Post by Corey Black on Aug 11, 2016 20:25:46 GMT -5
The Seven Deadly Sins
Chapter 4: Mikey eXtreme
Three of the most brutal matches anyone could have expected, and still going. Somehow still able to stand up out of a hotel room bed and walk over to the dresser to get his phone. Corey Black, even more bandaged and moving slower than ever, checks a notification on his phone. Nikki Venus steps out of the bathroom, the WCF documentary crew recording the encounter.
Is that the hospital report?
Yeah, they uploaded it to my virtual chart. Various cuts, bruises, potentially broken ribs, internal and external burns.
Jesus, that cage sure did a number on you.
That was nothing compared to that powerbomb to the steps Odin gave me last night. Jesus Christ, I have no idea how I am walking, let alone how I came back to win that.
If we're being honest, I thought that was the end for you.
Corey puts his phone down and walks back over to the hotel bed. He sits down slowly and begins peeling the bandages off his arms and torso. He winces in pain as he does so.
Is the juice worth the squeeze?
In what way?
The juice. The trophy. You're squeezing it and nobody cares, really. These new guys, even after you beat them, they're still on the internet saying you don't have it anymore.
I'd love to see any of them run through this tournament like I am. I might be dead by the finals, but goddamnit, I'm showing WCF exactly why I am the very best this fucking place has ever seen.
Nikki walks over and puts her hand through Corey's hair, looking into his eyes. They're hurt, but the fire still burns within them.
Some people will never change. I have a present for you.
Corey starts to put fresh bandages on all his wounds as Nikki pulls a frame out of her bag. She hands it to Corey, and he looks away as soon as he sees what it is.
I won't need it, Nikki. Trust me. I can do this myself.
I know you can.. this is just.. insurance.
She takes a hotel painting off the wall and hangs up the frame she had. It's of a bell tower. There's a shadowy figure hanging out of the top of the tower itself.
Later on, back at it again in the 2300 Arena with the white vans! Actual vehicles are pulling up to the arena, unloading spools of barbed wire to be use tonight, as is the theme apparently. They come in big bay doors into the backstage area and right by Corey Black, who watches intently as workers carefully carry the coiled cutting wire. They stack the packed and protected barbed wire by another big bay door, this time it leads into the arena proper. Corey walks over to the door and looks through, a ring crew is cleaning the ring for tonight's series of bloodbaths. Nikki walks up next to him, also looking into the 2300. She touches his shoulder and motions toward the big WCF banner with the camera in front of it, he nods and walks over. A stagehand presses record.
Barbed wire was created to keep livestock in a confined space. Tonight, the same use will be employed. This time, the livestock is Mikey eXtreme, and the enclosure is - for my second time - coursing with tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of volts. There's no escape, no matter how much bravado you put forth to the masses, you're scared, Mikey. You saw what I did to the other three men I've faced in this tournament, and you're afraid. You're shaking in your stupid leather biker chaps. You know exactly who I am and what I can do to you. You know what I WILL do to you. And you know WHY I'll do it.
This entire tournament has been myself and Mikey eXtreme. Everyone else is just along for the ride. An undefeated six points in my column, and a non-loss five points in Mikey's. That one tie though. That's how I know I can beat Mikey eXtreme. See, he didn't tie with Odin Balfore, the Nordic Tank I just lit on fire. He didn't tie with Triple A, a boy that couldn't handle a litle jolt of electricity - Mikey has him tomorrow. He didn't even tie with Psychopomp, the guy that got more light tubes broken over his body than brain cells work in his head. He tied with Adam Young.
Zero points coming into the match, with a possibility of zero more. But Mikey eXtreme, former United States Champion OF THE YEAR, cannot get the win over Adam. Young. Coming into this tournament, I had two names I thought I'd have trouble with. Odin and Mikey. I dispatched Odin, and now Mikey is nothing more than a laughing stock at this point. I thought for sure a guy that calls himself "The King of eXtreme" would be a bit much to handle, but alas, everybody's wrong a few times in their life. Instead, I'm more worried about what I am going to do on my day off Saturday before I'm forced to destroy one of these jackoffs again on Sunday and take my trophy back to Denmark.
Tournaments are kinda my thing. I don't want to scare Mikey off, but most of the tournaments I have been in, I've done phenomenal. I started my journey to WCF in a tournament, even. It was the NCW Cruiserweight Title Tournament, and I did exactly like I'm doing in this one - destroying the competition and taking what is rightfully mine. That was 2001, though. This is fifteen years later. Nothing has changed except the setting and prize. I'm widely documented for those fifteen years. You can look back at the Trios Cups and the WCF Classics, even the XIII King of the Deathmatch in 2009 - one guy is there at the end or holding the prize up every single time. That isn't me being cocky, that's me telling you a fact. A fact you can take to the bank and bet the kingdom on.
There is one elephant in the room I want to address, though. It was during Mikey's affiliation with the Dark Riders Gang where he gained most of his notoriety, he rose up the ranks and made a lot of people take notice. However, it's no secret how I feel about Thomas Bates. I won't hide it, I hate that massive dick with the passion of a thousand suns. He can't beat me, I can't beat him, but goddamnit, sooner or later, one of us will break. Mikey eXtreme though, he's a rare case. He looked up to a piece of garbage like Thomas Bates with puppy-dog eyes. He did everything he could do to make Bates happy. "Yes Mister Bates, I'd love to get this gaudy and stupid DRG tattoo on my stomach, will you love me if I do?" Bates would nod, but he wouldn't ever love you, Mikey. He didn't care if you were the best in the world, as long as you pledged allegiance to him and his cause, he'd say exactly what you wanted to hear. A patch here, a cool new bike there, all to keep you pawing at his leg while he dangled the idea of fame and fortune over your head.
That is pathetic. You're a follower, Mikey. Without a network of men and women around you, you're nothing. Look at me, I excel when I'm in a team, and I'm just as good on my own. It's why your greatest achievement will be a title that doesn't even exist anymore, and your greatest downfall will forever be the lust you have for Thomas Bates. For months we were subjected to you longing for the attention you couldn't get. Every order, every call, Mikey did exactly what was asked of him. And what did that get him? What was the end of the DRG? Nothing. It just ... stopped. Does anybody outside the group know what happened? Does anyone outside the group even fucking care? The worst part is that Gemini Battle has proven himself more worthy of attention than Mikey eXtreme has since the DRG vanished. King of eXtreme reduced to DRG afterthought all in a month's time.
I hear you talk about a few names you think you ended a lot. Bernard Core, don't care. You took him out, nobody blinked an eye. Vengeance, also don't care. His career wasn't work its weight in scap metal anyway. But then, there's the last one. The one that always seems to be on your lips. At One, you took it upon yourself to make a statement. That statement was at the expense of one of my hand-picked successors. One of the people I chose to continue on the mighty name of Pantheon. You, Mikey eXtreme, made this statement at the expense of Chelsea Armstrong.
WHY am I going to end you tonight, Mikey?
Because of Chelsea Armstrong.
But you already knew that.
Let's overlook the fact that she was literally just coming back. I'll even give a pass to the Pantheon part, beings as you were probably just doing what Daddy Bates told you to. Chelsea Armstrong is a woman, Mikey. A woman you dropped ten or twelve feet onto steel. A woman that had all the potential in the world, and while she knew exactly what she was getting into when she signed her WCF contract, stripped her of that because you fucking felt like it. You're a low-down piece of shit, Mikey eXtreme, and it is an absolute shame you are still in WCF, let alone walking. That's where I come in. Your list of three names makes a man like me giggle. I can't even tell you how many people stood up to me, thinking they'd make their name by beating me, and instead I sent them to the emergency room, never to see their face again. I made it a point to always be on top of my game for reasons like this. Maybe there would be a day where a man would be put in my way that thinks he's going to use me as a springboard to the top of the card, and maybe that man would be better than me. At some point in my life, there will be such a man. You are not him.
It's fitting that we're finally meeting though, and in such dangerous circumstances too. I've been wanting to fight you for longer than you've wanted to fight me, I can tell you that much for sure. Electrified Barbed Wire will surround the ring, and anything within those strands goes. I used to get butterflies when I was going into a match like this, but all that was dashed yesterday. I hope you're up for the fight.. I know you lost a lot of blood yesterday, so much that you couldn't even stay awake during a couple of punches. I'll take it upon myself to continue the massacre tonight, finish what Adam Young started, and then move on to finish him as well. Ten points are in my future, Mikey. Have yourself a great time trying to recover tomorrow. I can't wait to see how bad I can fuck you up. Maybe I'll drop you face first on some stairs and end your miserable career.
Light tubes, fire, electricity.. I've been through it all this week. This is a whole new world for you, King of eXtreme. Because while you may reign over that throne, I will be crowned King of the Deathmatch. A much more prestigious - and official - title.
We might be living in Mikey's America, but you're wrestling in Corey's House.
Corey spreads his arms out and begins walking to the big bay door once again. There's no barbed wire laying on the floor anymore, now the wire hands between the ring posts in a loose square pattern. The matches tonight are all wire themed, and there will be blood.