Post by Danny Vice on May 22, 2007 15:25:33 GMT -5
The following is a public service announcement brought to you by Danny “The Vagrant’ Vice. This is not a test. I repeat, this is not a test.
The television sets across the greater Northeast area fuzz and snow. It’s 9:03 pm on a Monday evening. Fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters were intently watching their favorite shows: Monday Night Raw, Dancing with the Stars, 24, and Heroes. No longer. The picture scratches and fades. It flickers from full Technicolor, to a harsh black and white, to a hazy gray, before finally settling on true High-Definition sound and picture. A dark, but soothing, black background is seen. Footsteps are heard from off-screen that echo through whatever room the broadcast is coming from. The echoes off the walls give the impression of a large room, most likely with metal walls the way the sound bounces back and forth until each footstep blurs into pure adulterating noise. Finally, Danny “The Vagrant” Vice emerges on the screen. It nearly cuts out one last time before broadcasting a steady signal, accentuating the perfectly divided white and black long robe draped across his body. His arms crossed in front of his body, but covered by the monk-like ensemble. He gazes directly into the camera with a blank and emotionless stare.
Danny Vice: Ladies and gentleman, I am sorry to interrupt your currently scheduled broadcast, but the following message is too important to not only Creeping Death and Johnny Cravens, but the general public as well. For sometime now, Danny Vice has traveled through the ranks of the WCF in search of his place. At first, it was as “The Vagrant”. A man without a home. Without a resting place. He looked to eradicate the unclean in a merciless and unforgiving fashion. Then he found a home amongst those known as the Team of Treachery. Yet, they disbanded, leaving him to search for himself through his own journey of sorts. When he returned, he became a fan favorite, putting others before himself, even willing to sacrifice a title for the safety of a colleague. But that man was betrayed by his own flesh and blood, turning him sour on his newfound calling. Now, divided in ways as two men, he heads to Timebomb where he ironically faces just that…two men.
The picture breaks for a moment before coming back in clean, this time zoomed in a little closer on the face and shoulder of Danny Vice. Strangely, the lighting in his broadcast room casts a shadow that is actually lighter than the deep black background behind him.
Danny Vice: Two men whose own pasts are dark and mysterious much like my own. Two men who have come through the WCF and been unflinchingly demonic and when necessary, psychotic. Creeping Death and Johnny Cravens, although different, are entirely similar when it comes to their passion and love for all that is hardcore. Yet, as of late, neither has dedicated themselves to the true fruition of success in this business, and that is wrestling. Creeping Death fancies himself a man of devotion. One who spends all of his “free time” working on wrestling. Developing into the technical machine he so claims to be is entirely possible, however, false. For months, the man behind the mask focused on his now fallen Modern Cutting Edge division. You may remember the spotfests that were tossed into the mix in the WCF to the egregiously rave reviews of all three of the division’s fans before being expelled from professional competition by Outcast and Team NCW. For a man who talks so much about his dedication to wrestling, Creeping Death certainly did all he could to avoid it until he was forced back. And Johnny Cravens, a man of talk, has yet to prove to anyone….anything. Last week he spoke of possibly capturing this title. But one must overcome all fear and inhibition to truly be christened hardcore. Johnny Cravens has not yet done that. He mentions my encounter with Thunder at Payback as something that made him shudder. He mentioned that my willingness to push Thunder’s pain threshold past the human breaking point was, in his words, “sick”. You may like what I did to Thunder, Johnny, but don’t for one second think I won’t do it again. Payback has taken Danny Vice back to his roots. Back to the shadows. The dark figure that once struck fear in the hearts of men has returned. The darkness, the shadow, is where you shall find me. Do either of you have it within yourself to go there as well?
Once more, the camera fizzles in and out of reception, before finally cutting back in. Now, the television screens of millions of Americans only show the eyes, nose, and mouth of Danny Vice.
Danny Vice: Between the idea and the reality. The motion and the act. The conception and the creation. The emotion and the response. The desire and the spasm. The potency and the existence. The essence and the descent. There lies the kingdom. There lies the shadow. And come Sunday at Timebomb, that is where I will be. Lurking behind each of you. Quietly waiting for the perfect moment to strike. You will know where I am, watching and waiting, but you will not find me. You will not defeat me. You are no more than hollow men. The twinkle of two fading stars. And there is nothing you can do about it.
The broadcast again cuts to snow, but this time returns the thousands of American households back to the regularly scheduled programming.
The television sets across the greater Northeast area fuzz and snow. It’s 9:03 pm on a Monday evening. Fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters were intently watching their favorite shows: Monday Night Raw, Dancing with the Stars, 24, and Heroes. No longer. The picture scratches and fades. It flickers from full Technicolor, to a harsh black and white, to a hazy gray, before finally settling on true High-Definition sound and picture. A dark, but soothing, black background is seen. Footsteps are heard from off-screen that echo through whatever room the broadcast is coming from. The echoes off the walls give the impression of a large room, most likely with metal walls the way the sound bounces back and forth until each footstep blurs into pure adulterating noise. Finally, Danny “The Vagrant” Vice emerges on the screen. It nearly cuts out one last time before broadcasting a steady signal, accentuating the perfectly divided white and black long robe draped across his body. His arms crossed in front of his body, but covered by the monk-like ensemble. He gazes directly into the camera with a blank and emotionless stare.
Danny Vice: Ladies and gentleman, I am sorry to interrupt your currently scheduled broadcast, but the following message is too important to not only Creeping Death and Johnny Cravens, but the general public as well. For sometime now, Danny Vice has traveled through the ranks of the WCF in search of his place. At first, it was as “The Vagrant”. A man without a home. Without a resting place. He looked to eradicate the unclean in a merciless and unforgiving fashion. Then he found a home amongst those known as the Team of Treachery. Yet, they disbanded, leaving him to search for himself through his own journey of sorts. When he returned, he became a fan favorite, putting others before himself, even willing to sacrifice a title for the safety of a colleague. But that man was betrayed by his own flesh and blood, turning him sour on his newfound calling. Now, divided in ways as two men, he heads to Timebomb where he ironically faces just that…two men.
The picture breaks for a moment before coming back in clean, this time zoomed in a little closer on the face and shoulder of Danny Vice. Strangely, the lighting in his broadcast room casts a shadow that is actually lighter than the deep black background behind him.
Danny Vice: Two men whose own pasts are dark and mysterious much like my own. Two men who have come through the WCF and been unflinchingly demonic and when necessary, psychotic. Creeping Death and Johnny Cravens, although different, are entirely similar when it comes to their passion and love for all that is hardcore. Yet, as of late, neither has dedicated themselves to the true fruition of success in this business, and that is wrestling. Creeping Death fancies himself a man of devotion. One who spends all of his “free time” working on wrestling. Developing into the technical machine he so claims to be is entirely possible, however, false. For months, the man behind the mask focused on his now fallen Modern Cutting Edge division. You may remember the spotfests that were tossed into the mix in the WCF to the egregiously rave reviews of all three of the division’s fans before being expelled from professional competition by Outcast and Team NCW. For a man who talks so much about his dedication to wrestling, Creeping Death certainly did all he could to avoid it until he was forced back. And Johnny Cravens, a man of talk, has yet to prove to anyone….anything. Last week he spoke of possibly capturing this title. But one must overcome all fear and inhibition to truly be christened hardcore. Johnny Cravens has not yet done that. He mentions my encounter with Thunder at Payback as something that made him shudder. He mentioned that my willingness to push Thunder’s pain threshold past the human breaking point was, in his words, “sick”. You may like what I did to Thunder, Johnny, but don’t for one second think I won’t do it again. Payback has taken Danny Vice back to his roots. Back to the shadows. The dark figure that once struck fear in the hearts of men has returned. The darkness, the shadow, is where you shall find me. Do either of you have it within yourself to go there as well?
Once more, the camera fizzles in and out of reception, before finally cutting back in. Now, the television screens of millions of Americans only show the eyes, nose, and mouth of Danny Vice.
Danny Vice: Between the idea and the reality. The motion and the act. The conception and the creation. The emotion and the response. The desire and the spasm. The potency and the existence. The essence and the descent. There lies the kingdom. There lies the shadow. And come Sunday at Timebomb, that is where I will be. Lurking behind each of you. Quietly waiting for the perfect moment to strike. You will know where I am, watching and waiting, but you will not find me. You will not defeat me. You are no more than hollow men. The twinkle of two fading stars. And there is nothing you can do about it.
The broadcast again cuts to snow, but this time returns the thousands of American households back to the regularly scheduled programming.
