Post by FPV on Mar 25, 2017 20:31:35 GMT -5
Transitional champion
A short-reigning champion who serves to move the title indirectly from one wrestler to a third. They are usually used when the title is to be moved between two faces, to avoid requiring them to wrestle each other.
A short-reigning champion who serves to move the title indirectly from one wrestler to a third. They are usually used when the title is to be moved between two faces, to avoid requiring them to wrestle each other.
Jason O' Neal. That son of a bitch.
I gotta say though, the old "world title" to the back of the head bit last Slam did a good deal of damage. Knocked me out cold long enough for chaos to reign over the WCF ring. Watching the tapes back after I had woken up was a trip, seeing Jason scream in my face "YOU WANT THIS SO BAD, HUH FRANKY!?" Actually acting like he's got the rule of the roost over here in the dub. I gotta give him props on the internal confidence. Too bad I get my head beat up on an almost regular basis. I mean fuck, Sancho did the same thing to me the week before our match at Rise Up. Did it hamper me at all? Fuck no, I went out there and had damn near the best match of my life. If O'Neal thinks a simple clang to the back of my dome is gonna stop me, he's got another thing coming.
Too bad Dr. Joe didn't see quite so eye-to-eye with me about this issue. Every time I went into his office with some sort of head related trauma I can feel him growing more and more concerned, and this time was no exception. Nevertheless, he sat at his desk looking over the MRI scans perplexed.
Dr. Joe: I just don't understand it Mr. Venable. I just don't.
FPV: Don't understand what?
Dr. Joe: Despite all of the trauma cause by that championship belt, it appears you've received little to no long-lasting damage. Any effects caused by the attack seem to have already faded.
FPV: What did I tell you, Joe? Je suis tetu. Ain't nothin' gonna scramble this egg anytime soon.
Dr. Joe: You can joke around all you want Mr. Venable, but you really should watch yourself more carefully. Or better yet, stop making so many enemies.
I couldn't help but let out a hearty laugh in Joe's direction. It almost certainly wasn't that funny to him, but to me the whole notion of Jason being an "enemy" just tickled my funny bone.
FPV: "Enemies", doc? You think Jason O'Neal is one of my "enemies?" Haha! Lemme tell you who my enemies are, Doc. You already know about ole' Sancho. I spooked him harder then white girl in a cemetary, and now my name won't stop coming out of his mouth. Or how about Jared Holmes, the guy who screwed me out of a clean TV Title defense, the guy who handed me my hardest loss yet this year, and the guy who's publicly stated he's gunning to take me down a third time once I win this belt. THOSE are true enemies, Doc. Jason O'Neal? He's an acquaintance AT BEST. The reason I want to beat the shit out of him is so that I can win that World title. Nothing more, nothing less. Those other guys? It's personal. That's what drives me to beat those two. So no, Jason O'Neal is not one of my enemies. He might be in his own mind, but not in mine.
The good doctor stared at me, annoyed.
Dr. Joe: I was just trying to make a general statement, Mr. Venable. You didn't need to fly off the handle like that.
I sat back in my chair, trying to restrain myself and calm down.
FPV: Sorry Doc. Force of habit, bein a professional shit-talker and all.
Dr. Joe: Yes, I'm sure of it.
Somewhat involuntarily, I glanced on Dr. Joe's desk and saw a folder identical to the one Joe was putting my scans back in. The label on the tab read "Aaron Bronson." I looked to the Doc and tapped on the folder.
FPV: Is this...MY Aaron?
Dr. Joe: Yes. Why do you ask?
Well I'll be. The Doc actually got Aaron to actually tell him what his last name was. Every attempt I ever made to get this little piece of info was dashed by Aaron, who said "I don't use that name anymore. By all accounts I'm a Venable now." So to actually see him finally open up to the Doc was...interesting.
FPV: No reason, just curious. How's his treatment going?
Dr. Joe: He's doing just fine, Mr. Venable.
FPV: Good, good.
Joe looked like he didn't really want to discuss it, so I quietly dropped the topic. I had no reason to assume he meant anything different when he said Aaron was doing well. My business finished, I got up out of my seat and began to leave. And as it turns out, Dr. Joe was good at catching subtle points of interest himself.
Dr. Joe: Tickets to New Orleans, eh? Is this trip for business or for pleasure.
FPV: Strictly business. I need to find out more about Jason O'Neal, and what better way then to take a trip to his own stomping grounds.
Dr. Joe: Well if it goes at all like your little trip to Chicago...please for the love of God be more discreet about what you're doing.
Hehe. A brief image of the door to Chicago City Hall spray painted with the word NANAKIA flashed in my memories. Good times.
FPV: I'll do my best, Doc. Take care.
As I walked out of his office and back outside to my Harley, I peeked once more at my plane tickets. There was just something not quite right about this Jason O'Neal. Sure, the guy can rile up a crowd to cheer even a bastard like him, but all men that charismatic must be hiding something. It wasn't a certain feeling, I could have been entirely wrong in my assumptions, but something was telling me O'Neal was hiding something. I intended to find out just what he was hiding.
I strapped my backpack extra tight as I got on my motorcycle. The laptop in that bag was a personal gift from my old friend Polar Phantasm, There was no way I was gonna let this thing get broken in anyway. Once it was good to go, I drove onto the road. Next stop, the airport.
Time to fucking mosey.
I strapped my backpack extra tight as I got on my motorcycle. The laptop in that bag was a personal gift from my old friend Polar Phantasm, There was no way I was gonna let this thing get broken in anyway. Once it was good to go, I drove onto the road. Next stop, the airport.
Time to fucking mosey.
FPV PROMO #20 - The Saints Are Coming.
PART I.
Ahh, New Orleans. What a beautifully disgusting place.
As one of the major cities within not only the United States, but the entire world, it's a wonderful place to take in. The old French architecture, the vibrant nightlife, and the culture are all part of what makes people come to this city every day. Tourism is one of the biggest industries in this city for a reason. Yet in the back of everyone's minds, they know this city has a dark, dark underbelly.
As my Uber arrived at the airport to pick me up, I hopped in and quickly took my seat, taking what little bags I had inside with me. The driver was a young kid, black and with a small but noticable 'fro. He looked to be about college-aged and was probably trying to earn some money for college. He spoke to me in a casual voice, like he and I were already acquaintances.
As one of the major cities within not only the United States, but the entire world, it's a wonderful place to take in. The old French architecture, the vibrant nightlife, and the culture are all part of what makes people come to this city every day. Tourism is one of the biggest industries in this city for a reason. Yet in the back of everyone's minds, they know this city has a dark, dark underbelly.
As my Uber arrived at the airport to pick me up, I hopped in and quickly took my seat, taking what little bags I had inside with me. The driver was a young kid, black and with a small but noticable 'fro. He looked to be about college-aged and was probably trying to earn some money for college. He spoke to me in a casual voice, like he and I were already acquaintances.
Driver: Where to, man?
FPV: The Marriott on Canal Street. But can I make a request?
Driver: I guess so, what's up?
FPV: Can you take me through the ninth ward on the way over there?
The young driver turned back and gave me a bewildered look.
Driver: The ninth ward? Why'd you wanna go there?
FPV: Wanna satisfy my curiosity is all.
Driver: It'll add to your fare if we go that way.
FPV: That ain't a problem.
Driver: Okay man, if that's what you wanna do.
I could tell he didn't really wanna take me there, and who could blame him? Of all the thirteen wards in the city, the ninth was easily the most infamous. Whenever it isn't in the process of being destroyed by a hurricane (Katrina in 2005 reduced the ward to almost nothing) this area of the city was the textbook definition of poverty. While it didn't cost much to live in this area, the actual houses themselves just screamed "living life on the edge." Not to mention you made up for the small cost by risking getting shot by a mugger. The violence that takes place here on a daily basis is staggering, even by New Orleans standards. Basically the only thing this place has going for it is that the weather is decent. Nothing else.
When you drive through here, you see it. The darkest side of this god-forsaken city. As soon as you leave the French Quarter area and begin to see all of the homeless people, you begin to realize how it really is to live here. I was beginning to believe this Uber driver knew all too well this sad reality, from looking at him in the rear-view mirror he was getting visibly uncomfortable driving through here.
Driver: You wanna stop here? We can turn around and get to Canal right now.
From what I knew of the area, we were in mainly the Upper Ninth Ward. But I needed to go all the way.
FPV: Let's go through to the lower.
The driver was probably starting to hate my guts, but bit his lip and listened.
Driver: Okay man, but I warned you.
We continued our trek through this American darkness. While the Upper Ward wasn't a great place, of the two halves it was by far the more hospitable. The Lower Ward? That's where shit really hits the fan. When most people refer the ninth ward, this is where they talk about. During my previous stays in NOLA throughout the years, I made sure never to come to this area lest I risk my life. But today, I felt obligated to come on down. Because this urban pit of primordial ooze is where Jason O'Neal was born and raised. Take one good hard look at this city and you'll realize just why he turned out the way he did.
I was about to find out firsthand myself.
As we drove along, out of nowhere the two of us heard a banging noise from out side hitting the car. It didn't take a genius to realize we were about to be fuckin mugged out here in the city.
I was about to find out firsthand myself.
As we drove along, out of nowhere the two of us heard a banging noise from out side hitting the car. It didn't take a genius to realize we were about to be fuckin mugged out here in the city.
Mugger: GET OUT THE FUCKIN' CAR!
The driver let out a worried "oh shit" under his breath. The smart thing to do in this situation would be to just drive far away and hope for the best, but this mugger had begun to grab hold of the door handle, and doing anything hasty would've just spelled doom for the both of us. Looking out the window I could see the outline of a pistol beneath the mugger's white wifebeater. With no better options at hand, the both of us got out of the car.
Mugger: Give me all the money in y'alls wallets, both of you. And don't try anything cute, got it?
This man had a voice like gravel, an angry voice obviously picked up on these streets. He certainly seemed intimidating enough. The poor driver began to unload his wallet, which unfortunatly didn't seem to have much.
Mugger: You think this is a fuckin joke? The fuck is this?!
Driver: Please...that's all I have...
Mugger: BULLSHIT!
I could see the mugger going for his gun. I'm sure at that point the driver's life began to flash before his eyes. I only had a split second to act before I had blood on my hands. The driver began to scream, the mugger whipped out his tool and took aim, whilst I readied my leg.
B O O M ! H E A D S H O T
By the good grace of whatever drives this universe, I connected perfectly. His jaw felt the wrath of the sole of my shoes, and he toppled over to the ground, unconscious. The driver was left a stammering mess, but as the situation subsided he began to calm down.
FPV: Are you hurt?
Driver: N-no man, I'm good.
FPV: This is my fault. My curiosity got the better of me, I shouldn't have told you to bring me here.
Reaching into my back pocket, I took out my wallet, fished around and grabbed two C-notes from within and handed them to the driver.
Driver: W-what...
FPV: Consider this my apology. Put this to good use, kid.
Driver: T-thank you sir.
FPV: Now I don't need to tell you twice, but let's get out of here, kid.
The contrast between the ninth ward and my hotel room at the Marriott night and day. As far as hotels go there were tons of little boutique hotels around the area, but the Marriott was always my choice. Something about this joint just screamed "luxury." Not to mention anything you could want within the city was within walking distance. I swiped my key card and opened the door to my room, and just as I had come to expect from this hotel, everything was in perfect order. The bed were made to perfection, the blinds were drawn open to give a great view outside, and the little desk area in the corner was perfectly neat. I smiled and let out an nice little "ahhhhhh" noise. Bags in hand, I crossed the threshold into the room and plopped my luggage on the bed, including my backpack. I had already spent enough time down in the ninth ward, and my time here in the city was limited, so I had to get to work quickly. Opening my bag, I took out my old friend Iceberg-Six, brought him to the desk and opened him up.
Iceberg-Six: Power on. User recognized as "Frank Patrick Venable". Logging into nearest wifi network...now.
Originally a gift to my boy Aaron from Polar and his wife Nightmare, poor Iceberg-Six was beginning to catch on in years. It's a sad fact of life that computers just spend their years becoming more and more obsolete, and Eye-Six was no exception. But Eye-Six is not like most intelligent laptops. No, this one had a "spirit" within that set it apart, perhaps as a result of spending so much time with the Phantasm. There was a reason we all referred to Eye-six as if it were a person and not a piece of machinery.
FPV: Hello Eye-Six. It's been a while, old friend.
Iceberg-Six: Same to you user "Frank." What would you like to do.
FPV: Run searches on the keywords "Jason O'Neal" and "suspicious."
Iceberg-Six: Confirmed. Search commencing now.
Something was definitely up with this Jason O'Neal cat, I could just feel it. They always say first impressions go a long way, and my first impressions of Jason were certainly not flattering. The first promo of his I saw in the WCF was him completely dissing the entire company, saying it "should have folded fifteen years ago." His words, not mine. So already he was setting himself up as an annoying twat in my mind, and subsequent promos from him did nothing to alleviate that. But there was something...else about this man. Something a bit more sinister and troubled. I wasn't able to put my finger on it at first, so that's why I made this trip to NOLA, to figure out just who the real Jason O'Ne-
Iceberg-Six: Search complete. Total results found: about 2,000,000.
Ummm...what?
FPV: That certainly didn't take long. What uhhh...what did you find?
Iceberg-Six: Most articles discuss violent street activities done by O'Neal and his associates. Activities include dealing of narcotics, possible prostitution (though unconfirmed) and other minor offences such as jaywalking.
FPV: HOW did you find all of that out so quickly, Eye-Six? Shit like that should be hard as hell to come by.
Iceberg-Six: According to articles/talks with associates of O'Neal, it appears as though O'Neal has made all of his activities known to the public. Motive: unknown, perhaps done out of pure arrogance and confidence in his ability to not get caught.
FPV: ...
There was no way. There just could not be ANY way someone was as STUPID as Jason O'Neal. How the FUCK do you do shit like that just out in the open. Motherfucker is just straight up PLAYING HIMSELF. Yes, just like the Khaled gif.
Beautiful. Just. Beautiful. We've got an actual fucking confirmed criminal as our champion to the world here in the WCF. I've always suspected Flash had some kind of criminal connections (as well as a couple other members of the roster) but I was never able to confirm those suspicions because the man was either clean or knew how to cover his tracks? But Jason? Jason was a fucking open book, apparently. HOW WAS THIS MAN NOT IN JAIL?! I find it VEEEEERY hard to believe nobody has even had the foresight to call the cops on this asshole.
Still, I suppose I have to thank him. After all, I had assumed I'd have to do a ton of legwork in order to find out all of this information. Like, do some real deep web searching, y'know. Thanks to O'Neal, I no longer had to worry about all that. Now all I had to do was figure out a way to disrupt these activities. And trust me, knowing the kind of shit I've pulled in the past at other people's expense, I'm sure I could do the same here.
But that could wait just a little bit. For now, I had one more little piece of business to get to before I called it a night.
FPV: Alright Eye-Six, open up the webcam and begin recording.
Iceberg-Six: Confirmed. Would you like to upload this footage to Youtube once recorded?
FPV: You know it.
A little red light popped on at the top of Eye-Six. It was time to do the damn thing.
FPV: Fans, I'm not wasting any time here. I know I tend to pussyfoot around a bit at the start of these promos, whip up a nice poetic opening before seguing into my real shoot. But not tonight. Tonight is all business.
Jason O'Neal, first off before I say anything else I just want to say congratulations. Congratulations on getting fucked up by Joey flash for an entire match then getting gang-fucked by three dudes who then get you a pinfall victory you absolutely did not deserve. I know last week when I talked about this same victory I was a bit nicer towards you, but now that we've actually reached our match I've got no patience for being nice to you anymore. I saved all that pent up annoyance and anger for this very match. All for you Jason.
I mean seriously, do you expect me to buy you as a legitimate World Champion when Flash was in control for all of that match? As much as I hate Flash as a person, I've always been willing to admit his skill in the ring was impeccable if a bit lazy. But not that night. That night he was motivated, truly motivated to fuck you up and make you regret ever cashing in that World title shot. I mean, the guy was hitting moves like that spiked german, a move he hasn't used in forever, but he pulled out just to ensure you lose in the most humiliating fashion possible. At no point in that match did you even ATTEMPT to hit The Sensation, or Lagniappe, or even try to put Flash in the Money Maker. Shit, aside from getting dropped on top of Flash, you never got a SINGLE pin attempt in. But Flash got THREE attempts on you, and the only reason you didn't kick out of one of them was the old "foot on the rope" trick. Yawn. I mince no words when I say if Flash managed to hit that stupid Bite the Dust kick on you, you'd be done-ski. But you had some guardian angels looking over you, apparently.
Jason I know you and those around like to call yourselves gangbangers. Consider yourself educated now that you know what it's like to be on the receiving end of an actual gangbang courtesy of Everest. To get pushed around by a single Joey Flash is embarrassing enough, but then getting fucked by Everest on TOP of that must be heartbreaking. Throughout that whole match you were made to look like the biggest fucking fool on the roster, and what do you do the next week on Slam? You speak as if you'd slain the mighty Flash all by yourself. "The weed that fucking round up didn’t work on"? The FUCK are you talking about? "You all should be happy that someone who doesn’t pick his own matches and is a real superstar has risen"?? Are you delusional or stupid? I say both.
But I did love a few parts of that little ringside chat there, Jason. For instance, the fact you just wouldn't shut up about how everyone thinks...no, KNOWS that I'm gonna take that title away from you at Explosion just tickles my funny bone. You mentioned THREE times how people think the title will go right to me and that no one should take your reign seriously. And while that little boost to my ego is very much appreciated, what I love even more is that you did fucking NOTHING to disuade people from thinking this line of thought.
"I take nothing from Frank, he is a hell of a competitor and everyone is in for a show next week."
It's always a good match when even your opponent starts riding on your dick. I love it.
Another thing I really liked about that little promo is the clip of you winning the World Title. All anyone saw was The pinfall. No Everest. No Bite The Dust. No ZA WARUDO. Just the pin.
How. Fucking. Delusional ARE you Jason?! We ALLLLLL saw what happened on the previous Slam, why do you insist on editing history to make yourself look less pathetic when the truth is out there? That's just fucking petty, my boy. And I once blew up a man's bank because I just felt like it.
I think Zach Davis for all of us when he described you as you came out that night.
"Just like his World Title Reign, not scheduled, nobody wants it, and we are all praying it’s short."
Is this how you carried yourself back in your indy days? When you were a young fresh faced whippersnapper? Back when you apparently won FOUR World Titles in FOUR different promotions? Like, that's a GIGANTIC accomplishment. Too bad literally no one gives a shit about it.
If I went to random wrestling fans outside the door to a WCF event and I asked them "What does the Hardcore Wrestling Federation mean to you?" Or the "Xtreme Wrestling Federation?" Or even "Elite Wrestling?" All those feds where you've no doubt made your mark among the best? I'm willing to bet literally everyone around would say...
"What?"
I had assumed you had learned this shit earlier but I guess I'm gonna have to be the one to spell it out for you homeboy: no one gives a shit about where you've been outside of the WCF. You want a good example of this ideology? Just look at Andre Holmes. That relentless bastard was World Champion for FOUR FUCKING YEARS in some random buttfuck federation out there in the world, yet you never see him brag about it over here, do you? That's cause he gets it, unlike you. He gets that the only shit that matters is what you do in that WCF ring. Sure you can have your four different world titles, but you best believe no one will bring that up about you in this federation. No one.
But you know what really grinds my gears, Jason? The fact that no matter how much you whined and complained about how people treat you in this federation, no matter how much you put down a legit champion in Flash, no matter how much you whined about people labeling you a transitional champion...you still somehow got a few people in the crowd to cheer for you. THAT'S what makes me the angriest of all. Cause Jason, that small portion of the audience you got on your side, you absolutely do not deserve it. You try your best to label yourself a man who does bad things for good reasons, but I know damn well that's just your excuse to be liked. How can a guy like you, a guy who hijacks feeds on the WCF Network just to get noticed rather then through his own merits, a guy who says awful, AWFUL things about his opposition, a guy who has to surround himself constantly with so many yes men, how can a guy like you claim to be a man of the people? You make me fucking sick Jason.
When I say I'm a man of the people, do you think I'm just saying that for my fucking health? HELL NO. I say that because it's the goddamned truth. I've got the two People's title belts to prove. I've been proving that I am here for the WCF Galaxy since I made my debut in two-thousand-fucking-ELEVEN. I fucking live for the people, you want anymore further proof then that? Look at my match with David Sanchez, watch the spot where he pushes me off the ladder and I fall directly into the WCF Galaxy. Tell me ONE Other person on this roster they would do that for.
...
I'll wait.
...
...
EXACTLY.
Can you imagine them doing that for say, Teddy Blaze? Or Dion Necurat? Or even our current People's Champion Kevin Bishop for that matter? Here are your answers: NOPE, NOPE, AND HELL NOPE. I'm the only one they put their full trust in, and they give me power, Jason. Power you can't even BEGIN to comprehend even with your street ambitions. They give me their power, and I give them what they want: a TRUE CHAMPION at the top of the WCF. Not a placeholder like you.
Y'see I can't respect wrestlers like you, wrestler who toe the line between what we think is "face" and "heel." Tweeners, as stupid as that word is it fits how stupid people like you are. I'm not bashing the idea of people with actual complex goals and feelings, I'm bashing the idea of people like YOU, people who switch sides on a dime when it suits them. The fuck do you think being "a man of the people" is? A part-time job? Go fuck yourself. I work HARD for those fans each and every night, and I will not have the work trampled on by people like you who can't be bothered to give a damn either way.
Are you crying now Jason? Are you regretting ever winning that Alpha Title in the first place? Are you asking yourself "Jesus Fucking Christ what have I gotten myself into?!" Well guess what?
I'm just getting started.
If you're in New Orleans and you don't at least try Cafe Du Monde, you're doing yourself a gross, gross disservice.
Famous for their beignets (powered sugary delights for anyone not in the know), Cafe Du Monde is perhaps THE place to go for a New Orleans breakfast. For less then six dollars you can get an order of three beignets and a large coffee. There is no other place where you can get a value THAT good. And just to sweeten the deal, most days there will be some street musicians outside to tickle your eardrums while the beignets tickle your taste buds. Perhaps the only downside is that even on a slow day, this place is usually PACKED, but if you're smart like me and get there early enough in the morning you'll be fine.
It was about 7 in the morning on Wednesday when I got there. The daily rush of customers hadn't quite shown up yet, so it took me no time at all to take my seat and order my food. Outside the actual restaurant, a solo guitar player had gotten plugged in and was playing some quiet, calm pieces on his guitar. His playing kept me well occupied before my food arrived. Service was fast and easy without falling into "fast food" territory. I tried to not go into it too fast, I really did, but I just couldn't help myself. It had been too long since I had had them.
Once the beignets were demolished, I got to the coffee. In between sips, I took out my phone and started to compose a quick text for Vic to let him know everything was okay.
"Everything's going well so far. Got into a bit of a run-in getting to the hotel but that's been taken care of. I was right, O'Neal's a thug, through and through. Worse yet, he's a thug who wants you to know he's a thug. I'll do my best to take his gangbangin' down a peg. Hope everything's good at the Grounds."
I hit the send button and went back to drinking my coffee, but my attention soon went to a man making his way into the restaurant. This guy looked...suspicious to say the least. He didn't seem like a tourist at all, he was dressed to the nines in a nice suit and was built like a brick shit house. The rising sun was shining brightly on his tan, bald head. I did my best not to look at him, something just screamed to me that this guy was going to be trouble. Out the corner of my eye I could see him talking to one of the waiters, I couldn't hear what he was saying but I could see him pointing directly at me. My suspicions were coming true. I tried to keep my cool and keep on drinking my coffee, but he eventually his way to my table. Shit.
Thug: So, you dat famous Eff Pee Vee, ain'tya?
FPV: What of it, big guy?
Thug: I jus wannid to espress my admaration of ya work, Mistahh V. You do sumthin lesser men ain't got da guts to do once, an you do it every week. Dat takes bawls, man. Bawls.
This guy spoke in such a thick Cajun accent you could probably cook a gumbo in it. I couldn't tell what his deal with me was...until he said this...
Thug: Jus like it takes bawls to kick a man in da jaw in broad daylight.
WHAT. How did this man know that that happened? Who told him this?! I had to remain calm, try to defuse the situation. I had to lie as best as I could.
FPV: I've got no idea what you're talking about. I don't hit moves on civilians.
Thug: Sure ya don't Mistahh V. I betchu go to church on Sundays and say your prayas every night too.
FPV: I'm just trying to enjoy my breakfast, man.
Thug: I knew it was a mistake lettin a rookie like David* try to take a guy like you onn. You did a reel numbah on him, that you did. Kid was still out when we got 'em.
*Authors Note: David in this case is pronounced DAH-veed. It's a Louisiana thing.
FPV: I'd be willing to help you out if I knew what you were talking about, I'm serious.
All of a sudden the thug's expression changed, got much more serious. It was at that moment I noticed something very troubling: the faint glimmer of the black metal of a gunn hiding within his jacket pocket. Shit was about to south, I just knew it.
Thug: Oh really? Well if ya won't talk I'll make ya talk. See, we got a hold of that young boy you was in the Ward with, and he was juss'like you, wouldin' talk one bit. You wanna see what we did to him.
I said nothing. He began to chuckle as he reached into his jacket pocket (the one opposite the gun) and took out what looked like a Polaroid picture. He slid the Polaroid towards me on the table, and while I didn't take it into my hands I saw it just fine.
FPV (internally): Oh my god...
More snickering from the thug. He knew deep down I was shitting my pants at what I was seeing, though my face remained stoic.
Thug: Whatchu gotta say to dat, Mistahh Headshot? Hahahaha!
I carefully surveyed my surroundings. There wasn't that much around me that I could use to my advantage...except ffor one thing in particular. I had opened the lip of my cup of coffee to put in just a little bit of sweetener in, and I had never bothered to put the lid back on. I hated having to waste good coffee like this, but I had no other option. In one fluid motion, I grabbed the cup just fast enough for the thug to stop his laughing, then in another fluid motion jacked my arm forward and threw about half a cup of steaming hot Cafe Du Monde coffee right into the guys face before he oculd even let out a confused "huh?!" The screams were instant, and soon enough everyone over here turned their heads to see what was going on.
Thug: AHHHHHH. DA FUCK WRONG WIT YOU MOTHAFUCKA?!
FPV: Don't. Threaten Me. While I'm EATING BREAKFAST.
It was fucking ON. I could see him reaching for his gun, but I was faster then he was and kicked his hand away from the piece. He looked to be blinded, but also in some sort of blind rage, so he was probably even more dangerous. Shouting in anger, he blindly threw a punch, trying to connect yet missing by about 8 inches. I had much more luck connecting, landing a good one-two punch on his face. I could still feel the heat from the coffee, I might've actually burned the guy's face. Not giving up, the thug clasped both hands together and tried to get an axe-handle on me, though it was a sloppy axe-handle at best and I was able to dodge it effortlessly.
FPV: What do you want from me?! Tell me now!
Thug: You gettin' too close to da boss, Mistahh V. Too close fa' comfort.
So this was the fuckin deal: O'Neal knew I was lookin into his business and was sending goons to take care of me. I couldn't help but laugh.
FPV: So lemme get this straight: Jason knows I'm onto him, and sends dumb muscle like you out to deal with me? HA. Leave me alone right the fuck now, and I'll forgive you for all your misgivings. Otherwise, I'll just have to punish you like I punished Lil' David.
The only thing I got in response was a battle cry as this thug blindly charged forward towards me. Looks like I was gonna have to pull out the big guns. I was hoping this new move would make it's debut in the ring, but this would have to do. I readied my leg, right at the precise moment he'd be most vulnerable, then hit that
B O O M ! H E A D S H O T
I wasn't done. I took him, put him in position and yelled out...
HOLY DIVER...ACT ONE
Before this motherfucker could even comprehend what was going on, I lifted him up with all the strength I had and then some, and dropped him down in a picture-perfect Tiger Driver. Bystanders who saw what was happening let out an audible "OOOOOOOOOOOOH" as the thug fell into a state of unconsciousness. The world now knew the power of Holy Diver, and this was only it's first stage. Once I was absolutley sure the thug wasn't getting up any time soon, I reached into his pocket, felt around a bit before finding his wallet, and took out as much cash as I could get. I then looked back at the table, looked briefly at the Polaroid, and took that as well. The poor, poor bastard. I couldn't believe they would actualy stoop that low. I was going to avenge this kid, one way or the other. Before leaving, I went to a bewildered looking manager who had just come out the back, and handed him all the money I had taken from the thug's wallet.
FPV: Sorry for the commotion. Call the police and have him taken away. He was armed and a threat to everyone here.
I didn't need to say it twice, once was enough for the manager to quickly get the phone out as I walked away. Shit was getting truly serious, but I was not deterred.
I'll find you our O'Neal. One way or another.