Post by Speede on Jan 29, 2012 17:21:18 GMT -5
Scene One
The scene opens to the inside of a night club. The scene focuses in on three figures over by the bar; one is behind the counter and the other two are sitting on stools to the side guests would most normally sit. The camera rotates slightly around them to show that the two that are seated are Roy Speede and Abbie Grande. It proceeds to zoom in and approach, picking up some of their conversation as the bartender hands Roy a bottled root beer and Abbie a glass of some clear, fizzy liquid with ice and a straw.
Roy Speede: ”Yeah, Horace, you heard me right. Somebody kidnapped my opponent and have been holding him hostage or something I’ll bet. It makes me wonder if the guy’s even going to show his face; with the way things are though, it’s all just going to end up being some elaborate ruse to try to get my guard down. Well I ain’t buying it! I’m going to be ready for this match and I’m gonna go all out to win that TV Title!”
Horace the Bartender: ”Hold up a second, there, Roy-o. Did you just say the guy was kidnapped? And you’re still focused on a damned match as opposed to finding him to make sure he’s safe?”
Roy Speede: ”I don’t give a damn about his safety. The kid’s the Television Champion, for God’s sakes. He should be able to defend himself well enough, especially with the kind of talent he always claims to have for competing. Quite frankly, though, I don’t see it. I should be worried, but I’m not. If he doesn’t show up, I guess that means I get the title.”
Horace the Bartender: ”You’ve changed, Roy. You’re not the same guy I befriended a year ago. I don’t even know if I know you anymore. The Roy I know would never let his competitor die just for the gold.”
Abbie Grande: ”He wised up, Horace. He came to his senses and realized that professional wrestlers get hurt. It’s all part of the game. And if he thinks Roy’s going to take it easy on him just because a group of buddies and he got together and staged a kidnapping so that he can make his all-too-triumphant return at Payback, he’s got another thing coming.”
Horace the Bartender: ”That’s not what I mean, Miss Grande.”
Abbie Grande: ”It’s Abbie.”
Horace the Bartender: ”Okay, Abbie. What I mean is, Roy’s lost his compassion and caring about his friends and opponents. I’ve never seen him go half way, but what I’m trying to get across is that Roy always tried to make sure nothing too serious ever happened in the ring. What happened to that Roy?”
Roy Speede: ”Wrestling is a two-way street, Horace, and none of those other bastards give a damn about anybody else. Trying to put up with that for so long makes me not give a damn about any of them either. I don’t care about their safety nor their wellbeing; I go down to that ring, I kick their asses, I get my hand raised in victory, and I walk back to the back until my name is called to come down to the ring again. I guess it sounds a little bland when you think about it, but that’s how things are done in the WCF, except very few other people actually do the dishing out of punishment. That part of it is reserved for just a select few.”
Horace the Bartender: ”So if someone is seriously injured because they were kidnapped and barely managed to escape, you’d take the title for yourself instead of letting the guy keep it until he could defend it properly?”
Roy Speede: ”You’re damn right I would. It’s obvious Jonny Fly only cares about himself, and I definitely not about me or anyone else in this company, so why should I bother to care what he thinks? Answer me that, Horace. I certainly don’t care if he loses his precious belt because he can’t make it to the ring, or to the arena for that matter. Am I going to set this whole thing up to win the title myself? Hell no, I wouldn’t. But really, truly, he would never give up a title shot for me if I were kidnapped and taken somewhere against my will with no time to prepare, and with a probably lack of ability to even come to the arena. I’m not offering him that kind of courtesy either. If he doesn’t show up, I’ll take my win via count-out and get a new belt made personally, and then deal with the fact that he’s missing later.
Sure, I care a lot that he may be in trouble, but for the love of god, he definitely wouldn’t care enough to give me a rematch if the roles were reversed and I as the challenger was taken away. Let him mess himself up by falling prey to some band of freaks! I don’t care!”
Abbie Grande: ”Whoa, Roy. Calm down. Relax. Nobody cares who it was that took him. All that matters is that the title is still yours to take.”
Horace the Bartender: ”Wait; did you say Jonny Fly? Roy, authorities are saying he might be dead; nobody’s seen or heard anything about him at all since his match last Sunday. I’ve been following that a bit on the news.”
Roy Speede: ”Dead? Does he honestly expect me to believe that? WCF wrestlers have had some strange things happen to them during or around the time of a show taking place, but I don’t think dying has ever... Oh wait, never mind. I forgot about Greenfever. Okay, so maybe he did die! So what? May his soul rest in peace, and I’ll make sure that taking his TV Title from him won’t go in vain!”
Horace the Bartender: ”Here’s another thought, Roy. If Fly really is gone, won’t Seth find someone to replace him in your match?”
Roy Speede: ”Well... um... Don’t you have other customers waiting, Horace?”
Horace the Bartender: ”Oh, you’re right. Thanks for pointing it out. I’ll catch ya later, Roy-o.”
Roy Speede: ”Alright. Later. Oh, and keep the change.”
Roy pulls out his wallet, and opens the cash clip before flipping through the bills there. He finds a twenty and places it on the counter, and then looks over at Abbie, who grins widely as she sets down her glass. She gives a slight nod, and the two get up and head for the door, talking as they go.
Abbie Grande: ”He’s right, you know. Seth seems to be pretty adamant about not giving stuff out for free, even if it technically isn’t being given out, nor for free. You’ll be fighting whether it is actually against Fly or against someone else I bet.”
Roy Speede: ”No doubt, Abbs. But the thing that I’m thinking is that, as far as this match is concerned, if Fly doesn’t show up, Seth won’t know until it’s too late and he won’t have time to get a replacement. It’s Jonny Fly or nobody, and my money is on Jonny Fly somehow showing up at this Pay-Per-View. He’s shown up out of nowhere to win big before, so I could see him showing up trying to do exactly that again. But what he doesn’t realize is that, unlike Kaylyn, I’m-“
Abbie Grande: ”Speaking of Kaylyn, where the hell is she? I thought she was your girlfriend!”
Roy Speede: ”She is my girlfriend, so no getting your hopes up. It just so happens that she needed a couple weeks away from everything to get her head on straight and go visit her family, or something like that. And as much as I’d have liked going with her, I’ve got to stay here and bring that TV Title back into the fold where it belongs. When she gets back, no doubt I’ll be here with open arms for her.”
Abbie gives him a rather sinister glare with a show of displeasure in Roy’s words. Roy chuckles and unlocks his car as he steps out into the street and walks around to the driver’s side door. The two get into the vehicle almost simultaneously, and the camera man gets into the back seat before the car pulls off into the night, the camera cutting from the exhaust fumes of the mechanical beast to the inside, where Roy and Abbie are still talking.
Abbie Grande: ”Roy, you know I don’t like her! I came back when you were still fighting and begged for you back with open arms, and yet you still chose that little wench over me. You’d rather have that little slut who parades around in her underwear than someone who loves you for you! I mean, dammit Roy, if I did this more often...”
Abbie unbuttons her top and tosses it into the back, leaving her bra on nonetheless.
Abbie Grande: ”Maybe you’d want me back, too! You’re just messed up like that, Roy Speede. Horace was right; you’re not the same Roy that we knew back before Kaylyn got into your head... and probably your pants.”
Roy Speede: ”Look, Abbie, what happens between Kaylyn and I is none of your business. You’re my manager, and you’re my friend, but you’re not my girlfriend anymore. That ship sailed, and I told you that before you even became my manager again! Forget about her and do what you’re supposed to! Make sure you find out what you can about my opponents and make sure I know their weaknesses, and when I get into deep shit, be there at ringside to distract the referee or throw a chair shot!”
Abbie’s eyes grow wide, and she has to physically grab her arm to restrain from slapping him in the face. A sound like a muffled scream of sorts comes from her tightly closed lips, showing she’s definitely trying to keep quiet about that, but it doesn’t last for too long before she speaks again.
Abbie Grande: ”That’s it, Roy! Take me home! This date is over; I’m going to have to take a bit to think about whether I even want to manage you anymore!”
Roy Speede: ”Take you home? Fine, I’ll take you home, but this was never a date! You’re not my girlfriend!”
The scene cuts to black as the tires screech from Roy stepping down hard on the gas.
Scene Two
Hank Brown is standing by with a microphone in his hand in his usual WCF Interview area.
Hank Brown: ”Ladies and gentlemen, Hank Brown here as always, and I was told I was going to do an interview here today but my guest for this time has-“
Roy Speede steps up beside Hank with a microphone in his hand as well, and gives Hank a bit of a glare.
Hank Brown: ”Has just shown up. Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time-“
Roy interrupts Hank before he can finish his sentence.
Roy Speede: ”Yeah, yeah, shut it Hank. I’m here, aren’t I?”
Hank Brown: ”Yeah, I suppose so, but who made you so mad suddenly? What’s up?”
Roy Speede: ”Look, I’m not in the mood to be asked stupid questions, Hank. I just want to use this time to explain to the world that Jonny Fly’s disappearance means abso-fucking-lutely nothing to me whatsoever. Okay? If he shows up or not, I’m going to take that Television Championship and raise it high in the air; I don’t care if Jonny Fly brings those imbeciles who supposedly kidnaps him for backup. I’m going to fuck some shit up, and Fly’s just the person who’s getting in my way right now if he shows up. If he doesn’t make it to the match, I guess I’ll have to target somebody else instead.”
Hank Brown: ”Roy, relax, my friend! There’s no need to be this tense about your match!”
Roy Speede: ”My match... If you think I’m ‘tense’ because of my match, Hank, You may actually be stupider than you look. I’m downright furious because some people can’t get it through their thick skulls that I am nobody anyone wants to mess with, good day, bad day, whenever the hell they have to step into the ring with me. I’m still downright angry that I’m not a tag team champion alongside Frank Patrick Venable after we got a chance to win our titles back for another reign earlier this month. Those belts should be around our waists right now, but yet they’re being held by some worthless little punks named Jeff Purse and Nightrider. How the hell do they even come up with a team like that, anyway, I have to ask because quite simply speaking, Nightrider’s a big dumb freak, and Jeff Purse is more over-rated than Justin fucking Bieber! I haven’t forgotten that FPV messed things up for us as far as a chance at another title reign, and he’ll get what’s coming to him in due time, as will Purse and Nightrider, but I’m trying to channel my anger into a battle plan for my match, and then I find out my opponent is missing!
‘What the hell is going on with Jonny Fly?’, everyone asks me. ‘Do you feel sorry for Jonny Fly?’ ‘Are you going to go easy on him if he makes it to his match?’ ‘Is this just some elaborate ruse you two put together for an entertaining show for the viewers?’ People are really fucking stupid, Hank. If I had any idea what the hell happened to Jonny Fly, I would’ve found him and gotten his ass out of trouble already so that he’s at top form for our match at Payback. God damn, I want that belt, but I’m not the kind to actually want to take advantage of someone who’s either weak or unable to show up for their match to begin with! I want a fight, and that’s what I was expecting to get when I challenged Fly to this match, not some birthday party magician’s disappearing act from a professional wrestler!
As for whether or not I really care, I honestly don’t. If he even shows up for his match, he’s going to get his ass beaten down sincerely and his belt taken from his clutches without so much as a chance at defending himself; no doubt he’s weak after everything he’s been through. If he doesn’t show up, then I win by default and get to take the belt for myself, since count-outs do count for title changes when we’re talking about the TV Title. Either way, I’m walking out of this match the WCF Television Champion. Sure, it makes me look like the bad guy in this situation since Jonny Fly is missing and nobody knows what the fuck is happening with him, but oh fucking well. Nobody ever said I had to be the good guy every time I came out to the ring; hell, I’ve heard a shitload of boos mixed in among the cheers ever since I got together with Kaylyn James Evans, but do I look like I care? No, I don’t care, that’s the thing.
I spent the first, oh, I dunno, eight months of my career pandering to the interests of a fanbase that includes children from the ages of six to twelve, women who want to sleep with me, and then professional wrestling wanna be’s that just never made it in the big time. And look where that got me; I got two weeks with a singles title before Shane Borderland knocked me on my ass because of my interest in putting on a show for the fans. But I’ve grown up since then. I’ve matured, and I’ve learned not to give a fuck what the fans say. If the fans want me to win the match, so be it, they’ll get what they asked for, but if they want me to prolong the match, make it look good, and give them a photo finish, they’d better get their cameras ready the minute the bell rings because I’m not going to bother wasting my time with taking it easy. I’m going hard bell to bell from now on, and that’s just what I’ve gotta do to make my career actually plausible.
Yeah, I said it. I said it, and you’d better damn well believe I meant it. I’m gonna suspend all doubt as to why I’m the best wrestler in the business one match at a time; I don’t care if my opponent is god damned Corey Black and I’m in Nathon Von Freakbert’s spot going for the World Title, if Corey Black steps into the ring against me, he better be prepared to get knocked on his ass and hand over that title to someone who actually deserves to hold it. As a matter of fact, he better consider himself lucky it’s only Nathan Von Liebert this time, or he really would be at risk of losing his championship belt this time around. At Payback, it’s going to be Jonny Fly that actually doesn’t retain his championship, and the reason why is that I’m his opponent.
Let’s face it, Fly is a little bit off-kilter mentally. The man hired a manager with a stupid-as-fuck name just because he wanted a good laugh out of it. It’s not like his manager can actually do anything extraordinary that nobody else on the planet can do. And he didn’t even find himself a hot piece of ass to be his manager; he chose a random numbnuts who couldn’t even pass as a jobber in an indy fed to be his manager; he probably doesn’t even know anything about wrestling. I’m talking about Fly, now. He’s lost his sanity. He doesn’t know how to fight a good fight anymore; he’s going to lose if he gives it everything in his arsenal because I’m just that damn good. Sure he’s beaten the likes of a shit ton of others, but he hasn’t, and will never, beat Roy Speede. That’s a goddamn promise, Hank.”
He hands Hank the microphone and walks off. The scene cuts to black.
The scene opens to the inside of a night club. The scene focuses in on three figures over by the bar; one is behind the counter and the other two are sitting on stools to the side guests would most normally sit. The camera rotates slightly around them to show that the two that are seated are Roy Speede and Abbie Grande. It proceeds to zoom in and approach, picking up some of their conversation as the bartender hands Roy a bottled root beer and Abbie a glass of some clear, fizzy liquid with ice and a straw.
Roy Speede: ”Yeah, Horace, you heard me right. Somebody kidnapped my opponent and have been holding him hostage or something I’ll bet. It makes me wonder if the guy’s even going to show his face; with the way things are though, it’s all just going to end up being some elaborate ruse to try to get my guard down. Well I ain’t buying it! I’m going to be ready for this match and I’m gonna go all out to win that TV Title!”
Horace the Bartender: ”Hold up a second, there, Roy-o. Did you just say the guy was kidnapped? And you’re still focused on a damned match as opposed to finding him to make sure he’s safe?”
Roy Speede: ”I don’t give a damn about his safety. The kid’s the Television Champion, for God’s sakes. He should be able to defend himself well enough, especially with the kind of talent he always claims to have for competing. Quite frankly, though, I don’t see it. I should be worried, but I’m not. If he doesn’t show up, I guess that means I get the title.”
Horace the Bartender: ”You’ve changed, Roy. You’re not the same guy I befriended a year ago. I don’t even know if I know you anymore. The Roy I know would never let his competitor die just for the gold.”
Abbie Grande: ”He wised up, Horace. He came to his senses and realized that professional wrestlers get hurt. It’s all part of the game. And if he thinks Roy’s going to take it easy on him just because a group of buddies and he got together and staged a kidnapping so that he can make his all-too-triumphant return at Payback, he’s got another thing coming.”
Horace the Bartender: ”That’s not what I mean, Miss Grande.”
Abbie Grande: ”It’s Abbie.”
Horace the Bartender: ”Okay, Abbie. What I mean is, Roy’s lost his compassion and caring about his friends and opponents. I’ve never seen him go half way, but what I’m trying to get across is that Roy always tried to make sure nothing too serious ever happened in the ring. What happened to that Roy?”
Roy Speede: ”Wrestling is a two-way street, Horace, and none of those other bastards give a damn about anybody else. Trying to put up with that for so long makes me not give a damn about any of them either. I don’t care about their safety nor their wellbeing; I go down to that ring, I kick their asses, I get my hand raised in victory, and I walk back to the back until my name is called to come down to the ring again. I guess it sounds a little bland when you think about it, but that’s how things are done in the WCF, except very few other people actually do the dishing out of punishment. That part of it is reserved for just a select few.”
Horace the Bartender: ”So if someone is seriously injured because they were kidnapped and barely managed to escape, you’d take the title for yourself instead of letting the guy keep it until he could defend it properly?”
Roy Speede: ”You’re damn right I would. It’s obvious Jonny Fly only cares about himself, and I definitely not about me or anyone else in this company, so why should I bother to care what he thinks? Answer me that, Horace. I certainly don’t care if he loses his precious belt because he can’t make it to the ring, or to the arena for that matter. Am I going to set this whole thing up to win the title myself? Hell no, I wouldn’t. But really, truly, he would never give up a title shot for me if I were kidnapped and taken somewhere against my will with no time to prepare, and with a probably lack of ability to even come to the arena. I’m not offering him that kind of courtesy either. If he doesn’t show up, I’ll take my win via count-out and get a new belt made personally, and then deal with the fact that he’s missing later.
Sure, I care a lot that he may be in trouble, but for the love of god, he definitely wouldn’t care enough to give me a rematch if the roles were reversed and I as the challenger was taken away. Let him mess himself up by falling prey to some band of freaks! I don’t care!”
Abbie Grande: ”Whoa, Roy. Calm down. Relax. Nobody cares who it was that took him. All that matters is that the title is still yours to take.”
Horace the Bartender: ”Wait; did you say Jonny Fly? Roy, authorities are saying he might be dead; nobody’s seen or heard anything about him at all since his match last Sunday. I’ve been following that a bit on the news.”
Roy Speede: ”Dead? Does he honestly expect me to believe that? WCF wrestlers have had some strange things happen to them during or around the time of a show taking place, but I don’t think dying has ever... Oh wait, never mind. I forgot about Greenfever. Okay, so maybe he did die! So what? May his soul rest in peace, and I’ll make sure that taking his TV Title from him won’t go in vain!”
Horace the Bartender: ”Here’s another thought, Roy. If Fly really is gone, won’t Seth find someone to replace him in your match?”
Roy Speede: ”Well... um... Don’t you have other customers waiting, Horace?”
Horace the Bartender: ”Oh, you’re right. Thanks for pointing it out. I’ll catch ya later, Roy-o.”
Roy Speede: ”Alright. Later. Oh, and keep the change.”
Roy pulls out his wallet, and opens the cash clip before flipping through the bills there. He finds a twenty and places it on the counter, and then looks over at Abbie, who grins widely as she sets down her glass. She gives a slight nod, and the two get up and head for the door, talking as they go.
Abbie Grande: ”He’s right, you know. Seth seems to be pretty adamant about not giving stuff out for free, even if it technically isn’t being given out, nor for free. You’ll be fighting whether it is actually against Fly or against someone else I bet.”
Roy Speede: ”No doubt, Abbs. But the thing that I’m thinking is that, as far as this match is concerned, if Fly doesn’t show up, Seth won’t know until it’s too late and he won’t have time to get a replacement. It’s Jonny Fly or nobody, and my money is on Jonny Fly somehow showing up at this Pay-Per-View. He’s shown up out of nowhere to win big before, so I could see him showing up trying to do exactly that again. But what he doesn’t realize is that, unlike Kaylyn, I’m-“
Abbie Grande: ”Speaking of Kaylyn, where the hell is she? I thought she was your girlfriend!”
Roy Speede: ”She is my girlfriend, so no getting your hopes up. It just so happens that she needed a couple weeks away from everything to get her head on straight and go visit her family, or something like that. And as much as I’d have liked going with her, I’ve got to stay here and bring that TV Title back into the fold where it belongs. When she gets back, no doubt I’ll be here with open arms for her.”
Abbie gives him a rather sinister glare with a show of displeasure in Roy’s words. Roy chuckles and unlocks his car as he steps out into the street and walks around to the driver’s side door. The two get into the vehicle almost simultaneously, and the camera man gets into the back seat before the car pulls off into the night, the camera cutting from the exhaust fumes of the mechanical beast to the inside, where Roy and Abbie are still talking.
Abbie Grande: ”Roy, you know I don’t like her! I came back when you were still fighting and begged for you back with open arms, and yet you still chose that little wench over me. You’d rather have that little slut who parades around in her underwear than someone who loves you for you! I mean, dammit Roy, if I did this more often...”
Abbie unbuttons her top and tosses it into the back, leaving her bra on nonetheless.
Abbie Grande: ”Maybe you’d want me back, too! You’re just messed up like that, Roy Speede. Horace was right; you’re not the same Roy that we knew back before Kaylyn got into your head... and probably your pants.”
Roy Speede: ”Look, Abbie, what happens between Kaylyn and I is none of your business. You’re my manager, and you’re my friend, but you’re not my girlfriend anymore. That ship sailed, and I told you that before you even became my manager again! Forget about her and do what you’re supposed to! Make sure you find out what you can about my opponents and make sure I know their weaknesses, and when I get into deep shit, be there at ringside to distract the referee or throw a chair shot!”
Abbie’s eyes grow wide, and she has to physically grab her arm to restrain from slapping him in the face. A sound like a muffled scream of sorts comes from her tightly closed lips, showing she’s definitely trying to keep quiet about that, but it doesn’t last for too long before she speaks again.
Abbie Grande: ”That’s it, Roy! Take me home! This date is over; I’m going to have to take a bit to think about whether I even want to manage you anymore!”
Roy Speede: ”Take you home? Fine, I’ll take you home, but this was never a date! You’re not my girlfriend!”
The scene cuts to black as the tires screech from Roy stepping down hard on the gas.
Scene Two
Hank Brown is standing by with a microphone in his hand in his usual WCF Interview area.
Hank Brown: ”Ladies and gentlemen, Hank Brown here as always, and I was told I was going to do an interview here today but my guest for this time has-“
Roy Speede steps up beside Hank with a microphone in his hand as well, and gives Hank a bit of a glare.
Hank Brown: ”Has just shown up. Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time-“
Roy interrupts Hank before he can finish his sentence.
Roy Speede: ”Yeah, yeah, shut it Hank. I’m here, aren’t I?”
Hank Brown: ”Yeah, I suppose so, but who made you so mad suddenly? What’s up?”
Roy Speede: ”Look, I’m not in the mood to be asked stupid questions, Hank. I just want to use this time to explain to the world that Jonny Fly’s disappearance means abso-fucking-lutely nothing to me whatsoever. Okay? If he shows up or not, I’m going to take that Television Championship and raise it high in the air; I don’t care if Jonny Fly brings those imbeciles who supposedly kidnaps him for backup. I’m going to fuck some shit up, and Fly’s just the person who’s getting in my way right now if he shows up. If he doesn’t make it to the match, I guess I’ll have to target somebody else instead.”
Hank Brown: ”Roy, relax, my friend! There’s no need to be this tense about your match!”
Roy Speede: ”My match... If you think I’m ‘tense’ because of my match, Hank, You may actually be stupider than you look. I’m downright furious because some people can’t get it through their thick skulls that I am nobody anyone wants to mess with, good day, bad day, whenever the hell they have to step into the ring with me. I’m still downright angry that I’m not a tag team champion alongside Frank Patrick Venable after we got a chance to win our titles back for another reign earlier this month. Those belts should be around our waists right now, but yet they’re being held by some worthless little punks named Jeff Purse and Nightrider. How the hell do they even come up with a team like that, anyway, I have to ask because quite simply speaking, Nightrider’s a big dumb freak, and Jeff Purse is more over-rated than Justin fucking Bieber! I haven’t forgotten that FPV messed things up for us as far as a chance at another title reign, and he’ll get what’s coming to him in due time, as will Purse and Nightrider, but I’m trying to channel my anger into a battle plan for my match, and then I find out my opponent is missing!
‘What the hell is going on with Jonny Fly?’, everyone asks me. ‘Do you feel sorry for Jonny Fly?’ ‘Are you going to go easy on him if he makes it to his match?’ ‘Is this just some elaborate ruse you two put together for an entertaining show for the viewers?’ People are really fucking stupid, Hank. If I had any idea what the hell happened to Jonny Fly, I would’ve found him and gotten his ass out of trouble already so that he’s at top form for our match at Payback. God damn, I want that belt, but I’m not the kind to actually want to take advantage of someone who’s either weak or unable to show up for their match to begin with! I want a fight, and that’s what I was expecting to get when I challenged Fly to this match, not some birthday party magician’s disappearing act from a professional wrestler!
As for whether or not I really care, I honestly don’t. If he even shows up for his match, he’s going to get his ass beaten down sincerely and his belt taken from his clutches without so much as a chance at defending himself; no doubt he’s weak after everything he’s been through. If he doesn’t show up, then I win by default and get to take the belt for myself, since count-outs do count for title changes when we’re talking about the TV Title. Either way, I’m walking out of this match the WCF Television Champion. Sure, it makes me look like the bad guy in this situation since Jonny Fly is missing and nobody knows what the fuck is happening with him, but oh fucking well. Nobody ever said I had to be the good guy every time I came out to the ring; hell, I’ve heard a shitload of boos mixed in among the cheers ever since I got together with Kaylyn James Evans, but do I look like I care? No, I don’t care, that’s the thing.
I spent the first, oh, I dunno, eight months of my career pandering to the interests of a fanbase that includes children from the ages of six to twelve, women who want to sleep with me, and then professional wrestling wanna be’s that just never made it in the big time. And look where that got me; I got two weeks with a singles title before Shane Borderland knocked me on my ass because of my interest in putting on a show for the fans. But I’ve grown up since then. I’ve matured, and I’ve learned not to give a fuck what the fans say. If the fans want me to win the match, so be it, they’ll get what they asked for, but if they want me to prolong the match, make it look good, and give them a photo finish, they’d better get their cameras ready the minute the bell rings because I’m not going to bother wasting my time with taking it easy. I’m going hard bell to bell from now on, and that’s just what I’ve gotta do to make my career actually plausible.
Yeah, I said it. I said it, and you’d better damn well believe I meant it. I’m gonna suspend all doubt as to why I’m the best wrestler in the business one match at a time; I don’t care if my opponent is god damned Corey Black and I’m in Nathon Von Freakbert’s spot going for the World Title, if Corey Black steps into the ring against me, he better be prepared to get knocked on his ass and hand over that title to someone who actually deserves to hold it. As a matter of fact, he better consider himself lucky it’s only Nathan Von Liebert this time, or he really would be at risk of losing his championship belt this time around. At Payback, it’s going to be Jonny Fly that actually doesn’t retain his championship, and the reason why is that I’m his opponent.
Let’s face it, Fly is a little bit off-kilter mentally. The man hired a manager with a stupid-as-fuck name just because he wanted a good laugh out of it. It’s not like his manager can actually do anything extraordinary that nobody else on the planet can do. And he didn’t even find himself a hot piece of ass to be his manager; he chose a random numbnuts who couldn’t even pass as a jobber in an indy fed to be his manager; he probably doesn’t even know anything about wrestling. I’m talking about Fly, now. He’s lost his sanity. He doesn’t know how to fight a good fight anymore; he’s going to lose if he gives it everything in his arsenal because I’m just that damn good. Sure he’s beaten the likes of a shit ton of others, but he hasn’t, and will never, beat Roy Speede. That’s a goddamn promise, Hank.”
He hands Hank the microphone and walks off. The scene cuts to black.
