Post by occulo on Feb 7, 2016 11:43:48 GMT -5
Exorcism. Victory. Rise.
The match with Dune had come and gone and all was well again. The match with him was a traumatic one, a strain on both body and mind, but in the end it was the soul that needed to be saved…and saved it was. Occulo had only the future to look to now, and he had no reason to believe it was going to be anything other than bright. A glance on his phone told him that he had been thrown in to a clusterfuck match with a spot in the Trilogy Cup Tournament at stake. As his eyes scanned his opponents, a confident smile spread across his face. This is a very winnable match. A must win match. A should win match. Occulo had no complaints with how things were going professionally, and so to domestically.
We cut to a rocky summit of a mountain with a thick blanket of cloud around the mountain’s perimeter. The sun kissed snow glistened brightly, around patches of grey rock that wore an icy film that twinkled as the angle of the camera changed. We see a large man wearing thick deer hide stitched tightly together with horse mane hair. It sat like armour on his colossal shoulders and hooded over his head. The hide dropped like a canopy from his waist covering his thighs, and we see only thick hessian boots, with tight red plant stems wrapped and knotted around them. The camera pans up to reveal his face, which was a painted picture of a thousand bloody and brutal battles. He had red blotches above his left eye on and on his red cheek, and a scar that ran horizontally across the bridge of his nose.
He was standing next to a rock that was waist high and had a wide circular surface at an angle that was facing him. On the face itself is a large circular mirror, where we see 8 half embedded, teal orbs arranged in a circle, with one white orb in the centre. The white orb glows every few seconds with a low hum. The man pulls his hood back revealing a thick, unkempt dark hair sitting under a red headband with “痛み” (Itami) embroidered in white.
Itami: The white orb…it glows…finally it glows…
He hears a voice behind him, we see Akuma out of focus over his shoulder
Akuma: Itami…I see the Sky Mirror bears good news…
Itami turns 90 degrees and looks to the sky
Itami: Tell me, what is his or her name?
Akuma: He goes by the name of Occulo. He is a wrestler. See for yourself…
Itami glances at Akuma, and faces the orbs. He places one hand on the white orb and closes his eyes. We see a fast montage of Occulo’s life, from his days spent in his Father’s office, to his WCF debut, his run-ins with Joey Flash, his relationship with Bonnie and his last match against Dune. Itami opens his eyes
Itami: The boy requires guidance. Akuma, Single Cloud…will turn him into a spectacular warrior. Whatever they compete for, he can win them all.
Akuma walks up to him with a hopeful smile
Akuma: Yes, you must go to America Itami. Meet him and educate him about the ways of the Single Cloud. Bring Single Cloud back from the dead. Bring us back from the dead.
Itami: Yes, I will. Be warned Akuma, I will not hold back.
Akuma chuckles
Akuma: But of course
Akuma grabs Itami’s hand
Bring him back here. If he wishes to know Single Cloud, he must know us. He must know where the style was derived.
Itami: Tell me, these blue orbs…what do they signify?
Akuma walks up to the rock face and tilts his head
Akuma: There are two sides to Single Cloud Itami. The white is the hero, the student as well as the master. The sky blue is that that surrounds him, his opponent, his adversity. Occulo is in a situation where he stands amongst 8 opponents. It must be some form of royal battle with a grand prize to the winner. But do not worry Itami, when you see him all will become clear. Now go, there is no time to lose.
Itami nods and suddenly fades away to nothingness
Occulo, I pray that you are the man we are looking for
He turns to face the orbs
Because there will come a day when the orbs turn black, and then…then we will need all the help in the world
CUT
We open to Occulo’s reflection staring back at him in the mirror in his dressing room. He turns away from it and sits down at his desk. We sit opposite him as he takes out a pack of WCF Top Trump cards. He sorts through them and takes out 9 which he places into a separate stack.
A battle royal, a real…roulette of a match. A Russian Roulette where by the time the barrel has stopped spinning, you fire the bullet straight through the rounds of the tournament and land that fatal blow at Asesinato De Mayo. So who has Seth seen fit to take on this almighty challenge? Some new opponents and some old faces. Dustin fucking Beaver again. That’s getting really old. An apt place to start I think.
He takes out a card from the deck of 9 and places it face up on the desk.
Dustin, we meet again, and again we meet amongst others. Did you see what happened Dustin? You lost your title but still claimed it as your own and in all the fuckwittery it’s no longer your name on that belt. Maybe if you had just accepted the loss and bottled in all your anger and unleashed it on your opponents at Fifteen, you might still be holding that belt proudly above that shiny, waxy hair of yours. Do you know what is going to make your year even worse Dustin? You’re going to get nowhere near that Trilogy Cup Tournament. What the fuck makes you think you deserve to? I wonder why Seth even included you. You ditched Andre (who was fantastic by the way, he certainly doesn’t fucking need you) to run crying and flailing with your spindly little arms trying to get back your toy back because a bigger kid stole it off you…and you couldn’t even do that. You’ve completely ruined all form of credibility you had here. It all left pretty much as soon as you defeated me in that hardcore match.
Did beating me make you complacent Dustin? Because you stood atop the wreckage of broken wood, metal and bone and the crowd gazed in awe at you, you suddenly thought you were some kind of invincible God? Well the God soon crashed back down in the land of the peasants. You have nothing now, and you’ll have nothing for a long time unless you buck up and most importantly, grow up. I’m going to take considerable pleasure in bringing you crashing down. I’m going to take considerable pleasure in sending your career into a tailspin, crashing and burning beyond any hope of recovery.
My advice to you kid is go back to your bedroom watching Toy Story or whatever you watched. Fuck, Sid has better career prospects than you. How long will it take you to become a respected member of the company or society in general? To Infinity and Beyond bitch. When was it you sat in your room watching possible career prospects flash up on screen? Was it when Mommy sent you there because she made you eat your broccoli? Nah of course not, because I bet you got everything you ever wanted and had your parents wrapped around your little finger. “No” doesn’t exist in your vocabulary does it Dustin? Whatever Dustin wants, Dustin gets whether he deserves it or not. Throw your vegetables on the floor? Dustin gets a bowl of ice cream. Punch another kid in the face at school and the teacher yells at you? Dustin runs home crying and has a shiny bicycle waiting for him at home. Dustin doesn’t wrestle well at all and loses his belt? He screams to the heavens, turns blue and ditches his allies like a total cunt and…ahh there’s no happy ending there because this is the real grown up world.
Enough about that. Let’s look to the future. What does it have in store for you? Firstly you’re getting kicked out of the battle royal. Then you’ll realise how foolish you’ve been. You’ll look at yourself in the mirror in shame and say “right, this is it”. You’ll get your head down and train like an absolute animal day in, day out. You’ll rack up win after win after win and the crowd will love this new revitalised, new and improved Dustin Beaver. You’ll make the WCF millions in merchandise sale. Black t-shirts with “Dam! It’s Beaver!” printed on. You’ll sell mugs, stationery, action figures, hats, pants, teddy bears, candy, ice cream bars (CM Punk!), and the script for your first WCF movie will be slid under your dressing room door, which itself will be intoxicated with the aroma of incense gathered together by half blind Ghanian children. Then finally after an incredible year and a half long winning streak Seth simply cannot keep you away from it any longer, he simply cannot keep the spring coiled any longer and he gives you a WCF World Title match. Near fall, after near fall and…finally…here is your new WCF World Champion…Dustin Beaver!! Then through the thunderous ecstacy of the crowd you hear a strange beeping noise…then you wake up and your semen and dried tissue covered hand slaps off the alarm clock you utterly deluded little spastic.
World Title? Get fucked. You are so monumentally behind the real world title contendors of the company. You can barely keep your hands on the TV title. You’ll amount to absolutely nothing here Dustin. You’ve had your fifteen minutes of fame and ungratefully threw that out of your pram. But don’t worry you little scamp, people will always want burgers and chicken will always need frying. Not that you’ll ever swallow your pride and take a menial job like that. Dustin Beaver is far too good for that. Imagine that pretty, chiselled face under a hairnet and faded red cap? You want gold Dustin? Those golden arches are waiting for you, waiting for a kid with your level of intelligence and demeanour to humour them.
If you had just one iota of spirit and actual will to win that Andre had when he single handedly beat me and Howard (wow) you’d have a chance here. You know what Dustin? I would absolutely love it if he marched down that ramp and wrapped a steel chair around that hollow skull of yours before the match. I’d love it if he beat you to a bloody mess with it. I’d love it if Stuart Slane then rested your loved and lost TV title belt on your face and stomped its imprint on to your flesh. It’s nothing less than you deserve. As much as I’d love it, to be honest Dustin, I just can’t wait to punch you absolutely square in the face and give that Danny Zuko hair some bloody grease lightning. This match is going to be either the last or the first match of your career Beaver, and I really don’t think you have the fight or will to make it your first. See you on Sunday.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Dustin Beaver
So Punkin, we’ve yet to cross paths and finally our time has come. So what can I expect from this explosive and erratic specimen? Well, I think the best way to approach you Punkin is to simply expect the unexpected. Let you run riot. Let you tire yourself out. Let the hell be unleashed. Because there is something I like about you Punkin, you don’t care. You step through the ropes and you don’t overthink it. You just come and do damage. In the UK years ago they had this show called “Robot Wars”. They had this one robot called Hypnodisc that had this massive fuck off spinning disc, and it would just be unleashed on the other robots and leave them shredded into pieces. It was incredible, and a fighting style like that, that beserker status about you will rip people like Beaver apart. But that’s only because he’s not particularly intelligent, and more intelligent opponents will see your weakness in your approach. Any Final Fantasy fan will know that a beserker has no defence, he is open and his guard is completely down. So all I have to do is keep out of your way and attack. Sorry Punkin, but you’re not going to the tournament. It’s a shame. With so many dull, like for like wrestlers like Jayson Price and Corey Black you really do bring your own brand to the table. Your time will come, but not this time. I’m soaring towards that trilogy cup tournament, and the good thing for you Punkin is that you’ll probably not even realise you’ve lost.
You’re like a wind-up toy with a damn good battery that just goes and goes towards the table edge and plummets with a crack on the ground. I imagine you must feel lucky Punkin that you’re in the only career where your relentless and hectic nature can come up trumps and bear fruit. “Job Description: Go absolutely fucking mental”. Don’t worry Punkin, we’ll get you pinned nice and early, point you up the ramp and let you carry on your chaos backstage. The International Champion, like me brings gold to the Royal, and it is this that makes us targets. Unlike you Punkin, I’ll have the awareness to be able to realise this. I’ll be absolutely 100% focussed, sharp, watching my back and every beat of the drum. There’s a wide spectrum of opposition in the ring in this match, and I just question whether you really have the ring awareness to prosper. Your mind is a clouded fog of chaos, and you simply can’t see things coming. In a match where dreams can be made, it’s so sad that it will turn out to be your nightmare Punkin, but hey ho, defend that belt you have with all your worth, because you simply never know when the chance will arise again.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Punkin
Hey Benjamin, if you’re chosen by God why aren’t you a champion? I just thought well, you know, if a fucking deity is on your side you’d at least have evidence of it. You talk like you’re some kind of ancient philosopher, if you want to lecture us then go get a PH.D or something and fuck off to some shitty university where opening the door is the only entrance exam. You’re a pretentious dick who rattles on and on about nothing whatsoever. You’re so mind-numbingly boring. You’re buzz-killington. You’re the guy at an international buffet who just gets a plate of fries and ketchup. You’re the guy at an ice-cream parlour who orders two scoops of vanilla. Do you know how you win matches Benjamin? Shall I tell you? When you release on the world the soul-destroying, coma-inducing boring tripe your kind does, your opponent watches it and falls in to a deep sleep, then by the time the match comes around they are only half awake and its easy pickings for you. Oh…you didn’t think it was because of your divine intervention did you…or even more ridiculously, you didn’t think it was because of your…FIGHTING ABILITY?! How very cute. You know, I am actually feeling a bit drowsy just talking about you. Have you ever considered a career in hypnotism? I can imagine you on some cheap network channel with bad audio talking some presenter who got fired by CNN once for accidentally flashing the middle finger, not realising he’s on air, and he asks you “So Benjamin, what is your gift? How did you first realise you could do this?” then as soon as you start talking the whole audience and presenter just pass out. “He’s a miracle” nah, he’s just a boring cunt. Let’s take a couple of examples shall we Benjamin? Preferably from your latest promo:
“What is the meaning of thus? Is there to be an execution? Are we to devolve back into the days of Kangaroo courts, witch trials and public murder? What madness has spread over the-
Occulo slumps over on his chair and lays there for an hour. He gets back up startled and sits back down, recomposing himself
-land where such an image of morbidness could be pranced around in front of the sensible public? Who would be so dastardly, so cruel, so cold and uncaring to set up such an exhibition of tastelessness”
What the hell are you talking about? Fuck sake Benjamin, this is a wrestling federation not some kind of Charles Dickens audio book. The only good thing I could ever see you doing is producing black market audio cassettes given to elderly people who can’t win a euthanasia case. “Simply insert the tape, press play, and let Benjamin’s incessant droning whisk you away to the land of the dead”. You know what the irony is in what you said is don’t you Benjamin? In fact fuck it, I’m gonna call you BEN from now on. You don’t have any degree of stature or right to use your full name. You are Ben and fuck you Ben. Anyway the irony is BEN, there IS to be an execution, there IS to be a witch trial, and there IS certainly going to be a public murder. You’re getting executed for treason for sapping all the entertainment out of a sports entertainment business. You’re going to be publically murdered for offering nothing to the business. “Booorrrrriiinnnnnggggg” shout the thousands of fans, followed by a grand cheer as you are pinned. Look Benjamin, you have lived a life so utterly devoid of anything interesting whatsoever that you have looked to some fictional man in the sky for some kind of reasoning and purpose, and because you’re in an environment that requires being superior to other men, you’ve got confused and thought you were gift to us from God. You’re not, you’re just utterly terrible and have nothing going for you. My advice to you is quit wrestling and go and become a priest or something, that way you can surround yourself with people just as stupid and ridiculously deluded as you.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Benjamin Atreyu
Fuck off Bad News Benson. What even is your problem? Are you called Bad News because that’s the first thing you heard the midwife say when you were born? “Bad news I’m afraid, he survived the birth”. You have so much hate inside of you, which must only grow and grow as every time you try and take it out on your opponents you fail miserably. You’re amongst the worst of the worst in this company, but you’re not alone, because the mainstay of such a group, Adam Young, is right there with you. So I would take this opportunity Benson to at least prove you are better than him. How the fuck did you get beat by Charon the fucking Ferryman? You have to be all kinds of shit for that to happen. You’ve gone full Adam Young, and anyone with any ounce of self-respect and dignity should never go full Adam Young. You’re a minnow with absolutely zero chance of victory. The Trilogy Tournament is the pipe dream of all pipe dreams for you. But feel honoured that you got the chance to at least be considered for it. Take that as a small victory. Although you’d probably hate that as well. Do you hate for sympathy Benson? Do you hope someone will think “There must be a reason for his hate, perhaps he was just never loved” Well sorry Benson, but nobody actually cares, and nobody will care when you get absolutely demolished on Sunday night. Your long reign of failure will continue and continue, and you lack the ability or mental fortitude to do anything about it.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Bad News Benson, put at an angle
So we move on to Mr Self Important Lucious Starr. A man who thinks the WCF needs him. You’re right there, Lucious, the WCF does need you…to actually do something of note. Like, I don’t know, win? Seth really has created quite a clusterfuck of mediocrity in this match hasn’t he? Absolutely terrible. Fuckin main event? When will you ever main event anything? How can you claim that the main event needs you when you can’t even win your little bottom card matches? If the main event is the top of the ladder then shit, you are the very definition of rock bottom. This match is going to be yet ANOTHER loss for you, and yet ANOTHER week will go by where nobody knows who the fuck Lucious Starr is. How the hell you won all those accolades in the PWA is beyond me. What does PWA stand for? “Pathetic Wrestlers Anonymous”? Where you all just walk in to some run down community centre and talk about your addictions to being terrible and then just battle it out for some degree of accomplishment? Lucious, you’re just an arrogant deluded little fuckwit who will continue to amount to nothing whilst still believing you are everything. You wanna show us all you are main event material? Win this match. Then beat everyone in the Trilogy tournament. That’s what you need to do. Are you capable of that Lucious? Do you REALLY believe you are amongst the best here? Well, it doesn’t matter if you do, because if you can’t translate it into performance then what’s the point? Lucious Starr loses again. Good.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Lucious Starr at a 90 degree angle
Jordan…you are an absolute, first class, grade A, pedigree, 24 carat, genuine metric tonne of rancid, rotting, stinking, vile, festering vat of rat shit. You let us all know you were racist in your promo Jordan. How was it you put it? “Black People < White People”. Allow me to use a similar format to show you my, and everyone in the WCF and everyone who supports the WCF’s opinion of you.
Jordan Wolfram < (Shit + Vomit + Piss + The Black Death + Plane crashes + Mosquitoes + Rat vomit + Roadkill + Syphilis + Diarrhoea + 3rd degree burns + Slug slime + Adam Young + Influenza + Paper cuts + Being kicked in the balls + Bad News Benson + Phlegm)
Does that put things in to perspective Jordan? You know I don’t often wish death on people, but yours would be extremely welcomed and mourned by nobody. Do you feel a particular jolt of masculinity when you spout your racist drivel? Do you feel proud? Do you feel superior? Do you feel…scared? Because that is what it all boils down to Jordan, fear. You’re a scared, pathetic, lost little soul who hides behind walls of muscle, so desperate for acceptance that you pour hate on an entire race of people. You’re terrified that someone will look down on you and consider YOU inferior. You’re so scared of being looked at as small that you make yourself as big as possible. You might look like a muscular giant, but mentally you’re skin and bone. No substance or any fibre of strength at all. The world is a much better place without cunts like you Jordan. I’m glad DeMarcus beat you. I hope the anger and humiliation you felt consumed you. I hope you felt the black shiny material wrapped fist of Jesse Owens breaking through your cheekbone as the very thing you hate stood over you victorious. Your ways won’t cut it here Jordan. You’re going to get stomped on and spat on everywhere you walk and deservedly so. I think it’s a damn shame that Seth even employs you. There are genuinely good people of all races out there that would put their lives on the line just to earn a tenth of what you earn. There are two things I want out of this match, one to win, and the other to see your bloody, contorted, broken body being stretchered out of the arena and dumped in to a ditch somewhere. You’re an absolutely shit wrestler with no talent or personality whatsoever who has as much chance of winning this match as John Mullins Senior has of winning Father of the Year award. So why don’t you do yourself and everyone else a favour and just fuck off and die slowly somewhere. You’re absolutely nothing. Nothing. Zilch.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Jordan Wolfram, but upside down so the bottom of the card is pointing towards Dustin Beaver’s
Andre Jensen, a man that always has his head in the game…literally in your case. So let me get this straight, you dress up as characters from presumably a computer game or a favourite television series or movie, or even a totally original character? Well I must admit that does sound fun Andre. But it’s also something most people stop doing after the age of what…five? Come on Andre, I know I have no right to go telling people what they should and shouldn’t do with their free time (except Jordan Wolfram) but don’t you think it’s time to knock that on the head? I mean your career in the WCF isn’t exactly going massively well is it? Maybe….just maybe if you packed all that nonsense in you’d have a good shot at achieving something here. But the sad thing is Andre, you’re a billionaire so you don’t really give a fuck do you? You’re quite happy wallowing away, pottering about in the lower card fighting for the sake of fighting whether you want to or not. It doesn’t matter to you whether you win or lose because a nice cheque here and there will soon make you feel a lot better. So what’s the craic Andre? Why are you here? You’re a bit of a waste of everyone’s time to be honest. I mean when people beat you they feel a hollow sense of accomplishment because you never really put your heart in to it or tried your best. You’re quite annoying really. Why don’t you go away to your stupid little fantasy island and leave the wrestling to people who want to wrestle. I’ll show you in the Battle Royal something which you have no idea about; spirit, fire and determination. A will to win, and when I rain that down on you, you’ll be out of the match before you even realise what’s hit you. You want some EXP? I’ll make you EXP some serious pain. See you Sunday Andre.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Andre Jenson’s
Last but not least, the federation’s favourite facepalm. Adam fucking Young. You are the most perplexing person I’ve ever known. You’ve spent so long just failing week after week. Whilst maintaining this strange messiah redneck persona. You’re not the Messiah, you’re a very idiotic cunt. There is a great pleasure in seeing your name on the card next to mine Adam, it means it’s an easy week, an easy win. You represent happiness for the whole roster, it’s like being told you have a day off. You are the very definition of a jobber, a whipping boy. Yet we never hear you complain about it. You just pretend your weekly loss never happened and start rattling on about your dominion and demons and hell and messiahs and whatever it is you decide to be this week. It has been a while since we last squared off in the ring, I believe it was a similar match to this one about a year ago. I look forward to seeing how much you’ve improved, or probably not. Inevitably not. Adam Young, the man who has sealed a legendary status by just being so blissfully awful. I look forward to seeing you in the ring Adam, same again pal?
The cards are now arranged in a circle. He picks up the final card, his own, and places it in the centre.
And there’s your winner. This is a glorious opportunity which I won’t let slip. The fact that you are in this match Dustin creates even more incentive for me. It’s going to let me show you that you’re not better than me. That you’re not the contendor that you thought you were, that you’re a boy competing against men (and Jordan Wolfram, whatever he is). I’m going to prove to you all and everyone else in the WCF that I am ready to compete against the absolute best. I am ready to compete for the grandest prize of them all. One by one I will see that none of you can hold a candle to me. I acknowledge the fact that Punkin Caliban will be a great threat, and for that I am grateful. Champion vs Champion. Let’s see your absolute best, the best that won that belt and will fight to hold it for as long as you can. 2016 is my year, and it the long road to becoming WCF World Champion begins Sunday night. Name on the trophy.
CUT
The match with Dune had come and gone and all was well again. The match with him was a traumatic one, a strain on both body and mind, but in the end it was the soul that needed to be saved…and saved it was. Occulo had only the future to look to now, and he had no reason to believe it was going to be anything other than bright. A glance on his phone told him that he had been thrown in to a clusterfuck match with a spot in the Trilogy Cup Tournament at stake. As his eyes scanned his opponents, a confident smile spread across his face. This is a very winnable match. A must win match. A should win match. Occulo had no complaints with how things were going professionally, and so to domestically.
We cut to a rocky summit of a mountain with a thick blanket of cloud around the mountain’s perimeter. The sun kissed snow glistened brightly, around patches of grey rock that wore an icy film that twinkled as the angle of the camera changed. We see a large man wearing thick deer hide stitched tightly together with horse mane hair. It sat like armour on his colossal shoulders and hooded over his head. The hide dropped like a canopy from his waist covering his thighs, and we see only thick hessian boots, with tight red plant stems wrapped and knotted around them. The camera pans up to reveal his face, which was a painted picture of a thousand bloody and brutal battles. He had red blotches above his left eye on and on his red cheek, and a scar that ran horizontally across the bridge of his nose.
He was standing next to a rock that was waist high and had a wide circular surface at an angle that was facing him. On the face itself is a large circular mirror, where we see 8 half embedded, teal orbs arranged in a circle, with one white orb in the centre. The white orb glows every few seconds with a low hum. The man pulls his hood back revealing a thick, unkempt dark hair sitting under a red headband with “痛み” (Itami) embroidered in white.
Itami: The white orb…it glows…finally it glows…
He hears a voice behind him, we see Akuma out of focus over his shoulder
Akuma: Itami…I see the Sky Mirror bears good news…
Itami turns 90 degrees and looks to the sky
Itami: Tell me, what is his or her name?
Akuma: He goes by the name of Occulo. He is a wrestler. See for yourself…
Itami glances at Akuma, and faces the orbs. He places one hand on the white orb and closes his eyes. We see a fast montage of Occulo’s life, from his days spent in his Father’s office, to his WCF debut, his run-ins with Joey Flash, his relationship with Bonnie and his last match against Dune. Itami opens his eyes
Itami: The boy requires guidance. Akuma, Single Cloud…will turn him into a spectacular warrior. Whatever they compete for, he can win them all.
Akuma walks up to him with a hopeful smile
Akuma: Yes, you must go to America Itami. Meet him and educate him about the ways of the Single Cloud. Bring Single Cloud back from the dead. Bring us back from the dead.
Itami: Yes, I will. Be warned Akuma, I will not hold back.
Akuma chuckles
Akuma: But of course
Akuma grabs Itami’s hand
Bring him back here. If he wishes to know Single Cloud, he must know us. He must know where the style was derived.
Itami: Tell me, these blue orbs…what do they signify?
Akuma walks up to the rock face and tilts his head
Akuma: There are two sides to Single Cloud Itami. The white is the hero, the student as well as the master. The sky blue is that that surrounds him, his opponent, his adversity. Occulo is in a situation where he stands amongst 8 opponents. It must be some form of royal battle with a grand prize to the winner. But do not worry Itami, when you see him all will become clear. Now go, there is no time to lose.
Itami nods and suddenly fades away to nothingness
Occulo, I pray that you are the man we are looking for
He turns to face the orbs
Because there will come a day when the orbs turn black, and then…then we will need all the help in the world
CUT
We open to Occulo’s reflection staring back at him in the mirror in his dressing room. He turns away from it and sits down at his desk. We sit opposite him as he takes out a pack of WCF Top Trump cards. He sorts through them and takes out 9 which he places into a separate stack.
A battle royal, a real…roulette of a match. A Russian Roulette where by the time the barrel has stopped spinning, you fire the bullet straight through the rounds of the tournament and land that fatal blow at Asesinato De Mayo. So who has Seth seen fit to take on this almighty challenge? Some new opponents and some old faces. Dustin fucking Beaver again. That’s getting really old. An apt place to start I think.
He takes out a card from the deck of 9 and places it face up on the desk.
Dustin, we meet again, and again we meet amongst others. Did you see what happened Dustin? You lost your title but still claimed it as your own and in all the fuckwittery it’s no longer your name on that belt. Maybe if you had just accepted the loss and bottled in all your anger and unleashed it on your opponents at Fifteen, you might still be holding that belt proudly above that shiny, waxy hair of yours. Do you know what is going to make your year even worse Dustin? You’re going to get nowhere near that Trilogy Cup Tournament. What the fuck makes you think you deserve to? I wonder why Seth even included you. You ditched Andre (who was fantastic by the way, he certainly doesn’t fucking need you) to run crying and flailing with your spindly little arms trying to get back your toy back because a bigger kid stole it off you…and you couldn’t even do that. You’ve completely ruined all form of credibility you had here. It all left pretty much as soon as you defeated me in that hardcore match.
Did beating me make you complacent Dustin? Because you stood atop the wreckage of broken wood, metal and bone and the crowd gazed in awe at you, you suddenly thought you were some kind of invincible God? Well the God soon crashed back down in the land of the peasants. You have nothing now, and you’ll have nothing for a long time unless you buck up and most importantly, grow up. I’m going to take considerable pleasure in bringing you crashing down. I’m going to take considerable pleasure in sending your career into a tailspin, crashing and burning beyond any hope of recovery.
My advice to you kid is go back to your bedroom watching Toy Story or whatever you watched. Fuck, Sid has better career prospects than you. How long will it take you to become a respected member of the company or society in general? To Infinity and Beyond bitch. When was it you sat in your room watching possible career prospects flash up on screen? Was it when Mommy sent you there because she made you eat your broccoli? Nah of course not, because I bet you got everything you ever wanted and had your parents wrapped around your little finger. “No” doesn’t exist in your vocabulary does it Dustin? Whatever Dustin wants, Dustin gets whether he deserves it or not. Throw your vegetables on the floor? Dustin gets a bowl of ice cream. Punch another kid in the face at school and the teacher yells at you? Dustin runs home crying and has a shiny bicycle waiting for him at home. Dustin doesn’t wrestle well at all and loses his belt? He screams to the heavens, turns blue and ditches his allies like a total cunt and…ahh there’s no happy ending there because this is the real grown up world.
Enough about that. Let’s look to the future. What does it have in store for you? Firstly you’re getting kicked out of the battle royal. Then you’ll realise how foolish you’ve been. You’ll look at yourself in the mirror in shame and say “right, this is it”. You’ll get your head down and train like an absolute animal day in, day out. You’ll rack up win after win after win and the crowd will love this new revitalised, new and improved Dustin Beaver. You’ll make the WCF millions in merchandise sale. Black t-shirts with “Dam! It’s Beaver!” printed on. You’ll sell mugs, stationery, action figures, hats, pants, teddy bears, candy, ice cream bars (CM Punk!), and the script for your first WCF movie will be slid under your dressing room door, which itself will be intoxicated with the aroma of incense gathered together by half blind Ghanian children. Then finally after an incredible year and a half long winning streak Seth simply cannot keep you away from it any longer, he simply cannot keep the spring coiled any longer and he gives you a WCF World Title match. Near fall, after near fall and…finally…here is your new WCF World Champion…Dustin Beaver!! Then through the thunderous ecstacy of the crowd you hear a strange beeping noise…then you wake up and your semen and dried tissue covered hand slaps off the alarm clock you utterly deluded little spastic.
World Title? Get fucked. You are so monumentally behind the real world title contendors of the company. You can barely keep your hands on the TV title. You’ll amount to absolutely nothing here Dustin. You’ve had your fifteen minutes of fame and ungratefully threw that out of your pram. But don’t worry you little scamp, people will always want burgers and chicken will always need frying. Not that you’ll ever swallow your pride and take a menial job like that. Dustin Beaver is far too good for that. Imagine that pretty, chiselled face under a hairnet and faded red cap? You want gold Dustin? Those golden arches are waiting for you, waiting for a kid with your level of intelligence and demeanour to humour them.
If you had just one iota of spirit and actual will to win that Andre had when he single handedly beat me and Howard (wow) you’d have a chance here. You know what Dustin? I would absolutely love it if he marched down that ramp and wrapped a steel chair around that hollow skull of yours before the match. I’d love it if he beat you to a bloody mess with it. I’d love it if Stuart Slane then rested your loved and lost TV title belt on your face and stomped its imprint on to your flesh. It’s nothing less than you deserve. As much as I’d love it, to be honest Dustin, I just can’t wait to punch you absolutely square in the face and give that Danny Zuko hair some bloody grease lightning. This match is going to be either the last or the first match of your career Beaver, and I really don’t think you have the fight or will to make it your first. See you on Sunday.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Dustin Beaver
So Punkin, we’ve yet to cross paths and finally our time has come. So what can I expect from this explosive and erratic specimen? Well, I think the best way to approach you Punkin is to simply expect the unexpected. Let you run riot. Let you tire yourself out. Let the hell be unleashed. Because there is something I like about you Punkin, you don’t care. You step through the ropes and you don’t overthink it. You just come and do damage. In the UK years ago they had this show called “Robot Wars”. They had this one robot called Hypnodisc that had this massive fuck off spinning disc, and it would just be unleashed on the other robots and leave them shredded into pieces. It was incredible, and a fighting style like that, that beserker status about you will rip people like Beaver apart. But that’s only because he’s not particularly intelligent, and more intelligent opponents will see your weakness in your approach. Any Final Fantasy fan will know that a beserker has no defence, he is open and his guard is completely down. So all I have to do is keep out of your way and attack. Sorry Punkin, but you’re not going to the tournament. It’s a shame. With so many dull, like for like wrestlers like Jayson Price and Corey Black you really do bring your own brand to the table. Your time will come, but not this time. I’m soaring towards that trilogy cup tournament, and the good thing for you Punkin is that you’ll probably not even realise you’ve lost.
You’re like a wind-up toy with a damn good battery that just goes and goes towards the table edge and plummets with a crack on the ground. I imagine you must feel lucky Punkin that you’re in the only career where your relentless and hectic nature can come up trumps and bear fruit. “Job Description: Go absolutely fucking mental”. Don’t worry Punkin, we’ll get you pinned nice and early, point you up the ramp and let you carry on your chaos backstage. The International Champion, like me brings gold to the Royal, and it is this that makes us targets. Unlike you Punkin, I’ll have the awareness to be able to realise this. I’ll be absolutely 100% focussed, sharp, watching my back and every beat of the drum. There’s a wide spectrum of opposition in the ring in this match, and I just question whether you really have the ring awareness to prosper. Your mind is a clouded fog of chaos, and you simply can’t see things coming. In a match where dreams can be made, it’s so sad that it will turn out to be your nightmare Punkin, but hey ho, defend that belt you have with all your worth, because you simply never know when the chance will arise again.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Punkin
Hey Benjamin, if you’re chosen by God why aren’t you a champion? I just thought well, you know, if a fucking deity is on your side you’d at least have evidence of it. You talk like you’re some kind of ancient philosopher, if you want to lecture us then go get a PH.D or something and fuck off to some shitty university where opening the door is the only entrance exam. You’re a pretentious dick who rattles on and on about nothing whatsoever. You’re so mind-numbingly boring. You’re buzz-killington. You’re the guy at an international buffet who just gets a plate of fries and ketchup. You’re the guy at an ice-cream parlour who orders two scoops of vanilla. Do you know how you win matches Benjamin? Shall I tell you? When you release on the world the soul-destroying, coma-inducing boring tripe your kind does, your opponent watches it and falls in to a deep sleep, then by the time the match comes around they are only half awake and its easy pickings for you. Oh…you didn’t think it was because of your divine intervention did you…or even more ridiculously, you didn’t think it was because of your…FIGHTING ABILITY?! How very cute. You know, I am actually feeling a bit drowsy just talking about you. Have you ever considered a career in hypnotism? I can imagine you on some cheap network channel with bad audio talking some presenter who got fired by CNN once for accidentally flashing the middle finger, not realising he’s on air, and he asks you “So Benjamin, what is your gift? How did you first realise you could do this?” then as soon as you start talking the whole audience and presenter just pass out. “He’s a miracle” nah, he’s just a boring cunt. Let’s take a couple of examples shall we Benjamin? Preferably from your latest promo:
“What is the meaning of thus? Is there to be an execution? Are we to devolve back into the days of Kangaroo courts, witch trials and public murder? What madness has spread over the-
Occulo slumps over on his chair and lays there for an hour. He gets back up startled and sits back down, recomposing himself
-land where such an image of morbidness could be pranced around in front of the sensible public? Who would be so dastardly, so cruel, so cold and uncaring to set up such an exhibition of tastelessness”
What the hell are you talking about? Fuck sake Benjamin, this is a wrestling federation not some kind of Charles Dickens audio book. The only good thing I could ever see you doing is producing black market audio cassettes given to elderly people who can’t win a euthanasia case. “Simply insert the tape, press play, and let Benjamin’s incessant droning whisk you away to the land of the dead”. You know what the irony is in what you said is don’t you Benjamin? In fact fuck it, I’m gonna call you BEN from now on. You don’t have any degree of stature or right to use your full name. You are Ben and fuck you Ben. Anyway the irony is BEN, there IS to be an execution, there IS to be a witch trial, and there IS certainly going to be a public murder. You’re getting executed for treason for sapping all the entertainment out of a sports entertainment business. You’re going to be publically murdered for offering nothing to the business. “Booorrrrriiinnnnnggggg” shout the thousands of fans, followed by a grand cheer as you are pinned. Look Benjamin, you have lived a life so utterly devoid of anything interesting whatsoever that you have looked to some fictional man in the sky for some kind of reasoning and purpose, and because you’re in an environment that requires being superior to other men, you’ve got confused and thought you were gift to us from God. You’re not, you’re just utterly terrible and have nothing going for you. My advice to you is quit wrestling and go and become a priest or something, that way you can surround yourself with people just as stupid and ridiculously deluded as you.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Benjamin Atreyu
Fuck off Bad News Benson. What even is your problem? Are you called Bad News because that’s the first thing you heard the midwife say when you were born? “Bad news I’m afraid, he survived the birth”. You have so much hate inside of you, which must only grow and grow as every time you try and take it out on your opponents you fail miserably. You’re amongst the worst of the worst in this company, but you’re not alone, because the mainstay of such a group, Adam Young, is right there with you. So I would take this opportunity Benson to at least prove you are better than him. How the fuck did you get beat by Charon the fucking Ferryman? You have to be all kinds of shit for that to happen. You’ve gone full Adam Young, and anyone with any ounce of self-respect and dignity should never go full Adam Young. You’re a minnow with absolutely zero chance of victory. The Trilogy Tournament is the pipe dream of all pipe dreams for you. But feel honoured that you got the chance to at least be considered for it. Take that as a small victory. Although you’d probably hate that as well. Do you hate for sympathy Benson? Do you hope someone will think “There must be a reason for his hate, perhaps he was just never loved” Well sorry Benson, but nobody actually cares, and nobody will care when you get absolutely demolished on Sunday night. Your long reign of failure will continue and continue, and you lack the ability or mental fortitude to do anything about it.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Bad News Benson, put at an angle
So we move on to Mr Self Important Lucious Starr. A man who thinks the WCF needs him. You’re right there, Lucious, the WCF does need you…to actually do something of note. Like, I don’t know, win? Seth really has created quite a clusterfuck of mediocrity in this match hasn’t he? Absolutely terrible. Fuckin main event? When will you ever main event anything? How can you claim that the main event needs you when you can’t even win your little bottom card matches? If the main event is the top of the ladder then shit, you are the very definition of rock bottom. This match is going to be yet ANOTHER loss for you, and yet ANOTHER week will go by where nobody knows who the fuck Lucious Starr is. How the hell you won all those accolades in the PWA is beyond me. What does PWA stand for? “Pathetic Wrestlers Anonymous”? Where you all just walk in to some run down community centre and talk about your addictions to being terrible and then just battle it out for some degree of accomplishment? Lucious, you’re just an arrogant deluded little fuckwit who will continue to amount to nothing whilst still believing you are everything. You wanna show us all you are main event material? Win this match. Then beat everyone in the Trilogy tournament. That’s what you need to do. Are you capable of that Lucious? Do you REALLY believe you are amongst the best here? Well, it doesn’t matter if you do, because if you can’t translate it into performance then what’s the point? Lucious Starr loses again. Good.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Lucious Starr at a 90 degree angle
Jordan…you are an absolute, first class, grade A, pedigree, 24 carat, genuine metric tonne of rancid, rotting, stinking, vile, festering vat of rat shit. You let us all know you were racist in your promo Jordan. How was it you put it? “Black People < White People”. Allow me to use a similar format to show you my, and everyone in the WCF and everyone who supports the WCF’s opinion of you.
Jordan Wolfram < (Shit + Vomit + Piss + The Black Death + Plane crashes + Mosquitoes + Rat vomit + Roadkill + Syphilis + Diarrhoea + 3rd degree burns + Slug slime + Adam Young + Influenza + Paper cuts + Being kicked in the balls + Bad News Benson + Phlegm)
Does that put things in to perspective Jordan? You know I don’t often wish death on people, but yours would be extremely welcomed and mourned by nobody. Do you feel a particular jolt of masculinity when you spout your racist drivel? Do you feel proud? Do you feel superior? Do you feel…scared? Because that is what it all boils down to Jordan, fear. You’re a scared, pathetic, lost little soul who hides behind walls of muscle, so desperate for acceptance that you pour hate on an entire race of people. You’re terrified that someone will look down on you and consider YOU inferior. You’re so scared of being looked at as small that you make yourself as big as possible. You might look like a muscular giant, but mentally you’re skin and bone. No substance or any fibre of strength at all. The world is a much better place without cunts like you Jordan. I’m glad DeMarcus beat you. I hope the anger and humiliation you felt consumed you. I hope you felt the black shiny material wrapped fist of Jesse Owens breaking through your cheekbone as the very thing you hate stood over you victorious. Your ways won’t cut it here Jordan. You’re going to get stomped on and spat on everywhere you walk and deservedly so. I think it’s a damn shame that Seth even employs you. There are genuinely good people of all races out there that would put their lives on the line just to earn a tenth of what you earn. There are two things I want out of this match, one to win, and the other to see your bloody, contorted, broken body being stretchered out of the arena and dumped in to a ditch somewhere. You’re an absolutely shit wrestler with no talent or personality whatsoever who has as much chance of winning this match as John Mullins Senior has of winning Father of the Year award. So why don’t you do yourself and everyone else a favour and just fuck off and die slowly somewhere. You’re absolutely nothing. Nothing. Zilch.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Jordan Wolfram, but upside down so the bottom of the card is pointing towards Dustin Beaver’s
Andre Jensen, a man that always has his head in the game…literally in your case. So let me get this straight, you dress up as characters from presumably a computer game or a favourite television series or movie, or even a totally original character? Well I must admit that does sound fun Andre. But it’s also something most people stop doing after the age of what…five? Come on Andre, I know I have no right to go telling people what they should and shouldn’t do with their free time (except Jordan Wolfram) but don’t you think it’s time to knock that on the head? I mean your career in the WCF isn’t exactly going massively well is it? Maybe….just maybe if you packed all that nonsense in you’d have a good shot at achieving something here. But the sad thing is Andre, you’re a billionaire so you don’t really give a fuck do you? You’re quite happy wallowing away, pottering about in the lower card fighting for the sake of fighting whether you want to or not. It doesn’t matter to you whether you win or lose because a nice cheque here and there will soon make you feel a lot better. So what’s the craic Andre? Why are you here? You’re a bit of a waste of everyone’s time to be honest. I mean when people beat you they feel a hollow sense of accomplishment because you never really put your heart in to it or tried your best. You’re quite annoying really. Why don’t you go away to your stupid little fantasy island and leave the wrestling to people who want to wrestle. I’ll show you in the Battle Royal something which you have no idea about; spirit, fire and determination. A will to win, and when I rain that down on you, you’ll be out of the match before you even realise what’s hit you. You want some EXP? I’ll make you EXP some serious pain. See you Sunday Andre.
He takes out another card and places it face up next to Andre Jenson’s
Last but not least, the federation’s favourite facepalm. Adam fucking Young. You are the most perplexing person I’ve ever known. You’ve spent so long just failing week after week. Whilst maintaining this strange messiah redneck persona. You’re not the Messiah, you’re a very idiotic cunt. There is a great pleasure in seeing your name on the card next to mine Adam, it means it’s an easy week, an easy win. You represent happiness for the whole roster, it’s like being told you have a day off. You are the very definition of a jobber, a whipping boy. Yet we never hear you complain about it. You just pretend your weekly loss never happened and start rattling on about your dominion and demons and hell and messiahs and whatever it is you decide to be this week. It has been a while since we last squared off in the ring, I believe it was a similar match to this one about a year ago. I look forward to seeing how much you’ve improved, or probably not. Inevitably not. Adam Young, the man who has sealed a legendary status by just being so blissfully awful. I look forward to seeing you in the ring Adam, same again pal?
The cards are now arranged in a circle. He picks up the final card, his own, and places it in the centre.
And there’s your winner. This is a glorious opportunity which I won’t let slip. The fact that you are in this match Dustin creates even more incentive for me. It’s going to let me show you that you’re not better than me. That you’re not the contendor that you thought you were, that you’re a boy competing against men (and Jordan Wolfram, whatever he is). I’m going to prove to you all and everyone else in the WCF that I am ready to compete against the absolute best. I am ready to compete for the grandest prize of them all. One by one I will see that none of you can hold a candle to me. I acknowledge the fact that Punkin Caliban will be a great threat, and for that I am grateful. Champion vs Champion. Let’s see your absolute best, the best that won that belt and will fight to hold it for as long as you can. 2016 is my year, and it the long road to becoming WCF World Champion begins Sunday night. Name on the trophy.
CUT
