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 FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD

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RCA
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Championship: FMW C-4 Champion, FMW World Tag Team Champion

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PostSubject: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeWed Jul 14, 2010 10:28 am

FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Wells-fargo-arena

We fade in backstage of Ammunition 11.3, into the locker room of the FMW Tag Team Champions, the Wayward Sons. Alex O'Rion paces like a caged animal while Chris Austin sits, relatively calm yet focused.

O'Rion: I don't like the looks of this bye.

RCA: Looks of what?

O'Rion: Team Ammunition.

RCA: The team is fine. WE, have bigger things to worry about.

O'Rion: No, the team is not fine. You saw what happened to Drew at Corruption 11.2, our captain got mauled by Jason and his band of merry faggots.

RCA: He got what he deserved, and he's not MY captain.

O'Rion stops in his tracks, a slight look of malice about his face. Austin casually gets up and walks to a corner of his room, pulling out a "Supremacy 2008" DVD. He goes to place it into the player but O'Rion stops him in his tracks.

RCA: May I help you?

O'Rion: What the hell is wrong with you asshat? You can't stand there and tell me that Drew deserved what happened to him. He is the team captain of Ammunition, and we will not let that damn act of cowardice by Corruption go unpunished.

RCA: Why not? He mouthed out about being the best C-4 champion this, I deserve a World Title that, I am the Chosen One blah, blah, blah. He lost the match, he lost the fall. He soiled the name of Ammunition and the C-4 Heavyweight Championship. He deserved to have his head kicked in.

O'Rion: You're letting your personal feelings get in the way of brand pride, bye! We can't take this lightly. The name of Ammunition rides on this upcoming War Games.

RCA: I don't give much of a damn about Ammunition or War Games. I care about me, you, the tag belts and The Cancer. Now, I feel like scouting our opponents. I suggest you join me.

O'Rion: What for, the titles aren't even on the damn line!

RCA: And why the hell is that?

O'Rion: I don't know why, but it doesn't matter you idiotic bastard. Look, you may be concerned about the Cancer, but I will see to it that the rest of Team Ammunition shows that when it comes to these FMW Games, we are dead serious.

Austin pushes his way past and inserts the DVD. He skips ahead to the Fatal-Four-Way Tag match in which Cactus Sam and Matthew P. Dunn won the then vacant Tag team championships.

RCA: OK, well if you get in trouble, I'll help you. Otherwise, I'll be back here, learning.

O'Rion grabs his title and tosses it over his shoulder. He scoffs at Austin's callousness before leaving. Then he stops in his tracks, a plotting smirk on his face.

O'Rion: I know what this is about, bye.

RCA: You do, do you?

O'Rion: Yeah. Management was supposed to give you a C-4 title match at 11.3 but Drew's too injured to defend it, right?

RCA: (annoyed) Whatever.

O'Rion: Well, you have the ending of Corruption 11.2 to thank for that.

Austin slowly puts down the remote, turning off the TV. He stands up, putting on his hoodie and facing O'Rion with a rather upset look.

RCA: Are you telling me that those bitches are why I don't get my shot?

O'Rion: Yep.

RCA: I see... let's go kick some ass.

O'Rion: It's about time you saw it my way.

Austin throws his hood on his head and grabs a retractable baton as Alex smiles, grabbing his trusted baseball bat. We fade out to the Wayward Sons leaving hastily.




FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Fmwgames

CORRUPTION: 9 points
AMMUNITION: 8 points
DISTORTION: 8 points



Ammunition points breakdown:
Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin d. Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice (3 pts)
Kaoru d. The Celt (1 pt)
Slegnadamus d. Christian Moore, Cole Dragos, and Butters (1 pt)
Slegnadamus and Butters d. Christian Moore and Cole Dragos (1 pt)
Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin d. Seth Omega and Mark Johansson (1 pt)
TyranT d. MASS Caesar (1 pt)


Corruption points breakdown:
PX d. John "Doc" Derrick (1 pt)
Apathy d. Mark Johansson (1 pt)
Calvin X. Carter d. Leviticus (1 pt)
MASS Caesar d. Gabriel Crow (1 pt)
Calvin X. Carter d. Abel Steele (1 pt)
The Celt d. Andy Savana (1 pt)
Apathy d. Axel Van Osbourne (1 pt)
PX d. Syanide (1 pt)
Jason Krow d. Didier Diamant and MC Steel (1 pt)


Distortion points breakdown:
Hannibal Frost d. Harley Quint and Drew Michaels (3 pts)
Alexander Crysto d. Dallas Roland (1 pt)
David GS d. Jason Krow (1 pt)
Apostasy d. Nick Bryson (1 pt)
Axel Van Osbourne d. Bryce Thorne (1 pt)
David GS d. Alistair Wolfe (1 pt)


With Hannibal Frost's amazing clutch victory in the Champion of Champions match, as well as the tag team title victory by the Wayward Sons, Corruption's amazing lead has somewhat diminished and Distortion and Ammunition have covered incredible ground.

Tonight... the FMW Games continue and the stakes become higher than ever before.

A Cancer returns and threatens to cripple the locker rooms.

As we look forward to War Games... Jaro has his first ever encounter with Leon Caprice, and Dunnwood looks to conquer FMW's Celtic Hero.

Nick Bryson settles his score with a Broken Saint within the treacherous House of 1,000 Glass Shards.

The superstars involved in FMW's fourth Gold Card Gauntlet match meet in one-on-one competition.

Hannibal Frost duels Seth Omega in a Casket match with the Abandoned Championship and the opportunity to be Captain of Team Distortion hanging in the balance.

The daughter of the World Champion challenges the man who trained her, with her father and newfound partner - and perhaps love interest - at ringside.

The heat is turned on as we enter the last pit stop before Catalyst. Which division will be able to seize the momentum as we head into the final stages of the FMW Games tournament?



-Ammunition 11.3 LIVE from Des Moines, Iowa-
Tonight's Card:


Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
"Truly Talented" Jeff Whitt vs. Norman Riddle

Ammunition vs. Distortion, KO Only:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Ammunition vs. Corruption, Gold Card Gauntlet Preview *:
Kaoru vs. Calvin X. Carter

Tag Team Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller and Lady) and Gabriel Crow vs. The Broken Saints (Romeo and Leviticus)

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
C-4 Rules
The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin) vs. The Cancer (Matthew P. Dunn and Cactus Sam)

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.





-Corruption 11.3 LIVE from Kansas City, Missouri-
Tonight's Card:


Corruption vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
Jaro (w/ The Virus) vs. Leon Caprice

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Cole Dragos vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Preview:
Ultraviolent Rules
Apathy vs. MASS Caesar

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Last Chance Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying Match *:
Christian Moore vs. Slegnadamus

MAIN EVENT, Corruption vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Special Guest Referee: TyranT
Special Guest Ring Enforcer: John "Doc" Derrick
Faith vs. Skyler Striker

Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.




-Distortion 11.3 LIVE from Detroit, Michigan-
Tonight's Card:


Distortion vs. Ammunition, Submission Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Storm

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Special Guest Commentator: David GS
Trey Spruance vs. Matt Ford

Distortion vs. Corruption, War Games Preview *:
Dunnwood vs. The Celt

Distortion vs. Corruption, House of 1,000 Glass Shards:
Apostasy vs. Nick Bryson

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship Casket Match:
Hannibal Frost (c) vs. Seth Omega

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament.



ALSO... an update on the conditions of Drew Michaels and Harley Quint after the horrific accident on Corruption 11.2, and the FMW Games Tournament finale at Catalyst is fully explained, including a rundown of the rules and the PRIZES involved for the winning division!

PROMO ONLY until Thursday, July 22 at 11:59 PM EST. VOTING & PROMO until Saturday, July 24 at 11:59 PM EST.
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 15, 2010 9:39 pm

We open on a dimmed, square, white room. A steel door can be seen, along with two mirrors on either wall. In the middle of the spotless floor, a silver metal table is seen with two equally metal chairs on either side. This room, with its steel door, one-way mirrors, and metal seating arrangements is located in none other than Blackgate Institute, a breeding ground for the... mentally different members of Full Metal Wrestling. A man sits in the chair facing the steel door, his leather shoes on the table and his hands behind his head. This man looks somewhat strange. His head is normal, with black, shoulder-length hair and bright eyes. What is interesting about this man, however, is the suit he wears. His clothing is an odd mixture of a bright gold suit over a dark blue button-down shirt and blue tie. The tie bears a logo of a large golden exclamation point, as do the soles of his shoes. He also wears a bowler hat, gold with a blue stripe, neatly on his black hair. After a few moments, the steel door clangs open and in walks a somewhat pale gentleman with short blonde hair and a slightly large nose. His white lab coat is so impeccably clean that it seems to shine. As he shuts the door behind him, he begins speaking into a dark gray tape recorder in his hand. He looks, however, at the man in the chair.

Doctor: Log of Dr. Joseph Crane. Patient interview #1. Patient name: Norman Riddle. How are you, Norman?

The gold-suited man smiles.

Norman Riddle: I'm doing quite well, doctor. How are you?

Dr. Crane: I'm doing well myself, thank you. You seem awfully content, Norman, seeing as you're meeting with a doctor about your issues.

As Dr. Crane approaches the table, Riddle moves his feet off of it and puts his hands together on it. He gives a small chuckle.

Norman Riddle: Forgive me, doctor, but if you believe that I have the issues here, well... you're in the right place. Asylums are for the insane, after all.

Dr. Crane: This isn't an asylum, Norman. It's an institute.

Norman Riddle: Doctor, you and I both know that institute is simply a friendly name for an asylum. But we're not here to debate about names of prisons, are we?

Dr. Crane: No, o-of course not.

Dr. Crane shuffled some papers in front of him and looks at the top one.

Dr. Crane: So... ah, let's talk about that first. Your brother, Marc. You drove him insane with riddles and puzzles, yes?

Norman Riddle: Indeed I did, doctor. His weak mind couldn't handle the strain of my intelligence.

Dr. Crane: I see...

Dr. Crane paused for a moment and then shifted to the next paper, making no further inquiries about Marc.

Dr. Crane: Now you have an upcoming match in Full Metal Wrestling. Your debut, in fact. You are, however, not competing in your new brand, Distortion, but in Ammunition against another debuting wrestler, Jeff Whitt. How are you feeling about that, Norman?

Norman now laughs, a good long laugh.

Norman Riddle: Oh, I knew this would come, doctor. "How are you feeling about that?" "What are your feelings on that?" That's what all of you are required to say. But I digress. Since you asked, I plan on breaking him, limb by limb. I believe my submissions will be enough. No one solves The Ultimate Riddle, doctor.

Dr. Crane: But Norman, he has a reputation as a champion and a tough guy in other federations. Aren't you a little worried?

Norman Riddle: Why should I be? His last name says “smart”, but his mannerisms say “idiot”. My mind is far superior to his, and so am I. He can't match up to the likes of me.

And Norman smiles a friendly smile.

Dr. Crane: Alright then... let's talk about what happened last week in cell 19. It seems you choked inmate number... 224 unconscious, is that true?

Norman Riddle: Yes, it's absolutely true, doctor. Before you ask why, I was simply giving a clue to a riddle for inmate number 176. He couldn't get it.

A smirk crosses Riddle's face.

Dr. Crane: Walk me through what actually happened, Norman.

Norman Riddle: Very well, doctor...

The whole scene now begins to ripple like an old television show as a flashback begins. The new scene is still in Blackgate, but in a huge cell, rather than an interview chamber. The walls, dirty and grimy, are cold and gray. Hard, shelf-like beds are chained all across the walls and several pairs of metal benches facing each other sit around the floor, with inmates on top of them. It is apparent that inmates are not required to wear a certain type of clothing, because several are wearing strange outfits. Speaking of which, Norman Riddle, wearing his gold suit and blue tie, arises from his bed. He walks to one of the bench pairs and sits down next to one inmate and across from another. He looks at the man across from him.

Norman Riddle: Hello.

The man looks at him with a combined look of annoyance and curiosity. Comparing this gold suit to his generic tank top and jeans or the other man, in his prison jumpsuit, made Norman seem odd. The man flicks his head up.

Man: Hey.

Norman Riddle: How are you?

Both other men raise an eyebrow each.

Man: Good, I gue-.

Norman Riddle: Would you like to attempt to solve one of my riddles?

Man: Uh… sure?

A wide smile crosses Norman’s face. He stands up and walks over to the man across from him, leans down, and whispers in his ear. His walks back to his own bench and sits down.

Norman Riddle: So… what is the answer?

Man: I dunno, man. Tell me.

Riddle gives a short laugh and smiles. He shakes his head.

Norman Riddle: That’s not how this works. You need to try.

Man: Come on, I really don’t know. Just tell me!

Norman Riddle: Here, I’ll give you a hint.

Suddenly, Riddle turns quickly to the man next to him and throws his hands around the man’s neck, shoving him down to the cold metal. He bangs his head once on the bench and proceeds to throttle the man’s throat with a smile. He continues to throttle him, but turns his head towards the first man.

Norman Riddle: Know the answer yet?!

But the man is not focused on Riddle anymore. He has stood up, and is calling out.

Man: Guards! Guards, he’s killing this guy!

The guards rush in to the cell as the scene ripples again and comes back to the interview room. Dr. Crane’s eyes are wide. Riddle smiles.

Norman Riddle: Would you like to attempt the riddle, doctor?

Dr. Crane gulps, but seems reasonably calm.

Dr. Crane: Sure, Norman.

Norman Riddle: Good. Riddle me this. This loud opposite of a sponge is the meeting place for all necessities. What is it?

Dr. Crane: Norman, perhaps you don’t want people to solve it.

Norman Riddle: Of course I do. Solve it.

Dr. Crane: You’re just making yourself look smarter, perhaps?

Norman’s face gets suddenly angry and intense. He looks at Doctor Crane with a look of malice.

Norman Riddle: Fine. Then riddle me this. Where are the observers right now who normally look in?

The doctor looks from one mirror to the other, as if being able to see through. He then speaks with a cautious voice.

Dr. Crane: Out getting lunch?

Riddle smiles. Not his usual, nice, friendly smile. This smile is deadly. He speaks with malicious joy.

Norman Riddle: Very good! Now how do observers normally hear us?

Dr. Crane gulps again.

Dr. Crane: Th-The use microphones? The room is-is soundproof.

Norman Riddle: Indeed, doctor! Now I want you to go back and solve my first riddle. I’ll even give you…

Riddle jumps out of his seat.

Norman Riddle: A hint!

Riddle, pure anger in his face, jumps over the table and slams Dr. Crane to the ground, flipping the chair over. Riddle’s hands are around Crane’s throat as he begins to choke him unrestrainedly. He chokes and chokes until Crane is finally out. Riddle picks up the tape recorder from next to Crane and presses record.

Norman Riddle: Patient interview has come to a conclusion. This now quiet opposite of a sponge is the meeting place for my hands, and will bring you to the answer to this death.

He lays it down on Crane’s still chest and walks toward the steel door, a smirk on his face. He opens the door, turns to the guard outside of it, and speaks.

Norman Riddle: Riddle me this. What smartly-named man’s bones are gonna break?

Riddle gives a little chuckle and walks away as the scene fades to black.


Last edited by Shock on Fri Jul 16, 2010 5:47 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Edible14
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Edible14


Posts : 717
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FMW Superstar: Apostasy
Championship: Abandoned Championship

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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeFri Jul 16, 2010 1:31 am

Andy’s Story


My name is Andy Larkin. For quite a few years, I was one of the closest friends of Heath Yates, the man you know as Apostasy. For the sake of not throwing you for an M. Night Shamwow-esque twist later, I’ll tell you right now the end of this story: I am dead. Or, at least, I will be by the time this letter reaches the general public. To explain why this is and how it relates to the person you call Apostasy will take some time. I apologize for this in advance.

Heath and I met some years ago, where many people meet the friends they will eventually forget… high school. Though he claims to be a very different person these days, I can assure you that there are quite a few remarkable similarities between the two people. I always found it funny that he named himself Apostasy, when he never was deeply religious to begin with. He was much like me, you see. I was raised by my parents Unitarian. I once joked with Heath that becoming an atheist for me was like going from an empty bowl of ice cream to not having a bowl. Of course, you’d probably only get that joke if you’ve watched far too many episodes of The Simpsons like we have… but I’m off-topic.

In the course of human experience, we experience most things repeatedly. Every one of our experiences is subject to diminishing returns. A bowl of Reese’s Puffs isn’t as delicious the 40th time around. Grabbing a woman’s ass isn’t nearly as fun in your 20s as it was when you were 15. It’s not just the pleasure that gets turned down, it’s the pain as well. I’ve always thought that football players must feel an immense amount of pain on Mondays. It’s probably an amount of pain that would prevent me from wanting to actually play football again. They deal with it week after week, and come back for more. They do it for years. I can only think it’s because they’ve gotten used to it.

Actually, I suppose that applies to wrestlers as well. I can’t imagine Heath particularly enjoyed being busted open by his stablemates at Supremacy. I can’t imagine he enjoyed being thrown from a ladder onto a bed of gravel during his own proposed Through Hell and Back match. I suppose it sucked for him being laid out by Seth Omega a few months ago. I’d imagine the House of a Thousand Shards match will be another such hardcore trial for him. At this point, I’d say he’s used to it. Again though, I am off-topic…

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

We see Apostasy bandaged from the chairshot he received from Nick Bryson, exiting a hospital. Waiting for him with a car is Edible Smith. Apostasy looks surprised to see him.

Edible: (Pointing to Apostasy’s bandages) I bet that hurt.

Apostasy: A little. What are you doing here?

Edible: Official FMW business. I’m supposed to grab medical records so that the company can clear you and everyone else who had to check in here after Disortion.

Apostasy: Cool.

Edible: Do you need a ride?

Apostasy: I was just going to call for a rental. I just want to get back to my apartment.

Edible: Fair enough. You look pretty upbeat for someone who just got knocked out.

Apostasy: Eh. I’ve been through worse.

Edible: So I can assume. You looked really good out there, getting the win. First time in awhile.

Apostasy: Yeah… first time I’ve cared in awhile.

Edible: It certainly showed. I mean… did you have somewhere to be after that Elimination Chamber match? You were out of there quicker than… a fox.

Apostasy: Awesome analogy. Yeah… wasn’t really motivated for that to be honest. Not really anything to fight for.

Edible: It showed

Apostasy: I’m sure. I’m glad to be fighting for something now. A real, honest-to-god goal.

Edible: Honest to god?

Apostasy: Just an expression.

Edible: I’m aware

There is a long pause, as Apostasy sends out a text message.

Apostasy: So, Ed… philosophical question for you.

Edible: Shoot

Apostasy: Euthanasia

Edible: That’s not a question.

Apostasy: Should I endorse euthanasia?

Edible: Why do you ask?

Apostasy: A letter I just received from an old friend.

Edible: Are you generally for it?

Apostasy: Yeah. I mean, I would definitely have suggested that Terry Schiavo should have had the plug pulled on her. But, I don’t think I’d want to have done it.

Edible: Why’s that?

Apostasy: I mean, I don’t want to be the one that’s having second thoughts. Even if I’m sure that it’s the right thing to do, I’m always going to be having that little twinge of self-doubt. I would have to deal with all the grief of the close family and friends that are convinced that their former pal could have been just fine.

Edible: That’s a bit selfish, don’t you think.

Apostasy: Everything is selfish, even if you don’t want to admit it.

Edible: So there’s no such thing as a selfless act?

Apostasy: There’s no such thing as an unmotivated act. People think that having a motive is a bad thing, but that’s not the case. Motives are simply what cause people to do things. Motives aren’t always bad. They aren’t always good, either, but… they’re not inherently anything.

Edible scratches his chin, thinking. He then hands Apostasy a clipboard

Edible: While I think… fill this out

Apostasy: Okay

Edible plays with his lip a bit, seeming orchestrating a concert inside his head. After a few moments, Apostasy hands back the clipboard.

Edible: To be honest, I don’t see any relevant difference between passive inaction and action, as long as they have the same consequences. If it’s only your choice between letting someone suffer THEN die, or simply ending their suffering, it seems that the worse decision is letting them suffer. You choose to either act or not act. As someone famous once said “even if you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice”.

Apostasy: I think that was Geddy Lee, of Rush. When did you start smoking pot and listening to Rush?

Edible: Whatever. The point is, the consequences are what matters. Simply not acting does not absolve you of responsibility for the consequences.

Apostasy: Still though, with killing somebody… that’s irreversible. Unless you believe in zombies… or Jesus. Or Zombie Jesus. With every choice we make, we make these choices to the best of our ability. We use our best reasoning, and we can always console ourselves with “even if I’m wrong, I can correct things later”. We are human, after all, unless you really are Jesus Christ. Then you’re somehow also your father… or something. Point is, with death… that consolation doesn’t exist. Doesn’t that give you pause?

Edible: Sure. That’s why it’s extra-important to go over your thoughts as thoroughly as possible. To extend this metaphor a bit further… imagine that you want to marry somebody. Using your best logic, you conclude that you really would be better off proposing. Now, knowing that you’re a flawed human being, you have to have some doubt. However, to simply not act is cowardly. It is choosing the less logical route in attempt to hide behind the excuse of “I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t act, I didn’t act, so I did nothing wrong”.

Apostasy: Sure. But, consider this. A man wants to marry a woman merely because he still hasn’t gotten past the “puppy dog” phase of love. He has doubts about proposing, and they’re legitimate. He uses your logic to talk himself into a bad idea.

Edible: Then obviously his logic was flawed. But that’s reflective of him as a person. He made his mistakes because of his own flaws in logic, his own blindness to the truth.

Apostasy: So, no matter what a person does, it’s reflective of their true character. A man who chooses not to act is a coward, the man who acts wrongly is flawed in other ways… which is better?

Edible: Whichever suits you best

Apostasy: What suits me best, in your opinion?

Edible: I’m not quite sure anymore.

A car pulls up for Apostasy, with Drew inside. Apostasy mimes tipping his non-existent hat towards Edible, and the two part ways in silence.

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

Heath… or Apostasy as he likes to go by these days... sells himself a bit short, in my opinion. In school, he slacked off despite his natural intelligence. He was a C student who easily could have been better. He would often joke about not doing homework, or doing projects half-assed. I remember that he once bragged about doing an 8-page research paper on the night before it was due, despite having known about the assignment for months. He got a B on that paper. He would have gotten an A if not for the fact that he didn’t use enough sources.

I was much the same way.

I thought that me and Heath were somewhat kindred spirits. We both saw the world the same way. Where so many of our classmates would point to certain events – a girl getting pregnant, the cafeteria food’s low quality, how badly our football team sucked and any other bullshit that we talked about in school to keep ourselves occupied – and attribute divine causation, me and Heath did not. I suspect that this is a deep-rooted difference between atheists like Apostasy and believers like his adoptive father. To me and Heath, the world was free of divine influence, actions were caused either by man or by law of nature. We don’t thank god for our accomplishments, and we don’t fault god for our frustrations.

I watched Distortion last week. I saw an extremely talented man triumph over a former FMW champion. After the match, Apostasy undersold himself once again. He attributed the outcome to Nick Bryson failing to give effort. I suppose that response probably had something to do with this week’s match being booked. It’s typical of Heath. He lacks so much certainty, being the agnostic atheist* that he is. He truly values what little certainty he has. He wants to be certain that he has bested Nick Bryson at his best. Well, he’ll have the opportunity to do so now. I somehow doubt that Bryson would half-ass a match where he could have his eyes carved out of his skull.

*Agnosticism and atheism refer to two different things. Gnosticism or agnosticism refer to certainty in a belief, whereas atheism and theism refer to what the belief is. Though colloquially people have a distinct opinion on what an “agnostic” is and what an “atheist” is – people are undoubtedly both. There are gnostic atheists who believe that god doesn’t exist and that it’s an undeniable fact. Then there are agnostic atheists like myself and Heath, who believe god does not exist but do not make claims of certainty. For me and Heath, this is part of the whole “human = flawed” train of thought. Again, though, I am off-topic

Heath is standing up for something, or someone he believes in. He is standing up to Nick Bryson, and risking his life and career to do so. To some, this may seem out of character for him. Apostasy himself would claim it is out of character. Again, he doesn’t give himself the credit he deserves. Heath can make bold decisions, and stand by their consequences, even with a twinge of doubt. If he wasn’t capable of that, he wouldn’t have left Cleveland to train with Edible Smith after Edible Matthewson abandoned him. If I didn’t think he was capable of this, I wouldn’t be asking him to do what I am asking him to do. For legal purposes, exactly what I’m asking of him must remain a subject of speculation.

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

Apostasy and Drew are parking at “Western Bank Hospice”, as a cheery yellow-and-pink sign notes.

Apostasy: I swear, I don’t even know why I told you.

Drew: Swear to what?

Apostasy: Shutup, it’s a figure of speech.

Drew: You know, it’s a commandment for a reason.

Apostasy: You know arguing the commandments to me is pointless, right?

Drew: You so often remind me.

Apostasy: You don’t have to come in with me if you’re not comfortable with this.

Drew: You asked for my help, I will not decline.

Apostasy: I asked for a ride.

Drew: I give my assistance where it’s needed. It’s the least I can do. You handled my cousin for me in ways I would have never expected. Though I know that some day I must face him again.

Apostasy: Not if I can help it.

The two exit their car as it is parked in the black-and-yellow lot, flanked on each side by a wing of the hospice.

Drew: You can’t… not completely.

Apostasy: What?

Drew: We’re family, Heath. Even if I never see him in the ring, I will eventually run into him. Eventually, this mess will be sorted through.

Apostasy: So why am I getting in the ring with him?

Drew: Because he has lost his mind. Even if he can’t get to me, since we’re on different brands now, he intends to rip away what little stability exists in FMW. He looks to create chaos, to channel his anger unto everyone in this organization.

Apostasy: Aren’t we also trying to destroy FMW as it currently is?

Drew: We are trying to cure the cancer that lives within FMW. We look to remove what is rotten. He has no regard for who is right or who is wrong. He wants to hurt anyone and everyone.

Apostasy: And I have to stop him.

Drew: You don’t have to, but it’d be nice if you did. I mean, somebody has to stop him, right? Why not you?

The two enter the waiting room and proceed to a window, where a nurse sits reading a Cosmopolitan Magazine.


Apostasy: I’m here to see Andy Larkin. I’m told he’s in room 302?

The nurse puts aside her magazine and quickly begins typing on her computer. After a second, she shifts nervously and responds…

Nurse: Mr. Larkin has been transferred.

Apostasy: Where to?

Nurse: We can’t say. We’re only allowed to notify immediate family.

Apostasy: Really?

Drew: Listen, Heath here is a close friend. I’m a man of the cloth, I’ve heard that Andy is in poor condition, so I was coming along to read him his Last Rites.

Apostasy facepalms

Nurse: I thought Mr. Larkin was an atheist?

Apostasy: He is. Drew is just incorrigible.

Drew: Coming from you…

Nurse: In any case, I can’t tell you any more about Mr. Larkin.

Apostasy nods in resignment

Apostasy: That’s okay. Thank you very much.

Drew: Wait… hold on. We have a right to see Andy.

Nurse: We can’t let you… there’s legal issues…

Drew places his hands firmly on the window, entrenching himself towards an argument. Apostasy pulls him by the shoulder, and whispers in his ear…

Apostasy: He’s gone. They can’t say it, but that’s the only reason we wouldn’t be able to see him. He’s dead, Drew. Let it go.

Drew releases the window, and the nurse sighs in relief.

Drew: I guess we shall try to contact his family then.

Nurse: Thank you for your understanding.

Apostasy: Have a nice day.

Drew: God be with you…

Apostasy chuckles slightly as the two Broken Saints exit the hospice.

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

What I write to say is that Heath Yates is a great man… by any name. He knows plenty of suffering, as you could probably discern from his life story. He chooses not to be bitter about these things. He chooses to live a life of good deeds. He doesn’t seek retribution, he doesn’t seek to take his suffering out on others. At the end of the day, he would prefer that he would suffer more than anyone else. I know this because I am very similar. We consider ourselves strong enough to take the abuse.

I used to speak with him about the “cycle of anger”. It seemed that people take out their frustrations on others, who would take those frustrations out on yet more people. In essence, this was a cycle of violence and anger that only intensified as people were upset by things outside of anyone’s control… like the weather. We reasoned that in order to defeat this cycle, some people would have to absorb this abuse and refuse to unleash it upon others. The idea isn’t really new. In my poor understanding of Christianity, this is essentially what Jesus Christ does… I think. He absorbs all the sins of mankind, even allowing people to murder him. A little bit of the anger in the world dies with Jesus in the bible.

This is why I ask something of Apostasy that I would never ask of anyone else. I know that he can handle this deed in a way that nobody else could. He can live with the consequences of this deed, whereas other people could not. I have absorbed quite a bit of hate and frustration in my life. I have been derided and chastised for my lack of beliefs. I have several ex-lovers who would all like to see me in pain. I have had people yell at me in traffic, on public transport and at work for really no reason. I have absorbed it all, and it will die with me. And some day, all of the anger that Heath has gathered will die with him.

I should be angry that I am about to cease to exist. Perhaps I should be angry that cancer could exist in this world. I don’t have a god to blame over this, of course. It would be naïve of me to say that I have lived a full life at the age of 21. It would be emotionally difficult for me to say otherwise. Regardless, my feelings on the matter don’t have any consequence anymore. I have stopped thinking, I have stopped experiencing all that it is to be alive. This is neither a good nor bad thing, from my perspective. I can’t be mad at it, because there is no longer an “I” to be mad about anything.

Goodbye to this world. If you want to take a dying man’s last words as anything significant, then please take away this:

Heath Yates, a.k.a Apostasy… was a good friend of mine. His friendship lasted until my final breath. And that was far more than I ever could have asked for out of life.

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

Approximately a week later, Drew and Apostasy walk through a graveyard late at night.

Apostasy: No… why would I refuse that?

Drew: Because you don’t believe in such things.

Apostasy: True, but why refuse a blessing?

Drew: Because you don’t believe in such things…

Apostasy: Right, but what if I’m wrong. Is it so bad to have a blessing in hand if that’s the case.

Drew: You are wrong about this, and my blessing likely will have nothing to say on the matter. As much as it troubles me.

Apostasy: Right, but… it has its benefits for you.

Drew: Pardon?

Apostasy: Well, I mean, if I was dying and you wanted to give me my Last Rites… that would certainly make you feel better. And that’d be nice of me, right?

Drew: But, in your mind, wouldn’t that be perpetuating a lie?

Apostasy: In your mind, it wouldn’t be.

Drew: Yes… but that’s not the point. To accept forgiveness for your sins, you would be complicit in lying to me… in your mind.

Apostasy: Sure

Drew: And that doesn’t strike you as wrong?

Apostasy: Not at all. If it helps you cope with my death, then it’s all the better. To not do so would be to stand on a black-and-white rule, where clearly context dictates that the lie has better consequences.

Drew: I suppose. So why are we here, instead of going to the funeral like normal people?

Apostasy: Funerals are for the living, not for the dead as so many people think.

Drew: What?

Apostasy: The dead are gone. They have no interest in their funeral services. Funerals exist only to help others grieve, and pretend like they’ve done right by the dead.

Drew: That’s a little cynical, don’t you think?

Apostasy: No. It’s just human nature. Do you know why there are so many Neanderthal skeletons?

Drew:

Drew looks at Apostasy in confusion

Apostasy: Right. Neanderthals were the first primates to have brainpans that big. It’s thought that their brains were so big, that they might have been the first species to truly appreciate death. So much so that they buried their dead, preserving a nice fossil record.

Drew: So funerals are linked with evolution?

Apostasy: A bit. It’s like Freud thought. Mankind invented religion because mankind couldn’t deal with the realization that they would all die someday. Similarly with funerals, mankind invents this ritual to take their minds off of their own losses and mortality.

Drew: Sort of like how you invent your own brand of self-assuredness to mentally prepare for a match?

Apostasy: Uh… sure? I mean, that’s a weak analogy, but sure.

Drew: Just one problem.

Apostasy: What’s that?

Drew: Man didn’t invent god. It was the other way around.

Apostasy: Oh, hush.

The two arrive at a grave marked “Randall Andrew Larkin”. The small stone is dwarfed by the many fresh flowers that adorn it. Drew drops his head and clasps his hands in silent prayer. After a few minutes, he departs, leaving Apostasy to his friend.

Apostasy: Hello Andy.

Andy:

Apostasy: I know I’m talking to myself here, and that any responses you give are clearly imagined by me. I feel that I know you so well that I could guess what your responses would have been anyway.

Andy:

Apostasy: Or perhaps not. Perhaps you have changed since I last saw you. I’m not sure, to be honest. Perhaps even we were both wrong. Perhaps you’re looking in on me and listening in some afterlife. Perhaps you’re a ghost. Perhaps you’re in heaven. Perhaps you’re in hell. Perhaps you’ve been reincarnated as one of those orchids that your mother placed next to your grave. Maybe you’ve even come back to life down there, and you’re scratching at your coffin door, ready to start the zombie apocalypse.

Andy:

Apostasy: I won’t pretend I know. I know you’d be saying… or at least thinking… the same thing if I was there and you were here.

Andy:

Apostasy: I also know that you would have ended my suffering if I asked you to, just as you asked me to. I hope I would also have the courtesy to die before making you go through with it though.

Andy:

Apostasy: Just as you did.

Andy:

Apostasy: On some level, I envy you. Whether you exist or not anymore, you have certainty as to what the end of life brings. The rest of us living people have to live without that. I’ve heard that brain function doesn’t stop until about ten minutes after death. So, I assume you did a fair bit of dreaming before you went. Maybe that was like heaven, or hell. It’s just like that time we watched Waking Life…

Andy:

Apostasy: Well, maybe it is. You’d know, not me.

Andy:

Apostasy: I thought this would bring me some sort of closure. But the only thing I can really say is how I feel. On the off-chance that you still are out there, listening to me, then I just wanted you to know that I won’t forget you. You meant a lot to me, and will long after you’re gone. If you’re somehow in need of reassurance wherever you probably aren’t… please take my words as that reassurance. In simpler terms…

Andy:

Apostasy: Rest in peace.



This promo dedicated to Lillian Grow. Who is nothing like Andy in this story. She was a coworker of mine who I had the misfortune of seeing pass away with my own two eyes.
I had known her only over the last 3 years of my life, and I was not as close to her as others. That being said, I still wish that she rest in peace.
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RCA
Full Metal Champion
Full Metal Champion



Posts : 3158
Rep : 6
Join date : 2009-12-05
Age : 35

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

FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeSat Jul 17, 2010 9:51 pm

Fade in to the shared abode of the Wayward Sons. Austin stumbles out of his room and heads to the lavatory. O’Rion sits, drinking his morning beer as he catches up with the sport happenings judging by ESPN on the TV. Suddenly, there is a yell of unexpected discomfort then a flush. Austin rushes into the room as O’Rion looks back, a bit curious as to what happened.

RCA: You got some antibiotics?

O’Rion stands up, shaking his head. He chugs down his beer and walks by Austin, who waits for an answer. He grabs another beer out of the fridge and retreats to his room, muttering:

O’Rion: Not drunk enough for this shyte bye.

RCA: This is serious…

O’Rion: SIX BEERS! THEN WE CAN TALK!

O’Rion slams his door closed. Austin glares on before going to the fridge and grabbing one of O’Rion’s beverages. Austin faces the fridge, twisting off the top. He holds the opening near the tip of his penis and struggles to urinate. Austin slams the beer on the counter in frustration, before doubling over, breathing heavily. Austin then grabs his keys and goes to leave.

RCA: I’M GONE TO THE DOCTOR’S!

O’Rion: SIX BEERS!

RCA: FUCK YOU!

Austin leaves, slamming the door behind him and saying to himself ‘that dirty bitch’. We fade out to the growl of his ’67 Impala as he leaves the driveway.

**********************


RCA: Doc, I’m having some issues.

Doctor: What seems to be the problem?

RCA: Well, I have this twinge in my…uh…it burns when I piss and I get the urge to go often.

Doctor: Ah. Had sex recently?

RCA: Unfortunately, yes.

Doctor: Use a contraceptive?

RCA: No, at least I don’t remember using one.

Doctor: Blood in urine? Any unusual, pus-like discharges?

RCA: That can happen?!?!?

The doctor’s eyebrow turns up as he scribbles away. He leaves, and comes back relatively quickly, tossing Austin a bottle of pills.

Doctor: Sounds like a urinary tract infection. Take these as prescribed, drink plenty of water and things should be cleared up in 72 hours or so. If they don’t, you may have an STD, and if so come back as soon as possible. Refrain from sexual activity until things clear up for good.

Fade out.

**********************

Hi. I’m Chris Austin. You’re about to witness a confrontation between the “Good” and “Bad” versions of myself. Granted, I’m just a voiceover but I feel compelled to tell you all what’s what so here’s some background information. I’m pre-Innovative Initiative, Romeo, all this FMW bullshit. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect and you have no idea how much these pieces of shit sicken me. I hate the fact that I currently look like a bearded lady with no tits, hell it’s not much better as I used to look like a smarmy surfer-douche with bullying tendencies.

When I think about it, I see that I had shit way more under control than these two because my affairs weren’t affected by anyone save for having your asses handed to you. And as far as Alex, ahem…Kylie goes? Well, all I care to know is that according to ‘Good’ RCA, she had some of the best ‘velvet oasis’ I’ve ever fucked. Yeah, I said it. What the fuck are you gonna do about it? Are you gonna stop reading, ahem…listening? Are you gonna say “I hate this. If I had to grade it or something I’d give it a low score.” I wouldn’t be surprised, given the fickleness of whom I dealing with.

Now, since I’m not the type to pander to the whims and desires of you people in hopes that you’ll remember me when it comes time to appeal to the board about standings, I’ll get on with this. This argument starts inside the bedroom of ‘bad’ RCA. As you can see, I sit in my bed, rather distraught. To my left; a DVD player remains open, silently requesting that a FMW-related event be put into it, but I just don’t care in general. To the right and on the ground, I see women’s underwear, obviously belonging to Kylie.

I thought I threw those out. No way am I touching them now thanks to what the doc said.

I watch me run my hands through my hair, at a loss how to continue the day. Looks like I’m still in a bit of denial about what happened, judging by how my eyes dart about as if everything brings back a horrible experience. After realizing where I am, I hop out of the bed, startled. Yikes, that chick’s in my head.


???: Hey you. Your ass, this mirror, they should meet.

RCA: Am I hearing voices now?

???: Yes, Randy Orton but you’re not answering…TURN AROUND.

I watch myself do just that, shockingly finding that an older version of my own face stares back. I notice the lack of facial hair and a bandanna around my reflection’s head, which sports a faux-hawk, the board-shorts and an Affliction tee-shirt, along with military dog tags completes the visage but on the face resides a permanent scowl.

???: Remember me?

RCA: What the hell…you’re…me!

RCA: Oh fuck no. I’m not an overcompensating bookworm that locks himself in his room poring over old FMW footage looking for an edge. I’m not a pretentious little twit that gets his rocks off by being misogynistic in order to prove his lack of manhood.

RCA: You’re not real…I’m hallucinating.

RCA: Nope.

RCA: I have to be…

My reflection smirks. The current me is clearly panicking.

RCA: I don’t know what kind of mind game this is…but it’s not going to work. I’m too smart for this.

During this argument, I found out new things about myself. I found that I was a mindless sheep; the same people FMW has always hired and appealed to. I’ve become a gimmicked out slave that stoops to your notions of what makes someone worth a damn. I allowed myself to fall victim to the propaganda. Now I’m trapped, no way out. I’m relegated to sitting on the sideline, just like that whole Resistance versus Original Sin fiasco. So what will I do to change that? Well, I’ll see. Let’s go back to the argument. ‘Bad’ RCA is still in denial, but ‘Good’ RCA’s persistence is making me come around to believing what I see.

RCA: You owe me an explanation.

RCA: I don’t owe you anything… I’m the one keeping us afloat, keeping us relevant! I’m the one that makes you worth anything in this forsaken hole of perpetual sorrow.

RCA: Nah, bro. I won the matches that got us on the map. I waltzed into FMW and I put foot in asses. What you’re doing now isn’t how I built my reputation.

RCA: What reputation? The fact that you’re a black hole of charisma that couldn’t make a crowd pop if Mick Foley said the name of the city you perform in? Don’t blame me because I brought a superstar out of your trash! You should appreciate that; and you know I work harder than anyone in this dump.

I glare at my reflection, clearly upset as to what is transpiring. My reflection cracks its knuckles before continuing and with each pop, a small crack develops in the glass that apparently imprisons me.

RCA: You forgot I won the Hayabusa Cup against Harlequin and Drew. I beat Romeo countless times and I got the Abandoned Title shot even though that bratty child Mortus ran the brand I’m on.

RCA: You came up small in every single title match until I took over. What about that three match slump where you went all emo? Hell, thanks to you my embarrassment of Abel Steele at Lethal Injection is a miracle upset in some eyes. The only reason you even beat Smitten was because he restarted the match after you LOST and since then I’ve been virtually untouchable.

RCA: Untouchable my ass. I don’t have two cups because you got eliminated by Seth Omega, which wouldn’t have happened to me.

Cheap shot, fucker. I grab something and toss it at the mirror, cracking it significantly. My reflection chuckles. The critics were right, I am a smug prick.

RCA: HARLEY IS THE REASON THAT HAPPENED, SETH JUST VULTURED THE PIN LIKE THE LEECH HE IS AND WILL ALWAYS BE.

RCA: That’s another thing. I don’t make excuses. There’s always a reason for you.

Despite half-assing it against Hostyle, making mental errors against Scorpio, and whatnot, I tried to take that shit in stride yet was pretty quick to make mention of it when beneficial. Either way, lately I’m more concerned with your support, making you cream your panties with my currently delusional popping off at the mouth about some lesson to people who don’t give a shit. A part of me thinks you bitches get weak in the knees when I say “Good Morning, class” or “Class Dismissed” after a semi-intelligent yet vague monologue inspired by some fuck-ass quote I got from Thinkexist.com, much like my “Theories of Radicality”. I probably don’t but I’m oblivious to it.

Anyway, I’ve been biding my time here, trying to takeover once again. However, I haven’t forgotten that I was ‘boring’ and ‘corny’ to you. Yet, I was usually the one whopping ass and crushing pride. I used to be the feel-good story in FMW. I was the guy that naïve sons wanted to be like and slut daughters dreamed about. But I shut down when my dad fucked my ex. I was pissed for no real reason, I was only with her for the kid anyway. In retrospect I should be proud that Dad could pull women half his age, even if alcohol-assisted. But I bitched out because that’s what you wanted. Anyway, let’s see if I can defend himself.


RCA: Well, YOU weren’t winning championships. You didn’t get the job done.

RCA: According to who, FMW? Fuck them and fuck you for bowing down. What’s sad is that FMW supports you because your fuck-ups are your greatest works. When you got arrested for busting up that dude who cuckolded you? It was ‘thought-provoking’ to FMW. You found that James wasn’t yours? It was ‘interesting’, ‘intriguing’. You got raped? They made you a champion because of that, Alex O’Rion being a beast and Crash Scene’s arrogance and backstage behavior being too much to take. FMW is a cesspool built on tragic shock value and we as wrestlers dealing with something that trumps our livelihoods. Well, I am nobody’s bitch and I refuse to be their jester any more.

RCA: Have you forgotten the times you were made a stepping stone? Have you noticed that ever since I took over that I walk on people? I took out Hostyle. I bashed Abel’s back in. People are starting to take me seriously. I’m a star and you want to jeopardize that? I know that the bad guy usually remains dominant longer. Ethan Black, Jaro, Scorpio, Smitten, TyranT…all of these people? Champions. Diabolical, Dogs of War, HavOc, Romeo…

RCA: And what about Matt during his British Lions phase? Guiomar? Caesar? Frost? Doc? Bryson? Jaro was cool as fuck during his first UV reign. Even Skyler, despite the prepubescent tiny girl diva bitch he currently is, was also a good guy.

RCA: And almost all of them changed or flirted with darker side as time went, especially Drew Michaels.

RCA: You’re ducking him, by the way. For the past cycle and a half, despite being the top contender you’ve allowed Crow, Kaoru and Abel to have a chance at the belt, hoping one would luck up and make your job easier.

RCA: You’re one to talk since you were ‘stepping back’ for Kelson because Scorpio crushed your finest hour. Besides, management knows that I originally had a C-4 title match for 11.3 but no, Drew’s ‘too injured’. It didn’t stop him against Ethan Black but no matter, I want him at 100 percent and now I know he fears me.

RCA: Who the hell fears a person that got raped by a 5’7, 120 pound crazy nympho bitch?

Owned. I like how this conversation isn’t sugar-coated.

RCA: Man, I’m sick of you dragging me through the mud and you fucking pandering to the crowd.

All for gold. It’s what this ‘heel’ trip is about. I got the one title; it’s all I needed to shut you up as I know a little bit about how you work. Don’t get mad because I know how to play the game. When the good guy’s shit falls apart, you shine your spotlight on it and push it to the fucking moon. See Striker. See Romeo’s fall from grace and climb back to relevance. But if I could do it over, I would’ve never done this. Then again, people in FMW leave you high and dry when you don’t do what they say. Look at Drew Michaels. I respect him but he’s nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing; just as conniving as most bitches and you know it, yet are too scared to admit it. That’s why I don’t feel bad that he got his shit caved in. As current RCA said to Alex O, he lost. He shat on the C-4 Heavyweight title and got what he deserved.

RCA: I had to. You embarrassed me all the fucking time with full nelson-laced sex scenes and ‘velvet oases’ mentioning. It’ll take years for me to come back from that garbage.

RCA: Touché, yet your response? Become the shittiest RAPIST ever. Where’s the logic in that?

RCA: You are the last person to talk about logic. I actually know the difference between a headlock and a 450 splash. I’m that bruising, smash-mouth, technical marvel that you always claimed to be. You need me.

RCA: I don’t need shit from you. Also, how’s the clap or whatever Kylie gave you working out?

RCA: Leave. I still haven’t researched my next opponents and I refuse to let a vacuum of mediocrity have the last word in an argument I won’t even remember.

RCA: Have the last word? See, this is that shit I’m talking about. You must be outside of your fucking mind, son. You don’t let me have shit. I LET YOU. I gave you control and you went overboard.

RCA: I have yet to begin.

I admit that ‘velvet oasis’ line was funny. But, he’s right. I’m still figuring out the nuances of this newfound calling. Don’t let the cockiness fool you, I’m fucked about what happened thanks to Kylie, but I’m sure Karma will help the current me cope. Now, I know I’ve got a match coming up with The Cancer, they had better discuss it soon. After all, match relevance is my strongpoint...I mean…back to the argument.

RCA: You’re not winning this argument so if you’ll excuse me, I have a match to prepare for and discuss.

RCA: You’ve been arguing about who’s the dominant entity after calling it a mind game. I want to whoop ass, you want to manipulate. Sound familiar?

RCA: Unlike you, I like to tell people what I’m going to do to them and why I am going to do it. You see, we’re nothing like Matt Dunn and Cactus Sam because I don’t hate you and I don’t hate Alex. Alex doesn’t hate me either. We have unity and a clearly defined goal.

RCA: Don’t forget Alex O’Rion is your name value and the better half of the team. Besides, I want you to win and fuel my anger. I’m going to become the bully to the “Student of the Game”. WHEN I come back, I won’t be here to save FMW. I won’t need a reason, a method to my madness.

RCA: God, that bully line was corny as hell. See why I’m taking over?

I’m not sure if I’m accepting my insanity or feeling the inner wrestler growing confident, but the current me chuckles before speaking. My reflection stares on, having not gotten the joke.

RCA: You don’t get that you’re a means to an end.

RCA: So what does that make Alex O’Rion?

RCA: More important than you. Alas, you got my foot in the door and I’m handling the rest, much like Cactus and Matt did for one another. Cactus and Matt do not stand a chance. At the root of it, they’re like a morbid Gepetto and Pinocchio. One’s an angry, confused puppet; the other’s a little kid with control issues and an over-inflated sense of importance and entitlement thanks to the simpletons. Their mind games are a nice parlor trick, but nothing more. Dunn is a fucking trick that no one has exposed to FMW. Dunn always needs a crutch whether it is a gimmick, Rijkaard, Sam, Original Sin, Jaro, whatever.

At the root of it, he’s a helpless brat that’s about to get snatched by a child killer. Alex and I will destroy these two. We don’t play meaningless mind games. We’re not drunk retards whose ex-best friend somehow made us fall off a roof. Besides, Dunnwood was just fine as FMW’s Dunn fix. Seth Omega, Apathy? We’ve got all the functioning retards we need, Sam is expendable. FMW’s beloved Sam and Matt are nothing but pieces of trash that a cracked out hobo is too good to wipe his feces with. Hell, the only reason the Cancer was pushed was because of wanting to ‘do away’ with the one thing responsible for their importance to FMW. They will be put down because FMW is too much of a bitch to do it.

RCA: You seem to have all the answers, given that you’re a walking gimmick too. So what happens when Matt and Sam go to town on your ass?

RCA: They can’t hit what they can’t see. I am clarity, you know? They’re nothing but a bully and a nerd together in a test answer for protection partnership. Well, they’ve been busted. The only punishment that fits their crimes is one of a corporal nature; they don’t know the pain and anguish of a true calamity so what better way to deal with my sickness, by becoming the cure to another? They may have run the old teams but this is the graduate school of their demise and on this playground, the Wayward Sons are the bullies, the cool kids and everything in between. They will play by our rules and lose.

RCA: And I’m the corny one? Please. Of course you know this means war, don’t you?

RCA: I look forward to you trying, but you know… I don’t think you have the mettle; otherwise I would never have won.

With that, I collapse…I can’t help but to be a little freaked. But, my reasoning seems sound. As it were, I may win this match but who’ll win my inner war? It’s an over-saturated phrase but it is what it is. Would I promise on Mom’s grave that I’ll bring back a respectable Chris Austin and that your student will be killed? Or, does your next hero destroy the last redeemable thing about me? Anyway, that’s up to you. Well, I’m gonna toke on my Pineapple Express to “Moments in Love.” I hereby declare war on myself and I have three words for me: Sucks to be, adding a fourth, me. Deuces.

**********************

You ever longed for importance, a new lease on life, but you couldn’t reach it? You know why? It’s because you don’t have clarity… too blind to see the truth that I speak. My partner and I, as well as our adversaries have left banshees emotionally crushed even if they armed with the universe’s most dangerous weapons; love, sex appeal and care. I have created from a once perceived heaven, a ghastly terror dome and I have women were left to wallow in the muck of rejection, much like we will to your precious cancer.

When these ghouls of the past emerged from the shadows, it’s simple to tell the brain from the brawn. Yet, they take me and Alex as weaklings, and desire for that has flooded their beings. Despite the mutual hatred, the allure of fresh meat in a ghost town which they created is too strong. However I, and thusly Alex, just so happen to be the predator of those living as liars, as Samuel and Matthew do.

Look at our waists glisten, and respect that these soldiers of fortune are formidable. If there was a crop among the desolate division of tag teams, we would be the cream. Nonetheless these dullards pressed on as they are too naïve to lout to what awaited them: Two sharp minds that are fit to destroy all which oppose. When you run to meet the uncrowned kings head on, you ignore the inner pang inside, much like one that thrives within me. It grows with each imagined bite, chew and erotic laugh. The haunting nightmare of my personal emasculation remains, fueling my betrayal of the people for prestige and to hold that prestige longer? Death, I will bring.

You worthless urchins should have thought your impending massacre through. As for your hunger, we’ll be damned if we satisfy. But you will not heed and our redemption is a requiem for God knows what, but it is the catalyst of your obliteration. With rapid-fire blows, slashes and rips, the lost ones will annihilate these once proud men of dominance so cherish that nostalgic feeling as it breathes one last time. In its place; a muck of gore, an utterly beautiful display of brutality that you WILL admire. Two more victims’ heads are kicked around; watch them roll to and fro.

The final image you will see is the lost brothers still reigning supreme. We are righteous demons and hell raisers which will leave past relics destroyed, eaten and digested. Thus we will be a step closer to immortality. But one more victim has yet to earn the sweet justice of Occam’s kiss; a kiss you cannot survive. One day, all will learn that clarity is reached by bringing about the sanguine flow of the incompetent AND the enlightened. In short, none are safe unless not targeted.



Wow, my ramblings sound smart as fuck when I’m high. Pineapple Express is the good shit… y’all must stay toasted. Class Dismissed.


Last edited by RCA on Tue Jul 20, 2010 1:36 pm; edited 1 time in total
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The Dude

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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeSun Jul 18, 2010 9:07 am

Cut to Spruance sitting on a sofa crouched over a small TV watching last weeks re-appearance of himself. Axel Van Osborne is sat on a chair away from Trey drinking a beer and wincing at the poor performance.

Trey: This is a joke. Right? I lost?

Axel: Yeah… You sucked.

Trey: Eh. Whatever. I smell lies.

Axel: That doesn’t make any sense, that isn’t exactly a get out clause because it’s on TV and recorded.

Trey: Fuck it then.

Axel: What?

Trey: I quit.

Axel: Drugs again?

Trey: Your mother. Yes, I have, but no, I meant Full Metal wrestling.

Axel: Dude, what the fuck?

“All Apologies” by Nirvana starts playing as Trey walks out of the backstage area and onto the street, smoking a cigarette. Axel follows him, tossing the beer behind him carelessly.

Axel: Ok cool, fuck it, do whatever but what are you going to do instead?

Trey: Me? I’m going to do what I did before I came to this hell hole and thought I could fight. I’m going to play guitar, start a band and try and enjoy life.

Axel: … Not to be offensive, well actually, fuck that, I’ll put it bluntly. You suck at guitar even worse than you do at wrestling.

Trey: Yeah, but one doesn’t involve getting beaten up in front of people sitting at home with their TV dinners. Look, man, leave me the fuck alone ok? That’s it. I said it. I’m done.

Axel: Bullshit. Jesus fucking balls, if you quit now you’re the lamest crackhead ever to have not done anything in Full Metal Wrestling.

Trey stops walking and spits out his cigarette.

“Needled 24/7” by Children of Bodom starts playing.

Trey: Ok. I quit quitting because I quit this.

Axel: Now you’ve lost me. I’m out. Figure it out man, do whatever, shoot some smack I don’t care just come back when you can be fucked to win a match.

AVO starts walking off in the direction of the nearest liquor store.

Trey: Damn, all I was saying is… No, I’m lost myself. Nevermind. Wait, what I meant was I quit this lame promotion of myself in order to try and win a match for a brand I don’t care about.

Axel: Not listening…

Trey: Fuck it.

Trey boots Axel Van Osborne in the spine.

Trey: Listen to this. You aint nothin’ but a drunk. I quit this tag team.

Trey Spruance walks away leaving Axel holding his back in pain.

*
***
*

Cut back to the Full Metal Wrestling arena where Trey Spruance is waiting in the ring.

Trey: It is now my pleasure to introduce my special guest for this rather uninteresting waste of your viewing time, and believe me, you might give two shits when this happens… Please welcome…

“I just Don’t Give a fuck” Hits.

Trey: Marshall “Eminem” Mathers!

Eminem comes out, fireworks go off and shit and he rides down on a donkey.

Eminem: Yo, what the fuck, I swear I was menna be rapping with Fred Durst or something.

Trey: Shut up. You’re meant to be helping me.

Eminem: Yo who the fuck are you to tell me to shut the fuck up?!?!

Trey: That’s fucking it!

Trey gets on his mobile phone.

Suddenly the area goes dark.

Trey: Nobody cares about your shit anymore dude… Not even your mentor ahahahaha!

Eminem: What the fuck you talking about?

The lights come back on and the crowd starts screaming.

Trey Spruance: Hey, Eminem, Slim Lady, Marshall Maggot, turn around!

Eminem turns around to be hit in the forehead with a steel chair by none other than Dr. Dre!

Dre: This is for D12, especially that Bizzareo freak!

Dr. Dre goes besserk on Eminem with the steel chair, breaking it into pieces and grabbing the pieces and beating him with the pieces until their aren’t any pieces left to beat him with. Then he gets a plastic bag, sweeps the fragments of metal into them and puts it over his head so he has to inhale them.

Dre: I’m out. Thanks everyone and keep listening to my shit!

The crowd cheers and then goes start waving lighters as the EMTs come out to get Eminem.

Trey: Ok, well if that hasn’t fucking worked maybe this will.

Trey pulls his cock out and pisses on the wrestling mat in the centre of the ring.

The crowd start to boo, some girl pukes and some kids start crying.

Axel comes threw the crowd and grabs a mic.

Axel: Stop showing the world your aids infected balls you freak!

Trey: Er, guess that didn’t work so well. Fuck it, I’m leaving this mess.

Jaro shows on the Titantron however.

Jaro: Clean that fucking mess up or I’ma kill you BITCH!

Trey: Erm. Ok.

Trey grabs a bucket and a mop from under the ring and starts clearing up his own piss, Axel just keeps his distance shaking his head as the scene begins to fade out.

Trey: Wait, I didn’t get to say I’m gonna beat that guy I’m mena be fighting!

Axel: I think you’ve gone beyond that Trey… Wayyyy beyond…
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Leviticastform
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Leviticastform


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PostSubject: Leviticus Promo 2   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeTue Jul 20, 2010 12:40 am

TOWARDS THE END OF CORRUPTION 11.2

Leviticus’s head was still swimming after being put through a table by the monster of a man called X. He sat in a chair as a doctor shined a light in to his eyes. The light was bright and Leviticus wanted to close his eyes but didn’t. Instead he just sat there and thought about what had happened. Everything had been going decently. He had gone out and gave Calvin X. Carter a fight he hadn’t been expecting and earned the fan’s respect in the process. He had lost the match but had scored a bigger victory in the bigger scheme of things. Then everything went wrong. He was being interviewed when a woman he didn’t even know had approached him and challenged him for his championship. That was when the trap was sprung. X had attacked him from behind and beat him senseless. He had been driven through a table to the concrete floor below and left lying. Before he left X made sure he was awake to see him walk off carrying his championship with him.

Doctor: It appears you may have a mild concussion.

The light snapped off and Leviticus blinked his eyes for a moment. This night just kept getting better.

Doctor: I would advise that you take it easy for the next few days so your body can recover. Don’t do anything to sudden or physical.

Leviticus nodded as he listened to the doctor’s instructions. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw the small television monitor in his dressing room. At that very moment Drew was being beat with in an inch of his life by Jaro and a group of his thugs. Leviticus leapt out of his chair and rushed towards the door.

Doctor: Please, you need to take it easy!

Leviticus barely heard the doctor as he rushed out the door and towards the stage. It didn’t matter how hurt he was, what mattered was Drew needed his help. The corners of his vision began to blur as he felt his body slow down. He pressed on as best he could though, and eventually got towards the stage. A stagehand was there to stop him as he heard the sound of the Corruption set collapsing.

Leviticus: Drew!

Leviticus tried to press past the stagehands but his disorientation got the better of him. He closed his eyes as a tear streamed down his cheek. He stood there for a moment trying to stop his world from spinning as medical personal rushed out in to the arena to check on the competitors. Leviticus tried to open his eyes to see if they were bringing Drew backstage. As soon as his eyes opened all he saw was a blur of colors and motions.

Leviticus: Drew….

Leviticus reached his hand out hoping that it would find his friend. All he found though was darkness as he collapsed to the floor.

**************************************************************************************
ONE WEEK LATER

Leviticus sat in his apartment watching a recording of Corruption. He sighed as he watched X send him crashing through the table. He reached over to the end table and grabbed the remote control and turned the video off. He sat the remote back down and put his head in his hands.

Leviticus: Am I in over my head?

Before he could think anymore on the matter he heard his phone ring. He sighed again as he lifted up the receiver and placed it to his ear.

Leviticus: Hello?

Leviticus smiled as he heard the voice on the other end.

Leviticus: Yeah, I am still breathing. I guess you saw Corruption.

Leviticus’s smile quickly became a frown as he listened to what the other voice had to say.

Leviticus: Yeah I know it could have gone better. Don’t worry though; I’m not going to let what X did just sit. He’s going to answer for it.

Leviticus smiled again as the voice spoke once more. He sat there and listened for several moments and even chuckled once or twice.

Leviticus: Yeah, it looks like they put me and Ro in a match against X and some cat named Crow. Apparently Ro has some issue with Crow and if I can help him with that it’s all to the good. As far as X goes though, I intend to settle that right then and there, it won’t make it to the big show.

The voice spoke one more, as it did Leviticus’s expression changed to one of worry.

Leviticus: To tell you the truth I have no idea.

The voice started speaking again as Leviticus listened closely. He narrowed his eyes as the voice continued towards its point.

Leviticus: You’re right man. Don’t sweat it, everything will be made clear in due time, no doubt. Until then you take it easy and don’t do anything stupid.

The voice spoke once more and Leviticus smiled.

Leviticus: You know it. I got to go though. I will call you later though. Count on it. Peace.

After the voice said goodbye Leviticus hung up the phone. He shook his head and chuckled.

Leviticus: Crazy.

He looked at the phone and frowned. He wanted to call and check on Drew but every time he tried to the nurse at the desk told him that only family was allowed to speak with doctors about a patient’s condition. He shook his head. He was hurting because he was worried about Drew, but he knew Drew wouldn’t want that to hold him back from handling his business with X. Leviticus got up and walked across his apartment and grabbed his Royals hat off the counter. He shook it a few times and placed it on his head. He narrowed his eyes as he thought about X again. X had attacked him from behind before. This time though he would have to face him head on, and he would find that things would be very different. Leviticus nodded silently before he headed out the door.

**************************************************************************************

Tyrell sat in the recreation room of county lock up with his eyes closed as he heard the commotion of the other prisoners going on around him.

Tyrell: Stupid fools….

Suddenly a sound from across the room snapped Tyrell out of his relaxation.

TV: Introducing second, weighing in at 198 pounds, hailing from Kansas City! He is the Light Heavyweight Champion, representing Ammunition… LEV-IT-I-CUS!

Tyrell leapt up out of his chair and rushed towards the television shoving all the other prisoners gathered around it to the side.

Tyrell: What? Who that nigga thing he is? Imma bust his fu…

Tyrell’s words stopped as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Guard: I suggest you calm down.

Tyrell’s anger overcame him and he turned and swung on the guard. His fist connected with his jaw sending the guard sprawling to the floor. Tyrell went to continue the assault when the guard whipped out his nightstick and slammed it in to Tyrell’s stomach. Tyrell doubled over as the guard restrained him. Tyrell began to shout and spew obscenities as the guard drug him out of the room.

Guard: You just earned yourself some alone time.

Tyrell continued to fight and cuss as the guard led him down the hallway. A few minutes later another guard met them at the solitary cell and opened the door. The guard who was restraining Tyrell shoved him through the door. Tyrell turned to continue the fight but was greeted by the door slamming in his face. Tyrell screamed and slammed his fist in to the steel door. He stood there for a moment seething with rage before he began to pace around the room. He muttered curses as he paced. Suddenly he stopped. He stood in front of the bed looking down at it. There on the bare mattress was an envelope with his name written across it. Tyrell stood there and stared at it for a moment before he snapped it up and ripped the top off of it. He pulled the neatly folded piece of paper out of it and unfolded it. Once it was fully open he read the words written on it.

I want to help you.

Tyrell shook his head and crumbled the letter up.

Tyrell: Whatever.

Tyrell threw the paper at the wall and began to pace once again.

**************************************************************************************

Leviticus drove down the highway as his thoughts raced. He had to figure out a way to get a handle on things before they got too far out of hand. He reached down to his center console and pulled out his cell phone. He glanced quickly at the screen and punched in a series of numbers. As soon as the number was dialed he placed the phone to his ear and listened to it ring. It only ring for a few moments before the person on the other end answered it.

Voice: Hello?

Leviticus took a deep breath and began to speak.

Leviticus: Ro, we need to talk.

Romeo: About?

Leviticus shook his head.

Leviticus: Our match to start with. Seems that you and I get the chance to face our enemies as a unified front. I was wondering if you had some kind of a strategy.

Romeo chuckled slightly.

Romeo: Win.

Leviticus shook his head again and rolled his eyes.

Leviticus: Well that sounds simple enough. Let me ask something a little more specific. You have a past with X, why did he attack me?

Romeo: Honestly?

Leviticus: Yes.

Romeo: Because you talk about fighting against evil. Because you had a nice shiny gold belt that caught his eye. In short because you made yourself a target.

Leviticus felt his jaw clench.

Leviticus: Excuse me?

Romeo: Listen to me closely. You may have been a darling on the indy scene but you aren’t there anymore. You are in the big leagues now. People are going to push you past breaking here. Then they are going to push some more. If you want to survive you have to learn how to push back. Answer me this, what do you think would have happened if I had just let Gabriel Crow talk to me like he did?

Leviticus: He would have attempted to take you out.

Romeo: That’s right. I didn’t let him though, I pushed back. When we face X and Crow that is exactly what you need to do, push back.

Leviticus’s jaw remained tightened as he nodded.

Leviticus: We’ll see when the time comes. Have you heard about Drew?

Romeo: Not yet, but as soon as I find out something all of you will know. Until then you focus on the match we have ahead of us, understand?

Leviticus: Yes.

Romeo: Good. I will talk to you then.

Leviticus heard the sound of a click in his ear. He closed the phone and tossed it in to the passenger seat and shook his head. He felt frustration building up inside of him as he continued to drive. He only knew of one place to go when he was this frustrated. He shifted gears and sped towards that place.

**************************************************************************************

Leviticus drove his fist in to the heavy bag causing it to sway back and forth. Sweat dripped down his face as he slammed his fist in to the canvas again. As the bag swung away he couldn’t help but smile. When he was younger his dad had taught him that no matter how frustrated or confused you were nothing helped get it out quite like some time with a heavy bag. As he threw another punch his thoughts went back to his father, and he couldn’t help but smile. His fist slammed in to the bag and the bag swayed away again. He reached his hand out and stopped the bag as it swayed back towards him. He took a deep breath and shook his head.

Leviticus: I wonder what you would do if you were still here.

As Leviticus thought to himself he felt a hand slap down on his shoulder. He quickly spun around to find out who was behind him. He smiled as he realized the man behind him was his old boxing coach.

Leviticus: Tony.

Leviticus smiled and threw his arms around his friend. The two men shared a brotherly embrace and broke apart with a smile.

Tony: It’s good to see you boy.

Leviticus nodded.

Leviticus: It’s good to see you to Tony.

Tony whistled and shook his head as he pointed at the heavy bag.

Tony: Looks like you got a lot on your mind Levi.

Leviticus shook his head.

Leviticus: It’s everything that's happened in FMW Tony.

Tony shook his head again.

Tony: I got tickets to the show ya’ll are going to be having in town. You going to be there Levi?

Leviticus smirked at the mention of his childhood nickname.

Leviticus: I’ll try Tony. You should go anyway. I’m sure it’ll be a good show.

Tony smiled.

Tony: So what brings you here today?

Leviticus sighed.

Leviticus: It’s just that things got so hectic so fast. I mean it seems like I just got in the door and people are already trying to take my head off. That and a friend of mine got hurt really badly and I have no idea how he’s doing. It’s all just so crazy, you know?

Tony slapped his hand down on Leviticus’s shoulder again and offered a warm smile.

Tony: Well then it’s good you came here. See when all everything starts to fall apart the best thing to do is go back to where ya came from.

Leviticus smiled and nodded.

Leviticus: You are absolutely right Tony. I have someone I need to call.

The two friends embraced again and Leviticus headed towards the door. As Leviticus headed across the parking lot he pulled out his cell phone and hit the dial button. As soon as the phone began to ring he placed it to his ear.

Leviticus: Listen man. I’ve thought about it and I’m in.

Leviticus listened to the approval of the person on the other end of the phone and smiled. He snapped the phone shut and continued towards his car.

**************************************************************************************

X. Congratulations, you have made yourself known. You have established yourself as a force to be reckoned with and yet you come and declare war on a rookie. You have decided to further your legacy by assaulting someone who has competed in a grand total of one match here in FMW. That’s alright though. You see, I can withstand any onslaught you have to bring. You see while you may be fierce and twisted I refuse to fail or turn away. So you bring everything you can. I’ll be waiting. As for you Gabriel Crow, don’t think you have been forgotten. It is unfortunate you had to stumble in to this match up. I promise everything that happens out there, as far as you and I goes, is nothing personal. Hopefully you can find it in you heart to not hold it against me. So with all that said I hope you two are ready. We will be.

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ppdragos

ppdragos


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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeTue Jul 20, 2010 11:56 am

Our scene opens on a door as it slams shut hard enough to shake the pictures on the wall nearby. As the camera turns it is revealed that we are inside the hall of the home of Cole Dragos and his family. Suddenly the view is obscured as a pair of figures pass in front of the camera which follows them to find the familiar forms of the Blake twins Vampire Molly and Katlin, sister in law and wife of Dragos respectively. Moving closer to the pair as they stand by a large window the clear night sky can be seen the mic is able to pick up on their conversation.

Molly: Pissed ain’t he?

Katlin: No he’s a ray of sunshine!! Of course he’s pissed, did you see that match?

Molly: Yeah, loosing like that’ll frustrate just about anyone.

Katlin: This isn’t frustrated, I’ve seen Cole frustrated, hell he was frustrated when I first met him!

FLASHBACK!

A teenaged Cole Dragos is seen hunched over a desk in what is clearly an old library surrounded by stacks of haphazardly piled books and old scrolls of parchment as he devours another parchment.

Cole: Oh come on! There has to be something here this is the last scroll! . . . . . . . . GOD DAMN IT!!!!

On one of the desks behind him a tall decorative candle suddenly bursts into flame and burns down at a rapid pace making the girl sat there jump up in alarm.

Girl: Whoa!! What the hell?

Turning at the sound of the exclamation Cole stands to leave but as he passes the girl (whom we can now see is Katlin Blake) he puts out the still large flame as she tries to quickly move her books away from it.

Cole: Sorry about that. Guess I’m a little wound up.

Katlin: Just how could this be your fault? You were at least six feet away not to mention you had your back turned to me AND your head in books.

Sighing Cole points back at the pile on his table.

Cole: If I knew that I wouldn’t be here!

Looking at all the books on biology , evolution and genetic irregularities Katlin smirks while raising a single eyebrow.

Katlin: If you think you’re going to find any answers in ‘those’ books I think you’ll be disappointed. If you ask me I’d say you should try looking elsewhere.

So saying she shows him a black book off the top of her pile of books off her table, the title clear in silver. . .

‘LEGENDS OF MYTH AND MAGIC’ below which is a clear pentagram.


END FLASHBACK

Molly: Yeah but you were wrong weren’t you?

Katlin: Well kinda, but come on how was I to know it was both myth AND genetics!

Looking back out of the window Molly seemed to shake her head to get back on subject.

Molly: So what do you think he’ll do this time then?

Katlin: To be honest I’m not sure. I’ve only seen him like this a couple of times before. Do you remember what he did to the he/she in the old company?

Molly: You mean when he. . . .

Katlin: Used his Cat o ‘barbed’ tails? Yeah!

A sick smirk twists across Molly’s face thinks back.

Molly: Oh yeah I remember that. He basically shredded the flesh off the freaks back before dropping IT with the ‘Flight Of Icarus’ through a table outside the ring. How IT survived to make it to the hospital I’ll never know, actually. It kinda reminded me of something I’d do!

Katlin: Yeah wel. . . . .

Their conversation is interrupted suddenly as a crash of thunder rumbles nearby so loudly that is shatters the window.

Katlin: Unfortunately THAT’S what happened the last time I saw him like this!

Seeing the look of confusion on her sisters face she elaborates.

Katlin: Molly, look up and think back to the night and morning after Cole was robbed of his last title belt.

Looking out of the window at the now cloud covered sky Molly watches as lightening flashes across the dark clouds and Molly has only two words to describe it.

Molly: Oh fuck!!!

FLASHBACK

About seven AM Molly turns on the TV to watch the news and catch any reports about last night PPV when the BBC main headline catches her attention.

BBC Anchor: Extreme weather conditions last caused hundreds to flee their homes as gale force winds hit London, on the scene is reporter David Shukman.

DS: Thank you Louise. The storms that hit London last night have left scientists baffled as they hit without warning leaving extensive damage in their wake.

The image changes to show pictures of well known land marks around the city taken from above by helicopter.

DS: As you can see by these images taken earlier today by our news helicopter the damage is spread across the entire capital effecting some of our most well known land marks. The damage to Westminster clock tower is still to be truly determined though Big Ben has not chimed all day today.

On the screen we see a war ship being towed up the river by a number of tugs.

DS: The HMS Belfast military museum broke it's permanent moorings in the extreme swells on the river last night and is still being returned to its rightful place by tower bridge by a team of naval tugs. Some of the worst damage we've seen though was further up the river Thames in Greenwich where the Now world renowned O2 arena was hit by winds in excess of 80 MPH tearing huge sections of the roof away from the building dropping them into the nearby river.

Surprisingly the only places that don't appear to have suffered any damage are the various royal residences for example the Tower of London and Buckingham Palace are both perfectly intact where as Tower Bridge which stands besides the ancient tower prison has had it's mechanisms so strained that the bridge is jammed in the open position causing massive congestion throughout the city. David Shukman, BBC South East, Thameside.


Louise: Similar scenes have also been reported across the pond in the U.S.

Behind her on a large screen some footage is shown with the caption ‘courtesy of CNN’

Reporter: The excessive rains of last night have hit local residents and businesses here in Kokomo with severe flooding as the local sewer system was unable to handle the deluge and the waters flooded many of the local buildings.

At this time the estimates for the damage are still coming in but at least some of the local company's have admitted the extent of the damage. The nearby Coca Cola bottling plant have been forced to cease operations today while their cellars are dried out in accordance the health officials visits, also local employer Total Championship Wrestling have announced that their world headquarters has suffered damage to the very foundations of the building, forcing them to bring in repair crews costing the company thousands of dollars in repairs. We now send you over to Tampa where these freak storms are continuing.


The scene now changes to show another reporter being harried be heavy winds and extreme rain.

Reporter (Shouting over wind): I can't believe I'm doing this but here I am in Tampa Bay where the Tornado that hit suddenly last night is still going, though our expert says it is starting to blow itself out. The damage to the area is extensive as local homes and businesses have suffered the brunt of the damage though ALL have said that they will rebuild after the storm is over. In fact the building we are now sheltered behind is one of the few that has avoided the damage by the wind over night but even they abandoned this building when the tornado began forming outside of town last night.

Scientists are at a loss to explain how this could have happened without them seeing any signs of it forming and global warming experts say this could be just the signs of the disastrous climate changes we have seen. Now the question is…


Suddenly the building the news crew are sheltered behind is struck repeatedly by lightening forcing the crew to run off to another building as the previous one begins to burn as the massive amount of electricity flows throughout the building and huge pieces of concrete are blasted off by the repeated lightning strikes. As the scene finally fades we are left with an image of the sign on the building slowly melting in flames from a direct strike........................................................'R..E PRO WRESTLING G.NER.TION'.)

END FLASKBACK

Molly: Well we’d all get pissed if a rival promotion stole our hard earned title, but this can’t be as bad surely!

Before Katlin can answer a voice from outside interrupts her.

Cole: It won’t be. At least not for the companies buildings.

Swinging around to look through the remains of the window the camera shows ‘Wildfire’ Cole Dragos slowly walking across the expansive lawns of the manor towards where his wife stands. Around him the now raging lightening storm discharges its power into the earth and yet he walk through it all untouched by anything but the light which illuminates his face.

Cole: Butters on the other hand won’t be so lucky

Now standing directly in front of the camera Cole stares down the lens before continuing.

Cole: When I first joined FMW I decided this would be a new start for me. I changed my gimmick, my entrance I joined a new tag partner hell I even went as far as moving back to the UK to focus on my training away from the politics of my island. But you Butters, you just had to screw with us didn’t you?
Never mind the lack of respect you showed to Christian and myself but the pure disrespect and lack of faith you have in yourself AND your partner is truly disgusting.

I know what your thinking that you have the utmost respect for Slegna. Well if that’s the case why did you lay down for him? If you truly believed that he could beat not only myself and Christian but also put aside his friendship with you then why would stoop so low as cheat. As for your lack of faith in yourself well I think that’s obvious from the way you threw away a shot at becoming the top man in the company.

Well that’s your choice if you don’t believe in yourself but now you don’t have world titles to worry about, instead you have to worry about me. When I started fresh here I put aside a part of myself I thought I would no longer need. I left the anger and the hatred I carried, and looked to a calmer career but you have brought it all flowing back to me and now you pay the price because at 11.3 it wont be a Wildfire that you’ll have to extinguish. No, for one night only FMW will tremble under the power of the Lord Of Storms as Lord Dragos once again walks the isle and the building shall quake and the children shall shake as once more the Elements. Shall. RAGE!!!!


As the screen slowly fades to black we are left with the last image of a pair of glowing purple eyes in a field of black.


OOC Vampire Molly and Katlin Blake used with the permision of DM their original user
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Christian Moorebyss

Christian Moorebyss


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FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeTue Jul 20, 2010 12:02 pm

Romeo wrote:
Boice: And…and look at this, Flare! Slegna is going for the pin….ON BUTTERS!

Flare: One….Two….Three!

Boice: Wait, Moore! Moore with the double axehandle as the referee made the count! Did…did the hand come down? Did he make it??

The bell rings to signify the end of the match!

Boice: He didn’t! He didn’t! Slegna wins! Slegnadamus, with all three men down, covered Butters!

Flare: Fortune favors the bold, Boice!

Boice: And what an inadvertent way to do it! He was trying to assist Butters, but came up to grab that rope at the wrong split-second! Moore is livid at ringside, arguing with the referee as Slegna walks up the ramp, his face a mask of apprehension! Slegna picking up the quick victory...But what is Butters going to have to say about all this?

Sheila Blige: Here is your winner, earning 1 point for Ammunition, and qualifying for the Gold Card Gauntlet...SLEGNAAAAAADAMUUUUUUS!

The ref raises Slegna's hand in victory, as Butters is coming to.

Flare: Slegnaaaa, you got some splainin’ to dooooo!

Boice: Well... this is definitely an awkward situation.

Flare: Tell me about it. Friendship over?

Boice: I don't know, but you were right, Slegna did what he needed to do.

Slegna goes to help Butters up, who is only looking at him with a mixed expression on his face.

Flare: If anything, this finally makes both Slegna and Butters interesting.

Boice: I wonder what's gonna happen to them.

Butters gets up... but then a smile forms across his face!

Boice: What's this? Was this a setup?

Butters extends his hand to Slegnadamus, who in turn gives Butters a hug! The two tag team partners embrace as they seemingly have pulled the wool over everyone's eyes.

Flare: Well, damn! Looks like Butters laid down for Slegnadamus to get his partner into the Gauntlet! SHENANIGANS!!!


-BACKSTAGE AFTER CORRUPTION 11.2 HAS ENDED-

The backstage area looks as though it was the scene of the latest hurricane to sweep across the US … Tables laid smashed and overturned; Doors are hanging off their hinges; Vending machines have been upended and their contents lay spread across the floor … Nothing has been left unbroken.

AARRGGHH!! That was total bullshit! AARRGGHH!!

The sound of another door being smashed draws the cameras attention to the end of the corridor and the exit. Rushing up to the sound of the noise, they find a very pissed off Christian Moore holding a member of the production crew off the floor by his shirt collar against the exit door.

I'm only gonna ask this once … Where the fuck are they?

W … who, sir?

You know damn well who! Slegna, Butters, and that stupid fucking ref!

They … they've already left.

Together?

I … I don't know, but I think they did.

Christian growls and throws the guy to the ground away from the door.

Well that explains so fucking much!

Christian slams the door open and goes outside. He walks over to his car, climbs in and speeds away into the night.


-THE NEXT DAY-

The inside of Christian's hotel room looks much like how he left the backstage area after Corruption 11.2 the previous night … Lamps smashed, TV in pieces, tables overturned, couch shredded. The door to the bathroom is open and Christian is stood in front of the mirror, an eerily calm look on his face. As he looks up the image staring back at him changes until he's staring at the face of his brother, Dominic.

So? Have ya calmed down after ya little temper tantrum last night?

AARRGGHH!!

Christian swipes all the hotel's complimentary bathroom gifts off the shelf above the sink, scattering them all over the bathroom floor.

I'll take that as a no then, shall I?

Christian looks up and glares at Dominic, his mouth twisted into a sneer.

What do ya want Dom? I'm kinda busy.

Dominic's eyes scan the room.

So I can see. What the hell's going on bruv? I've never seen ya this pissed before, just because of a damn match.

Did ya actually pay attention to what happened out there last night?

Yeah. Ya lost … again.

I DIDN'T LOSE! I was screwed! Every time I had a chance at winning, that fucking ref missed it, and then when those cock-sucking fags Slegna and Butters did their little play ending and I broke it up, that motherfucking ref decided he'd accept their money and pretend he didn't see me there! That's why I'm pissed!

Ohhhh … Now it makes sense. So, what's the plan? What we gonna do about it?

Take them out … One-by-one.

How ya gonna manage that?

Don't worry, I've gotta idea … But before we do anything, we're going home.

Erm … Don't ya have to pay for all the damage ya did in here first?

Christian smiles.

Nope … I checked in under Slegna's name, he'll be the one getting the bill.

Dominic burst out laughing and shakes his head.

I don't think I have ever been prouder of ya bruv! That's just bloody brilliant! I never would've thought of that!

That's why I'm the brains of this family and you're just the maniac who'd murder any woman who ever says no to ya!

Dominic nods and smiles for a few seconds before suddenly stopping and frowning at Christian.

HEY! I'm not THAT crazy!

That reaction causes Christian to laugh.

Ah, thanks bruv, I needed a good laugh. Now come on, let's get out of this shithole and head back to some civilisation, coz fuck knows there's fuck all in this dive country.

Sounds like a plan.

The face in the mirror changes back into Christian's and he turns away walking into the main room. Pausing and looking around, Christian notices that the bedding is still neatly on the bed, so with a quick flick of his wrist he opens out the pen knife he keeps up his sleeve and begins to slash across the pillows and sheets.

That's better!

Christian flicks closed the knife and, using part of a shredded sheet, wipes down the handle and throws the knife on the bed. With a satisfied nod, Christian walks over to the door and picks up his bag. Without another glance, Christian opens the door and walks away.


-TWO DAYS LATER-

PING! One new mail!

Oh now what? Whichever prick posted my email address on some fan site is gonna get my foot up his ass when I get hold of him!

I'd love to see how that would work bruv.

DOM! Oh you bastard!

Hahahahaha!

Christian opens up his emails and is pleasantly surprised to see that this new email isn't from some crazed fan girl offering herself for sex, but actually from FMW HQ.

To: Livebytheknife
From: The Bosses.
Subject: Your next match.

Message: Hey Christian, how's it going? I noticed that you're not answering your cell, so I'm assuming you've headed back to the UK for a few days.

You may have noticed that your money was a little light after 11.2, but that's because we took out what you owe of the damages backstage after your little tantrum.

Anyway, onto your next match … We're gonna give you one last shot at getting into the Gold Card Gauntlet. You showed that you had the intensity and desire to be part of it, and after the incident with Butters and Slegnadamus, we think you deserve one last go at it … But that's it. You lose this one and that's it, no more chances.

Oh by the way, I think I forgot to mention, you're against Slegnadamus.

Have fun kid.


Now that's more like it!

Yeah, but remember bruv, it's your last shot at getting in the big match.

Better go get some training in then, ain't I?


-LATER THAT DAY-

AAARRRGGGHHH!!! I GIVE UP! ARGH!

Christian! Let him go! You're gonna snap his ankle!

In the middle of a makeshift ring at a gym on the outskirts of central Reading, Christian is holding onto a rather large guys ankle and refusing to let go. The poor guy is screaming in agony as some of the other guys in the gym are trying to pull Christian off of him.

ARGH! Christian! Please! AAARRRGGGHH!!!

Come on Christian! Dave's had enough! Let him go!

I'll let him go, right … about … SNAP now!

Christian releases the guys ankle and stands up looking rather pleased with himself. The guy identified as Dave curls up into a ball, crying and grabbing at his ankle. The trainer walks over to him, but he won't let him look at his ankle.

I can't see if it's broken if ya won't let me look at it Dave.

Of course it's fucking broken! ARGHHHH!

While the trainer is trying to deal with Dave, another large guy walks over to Christian.

What the hell was that all about? There was no need for ya to snap his fucking ankle!

I was teaching him a valuable lesson about this business … Not everyone plays fair.

And that gives ya the right to break his ankle?

No … The fact I'm TWICE the wrestler he'll ever fucking be, gives me the right to do whatever the fuck I want!

Just because some company signed your sorry ass, doesn't mean you're better than any of us. I mean hell, any of us could've bear Butters or Slegna, screw job or not! You're nothing special Christian! You were just lucky that they signed you!

The guy turns around and starts to walk over to where the trainer has finally persuaded Dave to let him check his ankle. Christian jumps at him, knocking him down with a clothesline to the back. Once he's down, Christian quickly and effortlessly traps him in the Christian Crossface.

YOU THINK I'M LUCKY NOW STEVE? HUH? IF I'M SO LUCKY, GET OUT OF THIS THEN!

Christian wrenches Steve backwards, putting pressure on his arm almost popping his shoulder out of its socket. Christian's hands are gripped across the bridge of Steve's nose, breaking it with ease. Once he's sure Steve's learnt his lesson, Christian let's go and gets up.

That wasn't luck Steve … That was something you'll never have … TALENT!

With a kick to the face for good measure, Christian rolls out of the ring and heads towards his bag.

Mind telling me what the fuck all that was about?

It's called proving a point Dom.

What point? That you're an emotional little twat who breaks his mates ankles and noses just coz they dared to voice an opinion against ya?

That you should never underestimate what someone would do to ya … friend or not!

Christian grabs his bag and walks out of the gym, leaving everyone still inside to breath a sigh of relief.


-EVEN LATER THAT DAY-

Will ya just give it a rest Dom.

No I won't. I still don't understand why ya did it. We've been mates with Dave and Steve for fucking years, so why pick now to fucking mess with 'em?

Christian walks out of his en-suite bathroom in his house, wearing loose fitting pyjama pants, dying his hair.

It's the fact we've known 'em so long that I gave 'em that advice, Dom. They're still too naïve about this business. They believed that everyone would always play fair and never take anything to heart. They need to learn or they'll never make it and they'll be stuck in that gym for the rest of their lives.

That's complete bullshit and you know it! You broke Dave's ankle and cracked Steve's nose like a fucking eggshell! That was attacking them to prove that ya could do it. I bet ya enjoyed doing it too, didn't ya?

I didn't do it for my own enjoyment Dom. I did it to help 'em. That's all.

Bullshit!

Think what ya want Dom, I couldn't give a fuck if ya think I had an ulterior motive.

Without another word, Christian laid on the bed and was soon asleep. After a few minutes his arm twitched and then reached over to turn off the light.

I wish you'd learn to turn the fucking light off! I can't sleep with it on.


-THE NEXT DAY-

Now have ya got everything? We gotta leave soon to get to the airport.

Will ya just fucking relax Dom. We got loads of time yet.

Where ya going now?

I just gotta grab a couple of things to take with us.

A door opens and Christian walks into what looks like a trophy room, only inside the large glass fronted cabinets aren't trophies … There are thousands of shiny, glinting knives.

What we doing in here?

I told ya. I'm just grabbing a few things that I'm gonna need. Now let me see ...

Christian looks inside one of the glass cabinets, and unlocks the door. He appears to be deciding which one to pick up, when he suddenly reaches inside.

What do ya think of this one, Dom?

FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Medievaldagger

Ooh a classic. Nice long blade … Perfect for getting between ribs!

Exactly!

Christian slides the dagger into it's sheath and gently places it in his bag, before locking the cabinet again.

Now what else did I come in here for?

Unit by the window … Bottom shelf … Third from the right.

Christian follows Dominic's directions and whistles in agreement as he pull out

FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Excaliburdagger

Nice choice Dom! An old favourite.

Christian sheaths the knife and gently places it in his bag.

Just don't break the tip on Slegna's bones or grandpa will come back and haunt us! That was his pride and joy. That blade had a special place in the old guys heart.

Only coz you put the fucking thing in it! Anyway, how many times have I gotta tell ya that he won't haunt us, coz there's no such thing as ghosts?

Erm, bruv, what am I?

A homicidal maniac who lives in my head!

…..................................

Right, now I've shut you up … I need ...

Christian rushes to the other side of the room and pulls open a drawer. Rattling around inside it he pulls out

FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Flickknife

before slamming the drawer closed.

Just to finish the job.

May I suggest a little something extra?

Ya usually do!

Far wall, by the picture of Krissy … Second cabinet in … Top shelf … Middle.

How the fuck do ya remember where they all are?

I just do. Now go get it.

Christian walked over to where Dominic suggested and pull down

FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Bearknife

What am I gonna do with this?

Oh that ain't for you … That's for my, erm, personal use.

Christian shakes his head, but puts it in his bag anyway.

That everything?

Christian looks around the room, as if checking.

Yep! That's everything.

Christian zips up his bag and throws it over his shoulder.

Jeez, airport security are gonna love us!

Christian laughs as he walks out of the door.

Ah, but I'm a legal, card-carrying collector … They can't fucking touch me!

I'd love to watch 'em try though! Hahaha!

The door closes and the sound of a key turning in the lock is just about heard over the sound of laughter.


-A PREVIEW OF THINGS TO COME?-

FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Slegnableeding2



OOC: Sorry if the pictures are coming up huge, I've shrunk them as far as I can on photobucket but for some reason the damn things are still coming through huge on here. Sorry. Hope ya like 'em anyways.
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Vincent Van Rose




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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeTue Jul 20, 2010 1:17 pm

Shortly after 11.2

Our scene opens on a ecstatic Axel fist pumping the air in the locker room shortly after his victory, when he is joined by his partner in crime, The Dude, Trey Spruance....

"Dude I don't know why you are so happy, you beat Bryce Thorne all he has done is beat his meat in this gig, What;s the friggin deal man?"

Axel snatches the whiskey bottle from his inebriated friend and chuckles as Trey spits whiskey all over the floor...

In case you didn't notice numb nuts, it was my first FMW win and I don't care if it was against your mama, a W is a W and I got just as many as you now, bitch! What do think about that? I think its pretty fucking sweet...and all my hometown boys got to see it so its fucking huge! By the way I am still pissed at you for that kick to the kidneys douche bag..

"I kicked you because you are an assbag who is full of his fucking self and I I want to do is just L I V E man...i thought we were the aquad that didn't give a rat's ass about anything, but you sure as hell seem like you care just because of a fucking W. Where's the drunk guy who puked in the urinal next to me at the Whiskey the other night?"

AVO grimaces knowing that his running buddy won't change ever, even though it is mandated by his contract. He puzzles over what to do next and it comes to him....

Maybe I have realized in this fed you can't just muddle along doing what you have always done you have to climb the ladder rung by damn rung until you are nose to nose with the cock gobbler who has that shiny piece of tin in their hands. I know we are no Wayward Sons, hell we aren't even Comeback Kids caliber yet, but if you got your head out of your ass we just might be a damn good team.

Trey gets a menacing look on his face and storms toward the door...grumbling as he goes....

"See there you go again with your we can be so damn good bullshit...You know what...Ah fuck it.. and Fuck you!!"

Trey slams the door hard as Axel whizzes the empty whiskey bottle at the closing piece of metal, and watches it and his tag team shatter into so many shattered slivers...

Some time before 11.3

Axel Van Osbourne is sitting in the lonely SFW Locker Room staring blankly at the card fro 11.3 when his man Logan enters with a stack of DVDs, that from a glance at the spines look like softcore porn titles aswell as some B movies...

Logan I don't have time to watch this kind of thing, and anyway I asked you to get me match footage of Thorne so I can knock his ass out at the next show. The prick wanted a rematch he will get his fucking rematch...So where are the match videos? Buns of Titanium, Knobgobblers 22, Three Men and a Grown Lady....These are all porn and B movies....What you do on your own time is fine Logan but don't bring it here.

"Well Sir, I looked high and low for matches that weren't squashes that you could have actually learned something from, but not surprisingly there aren't any out there. Thorne has gotten killed every time. I asked the archivist for Thorne footage and he gave me these..."

Avo chuckles and leans back in his easy chair, smiling with a deep look of satisfaction on his face, knowing Bryce Thorne, affectionately known as Skinemax, is going to get knocked the fuck out!!

Well if I am going to see asses bouncing a few feet in front of me dammit I am going to be able to touch them...Logan Pull the Camaro around there has to be a good titty bar in this God foresaken town somewhere. On to bigger and better things my man

We cut to Axel driving down the main drag of the town when he spies a glowing sign advertising all nude ladies...Our hero pulls a Rockford ( a hard u turn for the uneducated) into the lot and exclaims ala Ace Ventura...

Like a Glove!!!

Axel slides out from behind the wheel and saunters into the seedy establisment finding a good seat in th corner where he can see the whole bar and his back is not exposed, an old gang habit, and yet very useful for "scouting talent". He scans the crowded bar looking fro a suitable lady to take up his down time when he hears a commotion a few tables over.....

" I'm not that kind of girl jackass....If you were looking for that head to fucking Mexico pig!"

Axel chuckles as he watches the scene develop. The woman is gorgeous and built like a brick shit house. He starts to make his way over to assist the drunk biker in making his way toward the door but he can't avert his gaze from her lovely raven locks and pool blue eyes, she winks at him as she busts a half empty beer bottle over his head...Axel makes his way over picking the biker up off the floor and dragging him toward the door before the bouncers can get rough with him...

Let's go pimp daddy i think the ladies have had quite enough of your style tonight broham...See you when your Sober tubby...

The biker tries to protest but is manhandled out the door by a bigger Osbourne who can feel the whole establishment's eyes on his back... He turns around gesturing toward the sack of shit he just tossed out...

NO TICKET!!!

The room erupts in cheers and laughter as the raven haied goddess whom he saved comes running up to him and slaps him playfully on the chest...

"I had that well under control pal, I have knocked out bigger guys with one arm tied behind my back and one eye closed!"

I could totally tell .... I was actually trying to impress you bitch,but hey, you look familar...You aren't related to....No wait...You were in Buns of Titanium with Bryce Thorne weren't you??

The stripper actually blushes a bit, and bats her eyelashes coyly....

I didn't think anyone ever saw that pile of shit, I heard Thorne was in some pro wrestling gig now a days...He was a major asshole...Always talking about plundering my velvet oasis...Like I would let him any where near any oasis of mine if I wasn't getting paid for it! My name is Olivia by the way but all these wonderful paying customers know me as Indigo.

Well well Olivia it looks like we have a common enemy of sorts. I am Axel Van Osbourne and I wrestle in the same company as Thorne and actually have a KO match against him in a few days....You really wanna get back at him...If you really want to see the man affectionately known as Skinemax shit himself,be my valet at ringside and we will both knock him the hell out!!

Now that does sound like a barrell of monkeys in a whorehouse kind of fun to me....I am not sure you are man enough to have that honor.....We will talk about it in the morning...

Olivia winks coyly at Axel and begins to slowly walk toward the door eyes locked on our hero the whole way...Axel heads her off leaning against the bar trying to win her over with his trademark wolfish grin...

In the morning eh? Well I haven't had an offer that sweet since I don't know when, you may be some guys poision but I am willing to drink from that well any day of the week! What time do you get off??

A smile crosses her face and she leans in close to our hero....

Five minutes after you do sweetheart....

Axel could be knocked over with a feather at this point, he has met his match in everything known to man. Sexy, check...Smart, check.... Witty, double check....

We cut to a few minutes later in the hallway outside Axel's hotel suite where Olivia and he are tearing at each other as AVO slides the key card in the lock....

Here we are babe my humble abode for the week....Not much but it will serve OUR purpose just fine I assume

"Oh I think this will do just fine....Your training shall be complete very soon I think..."

Olivia winks at the camera and as the scene fades we see Axel's well muscled arm sliding the Do Not Disturb sign on the door and scrawled in lipstick under the pre printed words it says EVER!


Last edited by Axel_Van_Osbourne on Thu Jul 22, 2010 9:39 am; edited 1 time in total
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Kaoru

Kaoru


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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeWed Jul 21, 2010 1:00 pm

FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Yakuza1-1

Los Angeles, California
Somewhere in Little Tokyo
Little Nakasu
July 16th, 2010


Sonny: Hee-hee-hee! Pop the Goldschläger, young-ins! I may be old, but there’s still enough of a twinkle in my eye to show you whippersnappers how it’s done.

I’m tired. But I force myself to stay awake.

He’s been at it for an hour. The Vietnamese girl in the blue kimono keeps letting out a tiny squeak every time he runs his leg up her thigh. Almost like air escaping a balloon. But she keeps sitting next to him. Him and his banana-piss colored sweat suit.

Sonny doesn’t notice, but she keeps eyeing the kid sitting next to him at the table. The kid he just ordered to open the Goldschläger. He’s young. Has hair down to his shoulders like the Korean soap opera punks that everyone has been imitating lately. Her eyes flicker at him like flower petals in the wind. He gives her a quick smile before looking straight down.

When Sonny isn’t paying attention, she’ll give him the slip. He’ll lie to me in the morning about how wild she was in bed; how he can still “get more” than me at the age of seventy.

I’ll let him gloat. He’s just like a rash; harmless. Unsightly and annoying, but harmless.


Sonny: Oh come on, pork-a-potamus! Come celebrate! You’re the one who generously “donated” the money for this little shindig, seeing as how the boss forbade you to keep most of your winnings! That was so nice of you! Wasn’t that nice of him, girls? Everyone?!

The girls nod in unison. There are cheers from the rest of the bar.

It’s Friday night at Little Nakasu. The tables are as full as they ever get. The lights keep flickering to the heartbeat of rhythmic stomps and Japanese drinking songs. Old men are excavating their sake cups for days-gone-by. The younger ones are filing out. It’s 1:30 AM and their girlfriends are just about ready.

1:30 AM.

I’ve slept six hours this week. Maybe eight. I can’t remember. Somehow my exhaustion keeps everything in the present lucid, but I find myself forgetting things. Trivial things. Like what I’ve eaten or how much I’ve slept.


Sonny: Oh I know what it is! You’re pissed. You’re pissed that there was nothing wrong with that money you gave to the analyst, aren’t you? Must suck to be wrong just once. Turns out the pudgy prodigy is human! Well the least you can do is have a beer and not ruin the mood. You can’t have the Goldschläger though. But that’s not for you. Ooooh no, that’s FAR too sophisticated for a brute like you. I mean, look at it! It’s got little bits of gold floating right inside there. Such a fine drink should only touch the lips of a fine lady! Heeheeheeheehee!

Sonny licks his two front teeth, and makes a kind of slurping noise. For a moment, the whores look like they’re going to throw up, but swallow hard and keep smiling. Whatever he plans on paying them won’t be enough.

Two weeks ago, the currency analyst called to tell me what I already knew; that there was nothing wrong with the money I gave him. Sonny wasn’t there for the phone call. But the prostitute story has gone quiet and I’ve been pretending to skulk for twelve or thirteen days now, so he just assumes I was told off. Was it twelve or thirteen…?

I can’t remember.


Sonny: Mmm…watch it pour into the glass, eh girls? So clear and crisp! A man my age knows about the finer things in life. And that’s what you young girls need, eh? A man with life experience? A man with a little class? A man who enjoys the finer things like liver spot massages and bunion rubs a—I’m kidding! KIDDING! Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-h--*cough, cough, cough*-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!

Sonny doesn’t know that the fake hundreds are in my pants. But someone does.

Nine days ago, I had come back to Nakasu and noticed that one of my drawers was pulled too far out. I had been leaving warning systems around the room. Some were obvious, like the toothpick in the door. A childish trick meant as a distraction. They had replaced it. Others were less obvious, like the dead fly tucked specifically between two of my shirts.

I couldn’t find that fly.

And it didn’t rot.

Not that quickly.

The shirt had been moved.

That was when I stopped sleeping. Before, I had been content to carry the bag inside of my pants. It was tied around my thigh with some thin fishing wire. Almost like a woman, only more effective because women wear dresses and skirts. At night, I would tuck the bag of money into my ass and sleep on my back. The bed was too small for me to roll over. I still do those things. But now I’m always awake. If someone was bold enough to give the order for a break-in while I was away, they may be bold enough to order one while

I’m there asleep.

And if that happens, I’ll be ready.


Sonny: Oh, careful there my pretty! I think you’ve got a little gold dribbling down your chin. But that’s not a bad problem to have, eh? Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee! ‘Cause I’ve got a golden tiiiicket…. I love that song! Hee-hee-hee!

The waitress for the night passes by our table. I lift my hand. Without me saying a word, she puts a Kirin down in front of me and smiles nervously.

I’ve think I’ve hit her once before.

I can’t remember.

Sonny notices the beer and breaks into a chimpanzee grin. I glance up, and see the empty gums flanking a few sparse teeth. He’s smiling so broadly that he’s drooling from the side of his mouth.


Sonny:Finally decided to loosen up, eh? That’s the spirit! You see, girls, he’s always like this. Between the two of us, I’m the clearly the leader. You might say he’s the Tubbs to my Crockett or the Robin to my Batman…

Sonny’s been pouring the Goldschläger every chance he gets. Half of it is gone. There’s space in the bottle. Enough space for me to…

I press my thumb against the spokes of the bottle-cap, and watch it fly off into between the masses of people. Before the old man can turn around, I reach across the table.


Sonny:…you might say I’ve taken the big guy under my wing. Taught him a thing or two about the streets, and acted like a father fi—WHAT ARE YOU DOING? STOP!

I pour my beer down the neck of the Goldschläger bottle. Almost instantly, the flecks of gold disappear under the weight of a creeping brown stain swimming down to the glass bottom. The whores give a little yelp of surprise. The spit that had previously been trickling from Sonny’s mouth now gushes out in torrents. He clutches for the bottle and pulls it out from under my beer. I spill some on the table before tilting the Kirin back up.

Sonny is desperately looking through the side of the Goldschläger. He like a wrinkled little boy peering into the tank where his pet fish just died. His lower jaw shakes the way it always does when he’s about to cry.

I leave the table and make my way to the door. I look back, and he’s cradling the bottle in his arms like a sick infant. The whores are each standing to one side, exchanging glances as if debating whether or not to leave.


Sonny: W-w-w-why? WHY? Why the fuck did you pour BEER into my baby? YOU BIG FAT IMBECILE! WHY DID YOU POUR BEER INTO MY PIMP JUICE!

I walk back to him, snatch the wounded bottle from his arms before he can yell at me and take a deep swig. It tastes disgusting, but I let out a satisfied sigh anyway.

Kaoru:Because now, it’s not too sophisticated for me to drink.

The bar explodes. Sonny looks around for help, but it’s in vain. Everyone is laughing at his expense.

They’ll be laughing for a good while, too. Just the distraction I need I seize the opportunity and double back for the door.

I haven’t slept in days.

It’s 1:30 AM.

And I have an appointment to keep.

I haven’t forgotten.


Sonny: My gold…*sob*…he’s gone and defiled my beautiful gold…

Sonny is still mourning the liquor as I push the knob behind me.


Los Angeles, California
Corner of Fairfax and Melrose
Outside of the Diamond Dolls Strip Club
Twenty Five Minutes Later

The smell at Fairfax and Melrose is low tide. It wafts back and forth, bringing in seaweed garbage or the iodine smell of the open ocean. But instead of seaweed and iodine, Fairfax and Melrose alternates between alley piss and perfume. You smell the perfume when the red light women walk by. Eaters in torn fishnets, the marks of fingers still on their necks. They patrol the sidewalk, pollinating it with their odor like neon bees. Dressed in bright colors, too. Reds, greens, and pinks torn at the chest or ass like ravaged candy wrappers.

But they are not what I am here for.

I’m standing outside of Diamonds Dolls with the fake dollars tied to my leg, and a crumpled index card in my hand. Scrawled in the card in diabolically illegible handwriting is one word:

“Peoplez.”

There’s no crowd outside. The place is a disheveled collage of brick and paint. All of the windows are barred. A poster on the door, half torn almost in a teeth-mark pattern, reads “Girls Drink Free.”

I start to walk closer. The beer and Goldschläger are miserably fermenting in my stomach. But if I throw up here, I wouldn’t be out of place.

The doorman is a huge buck-nigger with a shirt that’s too small for his neck. His arms are folded across his chest. I can see myself in his sunglasses; the sunglasses he has chosen to wear at two in the morning.

I’m nauseous and exhausted.

But I don’t let him see it.


Doorman Whoa there, Chinaman. Where you goin’?

His voice cuts through my lethargy, as I feel my knuckles curling inward. The sickness and fatigue disappear under a rush of adrenaline. I become aware of his build, his legs, his arms, his face.

Could I take him? Could I take him even now, at my most drained?


Doorman: Ey, roach-eater! I asked you a mawfucking question. This club is niggas only. I’m wearing sunglasses, but you don’t look like no nigga from where I’m standin’, you feel me? Now get to steppin’.

Kaoru: Peoplez.

His eyebrow cocks above the lens of his sunglasses,

Doorman: Tha fuck you say?

I raise my left hand, and show him the index card. He snatches it away and finally takes the glasses off.

It takes him much longer than it should to read the one word.

Finally, he lets out a grunt of either disapproval or acceptance and steps to one side. I walk by, driving my shoulder into his and snatching the index card back. He stands there and takes it.

His yielding makes my mouth water, and temporarily soothes my stomach into relaxation. I could have taken him. I could have pushed his eyeballs into the back of his skull and watched their empty craters weep blood. I could have reveled in my art; my domination.

But he’s only a doorman.

It’s not time yet.

Not until I find out everything I need to know.

Besides….this is still Inogawa-Kai territory, even if they do rent it out to niggers. I kill someone here, and every clan member within the greater Los Angeles area will know I was here, and asking questions about funny money.

Including whoever gave the order to search my room.


”BUST THAT PUSSY OPEN, THEN I TELL HER BRING IT BACK. BUST THAT–BUST THAT PUSSY OPEN, THEN I TELL HER BRING IT BACK. BUST THAT– BUST THAT PUSSY OPEN, THEN I TELL HER BRING IT BACK IMA BEAST UP’N THESE SHEETS ITS LIKE SUMTHIN YOU NEVER HAD.”

The bass is too loud. The woofers crackle and groan under the weight of the volume, creating a simultaneously muffled and ear-splitting sound. A cheap place…they can’t afford good speakers.

In the middle of a club is a squared stage, with bulbous circles coming out of the corners. The strippers were in those circles, shaking their top-heavy legs and their plumage of dollar bills like feral birds. They’re mostly black. One might pass for Hispanic.

To the right side of the stage (my left) is an area with couches for lap-dances. The other side is the bar… a long table with decade-old stains still visible in the finish. Old diner-style chairs are lined up in front of it, facing a wall of various bottles and labels that I can’t make out.

I make my way over to one of the chairs and sit down. The bartender has cornrows, and doesn’t look happy to see me. Before he asks me for a drink, I slide the index card across the table. It’s even more crumpled now, thanks to the door-nigger’s hands.

He picks up the card, and I see him squinting to read it in the darkness of the club. He looks up at me, as if the scrap of paper somehow doesn’t correspond to my face.


Bartender Yo, just a second…

He walks down the length of the table and disappears. I glance from side to side. I’m in between a home-
less looking wretch, and someone promising to a bitch that he’d “wife her.” I realize that I’m the only one at the bar without a drink, but the beer and Goldschläger immediately pops up to remind me why.

The music keeps playing behind me. I wait.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

I wait until there’s something cold prodding into the small of my back. It feels much bigger than a finger, but there’s still a body attached that says “follow me” in a black-sounding voice.

A show of force. The man I’m here to meet wants me to be damn certain that he’s the king of his little 8x8 chessboard. It doesn’t matter. Either way, I’ll be talking to him.

The voice behind me says “don’t turn around,” as it leads me off the chair and past the stage to the back of the club. No one in the bar is batting an eyelash. Either the weapon is concealed, or nobody cares about a foreigner getting executed.

We walk past the rooms labeled “VIP” and stop in front of unmarked door. I hear a peculiar whirring and beeping noise behind me…

…metal detector. He’s checking me for weapons. When nothing comes up, he pats me down. The disembodied voice misses the money tied to my upper thigh, just below my ball-sack. The fishing wire is too thin, and the jeans are too baggy. He doesn’t touch my groin.

Amateurish.

On his orders, I open the unmarked door slowly but the metallic finger behind me prods and says “Hurry up.”

Inside is a wino’s business desk. A black man in a blacker clubbing shirt is sitting behind it, flanked by two guards with very visible guns on their hips.

I hear whoever led me to the room back away, until the door I came through closes. He may or may not be at the door.

The man behind the desk motions for me to sit down in a chair that looks like it was stolen from a retirement home. I notice a few roaches in his overflowing ashtray. His head is clean-shaven, and he sports a well-kept black goatee. He has broad shoulders, but since he’s sitting down I can only speculate as to his height

Could I take him?

Maybe.

But with two of his armed monkeys in the room, I’d have to be sharp. And that means having slept.

I obey his gesture and take a seat.


Kaoru:…you’re Peoplez?

He chuckles and gives his goatee a rub, before putting his elbows on the table.

???: Heh, let’s see here Peoplez, Peoplez, Peoplez,….That all depends, nigga. Right now I don’t think I know anyone by that name. And I don’t think these cats do either. But my memory might jog itself any second, ya feel me? If I were to know why a rice-eater like yuhself wants to come up in here.

He also wants me to acknowledge that he doesn’t “have” to tell me anything. I stay blunt. I don’t know how much he already knows. Or whether he realizes the bounty he can get by handing me to the Inogawas.

Kaoru:I came to talk to Peoplez.

???: Haha! Well no shit, son, no shit. I figured that much. But I’m wanting to know what exactly you want to talk to this Peoplez guy about.

Kaoru: About a girl that worked here for him.

???: That’s a pretty general topic, my nigga. There are lots of girls that work here. Comin’ and goin’ all the time. You gonna have to do better than that if you wanna speak to an imaginary person.

Kaoru: An Asian girl.

???: Hohoho! An Asian bitch? Well now we’re talking. Ain’t been but a handful of Asian bitches working the pole up in here. So if a specific one had come through, there’s a good chance that at least a bartender would remember. But uh…

He leans over the table. Judging by how far over he gets, he’s fairly tall. He’s almost in my face. I stay put.

???:…what exactly would you be wantin’ to know about such a bitch?

Kaoru: A little over a month ago, she was stuffed into a car just up the street from this club. I want to know why.

As soon as I punctuate that sentence with a period, his demeanor hardens. He sits back on his side, and takes his elbows off the table. I can see the crown of his bald head beginning to furrow.

He looks from on bodyguard to the other and motions his head toward the door. Without so much as a peep they file out immediately, tucking their guns deeper into their pants before stepping back into the club.

It’s an admirable obedience.

As soon as they’re gone he leans back in his chair, locks his hands together. and puts them under his chin


Peoplez: Aight, let’s quit bullshitting around. Yeah, I’m Peoplez. Ain’t but a few people know to call me that. And when they do, it’s usually cuz they got problems that need solvin’ or questions that need answerin’.

He waits to see if I’ll say something. I don’t.

Peoplez: See, I got that nickname ‘cuz I know my peoplez, you dig? And I know your ass too. Yeah I been hearin’ stories about a big ol’ gook walking around, asking all sorts of questions that could land him in the mawfuckin’ bay. I also know that you ain’t the breed of rice-nigga I’m used to. Yeah…you ain’t with the boys that walk up in here and play Kunta Kinte. Inogawa-Jackie-Chan-what-the-fuck-ever. The ones I’m paying this place for? You ain’t rollin’ with them. I know all that shit. Been wonderin’ when you’d turn up at my door…and I been wonderin’ exactly what it is I’m gonna say, if anything. Fact is, I should turn your fat sushi-ass right now and collect a check…

Damn. He knows.

My skin tights over my bones as I look for angles. There’s no gun under the table. I could flip it on top of him…but that would make noise and invite his bodyguards back in. Not a chance.

No window in the office, and I never carry a gun if I can help it. It’s too unsatisfying.

My mad scan of the room stops at a sharp-looking letter opener slightly favoring my side of the table. If things go wrong, I grab it and hurl it at his throat to make sure he can’t scream.

At this distance I won’t miss. He might cover up, That would at least give me a chance to leap across the table and use him a shield. Maybe fish a gun out of his drawer. He won’t beat me in close range. And if he does, I’m dead anyway.


Peoplez:…but I ain’t going to. Yeah that’s right mawfucka, I AIN’T gonna turn your head over to my landlords. And you know why? Cuz I can see the forest from the trees.

He gets up from the table and takes a few paces away, folding his arms behind his back.

Peoplez: See, back in the day niggas used to run this town. Yeah that’s right. From here to Santa Monica, down to Watts and Inglewood, and back up to downtown it was all niggas. But it ain’t that way no more, is it? Nowadays black gangs keep getting muscled out of territory by spics and gooks. Seems like every year, the brothers keep getting smaller and smaller while you fresh-off-the-boat bitches keep on multiplyin’.

Even though his fingers are intertwined by his waist, I hear his knuckles crack.

Peoplez: Those other china-boys…the ones you hate? They keep showin’ up here, jacking the rent on me and getting’ too familiar with the whores like they own the west coast. But they don’t. And you don’t either. This ain’t your city, rice-nigga. You’re just a visitor. And if you ask me you’ve overstayed your welcome. WE built this city. WE gave it an identity. WE did that…not you. And I’d rather get gunned down than watch the Los Angeles I grew up in slowly die around me. I’ll tell you what you want to know, because it’d suit me just fine if your gook-asses went to war and killed yourselves off. The bigger the war, the freer a hand I get to run this place. And if they try to gun me down…well just let ‘em try. I’ll arm this whole fucking block and make ‘em bleed for every inch.

He turns back to me, eyes smoldering inside the kindle of his dark complexion.

Peoplez: Her name was Annie Kwon, but any old newspaper would tell you that. No mom, no dad, no siblings. You prolly know that too, or else you wouldn’t be here. When she was here, her stage name was Tiger Lily. Nothin’ fancy. She was a on-again-off-again kind of bitch. What with her being your boys’ property, her dancing here wasn’t exactly kosher. But my landlords told me she was straight. And that she was “useful” to ‘em.

My mind races furiously.

Kaoru: She was a traitor?

Peoplez: Why the hell would I know that? I don’t speak no Japanese. She turned trick too, so for all I know dem white collar boys were talking about how good of a fuck she was. Though even if I’d known for sure she was passing on information, I’d have encouraged it. Security leaks mean war. And you already know how I feel about gooks going to war.

He sighs, and then walks to his chair, sitting back down.

Peoplez: Anyway…one day I was put on notice that she was gonna be snatched. They ain’t say why, and I didn’t ask why. But what I do know is that she used to be their favorite bitch. Even made some house calls for ‘em…up until one particular night when the suits came in with a new guy. Young cat…had that spiky haired bullshit going on like all y’all do. They stayed for less than a minute, but the young guy pointed out Annie to the suits from across the club while she was on stage, and then they walked out, She didn’t even notice ‘em. Two days later, I got the call saying she was getting bodied.

Kaoru: Who was the new person they came in with?

Peoplez: Don’t know. Just some dance-dance-revolution looking fuck. All o’dem look the same to me. I only ever saw him that one time. And that’s all I know.

Kaoru: That’s all?

Peoplez: That’s all.

I barely know any more than when I came in.

This might have been a waste of time.

But one thing remains to be answered. I get up from the chair to leave, and he gets up to see me out.


Kaoru: One more thing. Did the whore ever mention…counterfeiting?

Peoplez: What, bogus bills? If she was into that shit then I never knew. You can ask summa the bitches, but like I said Annie was part-timer. Doubt you’ll find anything out. By the way…you want a drink before you leave, and I get killed by my landlords? ‘Cept unless you want to go to the bar, you’ll have to settle. I’ve cleaned out all the good Jamaican rum in my desk. All I have left is this sparkly bitch drink. Goldschläger.

One of my feet is already out of the office, when my stomach rumbles.

Kaoru: Only if I can ruin it.

Los Angeles, California
Corner of Fairfax and Melrose
Diamond Dolls Strip Club
Backstage



Who, Annie?...
...I barely knew her.
...Yeah, I danced with her.

...She didn't talk much...
...because she seemed like a bitch.
...but she was such a sweetheart.

...but I remember what she wore...
...it was so pretty.
...It was so tacky.

...and she always used to say...
...all that glitters ain't gold.
...all that glitters is gold..

...Why? Did something happen to her?



-To be continued.


Last edited by ToastErr on Thu Jul 22, 2010 3:31 pm; edited 1 time in total
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the nick bryson
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FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeWed Jul 21, 2010 4:32 pm

Dear Full Metal Wrestling,

I fucking hate you.

I hate everything you have become and I hate what you have regressed into.

A few years ago, an organization known as Anarchy was formed, which quickly turned itself into Full Metal Wrestling. Our baby was created from the process of coddled egos, anger, and disgust with a system designed to hold those who wanted to achieve and succeed down. You see, long story short, in the Psychotic Wrestling Alliance, a man by the name of Villiano decided that he would get together with then current head writer SoL and change how they did business. Robb Clarke was originally going to be a headwriter and booker of his own, third brand for the PWA, but Villiano wanted none of it. So, very abruptly, SoL and Villiano canceled the brand, but really just Robbs involvement, and then proceeded to ban Robb, Jaro, and others for being creative when they were both at the top of the card. Thusly, what people call Pyrogate happened and FMW was born.

Its funny how things work out.

So now the hot button issue is everyone wants to dip their hands in a shoot.

You want a shoot? Heres your fucking shoot.

You see, here at FMW we’re falling into the same stupid trap as before. The same fucking idiotic, self-loathing cycle of shit we put OURSELVES into, and it all stems from the fact that the people at the top have either forgotten or refuse to remember what its like back at the bottom.

Its funny, really, because the people at the bottom cream themselves over the approval of those at the top, tripping over each other to be first in line to be spat on.

The fact, however, is this. Most of the people who run this place don’t care about you. They don’t care about your efforts, they don’t care about your talents. I doubt most of them even read your work. They don’t really want to make you better, they want you to just search out their word as some sort of ego boost.

And all of you comply. Happily I might add.

The truth is that what you all think is being built for you, isn’t. You think people are going to get shots? No. These people haven’t designed it to be that way. Take a look at DGS. Hes supposed to be the “hottest rookie” around. Yet once again hes fed someone else whos not expected to show up. The “undefeated” streak stumbles along, good on you, but when is it high time that you get a shot at something? The fact is clear that this place isn’t made to have talent rise to the top, the people who call the shots have just designed it for appeasement.

That’s all this is. APPEASEMENT. Look at the Celt, he’s been here almost since the gates opened, he puts in how many hours here trying to have a character, trying to build things for himself, and he’s just barely left the midcard after 2 years. It took people getting tired of this place and leaving for him to even be mentioned at having some sort of movement on the card. Congrats, Celt. Better get some shades for that bright future.

Look at Hannibal Frost. Instead of his triumph at winning the abandoned championship, the focus is instead, once again, on the higher ups, when Skyler came out said that the abandoned belt isn’t good enough for him anymore, then proceeded to create his own match, and threw in as much as he wanted to about how great Skyler is, how he held the belt for 300 days, how he parted the seas, etcetera. Oh, and Hannibal won the belt too, but that’s only really a side note. Congrats.

You want more you say? Look at DeAndes. He comes back, again, and changes the graphics because that’s what he thinks makes him important, again. He didn’t have to, he chose to, and in doing so then proceeded to chastise and cajole people for asking him about the job he volunteered for, but his “rise to power” has been excellent, according to people like the Celt, people like you. Why does he deserve anything over anyone else who has been here and put their efforts in when other people would not? No, that’s not the question people ask. Maybe because they don’t want their feelings hurt when he chastises them. I wouldn’t worry about it though, he’ll probably be gone by September, but again. Do you see? The cycle is complete.

However, rises to power are interesting topics to discuss arent they? Its not really his fault for taking what everyone so willingly gives him. They’d rather remain non-confrontational than see what they’ve earned given to them. I suppose you’re all content continuing to wait, hoping to get a shot someday. Am I right? Of course I am. Take a look at the people in charge now. Try to retrace their “rise to power”. Perhaps we shouldn’t worry about the past and its paranoia though, and perhaps we should look to this moment in time. Hell, the future too.

The people here who measure our “competitiveness” have no guideline or bar as to what they give you or why they have to. They grade on opinion, but really more often its grading on name value, position on the card, or what other people said about your works.

Want proof? This is a quote from a conversation I had with someone who rates. Actually, its what they opened up multiple conversations with:


“Lol, you got raped by Edible. Its probably because I gave you a really low score lololol”



They tried to implement a “tell me why you gave a number” to the staff and raters, but lets be honest you can make up any reason for it or really have something sound genuine. Like when someone told me this:

“I gave you a respectable Seven. I gave you that because you really weren’t in your promo.”



Or how about this:

“I think [Wrestler A] had a better promo than [Wrestler B], but I think it’d be funny to see him lose, so I gave him a lower score. Lol”



But then again, I doubt they even really read the product you all create. Prove it? Look at this:

“[Name withheld] really doesn’t rate on how good the promos are, he just gives out numbers based on how high up the card you are, lol.”



Or maybe even this:

“They didn’t include [Name Withheld]’s numbers last time because apparently he dropped everyones scores by a good half point.”



Open your eyes, people. The people who care the least are the ones pulling the strings. They want to see THEIR egos, THEIR projects, THEIR babies taken care of, and fuck all whoever else happens to be on the same show and its blatant.

And now, these same people want to continue pulling strings. They think its funny how things happen in the fed. They do things for their own entertainment, while continually trying to find ways to make the roster silent and you all trip over yourselves trying to be the first in line to get spat on by these very people.

Apostasy is a character in FMW who has continually time after time underperformed and underachieved. He gimped his way along the ranks because, lets be honest, not everyone is going to be main event. So now apparently its humorous to have this character make its name off of me. The person who time and time again carried this place through the valley of the shadow of death. The person who never turned his back on this place. Lets be frank, my name is a good one to try and make someone elses off of.

However, it all doesn’t make sense to me. Here is Apostasy, someone that literally almost nobody cares about, finally deciding to put in some sort of effort, and immediately he’s applauded. Heres a pat on the back and an “atta boy” for your trouble Apostasy and, again, everyone followed. Its happened before, and its happened again.

The people in charge here that deem it important enough to decide to sway match “outcomes” how they please strike again, living lavishly on the sweat and backs of everyone else in the roster, and while they chuckle at what they make us do, everyone else willing follows in some hopes to get a scrap from the table. You all are afraid to defy the people up top, when they need us more than we need them. We are the ones that continue to make them ‘popular’. We are the ones that continue to let them run the show how they want, let them do what they want to do, not us, but lo, instead of rising up united in one voice, we continue to wait meekly, the truth being the people can think less of us than we pretend they do.

Well, quite frankly Im done waiting for something to happen. Im done letting people decide my fate. Im done letting people try to copy my gimmick and jock my angle, because theyre not original and creative enough to get it over themselves. Let me drop some knowledge on you, FMW. I hope I’m proven right. Keep a sharp eye out for my match. Let the world see what ‘reward’ Apostasy will get. I’m going to crush him, even if you all wont let me, because I need to save FMW, but none of you deserve to have it saved for you. FMW was once great. It was a place I put in countless hours of effort. I’ve done more for this place in my time here than anyone could ever come close to claiming they’ll do, and that’s fact.

So Im going to do whatever it takes to destroy THIS FMW, because this FMW is fake. Its an illusion. Its impossible for something I made so great to become so tarnished in such a short period of time, left in the hands of miscreants and underperformers.

I’m going to save FMW, but I’m going to save it for myself.

Because none of you deserve it.

Love,
Nick Bryson.
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Matt Dunn

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FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeWed Jul 21, 2010 6:22 pm

They call you Cactus Sam…
The sickest man in wrestling today…
The myth who hung Vengeance alive…
Barbed wire scars, countless bones broken,
And more chair shots than any man should have to endure…
Some say you feel no pain, but I know that isn‘t true…


People always ask me, “Why do you want to get back in the ring Sam?” This was when they weren‘t scolding me for wrestling for a year with a tumor in my brain, or trying to dig around my inner psyche to try to figure out what makes me tick; I fucking hate my shrink. The piece of shit always seems to make the same mistake, thinks he can get in my head; the man knows what I’ve done…

You see, when I was just a kid, just twenty; I tried to make a better life for myself. I’d dropped out of school, see, and after Dunn got dropped by the girl of his dreams and started fucking her best friend and his entire network of friends fell the fuck apart around him, I was studying. Psychology, of all things.

So this shrink, he knows, he’s got my charts, he knows my past. And he still tries to get in my head, to fix me; I know exactly what the fuck he’s doing, I wrote a fucking paper on this shit for my A levels the second time round.

“Why do you want to get back in the ring Samuel?”

Fuck you this is all I have. I realized that the second time I dropped out of college; working dead end jobs in a chemist chain store.

I’m not going to tell him wrestling is all I have, so I gave the next best answer; equally true;

“I still have business with an old friend of mine.”

Yeah, we’ve fought before, me and Matt. Three times, actually. First was on the last ever New Era Wrestling event; the records were mysteriously lost, nothing to do with the fact Matt was one of the creative genius’ behind the booking of that shit hole, of course.

Second time, it was at the first ever Anxiety, tag match, once again.

The third time, the one match that would have been enough for me; but no, two fuck head Silver Pistols decide to fuck that up for me; my one on one with Matt P Dunn fucking ruined.

You really need to understand something.

I hate Matthew Philip Dunnaker; sorry, I mean Dunn. Let’s keep this kayfabe.

People say to me, “So he dropped you on your head when you were drinking at fifteen, sixteen at a house party. Dude, he was trying to carry you inside so you didn’t freeze or some shit, he was trying to help you.”

Matt has never tried to help anyone or anything in his life, if it didn’t proceed to benefit him in some way shape or form. And it sickens me that people buy his shit. Because people paint me as this simpleton with a lust for violence due to me not having the brains to express my feelings in other ways, but Matt could pass himself off as a fucking Saint.

You see. Matt is, and always was, very skilled at what he does. Matt is a people person. He’s charismatic, I can’t deny him that, he’d strut in to a group of people, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, swigging JD, ask for a light and hit it right off.

He’s either psychic or just understands the way people think far too well; because the amount of times he would eerily guess things he should have had no way of knowing… It freaked people out. But the thing is…

He may have understood the way people think, but he had no understanding of people.

It clicked when he got dumped by his girl the second time, last time, and told me about it. As I said, I was studying psychology, so it was fresh in my mind, but it dawned on me, the man is a psychopath; completely void of remorse.

Superficial charm, grandiose sense of self-worth, a need for stimulation with a proneness to boredom, conning and manipulating behaviors, parasitic, impulsive.

Sound familiar?

And that, is why I hate fucking Dunn.

Because dropping me on my head, and all the shit he did to me after; effectively shaping my life. All of which he’d flaunt in front of my face.

You know who encouraged me to go back to school? Dunn; knowing I would fail again.
You know who told me Mick Foley was in town? Dunn; knowing meeting my hero would ruin the way I perceived my inspiration.
You know who got me addicted to nicotine? Dunn; knowing it would eventually take my health and home.

Matthew Philip Dunnaker took my dream, my health, my home, my friends, my well being, and ultimately, my freedom, without remorse.

And why?

Because he was bored. Because he thought he could use me. And did. The highlight of his career in FMW was due to him using me.

The question used to be, “Why did you put up with him, Cactus?”
But now, come Ammuntion 11.3, the question is, “Why are you going to go through with it one more time?”


The scene opens in a bar; where two men are sat at a table opposite each other. The bar itself is quite crowded, though the two man have the benefit of a rather wide berth, with whispers from the other patrons aplenty.

“Is that Matt Dunn and Cactus Sam?”
“I hear they’re going to put the new champs over at Ammunition.”
“Nah, can’t be. A huge comeback for Sam needs a huge win. It’s gotta be the Cancer for the win.”
“You think those guys can co-exist?”
“Who knows, they may go at each other right now.”

The slightly more presentable Matt P. Dunn raises a black can emblazoned with a golden star to his lips, taking a long swig…


”Remember when you had the fucking balls to actually drink instead of pumping yourself full of caffeine?”

”Remember when you used to be worth a damn as a human being? When you had dreams and aspirations?”

”Pffft. Coming from the man who just can’t get the job done on himself; you’ve always had someone to save your skin from the very start. What exactly are you worth? What are your dreams? That‘s right, out of your fucking reach.”

”Such a cruel statement, so unfounded. It’s almost as if all you’re interested in is causing people pain…”

”You’d know, wouldn’t you Matt?”

”Oh, Samuel, I know everything; I thought you knew that. I know why you’ve never lashed out at me over the course of our two hundred day title reign. I understand you have trouble connecting with people, but you’ve managed it to a degree with myself; because I enable you, Sam.”

”It really fucks me off when you spout all this shit like I’m your tool and shit.”

”You are. Just as you’ve used me to destroy tag team wrestling; which we did. You may disagree, but the moment those tag belts were defended in a singles match, the division was officially dead. It is only now reforming, like a phoenix from the ashes, except no where near as majestic, or powerful. A small sickly bird that teeters on the edge of the nest above a chasm leading only to a final flat line. My only question is, do you still have what it takes?”


I watched as his face contorted; it pained him to be compared to me, to be accused of using people like I do, it vexed him to have his abilities questioned.

My imagery probably didn‘t sit all that well with him either, he‘s never particularly been the biggest fan. We continued to talk back and forth, the same old argument, however, the reality of the situation was of course, he‘d never turn on me in a match, and he knows it. He can‘t afford to take me out of the game, the hunter is nothing without the hunt, after all; so he‘ll do the next best thing if he doesn’t disappear into a Jack Daniels clouded haze and find himself in violation of the welfare program, or institutionalized again, or dead.

He’ll fight. And he’ll project my face on every opponent he comes against, and he will rain down on them with anger and furious vengeance. He’ll want to show me what he could be doing to me. He’ll want to give me a demonstration at could at any minute be my fate. He wants me to know that he is my ‘superior.’ We both know it never will be, my fate, that is; though in Sams case I feel this knowledge may be more subconscious more than anything else.

Because despite his aggression, despite our back and forth; I felt reassured. This was still the same Cactus Sam Garrick. A man who has admitted to me, despite his hatred of me, he acknowledges our styles of combat are quite complimenting.

I bid the man adieu, of course, veiled behind words of utter contempt; I saw no reason to change the record, when clearly, it was a dynamic that made scored both of our second tag team reigns, as well as cementing us as one of the best tag teams to grace Full Metal Wrestling.

My only regret was that I hadn’t arranged a little example of my chess playing ability for our studious opponent; one that would have put my little disappearing act that I’d performed at Vendetta Championship Wrestling to shame in regards to how unnerving it would be; I had a plan, but I just didn’t seem to find the passion to go through with it, as I realized a lack of action would have the Student of the Game on edge for much longer than any mind game I could pull on him. His anxiety could just go as far as to distort his relationship with Alex O’Rion, build up a wall of paranoia.

You see, I am a man with more aces up my sleeve than a normal playing deck has cards; I will always have a weapon; fear, psychological advantages, pre-arranged interferences and alliances, the shovel.

But at Ammunition; I’ll have Cactus Sam in my corner.

Distortion 11.2 may have shown the world, and the FMW talent that no amount of harm to my body will cause me to stop; I think I proved this in climbing a barbed wire cage; simply because I cannot be stopped when my goal is in sight; no force of nature or act of God can stop me. Lady fate may step in my path, but she’ll be removed like every other obstacle in my life, be they circumstance, opponents or even demonic structures such as the barbed wire cage.

But at Ammunition 11.3, I will show the world, and the FMW talent who have the good fortune to have never experienced it, that one does not beat Cancer; it simply goes into remission.

And the Wayward Sons will know, soon enough, that…


I am Matt P Dunn…
Some call me cold and mechanical…
I call myself the greatest tag team champion of all time…
Wayward Sons…
Alex O’Rion, Chris Austin…
It’s time to visit the learning tree…
And there will be;
No laughter! No regret! No remorse!
Just two more victims for my waxwork museum…
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Cactus Sam

Cactus Sam


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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeWed Jul 21, 2010 6:22 pm

They call you Matt P Dunn…
A tumor in the heart of FMW…
The legend who electrocuted John Derrick within an inch of his life…
You have controlled, manipulated…
and lied to men your entire life…
Some say you are fear itself but I know what you really are…


People always ask me ''what does it feel like to be the creature from under the bed?'' There was once time where this was all but a dream, where the fruits of my labour were but only just growing, ripening even in the orchard of my imagination. Whilst only a teenager, fate would have it seen that a invaluable weapon of numerous applications would be dropped at my feet. I can’t deny that the circumstances that led to my acquisition of Sam were due to a young cocksure attempt at manipulation whilst lacking the full skills needed to apply my training fully, however the resulting effect were beyond what I could ever dream for the simpleton.

As time passed however my attention was pulled in different directions, whilst I didn’t doubt that Sam would have his uses in the future, there were more opportune distractions being offered elsewhere. By my absence though, I could have never imagined that just by not being there I was manipulating him more than I thought would ever be possible.

They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, such a cliché line fit only for dollar store romance books and completely subjective to the person and case. In Sams case, the line absence makes the hate grow too bitter levels would be more fitting whilst not almost as catchy, his hate grew and grew and all through my time away he was searching for me. Now Sam has kept quiet to me about this part of his ongoing journey for redemption, I can only hope that it was full of dirty European countries and dilapidated bars where the closest equivalent of Jack Daniels would be John Danielsons special label, something so small that would annoy him to no end that still brings a smile to my face.

The thought that makes me salivate the most though, is the look on his face, the deep hate and feeling of foolishness brewing in his eyes, as he looks up to one of the TV’s in these dives of a bar and sees my baby faced freshness on a European syndication of FMW, me holding up the Tag Team championship next to my tag team partner and ‘friend’. I was in plain sight the whole time and through his searching of every circus travelling through any country at one time, he had been blinded and missed the most obvious place for someone with an ego as large as ‘Matt Dunns’ to be hiding.

It seems rather obvious to me as to why Cactus Sam took such a disliking to the tag team titles in general, a tag team signifies; team work, knowing your partner inside out and most importantly friendship. Something that Sam will never be able to truly feel. Although I believe he came rather close with Chase, the way that man let him down and disappeared pushed him over the edge, after this point it became his obsession to rid FMW of teams, to try and break up the friendships that slapped him in the face; SPARTA, The Silver Pistols, The Vendetta, The O’Rion brothers all glaring examples of what he could only dream to have.

Now all that remains is why only just now has he decided to resurface? A less intelligent man would say that it was to finish what he started with me, I would tell that man should Sam do that and if (a rather laugh worthy notion) succeeded, his ultimate purpose in life would be gone, something that would tear him apart from the inside. I find myself asking if it is the fact that the Wayward Sons show a sign of friendship, a deep rooted understanding of their allegiance and this has forced Sams hand back into action. The more important question I find myself asking is ‘Does he still have what it takes?’

A crowded bar buzzes as a wealth of workers celebrate another weekend earned after a long week stuck in their monotonous jobs. The drink flows freely and people move freely from table to table saying their hellos to old friends long forgotten and new friends the courage of drink allows. In the centre of activity sit’s a table stuck in a moment, a portrait of two battle scarred veterans, both of which carry it very differently. The first of which raises a cigarette to his mouth, he inhales long and hard before blowing a plume out that almost spells out a giant FU to the smoking ban. The other is dressed in a formal manner but casually sips on an energy drink, even though both men seem casually slumped on their chairs an air of tension is still very obvious with even the odd patron stopping to examine and casually gossip about the two men. These men are Cactus Sam and Matt Dunn.

Cactus Sam: Remember when you had the fucking balls to actually drink instead of pumping yourself full of caffeine?

Cactus Sam takes a large gulp of his trademark Jack Daniels and coke almost as if to hammer the point home to Matt. He places the drink back on the table and looks at it longingly almost as if he took no pleasure from the swig. Matt seems to notices this and attempts to stifle a small smile before replying.

Matt: Remember when you used to be worth a damn as a human being? When you had dreams and aspirations?

That stung. Don’t try to deny it, but why? When have I ever cared before?

Cactus: Pffft coming from the man who can’t get the job done by himself; you’ve always had someone to save your skin from the very start. What exactly are you worth? What are your dreams? That’s right out of your fucking reach.

Matt: Such a cruel statement, so unfounded. It’s almost as if all you are interested in is causing people pain…

Cactus: You’d know wouldn’t you Matt?

Matt: Oh Samuel, I know everything, I thought you knew that. I know why you’ve never lashed out at me over the course of our two hundred day title reign. I understand you have trouble connecting with people, but you’ve managed it with me to a degree; because I enable you Sam.

Should be angry, should be seething, this glass in my hand should be shattered into pieces and planted firmly in the front of his fucking skull…but I can’t…because it’s all true, every last word. I should’ve ended this long ago. I could of, a shared hotel room one night on the road, I could of ended it all. But I didn’t. ‘Cause if I did there’d be nothing left, as if all this isn’t worthless enough as it is. If I ended him. There’d be no point to any of this.

Cactus: It really fucks me off when you spout all this shit like I’m your tool and shit.

…even though its true. I don’t care about this place enough anymore to put myself through it all again. Yet for some reason I’m going through with it, back to the lap dog act, back to putting my body through it all over again when my heart just isn’t in it.

Matt takes in another swig of his energy drink as he lets his words fully stew within Sams head, watching and savouring every minute scrunch and change in his face. Ever small showing of inner torment.

Matt: You are. Just as you’ve used me to destroy tag team wrestling; which we did. You may disagree, but the moment those tag belts were defended in a singles match, the division was officially dead. It is only now reforming, like a phoenix from the ashes, except no where near as majestic or powerful. A small sickly bird that teeters on the edge of a nest above the chasm leading only to a final flat line. My only question is;

Do you still have what it takes?

Do you still have what it takes?

Do you still have what it takes?

A dozen drinks and venom filled exchanges later Sam finds himself back on the street, Matt had disappeared like a phantom in the night a mere second after leaving the pub knowing he had already caused the damage, that those seven simple words would be swirling around Sams head from now until the final bell at Ammunition is rung. An arrogant thought that has the potential to be his downfall.

Do you still have what it takes?

The words seem to echo around the towering buildings of Birmingham projecting back at Sam like giants throwing boulders of pure spite and poison towards him. His cigarette glued to his mouth, he walks around the backstreets of the city aimlessly, the only other sign of life other than his movement coming from his mouth which periodically exhales thick clouds of cancerous smoke.

What makes The Waywards Sons so special? Why wouldn’t I still have it? I have conquered people who saw would call themselves God. I have destroyed those that seemed indestructible. I have ended fucking careers in that ring. Those two will be no fucking different.

Another unplanned sharp turn, another cigarette stub discarded and quickly replaced with a fresh Marlboro red. The fresh nicotine coursing through his veins brings about small bursts of clarity which in turn leads back to the self doubt plaguing Cactus.

On the other hand, that was a long time ago. Things change, Chris Austin is no longer the green ring rat he was back then. Years have passed and he has become…wiser…more in tune with his abilities. And me? I’m older, rusty…weaker…and maybe I just don’t care enough to win this.

My drive has gone, when I look in the mirror in the morning my eyes no longer scream out to me. They whimper, they whimper to be put out of their misery.


Two men stand in the door way of an old building talking amongst themselves and smoking, one of the men looks up a small buzz of excitement hits him as he realises the man who is walking past them. He nudges his friend and points.

Man 1: That’s Cactus Fuckin’ Sam!

Man 2: Who?

Man 1: Cactus Sam! From FMW? Remember that wrestling shit we used to watch when we were younger? He was that crazy dude that hung that guy in the cage!

Man 2: Oh fuck yeah! Hey man wait up!

The two men run ahead and stand in front of Sam, his head bowed down he slowly looks up at the two men now standing in front of him. Cactus feels so small again, like his first day at school awaiting a beating from the two bullies who tormented his younger years.

Man 1: Hey man, you were so fucking cool back in the day! Hey let me get a picture of you putting me in a headlock!

Cactus simply looks down at the floor again bringing his cigarette back up to his mouth and inhaling heavily, he tries to walk past the two men but the second man pushes him backwards.

Man 2: Hey buddy, my mate said he wanted a fucking picture!

Man 1: Is it me? Or did he used to look much more tougher back in the day?

Man 2: Yeh well he’s lost a lot of weight now and he’s looking a lot older, I bet you could take him on Steve.

Without missing a beat the man known as Steve slaps Sam hard around the back of the head, a smack usually saved for friends and naughty children. Cactus looks up slightly then looks down again.

You think The Wayward Sons are just gonna slap you round the fucking head? Get fucking angry, FUCKING FINISH THIS!

The 2nd man places his foot behind Cactus’ leg whilst Steve lands a massive punch on his face sending him flying backwards and onto the floor. The two men proud at flooring the once twisted Sam laugh and high five each other like immature children on a playground who just bested someone in a fight.

Man 1: Hey dickhead? Gonna fight yet?

A quick boot to the gut by the second man and another fist to the face from the first makes a large gash, over Sams eyebrow blood starts to quickly trickle down and into his eye.

Is this what you’re gonna fucking do at Ammunition? You just gonna sit their whilst they pound into you? They won’t care if you’re having a little crisis of faith, they’ll bring the fucking chemo and put you out for good. Is that what you fucking well want?

Cactus Sam raises to his feet, both men stop cheering each other and watch cautiously waiting for any sudden attack. Sam raises his hand to his face and pulls his hand back to assess the damage. A superficial cut, the light red blood, not the dark black colored that had adorned his shower upon many painful nights. He screws his face slightly in an attempt to show anger, a failed attempt almost as if he has forgotten what the expression looks like. More and more blood begins to blur his vision, he swears he can now see Alex O’Rion and Chris Austin laughing and pointing into his face, his anger becomes much more clear as he raises his fist to the surrogate Alex O’Rion he contorts his face into a sick twisted smile that has been seen so many times it should be tattooed on his face. Pulling his fist back he goes in for the strike…before it can reach its intended target he drops it down to his side, his smile dropping with his fist. Another punch comes flying his way into his gut.

Man 2: COME ON YOU FUCKING MORON FIGHT BACK! What happened to the Cancer huh? The unbeatable team?

Matt’s probably watching from afar, is this what you want him to see? Do you want him to see how fucking weak you’ve become? Do you want to prove him fucking right? You could down these two fuck heads straight away! FIGHT BACK!

FIGHT BACK

FIGHT BACK

FIGHT BACK

Punch after punch rains down on Cactus the attack leaving him a bloody mess, through his black eyes he can just about make out the two assailants walking off, happy in the knowledge that they bought pain upon a man they were lead to believe could not be hurt, could not be put down; someone who would not quit. Looking up at the roof top Sam can just about make out a figure watching down, he can’t see his face clearly, but he doesn’t need to, he knows upon his face there is a twisted smile that mouths along;

Do you still have what it takes?

Do you still have what it takes?


I am Cactus Sam…
Some call me deranged and sadistic…
I say I don’t have what it takes anymore…
Wayward Sons…
There will be no challenge from me…
No surprise attacks…
Because I just don’t have anything else left to give…
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 22, 2010 3:27 pm

Beautiful Monster(s)

”One”

“Two”

“Three”

“Four”

“Five”

“Six”

“Don’t you drop it! Let’s go”.

He’s pushing her well beyond her capacity but the glimmer in her eyes tells a different story. She lets out a primal scream, forcing the 100lb. weight up.

“Seven! Push, Lady, PUSH!”

“Eight! Gimme two more!”

“I can’t!”, she protested.

“Can’t? CAN’T?! You told me that word does not exist for me anymore. If it doesn’t exist for me, you sure
as hell are not gonna use it against me. Now, lift that weight now!”

She struggles, her arms starting to give out on her. As she looks up at the gargantuan standing over her, her eyes crinkle; a smile must be hidden underneath that veil. She has him right where she wants him: motivated and focused. A few months earlier, he would not be pushing her; it would be quite the opposite. Through his association and partnership with this Masked Lady, he found strength and not of the physical nature. She coddled and nurtured the beast until he was ready to be unleashed. No longer held down and restricted from communicating, she taught him the ways of the world: every characteristic she wanted in a man, she instilled in him, yet, he is still free.

He’s a brute.

He’s violent.

He’s intelligent. (well, developing…)

He’s articulate. (again…developing)

He’s protective.

And somewhere underneath the filth, psychosomatic thoughts and revulsion lies a man with a heart…or at least a heart facsimile. But showing her or anyone that side is forbidden; when he did want to show his emotions and heart, he was degraded. ‘Idiot’, ‘shit stain’ and ‘worthless’ were the buzzwords he lived by and believed for years. Now, it’s a different story.

With another burst of energy, she lifts the weight.


“Nine! One more, Lady! You can do it! Lift that shit, bitch!”

His only downfall: she taught him how to curse.

“Excuse me?”, she muttered while completing her last rep.

“TEN! You did it! I knew you c..”.

*SLAP*

“What the hell was that for”, said X.

“You may be a monster ‘unleashed’ but you will respect me”, Lady said standing tall and firm against the
towering giant.

“Yeah, next time, a simple ‘don’t call me that will do’. You may be a woman…”

“Lady”, she interrupted.

“…lady…but your hands are as butch as mine”.

Lady rolls her eyes at X which elicits a smirk across his face. But that smirk quickly turned into a frown when the Man in Red enters the gym. If looks could kill, Lady would be dead. As Saint Michael Dreamkiller saunters into the gym, he stares daggers at wom…lady who he felt stole his Monster from him. Dreamkiller does not lose and most certainly not to a lady. But, he cannot penetrate this unspeakable bond that these two have cultivated: no matter how hard he has tried. But, anyone that knows this man can tell you he never gives up.

“X, you’ve got a tag match with Gabriel Crow against the Broken Whores. I refuse to call them ‘saints’. I’m the only saint in this trashy company”, exclaimed Dreamkiller. “Let’s get this promo over with”.

“He will when he’s ready. Right now, he’s training me. Catalyst is just around the corner and my date with the sweet Leviticus is approaching. I must look superb for my date”, she said.

This new feeling of rejection does not appeal to Dreamkiller. It’s his way or the highway and now he’s driving down a road in which he does not know how to navigate; a road less taken, if you will. A road that has been filled with winding curves and falling rocks. He is used to being the captain, now, he’s a lowly mate.

“Ok…but I don’t have all day to wait for your ‘session’ to end”.

“Oh, you’ll wait and you’ll love it, Michael”, said X, standing up for Lady. “As I said to you before we returned, I’m here for pain. I’m here for gold. I’m here for me. Your wishes and demands mean jack shit to me and as I’ve warned you before, you mess this up and I kill you. I don’t mean meta…metaph…”

“Metaphorically”, Lady said.

“Metaphorically. I mean I will literally end your life. You’re on my train now and I’m the conductor”, X tells Dreamkiller as he leans in close to his face. Eye contact was usually forbidden for X. Now, his eyes tell the story; a story that doesn’t have a happy ending for Dreamkiller.

“Fine, have it your way. I’ll be upstairs. Eating. Peanut Butter Oreo cookies…seem…great to me…”.

Rejected yet again, Dreamkiller turns and storms off…as fast as his limp and cane will take him.

“Thanks, X”, said Lady.

“I told you, we’re in this together. I would never have said that if it weren’t for you. This journey will be different and with you by my side, I am unstoppable”.




~~~




Dreamkiller bursts into the room and frantically searches for something. Throwing everything around, he starts digging through some pockets and pulls out a piece of paper. On it is a phone number in which he dials.

“Yes, my name is Saint Michael Dreamkiller. I just need some information from you. Have you ever had someone that goes by the name of ‘Lady’ stay at your group home?"

*inaudible*

"Why am I asking? That’s none of your damned business just answer the question".

*inaudible*

"She’s about 5’3”, 120lbs…"

*inaudible*

"I don’t know what she looks like, you moron! She’s decked out from head to toe in black. For all I know she could be plotting to bl.."

*inaudible*

"…hey, underling, I don’t care if you thought that was racist. You don’t get paid to have a conscience and neither do I. Now, can you help me or not?"

*inaudible*

"Yeah, well, your mom’s a coke whore heffer".

Dreamkiller shouts as he throws the phone on the bed. Suddenly, a voice from behind him startles him. It’s the Lovely Lady standing in the doorway with her arms crossed and standing stoic. She slowly approaches Dreamkiller who is sitting on the edge of the bed. Now standing in front of him, she looks down on Dreamkiller.

“Having fun?”, she asks.

“Oh yes, tons. I can barely control myself”, says Dreamkiller nervously.

“That’s…good. Listen Michael, I know you think that something is up with me just coming in here and really stealing your only shred of life and light away from you and you’re willing to do anything and I mean anything to get rid of me. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t expect anything less than that. So, do what you must do. But I will warn you, if you continue nosing around in my business, I’ll put what Lorraina Bobbitt did to shame.

You will not come between me and my Beautiful Monster. *chuckles*

‘Til next time…”

Bold.

Daring.

Intimidating.

Words that often describe a man are now reserved for the Lady that strutted out his doorway. Saint Michael Dreamkiller may be a fearless man but the words of the fairer sex may have shaken him more than he’d ever want to admit.





~~~




We arrive backstage where the Creatures are getting ready for their pre-match promo. Veronica Cherry wood steps on scene and begins fluffing up her hair. X, Dreamkiller and Lady walk onto the set looking as pissed and irritable as ever. Before the cameras roll, Lady whispers something in Cherrywood’s ear which causes her to drop the mic and run away. X looks at Lady and gives her a wink and she nods in approval. The director gives them the signal telling them they are on.

X: It seems as though we’ve caused a little stir here. Everyone knew it was coming but no one knew who would be our first victim. Normally if someone else were in charge, our target would be the “predictable”. But I got to thinking “what would defeating Ammunition’s C-4 Champion Drew Michaels, again, prove? Or tossing Chris Austin off of a high platform? Or shoving a size 12 boot down the throat of The Celt? I’ve been there and done that.

My path of pain needs new hikers and just like in every scary movie, there’s always one idiot that knows the bad guy is there but is oblivious to what to do next.

Lady: My sweet Leviticus, why did you stand in the way of the big bad monster? Why didn’t you run? Were you trying to…spare me? Is that what your leader expects of you because I’m a lady?

Ha!

You’ve got a tough choice ahead of you, my dear. Who do you choose; the word of your Leader or…yourself? The choice seems easy but knowing your kind, you will make it more complex and arduous than it needs to be.

X: While you ponder those decisions, I’ll make one for you and everyone else in that ring; tonight Leviticus and that gutless malingerer Romeo will feel my wrath. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your pussy-filled attack on Dreamkiller after I disappeared. Did I enjoy it? Yes. But…I’d love to see you try it on the person it was intended for. As for my partner, Gabriel Crow, one false move tonight and it may be your last. I didn’t forget you talked your way into and STOLE MY spot in War Games. Another opportunistic bastard; you see how I’ve muted this fat sack over here? You get in my way tonight and I won’t hesitate to snatch your tongue out of your mouth.

Tonight I reacquaint the world to THEIR Monster.

Tonight I showcase to the world what I am really capable of.

Tonight, I’ll make sure the Broken Saints becomes literal.

And no SAINT (X shoots a chilling look to Dreamkiller standing beside him) living or dead is going to stop me!

X sharply turns to the left and walks off camera.

Lady: ‘Til tonight, my sweet Leviticus. ‘Til tonight…

Lady follows behind X leaving Saint Michael Dreamkiller standing there.

St. Michael Dreamkiller: Who knew…he had it in him? Hmph…
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Omega

Omega


Posts : 1680
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Age : 35
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Championship: Abandoned Championship

FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 22, 2010 3:47 pm


Striker: You'll never reach the level of the Abandoned Championship, you're just a lowly midcarder with your 15 minutes of fame.

Caprice: I don't care how tough you really are, you'll never be able to survive here. You're too one dimensional of a wrestler, and your lack of faith makes you weak.

Dunn: You're a blasted opportunistic vulture; feeding on my scraps. You won't have the good fortunate a second time, my hand picked Champion.

Dunnwood: Ah' dun care if yu win er lose, I wi'l still kill you soon'r rather tha' later.

Apathy: You are all bark, and no bite. New Age Punisher? More like washed up,broken, never will be superstar.

Romeo: You're probably the most worthless member of The Saints, why you have this match is beyond me because you clearly don't deserve it.

Mark: I have faith in you my friend, you can do this, this is your time to step up and take what you have always wanted, and I will always have your back.

Celt: Omega, you're tough but you need to think more with your head and not your heart in this match.

Apostasy: Seth we have fought three times, and you have won 2 out of the 3. If you come with the intensity I expect you to come in with you'll be the champ by the end of the night.

Drew: This win will make you the next big thing, don't screw this up I've put a lot on the line for you.

Hannibal: You'll never be on my fucking level...ever.

Love and Hate.

Faith and Doubt.

White and Black.

I smell
fear.

It’s always the same fucking story day after day. Always the same people on two sides of the fence. You either love what I do, or you can't stand who I am.

The same words always surround me, I am always the one overlooked because I didn't come from some fancy training school, I didn't come from the nuts of some famous wrestler, I'm not friends with so and so which automatically makes me a shitty wrestler.

But I give all I have every single time I'm in the ring. I am out there trying to do what I know how to do best, I am out there trying to win, out there trying to survive, every victory is another paycheck, every loss is a significantly less paycheck.

Everybody wanted to write me off for dead after a couple of losses. Well I am not dead yet, and Hannibal I will be damned if you will bury me. It's too bad that it has come to this, but in the end I come out on top. I come out the champion. And you?

Just another victim.

In the Hebrew Bible the name Seth is known as the chosen one. He was chosen by "God" to replace Abel who was slain by Cain.

In the Islam world the name Seth is considered the name of a Prophet, one to lead his people into the next generation of believes.

In the Egyptian world, the name Seth translates to Set, or the God of Chaos.

Omega. In the Greek Alphabet it is the last letter. It is often used to associate the end is near, and in many cases it is also used to make known that someone died. In a time far back, they used Omega to signal that the person was dead, listed the birth date as the Alpha, and the death date as the Omega.

The writing is on the wall Hannibal. It has always been on the wall. You are coming into a new world, you are facing a new opponent. I will unleash chaos on you, and all you will see is your Omega in the near future. I will shut the casket door on your body, and then you will know. I am the chosen one. I am the prophet that will lead Distortion to a new level, the next level is you will.

Go ahead Hannibal, show me how defenseless you really are...


Seth Omega stood outside the building that was once known as the School of Hard Knox. He looked up at it in the dark while he leaned against the hood of his Charger.

Omega: I can't believe you're actually gone baby, this time for good. We had so many memories inside those walls.

The building stood still as the only sound the night made was the sound of crickets chirping in the distance. Words of the past ran through his head.

Bump, bump, bump, get back up and bump again Seth!

Omega: Seems like everyone we once knew inside that gym is dead. Asai is dead, Komona is dead, Dallas Roland is dead, Hammond Egger is dead...even Gray is dead now. Guess it was only a matter of time before either you or I died huh?

Still silence.

The wrestling business is the only business where you'll encounter your own personal demons, stand on top of the world, and lose it all in a matter of months at the same time.

Omega: Where did the days go? Where did everything go? Who would have ever thought we would make it this far. If you would have told me I would be wrestling for a top prize in one of the top wrestling feds when I was 16 I would have said you were nuts. I expected to be working in some small ass store, or some small ass restaurant, struggling to pay the bills.

Omega stares down and looks at the ground deep in thought, his words become quieter and he speaks in a softer tone.

Kid, don't ever bank on making a living on Indy wrestling. You'll get paid shit no matter how good you really are, so make sure you have a backup plan.

Omega: Guess it is kind of funny I still can't pay the bills even with a better job. Don't worry love, I won't let them whore you out into something you don't want to be.

Seth reaches in his car and pulls out a half empty bottle of wine, inside the top part of the bottle an old washrag hangs out.

Seth, you're one of a kind. You are the first student I have had here that has cared about this place, cared about what you're doing, cared about the business, and cared about making yourself better. How would you like to come to Japan to wrestle me?

Omega: Asai, I don't know if you can hear me, I don't know if you are around, but I just wanted to say I am sorry it has come to this.

Omega reaches into his pocket and pulls an orange lighter out of his pocket, he flicks it softly bringing a small dancing flame to life above his hands. Without another word he lights the washrag on fire and waits for it to catch ablaze before chucking the lit bottle through one of the few windows in the building. As he sees the building start to burn he tosses the lighter into the fire and gets inside his car. With the turn of the wrist the Charger fires up and Omega backs out of the parking lot before speeding off in the night.

Omega: Rest in peace, you'll always hold a place inside my heart like the extended family I met inside those walls.

As Seth looks in the rear view mirror he sees the building explode behind him. He keeps a straight face and holds his foot to the acceleration.


Sometimes it is often asked how I could be so cold, so distant. I come across as a very machine like fighter who will destroy you at all costs. As bad as this sounds, I actually learned a lot from my father...



19 Years Ago.


Somewhere is a small Philadelphia suburb.

The scene opens up with medium sized Italian Woman standing in the kitchen over the stove. She appears to be cooking as a young Seth Corleone plays with a deck of cards in the corner. The door opens and large footsteps are heard coming through the living room.


Mama Corleone: Honey, is that you?

The sound of a recliner legs being kicked up and the television being turned on echos into the kitchen from the living room.

Mama Corleone: Honey? Did you hear me?

Papa Corleone: Yeah I fucking heard you, now leave me the fuck alone you worthless cunt.

Mama Corleone: Don't talk to me like that, I hav...

Papa Corleone: I swear to Jesus Christ if you don't shut the hell up and let me watch my show I am going to get out of this chair and put you in your fucking place.

With that my adopted mother turned around and walked back into the kitchen with tears in her eyes. She slowly walked back to the stove and continued cooking in silence.

Looking at the family portraits you would never have guess we came from a broken home. But the truth of it was, my adopted mother was Puerto Rican and my adopted father was Italian. My birth parents were Japanese and Italian, but the strain between my adopted parents was a lot. My adopted mother had left Puerto Rico with her brother in the 1970s. She came to America with him to find work, and she found plenty of it as a waitress. She normally would send the money back home to her family, and live with the bare minimum in life. That was until she met my father Alexander Corleone.

He charmed her, swept her off her feet, and she fell in love with an asshole. Being every red blooded male in the world my father took advantage and fucked her. She ended up getting pregnant, and he married her as part of Italian tradition. Sadly when she gave birth to their son the doctors told her that he had a serious heart problem. On top of that her reproductive system was really messed up for some unknown reason and that the baby boy they had was really a miracle.

Alexander didn't see it that way. For years he hated her because their son had died due to a bad heart, and even though they agreed to adopt me it just wasn't the same to him. And now she put up with abuse because she felt guilty, she felt like she had taken away part of his soul, and now she was caught in a tangled web of depression and loathing. All because of him.


Papa Corleone: Hey woman...when the hell is my dinner going to be ready?

Silence came from the kitchen as Seth's mother kept washing the dirty dishes in the sink. He sat in silence at the dinner table doing his homework by now, and didn't pay any mind to his father who was drunk again. The sound of a recliner coming down echoed into the kitchen, Seth quickly looked up and knew that something bad was about to happen. His father walked into the kitchen and glared a hole through his mother. If looks could kill, everyone would have died that night.

Papa Corleone: Hey bitch I was talking to you.

Still she stood in silence, he walked over to her, and grabbed her by the arm before twisting her around. On her arm there was a deep gash where she had taken a butchers knife and ran it into her vein. Blood trickled down her arm and onto the floor as Seth's father looked at her with disgust. He raised a hand and slapped her so hard she fell backwards onto the ground.


Papa Corleone: You selfish little whore...you think you can just kill yourself and leave me stuck with this little bastard right here? Do you think that it is cute to try and kill yourself when I am not looking? You already killed my son, and you fucked up your reproductive tract so you couldn't have another. Then you adopt a pudgy little bastard and you want me to raise him?

He raised his hand to her again, striking it across her face. He hit her so hard it slung blood and snot all over the wall. By this point Seth stood up to confront the man he called dad.

Seth: She's just a woman, leave her alone.

Alexander turned around and stared at the ten year old boy. Without saying a word he shoved the boy into the wall and looked down into his eyes. A rageful look entered his eyes as the young boy looked up with fear.


Papa Corleone: That's right you little bastard, show me how defenseless you really are.

With one final shove he slams Seth against the wall before walking away from the kitchen leaving a young boy and a bloody battered woman laying in the floor.


That was the last time I seen or heard from my father.

That night my mother and I moved to the middle Tennessee area. She took up a job as a waitress to pay the bills, and I worked on honing my skills in the backyards of several friends. It is kind of funny, you would watch the TV and see these stars on there and think to yourself, "man I would love to do that for a living."

If only I knew then what I knew now.

I never had a chance to have these fancy ghost hunting jobs, or I never had the chance to have a genius daughter who made sure I was well to do. I was never a man of God, nor was a man for came from God. I have always, and will always be Seth Omega.

It's funny. Seventy Seven miles separate us now Hannibal. We have lived in the same state for several years, even if I split time in Florida and yet it has taken this long for our paths to cross.

Why?

Because you felt the need to run when I came back. You ran because you knew that you had fucked with my friend. You had fucked with my family. And while he may have forgave you, I won't forgive you until I put your ass in a casket.


Omega pulls up outside a small apartment inside the city limits of Jackson, Tennessee. He steps out of the car and looks around, quickly he notices Mark's car sitting outside. He spits on the ground and begins walking towards his new home. He notices the trees around him, and a smaller city atmosphere even though it was technically still a big city. He walks to the very back apartment towards a small wooded area in the back before arriving at his apartment.

Apartment C-10. Fantastic, let's see what kind of shit hole I am going to live in now.

Seth walks in to see Mark sitting on the couch drinking a beer. He looks around at his apartment which looks basically the same as the one in Tallahassee, maybe even a bit bigger. He grabs a beer out of the cooler next to the couch and sits down next to Mark.

Omega: I really appreciate all your help in getting me moved to this place. I knew you would be good for something someday. How the head feeling?

Mark: Well let's see, I got my ass kicked by Bryson, I got my ass kicked by RCA and O'Rion, then I got my ass kicked by Apathy. Overall it hurts but I am sure I will be fine in due time. What about you?

Seth sighs and takes another swig of beer.

Omega: You know, this is a moment I have been waiting for. I have wanted this for months upon months upon months. Not only getting my hands anywhere near the Abandoned Championship, but getting my hands on HavOc for what they did to my family.

Mark: That still stings you to this day doesn't it?

Omega: Of course it does, they damn near killed my only flesh and blood still alive. Hell even my adopted family is dead, and you expect me to just be up and okay about it since they all turned face?

Mark: Well they seem to have their hearts in the right place Seth, you can't judge a man by his past sins.

Omega: That's fucking bullshit Mark, Hannibal Frost is just as responsible as Harley Quint, just as responsible as Dunnwood was, just as responsible as Jaro was. I have a long list of asses to kick, and Dunnwood was first on the list.

Mark: And what about Matthew P. Dunn? The same Matthew P. Dunn that claimed Annalisa wasn't dead, he claimed he killed her. What are you going to do about that?

Omega: The barbed wire cage was just the first step in that battle, I'll finish that in due time, but this...this happened months ago, if not a year ago.

Mark: So you're just going to come back and try to take out the biggest group of dogs in the pound? Even if your own cousin won't support your actions? He has forgave them, why can't you? He's a man of God, his forgiveness is all they need. What Would Jesus Do?

Omega: I am not Jesus, Jesus wasn't there.

With that Seth stands up and downs the rest of his beer. He walks into the center of the room and paces around, and he smiles at Mark before continuing to talk.

Omega: I am not Skyler Striker, I am not Leon Caprice, I am not Hannibal Frost. I am not the bastardization of this division, I am not what is killing this division, I am not sticking people 25 feet in the air and dropping them on their heads because I think it is "cool".

Mark: And Hannibal was out four months with that neck injury.

Omega: No he wasn't. You can't come back from a neck injury in four months, you can't magically heal what everyone thought was a broken neck.

Mark sits quietly as Seth continues to pace and talk.

Omega: Don't you see what he did? He left FMW because they weren't going to put him over. He was use to being put over because he was part of HavOc, he expected to have everything handed to him and when FMW didn't play ball Hannibal took his ball and went home.

Mark: You don't honestly believe that do you?

Omega: In a company with so many uncertainties what else is there to believe? Now if you don't mind I have a match I need to prepare for.

Mark: Where are you going?

Omega: I am going to Memphis, they have a really nice bars there.

With that Omega leaves out the door on his way to Memphis.


2 hours later


The black Dodge Charger pulls up to an old rustic bar on the East Side of Memphis, Tennessee. Omega quickly gets out of the car and begins walking past the rows of motorcycles and into the bar. As he walks in the bar pays him little attention, as most of them are interested in getting fucked by the cocktail waitress in front of them. Seth takes a seat at the bar as the bar keep walks over to him.

Barkeep: What can I get you bub?

Omega: Give me a shot of Jack, and keep them coming until I say stop.

The bar keep goes to get Seth's shot. While he is gone Omega looks around at all the pool tables and dart boards in the place. He notices a jukebox in the far corner which is playing "I drink alone" by George Thorogood at that moment and time. Seth also notices pictures of Hannibal Frost on the wall, most of them autographed by the current Abandoned Champion. The barkeep comes back with his shot and sits it down in front of him, Seth quickly downs it. As the barkeep goes to pour Omega another shot Seth quickly begins making small talk.

Omega: So does Hannibal Frost come in here often?

The barkeep looks at him funny before putting on his glasses and smiling.

Barkeep: Well shit the bed, you're Seth Omega the guy who is facing Hannibal Frost for that Abandoned Championship at 11.3 aren't you?

Omega: Yeah, that's me. And yeah, I am. I am going face to face with the man who hunts ghosts for a living.

Barkeep: Well good luck to you young man, you're going to need it.

Seth drinks down another shot and takes a picture of a Hannibal Frost trading card out of his pocket. He walks down to an empty dart board and places the picture right square in the center. When he comes back the bar keep pours him another shot, which Seth downs again before looking at the barkeep. Suddenly the song on the jukebox changes to "Staying Alive" by the Bee Gees.


Omega: Are you a betting man?

Barkeep: I sure am, what kind of bet do you want to make?

Omega: Double Bar Tab or nothing says I can hit Hannibal Frost between the eyes from here.

Barkeep: From 100 feet? After 3 shots of Jack? You're on.

Omega stands next to the bar and grabs a dart of the side of the bar. He focuses his aim and pulls the dart back before letting it fly through the air. The dart hits a perfect bullseye nailing Hannibal right between the eyes. Seth turns and smiles at the barkeep before turning around and walking towards the swinging doors. When he reaches the swinging doors he turns and looks at the dartboard with one final message.

Omega: See you later, Space Cowboy.

You say you stare in the face of ghosts, you say you chase ghosts, you say that you have no fear.

You are a liar.

I can see right through you Hannibal, I know all about you and your past.

You bitch and moan, you are overrated, you think you are this mecca to wrestling and promos and in reality you are just a tool.

One.

Huge.

Fucking.

Tool.

So Hannibal, hit me with all you have. I promise I will hit you ten times harder.

I am not Leon Caprice.

I am not Skyler Striker.

I am not Dunnwood, Apostasy, or Syanide.

I am your fucking nightmare, Seth Omega.

And you have my belt...

Go ahead Hannibal, show me how defenseless you really are.


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TyranT




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FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 22, 2010 6:36 pm

([Highlight "Faith: ... " for hidden messages])


It was the graveyard hours of the night, and all was dark in the rented room of the Hilton hotel. Slumber had long taken hold of John ’Doc’ Derrick as he lay half covered by the sheets on the king sized bed. He lay alone, though the crinkles in the sheets shown that another had lay with him. Silence was a terrible curse, but it was also golden as the words went. Faith had always had a talent for moving near as quiet as the silent voice she had become cursed with. When Derrick had slipped away to sleep, still bruised and damaged from his fight the same night, Faith had remained awake, and patiently waited for some hours to pass before she decided to creep away.

Having thrown back on her jeans and her bloodstained white shirt, Faith walked barefoot across the room with her sneakers in one hand, helping to keep the silence in her movements as she made her way towards the door that led to the corridor, the way out. The events following Corruption had taken a turn she had not been expecting, what was suppose to be a quiet drink turned into something else with John Derrick. Faith wondered if there had been something there, whether it was worth staying, or if it was just something that went further then it should have. Whatever her feelings for Derrick and the night they shared, she would deal with them later, what was done could not be undone, but Faith didn’t want to stay here any longer. She turned to look upon Derrick, lying motionless, recalling the serious of events that led to them both sharing the night together.

When she and Derrick left the arena, they were both a mess physically, bearing fresh scars and wounds from a long night. One drink turned into two, two drinks into four, four into eight. Derrick somehow made a connection with her, able to keep talking and keep a pleasant atmosphere despite Faith’s silence. Faith in turn communicated in a way of gestures and smiles she normally saved for VanGuard. It felt stupid at the time, like some game a child would play with grown ups who would humour it, but the alcohol gave her courage, and in turn she found a means of talking without a voice. Nothing seemed so stupid anymore. From there, something changed… and now Faith was leaving after long hours, glad she had booked a hotel stay elsewhere in Jacobson’s hotel. She didn’t know if this was a mistake, or something she dared to enjoy. But she couldn’t stay here… she just couldn’t.


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

My father once told me something that I know I will never forget. It was a month into his renewed contract as the TyranT, and already he was getting back into his old bad habits, letting his shell get the better of him. He thought more like the character he created out of himself rather then the honest man I know him to be. When he spoke the words I think of now, I was still a lonely girl in the asylum, lost to the world and to myself. He spoke to me as Billy McKenzie. He always let me see him for who he really was, not this TyranT that everyone else see’s. Just a man, a proud fool but an honest father.

“Ah’m just a fly, caught in a spider’s web. The only way Ah’m gonna’ survive, is if Ah’ pretend to be a spider, an’ eat the other flies that are caught with me on that web.” He said to me.

My father didn’t like who he was, or what he had become, in some sense he was just as lost as I was. Since I began my campaign here in the FMW, I think back to these words, and I wonder if like my father, I’m a fly caught on a web, trapped in this place with so many fighters just waiting to break me down and rip me apart… or what if, unlike my father, I’m one of the spiders? Resting upon on the web, preying on the weak to devour… which makes me wonder. Am I still trapped in this web like the fly? Dependant on it in order to survive?


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

Clink… clatter… clink

The sounds lightly echoed between the walls of the female lavatory, the place was near empty save for two women. Morning was still fresh, the hours so early many would still consider it night time. The hours of darkness had been especially long, and much had occurred since Corruption came to an end. Luckily the high end, lavish bar within Jacobson’s hotel was open 24/7, allowing those not short of cash to indulge in late night drinks if the mood struck. One such woman was taking her time to freshen up her make up after quite an interesting night with a posh gentlemen from England, having managed to share her number with the fine chap along with a fair share of drinks. The woman was blonde and all curls, bearing a second skin of make up over her face that fashioned her into a doll, a fine specimen for Hollywood eyes as her shapely figure was nearly tucked into a extravagant black dress. Her eyes were dark, her lips a bright contrast of red as she carefully caressed the edge of her mouth with lipstick.

Clink… clatter… clink

It was difficult not to be distracted however as the woman eyed the other that inhabited the lavatory with distain, facing a mirror over an exquisite sink like herself. Often the blonde had paused in her fine arts of face decoration to glare at the other. This other woman like her was freshening up after an interesting night. The young lady was quite a contrast to the blonde. Her dark hair was slightly unkempt, as a fringe hung over faded, jade eyes. Instead of a dress, a form of clothing more appropriate for an establishment like Jacobson‘s hotel, the young woman wore a white shirt, jeans and sneakers. What disgusted the blonde was that her white shirt was unbuttoned, revealing most of the woman’s torso save for her chest which was covered up by a sports bra. Lines of blood trickled down her pale flesh as crimson coated fingers pried at glass shards embedded into the flesh.

Clink… clatter… clink

The bloodied pieces of glass seemed to produce the same song each time they clattered and fell into the sink, washed clean by the steady stream of a running tap. The dark haired woman glared at herself in the mirror, wincing each time she managed to separate one of the shards from her flesh, allowing for a new line of crimson to run down her body, creating small patches of red on her white shirt whenever the blood met with fabric. It was one of a variety of wounds that had been inflicted upon her in the aftermath of Corruption. The blonde shook her head in clear disgust when the black haired woman began to button her shirt back up when the majority of wounds had been picked clean. The dark haired woman dipped her head forward, splashing water over her own face, caring not that she got some of her hair wet in the process which only disgusted the blonde more. It was enough to make her shake her head as the blonde began to pack up her make up bag.

Woman: I do not know what the world has come to.

The woman blurted out, making no attempt to hide her thoughts as she paced off out of the lavatory, leaving her spite to linger in the atmosphere. The black haired woman eyed her as she left, managing a sadistic smile before she turned to look upon herself in the mirror, taking note of the crimson patches on her shirt were her flesh still bled. She loomed closer to the mirror, getting a good look into her own eyes long and hard, trying to see if she could find anything worth looking upon. All her eyes could notice however was the bruising along the bottom left side of her jaw where she had been struck hard. It was a wound the young mute had long become accustomed too since she began to fight in the FMW.

Faith:Neither do I.

Young Faith responded unknowingly to the blonde, before glancing down at the leaflet of the bookings for Corruption 11.3 that lay besides the sink. Faith wouldn’t deny it, she liked what she had saw in the document. It was a fight she longed for, something that should have came to fruition a very long time ago. Faith vs. Skyler Striker. With a smile, Faith placed her hand over the leaflet, specifically placing her bloodied fingers over the image of Striker’s face, managing to smear crimson from her finger tips over the clean cut face of Striker‘s, before clenching her hand tight into a fist, crumbling the image below until her hand shook from the tension.

Faith:But maybe I know how to make it a little better.

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

I watched only because I couldn’t speak to warn the others. But then, even if I could speak, who was there to warn when no one would listen, when no one would open there eyes to see. I watched Skyler Striker break down into something else, long before he even realized it what was happening. A man who so many looked up to, who so many admired. I saw what can only be his true colours when all others were blind to it. Even now, there are those who cling to a pitiful hope that this is just a phase Striker is going though, that there is hope for him, that he will become the man he once was, who so many still admire.

What Striker is now, is the man I believe he has always been. A spider lurking on the web, tormenting and befriending the flies before devouring them when they least expect. I was the only one who wasn’t surprised when Striker took a turn for what many consider the worse, when those true colours began to seep from his shell. The signs had been there all along, people just didn’t care enough to take note of them, and because of that, it was I who had to pay the price first, and it is why I gave up looking for a false sense of humanity within your fallen hero when all others still have hope.


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

Returning into the main lounge of Jacobson’s hotel bar felt like a foreign experience to Faith. It was not an establishment meant for the likes of her, as those few present within the late hours were dressed up as if they were to attend a wedding, or even a funeral. Though out of place, Faith had parted with a fair amount of her wage this week to stay in such an establishment, mostly due to its facilities in the gym area which would prove beneficial for her training during her stay in the area. No one else knew she stayed here save for one she had specifically contacted, a man she hoped to meet as the next Corruption drew nearer. Claiming her table, Faith sat and waited. Having already indulged in a few drinks many hours prior, Faith simply ordered a glass of water, as difficult as it had been with her disability.

Faith sat waiting. She had become good at waiting, for several years she had to wait in a straight jacket in a white room with nothing but her own dark thoughts to keep her company. For all the terrible memories of the asylum, at least she learned the value of patience, and had long become accustomed to the silence that came hand in hand with it.


Clink… clatter… clink

The noise echoed when Faith managed to toss a small, bloodied piece of glass into an empty wine glass that rested on the clean white table sheet. Ever since Ash sent her crashing through the glass pane, Faith kept on finding remnants of glass still in her skin. She looked under her elbow as a few drops of blood tapped against the woollen surface below her elbows, recalling the pain, the adrenaline and the rush when she fought Ash. Her fingers still tingled with pain where the barbwire had dug deep into her skin as she pulled it to choke Ash in a desperate attempt to claim victory over the giant. She remembered wanting to pull harder then her strength would allow, wanting to dig the barb deeper into Ash Strife, wanting to make him bleed like he had done to her. Faith soon realized with such thoughts that it was time for her medication, opening up the small container she carried. She slipped two orange and purple pills into her hand before swallowing them. Since Deathrow, she always checked her medication. Always.

Clink… clatter… clink

The sound again, though heavier this time as she pulled a bigger chunk she must have missed whilst in the lavatory. Many eyes were upon her, a few scattered couples here and there on posh tables, littered with flowers and candles. It all seemed to romantic, hence no one would expect Faith to inhabit a place such as this. Her guest managed to arrive, bearing an attire not all so unlike her own. From the expression alone, Faith could see he felt out of place, giving an uncomforted atmosphere that might work to her advantage given the nature of a their meeting.

Faith put her medication away, not wishing to display her own weakness, one she shared with the individual she requested the presence of. Though Faith had managed to contact the man, she didn’t believe he would turn up. It was not easy to predict Skyler Striker, especially now with all that had changed in his life. His expression was stoic as he looked to Faith, locating her on her own upon a posh looking table. He probably had places he wanted to be, but it seemed he had made the effort to show himself. Any other day, Striker probably wouldn’t have shown his face if Faith requested, but the two were going to fight each other, and that day was drawing very close.


Striker: This place takes things back a little bit. We came here once or twice after we trained didn‘t we? It was nice and quiet and not far from the training grounds or the arena. Funny that you should invite me here. If you were hoping for a last minute training session, those days are gone now Faith.

Faith:You don’t say.

Striker: If this is some attempt to try and bring back the past, and get things back to the way they were with me, you and Leon, your wasting your time. I’m sick and tired of hearing the same things over and over again from the same people! Don’t tell me your just like them with the same demands. I never had any quarrel with you Faith, I didn’t want this damn fight. The FMW championship is all that I’m after, but I am forced to fight you in some farce of a match. When this is over, and after I have defeated you, know this is nothing personal.

Faith glared at Striker with malice. His overconfidence however was not without some element of certainty. He had trained Faith after all, shown her how to fight, and even gave her practical knowledge on how to bring down opponents twice her weight and size. Many of her victories came from not just luck, but her training, most of which came from Striker himself. He would easily be able to read her movements, see her thoughts and know her tactics. All she had over him was her speed, and that wouldn’t be enough if Striker could get into her mind.

Faith:Then excuse me… if I take it personally.

Striker: Listen… Faith. I don’t know what you want, but I’m going to ask you, just stay out of the way on this one. We were never enemies, I never did you any wrong. I did the opposite, I helped you. TyranT was the one who took your championship shot away from you. And Derrick, well, I’m more then aware that he made some kind of move on you.

Faith folded her arms, taking a noticeable deep breath as she kept her stare upon Striker, leaning back in her chair. It was made no secret that Faith had left the arena with Doc, and already whispers began to form of what the two might have been up to the moment they left the arena.

Striker: Funny how John Derrick suddenly wants to be friendly with you. Funny timing with that match coming up involving your old man and me. Don’t you think?

Faith slammed her fist down against the table, drawing attention to them within the posh bar with what few people were around. The last time both Faith and Striker where together, the last time they spoke, he whispered words not all so different from those that escaped his lips now. He spoke of her father, trying to turn her against him, stressing that he was the biggest problem she had in her life. Now he spoke of Derrick being the enemy, a song she was all too familiar with. Everyone was the enemy in Striker’s point of view, everyone but Striker himself. Striker glared at Faith, clearly agitated by her reaction as he realized something was wrong.

Striker: What the hell has gotten into you?

Faith:The problem is you! It has always been you!

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

It first began when Skyler Striker took me in, he did so because no one else would, and claimed he felt responsible for my safety when TyranT was enduring some of his most troubling times. Like a parent, and true to his word at first, I was taken into Striker’s family, into his world amongst those he loved and considered his friends. I felt welcome in this place he brought me too. Like Leon Caprice, he taught me how to fight, he shown me my wings and spoke of what they were capable of. All was well, until I began to have personal problems, problems that forced my hand into joining the FMW. Striker began to treat me differently. When I opened up to him, when I told him of the troubles that haunted me, he said he would help me through them… he said he would help.

He didn’t. The man many admire and saw inspiration in, turned his back on me. He ignored me when I needed him the most. I began to do terrible things to get his attention, hoping he had only missed the troubles that surrounded me. I hurt people that could have become good friends. He knew what I wanted to say, he knew I was in trouble… he turned away from me and eventually Skyler Striker drove me away. He shown me that I had wings, and then he cast me from his home, without teaching me how to use them… without teaching me how to fly. And so I fell. I tried to scream for help. With no voice no one else could hear, that or no one really cared. Striker knew I was in trouble, and he did nothing about it, he just watched, and chose to let me fall. I still feel like I’m falling now.

I saw you as I fell though, I saw Skyler Striker for who he really was, what everyone else failed or simply refused to see..


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

Striker: What’s this?

Faith:The reason I wanted you here.

Along the table, Faith slid a small white card, keeping the message she wrote on it face down. She slid her hand away, leaving bloodied finger print marks on the white surface from picking the glass from herself. Such a sight didn’t seem to unnerve Striker though, but when he turned the card, Faith was finally gifted with a reaction. On the card was written a single word, one Striker knew, since it was a name of considerable relevance to his current condition and his entire situation.

Striker: VanGuard?

Faith nodded, leaning back in her chair once more, folding her arms over her chest. She could see from the look in Striker’s eyes that he was getting the message she tried to portray.

Striker: You’re blaming me… for what happened to VanGuard?

Faith:Not just VanGuard, but he is the one that carries the most importance to me.

Striker laughed, shaking his head in disbelief as he placed his hand against his forehead. He looked to Faith once more, almost glaring as if he tried to bore into her very mind, looking to get a read upon her.

Striker: Are you serious? You think what happened to VanGuard was because of me?!

Faith:He was the only ally I had left to fight besides me, after you drove me away. He was the only one who took me in out of all the so called saints the FMW has. Syanide decided that he wanted to leave a mark on his return to the ring. He took out you and Leon all too easy at Deathrow, and then he really went to work on VanGuard. He damn well ended his career. You could have stopped him! You could have saved VanGuard! Was it really that you were incapable of stopping Syanide?… Or did you just not want to save him? Where you still pissed off that he broke your wrist, that he started your problems… that he hurt you… just like you fucking hurt me!

What Faith would have gave to say the words that came to her head. What she would do to scream at Striker and tell him how badly he had failed her as a friend, and how he had cost her more then he would ever know.

Striker: Faith. I am not your enemy! Syanide was the one who attacked VanGuard and left him the way he is!

Faith:I dealt with Syanide. It wasn’t enough!

Striker shook his head again, clearly losing patience as he could feel the malice coming from Faith, beginning to figure out that her rage was coming from more then just what happened to VanGuard.

Striker: I made a mistake coming here. I thought you were the only person I still had left I might be able to count on, who might actually understand. Instead… you really are just like the rest. Do you know what crap I’ve had to put up with?

Faith:‘Cause it was always about you wasn’t it?

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

Even now, when he had fallen so far, when his true colours were all that anyone can see… Striker still has those who love him. When Striker’s wings failed him so many rushed to try and catch him, even now there are those who try to bring Striker back to who he was, trying to rebuild the shell that could only have been a lie the whole time. It all comes back to how the people, these other fighters, hold him in such high regard. Everyone cares about Striker, even now when he has turned his back on them all, they still care.

Skyler Striker never truly did anything for me. When my father turned against me, when everything I fought so hard to gain was taken away from me… no one came to my aid, not Striker… not the Broken Saints, not Harley or Celt… no one. They all just watched.


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

Striker stood from the table, a clear look of disappointment upon his face. He had heard enough and had no desire to stay any longer. The mute had driven what little patience remained within him.

Striker: Trying to reason with you is just as pointless as talking to you. You want to blame me for what happened to VanGuard and everything? Go right ahead, but know I wasn’t the one that walked out on him like you did. Your certainly the daughter of TyranT given how delusional you are. If it’s a fight that you want at Corruption, it’s a fight you’ll get.

Faith:I would not have it any other way Striker.

Striker: Good luck with Derrick , though don’t come pointing the finger at me when he gets finished off just like VanGuard.

Faith flinched in clear anger, standing from her seat to confront Striker. The man had already turned his back upon her, walking away almost as quickly as he entered, his frustration evident in the manner he paced. Faith was unsure why she reacted so strongly to the last comment, who was John Derrick to Faith? Clenching her fists, feeling her teeth gritting together, Faith waited for Striker to leave before she tried to settle herself down back at the table. Corruption could not come fast enough.

Clink… clatter… clink

The same sound again, always the same Faith couldn’t help but think when she managed to find another piece of glass in her side, quickly flicking it into the wine glass to make the song she had heard all night. Faith wondered if this encounter had been a mistake so soon before her fight. Faith then wondered if she should have left the Hilton hotel in the first place, where she at least had the company of John Derrick. Now she sat alone, something she should be familiar with by now. Tonight however, there was something cold in the atmosphere, a self doubt that ate away at the back of her mind. She wished VanGuard was with her right now… he would know what to do.

He always seemed to know what to do.


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

Skyler Striker dared to say something I will never forget. I only heard it in passing, but I recall the message he spoke, when he mentioned me for the first time in a long time. When he wore his shell in front of all the others, so they did not see what really went on between us, so they could not see just who Skyler Striker really was.

“Faith is like a daughter to me.” he said.



“Liar…” I replied back to him. But no one heard. No one ever did.


------------------------------------
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The Celt

The Celt


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FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Empty
PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 22, 2010 7:57 pm

It had taken him weeks to get to this point; countless nights that never seemed to end and so many mornings filled with bloodshot eyes had flew by on his pursuit of at least a few hours’ worth of rest. But finally the point had come where his body had overridden his brain and forced him to shut down and get the sleep he so badly needed. The feeling in his eyelids had been so crazy recently, a mixture of them feeling so incredible heavy, but also like they were burning. It had become to grate so much, every time he looked in the mirror he could see the big black ring under his eyes, the whites of his eyes filled with broken red lines. On top of that there was the constant feeling of being sick, like he had a flu that just wouldn’t leave, capped off with regular headaches and after-images every time he blinked.

Not only had these been trying months, they’d been lonely. His love had mysteriously stopped appearing for reasons unknown to him, and in her places left a deep yearning for her return. When the pressure is on her love was his foundation.

But finally the long hard wait was over, and as he sprawled out on his hotel bed he could also feel himself getting better. For the first time in months Celt had a simple, clean, non-complicated, no bullshit match with Kaoru. Wrestling like it was supposed to be. No grand scheme or plots, no life or death consequences. And while he’d lost, and had given Ammunition points Corruption could have had, he could live with it.

Things weren’t prefect, but for the first time in weeks it felt like he could breathe, that he sleep easy. It felt like he could exist without worrying, without something stupid nagging at the back of his mind. It was rare moment of bliss, with nothing playing on his mind. Celt sank into the bed feeling lighter than air, like a weight had been lifted off him.

He’d become so used to not sleeping he had even bothered to get under the sheets or even take his clothes off. Even the television was left on in the corner. It had all been so pointless in the previous weeks he’d stopped caring.

With every moment passing Celt let himself fall deeper and deeper out of conscience, and his grasp on this world became looser and looser...


Female newscaster: but President Obama promises action in the coming weeks. Now, in other news FFC officials and the Pittsburgh Gaming Commission are outraged with Full Metal Wrestling over the events of their latest broadcast of the already controversial Corruption show. The wrestling show, which is known for it’s over the top “Ultraviolence” matches, shocked even its own fan base earlier tonight when a full scale riot broke out in the crowd. The riot began after a number of the wrestlers engaged in a wild, out of control brawl that spurred members of the crowd into a frenzy that later spilled out in the streets even after the broadcast ended. With thirteen people injured, Pittsburgh politicians were furious with the company...

Celt’s eyes open wide. For a moment the newscaster’s words barely register in his mind properly, as if their meaning must first sink into his brain. But as the realisation of what has occurred hits Celt’s mind anger flows through his fatigued body.

Celt takes a swift and deep breath before letting out a massive roar


Celt: FUCK!

Celt leaps off the bed and rushes over to the television set, wrapping his hands around it and staring at it in disbelief. Images of violent rioters, looters smashing open storefronts, frightened young people, and clueless rent-a-cops flood his vision. Then images of Jaro, Bryson, PX and Virus running away, leaving a scene of mayhem and destruction in their path, before the clip ends on the image of Harley Quint, Drew Michaels and Hannibal Frost all bloodied, injured and laid out in and around the ring.

Female newscaster:At the end of the televised spectacle, the individual known as "Virus" proceeded to throw Harley Quint into the MetalTron; a variant of the famed JumboTrons used at such sporting events. The result of this stunt caused the video structure's support system and fail safes to break.

Celt slaps his right hand against his forehead before letting out an almighty groan. The words “outrage” and “riot” just keep repeating over and over in his mind.

Female newscaster: It’s incredible that there were no fatalities arising out of this event

The statement blasts through Celt like a gun-shot, the full implications of Corruption 11.2 now coming down on him like ton of bricks.

Celt: BASTARDS!

With a blind rage Celt launches his foot into the side of the television, knocking it off its shelf. As it hits the ground the screen shatters into dozens and dozens of jagged little pieces. Celt doesn’t notice though, because he’s too busy clutching at his throat. Celt is gasping for air, seemingly unable to even breathe. Even though Celt tries to draw air into his lungs he can’t seem to gather his breathe. Celt stumbles forwards, clawing at the wall as he goes before crashing into the en suite bathroom. Falling to his knees, Celt vomits violently into toilet. The horrible acidic taste is almost overwhelming as another volley of dough colour liquid erupts from his stomach and out his mouth.

Celt: I leave for one fucking show...(spits) and they let a fucking riot go off.

Celt spits again before another volley shoots out his mouth, leaving him coughing bitterly afterwards. Celt grabs a bottle of mouthwash from the sink and quickly rinses his mouth out. Walking back into his room he casts his eye over the destruction.

Noticing something shining on the ground, Celt picks it up. A simple screw.


Celt: Yeah; I am screwed...

10 minutes later

The Celt walks into the lounge of the hotel. It’s extremely late and not many people are around.

Celt walks over to reception.


Receptionist: Can I help you sir?

Celt: Yeah, I...accidently knocked over the television in my room. Sorry about that, you can put it all on my bill. My apologies.

The receptionist gives Celt an odd look. It’s clear he wasn’t used to dealing with guests destroying furniture. But Celt didn’t wait for his reaction, he’d already turned and head into the bar section of the hotel. It was just one of those small time bars that hotel sometime maintain for their own patrons, nothing major. Only a few diehards remained now, and the bartender had already pulled the shutter down halfway. The Celt approaches the bar, wallet already pulled out.

Celt: I couldn’t get a bottle of Jameson could I?

The Bartender continues to cleans up the bar, his back turned to Celt.

Bartender: Sorry, last call was a while ag-

As the bartender turns, he seems to pause. Celt says nothing, just continues to look on.

Bartender: You’re aahhh...you’re the Celt right?

Celt doesn’t really have the energy to even speak, he just nods.

Bartender: Yeah okay man...I’ll get you something for you efforts.

Celt gave a weak smile. It a small break here or there was nice. The bartender pulls out the bottle from the back-wall as well as a glass.

Bartender: You want a mixer with that?

Celt shakes his head.

Celt: nah...plain is good for me. Cheers.

The Celt dumps a random amount of money on the bar. It could have been anything. Thankfully it’s enough for the bartender, who takes it and delivers back some change. He then puts his elbows down and looks at the Celt, as Celt pours himself a glass full.

Bartender: So man, how bout that ending to 11.2? That was something else

Just the mention of it sends a electric bolt down Celt’s spine. Celt twitches his head as if to release it from his mind.

Celt: Look, not to be asshole or anything...but I’ll really don’t want to talk about that alright?

The bartender looks a bit disappointed and gets up, and goes back to his business.


Celt (almost calling out): It’s been a long night-

But the bartender was already gone.

Celt: It’s been a long six months...that’s what it been. Godsdamn.

As the bartender rolls down the grate to close the bar and the last patrons file out Celt takes a sip of his whiskey before rubbing his eyes with his hands.

Celt: Nothing ‘s easy...

Female voice: Guess not

Celt looks to his right. Standing beside him is a very attractive young woman seemingly wrapped in golden; long straight almost white blonde hair. She wears a modern style sequined metallic dress which cuts off around her thighs. As Celt takes her in she places her matching handbag on the bar. Looking into her face Celt recognizes some highly familiar features; among other ones, some deep
green eyes.


Woman:Care for some company?

Without saying anything Celt subtlety pulls out the screw from the television out of his pocket and gently pokes himself in the left forearm with it.

Celt:(In thought): Felt that, so I’m not dreaming...

Celt: Whatcha doing here Morrígan? Haven’t seen you in weeks

The woman gives out a confused expression before glancing over her shoulder, as if to say “Are you talking to me?” The reaction seems so genuine, it would be extremely hard to say if it could be acted or not.

Woman: Um, I think you have me confused with someone else

She lets out a nervous laugh. Again, it feels natural, unforced.

Woman: The name ‘s Macy...mind if I sit down?

Macy places one hand on Celt’s shoulder and the other on the bar as she pops up onto the stool beside him. Taking more of her in, Celt notices that everything matches; her high heels shoes are gold, her fingernails are painted gold, even her skin has a beautiful golden tan. Sun kissed would be a highly accurate way to describe her. Her appearance, while different, has a strong Morrígan feel to it...but at the same different. It’s confusing.

Celt: Macy huh? Cute name

Macy smiles

Macy: Thanks

Celt hadn’t really meant it as a compliment, more of a slight accusation, but she’d completely taken another way.

Macy: So...sounds like someone is stressed.

Celt nods his head

Celt: Yeah, just a bit.

Macy: Well, that’s bad to hear but it always helps to let it out.

Celt takes another swig from his glass. The fiery taste helps keep him alert.

Celt: Just some control issues you know, wanting to be in control of everything...mixed with some past issues. Hmm, I guess I care too damn much about some stuff

Macy: Is that right? Do that myself sometimes. Some of my friends say it’s because I’m the responsible one of the group. I’m like their big sister, always taking care of the rest.

Celt spies the rest of the bar over her shoulder; they’re completely alone now.

Celt (In thought): Why the fuck am I always alone when this stuff goes down...

Celt: Yeah, I’m sort of a big brother for my...”friends”. I have to bail their ass out every now and again. I’m a bit down now cuz, wasn’t able to help them recently.

Macy: Eleven point three, right?

She said it almost smugly, as if she could see right through the Celt. Celt let out a singular “Ha!” in reaction, as well as slapping his hand of the bar in amusement.

Celt: Oohhh, so you do know who I am.

Macy leans in closer, moving the stool with her feet. She pretty close to Celt now, close enough for him to smell her perfume; which has a flower like scent to it.

Macy:(Gently): Yeah, I know who you are, I see you on television from time to time. You’re one of the good guys.

Macy stared into Celt’s eyes. Celt knew that look, it was *that* look, the look of intent. Now there was an intensity surrounding the two. Celt once again scan her figure. She was so similar to Morrígan...then again not in other ways. Key details that he had come to cherish on Morrígan weren’t there on her.

Celt:(In thought): It’s late, I’m drained...am I just putting Morrígan looks on her?

Macy: You’re very upright; you always seem to do the right thing; that’s very admirable.

Celt: Well, someone has to do it or the rest falls apart.

Macy: Oh don’t say that, it takes a real man to do what you do.

Her hand slowly pushes forward on the bar towards Celt, no so close as to actually touch it, but to hint at her intent. Celt can sense that certain feeling of electricity in the air. And when that electricity descends, things begin to stop being about words and more about body language. When someone is ready to lock eyes with you at close range, even the slightest movement takes on a significance of its own. There’s tenseness and air of expectation, you wonder if the other person will make a move and what will it be.

Celt(In thought): She getting over familiar here...

Strategically Celt clears his throat and changes things up.

Celt: So...what’s brought you to place like this at like four in the morning?

[i]Celt instantly regrets saying a line so similar to “What’s a girl like you...”, but he can’t exactly take it back now.


Macy: I just wanted to get away from the pack...slow it down a little and actually feel something for a while. I’m getting numb from all that’s around me. Too many things to deal with.

Celt(In thought): Boy does that sound familiar...

Celt drinks again

Celt: Yeah, I can appreciate that.

The conversation seems to trail off as Celt finishes his sentence. It feels like there is a deliberate pause before the next sentence is said. It’s so quite around that Celt can hear both of them breath.
Macy smiles to herself for a moment, as if laughing to one of her own thoughts.


Macy: Listen...I don’t normally do this, but

Macy places her hand on Celt’s inner thigh.

Macy: Would you...like-

Celt: I’m...flattered, but...I’m spoken for.

“I’m spoken for” hit like a rock hitting a pool, cutting the tension in the room. Celt said it flatly but confidently. He wanted to be polite but firm about it.

Macy pauses for a moment and leans back. Her eyes trail off to the floor as she thinks about what to say next. Then, without skipping too much of step, she leans back in.


Macy: I don’t mind

She didn’t say it seductively, or in any a sultry matter. She didn’t say sarcastically. She said it with meaning, and even a hint of raw emotion.

Celt: I can’t

Macy: Please

The way she said it surprised Celt. It wasn’t so much seductive as it was a cry for company.

Celt: I’m not that way

Macy: But I’m you’re way. Look, I’m just looking for someone, anyone, to reach out to...even for an hour. I just need something real to hang onto...I’ve seen you on tv; you’re a good man, you’re real...you act fucking human. I just need something like that right now. All the people I know...they’re superifical, I can’t take it anymore...come on...Just one night...please.
I seen the same pressure and pain I’m have in you...don’t deny it, I see it, please, we can take it away from each other, just a while...please, I need a realise.

Celt sees a glimmer in her eyes, something that says she really needs this. Celt bites down on his lower lip and shakes his head in refusal.

Celt: I need to leave now.

Celt’s grabs the whiskey bottle from the bar and makes for the exit. Before he’s even taken to steps he is spun around by Macy, who pulls him by the scruff of his shirt into a deep and passionate kiss. Immediately Celt can feel her desperation and longing, like her words were just a precursor. She clings to him, as if trying to overpower his feelings. Celt is almost scared by how similar it all feels like the kiss of his love, Morrígan, The same technique, the same style. But try as she might,

[i]Celt gently pushes her away.

Celt grabs her by the shoulders.


Celt: Look...I don’t know what’s going on in your life that’s got so desperate, upset, so obsessed...with trying to find someone, but you’ve got to stop and think for a second. You’re not going to find what you’re looking for in other people. The sad truth of it is; you’ve got to rely on yourself alot in life. Sometimes other people can’t do what you need, and well, if that happens, it’s up to you to sort it out. You’re hurting, about something I don’t know, but whatever it is, you can get over it. I’m looking at a young, beautiful, intelligent woman; nothing in the world should be able to keep you down. I don’t have what you’re looking for...you have what you’re looking for.

She doesn’t say anything, quietly and head down she takes her handbag from the bar and leaves, not another word said. Celt releases a sigh, half for relief. He listens as the sound of heels clinking grow fainter...and then return. Macy stands in the frame of the entrance before leaning against it. She takes her hand and rubs it down her side seductively.

Macy: You sure?

Celt takes a deep breath, noting in his mind she is indeed a beautiful woman.

Celt: I’m a man defined by his commitments.

Like a spell being lifted, it’s over.

Macy: Okay.

Giving up, she leaves for the last time.

Celt: (Sigh) Wow...

Celt shakes his head before leaving the bar area and walks into reception and towards the grand stairs.

Receptionist: Um, Sir?

Celt: Yeah?

Receptionist: Would you like a handkerchief or something? You’ve got a quite bad nosebleed there

Celt lets out a singular laugh

Celt: Oh Gods; I bet I fucking do.

I’m like a screw baby, if I commit to something I have to go all the way.

Celt continues on up the stairs, and as he retreats for the night begins to sing to himself

Celt:

Where, Oh where have you been my love?
Where, Oh where can you be?
It's been so long, since the moon has gone
And oh what a wreck you've made me

Are you there, over the oceans?
Are you there, up in the sky?
Until the return of my love
This lullaby

My hope is on the horizon
Every face, your eyes I can see
I plead and pray though each night and day
Our embrace is only a dream

And as sure as days come from moments
Each hour becomes a life's time
When she'd left, I'd only begun this lullaby


Come back to me Morrígan; we’ve got some talking to do...


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Rottata

Rottata


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FMW Superstar: Tiberius Jefferson / Romeo
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 22, 2010 9:35 pm

- F E A T U R E S T O R Y -

Sicilian Saint: The Rise of Romeo Vizzini
By Diosa Quinones

The fighter was lying face-down on the mat, exhausted and in pain, but the long, grueling match was not over yet. His opponent, who had been stalking him like a vulture, swooped in and locked the fighter's arms with his own arms and his feet, and tried to pull back. However, the fighter was ready for it, as he used his momentum and legpower to roll forward and escape the dangerous submission hold. He then quickly regained his footing, grabbed his opponent from behind, and lifted him – and the crowd knew that the end was surely near. His opponent was spinned around and brought down harshly on his back – with authority, some might say. The fighter hooked the leg, and the referee counted to three.

That was how the “Italian Wolf,” Romeo Vizzini, beat Full Metal Wrestling (FMW)'s wily former boss, Jason “Jaro” Roy and earned his first opportunity at the FMW World Heavyweight Championship.

Romeo didn't go on to win the title match at the following show, Death Row, and also at the next pay-per-view event, Lethal Injection, but his performances in those matches – and the mere fact that he single-handedly earned those opportunities by his own skill – were enough to solidify his place in FMW's upper echelons.

However, Romeo's FMW career wasn't always smooth sailing.

“I won two matches in a row when I was still in New Era Wrestling, FMW's 'farm' system,” Romeo recounts. “Then they put us rookies on our first real FMW show, No Holds Barred, and that's when I lost. And I kept losing. I had a mean losing streak after that, and I wouldn't win for a long while.”

Another huge obstacle he had in his path was the masked monster X. The two were engaged in a bitter rivalry early in Romeo's career. In fact, Romeo was very close to winning X's FMW Television Championship if it were not for the so-called "Cleveland Screwjob", where X's manager, St. Michael Dreamkiller, who was then General Manager of the Anarchy brand, threatened to fire the referee if he called a victory for Romeo.

"I still remember that fondly," Romeo said. "I was so close. I was so sure I was gonna be TV champ already. I really felt very bitter afterwards."

X would even go on to cost him the Mt. Vesuvius match, another brutal match that saw a monstrous setup that included multiple levels of cells and cages, all for the Mt. Vesuvius torch, which guarantees the winner a title shot. Romeo was among the final contenders on the structure, but eliminated himself when he took out X, who was interfering by causing mayhem in general, with an aerial maneuver.

"I still think about it and I knew I could've won or be in the final few guys if I just kept my head cool," Romeo recalls. "I sort of regret it now, but it was the one chance I had for retribution against that freak X. Like I said, I felt very bitter, and my head wasn't on straight."

Ironically, now he has to work with X, as both of them will be fighting on the same team very soon.

"I don't like it. I don't like it one bit, but I am a professional and I will try my best to make it work," Romeo exclaimed. "I aim for Ammunition to win the FMW Games."

Eventually, he would find some measure of success as a singles competitor by winning the FMW Abandoned Championship, but that losing streak was hardly the worst of Romeo's problems in life, though. Coincidentally, like a story straight out from the Godfather, Romeo was an immigrant a from the Italian island of Sicily, traveling to the U.S. a few years ago to live with his Italian-American father who was shortly killed just hours after Romeo's arrival in the States.

“That was very emotional for me,” recalls Romeo. “It was the real reason why I decided to step into his shoes, to be like him and to live his way of life.”

Romeo is referring to being a mobster, a life which he has long abandoned. Many emotional, tragic events occurred in his life during this period, leading to his disillusion with the merciless way of life.

“If you've been following me closely,” he says, “I broke away from the Mob. Today I regret ever being in it, but back then, after my father’s assassination... it felt like it was the right thing for me to do. Now, if you've noticed, I've been aiming to become legitimate.”

Indeed he was, as quickly after his recent entrance into the FMW Championship picture, he started appearing in mainstream media, mainly to rally support for his championship aspirations like a politician campaigning. Romeo guested in shows such as Oprah, where he highlighted his philantropist and altruistic side to contrast himself from the 'evilness' of his opponent, Billy “TyranT” McKenzie. He also aligned himself with popular FMW superstar Drew Michaels, joining his group called the Broken Saints, an association that has put Michaels under fire from critics due to Romeo’s reputation.

“I realized that I had to take some steps to make myself more accessible, more likeable with the fans,” Romeo said. “I had to market the ‘new me’, and along with promoting myself as a better citizen than Billy McKenzie, Drew Michaels was willing to associate with me.”

Romeo seemed to be the odd man out when it came to the Broken Saints roster. “I know that my being there looks weird, but trust me, when we first began, Drew and I had a similar vision. He liked my vision of what FMW should be. That’s how we started the little alliance.”

However, the group touted to be rife with untapped potential in its formation lost them their luster due to a lot of miscues, leadership issues, and rushed additions and subtractions to the team. While the group still currently operates as a unit at times, rumors have surfaced that there are a bit more than a few little tensions pulling on the members.

“A lot of things have gone wrong with the Saints. We lost [Nicholas] Gray because he did not live up to our expectations, and [Dante “RAMPAGE” Jones] suddenly retired. We quickly added people like Mark Johansson and Leviticus without much fanfare and reason, and then we never really did things as a team. That's probably why some of us are feeling that way. Granted, there are a couple of people in the Broken Saints I didn't and still don't see eye-to-eye with, but we thought we could grit our teeth and make it work. We tried, we really did.”

Now, instead of trying to patch up the Saints’ differences, Romeo insists that he simply does not care anymore what they do, and that he will concentrate on putting out the best effort for Ammunition in the ongoing FMW Games. It was only recently when he was drafted back to the “blue” division, and ever since his title match loss at the previous pay-per-view, Lethal Injection, he has suffered a little drop in popularity.

“We’re going to show them that Ammunition is where the winners are,” he said. “And I’m going to show everyone that you can’t count me out just yet. I won’t deny that I’ve had better days, but I know I still have, as they say, some gas left in the tank.”

This next step for Romeo will hardly be an easy one to take. The FMW Games and its brutal culmination, the War Games match, to be held on the next pay-per-view called Catalyst, was definitely not the first FMW “war” that Romeo has been in. Romeo was around long enough to fight in the war against the evil super-faction The Original Sin, as a member of the rag-tag Resistance.

During that war, he also lost his erstwhile tag team partner, a masked man named Vengeance, after Cactus Sam and Matt Dunn actually murdered him in the ring – a move that has caused hundreds of protests and complaints to be filed against FMW. Romeo will face Sam and Dunn – members of Team Distortion – again in the War Games match, and one has to wonder if he will still carry this vendetta with him going into it.

“Will I? Of course I will!” Romeo exclaimed. “I am a vindictive person, and I certainly have never forgotten what those two did to Vengeance. We were on the cusp of success – a little more, and we would have definitely beaten Cactus Sam and Matt Dunn for the [FMW Tag Team Championship]. But no, they decided they would take the cowardly route, and they killed him. They f---ing killed him. They’re definitely going to pay.”

Now that his plans for the near future are now pretty much cut and dry, what then is next for Romeo Vizzini and his FMW career, beyond Catalyst and War Games?

“Nothing less than the World Heavyweight Championship,” says a very determined Romeo. “I’ve proven that I can both be in contention and stay in contention. The only thing I need to do is finally, finally seal the win. Then maybe I can die happy.”

But in truth, what is truly next for Romeo after Catalyst is the assurance of a new beginning, a new day. What most overlook is that his transfer to the Ammunition division gives him carte blanche once again to blaze his trail to the top. Catalyst will merely be the beginning, a (please pardon the pun) Catalyst for bigger things – some of them simply good, but most of them extraordinary.

Not bad for a poor Sicilian kid. Not bad at all.
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Edible14
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Edible14


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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 22, 2010 11:19 pm

-Ammunition 11.3 LIVE from Des Moines, Iowa-
Tonight's Card:

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
"Truly Talented" Jeff Whitt vs. Norman Riddle

Ammunition vs. Distortion, KO Only:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Ammunition vs. Corruption, Gold Card Gauntlet Preview *:
Kaoru vs. Calvin X. Carter

Tag Team Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller and Lady) and Gabriel Crow vs. The Broken Saints (Romeo and Leviticus)

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
C-4 Rules
The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin) vs. The Cancer (Matthew P. Dunn and Cactus Sam)

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.




-Corruption 11.3 LIVE from Kansas City, Missouri-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
Jaro (w/ The Virus) vs. Leon Caprice

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Cole Dragos vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Preview:
Ultraviolent Rules
Apathy vs. MASS Caesar

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Last Chance Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying Match *:
Christian Moore vs. Slegnadamus

MAIN EVENT, Corruption vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Special Guest Referee: TyranT
Special Guest Ring Enforcer: John "Doc" Derrick
Faith vs. Skyler Striker

Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.



-Distortion 11.3 LIVE from Detroit, Michigan-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Submission Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Storm

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Special Guest Commentator: David GS
Trey Spruance vs. Matt Ford

Distortion vs. Corruption, War Games Preview *:
Dunnwood vs. The Celt

Distortion vs. Corruption, House of 1,000 Glass Shards:
Apostasy vs. Nick Bryson

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship Casket Match:
Hannibal Frost (c) vs. Seth Omega

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament.
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Bobino




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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 22, 2010 11:58 pm

“Sleg, that was awesome. They were all like ‘Oh, Sleg turned on Butters!’ and we were all like ‘LOLOLOLOL Domed!’ It was great, we had ‘em all fooled!” Butters is trailing behind Slegnadamus speaking very quickly as he’s excited their plan came together.

Sleg cracks a smile as the pair continues their walk. “Hell yeah, we fooled them. Which is pathetic when you think about it. We told them before the match, we’d do anything to prevent their plan of driving a wedge in our team. We basically told them we were going to be sly bastards, and they still fell for it!”

Butters laughs as he calms down, continuing in stride. “Now, they think they’re really showing us by splitting us up in one-on-one matches against the same two nothings we’ve trampled over for the past two weeks. Seriously? What do they think is going to change? When will they stop?”

“We have to make them stop, Butters. It’s like some sort of rash. Sure, you can apply cream and get rid of most of it, but unless you eradicate the whole thing… it’ll keep popping up. This week, we need to completely wipe both of them off the face of FMW. Then we can continue to show them why neither of us should ever be overlooked.” Slegna’s tone has grown more stern, more determined.

Butters eyes grow wide as he thinks of his upcoming match. “You’ve proven you can handle Moore, I just have to swat Dragos down like the insect he is. I need to feel the grinding of his bones as I stand on him, victory pouring down over me, flooding him with the smell of defeat… I need to---”

“Butters!” Sleg has to yell to snap his partner from his trance. “Save it for the match… you can let all of this frustration out then. Come on, strategy time…”

The two turn around a corridor as the camera stays put watching the pair walk off.

~*~

No sound. No voices. Just light.

Light reflects off a mirror as we can see the sun beaming into a bathroom. It reflects off the mirror, illuminating the small room. The door slowly opens, creaking loudly, breaking our silence. We see Butters slowly stumble through the door, obviously still half-asleep. The camera turns to get a view over his shoulder as he examines his face. He flips the water on and begins brushing his teeth. After a few moments, he quietly groans as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a large bandage around his shoulder and back spotted with blood.

He groans a bit louder as he removes the bandage, revealing a pretty bad gash surround by bruising across his back and right shoulder. He tries his best to pour a bit of solution across the wound, wincing in pain as it trickles down his back. He slowly opens his eyes as he stares into the mirror. “It’s all for the team… it’s all for the team…”

He gets a new bandage ready before climbing into the shower, prepared to cover the wound as quickly as possible when he steps out. The camera pans down, just looking at his feet as water, lightly-tinted pink, flows down the drain and the scene fades out.

~*~

“The sad part of all of this is that while the higher-ups are trying to dishearten the Comeback Kids… they keep filling you with false hope, Cole. They keep talking to both of you, convincing you that if you were just given a fair fight, you can bet us. The cold, hard truth is this… you can’t. You don’t have the skill, the knowledge, or even the heart to go through half of what I’ve been through in my career. You’re fresh and green, I’ve been around long enough to have been fired and rehired three times. You still think that pure talent and drive get you by in this place… I’ve been here just long enough to realize how much I wish that were true. You believe that any minute now, your luck is going to change…”

Butters sits up straight, getting a better gaze into the camera. “When the sad truth is your luck has run out. Remember what I told you two weeks ago? This was nothing personal… the Comeback Kids proving we were the better team, just sending a message. That’s all changed. You insist on being a thorn in our side… now I’m forced to go and rip the entire rose bush from it’s roots. We’re different in every way, Cole… except one.”

Butters stands, taking a few breaths as he continues.

“We both realize that on any given night, anything can happen. We both know that while I greatly outmatch you, it’s not impossible for me to lose… again. That’s why I’m eliminating your only hope, and taking this match as seriously as any. I will not tread lightly… instead I will force you to drop this pathetic feud you’re trying to start. I’m putting everything into this match… because at this stage of my career… I never know when it’s my last.”

Butters begins to chuckle a bit.

“The best part is that no matter how hard either of you fight… you can’t take back how gullible you were. Slegna will still be in the Gold Card Gauntlet, Ammunition still got the point, and you two both took the loss. You stood in anger as the more intelligent, craftier team walked away with the prize, and you left with nothing but egg on your face. Also, to answer all the questions, the reason I let Slegna win wasn’t because we think he’s the better of team, it’s because we are partners, and he won the coin toss. I have no shame in losing to a man I know is just as good as myself.”

Butters smirks one last time.

“Cole Dragos this is your last chance. You either prove yourself or drown in your own disappointment. Years down the road, when you’ve lost everything, and they’re checking you into a mental institution ‘for your own protection’, when they ask what sent you off the deep end, you can choke back your tears for a few seconds… long enough to say those magical words…”

Butters walks off camera, as he whispers and the scene fades out.

“Everybody knows it’s Butters…”
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Leon Caprice




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FMW Superstar: Leon Caprice
Championship: FMW Undisputed Tag Team Champions

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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeThu Jul 22, 2010 11:59 pm

After I lost at 11.2 and laid still on the canvas, you want to know the very first thing that entered my mind, before I was engulfed in the defeat?

Light globes…

I’m 10 years old again, listening to a scientist explaining how light bulbs are made. How they are carefully coiled, how they are dragged through diamond dies and acid, how they are measured and cleaned, and how each and every batch of bulbs are personally examined, just incase any have slipped through with the slightest imperfection.

That’s what popped into my head.

I am a light globe… I was created in the year 1990. I’ve been carefully coiled, I’ve been measured and cleaned, I’ve been dragged through dies and acid, I’ve been packaged and shipped away.

I was opened from my box in July 2008, I was examined and fitted correctly, shining brightly and keeping the darkness at bay. I have responded to every flick of my switch I have shone brightly for those in need and I have done so without argument.

But now I have a crack in my glass. I am no longer in perfect condition…

So there is something else I wanted to tell you. Right before everything went black; you want to know the very last thing that entered my mind…

You.


***Yo-He-Va-He***

The end of Ammunition 11.2

The scene opens to the final glimpse of the live broadcast of Ammunition at the U.S. Bank Arena. The darkened arena is filled to capacity with men, women and children cheering wildly for Leon Caprice who at that moment had just made one of the biggest statements of his career, signaling the end of Crash Scene and putting his ‘mentor’ down firmly to the canvas. It was an aggravated assault though, Skyler had once again soaked Leon in his narcissistic comments, but this time it was enough. Finally Leon retaliated with a meaningful strike, and it hit the sweet spot.

As Leon now would stand at the top of the ramp eyeing off his former mentor lying helplessly in the center of the ring, he would gradually allow a slight grin to emerge from his stern expression. A sense that an opportunity had finally been taken, that the dependence for Skyler’s attendance was no longer tied to him, Leon was now officially free.

Yet as the final seconds of the broadcast ended, still with both competitors fixed in position, It would signal the beginning of something bigger. Surely Skyler would not let this stand unopposed, retribution would be sought, but that’s a story for another day.

Tonight Leon was the lone knight standing tall til the end; it had been awhile since he had last been the man to close the show and it was a sweet feeling. With sweat emerging from every pore of his body, his body slowly feeling the weight of the fight, every punch and slam reapplying its pressure onto his body, it was finally time to walk behind the curtains.

With one more glance to the audience, soaking up what would be one of Leon’s memorable nights, one that will not be forgotten for many reasons, he would twist his frame to face the curtains and slowly step by step end the final act of Ammunition 11.2. As he strode into his 2nd last step he tilted slightly to give one final glance back to the ring, seeing Skyler beginning to rustle before turning back. And in his last steps, he smiled.

Giving Leon his own time to soak up the defeat and attack on Skyler, we would not come into contact with Leon until he reached the stationed medical facility for his post-match analysis.

Still exasperating, Leon was sitting anxiously on the edge of a white medical bed, surrounded by the contents of what seemed to be the backstage medical room. With bland white walls and a finely layers cream tile flooring, Leon, with heavy shoulders and a line of bruising on his lower chest, sat there. Hearing the hype in the locker room from the reaction to the main event, Leon rested easy. Although he had just lost the only title he had held in FMW, he seemed apathetic about it. That somehow he took reassurance and strength in what was to come, rather than dwell on what just happened.

While he would continue to drift into thoughts and lower his head as an effortless motion, a petite young, brunette-haired, backstage nurse entered the room. Still obviously backstage at the Ammunition show with the crowds few reactions still echoing within the walls, adding to the atmosphere growing within Leon’s head, the scenarios of what was now to happen continued to form in Leon’s mind. Who would now oppose Leon; Skyler wouldn’t switch his glances from the FMW Title to Leon until Catalyst had past so somebody would have to intervene, somebody would have to draw his attention, who would it be?

Those thoughts continued to question themselves within Leon’s mind; however a solid reality was slowly taking over. Much like Ammunition named their War Games combatants tonight so would have Distortion. Swiftly reacting, Leon inquired with the nurse to see if he was discharged, upon receiving the nod he gradually tensed his strained muscles and lifted himself from the medical bed and wearisomely exited the silent room into the congested hallway. Making his way through the people and equipment he directed himself to move towards the car park. Evident in his walk, Leon was hurriedly heading to Distortion, as the show wouldn’t start til a few hours after Ammunition, and he didn’t want to miss a thing.

With a driven purpose in his step he swiftly continued, moving past the standing people around him and hearing the few lines of conversations as he passed by. With every step he took it seemed like his pace increased, with every foot that touched the floor below, it jolted him forward. Yet there was no point in tracking him any more, his direction was known and his purpose would soon be realised.

So as the scene would fade to black and the noise would slowly drift away, the scene would stop next to one determined man, one solitude voice that would ring through the darkness, one voice that was strangely relevant.


Skyler: He’ll God-Damn pay for that…


***Yo-He-Va-He***

Who will tell whether one happy moment of love or the joy of breathing or walking on a bright morning and smelling the fresh air, is not worth all the suffering and effort which life implies.


~Erich Fromm~


***Yo-He-Va-He***


The scene opens to the backstage area of Distortion 11.2. Looking around at the wrestlers and crew around it was about mid-show, evident in the variety of wrestlers’ perspiration and those anxiously waiting. However emerging from the parking lot arrived the man fresh from defeat, yet strangely in high spirits, Leon Caprice. By this time he had changed into his casual attire of a grey suit, still showing his former tendencies of formalities since when he was the CEO of Entellect. With little acknowledgement of those around him, Leon began his search for answers, eagerly awaiting to hear the War Games decision while also searching the backstage area for one person.

As he continued to walk casually through the darkened backstage hallways of the live Distortion his mood began to turn, while he was consumed by the thoughts of his career, of who he would soon face or who was to be selected for War Games his mind had drifted off the one thing which would have seemed the most important event in his life. The life of his wife and child…

For it was only just after 11.2 when Leon came face to face with the reality that the health of his wife and unborn child was at risk. That either one of their lives could end any second, that he was now forced into a depressing and demoralizing scenario. That a life he had built for his family could possibly have been for naught.

In drifting his thoughts to it, Leon’s body began to react as his movement continued. He gingerly lowered his eyebrows, gradually clenched his fists and slightly lowered his head, bringing the aid of shadows to seclude his emotions from the light.

It wasn’t easy to talk about, it was never going to be a joyous occasion or a positive result. Something had ruptured and either his wife or his unborn child was slowly deteriorating within, a fact that ate away at him at every second of thought. The continuation of thought led to the prolongation of his downward emotions, evident in the glassing over in his eyes and the slight quivering of his lower lip.

He loved his wife, he loved what they were making together, the relationship they had founded together and most importantly, what they had been through together. It was a testing time, a time to grow. But right now, walking through the hallways of Distortion alone in his stride, it was a hollowed time, as the reaction of this wasn’t just mentally, it physically drew it out of him. a lack of energy was felt every day, a heart-breaking event stopped in time. Needless to say, wrestling at Ammunition tonight seemed to be the only thing that took his mind off of this. The only thing in his life that once engaged required all of his attention, the only escape from his enervated demise.

As his thoughts drifted off to the aid of his wife, his eyes were nearing the location they sought, the locker room of a dear friend in Mark Johansson. With little hesitation he grasped the cold metal handle of the door and pushed it firmly open, letting the rays of the hallway lighting illuminate the empty room. The room itself was recently adorn with the bare necessities, a few chairs to sit in, a table behind them for bags and equipment, a TV to watch the show, and a bathroom off to the side. Half expecting Mark to still be sitting down in his locker room before his match, Leon’s expression to the hollowed room was similar to that of the rooms own circumstance, a hollowed, darkened expression, which only grew as he made himself at home. Moving forward, sitting anxiously on the far grey armchair, Leon removed his cell phone from his pocket merely seconds before sitting down. Looking onto it with intent, he pressed a few numbers and held the phone up to his ear while at the same time reaching for the TV remote beside him and turning the television onto the FMW Live broadcast. Preparing himself for the phone call, he tried to recheck his emotions and make sure his receiver didn’t pick up the subtle quivers in his voice.


Leon: Hello Leah.

Leah: Hey Leon.

As could be suspected it was to call Leah, Skyler’s wife who had almost taken up a permanent residence at the hospital, watching over Sarah while Leon couldn’t. A kind gesture by her part, but something she felt obligated to do, to repay Leon and Sarah for their kindness of offering her and her children a house to call home.

Leon: How is she?

A slight pause was expected and substantially received, which only added to the pressure on Leon’s frail nerves.

Leah: It hasn’t improved, although we have gotten news from the surgery.

A sudden urgency entered Leon’s mind as he eagerly questioned the obvious topic.

Leon: What was the news? Is she alright?

Leah: Sarah should be alright, a few minor internal scars and tears in the stomach tissue.

Again Leon would jump at the next obvious question, almost building energy off every response that didn’t bolster a negative response.

Leon: And what about the baby?

Leah: She isn’t doing to well. She was the source of the bleeding.

And there it was the negative response that stopped Leon’s sudden enthusiasm in place. It wasn’t Sarah, it was the baby. The next stage of their life was in jeopardy, was Leon to only be a husband and not a father. Yet one note did stick out. It was a girl.

Leon: You said she…

Leah: Yes, it’s a baby girl.

A slight smile brushed the lips of Leon as he reflected on what having a daughter would be like. Whether she would be as smart as Jade Striker or as cunning as Faith McKenzie, it was a contemplation that was fading away, there soon might not be a daughter to talk about.

Leon: So give me the truth, is their a chance of her surviving?

Leah: The slightest of chances, the doctors are saying that since Sarah was so close to nine months pregnant that the baby might have developed enough to survive, but under the circumstances, even if the baby survived birth, the wounds suffered in the womb would need to be treated instantly.

Leah’s voice adjusted to carrying the weight of hours of tears and depression, she wasn’t doing well, it wasn’t her place to be the one to comfort Sarah or observe all of it. It was Leon’s and now they all needed him. But right now all he could do within his power was calm Leah over the phone.

Leon: Leah, its going to be ok. Just stay strong and called Jade if you need support. I’ll be there soon and from there you can return home if you want.

Leah: No, I want to stay…but I’ll give Jade a call.

Leah was falling to pieces over the phone, she had seen it all, heard it all and no human could take it forever, she needed support.

Leon: Ok, well hang in there. Where is Sarah now?

Leah: She is in the ICU in a drug induced sleep. The doctor said her body needed time to rest before they did anymore surgery. Something about the blood loss or amount of drugs she had.

It was a comforting response, although Sarah had been through hell and back, in hearing she was resting gave a sudden and mysterious peace to Leon.

Leon: Well I’ll be there soon. Stay strong Leah, and thanks for all of this.

Leah: Ok…bye...

The last noise of the conversation wasn’t Leah’s farewell, but that of her tearful mood taking hold of her, as she let out a sharp gasp of air as a response. Now though, Leon’s ear was met with a constant beeping, a sound he held to his ear for a few moments before dropping the phone from his hand and letting it crash to the floor below. With open hands he clasped them onto his forehead and lowered his sight, dimming his vision to that of the darkness of his eyelids as he took on the fight for his own emotions, trying to hold himself together.

Almost as if timing was perfect around himself, as he lowered his head and fell silent, the substantial noise of the room was that of the television broadcast, and the accompanying noise of the crowds echoing above.



Chase: Welcome back! It’s now time for Commissioner Smitten to make his way down to the ring to give the announcement that a number of you here tonight and at home have been waiting for.

Cactus: Yeah, we’ll finally be finding out who’ll be bringing Distortion to victory at Cataclysm.

Chase: I’m surprised you care, is that actually on the Distortion Roster that you can stand?

Cactus: I like them all more than I like anyone on either of the other two divisions.

Wayne Bergeron’s "Friends Like Me" hits the P.A as Commissioner Christian G. Smitten makes his way down to the ring to a mixed response, half excitement for the bombshell he was about to drop on the sold out Cleveland crowd, half loathing him for his past actions and decisions.

Cactus: Now, there’s a great man.

Chase: He got you off a murder charge, didn’t he?

Cactus: That he did Chase. That he did. Now shut up, the commissioner is ready to speak.

Smitten: Good evening, Cleveland. The moment you’re all waiting for, and I will ensure to keep this brief, as you know, Distortion is not doing all to well in the War Games, and as such, I don’t feel you nor this division deserves a great deal of my time here tonight.

Chase: The Distortion crowd not enjoying that at all.

”You suck dick! You suck dick!”

Smitten: When you’re quite finished… Good. So, your representatives for Team Distortion… First of all, a man who has always had… A lot of heart. You have loved him, this much I have observed. A champion in his own right, and a man who has put on very impressive matches with your current Abandoned Champion; LEON CAPRICE!

Huge pop for Leon, one half of Crash scene.

Smitten: And as you know, this week, the current Abandoned Champion fights for supremacy against both Ammunition and Corruption representatives. This man, Hannibal Frost, is your team leader…

The roof raises off the roof as the crowd cheer their champion and team leader, Hannibal.

Smitten: … As it stands.

Chase: Wait, as it stands?

Smitten: Because there are three men competing this very night, coming right up, who could, in theory, go on to defeat Hannibal Frost next week to become the new Abandoned Champion. These men are… The nightmare, Seth Omega…

The crowd shows their appreciation for the Broken Saint, Seth Omega,

Smitten: The twisted Dunnwood…

On the other hand, they are also quite vocal about how much they dislike Jaro’s stooge,

Smitten: And the man who calls himself Mr. Anxiety, the returning Matt P. Dunn.



So that was it, there in straight up format was the War Games participants. Yet still regaining himself from the earlier phone call it was suddenly only a minor subject. Sure he was to be part of the biggest match since Mt Vesuvius, but it was tainted by the weight on his heart. For how could he think beyond tomorrow if there was a problem today, and although he acknowledged his participation in the War Games and those that would fight alongside him, his battle was with his heart, and the life of his child.

To conclude that he had heard what he wanted, he jadedly reached forward and silenced the TV, leaving the room in the echoed noise of the ecstatic crowd above. With a moment to pause and take everything in, his emotional barrier couldn’t withstand it all. With a strong exhale and relaxation of his shoulders he physically and mentally caved in. Strenuously pressing his lips together, tightening the muscles around his eyes and bowing his head to show his demise, his body soon forced himself to succumb to his own emotions to finally realize what strains his predicament was putting on his body and conscious.

His hands rose to lay on top of his fallen head, proving to be some comfort, some shelter from the darkness that truly surrounded him. Darkened days would follow from here, this wasn’t the end, not yet. But if Leon was to show emotion now, would it ultimately lead to his downfall. If he couldn’t keep it together now, if he fell to pieces, would he jeopardize his family’s life, his job, his reputation. Or would he grow?

It was a harsh curve to tackle and one that wouldn’t prove easy. With Skyler now conceded to his own agenda and his past friends following their own paths, all there was to turn to was Leah and Jade. But truly, that must be why we find Leon in his past tag partners room, clinging to a hope of sympathy, wanting to have another face to turn to.

Minutes continued within the still room, with Leon’s breakdown continuing to no end, however a sudden noise was heard. Upon hearing it Leon lifted his head from its downward stance and tilted slightly to focus on the source of the noise. From the far side of the room, was the noise of the cold solid door handle turning downwards. Upon realizing that he soon would not be alone, Leon would wipe the remaining build up of water in his eyes and reposition himself in a way he felt would best hide his previous outburst.

As the noise foretold, from the frame of the now open doorway stepped through a wearisome Mark Johansson, who upon closing the door behind himself had yet to notice Leon, until…


Mark: Bloody hell, what’s this?

Sure enough Mark’s eyes had caught sight of Leon’s presence. An expression of shock accompanied his slightly trenchant words.

Leon: ah… I was just here to watch the show and say hi.

The emotions of Leon’s body were still grasping for power as a slight crackle in his voice could be heard, something that Mark did pick up, and as a friend, react upon.

Mark: That’s not all is it?

Leon: That obvious…

Leon gives a slight pausing smile as he took one more attempt to remove the signs of his breakdown.

Mark: What’s happened? Everything alright?

Leon: …Its Sarah, she’s in hospital, the baby is in trouble.

All humor and positive thoughts left Mark’s mind simultaneously as Leon spoke those words, it was a hard thing to admit, but even more so to swallow.

Mark: Is everything going to be alright?

Leon: …I’m-…I dunno.

A degraded Leon would soon take shape as Mark took in what was happening. How the man he was a groomsman to, now had to fight for his family, how his friend was now slowly falling apart.

Mark: Well don’t get down about it, take it as a challenge.

Leon: A life-threatening challenge.

Leon’s words were beginning to show the weight on his heart, how in his eyes, there was little chance of recovery.

A moment was given to think as Mark thought on his words while he moved past Leon to the table behind him where his open carry bag sat.


Mark: Home is where the heart is Leon. So where is your heart at?

The deep words were met with no response. Amongst all the racing thoughts and mixed signals in Leon’s body, he couldn’t muster up the sentence to reply to that. As the seconds passed by, Mark would come back into his vision and rest beside him in the accompanying chair, now with a white towel resting around his neck.

Mark: I know you Leon; you’re not a quitter, nor a man to think negatively. These ain’t your words, so smarten up.

Mark’s words came as a shock sense of discipline to Leon, something that did send a wave of energy to his heart, something that attempted to free him of his shadowed emotions.

Leon: Times have changed Mark.

In hearing his words, Mark simply smiled, he knew Leon wasn’t all behind his words, he knew that Leon just needed to be shaken up before he could be stirred up.

Mark: No Leon, they haven’t. Don’t try to fool yourself, Sarah and the baby will be fine, this isn’t the end for anyone, and stop trying to concede to that.

Mark’s words had grown in strength as they forced themselves onto Leon. Although he would continue, as before his eyes Leon was waking up from his darkened slumber.

Mark: You’re going to have a family Leon, nothing will stop that.

And there it was, the belief of Mark’s words lightening Leon’s eyes. The belief gave a sudden reboot to his system, turning his heart into a light and forcing all the shadowing emotions to dissipate. Thanks to Mark, he was coming back. Leon’s faith was being restored.

Silence enter the room as Mark observed Leon’s awakening, giving him time to readjust himself and string some hopeful words.


Leon: You’re right…

A wide smile emitted itself from Mark’s lips, he had lost his match tonight, but he had restored Leon’s passion and desire, something that in the long run, meant a whole lot more.

Mark: There ya go. Just think positively, nothing will go wrong.

Again the words hit Leon in a way that restored more of his lacking personality. He was finally coming back. He was finally restored.

Leon: Yeah.

Mark would acknowledge Leon’s words with a genuine nod and smile.

Mark: Now since we’ve covered that, was there anything else?

Leon: No, no, no I think that’s all.

Mark: Good…Now get out of my locker room! I gotta get changed.

Mark’s words were accompanied by his stereotypically sarcastic tone. Something that Leon had begun to appreciate. But as to Mark’s words Leon would rise from the chair, stretching his arm outward and truly feeling the renewed feeling spread to all parts of his body, before eventually treading towards the closed door. With one hand now on the aluminum handle, he slight twisted his head 90 degrees to the left.

Leon: Thanks for this…

With those words Leon would firmly envelop the handle with the palm of his hand as he pressed it down until the rays of the hallway begun to grow into the room, signaling the lock had been removed. With a swift press forward and a few steps as well Leon was out of sight. Leaving a rather satisfied Mark behind as Leon now trod off to his next battle.


***Yo-He-Va-He***

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

***Yo-He-Va-He***


The scene would open to Leon Caprice sitting alone in an empty hospital room, seeming waiting for someone to engage him in conversation through the closed door. Observing him it seemed that his wrist had been checked, with it still heavily strapped, but he no longer required the pressure bandage to hold it in place. The clock on the wall reads 2:20, presumable in the morning, thanks to the lack of natural light seeping between the curtains. With a coffee in one hand Caprice would continue to sit patiently.

Work seemed pointless now thanks to the stress of learning of his daughter's lifeless standpoint. Sleep seemed like a distant fantasy. He had given up tending to his injured wrist, it seemed like a forgone conclusion that he would be embroiled in an embattled trial, and would not be able to compete against Jaro at 11.3. While this was an inconvenience, it also ate at Caprice. He knew that he deserved that match, and deserved to represent Distortion.

The consequences this would have would be dire. The message for his rebellion against Skyler would be tainted, he would expose weakness.

Every single moment of his hard work up til now would be undone if he couldn't both compete and defeat Jaro. But, he couldn't help have his mind elsewhere at such a vital time.

A loud rasp at the door breaks the silence. Caprice seems completely un-alarmed by the extremely heavy knock at the door, almost as if he was expecting it. He rises from his seat and gingerly walks to the room’s door. On the other side stands Leah.


Leah: Leon its time, she’s going in.

***Yo-He-Va-He***

God pours life into death and death into life without a drop being spilled.

***Yo-He-Va-He***

The doctor would now begin his prep for the surgery as Sarah lay consciously on the operating table. Leah and Jade would stand either side of Leon, ensuring he doesn't do anything to impede the removal of his child.

Emotionless, Leon looks on, staring at the operating table. Sarah's head pops up and she stares back at her husband. She yells and screams at him, urging him to do something, but her cries for help are contained within the surgery room. Leon knows what she is yelling for though, and unfortunately, he has found himself once again in that unenviable situation. He was powerless.

The doctor moves closer, and tears start to roll down the fragile woman's face. This was real, it was actually happening. She was being operated on, and her husband still hadn't moved to do something about it. Leon stared at his wife, with that cold, emotionless face. The pair locked eyes as the doctor moved forward and placed the mask onto Sarah’s face. Slowly Sarah would drift away, but before she lost control, she kept her gaze on Leon, and Leon had never once let his gaze stray from his wife's eyes until she unconsciously lowered her head.

With out saying a word to those flanking him, he turned around and walked out of the observation room.
He was going to have a family, he had a house ready for his family to call home.
Gently, he shut the door behind himself, hearing a hollow thud as the latch caught, blocking out any unwanted guests. Silently and slowly, he walked up the hallway, every step he took seemed a long and grand one.

At the end of the hallway, he suddenly fell to his knees, to him, the thoughts were straying everywhere, but the central thought, the only vision beside what his eyes were seeing currently was the pink bedroom of his daughter. Toys and clothes were placed everywhere, she was going to come into this world, loved. While he didn't say or do a thing while he kneeled quietly, he was proud of what could have been, what Sarah and himself had created for their child. Leon looked around the hallway, and took in nothing of what he saw, except for the lack of people around him. Slowly, he fell lower to the ground, until both his knees and bottom were firmly touching the ground…
And he wept…

I am a light globe… I was created in the year 1990. I’ve been carefully coiled, I’ve been measured and cleaned, I’ve been dragged through dies and acid and I’ve been packaged and shipped away.

I was opened from my box in July 2008, I was examined and fitted correctly, shining brightly and keeping the darkness at bay. I have responded to every flick of my switch I have shone brightly for those in need and I have done so without argument.

But now I have a crack in my glass. I am no longer in perfect condition…

So there is something else I wanted to tell you. Right before everything went black; you want to know the very last thing that entered my mind…

You.


Last edited by Leon Caprice on Fri Jul 23, 2010 12:29 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeFri Jul 23, 2010 12:00 am

After Ammunition 11.2

Gabriel's arms hang limply at his sides, purple and blue bruises cover the lithe appendages. The memory of his recent encounter with Romeo stands fresh in his mind. A flurry of punches from both men, neither backing down. Romeo standing in the ring, ready to fight and prove to himself that he isn't a failure. But Gabriel's mind isn't on Romeo at the moment. The main event at Catalyst..., he thought. A chance to show them all I belong in this business.

Wearily Crow takes off his ring attire and heads to the showers. The locker room has already cleared out for the most part. Hot water washes away the pain and discomfort, a soothing lover's embrace that wipes away the failure and success of the evening. After drying off, Gabriel changes into civilian clothes, consisting of jeans and a Rammstein t-shirt. Without his characteristic make-up, soft age lines begin to appear in the forehead and cheeks, especially around the full, menacing lips that seem permanently painted with a scowl. As Gabriel saunters out of the dressing room with his bag in tow, he hears footsteps behind him. Spinning on a dime, Gabriel's hand instinctively goes to the small of his back where he normally keeps his Ruger Single-Action Blackhawk in a back holster. Feeling nothing but still-wet skin, Gabriel lets his hand return to his hip casually.


"Jumpy tonight, aren't we," inquired Veronica Cherrywood, her honeyed voice simply sparkling with sarcasm. "I'm glad I found you. Smitten wants to see you in his office before you leave."

"Smitten's still here?"

"Yeah. He's always the last to leave. Said he wanted you to know about next week's program or something."

Gabriel nods and moves towards the temporary office of Commissioner Smitten. "Drive safe, Veronica."

"That's weird," comments the young woman, surprise written clearly on her attractive cheeks. "He's never this nice."

Fatigued and wired all at once, Gabriel pushes open the door to the office of the Commissioner. Seated behind a recently cleaned desk, Smitten's deep Texas tan looks darker than the false-wood finish on the desk. Smitten flashes Gabriel that million-dollar shit-eating grin, the kind that drives the fans to raucous catcalls and boos every time the Commissioner takes the stage. With their backs to Gabriel initially are Lady and Saint Michael Dreamkiller, situated around the monstrous form of X, who doesn't bother turning around to face the new arrival. Blankets of contempt wrap themselves around Gabriel upon his entrance to which a one-fingered salute is given to the two "managers" of the monster X.

"Why'd you wanna see me Commish?"

"Take a seat Crow," Smitten ordered, his sharp Texas twang a vibrant reminder of Gabriel's own hometown. "I said take a seat, dammit!"

Tossing his bag to the ground, Gabriel settles into the seat next to X. "I'm seated. Now kindly tell me what the fuck the Trifecta of Failure is doing here?"

Smitten raises his hand before Dreamkiller or Lady can even begin to speak. "Trifecta o' Failure...I like that. Think you could put that onna t-shirt Gabe?"

"Commish, I'm real goddamned grateful that you put me in the main event. 'Bout fuckin' time FMW showed me respect for my hard work. But can we cut to the fuckin' chase?"

Smitten's mood darkens considerably, his Texas Toast tan brightening with a flush of crimson. "Listen here shitbrick. I put you in that main event to mix things up. X's been dyin' to get in War Games this year but I gave the spot to you, despite the fact that you're as much a failure as he is. Watch yer fuckin' mouth or I'll take your spot away faster than you can flood the Grande."

"Whatever you say Commish."

"Now since you had yer little dust-up with Romeo tonight, I got an idea."

Why do I have a feeling I'm not gonna like this?

"Eleven point three's gonna be the Catalyst preview show. Leviticus and Lady here are gonna be fighting for the Light-heavyweight title and you and Romeo are on Team Ammunition. Since you and X both have issues with two members of the Saints, you'll be in a tag team match with X against Romeo and Leviticus. How's that sound?"

Yep. I fuckin' hate this.

"Just don't get in my way," uttered the masked man to Gabriel's right. "Leviticus is mine. You screw this up and there'll be seven different kind of hells to pay."

Gabriel's head turns slowly to the right, eying the muscular creature with a critical eye. "Tell me something X. Your knuckles are scrapped. Did you walk here?" Crow gives the three of them a moment to catch the meaning of his words. "When I want your opinion, I'll feed you a banana and ask for it. I've carried dead weight before in the ring. I don't wanna do it again. If you fuck this up, your lady-friend will have to keep looking over her shoulder at Catalyst. See you in Des Moines."

Without waiting to be dismissed, Crow picked up his bag and left the room, leaving the stunned X, Lady, Dreamkiller, and Smitten behind. Twenty minutes later, Gabriel was on the road in his rental car, heading back to the hotel for a night's sleep.

The following morning, after taking a quick shower to wake up, Gabriel found an envelope underneath the new copy of USA Today outside his room. The manila envelope wasn't sealed and touching it gave Gabriel no sensations or images. Setting the paper aside, Gabriel opened the envelope. Inside was a note, which read: Beware of hypocrites. Turning the envelope over, a small necklace fell out onto his lap. Bronzed metal caught the morning sun, creating tiny mirrors along the length of the chain. Clasped in the center was a crucifix. Like the chain, the cross was empty, leading Gabriel to assume it wasn't a Catholic crucifix. The cross itself was formed by polished onyx with a circle of what looked like white jade in the center of the cross. Crow grasped the religious symbol in his hand, guessing that this might show him something of value. Gabriel's eyes shut as his psychometric abilities take over his body, thrusting him into the residual psychic energy left in the object.

When Gabriel's eyes open, he sees his bedroom. At least it was the bedroom of his childhood home before his trip to the institute in Austin. Covering the walls of his room were posters of 1980's kid staples such as the Masters of the Universe and the Thundercats. Even the bedspread covering his simple, light tan wood frame bed showed Mumm-Ra in all his evil glory, stretched out across the length of the bed. Next to the relatively small room was his desk which was covered in drawings of airplanes and spaceships. While the drawings weren't crude, they were far from excellent. Gabriel could see that he had possessed some talent but that was lost to him now. And lying asleep in his pajamas was the young Gabriel, his bowl-haircut a product of his mother's insistence on cutting spending. He'd been ridiculed mercilessly for it but Gabriel's father had taught him the rudiments of fist-fighting, allowing Gabriel to hold his own.

Without warning, Gabriel's mother blasts into the room. As the door opens, shouting is heard in the front room. Mother scoops up the child and runs for her bedroom. The spectral Crow almost follows but instead decides to follow the sounds of raised voices. In the living room, Father and Sister are seated on the couch facing two men wielding guns. Again Gabriel goes for his pistol but draws back his hand. I'm not real here. This is just a memory.


"You cost us a lotta money, motherfucker. Shoulda never told the cops 'bout that shipment," said the man closest to Father. Gabriel's memory of this man was slightly different, seeing him slumped against a hanging chair in a meat-packing plant in Dallas while he bled from sliced wrists. Twenty years younger, Carl Anderson had the body of a linebacker, albeit one who had skipped a few practices for some 12 ounce curls. Next to him stood Adam Brickson, a stocky man who looked fat but even twenty years later was still mostly muscle. Gabriel's mind flashed back to Adam's death, with had followed the execution of Adam's wife but preceded the execution of Adam's son Michael. The bullet cutting cleanly through each of their skulls brought grim satisfaction to the spectre's face.

"Carl, the cops had me clean on possession with intent. It was either give up the shipment or go to jail. *****'s been sick too much and we need the money. I'll work it off, I promise. Whatever you want."

"You're daughter looks like fifty-thousand bucks worth o' pussy. What do you think 'bout that Jimmy?"

"Not her. She's only 14, Carl."

"I've had younger," replied Carl, lasciviousness oozing from his pores. "Jimmy, you let us trick her out and we'll call it square."

Father looks like he seriously considers it for a second or two. "I won't sell my daughter into slavery for my mistakes."

Carl's pistol rests on his left shoulder, the gun loosely gripped in his left hand. The suppressor nuzzles his left ear like an over-eager girlfriend would. "Then fuck it. It's on you."

The gunshot was barely a whisper, more like a dull thump than the crack of gunfire. The 9mm round entered Father's face just above the bridge of the nose, the kill zone that Gabriel always aimed for when firing his own weapons. Any round, regardless of caliber, enters there, it's lights out. Dad never had a chance. But I never knew about the drugs.

Megan tried to bolt for the back bedrooms but was gestured back into place by Adam's gun. "Want me to take care of the rest," Adam asked, catching the leering gaze Carl was giving the pubescent girl.

"Sure thing. Give me some alone time with the little lady here."

Not wishing to see the ravishment of his sister, the spectral Gabriel followed Adam to the back. I'm under my parents' bed right now. Mom had told me to not make a sound. After I'd crawled under the bed, she opened the window.

"Where's the brat Connie," Adam demanded, adding a sharp slap across the face for punctuation. Only after slapping Mother a few more times did he notice the open window. "Ah fuck me with a rusty pussy. You told the little fuck to run, didn't you?"

Mother spits in Adam's face and begins clawing him like a wild animal when she hears Sister crying out from the front room. Adam viciously pistol-whips her once, twice, three times before she falls to the bed. The fateful slug chambers and the hammer falls back. Once it snaps forward, the shell slices through Mother's torso center mass before embedding itself in the floor right beside the child Gabriel. Grunts of primal lust mixed with wordless cries of humiliation draw both Adam and Gabriel back to the front room.

"Connie let that little shit out the window. We gotta book it man."

Carl snarls angrily, pumping more forcefully into the shell-shocked body beneath him. "You know what they say in the bible about rape, Adam?"

"What?"

"This little bitch here woulda had to marry me, since I violated her. Ain't that a bitch?"

The quivering mass of violated flesh rolled onto her back on the couch, vacant eyes staring up at the man who had taken away so much. It was the last thing she would see before Carl put a bullet between her eyes. "Let's get the fuck outta here."

"What about the boy," demanded Adam, desperately trying to remove the suppressor before they exited the home.

"He didn't see our faces so he don't matter."

Spectral Gabriel walks back to his Mother's room, the dull throb of his heart barely able to pump blood through his frame. Standing in the doorway he sees his child-like self, covered from head to toe in the heart's blood of his own mother. An eerie yet barely luminescent light emits from the boy's eyes, boring into the shadow stuff of the spectral Gabriel.


How're yah any diffrent from them?

Moragan. Shoulda known you'd pull something like this. Is this where you give me the dire warning about the state of my soul?

Nah lad. If yah ain't figured yer soul's fucked by now, nothin' I say will change dat. I wanted yah to see whatcha were and whatcha mighta been had yah followed me rules.

Your rules made me weak. We're servants of death Moragan. You've been serving him for how long now?

Sure, I've been serving the Dark Master for many, many years. I've seen the birth an' death of at least four centuries since this started. Yah know whatta I learned? We've gotta hav' rules or else we're no better than demons.

Yet you've got no compunction with killing. You sound more and more like Drew and his Saints. Drew thinks he's the third version of the maytred god and yet he associates with filth like Romeo.

So yah become like dem? Hypocritical to yer past?

Their deaths were caused by poor choices. Do I miss them? Not anymore. But they did teach me something valuable.

And what lesson did yah learn, lad?

This world is dark, cold, and cruel. For every bright spot there are ten shadows waiting to devour it. We can either fight the losing cause or we can embrace our power over life and death. I don't feel the moral pangs you do Moragan.

Yah did once, when I first met yah. Spunky little thing, yah were. Fresh out the looney farm, yah were. What happened?

I grew the fuck up. You can fight the good fight all you want Moragan. That's the beautiful thing about the darkness. Dawn comes and drives it away but it always comes back. Every defeat makes me stronger, makes the Shadow Within deepen until there is no light whatsoever. I don't have to be a better person than the men who killed my family. All I have to be is the servant of Death. Last I checked, he didn't pay attention to methods, only results. What are you gonna do to that Moragan?

Nothin'. Yet. Yer right 'bout one thin' boyo. Our Master doesn't care how the souls get to it, only that they do. But I care. I'll let yah get to Des Moines. After that, you'll be mine for a little game I've been preparing.

What game? How long have you been setting this up?

Since before I sent Crystal after yah. Don't worry, the little tyke's with me. She sure hates yah now lad. Good work on goin' from savior to heretic in record time. She'll be there too. See ya soon Gabriel



Back in the hotel room, Gabriel released the cross, letting it slip to the carpet below. Only after his eyes adjusted to the room again did he take a few moments to look at it again. This was Megan's. An involuntary cough caught in Gabriel's throat but he suppressed it violently. With great shoves like those used to move great, heavy rocks, Gabriel wiped away the liquid forming in his eyes.

"Damn you Moragan."


Last edited by Gabriel Crow on Fri Jul 23, 2010 4:49 pm; edited 2 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeFri Jul 23, 2010 12:15 am

-Ammunition 11.3 LIVE from Des Moines, Iowa-
Tonight's Card:

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
"Truly Talented" Jeff Whitt vs. Norman Riddle

Ammunition vs. Distortion, KO Only:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Ammunition vs. Corruption, Gold Card Gauntlet Preview *:
Kaoru vs. Calvin X. Carter

Tag Team Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller and Lady) and Gabriel Crow vs. The Broken Saints (Romeo and Leviticus)

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
C-4 Rules
The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin) vs. The Cancer (Matthew P. Dunn and Cactus Sam)

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.




-Corruption 11.3 LIVE from Kansas City, Missouri-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
Jaro (w/ The Virus) vs. Leon Caprice

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Cole Dragos vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Preview:
Ultraviolent Rules
Apathy vs. MASS Caesar

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Last Chance Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying Match *:
Christian Moore vs. Slegnadamus

MAIN EVENT, Corruption vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Special Guest Referee: TyranT
Special Guest Ring Enforcer: John "Doc" Derrick
Faith vs. Skyler Striker

Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.



-Distortion 11.3 LIVE from Detroit, Michigan-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Submission Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Storm

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Special Guest Commentator: David GS
Trey Spruance vs. Matt Ford

Distortion vs. Corruption, War Games Preview *:
Dunnwood vs. The Celt

Distortion vs. Corruption, House of 1,000 Glass Shards:
Apostasy vs. Nick Bryson

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship Casket Match:
Hannibal Frost (c) vs. Seth Omega vs. Boobies

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament.

Votes subject to change without notice.
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the nick bryson
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeFri Jul 23, 2010 1:18 am

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Norman Riddle

Ammunition vs. Distortion, KO Only:
Axel Van Osbourne

Ammunition vs. Corruption, Gold Card Gauntlet Preview *:
Kaoru

Tag Team Match:
The Broken Saints (Romeo and Leviticus)

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
C-4 Rules
The Cancer

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.




-Corruption 11.3 LIVE from Kansas City, Missouri-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
Jaro (w/ The Virus)

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Preview:
Ultraviolent Rules
Apathy

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Last Chance Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying Match *:
Slegnadamus

MAIN EVENT, Corruption vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Special Guest Referee: TyranT
Special Guest Ring Enforcer: John "Doc" Derrick
Faith

Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.



-Distortion 11.3 LIVE from Detroit, Michigan-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Submission Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Storm

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Special Guest Commentator: David GS
Matt Ford

Distortion vs. Corruption, War Games Preview *
The Celt

Distortion vs. Corruption, House of 1,000 Glass Shards:
Nick Bryson

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship Casket Match:
Seth Omega

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament


-more votes coming later.
Im also contemplating voting for boobies.


Last edited by the nick bryson on Sat Jul 24, 2010 2:54 pm; edited 5 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeFri Jul 23, 2010 1:22 am

-Ammunition 11.3 LIVE from Des Moines, Iowa-
Tonight's Card:


Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
"Truly Talented" Jeff Whitt vs. Norman Riddle

Ammunition vs. Distortion, KO Only:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Ammunition vs. Corruption, Gold Card Gauntlet Preview *:
Kaoru vs. Calvin X. Carter

Tag Team Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller and Lady) and Gabriel Crow vs. The Broken Saints (Romeo and Leviticus)

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
C-4 Rules
The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin) vs. The Cancer (Matthew P. Dunn and Cactus Sam)

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.



-Corruption 11.3 LIVE from Kansas City, Missouri-
Tonight's Card:


Corruption vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
Jaro (w/ The Virus) vs. Leon Caprice

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Cole Dragos vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Preview:
Ultraviolent Rules
Apathy vs. MASS Caesar

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Last Chance Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying Match *:
Christian Moore vs. Slegnadamus

MAIN EVENT, Corruption vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Special Guest Referee: TyranT
Special Guest Ring Enforcer: John "Doc" Derrick
Faith vs. Skyler Striker

Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.


-Distortion 11.3 LIVE from Detroit, Michigan-
Tonight's Card:


Distortion vs. Ammunition, Submission Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Storm

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Special Guest Commentator: David GS
Trey Spruance vs. Matt Ford

Distortion vs. Corruption, War Games Preview *:
Dunnwood vs. The Celt

Distortion vs. Corruption, House of 1,000 Glass Shards:
Apostasy vs. Nick Bryson

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship Casket Match:
Hannibal Frost (c) vs. Seth Omega

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament.


Last edited by Shock on Sat Jul 24, 2010 1:59 pm; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeFri Jul 23, 2010 1:29 am

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
"Truly Talented" Jeff Whitt vs. Norman Riddle

Ammunition vs. Distortion, KO Only:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Ammunition vs. Corruption, Gold Card Gauntlet Preview *:
Kaoru vs. Calvin X. Carter

Tag Team Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller and Lady) and Gabriel Crow vs. The Broken Saints (Romeo and Leviticus)

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
C-4 Rules
The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin) vs. The Cancer (Matthew P. Dunn and Cactus Sam)

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.




-Corruption 11.3 LIVE from Kansas City, Missouri-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
Jaro (w/ The Virus) vs. Leon Caprice

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Cole Dragos vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Preview:
Ultraviolent Rules
Apathy vs. MASS Caesar

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Last Chance Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying Match *:
Christian Moore vs. Slegnadamus

MAIN EVENT, Corruption vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Special Guest Referee: TyranT
Special Guest Ring Enforcer: John "Doc" Derrick
Faith vs. Skyler Striker

Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.



-Distortion 11.3 LIVE from Detroit, Michigan-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Submission Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Storm

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Special Guest Commentator: David GS
Trey Spruance vs. Matt Ford

Distortion vs. Corruption, War Games Preview *:
Dunnwood vs. The Celt

Distortion vs. Corruption, House of 1,000 Glass Shards:
Apostasy vs. Nick Bryson

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship Casket Match:
Hannibal Frost (c) vs. Seth Omega

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament


Last edited by ToastErr on Fri Jul 23, 2010 11:31 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeFri Jul 23, 2010 8:28 am

The Chronicles of Jack EastwoodDunnwood, Book II

Circle XI, Chord I


“Where are we going, then?” Jaro mused as he looked out of the window, in the passenger seat of Dunnwood’s jet-black SUV, whom flicked his eyes towards him momentarily, a rare smile shooting across the personaility’s face.

“It’s a surprise, Mr Roy,” he merely said, cruising along a near-deserted street at eleven at night. His phone rang out and he pressed the button on his hands-free, instinctively looking slightly up at the machine. A voice speaks out to him.

“Are you on your way?”

“Near enough. I take it you have cleared out the area, Mr Xtremist?”

“The filth has been thrown out, and the owners paid off. The building is ours for the night. And it’s PX. Pure Xtremist is dead.”

“PX? What are you planning?”

“Sorry, Jaro. Mum’s the word. You’ll see us soon, though.”

“Us? What are the both of you scheming? You know I don’t like being in the dark.”

“Just relax, Mr Roy. We’ll be there soon.”

Dunnwood ends the call and speeds up, the dead roads a perfect place to burn some rubber. “Mr Roy, as you know, you are to be married to Miss Rousseau at Catalyst. I am not aware of the specifics of a traditional wedding in Canada, but as you have entrusted me with the task, I have decided to incorporate a little British tradition into the proceedings.”

The SUV pulls up outside of a darkened house. Dunnwood gets out, followed suit by Jaro, who looks at the unassuming building as Dunnwood walks in, shouting, “He’s here!” Jaro enters to a host of familiar faces.

“Welcome to The Peddler’s Irish Pub, Mr Roy. This is your stag do.”

“...you’re all cuntnuggets.”

Circle XI, Chord II


“So why did you pick an Irish bar anyway, Dunnwood?” Eric Scorpio asked the organiser and minister, who leant against the bar with a pint of Guinness in his hand. He grinned as he said, “I’m facing off against Mr Celt, Mr Scorpio. I have to include match relevance somehow.” They looked over to where Jaro was trying to introduce Calvin X. Carter and Nick Bryson to the rules of flip cup. Eric smirked.

“So do you think that including said relevance will increase your average voting sco-“

“Ssh.”

“...what?” Dunnwood gestures over at Hanayama, who is having a less-than-scintillating conversation with Virus.

“Mr Hanayama’s getting sick of the jokes.”

“Ah. So... I see you invited a lot of people.”

“More than you think.”

“You would think that attending your boss’ social function would be mandatory.”

“You would think. But then again...”

Circle XI, Chord III


*RING RING*

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mr Michaels.”

“What do you want, Dunnwood?”

“I’m organising a stag do for Mr Roy. Would you care to attend?”

“Is this a fucking joke? Fuck you.”

*BEEEEEEEEEEEEP*

Circle XI, Chord IV


“And it was like that with everyone.”

Skyler: Fuck that.

Quint: No thank you.

O’Rion: *no answer*

Dunn: I don’t think so. And I’m watching you.

Ethan Black: We are sorry, the person who operated this line has died.

Circle XI, Chord V


A short while later, everyone had had a few drinks. Virus was trying to sip a drink through his mask. Bryson and PX were having a drunken arm wrestling contest. And Dunnwood sat in the corner, looking at a picture of The Celt and snarling.

“This is not my time to defeat you, Mr Celt.”

“We have far bigger plans on the horizon.”

“So fuck ye.”
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeFri Jul 23, 2010 10:56 am

-Ammunition 11.3 LIVE from Des Moines, Iowa-
Tonight's Card:

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
"Truly Talented" Jeff Whitt vs. Norman Riddle

Ammunition vs. Distortion, KO Only:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Ammunition vs. Corruption, Gold Card Gauntlet Preview *:
Kaoru vs. Calvin X. Carter

Tag Team Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller and Lady)and Gabriel Crow vs. The Broken Saints (Romeo and Leviticus)

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
C-4 Rules
The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin) vs.The Cancer (Matthew P. Dunn and Cactus Sam)

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.




-Corruption 11.3 LIVE from Kansas City, Missouri-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
Jaro (w/ The Virus) vs. Leon Caprice

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Cole Dragos vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Preview:
Ultraviolent Rules
Apathy vs.MASS Caesar

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Last Chance Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying Match *:
Christian Moore vs. Slegnadamus

MAIN EVENT, Corruption vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Special Guest Referee: TyranT
Special Guest Ring Enforcer: John "Doc" Derrick
Faith vs. Skyler Striker

Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.



-Distortion 11.3 LIVE from Detroit, Michigan-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Submission Match:
Alexander Crysto vs.Storm

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Special Guest Commentator: David GS
Trey Spruance vs. Matt Ford

Distortion vs. Corruption, War Games Preview *:
Dunnwood vs. The Celt

Distortion vs. Corruption, House of 1,000 Glass Shards:
Apostasy vs. Nick Bryson

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship Casket Match:
Hannibal Frost (c) vs. Seth Omega

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament.



Last edited by Axel_Van_Osbourne on Sat Jul 24, 2010 6:00 pm; edited 2 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeFri Jul 23, 2010 11:16 am


Matt Ford In:
The Return Of The King
Chapter One: The King's Ransom


FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD Tony_Stark_house_in_Iron_Man_movie

10 A.M. Another sun dappled summer morning on the coast of California. Location? Undisclosed, of course. A man with this kind of money makes that happen. Even if his residence isn’t exactly under the radar. A behemoth of steel, tempered glass and polished stone, the latest marvel in architecture. No expense spared, no detail overlooked. The air on this particularly beautiful morning is filled with the bustle of hard labor…saws sawing, hammers hammering, hurrying to finish the mountainside goliath…hundreds of young illegal immigrants hard at work, fulfilling one man’s American dream for a mere pittance a day. The joys of capitalism, sprawling before one’s very eyes. A mountain fortress built on the backs of lowly peasants. A new-age castle fit for a king.

Will you just listen to me? I’m just telling y---

Dave Snyder. Agent to the best of the best of the best, in all of sport. The shrewdest negotiator in the entire wrestling business, in spite of, or perhaps because of his reputation for being a completely boorish lout of man. In his hands are stacks upon stacks of paperwork. Offer sheets. Contract terms. Normally this manner of bitch duty would be farmed out to one of Dave’s fiefdom of nubile, large-breasted “secretaries”…but when dealing with a client of this caliber, exceptions must be made.

I know what you’re saying and I just don’t ca—HEY! JOSE! QUIT FUCKING AROUND AND GET BACK TO WORK!

And there he is. The man himself, in the flesh. Hair pulled back into a expertly coiffed ponytail, goatee freshly trimmed. Mirrored sunglasses reflecting the glint of the steel beams arcing high into the air, the demeanor that of a man who is in complete control of his surroundings, King of all he surveys…a demeanor only betrayed by the irritated tone in his voice. Jose whips around, smiling brightly in his employer’s direction, a rapid-fire stream of Spanish spilling from his lips, clearly not understanding the intentions of the man addressing him in the slightest. Our hero, clearly not in the mood to continue such discourse and time-wasting, merely shakes his head, scowling from behind mirrored lenses as he stalks on, from the still-under-construction pool area to the domicile itself.

Fucking greasers. Son of a bitch is lucky I still enjoy handling the fake cans I bought his wife, or he’d be selling oranges in Palo Alto right now.

Yes, yes, racism is fun. Can we focus, please?

Fuck you, I am focused. Interested? No. Focused, absolutely.


The duo heads inside, ascending a winding staircase to Ford’s luxuriously appointed office on the second floor. Dave’s fat ass immediately heads to the nearest chair, spilling his stack of contract papers onto the table with an audible sigh. Ford, however, paces the room, unable to sit still. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing softly.

Alright, run it for me.

Dave springs into action, his game face now fully at one hundred percent capacity.

Alright, here we go. WWF still wants you. God knows why, after you bailed on your remaining dates. The money’s dec—

Ford crosses his arms, head shaking. Fuck that place. Never again.

No. Next one.

Dave sighs, flipping to another stack of pages.

Uh, ok, Appalachian Wrestling. The money is right, but it’s a per appearance thi---

Ford pushes his glasses up, brow arched skeptically at the man’s words.

Appalachian Wrestling? Seriously? So I can work in front of thirteen toothless West Virginian backwoods rapists? No. Next one.

Another sigh. More flipped pages.

Fine, fine. Um…Oh, here we go. Your old pal Matt Couch is restarting the XWF. He’s been calling non-stop for the last month and a half. Limited dates, but the gate is nowhere near what we’re wanting. However, the cash flow on the reissued merch could be substantial.

XWF has been dead for ten years. I didn’t crawl out of that dumpster just to crawl right back into it for that fat faggot. Next.


Fair enough, ok, I’ve got others..uh…Volatile Wrestling Alli----


Ford has heard enough. He storms over, grabbing the stack of offers from under Dave’s pudgy fingers, paging through them fervently, each one cast down more quickly than the last.

No, no, no, FUCK no, no, no, NO! Goddamnit, Dave…NONE of this is any good! Tell me, what exactly the shit am I paying you for? Can you answer me that?

Come on, Fordy---

DO NOT call me that!

FINE! Ford…come on, man! I’m trying, I am…but with the economy the way it is, and the way the business is running these days…The market is tougher than ever. People just aren’t shelling out big money deals anymore, and if they are, it’s for home grown guys, known commodities they know they can lock up long term, The years of the monster free agent deal are just….they’re dying a very painful, quick death. To be quite honest, my friend, it’s this, or it’s nothing! I say we sit it out for awhile, give it a few months, regroup—

You think this place pays for itself? Shit no. Even with my near limitless reserves, we’re cutting it close, even paying these shiftless cocksuckers pennies on the day. The property taxes alone will bleed me dry.


There’s fury behind his eyes. It’s not his coastal behemoth that’s the real issue…it’s something deeper entirely. He could have piles and piles and piles of money stocked away, hidden in savings accounts, in a Goddamn vault in his basement with a Scrooge McDuck style diving board….but he’d always want more. No…not want. NEED. And at this moment, his need is not being satisfied. He heaves the paperwork on the table in disgust, snearing.

Fuck these penny-pinching pieces of shit. And fuck you.

Fuck me?! I’m doing the best I can here!

Your best? Your BEST? Losers whine about their “best,” Dave. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen. And you know what, Dave? THREE OF MY EX-WIVES WERE THE GODDAMN PROM QUEEN! I’M MATT FORD GODDAMNIT! I EXPECT BETTER THAN YOUR BEST!


Ford slams a fist on the table, the fury hanging in the air palpably, even after silence has long since overtaken the proceedings. Dave shifts in his chair, his eyes anywhere but on his employer…before finally, meekly, he speaks.

There’s uh…there’s one more. I was holding it back, because it’s uh…we’ll I didn’t think it wa---

Give it to me. Now.


Dave ducks his head sheepishly, as though his employer’s sharp tone was physically painful. Quickly, he reaches into his jacket, producing a folded set of papers, along with a sealed manila envelope. Ford snatches it from Dave’s pudgy fingers, unfolding the paperwork, rather taken aback to find it holds not a contract…but merely a simple, handwritten note, the letterhead emblazoned with three initials:

FMW.

Intrigued…our hero reads on.


Mr. Ford –

Salutations. I’ll not waste my time with introductions. I’m not a man with time to be wasted on such trivialities, and neither are you. Let it simply be said that I am someone who can make the remaining years of your wrestling career very, very worthwhile. What I propose is simple: Come to Full Metal Wrestling, achieve your former greatness, dominate the landscape of professional wrestling…and be paid handsomely for it. All I ask in return is one simple favor, and one simple favor only. Those terms will be readily discussed at a later date, and only if you accept my offer, however.

I am in no rush. Take your time, consider your options, check the numbers, whatever is necessary. I can tell you right now, though: You will find none better. Enclosed is an incentive, if you will. Just a taste of things to come. Enjoy it, there will only be more to follow.

FMW wants you, Mr. Ford. Don’t deny us our “Main Event”.

Ford can only smile grimly at that last bit. Fucking plays on words. He tosses the paper aside, now regarding the sealed envelope, the weight surprisingly heavy in his hand. He gives a glance to Dave, who sits, looking but not looking all at the same time, clearly not a fan of whatever clandestine dealings are afoot. With a sigh, he tears open the envelope.

Money.

Crisp, clean, stacks of money, to be precise. 100 dollar bills, to be even more exact. He runs a thumb through the edge, counting in his head...

Hundreds.

Thousands.

Tens of thousands.

He stops before he gets any higher, a sizeable amount still left in the envelope when he does so. The money is fresh, never touched. Sequential serial numbers. Whoever sent him this was serious.


How’d this come through?

I…I don’t know. Some courier brought it to the office. Left a number for me to call with your answer.

No name?

No name, nothing.


He pauses, thinking a moment. Nobody gets paid this way anymore. This is shit straight out of the movies. This...is blood money. This sort of thing is saved for thugs and hitmen, guns for hire with no allegiances, and no souls. For mercenaries. Men reviled by “true professionals” everywhere, looked down upon for having no true love for their craft, for honing their skills simply to add another zero to their bank account. Men universally despised in this, or any other, industry.

You take this money…you cross this line, there’s no going back.

Across the table, Dave clears his throat.

You…you aren’t seriously considering this, are you? I mean…this isn’t the way we do business. I’m no paragon of ethics or anything, but this…this is just…wrong. Right?

Ford nods only slightly, turning to walk to the massive window behind him. He stands, looking out into the mid-morning sun, looking down on the bustling peasants beneath him…Dozens and dozens of slave laborers, toiling underneath his boot heel. He could buy and sell them all a hundred times over with ease. He could expand his hillside fortress for days on end. He could enslave the entire Goddamned nation of Mexico to build whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, if he so chose. He looked down on them, a King watching the peasants scramble to do his bidding.

A King wouldn’t do this. He’d find a better way.

A King would be above this.

Wouldn’t he?

Of course he would.

Fuck.


Make the call. Tell them I’m in.

-V-V-V-

The call was made within the hour. A clandestine meeting followed that, details provided and orders given. The target acquired. The lines of communication then fell silent, and it was clear he'd be left to his own devices until the time was right. He made his leap into Full Metal Wrestling official, the contract signed and notarized. Dave had tried to make a big deal of it, attempted to organize one of his trademarked massive press extravaganzas, but Ford, for once, had erred on the better part of discretion. In the days that followed, he'd find himself embroiled in a war of words of sorts with "rookie phenom" David GS. He didn't know what it was...the unbelievable amount of hype the kid was getting, the constant flaunting of his flimsy undefeated streak that had largely been predicated on chewing up and spitting out jobber fodder...fuck, it might have even been his fucking waggling Jay Leno chin. Whatever the case, one thing was certain:

He was going to make David GS his bitch.

So, he did what he did best. He poked. He prodded. He agitated. He punked the poor kid out at every turn, and goaded him into making the worst mistake of his young FMW career:

He challenged Ford to a match.

A match that had been eagerly accepted.

Easy.

Too fucking easy.

So now, here he sits, remote control in hand...The plasma screen TV blaring David GS' greatest hits in seventy-two inches of sterling high definition. He studies each moment with a practiced eye, watching for every wasted movement, every slip of concentration, every chink in the "Undefeated"'s armor. And oh, how many there are.

He smirks.

Easy.

Too fucking easy.


Still studying up, I see?

Snyder again. He marches into the room, meatball sub in one hand, Diet Pepsi in the other, and a small box under his arm.

No, I'm watching tape after tape of this faggot prancing around for my personal gratification. Of course I fucking am!

Yeah well...might want to hold off on that...I've got news.


Ford merely glares. Dave swallows hard, taking a sip of Pepsi before continuing.

Yeah uh...apparently the match with GS? Yeah, you're not getting it.

WHAT?! WHAT THE FUCK?!

Apparently, uh, he uh...well, I don't know the whole story. The point is they gave him the week off to do commentary for your match with, uh----


Snyder glances nervously down at the box in his arms, almost dropping his sub in the process.

...Trey Spruance. Whoever that is.

Ford sneers, almost shaking with rage.

I ask you to do one thing...One fucking thing...and you can't even get that right. You're fi---

WAIT! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! You gotta, uh, you gotta look at the brightside here, Fordy---I mean, Ford. I mean, sure this may not be what you want...but uh, just look at it as a way to make a statement. A real, powerful statement. To David GS...and uh, anybody else who might be watching. If you know what I mean.

A long pause follows that, the words hanging in the air as he considers it. A true King never compromises. A true King takes what he wants by any means necessary, regardless of who opposes him.

But, as with everything in life...


Fuck it. Give me the tapes.

There are exceptions.

Hours pass as he studies each tape individually, and the failings come pouring out. With every passing moment, a glaring weakness is exposed. Failure, after failure, after failure. With every sight of Spruance staring up at the lights...the smirk on his face grows. In between monstrous bites of meatball and marinara, Snyder catches on, grinning through stained teeth.


See? I told you he was perfect! This is your "statement game" man, you---

What have I told you about talking with your mouth full? Jesus. Get out of here, you shaved ape.

Bu--

GO!


With that, the fat toad stumbles to his feet, nearly tripping over himself as he waddles out of the room. Shaking his head with a sigh, Ford turns his attentions back to the screen, where Spruance is once again laid out, staring up at the lights, an inevitable three count to follow. A lamb ready for slaughter.

Easy.

Too fucking easy.

He'll crush Trey Spruance. Make a show out of it. Cripple him at mid-ring while that arrogant cocksucker GS watches. Make sure he knows what he's in for at 12.1, or any other day they might meet. Let EVERYONE know what they're in for when they step in the ring with Matt Ford. And then?

It's on to bigger and better things.

Hail to the King, baby.


-fin-








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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitimeFri Jul 23, 2010 11:45 am

-Ammunition 11.3 LIVE from Des Moines, Iowa-
Tonight's Card:

Ammunition vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
"Truly Talented" Jeff Whitt vs. Norman Riddle

Ammunition vs. Distortion, KO Only:
Bryce Thorne vs. Axel Van Osbourne

Ammunition vs. Corruption, Gold Card Gauntlet Preview *:
Kaoru vs. Calvin X. Carter

Tag Team Match:
X (w/ St. Michael Dreamkiller and Lady) and Gabriel Crow vs. The Broken Saints (Romeo and Leviticus)

MAIN EVENT, Ammunition vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
C-4 Rules
The Wayward Sons (Alex O'Rion and Chris Austin) vs. The Cancer (Matthew P. Dunn and Cactus Sam)

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.




-Corruption 11.3 LIVE from Kansas City, Missouri-
Tonight's Card:

Corruption vs. Distortion, War Games Preview *:
Jaro (w/ The Virus) vs. Leon Caprice

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Cole Dragos vs. Butters

Gold Card Gauntlet Preview:
Ultraviolent Rules
Apathy vs. MASS Caesar

Corruption vs. Ammunition, Last Chance Gold Card Gauntlet Qualifying Match *:
Christian Moore vs. Slegnadamus

MAIN EVENT, Corruption vs. Distortion, Singles Match:
Special Guest Referee: TyranT
Special Guest Ring Enforcer: John "Doc" Derrick
Faith vs. Skyler Striker

Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games tournament.



-Distortion 11.3 LIVE from Detroit, Michigan-
Tonight's Card:

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Submission Match:
Alexander Crysto vs. Storm

Distortion vs. Ammunition, Singles Match:
Special Guest Commentator: David GS
Trey Spruance vs. Matt Ford

Distortion vs. Corruption, War Games Preview *:
Dunnwood vs. The Celt

Distortion vs. Corruption, House of 1,000 Glass Shards:
Apostasy vs. Nick Bryson

MAIN EVENT, Abandoned Championship Casket Match:
Hannibal Frost (c) vs. Seth Omega

* Match is worth 2 points in the FMW Games Tournament.


Last edited by Villain Within on Sat Jul 24, 2010 3:41 pm; edited 3 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD   FMW 11.3 VOTING AND PROMO THREAD I_icon_minitime

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