Post by Deleted on Feb 23, 2014 9:18:11 GMT -5
Carl Riggs pulled up to the showers in the Pilot outside of Round Rock expecting a blood bath. A dead man en route to Dallas from San Antonio just screamed the work of Michael Steele, even if nobody else would believe it.
As he got on scene, he flashed his ID and was immediately cleared to go and investigate. By that time, the body had already been wrapped up and was getting moved from the scene. Carl stopped the body and pulled the sheets back, to see who had been hit. He'd recognized him from briefs before, but it baffled him why a guy like him would've been killed by Steele. He was a garden-variety hitman for the Yakuza. The tattoos verified his briefings from before.
This raised questions. If Michael Steele was such a bad guy, why is he taking out other bad guys along the way? Granted, this is a different type of bad guy, but usually these type of bad guys don't cross paths like this, unless there is some sort of ulterior motive to why they crossed paths. Like the Yakuza wants Steele dead for some reason that didn't have to do with profit. Maybe they knew something that nobody else knew. It wasn't like the Yakuza to have anything to do with terrorist acts. If anything, they were about profit that wouldn't risk damage to their markets.
General Bell needed to hear about this quickly. This changed the whole game...
________________________
Meanwhile, in the Capital Building, Vanessa Gill had just walked into Congressman Bernard Jenkins' office. His press secretary was in the office and said...
Secretary: Ma'am, you're going to have to wait. He's...
Gill: Do you know who I am?
Secretary: You're the DOD Director? At least you look...
Gill: So clear up some time for me to talk to the Congressman, or I'll have your job.
Secretary: He's speaking with the Appropriations Committee chairman right now. I'm sure this has something to do with the Pentagon meetings?
Gill: It does. Let him know, will you? This is top priority.
The press secretary uses her cell phone to relay the information. In a few moments, the Congressman comes out of his office, as he says...
Jenkins: Madam Gill. I'm terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you. Right this way please...
Both the Congressman and Director make their way inside of the office. Once the door closes, the congenial tone that the Congressman had turns cold, as he says...
Jenkins: I had to turn away the Appropriations Committee leader for this. Now what is so damn important that I had to let go of $100 million dollars in extra funding for National Defense?
Gill: A murder in Round Rock. A confirmed Yakuza member was found murdered in a shower stall in a Round Rock truck stop not even 30 minutes ago. We think this is tied to Michael Steele.
Jenkins: So the hit is out on him?
Gill: We haven't been able to confirm a million dollars on Steele, but we're sure that Steele is involved. We have footage of him at the same truck stop.
Jenkins: Well, did we get anything useful? A vehicle make? Anything?
Gill: He's driving a late 90's Dodge Van. He's also armed. He has a Beretta pistol and a Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife, at the very least. That's what the camera's are telling us from the showers. But the man from the Yakuza planned on taking out Steele, but Steele struck first.
Jenkins: No surprise, and I can't blame him. I'd have killed the son of a bitch, too. What do the locals know?
Gill: They don't have the first clue as far as who to look for, other than what is on the camera.
Jenkins: Talk to Reardon and get the FBI on the case. This is now a Federal issue. Make it clear that if the locals or the State get involved, heads will roll. We give Steele as much breathing room on this as possible. After all, he just took out one Public Enemy.
Gill: And the news is confirming that right now. Ino Nishimura was the name of the Yakuza, and he was wanted for dozens of murders in the Bay Area. Hence why the locals are baffled by his presence in Texas.
Jenkins: Good. Get Reardon on it and leave the locals in the dark. We'll deal with this in our own way.
________________________
One good thing that has occurred since the murder of the Yakuza hitman that didn't occur to Michael right away is how much space and distance this had put between himself and everyone that was chasing him. Granted, it didn't stop him from changing out vehicles and trying like hell to break a land speed record to get to Dallas, but it allowed him to get shit done that he desperately needed to get done, like stock up on provisions.
He also took the time to take some potshots at Joey Nitro, though the DOO is probably suffering from such embarrassment from his failures on the last show that he doesn't even dare to respond. It was also at this time that he found a decree from some asshole stating that Michael must post a blog in regards to an Internet Title opportunity as part of his contract stipulations. Michael is starting to regret not hiring a lawyer or at least looking the contract over himself. This Internet shit has got to go...
Michael types up a blog stating his absolute distaste for having to do shit that has absolutely nothing to do with what he is good at. And the press are just absolute parasites thriving on the livelihoods of others. Hence why he's been loathing another one of those "mandatory" interviews that Hank Brown has invoked that he's supposed to do prior to his match with Thunder, Atreyu, and Fatel. And he's already starting to feel pressure from blowing off Brown in New Orleans and San Antonio. He cannot do the same in Dallas.
It was going to be a busy time for Michael in Dallas. He already set up a drop for weapons, armor, and information, he had an interview with Hank Brown to prepare for, and of course, the match. How far that match had drifted from his mind since dealing with the Yakuza. Fortunately, none of his opponents have been very vocal on their point in the match, so that worked in Steele's favor. Of course, Michael NEVER wants to make it known how he feels or what he's going to do. As he stated before, he'd rather do his talking in the ring. And he had a lot to say to those three when the time comes.
Michael was already 100 miles out from Arlington. He'd be in Dallas by nightfall...
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Bell: An assassin? From the Yakuza? Are you sure?
Riggs: Yes, General. This has Steele written all over it.
This did not bode well for Bell. He didn't even get a chance at the first strike. Granted, if someone else were to take down Steele, it would wash his hands completely of this hot mess, but he'd have to ride out the Army for at least a few more years. Just when he was getting used to the idea of retirement...
Bell then asks...
Bell: What about his trail? Were you able to pick it back up?
Riggs: He did a straight trade of his van to a bunch of stoner kids for a Ford Escort. He's still heading for Dallas, I'm assuming. And he used a computer shortly after the trade.
Bell: Very well. Get back on the road and get after him. I told you how dangerous he is and we need him gone. This has gone far enough.
Riggs: I understand, sir. I'll get him in Dallas. I got a few friends out there that might be able to help me out with this.
Bell: Do what you have to do...
________________________
Several hours later, Michael had made his way to the American Airlines Center incognito. He was killing two birds with one stone today, and had scheduled enough time between the two tasks at hand that should make it possible to do those things.
His first task was to meet with Hank Brown and give him the interview he's been "dying" for since his first faux pas. It wasn't something that Michael wanted to do, but when people started throwing around words like "contract stipulations" and "mandatory blah-blah-blah", it turns into something that he needs to do. Who'd have thought that becoming a professional wrestler involved actual work behind the scenes? Its even harder when people want to kill you.
His second task was to make a dead drop on location for his guns, armor, and other gear. He didn't like the idea of doing that, considering he was going to be back in the arena later, but with almost no knowledge of Dallas, he was left with little options. That, and of all the places in Dallas, this place could give him some advantage over the other guy. His only advantage at this point is that nobody knows his vehicle. He ditched the shitty Escort once he made it into town for an old blaze orange Chevy Van, complete with a crappy black racing stripe down the middle of the van. It was a little gaudy, but nobody would suspect someone to drive something that gaudy on the run.
Michael made it through the building into a staged area for interviews, complete with a WCF backdrop and a few comfortable leather chairs. Michael quickly took off the wig, as Hank Brown popped up once he saw Michael. Hank extended his hand, as Michael says...
Michael: Let's get something straight right now. I don't want to do this damn interview. All the talking I need to do is in that ring, you get it? So I'll answer your questions, but if you do what you did last time and ask stupid questions, I'm walking out of here.
Hank: I understand, sir. And I'd like to apologize for offending you. I wasn't thinking, considering the war is dying down now.
Michael: I'll forgive your ignorance just this once, but that war ain't even close to being over. So how do you want to start this thing?
Hank: Well, take a seat, and once the cameras are rolling, I'll do introductions, then go right into questions. We are encouraging some free discussion, considering this is kind of a biopic of who you are.
Michael: Well, I'm not about talking about the past so much. What's done is done. Especially about my childhood, my time in the service, and everything else after that.
Hank: Okay... Well, this should be a somewhat short and painless interview. Go ahead and have a seat...
Michael takes a seat across from Hank, as some people come to Michael with make-up to powder him up. Michael shoos them off. Some chatter occurs, before they determine that his face won't cause that much of a glare on the camera, and they allow make-up to leave him alone. They are cued up for rolling, as Hank goes into the interview...
Hank: Hello ladies and gentlemen. This is Hank Brown from the WCF, and I have a special treat for everyone in the WCF. As some of you know, a very talented young man has entered the WCF and has made an impression on it in a very short period of time. He's quietly racked up two victories in matches against several men in battles that most considered for him to be in over his head. He's booked once again in a match tonight where he's again facing insurmountable odds. Please welcome "The Forsaken" Michael Steele.
The camera pans in on him, as Michael sits in the chair, his leg crossed over the other with a scowl on his face. It is painfully obvious to the viewers that he'd rather be somewhere else, like perhaps being interrogated in a dungeon...
Hank: I know that we agreed on not asking any personal questions about the past, but you truly have a unique style of wrestling that very few in the United States have never seen. Where did you learn how to wrestle like this?
Michael: Ever since I was a young man, my interest in the martial arts was pretty high. I'd learn everything I could about it, from its origins in Japan, China, Okinawa, to other lands where fighting occurs. You see, all of these clowns in suits want to take our guns away from us now because they want power over the little man. Well, martial arts came to be so that the "little man" could fight back. It happened in Japan when they took blades away from the townsfolk. They eventually fought back, killing many samurai in the process. Hitler took guns from his people, and the world fought back when he started doing his bullshit. What makes you think that disarming a population is going to change much of anything?
Hank: So a lifelong love of learning martial arts is where you learned how to wrestle. Do you have anybody you'd like to credit for it? Any particular instructor?
Michael: I guess that would have to be my foster father when I was four years old. He needed a punching bag, so he used me. He was a big fan of all those Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris films and needed someone to try the shit out on. I guess he got the shock of his life when the punching bag punched back and I ruptured one of his testicles during one of my beatings.
Hank: So you were in the foster care system?
Michael just walked into that one. This fucker is smarter than he looks. He dug on Michael, and Michael just shook his head in anger at Hank, as Hank backpedaled out of the question with...
Hank: So I take it your entry into the military played a significant role in developing these martial arts skills?
Michael: It did.
Hank: Do you care to elaborate on how you managed to refine your techniques?
Michael: Not really. Let's just chalk that one up to "trade secrets". If I was to go blabbering on about how I attained this level of skill, well every slack-jawed dickface walking around in the company might start ripping me off in an effort to beat me. And I hate to lose.
Hank: Well, on the flip side of that, I understand that you've thrown your hat into the ring for a shot at the Internet Title...
Michael snickers at the comment, as he says...
Michael: You mean that I have to actually wrestle for that damn title? I thought it was just one of those trash-talking things on the Internet. Some asshole in some office somewhere told me if I didn't use the Internet to interact with the fans and these other unwiped assholes in the WCF that I'd be in what they call "breech of contract". I'm truly amazed at what bullshit they put into my contract and what every other asshole here has to do to keep their job around here.
Hank: I take it you're not worried about the competition in this match?
Michael: Just a bunch of attention whores who talk a lot of shit online are the assholes I have to worry about? Zombie McMorris? A guy that hasn't wrestled for shit else since he came to the WCF? Or how about Jordan Caliban and how proud he is of his entrance music? WHO GIVES A SHIT ABOUT YOUR MUSIC!!! You want to impress me? Win a fucking match by yourself like a real man instead of going around, insulting everyone because they're not an emo fag like you.
Everyone starts looking around nervously after Michael's last comment, before someone motions for Hank to continue his interview.
Hank: And now to your Pay Per View match, there's a lot of talk backstage that Benjamin Atreyu is a heavy favorite in this upcoming match. Any comments to those that would care to say something like that after everyone here has had a chance to see what you have to offer?
Michael: What people say is their business. I could give two shits in a tornado what anybody here in this company think about me. Hell, I don't think too highly myself of some of the clowns that go into that wrestling ring, talk a bunch of garbage, then perform like absolute hell. I've had to deal with that bullshit ever since I've set foot in this company. Booking me against the likes of some gay porn star, or guys that have an overinflated view of themselves, and even a few monstrous assholes that are caricatures of criminal elements. Its not cute and its not funny. Its a fucking joke is what it is. But this Benjamin Atreyu guy is something else. He has a mouth on him, but so far he's been able to back it up. And he actually backed it up against someone that allegedly means something to this company, because he's about to wrestle for the big gold strap.
Hank: Perhaps maybe its because you've refrained from promoting yourself like most of the other wrestlers do...
Michael: Why beat a dead horse? Everyone can see that I do what I do best, and that's survive and kick the living shit out of whoever is standing in my way. I don't need to go on a camera and justify how bad ass I am with words. All the talking you get from me that has any meaning whatsoever comes from that ring out there. Me sitting here? Well, I'd rather get my fingernails pulled out than be here.
Hank: What about your other opponents in this upcoming match? How do you feel about them?
Michael: Well, I already proved to everyone that Jayden Thunder can't hold a candle to me. I dropped that boy on his head so many times, I'm surprised he's walking and talking again. Is he walking and talking again? I haven't heard anything from anybody in this match.
Hank: As far as I know, all three men are medically cleared for this upcoming match.
Michael: Good. More asses for me to kick. But anyway, about Jayden, I'll give him this much. He had a ton of heart to get up from three of those maneuvers that I pulled off on him. The first time he should've been done, but some asshole on his team broke up the count. But the second kick-out, well, maybe I didn't perform it properly, or he's just that far gone and was running on instinct alone. Hell, I've been down that road when I had to pull operations that lasted over 24 hours, and you're tired, dirty, hungry, and just want it all to be over. But that last time, he didn't get the fuck back up. I won. Had my moment, and the moment is over. And I'm not stupid enough to say that it's going to happen again just like last time. If it does, good for me, but I'm willing to say that Jayden Thunder is not going to have a good go of it if he crosses my path once again.
Hank: What about James Fatel?
Michael: What about that psycho-babbling asshole? That's all he is, is just some random-ass psycho that came off the street wanting to hurt people. Well, he came to the right place, I reckon. Too bad nobody informed him that I'm here to do the same. Kick ass and chew bubble gum. And I'm going to turn him into my own personal pack of bubble gum. I've seen what "wrestling" he does, and outside of the fact that he makes most of his bones setting shit on fire and hitting people with random garbage laying around, he couldn't wrestle himself out of a wet paper bag. He's just a bunch of smoke that he's trying to blow up everyone's asshole. But if he feels like taking me on, he's going to find out just what pain feels like. He wants to set me on fire? We'll find out if napalm sticks to kids. He wants to hit me with a broken bottle? I can find a crowbar and I'll pry his stupid tongue out of his even dumber-looking face. I'll send that stupid fucking camel-jockey packing in a heartbeat or send that fucker straight to hell. It don't matter to me none.
The shocked look on Hank Brown's face told Michael that something was wrong. Michael had no clue what he did wrong, other than relay his feelings about his opponent as he was asked to do. So Michael says...
Michael: What the fuck's the matter with you? You look like you've seen a ghost.
Hank: We don't allow vulgar comments like that on tape.
Michael: You got one of them editing things, right?
Hank: Yes, but it doesn't usually extend to racially derogatory comments.
Michael: Oh, damn it! What the fuck ever happened to the fucking First Amendment? I could've used worse names to call him than camel jockey. Hell, I could've called him a...
Hank: We'll revisit the First Amendment later. I'm sure we can figure something else out about that comment you made.
Michael: What? Because I called the fucker a camel-jockey? Well fuck! I'm a honky, cracker-ass, white bread motherfucker from New York City! Racial comments don't mean shit to me! If this is what puts Fatel over the edge, then he's an even bigger loser than I thought. He falls right into the category of that emo fag Jordan Caliban in how his feelings gets hurt at the drop of a hat. There's no place in the world for that kind of nonsense.
Hank: And that kind of language is inappropriate for this kind of program! We're done with this interview. And if the world is lucky, we're going to be done with you soon, too.
Michael: Wow, did I really just hurt your feelings? Well suck it up, buttercup! You're the whiny, bleeding twat that's been trying to get my cracker-ass on this set so you can talk about shit like my upbringing and all that other shit that nobody else needs to know about. Fuck your show, and your feelings!
Michael stands up and walks off the set. He knocks the boom operator over as he continues to hold the boom over him to pick up any comments Michael may have.
Hell, if it was THAT easy to get out of doing interviews, why hadn't he done that the first time? A few racial and homophobic comments here and there, and voila! No more interviews!
But now he had more time between drops than he anticipated. It was time to find someone to make the pick-up for him. Who knows if the whole damn thing is a trap or not...
As he got on scene, he flashed his ID and was immediately cleared to go and investigate. By that time, the body had already been wrapped up and was getting moved from the scene. Carl stopped the body and pulled the sheets back, to see who had been hit. He'd recognized him from briefs before, but it baffled him why a guy like him would've been killed by Steele. He was a garden-variety hitman for the Yakuza. The tattoos verified his briefings from before.
This raised questions. If Michael Steele was such a bad guy, why is he taking out other bad guys along the way? Granted, this is a different type of bad guy, but usually these type of bad guys don't cross paths like this, unless there is some sort of ulterior motive to why they crossed paths. Like the Yakuza wants Steele dead for some reason that didn't have to do with profit. Maybe they knew something that nobody else knew. It wasn't like the Yakuza to have anything to do with terrorist acts. If anything, they were about profit that wouldn't risk damage to their markets.
General Bell needed to hear about this quickly. This changed the whole game...
________________________
Meanwhile, in the Capital Building, Vanessa Gill had just walked into Congressman Bernard Jenkins' office. His press secretary was in the office and said...
Secretary: Ma'am, you're going to have to wait. He's...
Gill: Do you know who I am?
Secretary: You're the DOD Director? At least you look...
Gill: So clear up some time for me to talk to the Congressman, or I'll have your job.
Secretary: He's speaking with the Appropriations Committee chairman right now. I'm sure this has something to do with the Pentagon meetings?
Gill: It does. Let him know, will you? This is top priority.
The press secretary uses her cell phone to relay the information. In a few moments, the Congressman comes out of his office, as he says...
Jenkins: Madam Gill. I'm terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you. Right this way please...
Both the Congressman and Director make their way inside of the office. Once the door closes, the congenial tone that the Congressman had turns cold, as he says...
Jenkins: I had to turn away the Appropriations Committee leader for this. Now what is so damn important that I had to let go of $100 million dollars in extra funding for National Defense?
Gill: A murder in Round Rock. A confirmed Yakuza member was found murdered in a shower stall in a Round Rock truck stop not even 30 minutes ago. We think this is tied to Michael Steele.
Jenkins: So the hit is out on him?
Gill: We haven't been able to confirm a million dollars on Steele, but we're sure that Steele is involved. We have footage of him at the same truck stop.
Jenkins: Well, did we get anything useful? A vehicle make? Anything?
Gill: He's driving a late 90's Dodge Van. He's also armed. He has a Beretta pistol and a Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife, at the very least. That's what the camera's are telling us from the showers. But the man from the Yakuza planned on taking out Steele, but Steele struck first.
Jenkins: No surprise, and I can't blame him. I'd have killed the son of a bitch, too. What do the locals know?
Gill: They don't have the first clue as far as who to look for, other than what is on the camera.
Jenkins: Talk to Reardon and get the FBI on the case. This is now a Federal issue. Make it clear that if the locals or the State get involved, heads will roll. We give Steele as much breathing room on this as possible. After all, he just took out one Public Enemy.
Gill: And the news is confirming that right now. Ino Nishimura was the name of the Yakuza, and he was wanted for dozens of murders in the Bay Area. Hence why the locals are baffled by his presence in Texas.
Jenkins: Good. Get Reardon on it and leave the locals in the dark. We'll deal with this in our own way.
________________________
One good thing that has occurred since the murder of the Yakuza hitman that didn't occur to Michael right away is how much space and distance this had put between himself and everyone that was chasing him. Granted, it didn't stop him from changing out vehicles and trying like hell to break a land speed record to get to Dallas, but it allowed him to get shit done that he desperately needed to get done, like stock up on provisions.
He also took the time to take some potshots at Joey Nitro, though the DOO is probably suffering from such embarrassment from his failures on the last show that he doesn't even dare to respond. It was also at this time that he found a decree from some asshole stating that Michael must post a blog in regards to an Internet Title opportunity as part of his contract stipulations. Michael is starting to regret not hiring a lawyer or at least looking the contract over himself. This Internet shit has got to go...
Michael types up a blog stating his absolute distaste for having to do shit that has absolutely nothing to do with what he is good at. And the press are just absolute parasites thriving on the livelihoods of others. Hence why he's been loathing another one of those "mandatory" interviews that Hank Brown has invoked that he's supposed to do prior to his match with Thunder, Atreyu, and Fatel. And he's already starting to feel pressure from blowing off Brown in New Orleans and San Antonio. He cannot do the same in Dallas.
It was going to be a busy time for Michael in Dallas. He already set up a drop for weapons, armor, and information, he had an interview with Hank Brown to prepare for, and of course, the match. How far that match had drifted from his mind since dealing with the Yakuza. Fortunately, none of his opponents have been very vocal on their point in the match, so that worked in Steele's favor. Of course, Michael NEVER wants to make it known how he feels or what he's going to do. As he stated before, he'd rather do his talking in the ring. And he had a lot to say to those three when the time comes.
Michael was already 100 miles out from Arlington. He'd be in Dallas by nightfall...
________________________
Bell: An assassin? From the Yakuza? Are you sure?
Riggs: Yes, General. This has Steele written all over it.
This did not bode well for Bell. He didn't even get a chance at the first strike. Granted, if someone else were to take down Steele, it would wash his hands completely of this hot mess, but he'd have to ride out the Army for at least a few more years. Just when he was getting used to the idea of retirement...
Bell then asks...
Bell: What about his trail? Were you able to pick it back up?
Riggs: He did a straight trade of his van to a bunch of stoner kids for a Ford Escort. He's still heading for Dallas, I'm assuming. And he used a computer shortly after the trade.
Bell: Very well. Get back on the road and get after him. I told you how dangerous he is and we need him gone. This has gone far enough.
Riggs: I understand, sir. I'll get him in Dallas. I got a few friends out there that might be able to help me out with this.
Bell: Do what you have to do...
________________________
Several hours later, Michael had made his way to the American Airlines Center incognito. He was killing two birds with one stone today, and had scheduled enough time between the two tasks at hand that should make it possible to do those things.
His first task was to meet with Hank Brown and give him the interview he's been "dying" for since his first faux pas. It wasn't something that Michael wanted to do, but when people started throwing around words like "contract stipulations" and "mandatory blah-blah-blah", it turns into something that he needs to do. Who'd have thought that becoming a professional wrestler involved actual work behind the scenes? Its even harder when people want to kill you.
His second task was to make a dead drop on location for his guns, armor, and other gear. He didn't like the idea of doing that, considering he was going to be back in the arena later, but with almost no knowledge of Dallas, he was left with little options. That, and of all the places in Dallas, this place could give him some advantage over the other guy. His only advantage at this point is that nobody knows his vehicle. He ditched the shitty Escort once he made it into town for an old blaze orange Chevy Van, complete with a crappy black racing stripe down the middle of the van. It was a little gaudy, but nobody would suspect someone to drive something that gaudy on the run.
Michael made it through the building into a staged area for interviews, complete with a WCF backdrop and a few comfortable leather chairs. Michael quickly took off the wig, as Hank Brown popped up once he saw Michael. Hank extended his hand, as Michael says...
Michael: Let's get something straight right now. I don't want to do this damn interview. All the talking I need to do is in that ring, you get it? So I'll answer your questions, but if you do what you did last time and ask stupid questions, I'm walking out of here.
Hank: I understand, sir. And I'd like to apologize for offending you. I wasn't thinking, considering the war is dying down now.
Michael: I'll forgive your ignorance just this once, but that war ain't even close to being over. So how do you want to start this thing?
Hank: Well, take a seat, and once the cameras are rolling, I'll do introductions, then go right into questions. We are encouraging some free discussion, considering this is kind of a biopic of who you are.
Michael: Well, I'm not about talking about the past so much. What's done is done. Especially about my childhood, my time in the service, and everything else after that.
Hank: Okay... Well, this should be a somewhat short and painless interview. Go ahead and have a seat...
Michael takes a seat across from Hank, as some people come to Michael with make-up to powder him up. Michael shoos them off. Some chatter occurs, before they determine that his face won't cause that much of a glare on the camera, and they allow make-up to leave him alone. They are cued up for rolling, as Hank goes into the interview...
Hank: Hello ladies and gentlemen. This is Hank Brown from the WCF, and I have a special treat for everyone in the WCF. As some of you know, a very talented young man has entered the WCF and has made an impression on it in a very short period of time. He's quietly racked up two victories in matches against several men in battles that most considered for him to be in over his head. He's booked once again in a match tonight where he's again facing insurmountable odds. Please welcome "The Forsaken" Michael Steele.
The camera pans in on him, as Michael sits in the chair, his leg crossed over the other with a scowl on his face. It is painfully obvious to the viewers that he'd rather be somewhere else, like perhaps being interrogated in a dungeon...
Hank: I know that we agreed on not asking any personal questions about the past, but you truly have a unique style of wrestling that very few in the United States have never seen. Where did you learn how to wrestle like this?
Michael: Ever since I was a young man, my interest in the martial arts was pretty high. I'd learn everything I could about it, from its origins in Japan, China, Okinawa, to other lands where fighting occurs. You see, all of these clowns in suits want to take our guns away from us now because they want power over the little man. Well, martial arts came to be so that the "little man" could fight back. It happened in Japan when they took blades away from the townsfolk. They eventually fought back, killing many samurai in the process. Hitler took guns from his people, and the world fought back when he started doing his bullshit. What makes you think that disarming a population is going to change much of anything?
Hank: So a lifelong love of learning martial arts is where you learned how to wrestle. Do you have anybody you'd like to credit for it? Any particular instructor?
Michael: I guess that would have to be my foster father when I was four years old. He needed a punching bag, so he used me. He was a big fan of all those Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris films and needed someone to try the shit out on. I guess he got the shock of his life when the punching bag punched back and I ruptured one of his testicles during one of my beatings.
Hank: So you were in the foster care system?
Michael just walked into that one. This fucker is smarter than he looks. He dug on Michael, and Michael just shook his head in anger at Hank, as Hank backpedaled out of the question with...
Hank: So I take it your entry into the military played a significant role in developing these martial arts skills?
Michael: It did.
Hank: Do you care to elaborate on how you managed to refine your techniques?
Michael: Not really. Let's just chalk that one up to "trade secrets". If I was to go blabbering on about how I attained this level of skill, well every slack-jawed dickface walking around in the company might start ripping me off in an effort to beat me. And I hate to lose.
Hank: Well, on the flip side of that, I understand that you've thrown your hat into the ring for a shot at the Internet Title...
Michael snickers at the comment, as he says...
Michael: You mean that I have to actually wrestle for that damn title? I thought it was just one of those trash-talking things on the Internet. Some asshole in some office somewhere told me if I didn't use the Internet to interact with the fans and these other unwiped assholes in the WCF that I'd be in what they call "breech of contract". I'm truly amazed at what bullshit they put into my contract and what every other asshole here has to do to keep their job around here.
Hank: I take it you're not worried about the competition in this match?
Michael: Just a bunch of attention whores who talk a lot of shit online are the assholes I have to worry about? Zombie McMorris? A guy that hasn't wrestled for shit else since he came to the WCF? Or how about Jordan Caliban and how proud he is of his entrance music? WHO GIVES A SHIT ABOUT YOUR MUSIC!!! You want to impress me? Win a fucking match by yourself like a real man instead of going around, insulting everyone because they're not an emo fag like you.
Everyone starts looking around nervously after Michael's last comment, before someone motions for Hank to continue his interview.
Hank: And now to your Pay Per View match, there's a lot of talk backstage that Benjamin Atreyu is a heavy favorite in this upcoming match. Any comments to those that would care to say something like that after everyone here has had a chance to see what you have to offer?
Michael: What people say is their business. I could give two shits in a tornado what anybody here in this company think about me. Hell, I don't think too highly myself of some of the clowns that go into that wrestling ring, talk a bunch of garbage, then perform like absolute hell. I've had to deal with that bullshit ever since I've set foot in this company. Booking me against the likes of some gay porn star, or guys that have an overinflated view of themselves, and even a few monstrous assholes that are caricatures of criminal elements. Its not cute and its not funny. Its a fucking joke is what it is. But this Benjamin Atreyu guy is something else. He has a mouth on him, but so far he's been able to back it up. And he actually backed it up against someone that allegedly means something to this company, because he's about to wrestle for the big gold strap.
Hank: Perhaps maybe its because you've refrained from promoting yourself like most of the other wrestlers do...
Michael: Why beat a dead horse? Everyone can see that I do what I do best, and that's survive and kick the living shit out of whoever is standing in my way. I don't need to go on a camera and justify how bad ass I am with words. All the talking you get from me that has any meaning whatsoever comes from that ring out there. Me sitting here? Well, I'd rather get my fingernails pulled out than be here.
Hank: What about your other opponents in this upcoming match? How do you feel about them?
Michael: Well, I already proved to everyone that Jayden Thunder can't hold a candle to me. I dropped that boy on his head so many times, I'm surprised he's walking and talking again. Is he walking and talking again? I haven't heard anything from anybody in this match.
Hank: As far as I know, all three men are medically cleared for this upcoming match.
Michael: Good. More asses for me to kick. But anyway, about Jayden, I'll give him this much. He had a ton of heart to get up from three of those maneuvers that I pulled off on him. The first time he should've been done, but some asshole on his team broke up the count. But the second kick-out, well, maybe I didn't perform it properly, or he's just that far gone and was running on instinct alone. Hell, I've been down that road when I had to pull operations that lasted over 24 hours, and you're tired, dirty, hungry, and just want it all to be over. But that last time, he didn't get the fuck back up. I won. Had my moment, and the moment is over. And I'm not stupid enough to say that it's going to happen again just like last time. If it does, good for me, but I'm willing to say that Jayden Thunder is not going to have a good go of it if he crosses my path once again.
Hank: What about James Fatel?
Michael: What about that psycho-babbling asshole? That's all he is, is just some random-ass psycho that came off the street wanting to hurt people. Well, he came to the right place, I reckon. Too bad nobody informed him that I'm here to do the same. Kick ass and chew bubble gum. And I'm going to turn him into my own personal pack of bubble gum. I've seen what "wrestling" he does, and outside of the fact that he makes most of his bones setting shit on fire and hitting people with random garbage laying around, he couldn't wrestle himself out of a wet paper bag. He's just a bunch of smoke that he's trying to blow up everyone's asshole. But if he feels like taking me on, he's going to find out just what pain feels like. He wants to set me on fire? We'll find out if napalm sticks to kids. He wants to hit me with a broken bottle? I can find a crowbar and I'll pry his stupid tongue out of his even dumber-looking face. I'll send that stupid fucking camel-jockey packing in a heartbeat or send that fucker straight to hell. It don't matter to me none.
The shocked look on Hank Brown's face told Michael that something was wrong. Michael had no clue what he did wrong, other than relay his feelings about his opponent as he was asked to do. So Michael says...
Michael: What the fuck's the matter with you? You look like you've seen a ghost.
Hank: We don't allow vulgar comments like that on tape.
Michael: You got one of them editing things, right?
Hank: Yes, but it doesn't usually extend to racially derogatory comments.
Michael: Oh, damn it! What the fuck ever happened to the fucking First Amendment? I could've used worse names to call him than camel jockey. Hell, I could've called him a...
Hank: We'll revisit the First Amendment later. I'm sure we can figure something else out about that comment you made.
Michael: What? Because I called the fucker a camel-jockey? Well fuck! I'm a honky, cracker-ass, white bread motherfucker from New York City! Racial comments don't mean shit to me! If this is what puts Fatel over the edge, then he's an even bigger loser than I thought. He falls right into the category of that emo fag Jordan Caliban in how his feelings gets hurt at the drop of a hat. There's no place in the world for that kind of nonsense.
Hank: And that kind of language is inappropriate for this kind of program! We're done with this interview. And if the world is lucky, we're going to be done with you soon, too.
Michael: Wow, did I really just hurt your feelings? Well suck it up, buttercup! You're the whiny, bleeding twat that's been trying to get my cracker-ass on this set so you can talk about shit like my upbringing and all that other shit that nobody else needs to know about. Fuck your show, and your feelings!
Michael stands up and walks off the set. He knocks the boom operator over as he continues to hold the boom over him to pick up any comments Michael may have.
Hell, if it was THAT easy to get out of doing interviews, why hadn't he done that the first time? A few racial and homophobic comments here and there, and voila! No more interviews!
But now he had more time between drops than he anticipated. It was time to find someone to make the pick-up for him. Who knows if the whole damn thing is a trap or not...
