharp Dressed Man" by ZZ Top fills the arena as "Playboy" Bobby Rose struts confidently to the ring wearing his black and red robe...

Mark Jenkins: I like the "Playboys" style here tonight... Look how he elegantly struts to the ring despite Mulligan's appearance. It looks like he just got interrupted at a five star hotel and forced to wear his bath robe to the ring...

The bell rings as the two wrestlers circle each other preparing to lock up... One of the lumberjacks outside the ring reaches for Mulligan's boot which Mulligan quickly pulls away before "Playboy" Bobby Rose tries running at the big man only to run straight into a clothesline...

Hell Raiser, in the Thunder and heat...
Hell Raiser, rock you back in your seat...
Hell Raiser, and I'll make it come true...
Hell Raiser, I'll put a spell on you...


Kevin Stutter: Ouch... The Playboy isn't looking too pretty in the opening moves Mark... It looks like Mulligan has got full control of this one, wait a minute, the Playboy is playing possum... He pulls the rope and Mulligan goes outside the ring...

Mark Jenkins: The Playboy's got the ref's attention... Look several of the lumberjacks are beating the hell out of Mulligan! Wait a second here comes the others... They're coming to Mulligans rescue fending off the other lumberjacks and tossing Mulligan back into the ring...

Kevin Stutter: Remember we've seen the Playboy use his fame and money to hire goons to attack Mulligan before, this isn't surprising...

Mark Jenkins: Look "The Kid" just took out the ref... Here comes the brawl the fans have been waiting for... We're about to see some action before Southern Justice!

Walking out on another stage,
Another town, another place...
Sometimes I don't feel right,
Nerves wound up too damn tight.
People keep telling me it's bad for my health...
But kicking back don't make it...
Out of control, I play the ultimate role...
But that's what lights my fire....


Kevin Stutter: The action has flowed out of the ring... The only two that remain in the ring are Mulligan and Rose! Wait a second... Who is that behind the Playboy?

Mark Jenkins: I think the Playboy knows someone is behind him... He's turning around...

Kevin Stutter: That's John Andrews! "Outlaw" John Andrews is stalking the Heavyweight Champion!...

Mark Jenkins: Holy Cow! Andrews just laid out the Heavyweight Champion with his patented 'Outlaw Drop'! Mulligan is staring at the Outlaw in disbelief...

Kevin Stutter: Andrews is shaking the referee back to reality... If Andrews is a lumberjack in this match why is he hiding behind the stairs?

Mark Jenkins: Good point... Mulligan is going for the cover... 1...2...3... If this were for the title Mulligan would have been crowned the new Heavyweight Champion!

Kevin Stutter: We're lucky... Look Andrews has a microphone in his hand and is rolling back into the ring...

Hell Raiser, in the Thunder and heat...
Hell Raiser, rock you back in your seat...
Hell Raiser, and I'll make it come true...
Hell Raiser, I'll put a spell on you...


Mark Jenkins: Lets listen in and see what this is about...

OJA: You all know me... There is no need to make a fuss over this... Of course you all are saying to yourselves... Why John? Why? Well here is the fact... I am sick and tired of this charade... Sometimes the good guy has to do some evil deeds in order to truly be respected. Remember kiddos, in order to survive you must ally yourself with the bigger and badder dog. That is why tonight we're revealing "Southern Discomfort"... If you've got a problem with us we'll be happy and willin to shove our boots up your ass.

A superstar sprints from the locker room and tries entering the ring to silence Andrews... After sliding underneath he is quickly taken out by Mulligan with a brutal Spine Buster...

OJA: You all just don't get it... You're in a new era of professional wrestling... This has been in the works for months and has been in front of every one of your eyes. Tonight you've all taken a part of history... A new chapter in Texas Championship Wrestling has been started and everyone in its Tag Division better watch out because we've got our sights set on gold.

Andrews continues cutting his shoot promo while another superstar from the back runs to the ring, this time armed with a steel chair, after sliding in he is greeted by Mulligan's size 14 boot, both men put the boots to the wrestler before Andrews tossed the mic outside the ring before walking to the back...

Kevin Stutter: Southern Discomfort... Both "Bad Man" Brody Mulligan and "Outlaw" John Andrews performing a hostile takeover of TCW issuing a bold statement to the rest of the tag teams in the company...


I'm living on an endless road...
Around the world for rock and roll...
Sometimes it feels so tough...
But I still ain't had enough...
Feeling all right in the noise and the light...
But that's what lights my fire...

Hell Raiser, in the Thunder and heat...
Hell Raiser, rock you back in your seat...
Hell Raiser, and I'll make it come true...
Hell Raiser, I'll put a spell on you...

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to the Locker Room... Particularly Brett Jackson...

Andrews walks confidently into the general locker room and quietly sets up his own little corner of the spacious room, as he moves around he notices a note left on the events board, after examining it more closely he notices it is from one of his opponents reaching for a notepad and pen nearby he scribbles a quick reply...

OJA: I like shooting pool, I like throwing darts, I like going to the junkyard and looking for parts, I like shooting my guns in the dark, I like to hang out in the trailer park, I've got used tires for sale in good shape, I've got every Dukes of Hazzard episode on tape, Who are you to tell me I aint got no class?
I'm proud to be a redneck piece of white trash. I like to dip and I like to spit, I like talking on the phone when I'm taking a shit, I'm proud to be a redneck piece of white trash, If you don't like that pucker up mother fucker you can kiss my ass.

Last night I went to bed with a buzz, I dreamed I was drinking I woke up and I was, I'll be a drunk redneck until the day I'm dead, I drink beer with my breakfast and before I go to bed, I like to fish and hunt when I'm drunk, I like to fuck in the back of my truck, You can call me rude and crude and crass, But I'm proud to be a redneck piece of white trash, I like to dip and I like to spit... If you don't like that pucker up mother fucker you can kiss my ass.

Sincerely,
"Outlaw" John Andrews


Andrews looked over his penmanship before finally posting his reply over Brett Jackson's note to the locker room... Grabbing his bottle of Bud Light he peeled off the cap and took a drink before exiting the locker room.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cause God Blessed Texas...

Andrews parked his Ford F-250 in front of the bar where he was supposed to meet his former partner Brody Mulligan... Thoughts raced through his mind... This would be the first time him and Mulligan would come face to face after calling it quits and going their separate ways... Andrews as a singles wrestler and slight retirement for Mulligan. Opening the door to the bar, Andrews could hear the familiar tune "God Bless Texas" by Little Texas and knew his former partner in ass kickin' was inside...

Brody Mulligan: Hey Tex... You just going to walk past a brother without offering him a beer?

Andrews turned around in time as the larger man took him into a bear hug...

OJA: BARTENDER! Two shots of Southern Comfort!

Andrews yelled through the pain of the bear hug...

OJA: Alright ya big animal heel... Christ save that for Jonathon King..

Brody Mulligan: Sorry, it's just been so long since i've seen ya brother... As soon as I got your voice mail I called ya back... Sorry it took so long but i've been busy on my end.

OJA: Hey, your here now and that is all that matters and you're right it has been far too long since we've seen each other.

Brody Mulligan: So these GSW fellers... I am kind of up to date on them but am still doing my homework.

OJA: Jonathon King and the Twins are just pawns and will be easy to remove from the equation..

Brody Mulligan: That's obvious since they're going after a wuss like you... Mulligan grinned...

Andrews raised a brow...

Brody Mulligan: What? All I am going to say is you've changed your approach to things and in some respects I understand that... I just want you to know that if I am getting involved in this... We're going 100% to get the job done little brother...

OJA: I understand and I agree... Sometimes to beat a savage you have to think like him and in some aspects be like him...

Brody Mulligan: Well we were the best at that...

OJA: Indeed we were... Now for the Pay Per View... I want you in the back unless this shit hits the fan...

Brody Mulligan: You're kidding? You are just going to give them free reign of the match?

OJA: Hey... Nobody knows your here yet... Some folks in management does but the guys in the locker room and GSW in particular doesn't know what is fixing to hit them. If we do this no holds barred kick ass and take names approach we're only going to put ourselves in a jam in the long run. It's best to do a precision strike once the moment presents itself...

Brody Mulligan: And that moment being you getting your ass handed to you on a silver platter...

OJA: Damn it... Quit being negative... Yes they may get a good punch or three in there but the point is we are going to blind side them and catch them entirely off guard.

Brody Mulligan: Fair enough... I like it...

Both men clanked their shot glasses together before downing their drinks before a group of local patrons confronted the men over their "music" choice...

Angry Canadian: Hey yanks... How bout you take your hound digger music and American charm and run along somewhere else?

Andrews and Mulligan tried ignoring the group but the group kept getting closer...

Angry Canadian: Can't ya hear? I said get your shit and get out of our bar!

Andrews and Mulligan both stood up... and Mulligan turned towards the leader of the crowd...[/color]

Brody Mulligan: Look pal... We're just havin' a few drinks and discussin' old times how bout you just go on and mind your own business...

Angry Canadian: What did you just say you piss ant?

Mulligan winked at Andrews and both men reached back and punched the leader of the group square in the face yelling GOD BLESS TEXAS in unison and ran towards the door with the rest of the group in pursuit. Peeling out of the parking lot in the pick-up truck Mulligan grinned at his former tag partner and brother...


Brody Mulligan: Alright maybe ya still got a little of that old "Outlaw" in ya kid...

OJA: Oh yeah... Just like old times... Except we didn't stay and fight the whole bar...

Andrews and Mulligan rode off as Toronto's finest began arriving at the bar and jumping out of their cruisers to make an arrest...

'Cause God blessed Texas with His own hand... Brought down angels from the promised land... Gave 'em a place where they could dance. If you wanna see heaven brother here's your chance... I've been sent to spread the message... God blessed Texas...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Show Time... Pre-Match Interview for ESPN...

Since I was born they couldn't hold me down
Another misfit kid, another burned-out town

I never played by the rules and I never really cared
My nasty reputation takes me everywhere

Well I look and see it's not only me
So many others have stood where I stand
We are the young so raise your hands

They call us problem child
We spend our lives on trial
We walk an endless mile
We are the youth gone wild
We stand and we won't fall
We're one and one for all
The writing's on the wall
We are the youth gone wild


Erin Andrews: I am backstage at Full Metal Wrestling's Pay Per View Catalyst... We were promised top notch entertainment that will be shown throughout the world this evening live from Toronto, Canada. With me right now is one of the competitors in tonight's Fatal Four Way Match for a shot at a new championship. From what we've been told by top officials for the company whomever wins tonight's match decides the new name and direction for this championship that was formerly the FMW Television Title.

John Andrews is seen checking his boots, applying a fresh roll of black tape on both wrists and putting on his black vest before walking over to the Sports Reporter...

OJA: How ya'll doin' tonight out there in T.V. land... Andrews grinned... I see a lot of Texas flags out there tonight and it is damn sure good to see the support all the way up here in Canada. Ya see Miss Andrews it is like this... These little boys and girls in GSW have decided to poke their noses into the wrong Texan's business. I was minding my own business and won the Television Championship fair and square, yet the Braxton Twins feel that I am not worthy enough to be the Television Champion... Therefore hand the title over to Jonathon King on a silver platter. For those that can read between the lines and aren't brainwashed by GSW's bullshit...

Erin Andrews: Um John you can't say that...

OJA: This is Pay Per View baby I can say whatever the hell I want...

Erin Andrews: Very well then...

OJA: Now as I was sayin'... If you can read through the bullshit and red tape... You'll realize this was all a ploy that in fact backfired on GSW. You see not only is Jonathon King in this match but our beloved little miss priss Santana Braxton is also going to be involved in this shindig and I actually applaud management for that... ya'll are finally starting to do something right... It is about time somebody stood up to those stooges that are involved in this little clique... This is the beginning of the end for Gold Standard Wrestling... and this "Outlaws" going to have the last laugh...

"The Kid Goes Wild" by Babylon A.D. begins filling the arena and the crowd begins cheering for the Lonestar State's #1 Outlaw...

OJA: Well that's my cue sweetheart... It's been fun... Ya'll have a good evenin' ya hear...

Andrews walked confidently to the curtain to the entrance ramp before bursting out from behind the curtain performing his trademark entrance...

Billy's on the run tonight he's a nightmare...
Fire burnin' in his eyes
Blood's boiling hot
Hell bent and out of control

He's out of control...

"Oh, you fuckin' cops! You'll never gonna get me. You'll never take me alive! You
pull that fuckin' gun, you'd better use it! Cause I'm not going down and I'm not going
to jail and I'm not doing any fuckin' time! This is my night! I'm alive!!!

Ow! Angry and young, under the gun
The kid goes wild!
Rebel alone, heart of a stone
The kid goes wild!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



Last edited by John Andrews on Tue Oct 09, 2012 7:58 pm; edited 17 times in total
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Antonio_G
FMW Abandoned Champion
FMW Abandoned Champion


Posts : 46
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Wrestler Profile
FMW Superstar: Antonio Grimelli
Championship:

PostSubject: I am the man who listens   Wed Oct 03, 2012 9:06 am

The scene opens with a wide shot of a busy park. Parents are out with their children, joggers following their usual circuit and a couple of dogs playing fetch with their owners. The camera pans down, focusing on a bench, where Antonio is seen sitting beside a pair of old women.

It's an inevitablity that one of the things you can't help but do when you're a mute is listen. Sure, everyone can hear what's going on around them, but when you can't speak...you learn to listen.

Antonio is dressed in his casual wears, comfortable jeans and a slightly snug t-shirt to emphasize the gun show. He is bowing his head, with his peaked cap turned down, trying to hide a smirk. The shot pans slightly to the right where the two old women sit and we begin to hear their conversation.

"I couldn't believe it when he said that." said the woman closest to Antonio, for names sake we'll call her Saggyboobs McGee.

"Well I imagine not, that's shocking. Absolutely shocking. What did you do?" replied the woman to her right, who we'll refer to as Wrinkley Wrinkleton.

Saggyboobs McGee gave Antonio a quick glance, then assuming he wasn't listening turned back to answer, "Well what could I do, I had to keep watch!".

Mrs Wrinkleton's face was a picture of utter shock. Agast she replied, "You kept watch!? You mean, you let him go through with it?"

Saggyboobs sighed and nodded, "There was very little else that I could do. He was going to do it and that was that."

And with that reply shock turned to disgust on the face of Mrs Wrinkleton, and the camera panned back toward the now shoulder bouncing Antonio.


You heard all that, yes? Now...did you listen?

Let me regale you of the entirity of that story before I make my point. Old Saggyboobs was in the car with her son, they were visiting a sister of hers, Saggybum. Anyway, the story goes, Moobs, the son, was bursting for the toilet but it was another twenty minutes until they would reach their destination.

So he'd a brainwave, he knew there was a chapel coming up shortly so he told his mother that'd he'd quickly pull in there, do his business and off they'd go.

Saggyboob's was fine with this...until they got there. They pulled into the car park and after a minute or so of investigating Moobs quickly worked out that the chapel was all locked up...leaving him no where to empty his bowels. Unperturbed by this, young Moobs had a brainwave...wait for it...he would do a shit at the side of the car.

Yup.

Now, if you were listening, Saggyboobs reluctantly agreeed. Now if this entire thing weren't bad enough, he decided the safest way of carrying this off without getting caught is if he stooped at her side of the car.

Oh, it gets worse.

After Moobs, whose back was resting against his mother, as he shat in a chapel carpark while she kept lookout for him, did all this, a few days later a story reached the McGee household. It turns out, "Local vandals desecrated the holy carpark, and the good Father himself, Fr. Terry Crilly, stepped right in the, what is presumed to be 'dog shit'. He was distraught." Poor man.

So, what was the point of all that I can hear you ask yourself. I can hear it because I listen. I listen because I can't speak. And you know what, I'd have it no other way.

People who talk, they usually talk about themselves. Kuruc and King Sharpedo, they'll undoubtly try and tell you how good they are. They'll dismiss the strengths of their opponents, most laughably probably me. A man whose only goal in life is to bring joy, spread love and be happy. Luckily, I'm at my happiest when I'm doing what I love, and what I love is bringing the joy of victory to the hearts of my few loyal fans.

Sharpedo, he should know better. He's been in the ring with me before, and he knows that I am his superior. He'll rely on my good nature, and perhaps, rightfully so. It's not my goal to hurt people, just a biproduct of The Elephant Gun's domination in the ring.

Kuruc, comes in to this match as champion. The man who'll be fancied to leave with the belt as well. But why? What has he done to deserve such praise? I'm sure he'll be quick to tell you, and you will hear it, but will you really listen? Will you take it on board? I doubt it.

I am the man with no tongue, I am the man who listens.

I hear the words, but I listen to your voice. Kuruc, champion...brave words don't mask a timid voice. Banging hard on your chest doesn't breed intimidation. Walking in champion does little to garuntee you walk out...at all.

The shot widens to reveal Mila, Antonio's girlfriend approaching. The Big Italian Sausage looks up, almost as if he could hear her footsteps through the crowded park, and stands up to greet her with a hug.

"We've got the meeting baby! Next month, step one on getting you your voice back is starting!" says Mila, excitedly stretching up on her tiptoes to give Antonio a kiss.

Antonio nods and smiles down at her as they set off toward the exit gates. With each stride his chest puffs out more and more and he smiles to himself wickedly as the shot fades to black.


I am the man with no tongue, I am the man who listens.

I am the man who wins.
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The Natural Born Thriller



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FMW Superstar: Brett Jackson
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Fri Oct 05, 2012 3:31 pm



Before the throne of the Almighty, man will be judged not by his acts but by his intentions. For God alone reads our hearts.
Mahatma Gandhi

We are either in the process of resisting God's truth or in the process of being shaped and molded by his truth.
Charles Stanley

I am still far from being what I want to be, but with God's help I shall succeed.
Vincent Van Gogh

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Reinhold Niebuhr




Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground

Leaves become most beautiful when they're about to die. The thought would not leave Brett's mind as he walked down the quiet street. It made him think of his mother. The change before then end. The look in her eyes. The sudden burst of life, vibrant and different then normal but beautiful none the less. The soft rain beat down on him as he tried to collect himself.

The past few weeks had been difficult and confusing. He couldn't help but feel torn and conflicted. How could God have taken his mother from him and yet still be in his corner as the angel had said. His rock was taken and in her place all that was left was the crushing responsibility toward his siblings and fear of having to become a real man. Life it seemed had not prepared him for this sudden change. Here was a kid who not a year before had won the fucking Heisman trophy and now football was gone. He had to pretend he knew what he was doing when in reality he didn't have the first fucking clue.

"Hello Brett."

The Angel stood before him. Dressed in a trench coat and slacks he was not imposing. He carried with him a unique blend of peacefulness and something else. Could it be longing that Brett saw? Perhaps, but it was a question that could wait for another time.

Brett: Hello Michael No wings today? Going incognito? To what do I owe the pleasure?

Michael smiled. he gazed at the trees, the leaves just beginning to turn.

Michael: Beautiful isn't it?

Brett: What's beautiful?

Michael:
Rebirth. This cycle, perpetually in motion. Waiting for no one. You either change and adapt or you die. Like these leaves.

Michael pointed to them, a sense of wonderment in his eyes.

Brett:
The leaves die Michael.

Michael grinned.

Michael: Yes they do. At least they try though. I have often wondered if there was a significance to this type of beauty. Do you think it prepares us? This beauty that is so short lived holds such hope. The cold winters drive us inside, isolating us really. But we hold out hope that perhaps we can make it through. Perhaps we can share with others our beauty so that they to can withstand the cold.

Brett: I don't know what the fuck you are talking about.

Michael smiled again.

Michael: No I don't expect that you do. But someday you will.

Brett: I doubt that you came down here to discuss the life cycle of trees Mike. What's on your mind?

Michael: God has seen fit to give you an opportunity. You have a championship match at Catalyst. Do not disappoint. God knows that cesspool could use a little hope. No pun intended. Now don't go proselytizing or anything, it isn't your style. That isn't what they need. That isn't what you need.

Brett started to get flustered.

Brett: Since you seem to be the expert, what the fuck is it that I need?

Michael broke his gaze from Brett and looked at the leaves.

Michael:
Hope.



Opportunity

Brett had spent his flight to Toronto watching tape of his opponents. He began to think that he had figured them out but he couldn't escape the fact that he was his own biggest enemy. His pride had held him back twice now and he would have no more of it. Rotunda and Prideman and anyone else who got in the way could be handled at another time, right now he just had to keep his eye on the prize. It was his job to make sure that this championship started off right, not fall in the hands of someone incapable of doing it justice like Austin had done with the FMC. FMW kept falling down what seemed to be a rabbit hole of indifference but perhaps he could provide the spark needed to pull it back from the brink. He took out a notebook and started to write.


Brett Jackson walked into the arena as a man possessed. He said nothing and looked at no one as he walked confidently to the locker room where the boys were gathered. He walked to the bulletin board and tacked up a note before leaving.




An open letter to the competitors of Full Metal Wrestling

Championships are about legacies and legacies are a funny thing. When you win an esteemed championship you are placed at the level of those who held the title before you. It is up to you to prove that you deserve that label and level of esteem. This is a unique instance however. The title for which I am competing is brand new. It has no legacy but the one yet to be built. This, depending on the winner, can mean absolutely nothing or it can mean a great deal. In this match the four of us have an opportunity not to secure our legacies but to create one. Weather the title becomes esteemed or a laughing stock is entirely dependent on the people in this match.

Perhaps I do not deserve this opportunity but I would be a fool not to seize it. My opponents will tell you how they have earned this honor and I will not begrudge them that fact. However, it is my solemn belief that should one of these individuals win they will not do this title or our company a service. I have only one goal in this world and that is to provide for my family. To the others in this match, this will only be a notch in their belts. They want greater and grander things. They seek control. They seek to reshape this company in their own image. Not I. This company was great long before I arrived and will be great long after I am gone. I am but a small part of the collective that we call FMW.

Would we rather see the legacy of this company sullied by those on a power trip or would we rather turn them away and say that today this company is greater than it ever has been. That today the legacy we have the opportunity to advance is a shared one. This match and this title represent a hope that sometimes, with the proper amounts of faith and determination, we can shape our legacies. It is my hope that you and I share this dream for our company. We must stand together or we will fall separately.


Regards,

Brett Jackson
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Sharpedo King
FMW Abandoned Champion
FMW Abandoned Champion
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Join date : 2011-03-18
Location : Hoenn Region, PokeEarth

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FMW Superstar: Sharpedo King
Championship:

PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Mon Oct 08, 2012 1:15 am

The Sharpedo Chronicles
Episode Four: Don't Turn Around


I will survive...
without you.

Shapedo King was off his game at Corruption. There was no excuses for the way he lost the match for SMUT. In his mind, it didn't feel right after he lost his Abandoned Title. He was denying it going into the tag team match, believing that losing the strap wouldn't effect him much.

Boy, was he wrong!

After seeing Kuruk with the strap around his waist on playback, the Deep Sea Sensation realized that he was lying to himself. The Abandoned title on another person after he beat Apostasy for it at 15.2. It seemed alien to him that an Apache Warrior had the strap that was once around his waist.


The Linguist: Sharky, please surface, we need to talk.

Ignoring the pleas from above the surface, SK stayed underwater in the pool on such a clear evening. He's been underwater for days. For a human, that would would've killed him long before day one passed without an air tank. Thankfully, the Young Shark was able to breathe underwater, as Paper Bag Man and Apostasy can attest to.

The Linguist: Fine... if you aren't coming out here, then I'm coming in.

Tired of waiting for his client to bring himself to surface, The Linguist stripped himself down to his boxers, and dove into the pool to enter the underwater confines of Sharpedo King. For someone who seemed to have let himself go over the months of being a manager to a luchador enmascarado, The Linguist was quite the swimmer. After spotting the client in the aquatic doldrums, the translator hooked SK under his arms, and brought his client to the surface by force, even surprising the Luchador. Grabbing onto the ledge of the pool, the Deep Sea Sensation was flailing a little bit, having slight trouble adjusting to the chill of the nighttime air, enhanced by the wetness of his body above the surface.

SK: Sh-Shar-Sharpedo?!

The Linguist: Listen, SK... you are my client, and this is not like you to let a loss get you down. You are FMW royalty, for crying out loud! Not that GSW asshole whose only claim to fame is having 'King' as his last name.

SK: Sharpedo Shar-pedo.

The Linguist: You feel that you lost the Abandoned Title too soon? Is that why you were so down after you were pinned in that tag match?

Sharpedo King nodded. He was not going to lie about it; he was being sloppy.

The Linguist: I feel ya, SK. You definitely lost the Abandoned title too soon, so I had a talk with the Corruption General Manager, and invoked the rematch clause on your behalf. You're facing Kuruk at Catalyst.

The former Abandoned Champion hugged his manager, though The Linguist had to back out of the embrace; he had something else to say.

The Linguist: In the light of you being pinned by Antonio Grimelli, the rematch was altered into a Triple Threat title match.

Saying nothing about his frustration vocally, Sharpedo King slammed his fist into the water, then got up out of the pool.

The Linguist: And where are you going?

SK: Sharpedo.

The Linguist: To gather the rest of the Super Mega Ultra Team for training? I'll come out with you.

As the Linguist started to get out, SK pushed his manager back in the water. Swimming back to the ledge as soon as he got his equilibrium back.

The Linguist: Now why did you do that for?

SK: Sharpedo Shar-Shar-pedo!

The masked wrestler pointed to a floating pair of boxer shorts. They also looked like they were also the translator's size. It seems that when he dove into the pool, the underwear fell off of the Linguist without him even noticing that he ended up completely naked. How embarrassing!

I'm gonna be strong.
I'm gonna do fine;
Don't worry about this heart of mine.


Back in the lair of the Super Mega Ultra Team...

Reggie: Who the fuck is Antonio Grimelli?

Paper Bag Man: Obviously that giant that decimated Sharpedo King.

Peyton: Apparently, he had his tongue cut out.

The Linguist: Even I couldn't understand his body language. He's quite formidable.

Sharpedo King was pounding his fists into a punching bag, furiously. His mind is focused on both his opponents; each of them Heavyweights compared to him. His high-flying abilities will get him far against one. But how was he going to fare against two to win back his Abandoned title, the strap that once belonged to him. The odds seemed like that the odds were stacked against him. It was a David vs. Goliath vs. Goliath for one of the straps that matter in Full Metal Wrestling. How was he going to be able to topple down two giants to win back his belt?

Reggie: Let's face it, niggas... that Sharpedo Bitch's bones are gonna be ground to make those giants some fishy-flavored bread.

Peyton: Way to root for the home team, Motherfucker.

Reggie: Damn right I am a motherfucker! I just fucked your mother last night!

PBM: Citizens, let's not fight over this...

Reggie and Peyton: Stay out of this!

Suddenly the power blacked out.

The Linguist: Another power outage? How is this happening constantly.

In the pitch black darkness, the eyes of StormMaster glowed red from underneath his mask. Hearing enough of the trash talk between his managers and the Linguist, the great mountain of a wrestler abandoned his idle state to pull Reggie and Peyton apart from each other. They were fighting regardless of the pitch blackness of the lair.

StormMaster: LET STORMMASTER SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THIS! Fighting amongst comrades over odds isn't something we should be doing. Sure, my friend Sharpedo King has a difficult battle to fight against two giants, but making it worse by in-fighting isn't helping his confidence. He's fighting for to gain something back, and all you two can care about is your swollen egos! If you call yourselves managers, then support Sharpedo King's fight, and never... StormMaster says NEVER... diminish his confidence!

Two crashes were heard before the power went on, and StormMaster was once again in his oft-idle state. Reggie and Peyton, on the other hand, were sprawled on either side of the room, as if they were thrown right after StormMaster had spoken.

The Linguist: StormMaster is full of surprises, isn't he?

PBM: Indeed, my multi-lingual friend! StormMaster has a makings of a fine superhero. While those two citizens recover from their flights. Why don't we help our comrade train for his title rematch?

The Linguist: Sharpedo King would definitely appreciate that. Where do we start?

Looking around through the eye-holes of his paperbag, the Paper Bag Man noticed that SK hadn't stopped punching the punching bag, even after the power went out and StormMaster spoke. Yes, the Deep Sea Sensation was that determined to make the punching bag pay!

PBM: We'll start with stopping Sharpedo King from destroying that punching bag.

The Linguist: Good idea.

I will survive;
I'll make it through...
I'll even learn to live without you.

Seeing the Abandoned Title around somebody else's waist...
I didn't think it would effect my in-ring performance that much.
But I lost the match.
Beaten when I was most distracted.
It's time that I fight back.
Reclaim the Championship that was lost.

Kuruk, I hope you enjoyed braving the sea of offense to claim the title I once held.
But like the unpredictability of the oceans, so is my offense.
I'm ready to win back my Championship belt.
No amount of training of an Apache Warrior can weather the storm that is brewing.
Even if the Wheel of Corruption says I have to put my mask on the line once again, then so be it.
The Shark is in this to win.

Kuruk is not the only giant that I must topple to earn the Abandoned Championship once again.
The one that decimated me in the last show.
Antonio Grimelli is the second giant I must face.
I don't care if you have no tongue, nor will I care about your endeavors to get your speech back.
Granted, I can't stop speaking like a Pokemon, but that doesn't mean that my sole focus is to regain my human speech.
You think you know something about Sharks, but I have news for you.
This Shark tends to bite back once he was beaten!
I am going to fight for what I've earned, and beat you at the same time!

We three have to fight for the belt,
But should I win, the belt is coming to its rightful place.
All I have to do is face two giants, and no one wants to see what a Shark does when he is cornered.
Not only for my sense of honor, but for the Champion I once was.
The King shall once again become Champion.
Surf my waves, I dare ya!


As he walks away,
He feels the pain growing strong.
People in your life,
They don't know what's going on
Too proud to turn around,
He's gone.
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RCA
Full Metal Champion
Full Metal Champion


Posts : 3158
Rep : 6
Join date : 2009-12-05
Age : 30

Wrestler Profile
FMW Superstar: Chris Austin
Championship: FMW C-4 Champion, FMW World Tag Team Champion

PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Tue Oct 09, 2012 2:01 am

Good evening, Class.

This... hrm.

As difficult as it is to truly find the right words, I'll just cut to the chase. This has not been a sterling cycle for yours truly. Not only have I found myself falling victim to the complacency that I swore to avoid, I've found myself being taken advantage of every single show.

In all honesty, I could have expected people to come after me for what I hold. In fact, I more than welcome the challenge... Or so I thought.

I have found myself staring at the lights, compliments of Seth Rotunda for the past two shows now. And to top it all off, I was left face down in my own blood by someone who I never even got a good look at.

Funny. The man who prides himself on having the answers to any and every question, is struggling to discover exactly what is happening within me. It is no secret that I have not had that sense of urgency, perhaps winning the championship truly calmed me down.

What concerns me is that, until now, I was more than content with myself. I became accepting of subpar effort from myself. With Catalyst on the horizon, an historically unkind event to yours truly, mind you... I am currently in a race against time to regain what I feel I have lost.

But I don't see anyone that could...

Alright, let's just drop this bullshit and call a spade a spade. The people that made FMW what it was, all of the top-tier competition has up and disappeared. It's gone. And the best man left is me, and as you can see, I haven't exactly been as good as I can be lately. I could twist it and beat around the bush but...

The point is, Chris Austin doesn't get put down. He puts people down. Somewhere I lost sight of that and every time I try to regain that focus, something greater clouds my vision. A greater problem forces its way to precedence.

That quandary is FMW's alarming lack of the best in the world competition that helped to set it apart.

And God help me, I cannot solve it just yet. No hypothesis to this point has worked so I just have to ask... What the hell happened to me... No...

What the hell happened to my classroom???


+++

Unusual. Embarrassing. Pathetic. Humiliating.

Pick a word and I guarantee you it'll sum up what my displays as of late have been. I find myself very much vexed as to why I'd show cowardice, a lack of resistance and an utter absence of preparation.

This isn't like me, is all I can think to myself as I feel the clutches of content encapsulate my form. I look towards the ground despondent as Nicole, or Detective Hunter to those not as acquainted finishes up suturing the back of my head. I grimace slightly as the needle punctures my skin as a frown washes over my face.

It feels like the aura of invincibility that was afforded to me by FMW was broken through and anyone who has been through that can tell you... it hurts more mentally than physically.

To her credit, she has been very helpful and while she has tried to make things easier with her recent companionship and small talk, I've largely tuned her out because, well... the last time I was left laying like that was Catalyst of 2009. I do not want history to repeat itself. My entire legacy is on the line and should I be unsuccessful, I become a failure as FMW Champion.

I become the exact same as those directly before me and I end up proven wrong.

The next to last stitch proves to be quite a stinging one. I flinch and seethe as the pain receptors flare up. My mind wonders why I'm allowing this to happen. My mind wonders why I allowed everything to happen as it has lately.

I cannot placate my curiosity on the matter and thus a tempestuous array of what ifs, second guessing and impatient thoughts permeate a , until recently, apathetic psyche that I've worked hard to fortify. A psyche that seems to be cracking at its foundation with each passing day.

“Easy, easy Chris,” she says in her best effort to soothe me. “We're almost done.”

“Make it fast, alright?”

“Don't want sloppy sutures, they could come loose or perhaps get infected. Besides, this is the second to last one.”

I pout as she continues with her work. I guess having EMT training is a perk. It doesn't make you a target like the FMW Championship. A target that I haven't done a good job of portraying as something you should think twice about going for.

This annoys me to no end, as I jerk violently to the needle's final dive into my scalp. The thread slides through, sending shivers down my spine before a quick snip finally ends what turned out to be more suffering than expected.

“All done, just let me sanitize the area a bit,” she says. I hear liquid slosh about as she presumably grabs a bottle and next thing I know, I snatch up from a seated position, the acidic twang of alcohol flowing throughout my head, burning away all the germs, but none of the failure and concern I feel.

“Goddamnit, Nicole! Fucking vodka? Are you serious?”

“Jeez, relax. The way you're hopping around it's like that GSW guy jumped you again. This is a safe place, no one is going to hurt you,” she says with a giggle. She then stares into my eyes, and with their glare complemented by a clenched jaw...

What? Do you think that's something to joke about?

“Too soon, hrm,” she asks. Hmm, I wonder what tipped you off besides no one else laughing or me giving you a full-on DEF-CON 5 glare?

“Fine, I guess we can't talk about your slip-ups.”

“They don't happen to me, Nicole. They just don't.”

“These last few shows would beg to differ. Some of the boys on the force think you might be losing your edge.”

I gingerly rub my forehead and pace as she sits, watching me. What the fuck do they know? They don't do what I do day in and day out! They don't understand, they don't fucking know me. They're basing this off of one window of time, completely ignoring the overwhelming evidence to the contrary and...

“Chris, come here. Sit down for a second.”

A heavy sigh precedes the unsure shuffle of my feet near where she is. I plop down and shake my head. I look towards her and shrug.

“Nicole... what the hell happened?”

“You're asking the wrong woman, you know? That's not my field.”

“I don't really know, uh... who else to ask. This just doesn't happen to me. I don't get bitched out like that. And not only has it happened, I seem to be fucking fine with it. That's not adding up and I'm missing something.”

“Look at the positives, you're still champion or whatever and unless I'm mistaken, you haven't lost in months,” she says while offering what should have been a calming rub to my shoulder. I recoil away, snidely quipping, “Or whatever?” It's as if she doesn't understand the magnitude of this situation.

“Chris, let's just move away from that. There's something else I want to talk about anyway.”

“That being,” I ask halfheartedly, rubbing my mouth and jaw while pondering my study plans for Seth Rotunda. To be frank I couldn't give two fucks about whatever she wants to discuss. He's a much bigger concern as he's been able to do what virtually no one else has and...

“About us.”

My hand limply falls from my face and I look towards her, increasingly incredulous. “Now,” I ask. “You want to talk about us, now?”

As I rub my eyes and start zoning out again, she rubs her shoulder as she stares on before quickly retorting, “Well, you're still pissy about FMW and frankly, I think this is more important.”

“... I can work his arm, rip it right out of the socket.”

“Chris, I... wait, what?”

“What about GSW, they're always lurking...”

“Pay attention.”

“The Pack, though... Too much going on. I don't...”

“WOULD YOU SHUT UP ABOUT FMW FOR A MINUTE?!?”

That snaps me out of my planning and I look towards Nicole, who is now pouting herself.

“What, Nicole? What's so important that it can't wait until after Catalyst?”

“Hrm... figures.”

Figures? What the hell does she mean by that?

“Problem?”

“I knew this would happen. I'm at the point where I have a handle on how I feel in regards to our meeting in the coffee shop and when I'm prepared to address it, you're off in FMW land.”

I stand up, growing more and more enraged. The nerve of this woman, having the gall to question my prioritizing! First of all, she's not FMW Champion, I am. I've worked too long to get that belt and I'll be damned if I lose it. Secondly, she should be damned grateful that I'm even giving her the time of day since I ALWAYS have issues with broads right around Catalyst time...No, fuck this.

This isn't worth the time or the effort, Austin. I have better things to do and bigger problems to solve.

“So you're just going to leave, huh? I told you that your job would come first and it would get in the way.”

I snap, “Nicole, when you have a job where you're the best in the world at it, you let me know, k?”

… Alright yeah, maybe that was too far since she prides herself as a detective. But you know what? Her biggest case to this point is still unsolved, and the perpetrator is RIGHT under her nose. Either way she stands up, gives me a dirty look and heads to the door, basically motioning me out.

“Judging by recent events, Christopher, it appears you aren't doing your job. Let me know when you do.”

I scowl at her, grab my shit and bounce as she slams the door behind me. I've got so much to figure out and seemingly no idea where to start, but I can most definitely say this. Fuck you, Nicole Hunter.

Fuck. You.

+++

So what is it, hrm? What in the hell happened to FMW? Where has... Why do you people... GAH! This is how it is? Right when I become FMW Champion, this is what happens? Shit just drops the fuck off like a bad habit?

See, all I asked is that you people challenge me in the ring. That's all. I give you my best and I request your best in return. Your response is to give me Seth Rotunda.

He finds the Gold Card on the street, jumps ahead of you all and becomes next in line for the FMW Championship? Granted, he's had some moments but... come on, seriously?

This is just... I don't understand. I struggle to comprehend exactly why no one else seems to care.

Does no one care that Full Metal Wrestling is falling apart around us? Does no one care that we're being looked at as a joke?

Do I care? I mean, all of this apathy didn't start until I exhibited it. Was that it?

Was all of this... [i]MY fault??


+++

I've been sitting here watching all the tape I can find on Seth Rotunda in preparation for my title defense. To be frank it's been an experience comparable to watching paint dry. I shake my head as I rewind and replay his “Rotunda Wreckage” Spinebuster, looking for various points during the lift to capitalize on openings and stylistic differences between his version and the Rydeen Bomb.

There's not much, but believe me, it's noticeable. For me, anyway. As it were, the man's not boring in the ring. Not terribly exciting or what have you but still. But the thing is, I constantly have this nagging suspicion that there's something I could be doing that's more useful of my time.

Like sleeping, perhaps.

Maybe even looking at pornography. I haven't done that in several months, perhaps even a year. Maybe that Asian chick that Alex O went gaga over last year. What is her name... AH! Asa Akira. Yeah, maybe she has a new scene out or something. I've seen her before, she looks like she's into some real deviant activities. She has very vacant, untrustworthy eyes in my estimation.

I'd do things to her.

“… You know, I could be people watching at the local bookstore instead of this. Ah, the possibilities.”

I sigh exasperatedly as I continue to watch my challenger perform in past matches. I'll say this, coward or not he does have a rather effective right hand. I make a special note to be prepared for it, as well as the left. He was a former boxer and all.

I then realize that due to numerous confrontations with Abel Steele, I should have numerous gameplans designed to neutralize even the most proficient practitioners of the “sweet science”. Watered-down Abel Steele or not, the man has left me down so I cannot afford to take him lightly.

Still, one would have to wonder why exactly boxers think that their skill automatically translates to professional wrestling success?

I guess the 16th cycle is proof of that. So I continue to watch the footage, learning his tendencies and conjuring up the proper plan to execute his offense and his title chances with.This intense focus of mine lasts for five minutes before I develop the unsettling habit of constantly checking my phone every 15 seconds. I haven't heard from Nicole in a few days since when I snapped at her.

I wonder if she's alright, or if she's still perturbed.

Focus, Austin. Task at hand. Priorities...

Man, fuck priorities. A shitty study session doesn't really benefit me much. Yes, it's a shitty study session. I may be learning things but I'm still talking to you people instead of being directly locked in. So I skip backwards to a older Rotunda match and pause, deciding to watch it as a comparative tool for how he's improved to this point, as he looks pretty solid. But that will be for later. Now, I'm taking a study break.

I wonder what's making news in FMW? Sometimes they have rather insightful features on the wrestlers and...What. In. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck. Is. This. Bull. Shit?

I see a headline and it says “Has Chris Austin lost control of his classroom?” My interest piqued and my curiosity rampant, I click the link and I start reading about how my recent behavior has brought about a sense of doubt in some two-bit writer's head. Apparently he asked a few of FMW's “finest” for their thoughts on the following matter:

“Has Chris Austin gone soft?”

Ashburn was consulted on this? This is off to a horrible start. FMW's “finest”, eh?


Matt Ashburn: I thought he'd always been a sniveling little cunt but that's definitely clearer these days. He wins the belt, then whines because he didn't win it 'properly' - as if anyone gives a fuck.

Then he gets smacked around like Tina Turner by some mystery man and ends up defending the strap against Seth Rotunda?! Surely he could have found someone better than Eastwood's water boy. What a joke, Austin is softer than heartbreak Drake on his fucking period. Man up, bitch.



I figured Ashburn would have a bit more respect, but I can't be surprised. He's a cowardly coke-head whose greatest accomplishment is laying down for a half-crippled jobber. He barely knows what time it is, let alone what the definition of “soft” is. Idiotic cunt.


Jonathan King: Oh yeah. When I spoke to Chris, he didn't even get mad. I called him out and got a vague dismissal. If I'd done that six months ago? He'd have gutted me.


Leon Caprice: I've seen what the man can do first hand and unfortunately I've found myself on the wrong end of his exploits more than I'd like. Still, nevertheless, he's an extraordinary talent and capable of being the greatest FMW Champion we've ever seen.

But, to answer your question, let's just say I have designs on avenging my defeats and this Chris Austin? I don't think I'd want him to be the man I defeat one day. The good thing is, he's worlds better than what he's shown this past cycle and I have no doubt we will see that side of him again... I'd hope that we would, anyway.



“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Leon,” I yell. While no one is around to hear me, the insinuations from someone who has their own wing in the “Chris Austin kicked my ass” club... hrm.

This guy thinks I'm not worth beating... this...


Damien Inferno: I can think of two reasons people around here are targeting Austin. First, obviously, is that he's the World Champion. So, it's only logical everyone would go after him like the Pack and GSW have. Second, he's mellowed out. He's showing much more restraint these days than he did a year ago.

I'd call it self control. Others might call it weakness. They see him as being less willing to injure people, and therefore less of a threat. However, they should think twice. They might find themselves on the wrong end of a well placed Occam's Razor.



Nick Gray: Man, I dunno. To me, it seems like he's gotten kind of less aggressive, in and out of the ring in the locker room than he was before, sure, but that can't be that big a thing right? But, him just giving a title shot to random Pack member #2...THAT'S really not Austin. That's not something I'd have ever thought to see from him.
I don't know about going soft or losing control of his classroom, but something's going on with him, and it ain't pretty...plus it came at a bad time. We're having enough problems as is here, so if our champion, the guy we're all suppose to aspire to become better than, is suddenly losing steps, then it can't be good for FMW as a whole, can it?


Gray makes a valid point. Why would I reward cowardice, and unjust practices with a title shot. Hearing someone else say it is very... concerning. Perhaps I have changed. A feeling washes over me, I don't understand it but I do know that it isn't comforting in the least.

I stand up and begin to pace, rubbing the back of my neck as my eyes remain on the screen of my laptop.

DGS: The main event is quiet right now. You might even call it peaceful. However, even in times of peace - ESPECIALLY in times of peace - soldiers and warriors need to be on constant guard lest war rear its ugly head.

Chris Austin has not done that. He's become complacent, satisfied. I don't know if it's the lack of competition, or if reaching his goal has silenced his drive, or what, but the edge of Occam's Razor isn't quite as sharp as it used to be.


Where the hell does he even get off... he talked to Drew Michaels?

Drew Michaels: He has not gone soft...

He was already soft.



what the...


Drew Michaels: That is why he has spent his whole career seeking the validation of others: Jose, known better as Hostyle, Alexander O'Rion, myself, whomever it may be. Now he has no one to validate him and he is slipping. My advice to Christopher is simple really: I never tried to be Jason Roy. I never tried to be that worthless slime Ethan Black. I never tried to be Damien Hammond Samuels, Harley Quint, Nicholas Bryson or any of those people.

I was Drew Michaels. Christopher has spent so much time trying to beat my standard, that he has forgotten that said standard was the one I made. He cannot play the game, he has to change it and become the legend that the next generation wants to be.

I do not doubt his physical talent and ability to do this as I know that he is an exceptional wrestler... but mentally, I am not sure. And it has always been mental with him. He has spent so much effort, so much energy trying to be everyone else that I am not sure he can devote that type of focus to being himself anymore.



That freezes me in my track as I collapse down into my study chair. I feel air rushing into my mouth as I have been left slack-jawed by the comments of my peers. I didn't know they felt that way. My eyes widen as something I haven't felt in years enters my heart.

Fear. Humiliation.

I feel it coursing through me as my head drops and I palm my forehead. I look around, hoping that no one can see me in my own home. I look towards the FMW Championship and center my gaze on the nameplate which reads “Chris Austin”.

I begin to contemplate if it will still be there after Catalyst. This thought makes me slouch down in my chair as my hands rest on my forehead. I scan the ceiling for answers and nothing comes. I look at that online article, my mouth opens to speak and my voice refuses to come out.

I exhale forcefully, trying to find the words to attempt to defend myself but nothing comes to me. Perhaps I am doomed. Yes, whatever misunderstanding I had about my performances thus far is more than explained. I've received a moment of clarity and goddamn if that wasn't a bitch and a half to read.

I coerce my eyes to scan the article again. The more I read, the more it stings...



…but eventually, the stinging stops. I read it and I feel my eyes narrow. My jaw clenches fiercely.

I begin to breathe heavily and I feel myself baring teeth. My throat begins to rumble with an agitated growl. I cannot believe I allowed things to get this far. To allow FMW to see me so low, when I personify their greatest prize. I've allowed people to question me and think they can talk to me any sort of way, as if I'm not the FMW Champion.

An infuriating rage begins to fill my bones as my fists clench. I stand up trying to cool off but it does nothing but fan the flames in my eyes. And it's a feeling I like. It's a feeling I haven't felt and suddenly, my innards become cold. My body tenses up and everything seems so clear, as my head raises up, an epiphany manifesting itself.

How did I not see this before?

I officially know what the problem is... and it's as simple as Occam's Razor.

I begin to smile, chuckling to myself as I become rejuvenated. I coldly state, “The simplest or most obvious explanation tends to be the correct one.”

With that, I leave my study hall, take the battery out of my cell phone and lay it on the kitchen counter. The laptop receives similar treatment. I then power back into my learning quarters, lock the door behind me and sit down, realizing that once again, Drew Fucking Michaels was right.

The sad thing is that this may come at a great cost of his beloved federation. What I am about to do needs to be done, and this freedom of mind maximizes my interest in learning of Seth Rotunda so that I may dissect him in front of the entire world. Because it needs to be done, simple as that. Afterward, I'll make things right with Nicole. It needs to be done.

After all... I like pussy.

+++

… Even if I haven't had hers yet.

I feel a sense of Deja vu as I walk towards the Vancouver Police Department. To be quite honest with you, I cannot believe I'd possess the gall to interrupt someone at their place of work but... it needs to be done.

Yes, the thought of someone doing the same to me really makes my blood boil but I see only one solution to the current problem I have and sometimes, you have to do things you don't want to do. Because you need to do them.

Doesn't mean that this is something I will enjoy.

So I walk in and of course, I am greeted by a few of Nicole's co-workers and work friends. I'm supposedly a celebrity to these people and as of late I had grown accustomed to their adulation. Adulation that was undeserved and horrifically misguided because...

I have not done what I needed to do, instead having focused on what I wanted others to do for me. This changes now.

“Detective Hunter.”

“What.”

“Can I talk to you?”

She looks towards me and rolls her eyes, placing her hand to her temple as she looks toward the case reports that she seems to be filling out.

“In case you can't tell right now, I'm working. So unless you have a crime to report, whatever it is, it can wait,” she states matter-of-factly.

I deserve that, I guess. But this is important.

“No, it cannot. It concerns you and I.”

Her head snaps up and she begins to chuckle in disbelief. “You're joking. I mean, clearly someone with your intelligence level knows better than this, given our last encounter.”

I say nothing. Again, I probably should have seen this coming.

“Wow. You're actually serious. The world doesn't revolve around you and cater to your needs, Christopher. Now, I have work to do and you being here won't help it get done any faster. We'll talk later.”

I look around and see people continuing on, not suspecting a scene about to develop. I kneel down as to create a more private environment for our conversation, which she seems to be trying vehemently to end. To be honest, maybe it should end. I should walk away and perhaps accept that what I do and how I carry myself just isn't meant for what I'm in this place trying to pursue.

But I'm not content.

I can't afford to be. Having gained a greater understanding on what I need to do in my professional livelihood has spread throughout the mess that is my personal life. I cannot accept mediocrity. I refuse to accept a state of unhappiness.

I am no saint, I am no pillar of righteousness. But I'm not stupid and one thing I've learned as a man, is that no matter how much I may succeed or what I become known as, it means nothing if I don't have someone to relate to and enjoy the company of. Nicole gets me, more than any woman has ever gotten me. Something like that cannot be left to fall through the cracks.

I need that.

“Nicole...

… you were right.”

She looks towards me and deeply inhales before exhaling raggedly.

“I haven't been doing my job as I should have, and to be honest, I failed you as a friend when you tried to be there for me. I shouldn't have done that. Can we talk? It won't take five minutes.”

“Not good enough, Chris.”

I stand up, flabbergasted. I look around and then back to her, who is still focused on her work.

“Nicole, listen. All of this? I get it, you're upset. But...”

“I don't have time for this.”

She then stands up, grabs her coat and goes to leave, yelling out, “Going for a bite, captain” to a middle-age man who I assume is her commanding officer. I stand frozen, watching her walk away. I rub the back of my head and pace before making the decision to go after her.

This is the worst idea I've had in a while but it seems to be the best one I have.

“Wait...” I stammer nervously. She looks back, noticing how my voice sounded different but she continues to walk.

As she exits to the department, I catch up to her and grab hold of her shoulder, pulling her to an inconspicuous corner out of view of the general public that infest the sidewalks.

“Chris, what the hell?!? What part of I have things-”

That's all she can get out before I take hold of her cheeks, guide her towards my oncoming self and give her what has to be the most purposeful kiss I've mustered up in my life. As a stifled “MMMmm!” from Nicole vibrates through my mouth, I feel her grab my wrists in an attempt to force me off of her but then her grip loosens, softens.

She concedes.

Her soft lips are so smooth, so warm...



…She's all I can think about.

A smooching sound slowly nicks its way through the air as I slowly move away from her face, a painfully arduous task, mind you. My eyes open, seemingly as hers do and for a few seconds we just stare at each other. I exhale slowly as I feel my heart palpitate oddly.

I think this is called skipping a beat, I cannot be sure. I slowly remove myself from this situation, hoping that this has said everything I want it to say. Because I need it to be said. Based on how she looks to me as I back away and eventually depart...

It appears I said everything I needed to. And more.

+++

But for once, what I am about to say, and what I am about to do... is not only something I need to do, but something I WANT to do.

One of the most brilliant men in this world, Albert Einstein, said something that I find particularly profound. He said that setting an example is not the main means of influencing another, it is the only means.

This is what I will do for you all now. You see, it is no secret that FMW is not the federation it used to be. The greats of this federation have passed on, perhaps never to return. As the man who bridges the gap between the “Golden Age” and the now... I have to say that what I see FMW parade around is sickening, and it is an utter disgrace.

What incenses me the most about this, is that I allowed it to happen to some extent.

For over two years now, I've been the best wrestler in this federation. I still am to this day. At the risk of sounding arrogant, the fact is that 95 percent of you can't touch me and for the most part, you all know it. The other five percent are either interlocked in feuds and title scenes that their considerable talent has outgrown, or in most cases, you've presented me with your best and I turned you away defeated and still with a lot to learn.

The problem was, I fell victim to something that has permeated FMW for the longest time. What that is, is that FMW is filled with a bunch of followers that need someone to look towards to aspire to best. To want to be like.There is no competition in FMW because there is no one in FMW that is TEACHING you all what it means to give a damn. No one is TEACHING you all what it means to want to be the best in the world.

NO ONE IS TEACHING YOU.

Until now.

When I reached out and grabbed the mantle to become the best FMW had to offer, I did so without an example in place. There was no champion for me to impress, to instill fear in.

It didn't click with me at first but it has, as of this moment. This is why I hadn't been myself. The chip on my shoulder was gone as I had no one to make look foolish for giving me challenges I would best with ease. It was why I didn't care if I was left laying. Outside of personal reasons, it was never like I would fail since no one was grading me. I've still been stuck in the mindset of the being the “Student of the Game” when I failed to realize, until “Occam's Razor” reared its head, that pardon the following... I am the Goddamn Game.

It's time I started acting like such.

I am embarrassed by you all. Why? Simple really... this class sucks. Its best students are embroiled in battles for belts that they should be above. The only one willing to challenge me has only done so via sneak attacks and such, and to that point hasn't done anything of note, and his name is Seth Rotunda.

Frankly, FMW should be ashamed for allowing a mid-carder to jump ahead of the line by finding a Gold Card and proclaiming himself as the number one contender. At least when I called myself the best, I sought out people to make me put my money where my mouth was. But no, you all allowed and even more embarrassingly, I rewarded his insolence. For that, I deserve to be punished.

That punishment is for me to defend the championship against a man who does not deserve to compete for the prize I earned, for the prize you all clamor for supposedly.

The question was posed whether or not I had lost control of this classroom and the answer is no. Because I never had control of it.

But I take that now and as the new standard in FMW, the expectations I hold for my future challengers... you will be expected to reach them. If you fail, then you will do so in front of the whole class. And I will enjoy emasculating you people. I put my faith in you and I was wrong to do that. So I'll put fear in you instead. Victim number one will a man who has gotten by with blatant cheating in the classroom. Now that I've officially stepped to the front of the class, I can see everything, I can see him coming.

And he can see his maker waiting for him.

I'll give him this much credit. He did live up to his nickname. Seth Rotunda did kill the dreams that I had, the hopes and standards I had for my classmates. I dreamed they were better than this and he showed me they weren't. He showed me that I needed to change.

As my thank you, Seth, I will kill your reality and exploit him as the first in a long line of examples I need to set.

Talented or no, Seth... you are not ready for the big time, and I along with FMW have set you up for success by allowing your song and dance; your dishonorable, ugly abuse of a hollow accomplishment and your repeated instances of cowardice have been allowed to pass for the behavior of a true number one contender to the Full Metal Wrestling Championship.

Fortunately, that will no longer be the case. Just when you had everything going for you and everything figured out, Seth... I've changed the questions, the status quo by doing something I should have done a long time ago.

What that is will be revealed at the end of this lecture but let's talk about what I'm going to do to you now. Seth, I'm going expose you for the fraudulent challenger that you are by goading your best effort out of you. Then, my impending triumph will be that much greater and the discrepancy between where I am and where you are will be spotlighted for all of the world to see.

I'm going to slice you and dice you in ways that you could not even imagine. The annihilations I've subjected Hostyle, Romeo, Alex O'Rion, Drew Michaels, David GS, Apostasy and even the man who is better at what you call yourself doing, Abel Steele to... will pale in comparison to what I do to you.

When you recover from being eradicated by Occam's Razor, you will never be the same and the rest of the students will look towards your humiliated form in your little dunce cap, noting how hideous I've made you look. They will see how you walk funny from our encounter.

They will remember you from that day forth as Seth Rotunda, the ignominious, foolish assclown who thought he could truly beat the FMW Champion.

With that said, I will issue the following challenge because after I bury Seth Rotunda, I am no longer interested in facing someone who cannot push me to destroy them at their best as they instead choose to allow a ho-hum effort from me to become a violent downfall of inferior competition.

This challenge goes to David GS, Leon Caprice, even that mystery bitch who I will eventually ruin. This challenge goes to Skyler Striker, Hannibal Frost. This challenge goes to Apostasy, the last man to truly answer the bell.

It's simple: I DARE you to make me break a sweat.

If you don't measure up you will be decimated, some of you for yet ANOTHER time. If you do, then you might be able to walk away from your defeat with head held high.

If this lack of competition continues, I will find somewhere else to go because FMW deserves better than this and I demand better than this and I will be as difficult and as unforgiving as needed in an attempt to raise your collective aptitude. I will be the champion of the FMW I once knew and loved by any means required. If I can't “reach” you or you impede my plans with ineptitude, then you will be forced to withdraw due to injuries I inflict upon you.

I will be the example that makes examples out of people, good and bad. I will set the standard and show you all what it takes to be FMW Champion. How fitting that this all starts at this pay-per-view. I warn you not to not feel sorry for Seth Rotunda.

Because what I do to him, is in your collective futures.

He deserves what is coming to him, and I will happily take the blame for it because this person is a follower, and followers do not deserve to be the FMW Champion and do what I am about to do now.

My name is Chris Austin.

I am the FMW Champion and I am your new instructor.

Class is officially in session and I have only one thing to say to the soon-to-be unrecognizable and ravaged Seth Rotunda and those who will follow his path of challenging me for the richest prize in this federation...

MAY GOD HAVE MERCY ON YOUR MINDS, BODIES AND SOULS... BECAUSE I DAMN SURE WILL NOT.


Last edited by RCA on Tue Oct 09, 2012 10:23 am; edited 2 times in total
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Braxton
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Posts : 438
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Join date : 2011-11-23
Age : 25
Location : Sydney, Australia

Wrestler Profile
FMW Superstar: Sage and Santana Braxton
Championship:

PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Tue Oct 09, 2012 3:32 am

Dear Sage and Santana Braxton,

You have been cordially invited to attend the 1st Annual

Wonderful World of Women's Wrestling Convention

to be held at Metro Toronto Convention Centre on the twenty fourth of October to represent

Full Metal Wrestling

We are looking forward to your attendance.

Yours faithfully,

Lucy Monk
WWWWC Co-Ordinator


Santana Braxton is casually lazing on the chaise sofa in her Penthouse Apartment dressed to the nine in a scarlet red strapless evening gown when Sage storms out of her bedroom wrapped in a towel with a letter in her hand looking visibly frustrated. Santana looks over at her, sees what's in her hand and sighs.

Santana: I see you've found it.

Sage: Why the hell has that ghastly woman listed us as representatives of FMW? Does she not realise that we are members of the better company? People these days!

Santana: I couldn't have said it any better myself.

Sage's phone starts to vibrate loudly on the kitchen counter and she runs over to collect it, using her other hand to keep the towel up. She looks down at it, groans out loud and then tosses it to Santana. Santana looks down and sees it's a message from Crusoe:

Devreaux's booked Santana and King in the new title fourway match at Catalyst.
Let's show them why Gold Standard Wrestling is Gold Standard.

Santana: Oh, honey, I'm sorry about that. If it makes you feel better, when I win - and I will win - we can defend the title together.

Sage ponders the proposition for a moment and nods her head.

Santana: Not that any of the dimwits in FMW would realise seeing as we're twins.

Sage releases a sigh of relief before skipping back to her room to put some clothes on.

Santana: Hurry up! I can't be late to my own Celebration Party!

Moments later, Sage rushes out of the bedroom in a matching scarlet red short cocktail dress attempting to run and put her heels on at the same time. Santana rolls her eyes, gathers her things and rushes out of the apartment with Sage in tow.


---------------------------------------------------


So I'm booked in a fatal four-way match for a new title at Catalyst?
Great. This is great.
Finally, my sister and I are getting the recognition we so surely deserve.
We have been a force to be reckoned with in FMW
And the shady people at FMW HQ have neglected us.
Now, we're finally getting our shot -
- well, at least I am.



-------------------------------------------------------


Cameras are seen flashing as the Braxton Twins step out of their limo ready to attend Santana's Maxim Reveal Celebration Party. Several photographers lean over the velvet rope as far as they can as they snap pictures of the beautiful twins, Santana opting to pose for them while Sage is too busy fixing her hair to notice anything else going on.

E! Reporter: Santana! Sage! You girls look fabulous! What are you wearing?

Santana: Valentino of course.

The reporter looks over at Sage who, with a mouthful of bobby pins, is still putting the finishing touches on her hair.

Santana: She's in Vera Wang. Excuse us.

Santana grabs Sage’s arm and leads her through into the stylish, upper-class building which will host Santana’s party. The entrance foyer is decorated with several elegant chandeliers which surround the mother of chandeliers. The perfectly pressed valets nod at the Braxtons as they make their way to the party hall where Jonathon King waits outside for them.

King: Ladies.

Sage and Santana each grab an arm and walk into the hall where the party that Santana had imagined in her head where everyone will turn to look at her, pause and then admire how beautiful she was had gone out the window. Instead, a brawl had broken out between two unnamed men where one already had noticeable bruises on his face and the other was holding onto his bleeding nose.

Santana: What is going on here?!

Crusoe runs over to the trio with a scared yet amused expression on his face.

Crusoe: I have no idea what happened. Everything was fine and then these two just went wild.

The girls cower behind King and Crusoe as the two brawling men go toppling over a table full of fancy finger foods and shiny silver plates which all come crashing down onto the floor.

Sage: What are we gonna do?

Suddenly, a third bystander who had been hit with a flying sausage had apparently had enough of this nonsense and dove into the fistfight along with a fourth and a fifth bystander.

Santana: That is it!

Sage looks on as her sister, now as infuriated as a chronic masturbator stuck at a Catholic wedding, makes her way to the brawl and lets out a glass-shattering scream.

Santana: I DON’T KNOW WHO ANY OF YOU ARE BUT BY GOD, IF YOU DON’T STOP THIS NONSENSE I WILL PERSONALLY PACK YOU INTO AN EMPTY CEREAL BOX AND HAVE YOU SHIPPED OFF TO THAILAND AS LOWER-CLASS LADYBOY PROSTITUTES.

The five men stop brawling for a second and look up at the devious twin who has her arms crossed tightly against her chest and has an intimidating gaze that would even scare Hitler himself. One man decides to break the silence by punching another in the face.

Santana: That’s how you want to play? Fine.

Santana kicks her leg up, pulls off her shoe and throws it away and does the same to the other before approaching the brawl as the rest of the party watch on intently. She grabs one man by the hair aggressively and pulls him back before slamming his head onto one of the remaining standing tables. She picks up a silver platter on her way back and smashes it over another man’s head before kneeing him in the face for final measure. Finally, she grabs a third man by the grapefruits with one hand and sends him flying with a closed-fist punch.

Santana: WHO ELSE WANTS SOME?!

Before Santana can attack someone else, Sage grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the hall as the sound of police sirens can be heard around the building. As the sisters leave, Santana spots a suspicious looking unidentified man standing outside in the dark with a lit cigarette in his hand. She stops and tries to figure out who he is and as he sees this, he laughs and flips her off before running away from the scene.

Sage: Santana! Let’s go before you get arrested!

Santana eyes the darting figure curiously before finally figuring out what was going on.

Santana: That little scumbag, they planned this all along!

She looks around for King’s presence and, despite being with Sage all night, had disappeared along with Crusoe. Before she could point the finger of blame at anyone, Sage had dragged her away and forced her into the back of their limousine.


-------------------------------------------------------


Drug-Fuelled Brawl at Socialite Celebration

A fistfight broke out at professional wrestler and glamour spokeswoman Santana Braxton’s “Maxim Celebration Party” last night. The beautiful socialite was seen leaving the building in tears as her celebration was ruined with what later turned out to be a drug-related fistfight. The men involved in the brawl stated that they had no idea that they had taken drugs and believe that their drinks were spiked. There are no current suspects at this point in time but we will keep you up to date with further details.

Santana Braxton and her sister Sage refused to leave a comment on the matter.


-------------------------------------------------------


For someone to mess with my social life like that…
That’s just going too far.
Whoever wrecked my Maxim Celebration Party is going down.
I don’t know what you had done to those men –
- or what you used –
I don’t care how you did it.
The fact of the matter is you did it.
This is clearly an act of violent jealousy.
Whoever did this is jealous of my rising stardom.
The simple solution to this is just that – simple.
Who has the most to gain from playing a mind game like that?
Chris Austin? As much as he claims to hate me, even he wouldn’t pull a stunt like this.
Same with Gray Inferno.
Blake Vendetta? A failed relationship attempt with me, but still not a good enough motive.
The Pack? I don’t have a problem with them. Or YNG for that matter.
My money is on one of my three opponents at Catalyst:
Brett Jackson, John Andrews and yes, even Jonathon King.
Brett’s relatively new to FMW and is without a doubt jealous of mine and Sage’s success.
He appears to be a gentle giant, but I’m sure there’s something darker deep down inside.
The Outlaw, my pet for the past few months here at FMW.
I don’t even need to explain why he would do something like this to me.
And then there’s King, my own stable mate and someone I’d call a good friend to Sage and I.
It’s no secret that King would use any underhanded tactic to gain a victory
But would he play mind games with his own stable mate just to achieve victory?
Either way, Santana Braxton’s pissed off.
And you won’t like me when I’m pissed off.



-------------------------------------------------------


Sage and Santana Braxton walk into Metro Toronto Convention Centre, immediately appalled that there are no flashing cameras and diehard fans waiting to greet them at the front door. They waltz into the building and weave passed the other stalls of women’s wrestlers from other companies. Sage spots the FMW stall and the two sit down behind the table and place their feet on the table.

Santana: How long do we have to be here for?

Sage: Until the convention ends, unfortunately. Be polite and smile, Santana; after all, you were responsible for putting three men in hospital.

Santana rolls her eyes and rummages through her handbag for a nail file while Sage looks over at the door as it springs open letting in a wave of fans who rush to meet their favourite women’s wrestlers. Sage is disgusted to see that only a few had rushed over to meet her and her sister. She quickly scribbles down a signature for the three kids and shoos them off.

Sage:I thought everyone in the 2nd-rate USA watched FMW. It’s their wrestling federation, for sobbing out loud.

Santana looks up and sighs with disgust and all the fans have rushed off to meet the likes of Tammy “Sunny” Sytch, Ivory and Velvet Sky. She looks over at a stall that seems to be surrounded by a large number of fans, mainly male.

Santana: Who the hell are they?

Sage squints her eyes and sees the logo for Lords of Pain Wrestling at the stall. The twins spot two attractive blondes handing out LPW merchandise to the fans, posing to take pictures with them and happily signing autographs whilst engaging in meaningful conversation.

Sage: Who do they think they are?

Sage looks down at the guest list for the event and sees the two names under LPW.

Sage: Lacey Valentine and April Montenegro? I’ve never heard of those two in my life.

Santana: Wasn’t April a Victoria’s Secret model?

Sage: I don’ t care if she’s the Queen of England, nobody’s gonna steal our spotlight.

Sage gets up onto her table and starts posing for the crowd to those who have noticed. Several of the male members from the LPW stall soon rush over to catch a photo of Sage Braxton. She blows a kiss to them and signs a few autographs and kisses a few cheeks along with her sister.

Sage: Take that, LPW.

Soon after, Sage notices one of the blondes get up on the table and start dancing provocatively while the other hands out what appears to be muffins from a basket. The men who had rushed over previously soon turned their backs on the devious duo and are soon in the company again of Lacey and April.

Santana: You’ve got to be kidding me. They’ve resorted to stripping and food? That’s it.

Santana jumps onto the table next to her sister and the two immediately encounter a stare-off with Lacey and April. The four women simply glare at each other without saying a word as the fans in the convention centre soon start to notice the tension between the two teams.

Sage: We don’t back down here!

April: Neither do we.

Sage and Santana smirk at Lacey and April while they in return receive a blown kiss their direction. Santana sticks her hand up and hops down from the table along with their sister.

Santana: I’ve had enough of this. Let’s go.

Santana grabs her sister’s hand and the twins leave in a rush, pushing passed the men who were desperately clamouring for their autograph.


-------------------------------------------------------


The scene fades into a shot of the Braxton’s private training gym, their wrestling ring surrounded by bright magenta ropes and turnbuckle pads. Santana is shown dressed in a baby pink sports bra and a short black sweat skirt with wrist tape and tape around her ankles running the ropes in the ring while Sage stands outside in a little black dress and red heels texting furiously on her cell phone.

Santana: Sage! I need you to focus! The more you help me, the closer we will be to our first championship!

Sage sighs, places her phone into her purse and hops onto the ring apron to support her sister.

Sage: You’ve got this, sis, don’t worry about it. Not only will you have me at ringside, you have the ‘feminine advantage’ as I like to call it. Think about your opponents: King, we know him pretty much inside and out. He’s crafty and tricky, but so are we; in fact, dare I say, we’re even craftier than him. The Outlaw? He’s been our pet for the past couple of months. Spending the unfortunately long time we have with him has given us an insight into that horrid man’s style of fighting. We’ve got this.

Santana: You’re right as usual. But what about Brett Jackson?

Sage pauses for a second before she nonchalantly flicks her hair behind her shoulders with her hand effortlessly.

Sage: You leave him to me. A few minutes with me and I’ll know every little detail there is to know with him. Trust me, you have absolutely nothing to worry about.

Santana: Besides the fact that one of them is a stalker.

Sage: When we find out who did this, trust me, they’ll wish they had never messed with the Braxton clan.

Santana nods her head and looks over at her sparring opponent; a man standing tall at 6’4 and roughly 225lbs, clearly towering over the petite, delicate Braxton. In a moment, Santana turns from angry to sweet and delicate and she skips over to her opponent, patting him on the shoulder and shamelessly feeling his impressive musculature.

Santana: How much do you bench, sweetie?

Opponent: Uh… uh… um… about 400… yeah…

Santana: That’s like four of me. How many reps could you do with me?

Opponent: Well… um… uh…

Santana leans forward and gently pecks him on the lips, shutting up the blubbering man instantly. She lets go and with a final giggle, delivers a spinning heel kick straight to the side of his face, levelling him and putting him onto the mat as quick as lightning.

Santana: Men…

Santana walks over to her fallen opponent and after a blown kiss, stands over him and sits down on him in a suggestive pin. She counts the three-count for herself and gets up and starts celebrating as if she had just won Miss Universe.

Santana: That’s how it’s done, Sage.

Santana looks over to her sister who is back to texting on her phone.

Sage: Oh, Santana, I’m sorry, did you say something? I missed it.

Santana rolls her eyes and exits the building with her sister in tow, leaving the fallen man in the gym by himself, wondering how the hell he fell for Santana’s tricks.


-------------------------------------------------------


Catalyst will be a night that no one will ever forget.
My buddy Jeff Whitt will defeat that silly old fool Apostasy to retain his title.
My sweet Leviticus will finally shut Skyler Striker up and claim victory.
We will unveil our newest GSW member.
But most of all, my sister will claim our first championship here in this corrupt company.
She will share that championship with me, of course.
We do everything together.



I haven’t decided what I’m going to name the title yet…
I joked around with the idea of a “Braxtonlicious” Championship.
But the more I joked about it, the better it sounded.
What about a Women’s Championship?
Being the only females in the company, that title will be guaranteed to be ours forever –
- unless that foul she-beast named Faith decided to come back.
Or how about a Gold Standard Championship?
It’d make sense after all.
Either way, this new, untitled championship will be mine.
Jonathon King, as much as I adore you, I won’t let you beat me.
You’ve had your taste of gold, now let Sage and I have a shot.
Brett Jackson? I don’t really have a problem with you.
And if Sage has her way with you – wait, let me correct myself –
When my sister has her way with you, you won’t be a problem.
And finally, my darling pet John Andrews,
You know, it’s been fun having you around the past couple of months
Even if you’ve tried to sabotage my wardrobe.
But now, I’m going to beat you.
Just like I did in the Bras-and-Bears Pillowfight,
You will be embarrassed as I am once again victorious over you.
And you.
And you.
The era of the Braxtons is about to begin.
Take a seat, grab some popcorn, because it’s going to be one hell of a show.
And Sage and I are not going to let this title escape our grip any time soon.
Get comfortable.
The show’s about to begin…



-------------------------------------------------------


Welcome to the show. Please come inside.
We have been expecting you.

_________________
WIN-LOSS RECORD
Sage: W - 3 L - 1 D - 0
Santana: W - 2 L - 2 D - 0
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Drake Parker
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Tue Oct 09, 2012 6:56 pm

In the green room, Jonathon King is working on his promo shoot. The lights are all shut off, except for one that illuminates a small circle in the middle of the room. Making sure the camera is rolling, he steps into the light and smirks.

FMW Fanatics, your King and savior has returned.

For those of you who don't know, or those who have been blinded by the corruption that embodies FMW, I am in the middle of the greatest turn-around in FMW history. Going from the splendid record of 0-8, I have become unbeatable, winning several matches including a victory over Hannibal Frost. I walk into Catalyst as a new man, and will walk out as a new champion. I will have done what they never wanted-

King's rambling is cut off by the sound of the door opening and light pours into the room.

King: Hey! Get the fuck out of here! This is my time.

???: Ah... forgive me. Can you direct me to the offices of P. Thurston Deveraux?

King: If you're one of that fucker's cronies, get the hell out?

???: Interesting... You label yourself as an enemy of Mr. Deveraux?

King: That I do. I'm Deveraux's worst nightmare come to life.

???: Perfect. I have someone who would enjoy seeing you very much.

King: Tell him to choke on a dick, I'm too busy to meet people now.

???: Ah, but you see. You've already met.

The sounds of another man entering the room put a stop to the conversation. A look of terror washes over King's face as he backs away.

King: Y... you....

A man's laughter is heard as the camera gets knocked over, and the sounds of a scuffle play as the screen fades to black.

* * * * * *

Two men sit across a small table that is strewn with papers, one picks up a page and points something out to the other.

Deveraux: You're asking for far more than I had anticipated, Mr. Parker.

Parker: High quality services demand a high price tag, Mr. Deveraux. I'm sure you understand that.

Deveraux: I do, I do, but at this point, my only 'proof' of your services is your word. I will not sign over a sum that high without a guaranteed return on investment.

Parker: Then allow me to provide you with proof. May I use your television?

Deveraux: Of course.

Parker stand up from the table and pulls a DVD out from the pocket of his jacket and slides it into a player in the corner of the room. Deveraux turns on the big screen and is greeted by an image of Jonathon King dangling from the ceiling, his arms tied to rafters as he drips with blood. Parker pauses the tape immediately and turns back to the table, where Deveraux is looking pale.

Deveraux: You did that by yourself?

Parker: I had help, and that is all you need to know. I understand that he has been causing you problems as of late?

Deveraux: Yes, yes he has.

Parker: Then consider that a pro-bono bonus to our deal. A small token of my.. appreciation.

Deveraux: I must say, I'm impressed. I don't agree with your methods, but they're certainly effective. King will no longer be a problem for me. What do you need?

Parker: Money, your signature, and a copy of this DVD sent to every roster member that caused you trouble.

Deveraux: Consider it done.

Deveraux signs the paper in front of him and hands it to Parker.

Parker: Then our business is concluded. Good day, Mr. Deveraux.

Deveraux: Wait! Where is King now?

Parker: Well, last I saw he was still still hanging from the celeing of the green room.

Parker quietly leaves the room while Deveraux makes a frantic phone call on his cell.

* * * * *

A runner knocks on the door of the GSW locker room, flinching slightly when Leviticus answers the door. He hands over a package and takes of down the hall, leaving a very confused Leviticus to open it and find the DVD within. Curious, Leviticus calls over Crusoe and puts in the disc. The screen flickers and shows the image of Jonathon King seen earlier. Crusoe lets loose with a string of profanity while Leviticus leans forward in his chair. A look of confusion crosses his face as a suited man walks onscreen, carrying a baseball bat.

Quote :
Parker: Gentlemen, if you are receiving this tape, you have been labeled as an enemy of the establishment here at FMW. You are, or have the potential to become, problems for some very important people in this company. My name is Drake Parker, and I fix problems.

They pause the video, Crusoe is on the phone, calling other GSW members as Leviticus clenches his fists in anger. A knock at the door signals the arrival of the others, and Crusoe lets them in. The sight of King's bloody form gets shocked gasps from the Braxtons and a small chuckle from Whitt.

Whitt: I figured something like this would happen.

Leviticus: Shut up and listen.

Leviticus presses play and Parker's speech continues.

Quote :
Parker: This wonderful gentleman behind me had the misfortune of confronting me earlier today, and made his position as a problem impeccably clear. Consider this tape a warning, and a message to the more rebellious roster members.

Parker lines up the bat and slams it into King's leg, shattering it with a nauseating crack. King regains consciousness and scream bloody murder until another strike knocks him back out.

Leviticus pauses the tape, his rage evident on his face. Sage and Santana are crying, while Whitt looks almost sick.

Leviticus: Get the girls out of here, they don't need to see this.

Crusoe shuffles the girls out of the room and turns back around.

Crusoe: None of us need to see this.

Leviticus: We have been threatened, Crusoe. They took one of our own, and we owe it to him to at least see what they did.

Whitt: I never liked King, but I can't watch this. He was one of ours.

Leviticus: Then leave with the women.

Whitt's mouth tightens, but he stays seated. Leviticus presses play without another word.

Quote :
Parker: Do not misunderstand, I take no pleasure from this, but the message must be sent and there is no better messenger than fear. You will fall in line, or this..

Parker slams the bat into King's stomach, and King wakes up just enough to spit out gobs of blood before fainting again.

Parker: Will seem like a dream. I know the way your minds work, I know that after this you will ignore everything I say in grandiose delusions of self-worth or by convincing yourselves of my inferiority. Since this may well be the only message you understand, allow me to make it a bit more... impactful.

Freeing King's arms from the restraints, Parker allows him to fall to his hands a knees before bringing the bat down, full force, on King's unprotected bag. A sickening CRACK is heard as King falls to the ground, unmoving.

Parker: Rethink your positions, gentlemen, or end up like him.

The screen fades to black as the members of GSW sit silently. Leviticus stands and shuts off the television, pulling out the disc and shattering it. Glowering, he sits back down and closes his eyes.

Leviticus: Message received.
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John Andrews

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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Wed Oct 10, 2012 1:08 am

.


Last edited by John Andrews on Thu Oct 11, 2012 3:43 am; edited 1 time in total
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Edible14
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Wed Oct 10, 2012 3:53 pm

PROMO DEADLINE HAS BEEN EXTENDED 24 HOURS. VOTING PERIOD IS NOW FRIDAY AND SATURDAY. VOTES CAST BEFORE THEN WILL NOT BE COUNTED.

By popular demand
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Bobino



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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Wed Oct 10, 2012 10:32 pm

The scene fades in on a happy-go-lucky Butters walking through the halls. He's quite literally got a spring in his step as he walks. He's smiling and pointing and/or waving to every single crew member he passes. As he continues, he starts to whistle a nice upbeat tune, let's say the Andy Griffith Show Song, or something of the sort.

Look the point is he's happy and friendly, got it? Good.

“Hi Everybody!” Butters exclaims as he slides around the corner leading to the FMW Staff room.

A few staff members look up, one even gives a respectful head nod, but most just mind their business. Butters doesn't mind, as he's obviously too happy to pay them any mind. He just chuckles to himself as he shakes his head, walking towards the bulletin board. He looks over the sheet of paper with the Catalyst logo. As he reads, you can see the grin slowly drain from his face. His smile is quickly replaced by a quizzical confusion. He turns to a crew member lugging around a large metal container.

“Exc-excuse m-me. Did you happen to see who posted this card? It must be a joke by of the other guys. What jokers. Just gotta tell them they really got me.” Butters awkwardly chuckles as he asks.

“No, Butters. I saw management post it themselves. That line-up is legit. Pretty sure.” He stands waiting for a response, the weight of the metal crate obviously straining him.

“Really now...” Butters voice trails off a bit as he cocks his head to the side a bit. His face twitches a bit as he suddenly lashes out and smashes his fist on the metal crate, causing quite a commotion as it crashes to the ground.

“I -AM- Full Metal Wrestling's Number One Draft Pick. Do you even understand what they've done? They think they can put on a PAY-PER-VIEW... without Butters. They really think anybody would pay for that? They're crazy... Crazy I say...” Butters mutters to himself a bit as he starts to walk off.

Butters has now walked off screen as the crew member shakes his head. “Just doin' my damn job...” He turns to life the metal crate from the ground as he just wants to continue his job. As it lifts from the floor, Butters jumps from behind the corner, landing on top of it, causing yet another commotion. “The hell, man? I'm trying to work here!”

Butters just laughs “CRAZY I SAY!”

~*~

“I know... I know... they brought this upon themselves... I know.”

Butters is overlooking a sealed trunk, in what appears to be his room. Hanging on the wall directly above is a small mirror, which he keeps glancing at. The sound of rain pounding the roof in the background is quite clear, and faint flashes of light in the mirror from lightning outside the window on the opposite wall sparkles occasionally.

“This isn't my fault... It has to happen...”

Butters looks down, looking at a seal placed over the lock reading, “DO NOT OPEN. EVER.” A deep sigh is heard as he pauses. After a short, silent moment, the seal is torn from the trunk, and the lid is swung open.

“They don't need Butters or Bobino... They think they can survive? Let's see how they survive through their little show with an uninvited guest...”

Butters leans his head down towards the opening. After a moment, he quickly raises his head, laughing maniacally. As he straightens his head, a silver beat-up looking helmet reflects light from a perfectly timed thunder clap and lightning bolt.

“Let's see if they can survive... PROFESSOR C.H.A.O.S.!!! MUAHAHAHAAHAHAHHA!!!”

He keeps laughing, his arms reached out awkwardly as he the rain continues to pour.

~*~

Empty arena.

The stage for Catalyst is being set, the ramp way being build with the logo dead center. Crew members running around, so busy, so frantic, everyone focused... on their job. Nobody notices an extra crewman, after all there's so many, probably just overlooked him. Nobody notices as the unnamed (It's Butters) crewman just gives the turnbuckles and ring supports a final inspection.

Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing unusual, nothing to stop the show. Time to get this show on the road, after all.

The people pour in, the crowd is massive, signs and merchandise everywhere. The buzz growing louder as the seats fill. The air is thick with excitement as cameras start moving and whirring around. Lights flash, and the crowd cheers. After a few more tests and warm up, the majority of the crowd has arrived.

Buster Cherry has entered the ring, microphone in hand. “Ladies and Gentlemen, WELCOME TO... CATALYST!!!”

The crowd roars with approval as Buster introduces the show. “We've got an amazing show for you tonight, and now is your chance to help us. We go live in just a matter of seconds, and when this show starts, we want you on your feet and being loud as you can. Can you do that, Toronto?”

Again, the crowd goes crazy, the cheap pop really bringing them to life.

“Well... then let me here you, because we are live in...” The screen flashes bright with the Catalyst logo as the crowd stands up and counts along. “FIVE... FOUR... THREE... TWO....”

The crowd goes nuts at the sound of Buster's voice saying “ONE!”. Their excitement is short lived, however. Less than a second after the cameras cut on and FMW Catalyst is live, a loud set of pops grows as flames erupt from the center of the ring. Moments later a loud explosion hushes the crowd as the ring collapses in on itself, and lays burning in a pile of metal and canvas. People look around still confused as to what's happening, not sure if this is a storyline.

The answer to their questions comes quickly, as The screen goes blank, then slowly starts to fade in on a broken, static picture. Through the static, laughter can be heard, and a man dawning metal shoulder pads and a shining metal helmet slowly come into view.

“Hello, victims. This is... Professor C.H.A.O.S.... and I'm here to end your fun. These fools here think they can have one of the biggest shows of the year with out their most faithful and loyal workers? They think this places runs without their Number One Draw? I'm showing them what happens when they go crazy. I'm showing them what it feels like to think they were going to have a show... and be left with nothing.”

Professor C.H.A.O.S. reaches off camera and then pulls his hand back revealing a large red button. He just cracks a small grin as he squeezes it firmly. A small pause, then the sound of metal groaning can be heard. Suddenly, the supports beneath the ramp way collapse, causing another harsh twisting noise as the ramp way breaks around itself.

“This show you paid to watch... This show you want to see... It belongs to me now. You people are nothing, FMW is nothing. I have the power... and I say tonight, you all feel what it's like to be me. Here's the part where I leave you with nothing, here's the part where I disappear and leave this show in pieces. Good night, and understand, you did this to yourselves.” The screen goes static, the ambient noise filling the arena. After a few moments, one last groan is heard, then the screen itself breaks, freeing itself from it's supports and crashing down. Fans are now trying to leave, the excited roar devolved into a frenzied cry.

The scene is that of pure chaos, people rushing to leave, fire burning, and crew members trying to salvage expensive pieces of equipment from crash wreckage. As all this is going on, the red lights on each camera indicating “ON AIR” slowly one by one, start to die down as even the pay-per-view audience is cut off. After a few more minutes, it becomes obvious that Catalyst will not be happening... and Professor C.H.A.O.S. has won this battle.

The fans walk outside into the rain, disappointed and angry. As they evacuate, the bright sign outside the stadium that read “FMW Catalyst – SOLD OUT” has gone dim. The fans leave as thunder cracks the sky, shedding the only light on this dark day.

~*~

Thunder cracks the sky, lightning flashing and lighting up the room. Butters looks down at the trunk, “DO NOT OPEN. EVER.” seal still intact, trunk still closed.

“They deserve this... but I'm better... I'm better than them.”

Butters pushes the trunk to the side, leaving the contents, and the fate of Catalyst, in tact. He shakes his head and looks into the mirror one last time, cracking the same grin he had before finding out he wasn't scheduled. He keeps smiling and finally nods his head. Butters turns and grabs his cell phone as he leaves the room, spirit somehow restored.

~*~

“Hello. This message is for whomever feels the need to listen. I'm leaving it on the direct voice mail for FMW Management. This is the man that has happily sat by and allowed you to call him 'Butters' for years. This is the man that has been the biggest cheerleader for the fairness of Full Metal Wrestling. This is the man that has literally never asked or complained about his place in the company. This is the man that is simply 'Happy to be here' as I've said numerous times. While I know it is not my place and you are the experts, I must voice my disagreement with the absence of 'Butters' on FMW's Catalyst show. While you know I just want what's best for FMW, I can assure you 'Butters' will not be a part of the show in any way, and I wish the show all the success in the world.”

“What I cannot promise, however, is that another man that you are all familiar with will not show up. You have all forced his hand. For years, I've told you all that the worst thing would be to turn into me. The lovable loser that the roster takes for granted. Well, at Catalyst, a statement will be made. You leave 'Butters' off a card... Bobino will show up. You keep kicking around the most loyal man this place has seen, and Bobino will show up. It's your choice, FMW. You can have the lovable loser, or you can have Darwin's Soldier doing what he pleases. A statement will be made, and you are responsible for whatever happens. Good Day, and remember, I would've just been happy to be there.”

_________________
Full Metal Wrestling's -NUMBER ONE- Draft Pick.
Butters' "Best Of..." Tournament Series - Tournament Two - Best Of... Villians



theomega311@gmail.com 11:51 pm
(11:51:32 PM): Buffalo is nowhere near New York.
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PBrooks

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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Wed Oct 10, 2012 11:03 pm

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
MEMO


TO: FMW Roster and Crew
FROM: Paul Brooks
DATE: October 11, 2012
SUBJECT: Change of Plans
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ladies, gentleman and Nick Bryson, I'd like to welcome you to what should be a great show tonight. As most of you may know Catalyst one of our flagship events along with Mount Vesuvius and Ultimatum which follow it. Catalyst has been a show that has produced some incredible main events which our fans have talked about long after the events were over. Catalyst 2009 brought us Nick Bryson winning our company's most prestigious title beating Christian G. Smitten and John Derrick. Catalyst 2010 had the "Unholy" wedding of Jaro and Celeste as well as Distortion winning the War Games. Although there wasnt a Catalyst last year(read: I couldnt find shit on it), this year promises to be the best card yet.

Thanks to business meetings all week as the show is in my hometown along with some other issues which I can't discuss due to confidentiality reasons, I have been asked to take a backstage role for tonight. Who knows, maybe I'll get one of the other guys that aren't booked and we'll put on a decent match to entertain the crowd. All of this depends on whether or not things run smoothly.

In closing, I only got one thing to say. FMW: Enjoy the show.

Sincerely,

Paul Brooks
Corporate position title pending/FMW Wrestler
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Feel free to leave any comments below.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Last edited by PBrooks on Thu Oct 11, 2012 11:06 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Mark Johansson



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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Thu Oct 11, 2012 4:55 am

This is it… breathe… tonight is your chance to make it. It begins now. Where’s the towel? Frantically my head jerks left and right until I find the towel. Why can’t I stop sweating, rubbing my hands just makes it worse! Nervously I put my hands to my sides, fist clenched… it seems awkard, so I put it in my lap… awkwarder… Is that even a word… I reach for my phone, to search it up. No focus! Task on hand, task on hand!
“Jimmy! Listen to me…” My promoter, taught me everything I know, it’s a big night for him too.
“FMW officials are outta there, watching! Show ‘em that youse hav’ it, that we hav’ it,” This is the talk… the one that you look back on and go… that changed me.
“Youse hav’ th’ skill, prove it! Now this Johansson guy… he works stiff. Work with it! Take the blows!”
“I’ve worked with stiff workers before,”
“I kno’ ya hav’ Jimmy, but really work it! Youse know he is gonna hit ya, fo’ real, lean it to it! Make it look like it is!”
“GET OUT THERE ARE SHOW EM WHOSE BAWSS!”
I can hear them… chanting my name, I’m not even a big draw but here they are chanting for me, like I’m a local legend… wait…. I AM A LOCAL LEGEND!

“HAILING FROM WHITE PLAINS, NEW YORK,” They are roaring… maybe its because its their town… no they are roaring for me, “WEIGHING 175 POUNDS…. JIMMYYYYY GRRRRRRREEENE!!!!”

I spread my arms out as I welcome the roaring admiration from the crowd, I am fighting for them… for the little guy, for the little guys chance to make it big.


“AND HIS OPPONENT… FROM PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANNIA…. MARK…JO-HAAAAAAN-SON!” Damn straight they should applaud me, afterall I am here for them. Do I want to be around stupid house shows, playing up for the people to poor and rotten to make it to a real show, look at this punk barely looks legal… arms spread out likes he is The-fucking-Warrior or something. Has the shit haircut I’ll admit.

“Alright men, I want it clean… not too clean, these fans want a brawl.” I nod my head listening to the referee, but Johansson is off with the fairies… looking at some hot girl behind me or sumthin’.
“Shake hands…” I extend my hand, Johansson takes his time… the crowd boos, typical heel heat I guess.

“Alright men, I want it clean… not too clean, these fans want a brawl.” Perfect, a liscense to unleash on this rookie. What a limpo handshake, respect people better than you punk.

*DING*

Alright, lock up. Remember lean into blows. Johansson easyily overpowers me into the corner, I take a left to the gut. A right. An uppercut, the crowd boos as he generates more easy heel heat. Irish whip now, this is his moveset. He whips me into the corner, I turn around. Clotheslines come next. What’s he doing… I would of bounced back!

Goddam this kid knows nothing, I walk forward, stiff knee to the gut, let him now to follow basic 101 of wrestling, “If someone larger than you whips you into a corner… go chest first,” I whisper as I suplex him to the ground, “That way you seem more of an underdog,” I continue as I apply a camel cluth making sure I compress just a little harder on his throat.

I’m struggling to breathe. Working stiff doesn’t involve choking – he is whispering to me. *Sniff*, whiskey. I try to get to my feet, he isn’t letting me, “Power out, rook,” he snarls.

Seriously. Has this guy trained. I have the weight yet he stands? “Elbows,” I whisper.

“Elbows,” He snarls again, I give a half nudge, but he falls over like I hit him with a sledge. Thought he would show respect.

They cheer for that? These plebs don’t know a show when they see it. This is pathetic. He goes for a clothesline, I duck. Me duck?! I let him connect on the rebound. Yet he picks me up by the hair… YOU ARE THE FACE! Rookies…

Neckbreaker now. Not yet. Pushed back to the ropes I hit a dropkick! Made him feel it to! The crowd cheer! Now-twist-ed neck-break-er! Nailed him! They roar, I spread my arms to receive! THE GROW LOUDER!

Wow… a standing ovation for a twisted neckbreaker? This little runt! I’ll show him. Knee to the testicles. Down. He. GOES!

“What’d I miss?”
“Johansson is going nuts!”
“Farrr-“
“Just made sure Jimmy Greene won’t hav’ kids”


Can’t use my finisher? Fuck that. NO-BODY tells me what to do, do they now who I am?!

“Concrete shoes!”
“This is awesome!” Starts the chant around me, but Greene is out.
“Dude… he’s out cold,” the sight of blood pouring for Jimmy Greene’s nose ignites the crowd.
“Not part of the act,”
“BOOOOOOOOOO” The crowd drones on behind me as the bell is rung.
“Johansson’s a dick!” People nod in agreement around me as they realise what happened, Johansson has unleased on a poor kid. Why? Because he wanted to get some small face pop.
Asshole!

As I head to the back I don’t care for the boos. Don’t care for poor Jimmy lying knocked the fuck out, bleeding like Aunt Flo is in town.

The crowd cheers as I nail Johansson in the head with a wattle bottle. He spins round.
“Dude…” someone gasped behind me, I turn around and back to Johansson as he pulls some guy over the rail and pummels it.
“Man… Marky Mark has some serious anger issues,” I think to myself, as the leaving lights turn off, signalling that Johansson has ruined the event.
Asshole.
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Seth



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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Thu Oct 11, 2012 2:55 pm

”Just killed another career, it’s a mild day”

One punch can make such a difference.

It can be a turning point

The confirmation of a legacy

Or the destruction of one.

On top of the world

To lying on the canvas.

From enjoying the high-life

To appearing in reality television programs.

From being a rookie

To becoming a legend

Let me get this straight, wait, I’m the rookie?

But my features and my show’s ten times your pay?

Glitz, glamour, gold

I’m sure it’s all I will ever need

And all I’ll ever want.

The young Swansea boxer

That becomes a World Champion.

The stuff that legends are made of.


*********

“Are you dead?”

The stare of Rotunda instantly broke as he becomes aware of his surroundings. The room he occupied is dark, whilst the only light available comes from the television screen. What must be an hours’ worth of Chris Austin matches flicker across the screen, clips of destructive moves, constant counters and stretching submissions. Rotunda leans forward in his seat, noticing the mound of empty energy drink bottles and a small notebook with a single scrawled word: “Counter?” whilst a pencil mark trails from corner to corner of the paper.

His head turns almost robotically and locks a stare with his superior and agent, Aldridge Clarke. The eccentrically dressed agent looks on with a rare look of concern. He notices the large bags of skin that sag under Rotunda’s eyes and the unshaven facial hair that conceals three days’ worth of food. The agent motions for his client to stand, only for the boxer to shake his head and immediately snapping his head back to the television screen. Austin’s moveset in all his glory causes Rotunda’s eyes to sink further into their sockets. Clarke motions again only for Rotunda to keep his glare.


“Rotunda, get up,” Clarke motions for a third time.

The Dream Killer rises from his seat and rests his hand on the shoulder of his agent, calmly. Rotunda’s hand descends from Clarke’s shoulder to his chest, and a sudden push sends Clarke backwards, hitting the floor hard. The table that houses the mess of a studying session is thrown far and wide.

“Rotunda, what has gotten into you?” Clarke said as he dusted himself down.

The hulking form of Rotunda turned his back to Clarke. The Welshman’s shoulders rose slowly and sunk sharply. The knees of Rotunda bent as the hands shot upwards and pulled at the hair that was above his creased forehead. The deep-sunken eyes swung like pendulums and the breathing became more intense.

“I am completely out of my depth,” came the reply, without a single bit of confidence in the sentence uttered.

“The Dream Killer out his depth?”

“Don’t say a bloody thing, if the papers find out then I am done,” Rotunda threatened.

“You aren't out of your depth, it’s just nerves.”

“I have studied these tapes for the last two days and I have gotten nowhere, completely nowhere.”

“You know what I am to him? I’m a joke,” Rotunda glared.

“Rot-“

“I merely in the main event due to chance,” Rotunda interrupted.

“We know that’s-“

“After Catalyst, I’m going to wake up with a permanent limp and a broken wrist,” Rotunda panicked.

“Get it togeth-“

“I am a boxer that has been tricked into his industry while he is the master of this with training that I could only dream of and matches that I would actually need to earn,” Rotunda whined.

“Rotunda, get those fucking thoughts out of your head,” Clarke barked.

Rotunda directs his stare towards Clarke and then downwards, where his own right wrist hangs limply and quivers for a few seconds during the silence. A whimper escapes from Rotunda as Clarke’s newly acquired anger borrows into Rotunda.

“Face it, Austin is at his weakest point for a long time and you've made your mark by leaving him and other challengers on the mat,” Clarke said in a calmer manner.

“True,” Rotunda muttered.

“Occam’s Razor has been blunted.”

“Yet I still can’t find reversals to his moves,” Rotunda sighed.

“Please, the gutwrench neckbreaker?”

“ I've studied so hard and found no openings, no points of weakness, hell, I could sandbag but he’s lifted heavier men above his head.”

“I know you Seth, you aren't a technical master or even have the speed to evade him, but you’re a boxer that can hit hard and withdraw and start a second attack.”

“And it won’t be much help when he constantly evades every maneuver.”

“Are you aware of the Battle of Hastings?”

“William the Bastard defeated the English King in 1066,” Rotunda muttered.

“How did he do it?”

“William wore down the Saxons with his archers then sent in his cavalry, but they failed and retreated, causing the Saxons to follow only for William’s Normans to whip round and attack the out of position soldiers,” Rotunda explained.

“The difference is, Austin won’t hang back, he’ll come straight at you, but you need to be patient and counter, hitting him when you can,” Clarke said.

Rotunda’s form takes on the firmness that was familiar. Muscles bulge and face hardens.

“I know that he wants to break me and I have no interest in becoming David GS after Ultimatum.”

“Fake a retreat and hit unexpectedly,” Clarke nodded.

“It’s the best hope I have.”

“And Rotunda….”

Clarke lowers his head in a solemn moment. Rotunda, taken slightly aback, distances himself from Clarke.

“Rotunda, it’s been a pleasure being your superior,” Clarke said stone-faced.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Get some much needed rest,” Clarke said.

The eccentrically dressed agent pulled away from the room and grabbed a coat that Rotunda never noticed that Clarke brought with him. Clarke pulls the overcoat on and gives a nod to Rotunda.

“And champ, it only takes one punch to make history.”

One Punch.




*********

We come to Rotunda jogging through a suburb. His grey hoody is soaked in sweat whilst his jogging bottoms are mud-covered from running through woodland. The Dreamkiller comes to a sharp stop, panting as he doubles over.

He lifts his head to find a man that seemingly appeared from nowhere, standing directly in front of him. The man is familiar and sucks the wind straight out of Rotunda’s recovering lungs. His hair is black and slicked back and his clothes are shabby, even compared to Rotunda’s jogging gear. There is no surprise in the eyes of the man, as if he’s always expected this meeting to come sometime in the near future. Thomas Ap Gruff, Rotunda’s former agent breaks out a split second smile before going back to a blank look, though the eyes look on with intensity into Rotunda’s surprised eyes.


“Hello Seth,” Gruff said.

“Thomas the disgrace,” Rotunda spat, the façade that was his self-confidence in the public came back.

“I see you are still the same douche that fired me.”

“And I am completely shocked you aren't riding the coattails of another athlete,” Rotunda chuckled.

“ I've settled down in America, I’m not going back to Britain.”

“And why is that?”

“Land of the free, new beginnings and it’s the least I could get once you ditched me in this country.”

“No hard feelings.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Gruff muttered.

“I will when I’m the world champion.”

“You’re languishing around the mid-card with Eastwood and Prideman.”

“If only you knew what’s happened since the new agent came in,” Rotunda nodded.

“Yet still destined to fail.”

“How about I break your jaw again, this time in a place with no national healthcare?”

“It doesn't stop you from being the same insecure lad who’s dad left him,” Gruff sighed.

“I didn't need a dad to become a future world champion and I was never insecure, I had nothing to be insecure about, especially when around a second class person like you.”

“That element of failure always ate at you,” Clarke said.

“It went as soon as I came to FMW.”

“A year and half has gone by and you have still yet to achieve anything of note.”

“You’re keeping up with everything?”

“It helps to watch your downfall,” Gruff snorted.

“Why are you even here, Gruff?”

“He’s dying.”

“Who?”

“Your father and he needs you.”

“And I don’t need him.”

The scene goes quiet, a “woosh” of wind whips past the two former friends. Rotunda falls back into his uneasy state, the signs all apparent. Ap Gruff still keeps his careless, blank look.

“How did you find this?” Rotunda muttered.

“Your mother contacted me, seems she’s still keeping in touch with the father of her child,” Gruff said sharply, his Welsh accent giving a jovial sense to the dark conversation.

“And she didn't contact me?”

“You dropped all contact with everyone in the UK when you left,” Gruff reminded Rotunda.

“And how did YOU find me?”

“ I've kept tabs and when your downfall came, I’d be there to bask in it.”

“ You've been stalking me.”

“In simple terms, but it’s been hard for you to leave the side of Clarke.”

“Enough of this…why does my ‘father’ need me?”

“I believe he wanted to meet his son before he passed.”

“Describe my father.”

“Drunk, jobless, suffering from liver problems and it’s finally taken him,” Gruff said with an oddly happy tone to his words.

“This is good news to you?”

“Just like father, the son will become a drunken schlep when he realises he’ll never be as good as he aimed for.”

“My father is a drunk and slowly going at his own hand,” Rotunda said as he gave a fake chuckle in-between.

“Don’t insult the man you’ll become.”

Rotunda moved closer to his former agent and swings a punch, making contact with Ap Gruff’s gut, the punch like a vacuum, taking all oxygen.

“I will neeeever fall into the gutter like my father did and I will never face any downfall because I am the Dream Killer and I always succeed,” Rotunda whispered with malice.

“Victor Vetch.”

“What?”

“That’s his name,” Gruff gasped.

“It doesn’t matter to me, he was never there for me and I won’t be there for him.”

“So you won’t see him?”

“No.”

“You’ll regret it,” Gruff whined.

Rotunda lifts his agent to his feet.

“Goodbye Thomas,” Rotunda said as he made his way past Ap Gruff.

“Wait Seth,” the recovering former agent instructed causing Rotunda to pause and turn.

“Yeah?”

“That title match you have..”

“What about it?”

“One punch can decide the future.”

“Like?”

“You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t ended my career with that punch,” Ap Gruff winced as he recalled the events when Rotunda massacred Ap Gruff in the boxing ring.

“How so?”

“I’d never have become your agent and send you to FMW, but Seth, good luck with the match, you’ll need it so much,” Gruff muttered as he shuffled away, leaving Rotunda to his thoughts.




One Punch

**********

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the current number one contender to the Full Metal Wrestling Championship, ‘The Dreamkiller’ Seth Rotunda.”

The press officer did his bit and as he slowly backed away from the table. The flash of cameras greeted the arrival of Seth Rotunda and his superior, Aldridge Clarke. Rotunda’s suit, black with golden threat weaved through shone in the dazzling lights and camera flashes. The two sat down behind the table as the press scrambled for their attention.

“Rotunda, how do you feel about accusations that you are Abel Steele-lite, and the jabs that you are unexciting and bland in the ring from the champion?” came the question from one reporter.

“I don’t understand the similarities between me and Abel Steele, sure we’re both disliked boxers, but because we’re in the same trade and have the same ambitions we’re exactly alike? Please, in that case Austin is right up there with Paul Brooks,” was Rotunda’s reply.

“And the jabs of being bland?”

“ I've been in this industry for close to two years, I can do the basics and I can do them well, I don’t need to know over six thousand varieties of suplexes to excel in this industry, I can slam you with enough power to take the wind out of your lungs straight off the bat, that try to exchange wrist locks for seven minutes followed by thousands of poorly executed suplexes.”

“What about Austin’s belief that there is better competition out there?”

“Whether there is better competition or not, he’s still been left lying by yours truly.”

“And-“

“Plus, Austin becomes champion and instantly ignores his past of failing under pressure and all of a sudden he wants better competition?” Rotunda quizzed.

“And-“

“He’s lucky he hasn't choked to Apostasy.”

“How do you feel about joining the list that Austin has brutally run through?”

“Can you remind me of them?”

“David GS, Alex O’Rien, Romeo, Drew Michaels.”

“Strong list,” Rotunda muttered.

“Could we please answer the question?”

“Sure, sure, I mean, I’m a long way from reaching the standards of Michaels and O’Rien, but the difference is, is that I've given him scars that he’ll remember while he has yet to leave a single visible mark on my valuable head.”

“And if you are to retire from wrestling due to injuries?”

“To quote Ali: “It's just a job. Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.””

“So you wouldn’t be fazed?”

“Sure, I’ll miss punching those I dislike in the face and maybe, just maybe, I could train Daniel Prideman to win a match.”

“Can you do some serious damage to the champion?” another hand shot up.

“My right hand has put careers to rest, send people packing from FMW, it is the reason I am called The Dream Killer, it kills the dreams of the opponent when I shatter everything they want to achieve with this right hand.”

“And what do you reckon Austin’s dream is?”

“To be accepted by the outside world? Nah, he wants to prove that he’s the best, he knows that he is, but he won’t rest until he wants people to shout it from the rooftops.”

“So you want to break Austin’s morale?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Austin have any emotion lower than mildly miffed, but yes, I could send Austin’s freight train flying off the mountain road and exploding, killing all aboard.”

“What is your predicted outcome?”

“I have an outside chance, I am the underdog and if I win there will be great consequences for Austin.”

“Such as?”

“Remember the Hatton vs. Pacquiao fight? The Filipino put Hatton on the mat for a total of twenty seconds and caused Hatton to retire and in a way, Pac’s punch was like putting down a wounded dog and I intend to do that to a weakened, softened Austin.”

“Alright-“

“Sorry, but I’m sort of finished with questions for the moment but I would like to read you a poem,” Rotunda said.

“Tomorrow I enter Canada and make my way to Toronto

If Chris Austin has his way, everyone says I should leave pronto

I swing with my left and I swing with my right

When I hit Austin hard he’ll see I have bite

Occam’s Razor is the Radical’s solution

When I knockout him out so begins a revolution

The Teacher is told that he is brave and bold

Yet one Rotunda Wreckage later, he’s bound to fold

Ladies and Gentlemen, come watch Austin fly

Cos the match will be over within the blink of an eye

The champion’s famous look of determination

Will soon be gone after a Canadian castration

They lift the young Rotunda onto their shoulders

The crowd cheers with the power to move boulders

I have fists as quick as a Thompson machine gun

And they will decide when the fight is said and done

Many a time I’ve left him on the floor with blood, tears, grime and gore

Please, everyone keep watch as I’ll add one more.

One punch is all it’ll take from my dreaded right fist

Then I’ll say to Austin

Class Dismissed.”




*********

Catalyst
The Pack Locker Room
Toronto, Canada
Minutes before Rotunda’s entrance



The trio’s heads are bowed; with an odd silence a huge contrast to the fans’ roars that echo all the way back to the locker room. Rotunda, draped in his large gown, gasps heavily while Prideman occasionally shoots a glare at Rotunda. Eastwood puffs on a cigarette as an excess amount of alcohol sits on the ready. A knock at the door disturbs the peace as Aldridge Clarke waltzes in, only to immediately be called “a cunt” by Eastwood. Feathers, glitter and sequins cling to Clarke’s wear.

“It’s time, my dear,” Clarke instructed.

“Alright.”

Rotunda rose from his seat, a small grin broke out. The Dreamkiller turned to his stable mates and nodded in their direction.

“So, this is it,” Rotunda muttered.

“Don’t start with your sentimental crap”, Prideman muttered.

“Keep dreaming about bashing my brains in,” Rotunda retorted.

“Try not to suck your agent’s dick on the way to the ring.”

“Anyway, it’s been a pleasure Prideman, if I don’t make it out then try to improve until you’re up to my standards of basic wrestling,” Rotunda said.

“Keep walking, bastard.”

“And Eastwood..” Rotunda said as he turned his attention.

“When I saw you at Mount Vesuvius, I knew you could be something in the future and now, here we are.”

“Thank you,” Rotunda muttered.

“You don’t need an of that poof crap now, focus on the match and do what I know you will succeed in doing: kicking Austin’s head in,” Eastwood said enthusiastically.

“Ready the hospital,” Rotunda joked.

Rotunda turned away from Eastwood and left the locker room. With Clarke to his side, the two make their way down the corridor, all those watching on split, letting the two past. Rotunda keeps up on toes, shadow boxing as Clarke casually puts his hands into his eccentric jacket pockets.

“You think you can do it?” Clarke asked.

“No chance, but I will make Austin sweat, I’ll give him trouble and by God, I’ll at least make him stumble with the Death of a Dream,” Rotunda grinned.

“And the Dreamkiller finally gets what he’s always wanted, fame and recognition of his greatness…and it’s all down to me,” Clarke muttered.

The first strains of Rotunda’s theme song: Monster by Kanye West, rings from the speakers as the moment that Rotunda dreamed of, now starts/

“I’ve been waiting for that,” Rotunda replied.

I shoot the lights out

“But what’s going to happen if it’s your dream that comes to an end?

“Really, Sir? Is now the time?”

Hide ‘till it’s bright out

“Yes”

Oh just another lonely night

“Then I’m a failure with a broken body courtesy of Chris Austin,” Rotunda said bluntly.

Are you willing to sacrifice your life?

Rotunda stops dead in front of the certain and looks backwards to his agent. Clarke nods and gives a thumbs up.

“One punch, Rotunda, just one punch is all it’ll take,” Rotunda whispers to himself as he steps through the curtain and possibly into greatness.
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Damien
FMW World Tag Team Champion
FMW World Tag Team Champion


Posts : 583
Rep : 0
Join date : 2009-12-07
Age : 27
Location : Texas

Wrestler Profile
FMW Superstar: Damien Inferno
Championship:

PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Thu Oct 11, 2012 5:06 pm

The scene opens inside Robert Ferguson's den, Damien, Jack Eastwood and the owner of the house himself all sitting at the bar. Robert is holding a glass half full of scotch with a small pair of ice cubes floating inside. Jack has a bottle of Wild Turkey held tightly by the neck, a good amount already empty. Damien sits without a drink, his face solemn.

"This isn't gonna be easy," he says.

"It never is," replies Jack. "Hasn't stopped us from kicking ass before."

"This is different," Damien argues, shaking his head. "Joseph has a lot of power, and it looks like some muscle guardin' that shitty little town. We're gonna have to be on our toes the whole time."

"Do we have a plan," asks Robert after taking a sip of his scotch.

Damien merely smiles as the scene fades out.

* * *

There is a light haze over Innsmouth this night, and all is silent. Our three heroes walk openly through the dilapidated streets. Jack has his chain in hand, Robert, his staff. Damien has the cane Jacob gave him in one hand held by the staff rather than the handle, and an unsheathed katana in the other. He's wearing a long black trenchcoat with numerous other blades hidden underneath.

Ahead in the fog, they can hear the roar of the ghouls, preparing to attack. The trio stops, and Robert raises his staff, gathering energy. Then, he slams the bottom to the ground hard, using the gathered power to bring a strong wind to disperse the fog, revealing a small group of ghouls advancing. Robert simply laughs.

"Too easy."

With a crack of ear-splitting thunder, lightning falls from the sky and incinerates all of the beasts.

"Fuck," exclaims Jack. "I think you just busted my ear drum!"

"Focus, fucker," growls Damien. "We can't be sure there aren't more hiding down the alleyways. We don't want a repeat of last ti-"

"What," Jack yells. "My ears are ringing too fucking loud!"

Robert shakes his head in annoyance and approaches Jack. He nonchalantly snaps his fingers once by each of Jack's ears, concentrating minutely.

"Better," the older man asks impatiently.

Jack nods and they continue on.

"Do we even know where we're going," Jack asks, surveying their surroundings. "The bastard could be anywhere around here."

"I can find him," Damien assures him. "When I get a close look at someone's sins, it. . . links us, in a way. I can't really explain it."

"Shit. So you can come find me no matter what?"

"No. I broke that link as soon as I could. That was some seriously fucked up shit in there."

"Well, thank god that I'm too fucked up for a confirmed psychopath."

"Comfirmed former psychopath."

"Whatever."

"And you told him to focus," Robert grumbles at Damien before starting off ahead of the others, who follow seconds after.

Damien retakes the lead, looking from side to side in suspicion. After a moment, he stops again and holds his arms out to signal his companions to do the same. Without a word, he extends his hand holding the cane and concentrates. The dragon carved on the shaft begins to glow a bright crimson in contrast to its usual jade green, and a burst of flame explodes from the end, hurling like a red comet toward an empty space ahead of them. Suddenly, it veers up overhead as if deflected. The air seems to shiver, and Joseph materializes in the formerly empty spot.

"Very astute, my boy," he says, amusement in his tone but leashed anger on his face.

"Hello, Joe," Damien, grunts. "You seem uglier than last time I saw you."

"I have you to thank for that," Joseph replies, touching the hand-shaped burn scar on his face. "But I'll be makin' us even soon enough."

"Doubtful. Where's my brother?"

Joseph remains silent, the glare on his face not letting up in the least.

"Fine," says Damien. "Let's try the hard way."

"Do let's."

Before Damien can make a move, he hears a pair of loud thuds behind him, and he turns in time to see Jack and Robert fall. He looks around, finding no one else around. As he turns back toward Joseph, he feels a sharp pain on the back of his head, and then darkness.

* * *

I was desperate.

I'd spent a good year with a demon in my head, trying to steer me in the wrong direction. After getting injured in that match with Eric Scorpio and Gabriel Crow, I spent a lot of time reading up on demonic possession and expelling unwanted inhabitants from one's head. I even went so far as looking into. . . darker magic to get the job done. I found a spell, one that would send the demon back to Hell, and keep it there.

Of course, Sonneillon wasn't going to take that lying down. Just when I thought I'd found a solution, the bastard took over. It tried to burn my house down with Jess and a few friends stuck inside.

I honestly don't know how, but I suddenly felt a new strength course through me. I retook control, and cast the spell, using up the new strength in the process.

It worked. The demon's presence was gone, and I felt better than I had in some time. But something felt. . . strange. Something was missing.

Prior to this, I suffered from multiple personality disorder. David, my brother, was the original personality. I came into existence after our parents died. A sort of coping mechanism, I guess. Sonneillon caged him up in my head, so I couldn't talk to him. But I could still feel him there. After banishing the demon, however, he seemed to be gone.

A few days later, a man was found wandering the neighborhood, disoriented and amnesiac. I went to check it out. He looked almost exactly like me. A bit shorter and thinner, but otherwise a perfect duplicate. When he saw me, his memories started to come back. It was David. Somehow, the spell had given him a body of his own.

From them then on, I swore I'd protect him, just as I had when we were one. But I fucked that up big time.


* * *

Damien is awoken by a pair of hard kicks to the stomach knocking the air out of him. His eyes snap open to find Jess standing over him in a black robe, held open revealing her cleavage and showing her lack of clothing, smirking at her handiwork. He tries to launch himself at the harlot, only to find his wrists connected to the floor by short chains bolted to the ground. Damien rises to his knees and glares at Jess.

"You set me up," he growls. "You fuckin' bitch."

"You should have known better," she replies. "I am a backstabbing whore, after all."

"I will get you back for this."

"You won't get the chance."

Joseph steps up next to Jess and reaches his arm around her shoulder.

"This is the endgame, Damien," he muses. "All I wanted was to awaken the power within you, have you join us. Even when I killed your mother and father, that was the plan."

Damien's eyes grow wide and he starts to try and gather power to strike out against his tormentor.

"I wouldn't," Joseph warns. "Those chains are enchanted. Try throwing magic around in here with those on, and the backlash might kill you. And we don't want that just yet."

Damien continues to stare at Joseph with malice.

"You only have yourself to blame, Damien," Joseph continues, touching the scar on his face. "You scarred me when you should have killed me. That was a mistake. And now I'll take my revenge."

Joseph turns around and walks away. Jess winks at Damien before following. Damien looks around to find Jack and Robert chained down as well. Between them in the center is David, tied to an old wooden chair. He has a few bruises on his face, but is otherwise seemingly alright.

"David," Damien says, his voice calm now. "Everything's gonna be alright, bro. I''m gonna get you outta here."

David remains silent and lowers his head. Damien looks about his surroundings. They seem to be in the study of an old, dilapidated house, surrounded by a group of six people in hoods, mumbling in various languages. Damien's lips part into a silent snarl as Joseph approaches David from behind, an athame in his hand.

"Couldn't cause too much damage on him," he says, smiling malevolently. "Might insult the god I'm about to summon."

Jess takes her place beside Joseph, who turns to her with a smile.

"A kiss for luck, love?"

She returns the smile and nods. Joseph bends down for the kiss, only to be kicked between his legs. As he bends further and guards his groin, Jess knees him in the nose, breaking it.

"There will be no summoning, Joseph," she proclaims. "Our employer is very displeased with you."

As she lifts her leg to deliver another blow, Joseph shoves the athame through her foot. Taking advantage, he pulls to the side, making her lose her balance. As she hits the floor and he immediately punches her in the temple, knocking her out.

"It appears I need to take another look at you later," he grunts, pulling the athame from her foot and then rising. "But you have failed to prevent me from summoning Nyarlathotep."

"I will not be summoned like a lowly slave," a voice booms throughout the room. "I go where it pleases me to, human."

Standing in a corner that was empty only seconds earlier is a man with short blonde hair wearing a business suit, all in black. He stands with his arms crossed and one foot tucked behind the other.

"Make this quick. If you bore me, it will not end well for you."

"Dark Lord," says Joseph, timidly. "I was just about to sacrifice these lambs to yo-"

"I don't care," says the Old God. "You're dangerously close to boring me, human."

"Yes, yes. I want power, and revenge on that one-"

Joseph points at Damien.

"-and in exchange I offer a new universe for you to-"

"You've bored me," says Nyarlathotep. "What need do the Outer Gods have for another universe? They barely know what to do with this one."

He turns his attention to Damien.

"You. What do you offer in return for the freedom of yourself and the others?"

Damien glares at Joseph with the slightest smirk.

"I'll get him to shut the fuck up and make him suffer more than he could ever imagine."

"Acceptable," says the god with a smirk.

The shackles holding Damien, Jack and Robert pop open, releasing them. Joseph frantically turns to his minions.

"Don't just stand there! Get them!'

The men in robes rush to attack the trio, who jump up and quarrel with them. Two of the attackers converge on Damien, who simply strips his gloves off and reaches into their hoods, grabbing hold of their foreheads. From one, he sees a vision of a young girl being held down in the grass, her clothes torn as tears flow from her eyes and she screams for mercy. From the other, whole line of couples, disemboweled, various organs kept as trophies by a man with a sick, blackened soul.

The two robed men's eyes roll up into the back of their heads as the physical backlash of Damien's ability takes its toll. As they lose consciousness, Damien lets them fall to the ground snd advances upon Joseph as Robert and Jack take care of the others. Robert throws lightning at his attackers as Jack, having regained his chain, clotheslines one with it before decking the other.

As he approaches Joseph, one of Damien's eyes begins to glow a bright white, and the other dims to a dark black. Joseph begins to back away, throwing fire at the Sineater, only to have Damien deflect it on his advanced state.

"After all the pain you've caused," Damien says calmly, "all the crimes and sins you have perpetrated; my parents' deaths, kidnapping my brother, and so many more. You deserve death."

"Then kill me," Joseph shoots back. "Make yourself a hypocrite, boy."

"No. I have other plans for you. I've been doing research on my powers. In one old, obscure text, it described an abilty of the sineater to judge and punish a sinner however he wishes. Let's test that, shall we?"

Joseph backs into a wall. In spite of his predicament, he begins to smile deviously.

"Any last words," asks Damien.

"A few," says Joseph. "An explanation. Why I killed your mommy and daddy."

Damien's eyes narrow.

"I knew your mother along time. She was a magical prodigy, capable in many types of magic. And yet she was so humble."

Joseph averts his gaze.

"For a time, I was proud to call her my sister."

Damien's mouth drops open at this revelation.

"She was chosen as the next in line to lead the Counsel of the White Star by our father. Her! Over me, her older brother. It wasn't fair."

Damien's teeth clench tight as his rage amplifies.

"And our father happens to be here now."

Joseph points past Damien at Robert, who's face grows pale. Damien doesn't turn to look.

"Even more reason to serve your punishment," he growls.

Damien quickly grabs Joseph's head in both hands, allowing himself to look through all of the wizard's sins. Then, he concentrates on pouring them all back in. Joseph screams at the things he begins to see and feel. Damien releases him after a few long moments, letting him drop. Jack approaches Damien cautiously.

"What did you do to him," he asks.

"I took all of his sins," says Damien, his eyes becoming normal again, "the deep dark things he's done, and made him experience them all again from the other side. He will never die and never awaken until he truly feels remorse for what he's done."

"Shit," Jack exclaims. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

Danien looks over to Nyarlathotep, who simply grins.

"That was most satisfying," he says. "Now leave this universe."

With that, the Old God disappears before their eyes. Damien shakes his head.

"So," Jack asks, "what now?"

"Now, this," Damien responds, and thrusts his hand out and simply pokes Jack in the face.

"What the-?!"

Jack flinches from the expected backlash from Damien's power, but is astonished when no pain explodes into his head.

"Another little tidbit I learned doin' research," Damien says, smirking. "Using the power alot gradually gives me total control. Won't be needin' the gloves anymore."

Behind them, they hear a faint groan, and they turn to find Jess rising clumsily.

"What's going on," she gasps. "Where am I? And what the hell am I wearing?"

Jack and Damien look at each other quizzically. After a second Damien looks back at her.

"Spare me the amnesia routine," says Damien, approaching her. "You still have a lot to answer for from me."

"Babe, what are you talking about," she asks. "What the hell is happening?"

"Damien," says Robert, calmly. "I can feel no malevolence coming off of her. If you don't believe it, read her."

"She's immune."

"She won't be this time."

Damien shakes his head, and after a moment's hesitation, he reaches out toward Jess' face.

"This shouldn't hurt much," he says, a level of detachment in the words.

He gently touches her her cheek and begins to probe for sins and finds. . .

Sorrow, a razorblade, a drop of blood, and a wound that closes on its own. Jess hasn't committed a single sin since the day she tried to kill herself years before.

Damien pulls his hand back, a single tear escaping his eye. Before he can say anything, hears a slow clap near the entrance to the room.

"Ahh, a story with equal parts action, heroic deeds, revenge, heartbreak and rekindled love. How I love it!"

Damien looks to find a man nearly as tall as himself standing just inside wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans, and a black mask with a red design on it.

"You," growls Damien. "You're the son of a bitch who tried to have me kidnapped in Rome."

"Guilty," the masked man relents, raising his hands in surrender. "Truth be told, those boys misunderstood my request. I simply wished them to bring you to me. I suppose they were used to doing things the hard way. But I can not show leniency toward failure, hence the bullets I put in their heads."

"Who the fuck are you," Damien growls, his fists clenched.

"Poor Joseph," the man continues, ignoring Damien's question. "He should have just stuck with the plan. Killing your parents, having you possessed, mind controlling Jess, here, awakening your power. But you scarred him, and the rest is history."

"Who are you," Damien yells and rushes the masked man.

The man simply disappears, leaving Damien to charge through empty air.

"Come now," the man's voice echoes throughout the room. "Don't you recognize an old friend, dear Damien?"

Damien's eyes go wide as he realizes who the man is.

"Sonneillon," he whispers.

A loud cackle flows through the room, slowly dissipating after a moment. As Damien stands in shock, Robert moves to untie David.

"We should leave now," Robert says.

Damien nods in agreement.

"Yeah. But you and I have some things to discuss very soon."

"Agreed. We'll talk once things have settled."

Damien then approaches his brother slowly and kneels in front of him. As he looks David over, he begins to finally calm down. He lays his hand on David's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Damien says. "If I'd kept you close instead of pushing you away, this wouldn't have happened."

"It's alright," David assures him. "You came and saved me. Everything is okay now."

Damien smiles and helps his brother stand. Then, the five of them make their way back to Robert's mansion and return to their universe.

* * *

Sitting on his bed in his grandfather's house, Damien is looking through an old photo album. We see pictures spanning Damien's entire carreer. His early days in NEW, the formation of Danse Macabre with Joe Michaels and Gabriel Crow, the addition of Black Marcus and Dallas Roland after Joe left, on to the night he won the the Full Metal Tag Team Championship with Nicholas Gray.

He pauses on one photo, taken at his home back in Austin. Damien stands in front of the house, one arm over David's shoulder, the other around Jess' abdomen. All of them are smiling wide, even Damien.

"You looked so happy, then," comes a voice beside him.

Damien turns his head to find Eliza looking down at the album.

"It seems like a lifetime ago," Damien replies sorrowfully.

"It would," she says. "Much has happened since then."

Damien nods.

"This is good bye, isn't it, Eliza?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. But before I go, I need to tell you something. You have doubts about Jess and her being mind controlled. It's true, she was. Sonneillon couldn't do it alone in his human form. So, he used Joseph as a tether, using his power, but the demon's will. She can't remember anything between Mount Vesuvias and until tonight."

"What's your point?"

"Give her another chance."

Eliza lays her hand upon his cheek and gives him one final, gentle kiss on the lips, and Damien returns it in earnest. She pulls away and steps back.

"Good bye, my love. Be happy."

She disappears from the room, leaving Damien alone, and he sighs. He places the photo album on the bed and stands. He walks over to the chest of drawers, opens the top drawer and pulls from it his Full Metal Tag Team title belt and throws it over his shoulder. Catalyst is set to begin in only six hours now. And he's ready to kick some ass.

* * *

One hour left until the match. We find Damien and his partner, Nicholas Gray, going through their prematch preparations. Gray is taping up Damien's wrist and hand.

"You ready," Nick asks as he finishes up.

"Born ready," Damien replies simply, offering his other hand for to be taped.

"Good," Nick says, starting to tape up the other wrist. "I'm ready. But. . . ."

"But?"

"I've got a bad feeling, man. Like maybe our time is up. We've been Tag Champs for a long time now; longer than anyone. The longer you hold a belt, the harder it is to keep it, not taking into account the jobbers of course."

"Fuckin' management."

"My point is, while I don't have respect for YNG, they're still a threat. They will use every advantage they can get, throw any weapon they can, especially with Bryson holding some power. Could this be it?"

As Gray finishes off, Damien pulls his hand away. He flexes both hands and wrists, then looks at his partner.

"At this point, I don't care about that shit. We went into Ultimatum Three thinking we were screwed, that Harlequin and Caesar were goin' to take us all down. Then, we walked out with the belts. Not the Together Demons. Not the Broken Saints or the Comeback Kids or Gold Standard Wrestling. Us. And then we dominated. Period. And they started grasping at straws to find guys to face us. Yeah, it's fuckin' frustratin' that we spent a whole cycle facing jobbers. And I'd wager Bryson might've made arrangements to put us in that situation, thinking it'd somehow build us up and make us think we're better than we actually are. But it backfired. It made us crave a real challenge. And one way or another, we've got one now. So, I say we do what the Gray fuckin' Inferno has done since Ultimatum and go kick some fuckin' ass."

Nick begins to smile with confidence.

"You should talk more, buddy. You sure can motivate someone."

That said, he hands the tape to Damien and offers his wrist as we fade out.

* * *

So, here we are.

Catalyst. The Gray Inferno's first chance for a real match since 15.3. YNG finally have stopped the bullshit and decided to fight us for the Full Metal Wrestling Tag Team Championship.

And honestly, I'm mother fuckin' horrified.

Before you boys get all full of yourselves, I don't mean horrified of you. Hell no. You're just another couple of guys trying to take what belongs to me n' Gray.

What horrifies me is the idea of what you'll do to the titles we worked so hard to bring prestige back to.

Let's take a look back, shall we?

Corruption 14.1. The formation of YNG. One of the final nails in the coffin for the Full Metal Television Championship. The fuckin' Fingerpoke of Doom.

Tell me. Why would you copy one of WCW's shittiest ideas and devalue a championship like that? You take one of the symbols of accomplishment in our business and stomp on it.

Then, Death Row Four. You turn one of the Sons of Attrition against his stable and, beat said stable the fuck down, then walk out, thereby forfeiting your belts. Not just the TV title. It was already fucked. But the Full Metal Championship, the top title in our promotion.

"Fuck that noise. I'm Nick mother fuckin' Bryson."

No. Fuck you, Bryson!

I'll be damned if you're going to take the belts me 'n Gray worked so hard to raise. I'll be damned if you and your cadre of underhanded jackasses take our work and shit all over it.

Come on out, you mother fuckers.

Come and get your skulls crushed.
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Thu Oct 11, 2012 7:36 pm

He that will give good words to thee will flatter
Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs,
That like nor peace nor war? the one affrights you,
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,
Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;
Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no,
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,
Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is
To make him worthy whose offence subdues him
And curse that justice did it.
Who deserves greatness
Deserves your hate


----------------------------------------------

A Day in the Life
09:00am.
Cleveland, England

Nick Bryson exited the glass sliding doors that make up the front of the YNG Building in Cleveland, England. Once a small, peaceful town in the British countryside, the locals had the distinct privelage of housing a knight of the realm and reaped the luxuries he brought.

And did they really deserve it?

He was a creator. A generator. Simply being associated with him had already brought gifts to these people who had next to nothing.

Oh, and the townspeople benefited too.

Bryson entered the limo that was parked in front of the building. He finishes examining his smart phone before looking up at his two associates Matt Ashburn, casually sipping a drink with his legs perched up on the leather seat, and Mark Johansson, sitting statuesque near Bryson.


Bryson: Gentlemen, I'll be having some sort of discussion with the FMW board. It will probably be remedial and a waste of time, so I don't plan on participating long.

Ashburn snorted as he laughed. Mark simply nodded towards Bryson, who put his phone away in the pocket of his jacket.

Bryson: As it is, Matt, we've entered negotiations for more than a few promotions looking to utilize our talent, which gave me another idea of sorts. You see, while we can use our clout to increase our exposure worldwide, I also believe we can use the same ability to influence the more regional promoters and talents. Specifically speaking, I think we can absorb some of these areas and merge their talents into development territories.

Ashburn continued to look out of the tinted windows as they drove. He stopped sipping his drink for a moment before he began to speak again.

Ashburn: What do you need those for?

Bryson: Legitimate question. I feel that if we're going to shape FMW, to mold it in our image, we're going to end up needing people who are... lets just say more loyal to our vision for it.

Ashburn: Makes complete sense.

Bryson: So, while I work out the intricacies of your scheduled appearances-

Ashburn: You mean money and such.

The two of them laughed. Mark simply cracked a smirk.

Bryson: I think we have an untapped resource, and he's sitting right next to me.

Ashburn looked up at Mark curiously as Bryson patted his shoulder. Mark seemed just as intrigued, or as intrigued as he would look, as he turned his head.

Bryson: Yes, see I've gone ahead and booked Mark in one of these territories. Some small time promotion in a town we'd barely send a house show too. However, since I convinced the man that he could use the FMW 'House Show' label, and that I would send him FMW talent, he agreed to give us seventy per-cent of the gate and Mark's fee.

Ashburn: Worthwhile?

Bryson: Worth enough. This guy seems to think that he's going to expand his business, create new stars by proxy of our association and talent. Except that he's not going to get that. He's going to get his people pissed off when he cant pay them and he's going to lose control of them.

Ashburn: This guy is going to fall hard and fast.

Bryson: We can expand our business ventures with these smaller shows, crush the promoters, and then pick what we want from the ashes. Develop people who will be loyal to ourselves, and over time bring them through the ranks and create a better culture.

Ashburn: And successfuly completed it will-

Bryson: Serve as a model for you and I to operate overseas, with some of the biggest companies in the world.

Ashburn again smirks with Bryson as he drinks.

Ashburn: Well, boss, if this is happening Im going to need a bigger closet. You know, for all the extra belt space.

Bryson: One can never have too many objects that hold up pants.

Ashburn laughs as Bryson turns to Mark.

Bryson: We're on our way to the airport now, Mark. You're going to fly out to this show later. Matt and I have a seperate meeting to go to, the board can wait. I want you to really listen to my words here, Mark. I want you to break this guy coming up. He's going to be the example that whatever this promoters name is wants to set. He's going to want to make him look good. At your expense? That wont happen. Instead he will be an example of his inability to keep his word, though I suppose he could be made famous.

Mark: How so?

Bryson: You dont see many people die in a ring. You're going to become something more than just another monster, Mark. We're going to break people, their wills, their bodies, and it will be united behind your hands.

Mark finally smiled as he looked out the window, his fingers clutching the door of the limo tightly as visions of torture and brutality dance through his head, making Mark giddy.

At least, internally.

The trees of the countryside had slowly faded to the expansive towers of urban areas. The blue sky contrasted now with glass and steel as they turned into the back entrance of the airport, a private drive for their private planes.


Bryson: You've got free reign in there, Mark. Just remember at the end of the night-

The limo had stopped and the door opened. They sat in front of a red carpet leading to an open door of a private plane.

Bryson: We won't be going back.

Johansson: Anything you say, Bryson.

Bryson turned and exited the limo, quickly followed by Matt Ashburn. Mark paused for a moment, envisioning what was going to unfold before him in just a few short hours, before exiting the vehicle as well. The door closed as the scene fades from the empty limousine to black.


-------------------------------------------

We charge you, that you have contrived to take
From Rome all season'd office and to wind
Yourself into a power tyrannical;
For which you are a traitor to the people.

How! traitor!
Nay, temperately; your promise.

The fires in the lowest hell fold-in the people!
Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune!
Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths,
In thy hand clutch'd as many millions, in
Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say
'Thou liest' unto thee with a voice as free
As I do pray the gods


----------------------------------------------

14:36pm
New York, New York

The elevator dinged as the gold plated doors slid open. Nick Bryson stood next to Matt Ashburn until the doors parted completely before stepping forward into the lobby. The fourtieth floor was high enough for FMW, he assumed.

He turned around a corner and proceeded down a long hallway, towards a pair of oak double doors. Bryson pulled the door open as Ashburn grabbed the handle from Bryson, holding the door open for him before turning his back to the door and standing guard.

The oval table was peppered with the board members of FMW. They all looked at Bryson, most with a begrudging demeanor, some almost in awe.


Bryson: I've got shit to do, so lets get this underway quickly.

Bryson looked at his watch as he sat down at the head of the table. An older man, with graying hair, continued to listen to a conversation on his phone before he looked towards a man considerably younger than him, probably someones nephew. The younger man was the first to speak, leaning forward on the table and folding his hands together.

Young Board Member: Bryson, your recent dealings have been-

Bryson: Well within the parameters of my deal.

Young Board Member: You've usurped the name of FMW and are using it to your advantage monetarily.

Bryson: Last I saw, I am as much of an executive in this company as some of you around this table, and more of an executive than most of you at this table.

Bryson glared at the younger man.

Bryson: I've taken an initiative and brought about an expansion of FMW's business and exposure around the country. An initiative that you all failed to-

Second Board Member: You've used our name at financial gain for your own brand.

Bryson: Yes, generally speaking when someone tries to run a show, they do it to make a profit.

Second Board Member: So you'll be cutting us in with the profits then.

Bryson: I'll do no such thing. These are events advertised with FMW, that I've used to suppliment the income you were unable to match. These people are like any other advertisers that I get the proceeds from.

Young Board Member: Thats a stretch if I've ever heard one, Bryson. You're overstepping your-

Bryson: Boundaries? Please. I put this place on the map. I went out and became something you could never create and now your world exists because I deem it so. I demand it and it happens. With my hands, right here, the world we live in is molded and created, and what happens inside of it is because I am generous.

Young Board Member: What!? What the hell do you think you're talking about? We, WE-

Bryson: No. Not you. Not him, not him, not him. I. Me. And now I have continued to expand where you did not and am reaping the benefits of my hard work, putting my good name out there for ungrateful peons like yourselves.

Second Board Member: You need to watch your tone, Bryson.

Bryson: To who? You? Who do you think you are? This company wasnt built on your blood. It wasnt nourished with your sweat. It wasn't made great because of your name and imagination.

The older gentleman thanks whoever was on the phone with him as he hangs it up. He puts his phone on the table next to his portfolio as Bryson continues his speach.

Bryson: This whole world exists under my guidance. I am like a God, giving to those who deserve it, and taking from those who dont, including the likes of you here.

A few of the men around the table squirm uncomfortably. The older board member places his fist to his mouth and clears his throat, silencing the other board members.

Older Board Member: While Im sure we can sit here and argue the semantics and legality of your current dealings, Bryson, I've just gotten off the phone with an important call. It seems as if your man Mark Johansson has single handedly taken the event you, apparently, backed and has demolished it. It looks like he dropped some young man on his head and has compressed his spine. Fans were irate, and it sounds like he continued to instigate them. Apparently, Mark damn near started a riot.

Bryson: And?

The older man slammed his hand on the table.

Older Board Member: Dammit! I've got a promoter on the phone demanding we cover his talent's medical bill. We've got this issue going viral, crawling its way to rumor sites and dirt sheets, and a reputation thats being actively sullied. This is your mess-

He points a long, wrinkled finger at Nick Bryson.

Older Board Member: Clean it up.

Bryson sits silently for a moment, looking at the board. The man was still pointing at him when he laughed briefly as he stood from the table, pushing his chair out and adjusting his suit.

Bryson: No.

Older Board Member: Excuse me?

Bryson: You see, you guys have your gentlemans games and ideas on business expansion. You have scouts and talent advisors, whole nine yards. You operate under an antiquated system, and your system is beginning to fail you. Gentlemen, I'm going to change the face of this industry. Again. You're lucky to be on the ride, as Im sure history will reward you with some of the credit of which you deserve none.

Bryson took his phone from his jacket and sent a text. The meeting room doors clicked and opened slowly.

Bryson: I am going to make this the only game in town worth seeing, world wide. This mess, as you called it, is exactly what was planned.

Bryson turned and walked away as the older board member stood, looking to speak. He ignored the man as he looked to Matt and exited the room. The door slowly began to close before it was stopped as a few of the Board stood in the doorway.

Bryson: Welcome to the future, gents. You're all welcome, by the way.

Bryson turned the same corner and entered the elevator that was waiting for him. Ashburn pushed the operator to the side and pressed the button as the doors slowly came together. There was a ding as the gold plated doors met in the center and the scene faded to black.


----------------------------------------

I beseech you, peace:
Or, if you'ld ask, remember this before:
The thing I have forsworn to grant may never
Be held by you denials. Do not bid me
Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate
Again with Rome's mechanics: tell me not
Wherein I seem unnatural: desire not
To ally my rages and revenges with
Your colder reasons



------------------------------------------

22:19
Deer Park, New York.

Some fans had begun to make their way out of the arena and towards the back. Other fans still stood inside the venue, the main event having just finished, throwing trash towards the ring. An ambulance blocked the rear entrance of the building as medical technicians tended to an injured young man.

Bryson: Here is fine.

He tapped on the drivers shoulder and moved toward the back of the limo.

Driver: You sure?

Bryson: Yes. Just open the door.

The driver stopped the car as close to the back door as he could get and exited the vehicle. He opened the back door of the limo and let Bryson out, which instantly caused mixed reactions of fans.

As he stepped towards the back, he paused for a moment, looking at the young man in the ambulance. He pulled his phone out and sent a text, taking one last look at the injured wrestler before walking forward backstage, where a few wrestlers had taken to trying to block the fans from the injured man, while others circled around the entrance, parting like the sea as Bryson entered the scene.


Voice: Hey! Bryson! What the fuck, man!

Bryson looked up as a plump man approached him, donned in a hawaiian shirt and jeans, a lanyard around his neck noted he had high security access.

Bryson: Hello to you too.

His lanyard had the name 'Isaac Reynolds' on it. The promoter.

Reynolds: One of my top guys just got demolished. I've got irate people in seats still, and a powderkeg on my hands. What the fuck, man!? I thought this was going to go smoothly.

Bryson: Lets take a walk.

Reynolds: No, I want-

Bryson: That wasn't a suggestion.

The promoter closed his mouth as he looked at the few of the talents who had stood around the two men. He followed Bryson closely as they walked forward backstage.

Bryson: Where is your office?

Reynolds: Down the hall, to the left.

Bryson ignored the other things the promoter said as he approached the room. He clicked the door open and sat down at the desk, in the promoters chair. He began looking over the papers, examining the money in the lockbox.

Bryson: Speak.

Reynolds: Your guy fucked my guy over, Bryson.

Bryson: This is a dangerous profession. Sometimes things happen.

Reynolds: It was blatantly unsafe. The fans saw it. I saw it. Why do you think its a riot out there!?

Bryson: Because you put on a shit show?

Reynolds: Fuck you, man. This was supposed to be a decent agreement-

Bryson: You pulled five point five?

Reynolds: Yes.

The promoter looked a little off guard.

Bryson: What was your biggest draw before then.

Reynolds: Two point three.

Bryson: Did you make money on that show?

Reynolds: A little.

Bryson: And without me, would you ever have afforded this venue?

Reynolds: No.

Bryson: I'm looking at three-hundred grand gate here. So my take is two-ten. Marks' fee is fourty, plus twenty percent of concessions, twenty-five of merch, and its looking like my cut is three hundred ten thousand one hundred and eight dollars. I'll spot you that eight, though, I hate carrying around singles.

Reynolds: Are you kidding me!? You're talking cuts? NOW!? I've got a kid who damn near died in that ring! How can he get covered? I've got bills to pay and you just took eighty per-cent of the entire take of the day!

Bryson: I'm pretty aware. You might want to keep that take of yours and spend it on attourneys, because Im sure the family of that kid is not going to be happy.

Reynolds: You listen here, you fuck-

Bryson slams the lock box closed and stands, throwing the chair to the ground. Placing the few stacks of money in the inside of his jacket, he steps out from the desk and towards the promoter, who's attitude has suddenly changed.

Bryson: You listen here, you sack of shit. I made this night for you. I did. You made an agreement and here I am, taking whats owed. If you are unable to handle your business and its operations then maybe you need to find a new line of work.

Isaac Reynolds backed into the concrete wall and flinched as Bryson stepped closer, almost standing chest to chest with the man.

Bryson: As far as Im concerned, Reynolds, you're just another lame duck promoter. Good luck with your work in the future, should you find some. I assume it wont be in wrestling. Try something easier on yourself, like fast food. It looks like you frequent that type of shit anyway.

Isaacs still turned away frm Bryson as he stepped out of the office and walked back towards the gathering of the talent. The ambulance finished stabilizing the young man and had just pulled away as the remaining wrestlers gathered around Bryson. He reaches in his breast pocket and pulls out a small stack of cash. He looks at it as he flips the bills quickly and sets the money on a bench.

Bryson: Gentlemen, your promoter cant afford to pay you. However, I can. This is fifty-thousand dollars for you all to split amongst yourselves. Clearly, tonight was a great show. These people are going home with something to talk about and you all should be proud.

Bryson turns to move down the hallway towards the locker room, made visible by the lone light shining in it.

Bryson: Theres an extra ten in there for that guy in the ambulance. Congratulations, men. Go celebrate.

He turns and enters the locker room as he comes across Mark Johansson, taking off his ring gear and placing it in his duffel bag. He cuts the tape from his wrists as he turns and faces his friend. Bryson reaches out and grabs Mark by the back of his head, placing his forehead on his enforcer's and smiling for a moment.

Bryson: You're brilliant.

Johansson: Doing my job.

Bryson: You ready to bring this to the rest of the world?

Johansson: More than ever.

Bryson smiled as Mark picked up his bag and lead the two out of the room and to the exit. Bryson pulled out his phone and dialed.

Bryson: Yeah. Its me... mission accomplished. Go ahead and put out the releases. Yeah, send it to friendly sheets first.

He hangs up the phone as the driver opens the door to the limo. The two men enter the vehicle after making their way through what was left of the irate crowd. The driver continues doing his job, closing the door behind them and walking to the front of the limo, turning the ignition and driving forward.

------------------------------------

Johansson ignites crowd
by Bob Theriault

Last night in Deer Park, New York, the crowd was electric as they witnessed the first of a new wave of FMW sponsored local shows. The main event featured an electric bout that had local talent Jimmy Greene facing FMW veteran Mark Johansson.

Early reports of misconduct by Johansson in the match are overstated, as fans have reported to us that it was an intense spot mistimed, possibly by Greene. The reaction to the show was stellar and the venue drew its biggest crowd ever for the event.

The next leg continues as FMW rolls into Canada for one of its flagship Pay-Per-View events Catalyst. Mark Johansson and Nick Bryson are scheduled to face the current Tag Team Champions, Damien Inferno and Nicholas Gray.

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Leviticastform
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FMW Superstar: Leviticus
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Thu Oct 11, 2012 8:43 pm

Leviticus wasn't feeling too well.

His week started when he had to sit there and watch the brutal crippling of his teammate and friend with the rest of the GSW invaders. While he hadn't said anything about it at the time, every blow made his stomach turn. Every time the baseball bat continued the brutality of the situation Leviticus wanted to puke. He didn't though. In fact, he did just the opposite. He sat there, stone cold, unflinching, being the leader that he needed to be at that moment. It was by no means easy, but it was what he had to do. His loyalty to his cause, his friends, and his honor demanded it.

Then the fever came.

Now normally getting a little sick when the temperature change isn't all that unusual, especially when the change is as drastic as the most recent one has been. However, this sickness was far beyond that. Leviticus had spent the last three days in bed tossing and turning, trying his best to get better before the biggest match in his career so far. The sickness wasn't going to give up without a fight though.

Leviticus's eyes snapped open. As soon as they did he wished he hadn't. The room began to twist and swirl in his fever induced haze, causing his stomach to follow suit. Feeling like the contents of his stomach were about to vacate his body in a violent manner he sat up and slowly pulled himself out of bed. As soon as he was standing his feet carried him wobbly toward his bathroom. Luckily he had left the bathroom door open and the light on, because he wasn't quite sure he would have been able to accomplish either of those things at the present moment.

Once he was in the bathroom he went and knelt down by the toilet and waited for the inevitable. It never came though. Instead he sat there for what felt like forever and dry heaved. As his stomach began to grant him some mercy Leviticus slowly stood back up. As he reached up and wiped his hand across his mouth to clear away the spit. Before he could pull his hand away he felt something warm splatter on it. He held his hand out in front of him so he could see what it was, and what he saw shocked him. It was blood.

Leviticus reached down and grabbed some toilet paper before walking toward the mirror to see where the blood was coming from. When he looked into the mirror though he didn't see his own face.



He stumbled backwards as the face greeted him. As he recoiled his equilibrium left him and his legs gave out causing him to go crashing toward the floor. The last thing he remembered was his head hitting the floor and then everything was black.

*****************************************************************************************

Leviticus's eyes snapped open. Only this time it wasn't the familiarity of his bedroom that greeted him. It was darkness. As he lie there in the darkness he tried to gain his bearings so he could figure what was going on. Unfortunately he wouldn't get that chance. The darkness was suddenly flooded with an intensely bright light. Leviticus squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light. He wasn't sure where it came from or why it was there, all he knew was it was entirely to bright.

Slowly Leviticus's eyes adjusted and he was able to look at the light without squinting. In the center of the light dangled a figure and Leviticus recognized it immediately.

It was Jonathon King.

Leviticus quickly scrambled to his feet and pushed through the sickness that was trying to drag him back toward the ground. As soon as he was standing he rushed toward his friend who was suspended from the ceiling by a logging chain.


Leviticus: Talk to me King.

King's eyes opened slightly and he looked at Leviticus.

King: Levi?

Leviticus knew that King was saying his name but it came out more as a groan then a word. Leviticus began to glance around the room looking for something to help get King down but all he found was darkness.

Leviticus: Just hang on King. I'm going to help you. Then I'm going to get the one responsible for this.

Even as Leviticus spoke the words he hoped that his words were more then just talk, but at that moment things weren't looking too good. Leviticus looked around the room again. This time though something was different. There was a thin strip of light in the darkness just a little bit away from where he was now. With a smile Leviticus began to head toward the light. As he got closer the light grew bigger and brighter forcing Leviticus to squint his eyes again. As soon as his eyes adjusted a disturbing sight greeted him.


The group of white faces made him turn quickly and run back toward King. He wasn't sure who those people were but he knew that he had to protect his friend.

As soon as Leviticus had gotten back to King he turned back to see where the people in the white masks had gone. To his shock, they were no longer there and neither was the light. Feeling the fear flowing through him and the sickness trying to fight back through Leviticus knew he had to hurry.


Leviticus: I'm going to get you out of here....

Leviticus's sentence trailed off as he looked up at his friend. King was looking to the right and his eyes were wide with horror. Leviticus turned his head to see what it was his friend was looking at.


Leviticus wanted to run but knew he couldn't leave King there. So he did the next best thing he could think of.

Leviticus: Who are you?

The white faces kept advancing as though the hadn't even heard the question.

Leviticus: Who are you?

Again, the white faces seemed to not hear him as they drew closer.

Leviticus: WHO ARE YOU?

The white faces stopped as soon as Leviticus shouted. He breathed a sigh of relief as he took notice of this fact.

VIRUS

The word came out like a hiss. Leviticus wasn't sure if it was one of the white faces that spoke it or if it was coming from somewhere else in the darkness, but he was sure he had heard it. He also heard something else: footsteps.

Leviticus quickly whirled around and was greeted with even more white faces.



Leviticus instinctively took a fighting stance as his aching muscles tensed. He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do, but he knew that to get to King they were going to have to go through him.

Then suddenly, the white faces stopped.

Leviticus didn't let his guard down for a second but was also secretly relieved when he saw that he had a moment to think. Then there were more footsteps.

Slowly another white face walked out of the darkness. This one was different though, it was armed. The lean figure was clad in black and held a baseball bat in it's right hand. Leviticus quickly turned his full attention toward the one carrying the bat. Visions of the video came flashing back into his mind and the fear and sickness began to become anger as he looked at the figure in front of him. They had already crippled King and now they had brought him here to do the same thing. He wasn't about to let that happen without a fight.


Leviticus: You won't take me!

Suddenly the baseball bat wielding figure stopped and cocked it's head to the side.

Figure: But, we already have you.

As Leviticus listened to the voice he felt a shiver go up his spine. The voice was familiar but it wasn't the one from the video.

Leviticus: Who are you and why are you doing this?

The figure stood there.

Figure: We are Virus.

Leviticus began to shake.

Leviticus: What do you want?

The figure stood there for a moment and then slowly reached up and pulled the white mask off it's face. Leviticus stood frozen in horror as he looked at the face.

It was his own.


Figure: We already have it.

With his mind being pulled in several different directions Leviticus wasn't sure what to do, so he just let instinct take over. The rage came rushing back up to the surface and sent him rushing toward himself. His doppelganger didn't move even as Leviticus crashed into him. The two men went tumbling toward the ground and Leviticus began raining down fist into his doppelganger's face. After several minutes he stopped as the sickness began to push back through. He sat there for a moment looking at his own battered faced. For some reason it was smiling through the blood and the bruises.

Figure: We are Virus, and we will infect you all.

*****************************************************************************************

Leviticus's eyes snapped open. The light of his bathroom greeted him as he sat up. His entire body ached and was drenched in sweat. As he sat there everything he had just seen raced through his mind. Was it simply a fever dream or a terrifying vision? He wasn't really sure, but he knew that it had made some things clear to him regardless. Things were about to change. First though he had to go to the store and get some medicine, and while he was there he was going to pick up some face paint.

*****************************************************************************************

Hello FMW.

I want to tell you a story.

In the early 1900s there was a woman named Mary Mallon. Mary was an immigrant from Ireland who had come to America in hopes of a better future. While she may not have received the riches she hoped for she did find herself a nice steady job as a cook.

One other thing, Mary was also very sick. She was infected with a disease called Typhoid. Now in case you don't know Typhoid is extremely contagious and can even be deadly.

Mary came here in hopes of a better life and wound up being a scourge of it.

That is exactly what happens to each and every wrestler who joins FMW. They come in hoping for a better life and wind up carrying a disease to the masses.

At Catalyst I face two such carriers.

Let's start with Hannibal Frost. As far as credentials go this man his to be considered one of the best. In reality though he is a delusional individual who thrives on violence. His depravity knows no bounds as he savages those who step in his path. In fact his psychosis is so severe he once though he was a supernatural creature.

Then there is Skyler Striker. This man is, bluntly out, a junkie. He is a soul with a crippling addiction and he will use anyone he can to feed the monkey on his back. He would turn on his team mates to get his fix, and he would even punish his family all in the name of “getting a fix”.

Yet you cheer them.

Allow me to enlighten you to a hard dose of reality: a lunatic and a junkie are not heroes. They are menaces and dangers to society.

They can't help it though, they have been infected.

And now, they want to spread the infection to you.

You see, for a long time there was a Virus in FMW. The Virus infected everyone in the company and now they are spreading the infection to you and we are reaching pandemic levels of exposure.

Something has to be done for the good of not just the FMW locker room but for the good of the people at large.

They must be offered a cure.

They must have the chance at inoculation.

They must be helped

They must be healed of the Virus.

They must receive.....

The Anti-Virus


_________________


Truly a Gold Standard moment.

Thanks to The Law.

Loves his Poke' name and matching avatar. Thank you very much to whoever hooked me up with it.
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Easty



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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Thu Oct 11, 2012 10:50 pm

I never did tell you what happened that time Daniel and I got stoned as shit outside the Asylum.

Frankly, it was more for his benefit than mine. Without meaning to sound like a hard man... he's not as used to handling it as I am. Watching him think my life is somehow a carbon copy of
Fight Club was rather precious, but what he's forgetting is that this isn't some damn film.

Heh. It's still real to me, dammit.

Anyway, I'm just sitting here, getting hazy before tonight. I've got to be honest, I'm fucking edgy without. I don't know if Seth's ready.

For the first time since this whole journey of redemption began, I'm looking at the possibility of failure. The problem is that it's out of my hands now. It's in Chris'.

And that, I suppose, is what I'm afraid of. Chris. I'm afraid of what he could do to Seth.

I made Seth. I say that without pride or convictions and without arrogance. I helped Seth to become who he is now. I didn't have to do it – and don't get me wrong on this, I honestly don't want or need for him to be grateful – but at the same time, I don't want him to let me down.

I don't want to admit that I failed on this project. I've had my fair share of fuck-ups in this life and I could do without another one.

Sometimes it feels like I'm the only sane one around here. Everyone else is a posturing bag of testosterone with a megaphone. Whatever happened to subtlety? Whatever happened to finesse? It's like every motherfucker is on a Zerg Rush out here.

Just because I'm the sort of guy who would rather use his brains than his brawn, that somehow makes me underhanded. A cheat. An absolute scumbag.

You know that the Romans were an interesting people. They had scientific developments beyond compare, advancing the cultures of literature and art and creating a law system that forms the basis of the rules that I constantly break because I don't give a shit. And yet, they thought that the best way of building roads was to lay down a straight line.

Are they fucking retarded?

Nobody can be reliant on the constant straight and narrow. Anybody who is anybody will tell you have they have used 'underhanded' tactics in their life before. And I'm not talking cheating here – I'm one of those lucky, lucky people who just so happens to see things outside of the box.

I'm outside of the spectrum, and outside of the system. Whatever you want to call it.

Sometimes I feel I should run naked on the rooftops, screaming to the world that “I am different to you and I am fucking happy”. But that's the point, isn't it? I'm always going to be jealous over what others have.

I'm always going to be a little envious of Seth for finding that Gold Card. That's a given.

The question is whether or not I'm selfish enough to limit his potential because, honestly, I can see him being more physically skilled than me and a much brighter star than I ever could.

So I use him. Yes, I can admit that. And he uses me. It's the same with Daniel, but he's another tale for another time.

Seth and I need one another. I need him to succeed and he needs me
to succeed. I've not kept him as close as I have Daniel and it worries me that he might have been jealous of that. But I doubt it.

I'm pretty good at this envy thing myself.

Our little project, our work... my work's over on this for now. I've done all I can, and it's in his hands.

Are we confident? Gods, no. I'm not a betting man, but...

Look. Chris is a Hell of a talent. He's got the moves, the charisma and the skill. And he's going up against some rookie from a place he's never heard of.

Fuck me, I'm British and even I'm not sure where Swansea is in Wales. But the thing is, the thing is this...

Tonight Seth has a big chance to prove himself. The competition he's faced beforehand have not exactly been of a fantastic calibre, to put it mildly. Really, he's not got any idea what he has let himself in for.

Seth and I have already accepted failure as a foregone conclusion. And this is why I believe he will win.

He is prepared to lose, Chris. In his mind, Seth has already lost. He can't win this. And I'm sure that there isn't a one person out there who doesn't feel the same. For the audience, the viewers at home, even our backstage staff... this is a chance for you to bring out the 'new' Chris Austin. The same boring revamp of a character that got old before you even became C-4 World Heavyweight Wrestling Champion or whatever you called that shit. This is a chance for you to show off just how much better you are in even situations, Chris.

This is sport entertainment at its finest; a rough-and-tumble boxer outclassed by the majesty of an in-ring technician. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a show!

Seth Rotunda doesn't think it's a show. This kid thinks it's a fight.

We're gonna lose, Chris.

We're gonna lose hard.

I can hear the music. It's time. Gods' speed, you crazy Welsh bastard.

_________________
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David GS
FMW Anarchy Ultraviolent Champion
FMW Anarchy Ultraviolent Champion


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Championship: FMW Television Championship

PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Thu Oct 11, 2012 11:06 pm

I'm bored.

Sounds weird coming from me, right? I'm sure it's a sentiment that's been echoed by everyone in the locker room and their grandmother, but I can't imagine that I place very high on the list of people most likely to say it.

Nah, not me. Guys like Chris Austin are the ones who get bored.

Actually, he's a better example than most, if not all. Guy's been throwing a perpetual bitchfit ever since he became Full Metal Champion, and who can blame him? This place has gone to shit over the past few cycles, and everyone here has their portion of the blame to shoulder. Granted, there seems to be a bit of a revival going on right now, as indicated by Austin resuming man-opause, but still. Look at the FMW of today and compare it to the FMW of old - that's all it takes to realize that there isn't much of a comparison to make.

For a guy like Austin, this has to be a damn nightmare. He has no one to push him, no one to test him, and he's noticeably regressed as a result. You're only ever as strong as your environment forces you to be, and for Chris, the notion of standing still, of becoming complacent, of actually regressing in any way, is no doubt driving him up a wall.

The same is likely true of Skyler Striker, of Apostasy, and of Grey Inferno. They're warriors, honorable men of the squared circle who want nothing more than a challenge, and FMW's distinct lack of those can only have them chomping at the bit.

Not me, though.

I'm not supposed to get bored - I'm supposed to be the bad guy, remember? I'm not supposed to care if FMW's level of competition is on the decline; if anything, I'm supposed to be happier with the way things are than the way they've ever been before.

Think about it. Over here on Anarchy, I couldn't have it any better. I'm a two-time holder of the show's signature belt; my good buddy Nick's in charge of all the brand's goings-on; there's an endless line of Butterses, Pullins, Brookses, and Vendettas for me to knock down like ninepins. Why should I care if FMW's gone in the crapper?

That's just it - I shouldn't. If anything, I should want it flushed further down.

And yet, I say again ...

I'm bored.





David sat in front of the TV, remote in hand, only half-watching as a steady stream of programming flicked past his eyes. It was only the latest in a long, long, long line of slow and uneventful days; he'd woken up around noon, fixed himself something to eat, and splayed out on the sofa, where he'd been ever since. He'd long-ago come to the conclusion that daytime TV sucked, but that revelation hadn't stopped him from watching it in the slightest.

Truthfully, there wasn't much else he felt like doing.

The apartment door opened, but David didn't take his eyes off the TV as Rachel came in. "Hey," she said, and he raised his arm up over the back of the couch in greeting.

"Hey. How was work?" He heard Rachel grunt in disdain, but he still didn't turn.

"Awful," she said. "That junior composition class I've been assigned this semester is the worst. They tell us that we're supposed to take a positive outlook on these sorts of things, especially when we're working with some of the slower students, but babe, some of those kids ... "

She came around the side of the couch and plopped down next to him. "I'm just glad it's fall break," she finished, looking at him. "A whole week off ... want to go out tonight? I feel like celebrating."

David shrugged at the TV. "I guess. What did you have in mind?"

"Hmm ... " Rachel made a show of tapping her chin, only stopping when she saw that David wasn't watching her. "Dinner and movie?"

David shrugged again. "That's fine, I guess." He didn't catch the look of inexplicable sadness that briefly passed over his wife's face; even if he had seen it, though, she was quick to banish it and resume her mask of joviality.

"Great!" She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Be ready to leave in an hour or so, okay?"

He nodded his consent, and as she got up and headed back towards the bedroom, he began internally debating whether or not he should shower before they left. This was soon joined by the debate of whether sweatpants and a t-shirt were appropriate dinner-and-movie attire, followed by one of whether he even wanted to go or not. In the end, he ended up deciding to shower, change, and go.

He didn't really want to, Rachel would be pissed if he didn't.


+ + +

"Welcome to Dolce; my name is Andrew, and I'll be your server this evening. Might I start you off with something to drink?"

David watched as Rachel made an indecisive face, contorting her mouth as her eyes scanned the menu in front of her. " ... could I see your wine list?" she asked. The waiter presented it to her, and after taking a moment to look it over, her eyes lit up and she pointed to a specific item. "This Armida Chardonnay; I'll have a glass of that."

"Of course." Taking back the wine menu, the waiter turned to David. "And for - "

"Water's fine," David said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Thanks."

Though he looked a bit surprised, Andrew nonetheless composed himself and nodded. "Very good. I'll have those drinks out to you in a moment - meanwhile, take a look at the menu, and I'll be back to take your order in just a moment."

"Thank you, Andrew," Rachel said. David was already scanning the menu, and once Andrew was gone, Rachel kicked him under the table.

"Ow!" He almost swore, but bit down on his lip and suffered silently for a moment. "What was that for?"

"For being rude to the waiter," Rachel said, opening her own menu back up and began paging through it. "Come on, David - you oughta know better than that."

"I ... " He had a comeback that was truly biting on-deck; something about this being her idea, about how he didn't even want to be here - but he thought better of it at the last second and kept his mouth shut. They sat in silence for several minutes, neither speaking until the waiter had come back to distribute their drinks and take their orders.

"I think ... " Rachel paused when asked. "I think I'll have the Chicken Marsala, thanks."

Andrew then turned to David, with decidedly less enthusiasm than he'd displayed before. " And for you, sir?"

David frowned, his brow furrowing. "I'd like the New York Strip ... " He caught Rachel staring at him. " ... please." After the waiter had written down both their orders and left, he raised one eyebrow at her. "There," he said. "I was nice to the waiter - happy?"

"Yes, I am." Rachel smiled, actually giggling a little at his indignance. "Now was that really so difficult?"

David looked at her for a moment. "Guess not," he muttered, taking a drink from his water glass. It was more than cold enough, but it had that weird mineral taste that a lot of upscale restaurants seemed to imbue their water with. He'd never admit it to anyone, least of all to Rachel, but he kind of wished he'd gotten a glass of wine. "Still don't see why you had to make such a big deal out of it, though."

"I made a big deal about it because it isn't like you."

David stopped, peering over the edge of his glass at Rachel. The bluntness and quickness of her response surprised him, as did the expression on her face: the smile had completely vanished, and she was looking at him in a way that was equal parts curiosity and worry.

"Care to elaborate?" he asked, setting his glass down and leaning forward.

Rachel nodded. "Yeah. David ... babe, I don't really know how to say this, but you've changed."

David's eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean? Changed how?"

"I don't know." Rachel shrugged helplessly. "You're just ... different. You don't enjoy things anymore; that's part of why I wanted you to come out with me tonight. It seems like whenever you're home now, all you do is sit on the couch and watch TV. You don't go to the gym, you don't hang out with Kyle ... it's like you have no life outside of Y.N.G."

David looked down at the tabletop.

"Remember our trip to the Grand Canyon?" Rachel asked. "That was your idea. You talked me into going bungee jumping with you. And our trip to Bermuda? You talked me into going scuba diving with you. I didn't want to, but you talked me into it and it ended up being some of the best fun I've ever had in my life."

Smiling slightly, David nodded. He remembered those things. They'd been fun, but they also seemed like they'd happened eons ago. Eons before Y.N.G, eons before Anarchy.

Eons before Anna, and the lie they now shared. David grimaced; he suddenly felt sick.

"That's not you, though," Rachel said. "You're not that guy anymore. And I miss ... " Her voice suddenly caught, and David looked up to see that she'd clasped a hand over her mouth.

"No," he said lamely. "Rayche, no ... "

It was no use. The tears came, and as was all-too-often the case now, there was nothing David could do or say to stop them. Rachel got up and left the table, doing all she could to stifle them on the way to the ladies' room, and David found himself alone. He planted his elbows on the tabletop, massaging his temples until he felt his phone vibrate within his pocket.

Slipping it out and activating the screen, he looked at the text message that he'd just received. It was from Anna:


The baby just kicked. Wish u were here 2 feel it.

As he looked at the message, David felt his face grow hot with anger. He wanted desperately to blame Anna for everything that had happened; any feelings of lust or attraction he'd felt towards her had long-since evaporated, and he wanted more than anything to be able to find fault with her for the charade they both had to keep up.

He couldn't, though. It was his fault just as much as hers, if not more so, and that bit of knowledge was one that had all but paralyzed him.

Rachel was right, of course. He had changed, and not at all for the better. This business with Anna had left him frozen, petrified with the fear of being found out and unable to find joy even in the things he'd used to love. His daily existence had come down to sitting in front of the TV in his sweats, as Anna said, and only leaving when he was booked on Anarchy or PPV.

And even then, he was unable to take the same joy and pride in his work that he had before. Wrestling had become a job; it had become work.

Catalyst, one of FMW’s biggest events, was on the horizon, and while he knew that Morpheus and Blake Vendetta were both threats to his reign as Anarchy Ultraviolent Champion, it would take every ounce of motivation left in his body to hit the gym even once in preparation for the title defense. And why? Because he no longer had the energy or desire to. This whole business with Anna had sapped him of it, and really, it didn’t even matter; he was stuck in Anarchy purgatory anyway, with no opportunity for upward movement whatsoever.

“And here we are … “

David looked up as Andrew set his steak down in front of him. The waiter then placed Rachel’s chicken dish down in front of her empty seat, before turning to look at him questioningly.

“Bathroom,” David said simply, and Andrew nodded in understanding.

“I see. Well, you let me know if you need anything else, and enjoy.” He turned and walked away, leaving David alone with the food.

Looking down at his meal, David became woefully cognizant of the fact that he was no longer hungry. At all. He pushed his plate toward the center of the table and looked over to the far end of the restaurant, toward the secluded niche that housed the men’s and women’s restrooms, waiting for Rachel to emerge. And as he sat there, neglecting his food and waiting for his wife, David made a silent vow to himself.

Something had to change. He had to change, this time for the better.

He had to.




I'm bored.

To say that's all that's wrong would be a lie, though; the boredom is merely an aftereffect, a symptom of a far greater problem that carries far greater consequences.

I'm frozen.

Circumstances outside FMW's sphere have left me unable to function the way I once did. I no longer enjoy what I do; the passion that gave birth to one of the longest-running undefeated streaks in FMW rookie history is gone, at least as of late. And as a result, I'm now floundering in midcard purgatory, facing an endless line of Butterses and Pullins and Vendettas and Brookses.

Make no mistake - whether I'm the bad guy or not, I derive no pleasure from such things. When I first won the Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship, I told myself (and everyone else, if I recall) that I would make it into something great. I would make it a belt worthy of recognition, one worth fighting for, one worth inflicting Ultraviolent brutality on another human being for. But you need not mock me for failing to follow through on my promises - I know full-well what this belt is or isn't worth. At Catalyst, I'll be wrestling Blake Vendetta and the great Morpheus to defend a worthless amalgam of leather and metal, under the pretense that I deserve it more than they do.

Given how worthless it is, I probably do deserve it more than they do.

It won't always be that way, though. I may be bored now, but I won't be for much longer.

My passion, my spark - that which initially made me great - has been gone for far too long. It's high-time I got it back, and Catalyst is the first step towards making that happen.

Make no mistake: the old David GS, the one with the greatest potential and brightest future in recent memory, won't be showing up at Catalyst. I'm not that guy, not yet. He is, however, on his way back, and Morpheus and Blake Vendetta are in-line for a taste of what he can really do.

If I have to fake it 'til I make it, I will.

But mark my words, FMW - I will make it.
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Edible14
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Fri Oct 12, 2012 4:44 am



CATALYST, LIVE FROM TORONTO, CANADA
Tonight's card:

Abandoned Championship Match:

Kuruk (c) vs King Sharpedo vs. Antonio Grimelli

New Title Fatal Fourway:
Santana Braxton vs. Outlaw John Andrews vs. Jonathan King vs. Brett Jackson

Tag Team Championship:
Gray Inferno (Damien Inferno and Nick Gray) vs. YNG (Nick Bryson and Mark Johansson

Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship:
David GS vs. Morpheus vs. Blake Vendetta

C4 Triple Threat
Special Guest Referee: Hostyle
Skyler Striker vs. Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus

Corruption Ultraviolent Championship Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Apostasy

Full Metal Championship:
Chris Austin vs. Seth Rotunda
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Braxton
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Fri Oct 12, 2012 4:50 am

CATALYST, LIVE FROM TORONTO, CANADA
Tonight's card:

Abandoned Championship Match:
Kuruk (c) vs King Sharpedo vs. Antonio Grimelli

New Title Fatal Fourway:
Santana Braxton vs. Outlaw John Andrews vs. Jonathan King vs. Brett Jackson

Tag Team Championship:
Gray Inferno (Damien Inferno and Nick Gray) vs. YNG (Nick Bryson and Mark Johansson

Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship:
David GS vs. Morpheus vs. Blake Vendetta

C4 Triple Threat
Special Guest Referee: Hostyle
Skyler Striker vs. Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus

Corruption Ultraviolent Championship Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Apostasy

Full Metal Championship:
Chris Austin vs. Seth Rotunda

_________________
WIN-LOSS RECORD
Sage: W - 3 L - 1 D - 0
Santana: W - 2 L - 2 D - 0
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the nick bryson
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Fri Oct 12, 2012 5:26 am

Abandoned Championship Match:
Kuruk (c) vs King Sharpedo vs. Antonio Grimelli

New Title Fatal Fourway:
Santana Braxton vs. Outlaw John Andrews vs. Jonathan King vs. Brett Jackson

Tag Team Championship:
Gray Inferno (Damien Inferno and Nick Gray) vs. YNG (Nick Bryson and Mark Johansson)

Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship:
David GS vs. Morpheus vs. Blake Vendetta

C4 Triple Threat
Special Guest Referee: Hostyle
Skyler Striker vs. Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus

Corruption Ultraviolent Championship Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Apostasy

Full Metal Championship:
Chris Austin vs. Seth Rotunda


Im still deciding on the undercard matches, as quite frankly everyone who promoed did fantastic work.

_________________


Last edited by the nick bryson on Sat Oct 13, 2012 9:51 pm; edited 2 times in total
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Skyler Striker
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Fri Oct 12, 2012 11:06 am

Towers: Skyler Striker
An FMW Media Production

>English
>Scene Selection
>15: A New Lease On Life
>Subtitles on
April: There was… a tipping point.

John: Yeah, definitely. I mean, we were very young, but I was watching tapes of all Dad’s stuff from around that time – he changed.

April: Absolutely.

John: Night and day, yeah. He was a man possessed. In a good way, though. But that was his moment of no return, I think, at Catalyst.

Narrator: Following his initial retreat from the ring and his entry and subsequent exit into and from rehabilitation, Striker had a number of bridges to rebuild. His best friend and former tag partner Leon Caprice was still working for Full Metal Wrestling, as was the grudge-holding Hannibal Frost; still angry at Striker for the injury to his neck following their Abandoned Championship Scaffold match at Distortion 9.1 almost three years prior. His former student Faith and daughter Jade would also feature prominently in the near future but the first person he saw following rehab was wife Leah Striker.

Leah: Everything after Death Row was difficult, very difficult. Having to move with John and April was not ideal. But that was what it took, we couldn’t stay while he was like that. I couldn’t leave, though. I had friends who said ‘oh, don’t go near him, he’s crazy, he’s never going to recover. Once an addict, always an addict’, they all said. But that’s the man you fell in love with, who you’ve had kids with and even if everyone thinks it was an accident you know what’s true inside your own heart. And I couldn’t leave him.

Skyler: Was I lucky that she didn’t leave me? Of course, in every way. I did awful things to her and to my kids. I’m very blessed to have her.

Leah: I couldn’t just ignore what happened, of course, and Skyler didn’t expect me to. He understood that trust takes a long time to build and a second to destroy. So we took our time.

Skyler: It was… weird, in a way. Almost like starting from the very beginning, even though that wasn’t all that long ago. We went on dates, had long conversations… I feel now like I know her even better than I did before.

Leah: I think getting back into the wrestling business also really helped him, too. He was definitely missing something without it.

Narrator: Despite a significant period of absence, Striker returned to the ring with no less ability than he had prior to his departure. He quickly had his eyes on gold and was soon in a fight for the prestigious C4 Championship on Ammunition. It was a fight he would win, adding the belt to his list of achievements in Full Metal Wrestling.

Skyler: Winning that belt meant a lot to me. Not just for myself, but because of the prestige it has. So many great wrestlers held it before I did and my goal was to defend it with passion.

Narrator: Despite a few shaky months ensuing, the first defence of Striker’s C4 Championship was to come at Catalyst… a night that looked on paper like any other Pay-Per-View.

Leah: His most significant nights in wrestling? Hmmm… I can only speak from a personal standpoint, but I’d have to say Catalyst 2012.

Caprice: Catalyst.

Austin: Catalyst.

Jade: Catalyst, absolutely.

Frost: Catalyst.

Skyler: There are too many! But I can only assume people will say Catalyst.

>Pause

*****
On a busy street in a busy city, there is a café. Blue and white umbrellas cover the outside tables, bristling with people drinking their early morning coffee. Some read newspapers, some converse with friends, some are content to people watch.

Some are waiting.

Skyler Striker sits back in his chair, sipping on a smoothie of some sort. He is one of those who are waiting, specifically for his breakfast invitee. This café is very, very familiar to him; perhaps too familiar for his own good – but it was almost necessary that he choose it for his meeting. There is too much significance in that café, that table, that chair, the five steps it takes to walk from the other chair onto the road and the fifty metres it takes for a car to brake and still hit someone if it was driving at a certain speed across that particular piece of road.

Since the incident which saw ‘Jade Striker’ ‘killed’ in a car accident so many years ago, little has changed about the intersection – but much has changed in the people it is significant to. The event which dominated Skyler Striker’s life for so many years afterwards is well-known within the FMW community and continues to define the relationship between Skyler and his now twelve-year-old daughter. That relationship is something Skyler has avoided since his return from rehab – he knows his daughter all too well. Jade talks when she wants to and if she does not desire to be found, she has ways to ensure she is not.


Jade: Hello, dad.

Fortunately for Skyler, today is not one of those days.

Jade takes her seat on Skyler’s table, crossing her legs and folding her arms. Strangely, she is quite tall for a twelve-year-old, but her piercing green eyes are unmistakeable and her blonde-brown hair is tied back in a pigtail. Her demeanour is, as always, somewhat like ice, demonstrated as the waiter approaches their table.


Waiter: May I get you anything, sweetie?

Jade: Well, if you reach down the drain just to my left, you might find the last of my respect for you. Do NOT call me sweetie. Ever. I will have coffee, black, no sugar, and so help me if you manage to screw up such a simple order then the coffee will end up on your uniform.

The young man cannot speak – he nods and quickly heads back indoors. Jade turns her attention to her father.

Jade: Well, I-

Skyler: Hand.

Jade: Excuse me?

Skyler: Your hand. Give me your hand.

Jade hesitates, looking curiously at her father.

Skyler: NOW. You know exactly why I’m asking, don’t think you’re fooling anyone.

With a sigh, Jade hands over her hand to Skyler, who turns it over and places two fingers on her wrist. There is a pulse, and this seems to partially satisfy Skyler, who removes his sunglasses. He also becomes a little more noticeably at ease.

Jade: You think I would really send a clone?

Skyler: It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?

Jade: No. I guess it would not.

Skyler: Hmph.

Jade: Are you really going to keep holding that grudge?

Skyler: I barely know WHAT I want in relation to us anymore. Not once have you ever really explained yourself for the whole incident, and you’ve never really apologised – it’s been fake reunion after fake reunion. This – us – needs to get sorted out. I need to know what you want and what you’re going to do, because I need to move on.

Jade: Me? Why is this up to me all of a sudden?

Skyler: Because you’re clearly not ready to talk. You’ve been hiding, Jade, don’t think I don’t know. Genius does not prevent you from being human, or from being my daughter. I may not know too much compared to you, but I know you better than you know yourself.

Jade: Ouch. My poor feelings. Why are you accusing me, father? Why try and pin the blame on me? You want reasons and I have plenty, but what makes you believe you are entitled to any of them?

Skyler: You think you don’t owe me?

Jade: You have no basis for that. You are obligated to provide essentials for me as a baby and as a dependant child, but once I move past that – and I have – then it is not a requirement of mine to pay you back in kind.

Skyler: I’m not getting dragged into a debate about laws of negligence, Jade! Tell me why you did what you did!

Jade: You want to know the truth? The real truth?

There is a momentary silence. Skyler does not reply, a look of frustration suffices.

Jade: You were a bad father.

This sparks silence. A furious silence, though, the fires are starting to burn in Skyler’s eyes. He is perhaps restraining himself due to the public nature of their meeting place, but the tension is evident. Jade does not look remotely regretful, however – her beliefs are cemented.

Jade: Does that hurt you, father? Does the truth cut you open? I have salt, vinegar and everything else required to make that wound fester. How many times did you leave me home alone while you went off to wrestle, how many times did you have to hire a carer for me as you went travelling? How many friends did I lose because you were unable to handle the pain of being in the same country as my mother? And more than anything, why did you never let me meet her? I owe you nothing. You owe me answers; to these questions and more.

All of this is spoken with vitriol, but in a carefully constructed and quiet manner so as to keep the conversation somewhat private. Skyler is barely able to hold himself in check.

Jade: Well?

Skyler: I could walk away right now. I could choose not to make a scene, or to speak my mind, but then you’d keep on believing you were right. You are UNBELIEVABLE. How many times? HOW MANY TIMES? I moved to Japan despite not being able to speak the language to find work, I left you home alone because you were a responsible kid and because I couldn’t AFFORD a carer at first! And when I could, I did – but that’s still not enough! I worked as hard as I could all for you, Jade, ALL for you. Every last minute of every day was to provide an income for you and I, so that we wouldn’t end up homeless or destitute or worse; like your mother, who is currently serving a lengthy sentence in jail for ARSON.

Skyler lets that sink in, and only continues when Jade momentarily loses her poker face as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

Skyler: Is your opinion changing now? I don’t think it is, but that’s because deep down you KNEW there was a reason you never knew Erin personally. You, the prodigy, unable to do a simple Google search and find out what became of your mother? That’s a little hard to believe, if you ask me. So there are your answers.

Silence.

More silence.

Jade has nothing to say, and Skyler is lost in what to say next, but he eventually finds words from somewhere.


Skyler: There was a time I knew a girl of a different kind. We ruled the world, her and I. We laughed about how we put on foreign clothes the wrong way and how a genius couldn’t use chopsticks and how wooden sandals aren’t my fashion of choice. I think that girl got lost somewhere when she grew up, though, putting up walls instead of letting herself be vulnerable. That’s what strikes you at the core, isn’t it? That something could hurt you? You’re not even living, Jade, you’re holed up in a technological bunker, trying to prevent yourself and anyone you can from getting hurt, but guess what? Life is painful sometimes. You’ve just gotta deal. I have.

Jade: I… I need some time.

Skyler: That’s fine.

Jade gets up to leave, reluctant to face her father or even look back. She pauses when Skyler speaks.

Skyler: You know, I went and saw Faith. We talked, and both got a few answers, and maybe neither of us were exactly in bouncy castles by the end, we were both… satisfied. I’ve been getting closure on the issues I had before rehab, so I can really, really start over. I’m thirty two and only just realizing that this is my time to make a difference. I wanted to talk to you so I could get that closure, but you don’t just throw daughters away, no matter what they do. I won’t be the dad who abandons his daughter. Not ever. So this isn’t closure. This is one of those shows with the frustrating ‘to be continued’ label on the end. But the ball is in your court now, Jade. I won’t let this be hanging around in the back of my mind anymore. I’ve got things to accomplish, and I won’t wait.

Jade looks back and nods.

Jade: …I’ll be seeing you soon, then.

Skyler: You know how to reach me. Oh, and one more thing – stop hacking into FMW’s computer systems. Their technicians would really appreciate it.

There is no comment as Jade stops by the road she once died on, looks both ways, and crosses safely. Skyler takes the last sip of his smoothie as the waiter re-emerges with coffee.

The care with which he places the coffee on the table is extreme.


*****
There are days when nothing goes your way.

There are days when you win some and lose some.

There are days when you come out on top.

And then there are days when you MAKE things go your way. Days when everything changes, days when nothing stops you and you choose to make a statement. Days that change your life forever.

Catalyst is going to be one of THOSE days.

The Snowman holds a grudge, the pretender holds medicine. But neither of them hold the C4 title and neither of them will yet. I am far from finished as Champion. I’ve heard a lot of rumours, ranging from jokes to absolute farces. But none of the rumours of ‘Skyler Striker has given up’ are true, and anyone who believes them is fooling themselves. Frosty and Levi can do so at their own peril.

There was a time I might have been apathetic, thought I was better than any opponent and then failed to understand why I lost. But those days are gone. In Full Metal terms, I’m a veteran. I know these ropes and I know what it takes to get the job done. Underestimating either opponent would be folly. This match is going to be challenging but that’s all part of the fun – to test yourself. To prepare yourself.

People look at me and see the wreck that I once was. But that’s my advantage – I’m not that person anymore. There’s a lot of demons I’ve defeated and now I’m faster, stronger and more determined to succeed than ever before.

I am Skyler Striker.

I am the C4 Champion.

I intend to remain so.

And anyone who wants to change that fact should know this:

I’m only scratching the surface.
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Fri Oct 12, 2012 7:27 pm

CATALYST, LIVE FROM TORONTO, CANADA
Tonight's card:

Abandoned Championship Match:
Kuruk (c) vs King Sharpedo vs. Antonio Grimelli - Want to see former champ get belt back.

New Title Fatal Fourway:
Santana Braxton vs. Outlaw John Andrews vs. Jonathan King vs. Brett Jackson - Fuck GSW.

Tag Team Championship:
Gray Inferno (Damien Inferno and Nick Gray) vs. YNG (Nick Bryson and Mark Johansson - YNG sucks

Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship:
David GS vs. Morpheus vs. Blake Vendetta - showed up

C4 Triple Threat
Special Guest Referee: Hostyle
Skyler Striker vs. Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus - See new title match.

Corruption Ultraviolent Championship Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Apostasy - his best promo ever imo

Full Metal Championship:
Chris Austin vs. Seth Rotunda - the student of the game is gonna have to eventually play the game
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Skyler Striker
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Fri Oct 12, 2012 9:44 pm

CATALYST, LIVE FROM TORONTO, CANADA
Tonight's card:

Abandoned Championship Match:

Kuruk (c) vs King Sharpedo vs. Antonio Grimelli
Former champ just clinches this one, methinks.

New Title Fatal Fourway:
Santana Braxton vs. Outlaw John Andrews vs. Jonathan King vs. Brett Jackson
Great match, good to see everyone promo'd. Strong stuff all round.

Tag Team Championship:
Gray Inferno (Damien Inferno and Nick Gray) vs. YNG (Nick Bryson and Mark Johansson)
Two promos will always beat one, but Damien really nailed his and deserves credit. Really enjoyed Bryson's, too.

Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship:
David GS vs. Morpheus vs. Blake Vendetta
A great promo that deserved a challenger.

C4 Triple Threat
Special Guest Referee: Hostyle
Skyler Striker vs. Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus
Sad that Frosty didn't show up, but I feel this could be a close one. Good luck Levi!

Corruption Ultraviolent Championship Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Apostasy
Killed it. Great job.

Full Metal Championship:
Chris Austin vs. Seth Rotunda
The Champ keeps rolling on. Strong as always.
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Fri Oct 12, 2012 9:49 pm


CATALYST, LIVE FROM TORONTO, CANADA
Tonight's card:

Abandoned Championship Match:
Kuruk (c) vs King Sharpedo vs. Antonio Grimelli

New Title Fatal Fourway:
Santana Braxton vs. Outlaw John Andrews vs. Jonathan King vs. Brett Jackson

Tag Team Championship:
Gray Inferno (Damien Inferno and Nick Gray) vs. YNG (Nick Bryson and Mark Johansson

Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship:
David GS vs. Morpheus vs. Blake Vendetta

C4 Triple Threat
Special Guest Referee: Hostyle
Skyler Striker vs. Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus

Corruption Ultraviolent Championship Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Apostasy

Full Metal Championship:
Chris Austin vs. Seth Rotunda
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Antonio_G
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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Sat Oct 13, 2012 5:07 am

CATALYST, LIVE FROM TORONTO, CANADA
Tonight's card:

Abandoned Championship Match:
Kuruk (c) vs King Sharpedo vs. Antonio Grimelli

New Title Fatal Fourway:
Santana Braxton vs. Outlaw John Andrews vs. Jonathan King vs. Brett Jackson

Tag Team Championship:
Gray Inferno (Damien Inferno and Nick Gray) vs. YNG (Nick Bryson and Mark Johansson)

Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship:
David GS vs. Morpheus vs. Blake Vendetta

C4 Triple Threat
Special Guest Referee: Hostyle
Skyler Striker vs. Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus

Corruption Ultraviolent Championship Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Apostasy

Full Metal Championship:
Chris Austin vs. Seth Rotunda
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The Natural Born Thriller



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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Sat Oct 13, 2012 8:10 am

CATALYST, LIVE FROM TORONTO, CANADA
Tonight's card:

Abandoned Championship Match:
Kuruk (c) vs King Sharpedo vs. Antonio Grimelli

Congrats man. A strong showing.


New Title Fatal Fourway:
Santana Braxton vs. Outlaw John Andrews vs. Jonathan King vs. Brett Jackson

I vote for me cause well...its me. That being said I loved your promo Braxton. Here is hoping I hand the ladies and GSW their asses.

Tag Team Championship:
Gray Inferno (Damien Inferno and Nick Gray) vs. YNG (Nick Bryson and Mark Johansson)

2 on 1 is never good odds unless its a 3some

Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship:
David GS vs. Morpheus vs. Blake Vendetta

Nice job

C4 Triple Threat
Special Guest Referee: Hostyle
Skyler Striker vs. Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus

Corruption Ultraviolent Championship Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Apostasy

Full Metal Championship:
Chris Austin vs. Seth Rotunda
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Seth



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PostSubject: Re: CATALYST VOTING AND PROMO THREAD!   Sat Oct 13, 2012 12:57 pm

CATALYST, LIVE FROM TORONTO, CANADA
Tonight's card:

Abandoned Championship Match:
Kuruk (c) vs King Sharpedo vs. Antonio Grimelli

New Title Fatal Fourway:
Santana Braxton vs. Outlaw John Andrews vs. Jonathan King vs. Brett Jackson

Tag Team Championship:
Gray Inferno (Damien Inferno and Nick Gray) vs. YNG (Nick Bryson and Mark Johansson)

Anarchy Ultraviolent Championship:
David GS vs. Morpheus vs. Blake Vendetta

C4 Triple Threat
Special Guest Referee: Hostyle
Skyler Striker vs. Hannibal Frost vs. Leviticus

Corruption Ultraviolent Championship Match:
Jeff Whitt vs. Apostasy

Full Metal Championship:
Chris Austin vs. Seth Rotunda
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