Post by Corey Black on Jul 12, 2007 18:59:59 GMT -5
The Weak
The screen is black. Nothing to open to, just darkness. Slight breathing is heard, signifying a presence in the darkness. Obviously it is Creeping Death.
Creeping Death: The desperate ramblings of a desperate man will not help the cause at all. Voices in your head, family, and disgraced men will not assure victory in the land of the Rising Sun. Staying focused on the greater goal is what will achieve the gold over in this land. Nothing else. Getting blasted in the skull with a steel chair and going to the hospital certainly will not give an upper hand inside the tons of steel.
The man I am facing in mere hours has gone completely nuts, and I don't even care. His reasoning for any of this is beyond me. Sometimes, I think I am more normal than he is. Then I continue to think, thinking about if he really is better than I am. How in the world I let someone be on par with myself, I think about it all the time. Maybe I'm not the face of this company like I always said. I could be an afterthought, a joke, anything. I mean here is a guy, taking on every challenger thrown his way including me, and only sweating me. Everyone else was a cakewalk. I look down around my waist and see gold, gold I once yearned for and put myself and others through hell to receive, but it isn't what I need. I need to know I am the best here, regardless of gold and leather. I need the fans to tell me I am the best. I need the fellow wrestlers to tell me the best.
Then I remember.
Fuck them.
I am the best.
I've said I am the measuring stick here before, but I've even more than that. I am WCF. I am what this company is all about. Not titles. Not politics. Pure competition. Through rivalries and friendship, everyone knows the words I speak hold true.
I am the best.
Through the annals of WCF history, one man has shown true time and time again. Through doubt and sadness, heartbreak and even defeat, I have stood tall over WCF with an iron fist, taking no prisoners and trusting even less. If the boys admit it or not, getting in the ring with me is one of the worst feelings you could have. Defeat is imminent. Hardcore Champions, Icons, World Champions, it matters now who you are or where you come from.
I AM the best.
The Wounded
Creeping Death stops talking and the sound switches from his voice to a group of people talking, seemingly changing scenes. The picture opens up to a small cafe in the middle of a busy Tokyo district. Various markets line the streets, selling fish, chickens, pretty much anything you can think of, and then there is this little cafe. Nice metal tables and chairs out in the open, surrounded by a high railing. Pulling up beside the cafe, however, is a crazy tricked out BMW M3 GTR. The car is ghost white with black tinted windows, a cut hood with slots and raises, slots on the fenders, new ground effects front bumper, rear bumper, and side skirts, a new black spoiler and black twenty inch rims. The car pulls out into the busy street, passing by many Japanese people. We cut inside the car where two people sit. Creeping Death is driving, and in the passenger seat, JJ Biggs.
JJ Biggs: So this is Tokyo? Never been here before. Pretty sweet.
Creeping Death: You haven't seen anything yet. When we get out to the bridges, that is where the fun is.
JJ Biggs: Like Tokyo Drift, the movie?
CD smiles and laughs to himself.
Creeping Death: Something like that.
We go back outside the car as it whizzes down a Japanese street, passing by the lot where Thirteen (XIII) is being set up. Back inside the car JJ gets his first look at the almost finished Nightmare Chamber and his mouth opens up.
JJ Biggs: You're fighting in that again? Honestly?
Creeping Death: Yeah man, Skyler said I could choose any match and he even put his title up.
JJ Biggs: ... did he see the last one?
Creeping Death: I don't know, Jade told him not to watch it.
JJ Biggs: Poor guy.
Back outside, CD slides the car to the left taking a back road out to the outskirts of Tokyo. Dust clouds up from the wheels as the car speeds down the dirt road. The wrestlers arrive at the bridge, and it is lined with crazy tuners. Even crazier than in the US. Doors are flipped up and hoods are hinged in the front instead of the back. Beautiful Japanese women in tight shirts and even tighter mini skirts crowd around the cars. CD pulls up in a spot and parks the car. The men get out and survey the scene, JJ looking like a kid in a candy store.
JJ Biggs: Man, I like me my cars just as much as I like me my competition. Check out that view.
Creeping Death: It's a beautiful town, isn't it?
Off in the distance, the Tokyo skyline can be seen. CD smiles and looks over to JJ.
Creeping Death: So, is this whole Thirteen thing getting your mouth watering even more than you told me before?
JJ Biggs: I can't say yet, you dirty devil.
Creeping Death: I still can't believe I got you and Torture both back for the show.
JJ Biggs: It is going to be huge. Given my history with Lance Ryan, and Torture's history with Mike Maida, the Nightmare Chamber, WCF Japan guys and even Vice fighting with Craven in the Tokyo Street Fight ... you've put together one hell of a show.
Creeping Death: I thank you, JJ. It's always nice to have someone around that cares.
JJ Biggs pats CD on the back as they begin walking toward some cars. A faint song is heard, and CD reaches into his pocket, pulling his cell phone out. The song is "Cowboys from Hell" by Pantera. CD flips open his phone and reads a text message. A disdained look comes over CD.
JJ Biggs: What's up dude?
Creeping Death: Well, Torture just sent me a text about getting better security and something up with Mike.
JJ Biggs: Shit, should we get back?
Creeping Death: Yeah I think so. Damnit.
CD and JJ turn and run back to the BMW M3. They quickly get in and CD turns it on, throws it in reverse and guns it, almost going into a spin on his way out. The scene fades out as CD and JJ rocket down the bridge in CD's spankin' new car.
