Post by Deleted on Sept 28, 2013 12:32:26 GMT -5
The thick scent of cement and mold wafts through the nostrils of Walter Cash III. He wanders aimlessly through the tunnels that run beneath the city-nation of Atlanta. He runs his arm along the cold plastic walls; as his mind goes back to a time, not that long ago, when these walkways would be full of commuters. People passing by one another, barely noticing their fellow man as human. They were merely obstacles on the way to work. Since the buildings came down, almost no one goes to work. They all wait for answers, and after two months, the answers have yet to come. No word from the government. No word from the corporate representatives. The city is like a daycare full of children suddenly left on their own.
It was mostly peaceful at first. The stores were raided. Very few casualties in the first few days after the buildings fell. Supplies quickly grew scarce. That's when the blood began to spill. Groups began banning together and killing people for their supplies. Walter watched with horror. Not for the people killed, but for what it meant for the future. The violence would only get worse in the coming weeks and months, and soon Walter and Andrew would be forced to make a choice, and the former robot fighter knows it. He runs his hand along his mohawk, and leans against the wall. The cool, white plastic is refreshing, but does nothing to calm the maelstrom that rages behind Walter's eyes. He suddenly jump into the air, startled by the sound of a familiar, but unexpected voice.
Andrew: I figured I might find you here.
Walter:Jesus Christ Andrew! Don't do that! I'm not sure how much my heart can take right now.
Andrew:I'm sorry. I thought you saw me. Look, we don't have a lot of time for chit chat. There's something going on in the city, and we need to take advantage.
Walter:What do you mean?
Andrew:There's a group of protestors heading to the capital. They're marching slowly, gathering people. If we can get there before them, we can give them the answers they seek. This is a huge opportunity to take the minds of the people for our side.
Walter:Well what are we waiting for?
Andrew:They're gathering supplies for us back at the base. We'll need to grab those, and you'll want your suit in case we run into any trouble.
Walter nods, and takes off in a sprint back toward the place he now calls home. The tunnels aren't hard to navigate, and soon he is walking through the back door of the re-purposed warehouse. He smiles as he looks around at the mural that Rochelle has been painting. It depicts flowing fields of green beneath cloudless skies. Happy children run across the grass, as their parents sit at a distance, enjoying the wonderful day. Walter doesn't take long to enjoy the art. He darts into an adjacent room, and pulls a large metal suitcase from beneath his bed. He quickly removes the chest plate, and slides it over his head. The blue scales on the armor slowly shift into position, fitting themselves to Walter's body. He does the same with the two sleeves, and the armored pants. He smiles, the old robot fighting suit fitting him like the seat of an old couch. Once he is ready, he steps out into the large front room, to see Andrew passing out guns to a few of the men who have arrived. Walter's mood changes instantly.
Walter:What the hell do you think you're doing?
Andrew:It might get ugly out there. If violence breaks out, we need to be protected.
Walter:I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this. Isn't it a peaceful protest?
Andrew:For now. These sort of things don't always remain peaceful though.
Walter:But there's no reason for us to be part of the violence. I don;t carry a gun, and I don't travel with them. We won't need them.
The surrounding men look back and forth between Walter and Andrew. The armored man wears a look of outrage, while Andrew smirks.
Andrew:You heard him men. No guns.
They try to object, but Andrew cuts them off with a motion of his hand.
Andrew:Walter Cash III is your general. Your commanding officer. His orders are my orders. Put the guns back.
They begrudgingly obey.
Andrew:Wait for us outside. Walter and I need to have a talk.
The group of men walk across the concrete floor, leaving Walter and Andrew alone.
Andrew:Walter... there comes a time when a man has to decide what sort of man he is. Is he a man of ideals, or a man of action. Does he want to change things, or is he happy merely siting by the wayside, thinking about how nice it would be to change things. It takes a lot of courage to be an agent of change, I understand that. The world doesn't need any more starry eyed idealists.
Walter:We're doing this because human life no longer means anything. We're doing this to show that the individual, all of them, they matter! How can we do that when we're already getting set to kill people?!
Andrew:I don't like violence any more than you do. I abhor it. However, at some point it may be necessary to sacrifice the lives of a few to save the rest of the world. What we're doing is bigger than us. It's bigger than this city. If we can save Atlanta, we can save the rest of the nation. This is the beginning of the revolution and men of action are what's needed now. You have a decision to make.
Walter finds himself unable to answer.
Andrew:It can wait. We need to leave now if we want to get to the capitol in time.
The journey through the empty tunnels is quick, but when they arrive at the steps of the large capitol building, they are too late. A large group of protestors is listening to a man whose voice rings out over the rabble.
Speaker:We must practice patients my friends. True, the government may not be able to get it together, but the corporate representatives are close to an answer! Soon everything will be back to normal, and the terrorists who destroyed our fair city, will be brought to justice! For now, we must go back to our jobs! We must keep the economy moving! That is what our corporate representatives would want us to do. Work! Keep shopping! Keep things moving until an answer comes.
The man gets a vocal reception from a very small section of the crowd, as he steps back. Andrew immediately takes the opportunity to step forward, and bellow to the crowd. They turn to face the new speaker.
Andrew:Friends! Do not be fooled! There is no answer coming from your former slave masters. They have abandoned you. They are safe in another city, waiting for Atlanta to crumble, so they can sell the scraps for a profit and move on. Too long have we toiled under the weight of their oppressive thumbs. They determined our wages, and our worth. They used us until they couldn't anymore, and then they led us to slaughter. No more! A new era will rise from the ashes of our shackles! We will rebuild, and we will reclaim our humanity. We will usher in a new age where all are equal, and none are without! None above or below, simply mankind. A union of man will rule! Not lords in ivory towers. Not bumbling, ready for purchase politicians! We will rule together as one, and none will go hungry! None will be sacrificed to the gods of capital excess!
Most of the crowd cheers wildly, as a few look on in anger.
Andrew:We will live as one, and let no man give up his health, sanity, or family for the basic humans right to life and happiness. Brothers and sisters, join me today. We can rebuild Atlanta. We can rebuild the world, and we can make all men in every corner equal!
A loud cheer rises up, as a few of Andrews men collect names and contact information. The speaker turns back to Walter with a grin.
Andrew:Looks as if you were right. No need for violence whatsoever. It seems as if this might just be the bloodless revolution so many in history have imagined. Let us go back, and revel in the spoils of our victory.
Walter spots a small group of angry people standing toward the back of the mingling crowd.
Walter:If it's all the same to you, I'm gonna hang back. Make sure nothing happens to the guys collecting names.
Andrew:That's probably a good idea. I will see you back at the base then. Make sure to get them home safe.
Andrew quickly makes his way back toward the underground tunnel, as Walter walks around among the crowd, keeping one eye on the people with clipboards, and one eye on the group of grumbling protesters in the back. As he nears an alleyway between two tall buildings, he spots a body lying on the ground. He quickly runs over and turns the body to see that the man's stomach has been cut open, and his innards have spilled out onto the asphalt. He then sees the face, and notices that it's the man who spoke before Andrew. Cash's eyes widen in horror, as he falls forward against the wall, and vomits.
___ _ _ ___ _ _ __
Present
The concrete base that will one day be the home of Waylon Cash sits in the middle of his land, baking under the Georgia sun. It's the sort of hot, Indian summer morning that keeps even the animals under cover. A thermometer hangs on one of the posts that jut up out of the cement. The mercury indicates that the temperature is roughly 103 degrees. Slowly, a square in the middle of the foundation opens, allowing an elevator to rise from beneath the ground. Inside, Waylon Cash slips his weighted vest over his head. He steps out onto the foundation, and steps underneath on of the crossbeams. He stretches back and forth, sweat already beginning to form on his brow. After a few minutes, he jumps into the air, grabbing the wooden beam. He steadies his grip, and begins to do pull ups. He goes slowly at first, but moves faster once his muscles warm up.
His pace doesn't break when he sees Scott Savage's black SUV flying down the long, asphalt driveway. Waylon picks up his pace even further as the car grows closer. Once stopped, Scott steps out of the back seat, and makes his way across the lawn. The wrestler can only marvel at the fact that the man is dressed in a three piece suit, even on a day like this. The manager steps up the stairs, and approaches Waylon.
Scott:Good to see you hard at work. We need to talk about War.
Waylon doesn't answer.
Scott:Look, the video you put out was good, but you have a very real chance to get eyes on you right now. War is one of the biggest pay per views of the year, and there are going to be a lot of people watching.
Cash continues pulling himself up and down.
Scott:This is a fantastic opportunity for you to get people talking.
Waylon drops to the ground, and rips the vest off of his body. He glares at Scott, but stays silent for a moment.
Waylon:What do you want me to do then? Huh? You want me to run around like an idiot, trash talkin' people I don't care enough to pay attention to? You want me to get all dressed up like a moron and walk around with a camera makin' a bunch of stupid jokes? I seen what the other jackasses are doin'. It's stupid. It's a waste of fuckin' time. I do my talkin' between the ropes, and I'm tired of you two tryin' to make me into some kinda god damn movie star! I'm a fighter. That's what I do for a livin'. If you want an actor, I'm sure there's plenty out there lookin' for an agent. I'm here because I'm good at hurtin' people, and that's what I'm gonna do at War. There isn't a fuckin' word I could say all week that'd change the outcome of that match! I'm lookin' to win, not get a commercial deal with Fruity Pebbles. You got me?
Scott sits back during the rant with his arms crossed. He lets his client yell and scream, waiting for him to be fully done before he speaks.
Scott:If you are quite finished, I would like to retort with... grow the hell up. When did this become about fighting anyway? You told me you were here to get in one last run, and make enough money that you could retire. When did that change? When did you become a twenty-two year old again? What sort of man do you want to be, Tex? When did you go from an intelligent man with a clear goal, to a psycho who's just out for blood?
Waylon:This is what you wanted, Beast! You wanted the old Waylon Cash, and he's here! Shit, he's better than ever! I'm in the best shape of my life, and I'm fixin' to show the whole damn world just how dangerous your monster is. You wanted them to fear us. After War... WCF will know fear. Besides, if I win that belt, it means more money regardless. This ain't about getting' my pretty face on the internet. This is about provin' the all of them that I'm the best wrestler in the world today. You created the monster. Let me do what you created me to do.
Scott is dumbfounded, almost backing away from Waylon slightly.
Scott:Okay then. However, if you don't win War... you do things our way from now on. You follow my orders to the letter until you retire. That includes leaving Sarah Twilight alone. Understand?
Waylon:Fine, but if I win, you sit back and collect your paycheck. You let me do my thing, and you shut the hell up about it, dig?
Scott grins with evil in his eyes.
Scott:I believe we have a wager. I guess War will decide what sort of man you are.
Without another word, Scott walks over to the elevator. He steps inside, and lowers himself beneath the foundation. As soon as he is out of sight, Waylon leans back against a wooden beam, and falls to a sitting position.
Waylon:Gotta love it when your manager bets against you.
He stares out onto his land, watching a few of the trees on the horizon line beginning to show colors of yellow and orange.
Waylon:Know what?... Let's do things his way.
Waylon slides his phone from his pocket, and pulls up the camera feature. He wipes the sweat from his face before hitting record.
Waylon:Hey there WCF fans! Waylon Cash here. I'm talkin' to you today because I've been told I ain't said enough about the people I'm gonna fight at War. At first I wasn't interested. I thought I'd said enough, and I don't like to do too much talkin' as it is. Then I thought, maybe it'd be good if the whole fed knew exactly what I thought of them... so here it goes...Fuck Eric Price, Fuck Sarah Twilight, Fuck John Barber, Fuck Tek, Fuck every last one of them. There's talent in this match, yeah, but none of them mean a damn thing to me. I'm the star of the show. I'm the one who's gonna be left standin' at the end, and there ain't not other possibilities!
Jay Price, Roy Speede, Tyler Walker... extras. Unremarkable foot notes in the amazing career of Waylon Cash. Havok, Biohazard, Johnny Towers, all of will pay in blood for the sin of pride. They're egos are so big, they actually think they can stand in the ring with Waylon Cash. You see, there's great wrestlers in this match, but it doesn't matter how great they are, because at the end of the day, every last one of them is gonna come up against a force they don't know how to stop. Bring the bring the best, bring the jobbers, hell, bring back Torture! I'll put every last one of them under without breakin' a sweat. I'm a god! Who may stand up to a god and live?! No one! Not Ryan Rhodes, not Oblivion, not even Steve Orbit!
My point is, it doesn't matter what I say. I could go down the lsit sayin' fuck every last oen of them. I could make a bunch of stupid jokes, I could dress some midget up like Sarah Twilight, but not a lick of it would matter. When that bell rings, what you said don't mean a damn thing. Who you are is all you got between those ropes, and I'm willin' to venture that a lot of you silly bastards are all talk.
Waylon suddenly drops his gaze, a flurry of thoughts running through his head.
Waylon:I hate all of them. You know why? They all want to take my belt from me.
Cash's eye twitches slightly, his attention staying off of the camera phone, to something seemingly millions of miles away.
Waylon:War is my chance to take my belt back, and every one of them wants to stop me. They all want to keep me away from my belt... they have to pay. If they have to die... it's their own fault. Nothing... no one can stop me... my belt...have to win...they have to die.
His sentences become more and more fragmented, eventually turning into a blank stare. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is open, but no words come. For ten minutes he sits in silence, before turning to the camera. He doesn't say anything, he merely shuts it off.
It was mostly peaceful at first. The stores were raided. Very few casualties in the first few days after the buildings fell. Supplies quickly grew scarce. That's when the blood began to spill. Groups began banning together and killing people for their supplies. Walter watched with horror. Not for the people killed, but for what it meant for the future. The violence would only get worse in the coming weeks and months, and soon Walter and Andrew would be forced to make a choice, and the former robot fighter knows it. He runs his hand along his mohawk, and leans against the wall. The cool, white plastic is refreshing, but does nothing to calm the maelstrom that rages behind Walter's eyes. He suddenly jump into the air, startled by the sound of a familiar, but unexpected voice.
Andrew: I figured I might find you here.
Walter:Jesus Christ Andrew! Don't do that! I'm not sure how much my heart can take right now.
Andrew:I'm sorry. I thought you saw me. Look, we don't have a lot of time for chit chat. There's something going on in the city, and we need to take advantage.
Walter:What do you mean?
Andrew:There's a group of protestors heading to the capital. They're marching slowly, gathering people. If we can get there before them, we can give them the answers they seek. This is a huge opportunity to take the minds of the people for our side.
Walter:Well what are we waiting for?
Andrew:They're gathering supplies for us back at the base. We'll need to grab those, and you'll want your suit in case we run into any trouble.
Walter nods, and takes off in a sprint back toward the place he now calls home. The tunnels aren't hard to navigate, and soon he is walking through the back door of the re-purposed warehouse. He smiles as he looks around at the mural that Rochelle has been painting. It depicts flowing fields of green beneath cloudless skies. Happy children run across the grass, as their parents sit at a distance, enjoying the wonderful day. Walter doesn't take long to enjoy the art. He darts into an adjacent room, and pulls a large metal suitcase from beneath his bed. He quickly removes the chest plate, and slides it over his head. The blue scales on the armor slowly shift into position, fitting themselves to Walter's body. He does the same with the two sleeves, and the armored pants. He smiles, the old robot fighting suit fitting him like the seat of an old couch. Once he is ready, he steps out into the large front room, to see Andrew passing out guns to a few of the men who have arrived. Walter's mood changes instantly.
Walter:What the hell do you think you're doing?
Andrew:It might get ugly out there. If violence breaks out, we need to be protected.
Walter:I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this. Isn't it a peaceful protest?
Andrew:For now. These sort of things don't always remain peaceful though.
Walter:But there's no reason for us to be part of the violence. I don;t carry a gun, and I don't travel with them. We won't need them.
The surrounding men look back and forth between Walter and Andrew. The armored man wears a look of outrage, while Andrew smirks.
Andrew:You heard him men. No guns.
They try to object, but Andrew cuts them off with a motion of his hand.
Andrew:Walter Cash III is your general. Your commanding officer. His orders are my orders. Put the guns back.
They begrudgingly obey.
Andrew:Wait for us outside. Walter and I need to have a talk.
The group of men walk across the concrete floor, leaving Walter and Andrew alone.
Andrew:Walter... there comes a time when a man has to decide what sort of man he is. Is he a man of ideals, or a man of action. Does he want to change things, or is he happy merely siting by the wayside, thinking about how nice it would be to change things. It takes a lot of courage to be an agent of change, I understand that. The world doesn't need any more starry eyed idealists.
Walter:We're doing this because human life no longer means anything. We're doing this to show that the individual, all of them, they matter! How can we do that when we're already getting set to kill people?!
Andrew:I don't like violence any more than you do. I abhor it. However, at some point it may be necessary to sacrifice the lives of a few to save the rest of the world. What we're doing is bigger than us. It's bigger than this city. If we can save Atlanta, we can save the rest of the nation. This is the beginning of the revolution and men of action are what's needed now. You have a decision to make.
Walter finds himself unable to answer.
Andrew:It can wait. We need to leave now if we want to get to the capitol in time.
The journey through the empty tunnels is quick, but when they arrive at the steps of the large capitol building, they are too late. A large group of protestors is listening to a man whose voice rings out over the rabble.
Speaker:We must practice patients my friends. True, the government may not be able to get it together, but the corporate representatives are close to an answer! Soon everything will be back to normal, and the terrorists who destroyed our fair city, will be brought to justice! For now, we must go back to our jobs! We must keep the economy moving! That is what our corporate representatives would want us to do. Work! Keep shopping! Keep things moving until an answer comes.
The man gets a vocal reception from a very small section of the crowd, as he steps back. Andrew immediately takes the opportunity to step forward, and bellow to the crowd. They turn to face the new speaker.
Andrew:Friends! Do not be fooled! There is no answer coming from your former slave masters. They have abandoned you. They are safe in another city, waiting for Atlanta to crumble, so they can sell the scraps for a profit and move on. Too long have we toiled under the weight of their oppressive thumbs. They determined our wages, and our worth. They used us until they couldn't anymore, and then they led us to slaughter. No more! A new era will rise from the ashes of our shackles! We will rebuild, and we will reclaim our humanity. We will usher in a new age where all are equal, and none are without! None above or below, simply mankind. A union of man will rule! Not lords in ivory towers. Not bumbling, ready for purchase politicians! We will rule together as one, and none will go hungry! None will be sacrificed to the gods of capital excess!
Most of the crowd cheers wildly, as a few look on in anger.
Andrew:We will live as one, and let no man give up his health, sanity, or family for the basic humans right to life and happiness. Brothers and sisters, join me today. We can rebuild Atlanta. We can rebuild the world, and we can make all men in every corner equal!
A loud cheer rises up, as a few of Andrews men collect names and contact information. The speaker turns back to Walter with a grin.
Andrew:Looks as if you were right. No need for violence whatsoever. It seems as if this might just be the bloodless revolution so many in history have imagined. Let us go back, and revel in the spoils of our victory.
Walter spots a small group of angry people standing toward the back of the mingling crowd.
Walter:If it's all the same to you, I'm gonna hang back. Make sure nothing happens to the guys collecting names.
Andrew:That's probably a good idea. I will see you back at the base then. Make sure to get them home safe.
Andrew quickly makes his way back toward the underground tunnel, as Walter walks around among the crowd, keeping one eye on the people with clipboards, and one eye on the group of grumbling protesters in the back. As he nears an alleyway between two tall buildings, he spots a body lying on the ground. He quickly runs over and turns the body to see that the man's stomach has been cut open, and his innards have spilled out onto the asphalt. He then sees the face, and notices that it's the man who spoke before Andrew. Cash's eyes widen in horror, as he falls forward against the wall, and vomits.
___ _ _ ___ _ _ __
Present
The concrete base that will one day be the home of Waylon Cash sits in the middle of his land, baking under the Georgia sun. It's the sort of hot, Indian summer morning that keeps even the animals under cover. A thermometer hangs on one of the posts that jut up out of the cement. The mercury indicates that the temperature is roughly 103 degrees. Slowly, a square in the middle of the foundation opens, allowing an elevator to rise from beneath the ground. Inside, Waylon Cash slips his weighted vest over his head. He steps out onto the foundation, and steps underneath on of the crossbeams. He stretches back and forth, sweat already beginning to form on his brow. After a few minutes, he jumps into the air, grabbing the wooden beam. He steadies his grip, and begins to do pull ups. He goes slowly at first, but moves faster once his muscles warm up.
His pace doesn't break when he sees Scott Savage's black SUV flying down the long, asphalt driveway. Waylon picks up his pace even further as the car grows closer. Once stopped, Scott steps out of the back seat, and makes his way across the lawn. The wrestler can only marvel at the fact that the man is dressed in a three piece suit, even on a day like this. The manager steps up the stairs, and approaches Waylon.
Scott:Good to see you hard at work. We need to talk about War.
Waylon doesn't answer.
Scott:Look, the video you put out was good, but you have a very real chance to get eyes on you right now. War is one of the biggest pay per views of the year, and there are going to be a lot of people watching.
Cash continues pulling himself up and down.
Scott:This is a fantastic opportunity for you to get people talking.
Waylon drops to the ground, and rips the vest off of his body. He glares at Scott, but stays silent for a moment.
Waylon:What do you want me to do then? Huh? You want me to run around like an idiot, trash talkin' people I don't care enough to pay attention to? You want me to get all dressed up like a moron and walk around with a camera makin' a bunch of stupid jokes? I seen what the other jackasses are doin'. It's stupid. It's a waste of fuckin' time. I do my talkin' between the ropes, and I'm tired of you two tryin' to make me into some kinda god damn movie star! I'm a fighter. That's what I do for a livin'. If you want an actor, I'm sure there's plenty out there lookin' for an agent. I'm here because I'm good at hurtin' people, and that's what I'm gonna do at War. There isn't a fuckin' word I could say all week that'd change the outcome of that match! I'm lookin' to win, not get a commercial deal with Fruity Pebbles. You got me?
Scott sits back during the rant with his arms crossed. He lets his client yell and scream, waiting for him to be fully done before he speaks.
Scott:If you are quite finished, I would like to retort with... grow the hell up. When did this become about fighting anyway? You told me you were here to get in one last run, and make enough money that you could retire. When did that change? When did you become a twenty-two year old again? What sort of man do you want to be, Tex? When did you go from an intelligent man with a clear goal, to a psycho who's just out for blood?
Waylon:This is what you wanted, Beast! You wanted the old Waylon Cash, and he's here! Shit, he's better than ever! I'm in the best shape of my life, and I'm fixin' to show the whole damn world just how dangerous your monster is. You wanted them to fear us. After War... WCF will know fear. Besides, if I win that belt, it means more money regardless. This ain't about getting' my pretty face on the internet. This is about provin' the all of them that I'm the best wrestler in the world today. You created the monster. Let me do what you created me to do.
Scott is dumbfounded, almost backing away from Waylon slightly.
Scott:Okay then. However, if you don't win War... you do things our way from now on. You follow my orders to the letter until you retire. That includes leaving Sarah Twilight alone. Understand?
Waylon:Fine, but if I win, you sit back and collect your paycheck. You let me do my thing, and you shut the hell up about it, dig?
Scott grins with evil in his eyes.
Scott:I believe we have a wager. I guess War will decide what sort of man you are.
Without another word, Scott walks over to the elevator. He steps inside, and lowers himself beneath the foundation. As soon as he is out of sight, Waylon leans back against a wooden beam, and falls to a sitting position.
Waylon:Gotta love it when your manager bets against you.
He stares out onto his land, watching a few of the trees on the horizon line beginning to show colors of yellow and orange.
Waylon:Know what?... Let's do things his way.
Waylon slides his phone from his pocket, and pulls up the camera feature. He wipes the sweat from his face before hitting record.
Waylon:Hey there WCF fans! Waylon Cash here. I'm talkin' to you today because I've been told I ain't said enough about the people I'm gonna fight at War. At first I wasn't interested. I thought I'd said enough, and I don't like to do too much talkin' as it is. Then I thought, maybe it'd be good if the whole fed knew exactly what I thought of them... so here it goes...Fuck Eric Price, Fuck Sarah Twilight, Fuck John Barber, Fuck Tek, Fuck every last one of them. There's talent in this match, yeah, but none of them mean a damn thing to me. I'm the star of the show. I'm the one who's gonna be left standin' at the end, and there ain't not other possibilities!
Jay Price, Roy Speede, Tyler Walker... extras. Unremarkable foot notes in the amazing career of Waylon Cash. Havok, Biohazard, Johnny Towers, all of will pay in blood for the sin of pride. They're egos are so big, they actually think they can stand in the ring with Waylon Cash. You see, there's great wrestlers in this match, but it doesn't matter how great they are, because at the end of the day, every last one of them is gonna come up against a force they don't know how to stop. Bring the bring the best, bring the jobbers, hell, bring back Torture! I'll put every last one of them under without breakin' a sweat. I'm a god! Who may stand up to a god and live?! No one! Not Ryan Rhodes, not Oblivion, not even Steve Orbit!
My point is, it doesn't matter what I say. I could go down the lsit sayin' fuck every last oen of them. I could make a bunch of stupid jokes, I could dress some midget up like Sarah Twilight, but not a lick of it would matter. When that bell rings, what you said don't mean a damn thing. Who you are is all you got between those ropes, and I'm willin' to venture that a lot of you silly bastards are all talk.
Waylon suddenly drops his gaze, a flurry of thoughts running through his head.
Waylon:I hate all of them. You know why? They all want to take my belt from me.
Cash's eye twitches slightly, his attention staying off of the camera phone, to something seemingly millions of miles away.
Waylon:War is my chance to take my belt back, and every one of them wants to stop me. They all want to keep me away from my belt... they have to pay. If they have to die... it's their own fault. Nothing... no one can stop me... my belt...have to win...they have to die.
His sentences become more and more fragmented, eventually turning into a blank stare. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is open, but no words come. For ten minutes he sits in silence, before turning to the camera. He doesn't say anything, he merely shuts it off.