Post by 'The Shine' Brent Alpine on Jul 3, 2016 16:55:27 GMT -5
You join us during a dream of truffles and rolling with abandon around muddy plains. The silhouetted figure on Brent Alpine's bed twitches with rapid eye movement and a beastly snore rhythmically reverberates from the depths of the nose. It soon becomes clear this is not Brent himself but his miniature pig manager and master manipulator Percy Micro.
Through the darkness, we can see a much larger figure with intense eyes staring down at his small companion. He slowly slides to the other side of his luxurious emperor sized bed. As his feet hit the bedroom floor, the red light on Percy Micro's headset flashes on.
Percy Micro: WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
The robotic voice emanating from its microphone wakes up the poor pig who bears it. Caught red handed, Brent Alpine turns on the light, revealing a room far too plush for a WCF midcarder.
Brent Alpine: Just going to the piss mate.
Percy Micro: You know the rules, sir. You must take me wherever you go or else my master will tell the world the sickening events that unfolded in Cairns. He does not wish to bring you to ruin... at this moment... so you must comply with his wishes.
Brent Alpine: I know dingo but I can't go with your eyes on my bloody wanger.
Percy Micro: We've all seen it before, Mr. Alpine. Serena from the morning shift was particularly enamoured with one's 'wanger'.
Brent Alpine: But why can't I have just a bit of freedom? I'll do what your master wants. After all, I annihilated that Henry Spearman bloke last week as he requested. I fired Esther. Why can't I have a little bit of time without carrying around this flamin' pig wherever I go?
Percy Micro: Simply put, you are my boss' prisoner. He wants eyes on you at all times and he always gets what he wants. This pig is merely his chosen vehicle of control and surveillance.
Brent Alpine: But even prisoners get visitors and times of privacy?
Percy Micro: You're a special kind of prisoner, Mr. Alpine. When my boss keeps a prisoner, they are not entitled to rights that the system offers. My master is a cruel slave owner and he does not kindly to any form of disobedience. His dominion is supreme.
Brent Alpine: Hey, speaking of disobedience, the WCF officials told us that we had to keep Esther as my nurse or else my contract would be terminated. Remember? So how can we just get rid of her like that?
Percy Micro: I think you will find that the WCF will not pursue this particular contract clause. Especially not after my master informed them of some rather concerning news of young Esther. She was evidently not the angel she presented herself as. Anyway, you should be pleased sir. Less than a week after her services were dispensed of, she was seen canoodling with the new WCF World Champion, Stuart Slane, in the Burger Walla restaurant. That says it all.
Brent Alpine: What?! Why would she do that?
Percy Micro: Power. She's attracted to power like a moth to a flame. Like a whore to a king. However, she is foolish because Stuart Slane will not be in his throne for long. My master will see to it that you take your crown at Ultimate Showdown. You will be his appointed king and he will be the puppet master that controls you and your empire.
Alpine sits back down on the bed and rests his chin on his clenched fist. He stares vacantly in a mixture of betrayal and contemplation.
Percy Micro: Esther is a harlot, sir. A harlot. Don't you forget that.
Later that day, Brent Alpine sits tentatively on his 'throne' within the living room that we first saw during last week's promo. Percy Micro is curled up on the sofa and appears to be struggling with swinish flatulence. 'The Vulture' Dallas Culture, Alpine's cousin and spiritual guru, is in the lotus position on a mat in the centre of the room. He is salivating over a beautiful young yoga teacher on DVD but does not appear to be copying the moves she is instructing.
Brent Alpine: So Percy mate, what's the deal with that Vic Viceroy dag I'm facing this week?
Percy Micro: You should have done your research! Complacency is the thorn in your side, Mr. Alpine.
Brent Alpine: Magnificence doesn't need to concern itself with mediocrity. In fact, mediocrity is being kind. The bloke lost to that awful bloody jobber Lester Parish! Losing to Lester Parish is a feat in itself!
This piques Dallas Culture's attention.
Dallas Culture: Did someone say 'feet'?
Alpine sighs at his cousin's perversion.
Brent Alpine: Anyway, what I don't understand Percy... is why you made me fire Esther but keep this weirdo around? No offence, Dal.
Percy Micro: Dallas amuses my master. There's no more profound answer than that. Esther was eliciting inappropriate feelings within you, Mr. Alpine, and her presence was a great detriment to your career.
Brent Alpine: Inappropriate feelings my arse! I have no feelings for Esther. None whatsoever.
Percy Micro: So you must not grumble over her departure.
The doorbell rings. Alpine dismounts his throne and walks towards the hallway.
Percy Micro: SIR!
Dallas Culture: Brent, you need to take the pig along.
Defiantly, Alpine continues towards the front door and mutters to himself.
Brent Alpine: Only opening the flamin' door.
As Alpine opens the door, he is accosted by what appears to be a four man SWAT team, clad entirely in black. They are frail and spindly figures and barely move him despite using all their force. A large white van awaits them on the drive. Spotting this, Alpine looks inside and peers back to the swat team, who have now given up trying to kidnap him.
SWAT Team Member 1: Erm... could you kindly come with us... please?
Alpine laughs before moving towards them. He widens his arms, inviting them to capture him. They feebly grip him and lead him towards the white van.
Brent Alpine (unconvincingly): Oh strewth! I'm being kidnapped.
The SWAT team struggle to open the back of the van and attempt to lift Brent into it. However, despite best efforts, they fail to get him off the ground. Alpine laughs and enters of his own volition. He looks in bewilderment towards the as yet unseen person inside.
The van departs at a far too moderate pace for what seems to be a kidnapping. An old woman is the getaway driver and takes regular glances at her speedometer.
Towards the rear of the van, Alpine sits on parallel benches either side of the vehicle. He is joined by the SWAT team members and faces his primary capturer. She is revealed as the beautiful Esther.
Brent Alpine: This is an interesting way of arranging a date.
Esther: Well, we're away from Percy, aren't we?
Brent Alpine: Who are these drongos?
The SWAT team all remove their helmets. They are composed of four old men, none of whom are under 70, seemingly.
Esther: This is Dave, Wilson, Israel and Jack. They go to my church.
They nod at Brent.
Brent Alpine: G'day.
Wilson: Sorry we were a little rough on you, young man.
Alpine laughs ironically.
Brent Alpine: No worries mate. It felt like I was in the ring with Vic Viceroy! But never mind that. Esther, you do realise that Percy will find us soon... well, his boss anyway.
Esther: I know. He can stop us seeing each other but he can't stop me caring about you. Whatever dirt he has on us, it's worth the risk. I can't just walk away from you.
Brent Alpine: What dirt DOES he have on you?
Esther: What dirt does he have on YOU? Look, whatever it is, it doesn't matter. Everything can be forgiven. You're letting Percy's boss use this secret to keep you captive. Why don't you take away his ammunition and reveal the secret to the world before he can get chance? It might be hard to do but it's got to be better than being under his stranglehold. The truth will set you free.
Brent Alpine: That's easy for you to say. Your secret is something minor like bukkake with a football team or something. As for my secret... well, what happened in Cairns is something I can't live with, never mind the world living with.
Jack: What's bukkake? It's not the newest Apple product, is it? I'm afraid I'm quite the technophobe.
Esther: Err, yes Jack, it's the latest iPhone.
She turns to Alpine, awkwardly.
Esther: I know you think they have something seedy on me, like some sexual escapades but I promise it's not that. The truth is... I've never had any sexual escapade. Ever. If you get what I mean...
She blushes and looks down in embarrassment. Alpine sincerely lays his hand over her shoulder. He starts to stroke her hair but thinks better of it.
Esther: I'll tell you the truth very soon but not today. I just promise that it's not anything to do with sex.
Brent Alpine: So why are you dating Stuart Slane? He might be a boy scout but I assure you he just wants one thing and it's not conversation.
Esther: Actually it is. Stuart's been a great support to me since you terminated my contract. I know you think he's a fake but he's honestly a good man. You would like him, Brent.
Brent Alpine: Ah right, a good man. Well, I'm happy for you two.
Esther: No, it's not like that. I have feelings for someone else. Despite all wisdom...
Her eyes are transfixed on Brent's and his gaze softens. Recognising his lovable vulnerability, she smiles warmly. She gets up off her bench and leans over him. Her lips purse and move slowly and tenderly towards his. There is a frisson of electricity in the air. Alpine cups her cheek in his hand and smoothly tilts towards her.
SMASH!
A vehicle collides with the van, veering it off at a 90 degree angle. One of the old SWAT team members, Israel, appears to get whiplash and holds his neck in agony. Alpine shelters Esther with his embrace as she falls on him through the impact.
Brent Alpine: Are you OK?
Before she can respond, the rear door of the van is ripped open. Another SWAT team are outside. This militant group are huge and imposing. One of them carries Percy Micro in his burly arms.
Percy Micro: Mr. Alpine, come immediately!
Brent Alpine: FUCK YOU!
The SWAT team proceed inside the van and manhandle Alpine. He valiantly fights several of them off but more arrive and subdue him. They drag him off the van as Esther screams. The old men look on helplessly.
Percy Micro: Take the girl also. Leave the geriatrics.
They wrestle Alpine into another van, this one black. Another SWAT team member picks up Esther and pulls her over his shoulder. She kicks and fights but cannot flee. The black van speeds off into the distance.
The SWAT team member drapes Esther down on the tarmac surface. He stands over her and pulls a knife from his pocket.
Esther: Please don't kill me! Oh God help...
We return to the Alpine residence. Brent sits on his throne. He is battered and broken and anger dominates his demeanour. He looks straight into the camera with a stare that could pierce even the most courageous soul.
Brent Alpine: Welcome to my State of the WCF address. This will be a ripper of a speech.
Percy Micro: Mr. Alpine, my master also demands that you refrain from your Australianisms. It is impossible to take you seriously with all your 'dingos' and 'bonzers'. You will speak in plain English. If your words are not satisfyingly intimidating, my boss will grow in his commitment to your absolute ruin. You are treading a fine line.
Alpine groans before composing himself and resuming his menacing posture.
Brent Alpine: This week's Slam is an insult to 'The Shine' Brent Alpine. Clearly, there will never be an adequate opponent because I make all men inherently inadequate. Yet I have been truly demeaned by the latest amateur that will cross my path. My Television Title is the most prestigious belt in the company, so why are the WCF disrespecting that honour by allowing the winner of a 'meet your favourite wrestler' contest? They have plucked this no name from off the street. I'm convinced that he must have allowed WCF officials free passes to his nightclub in order to let him step foot in my ring.
So who is Vic Viceroy? All I've been able to ascertain is that he's a fighter. A fighter? Wow. The very role is, by its nature, a position of inferiority. Losers have to fight for what they want. Do not be confused - 'The Shine' is not a fighter. I have never had to fight for anything in my entire existence. Why? Because I was born a conqueror. I am the light, the effervescent star that all the kings and wise men follow. I have never wanted for anything and have lacked nothing. To fight is to be weak. To fight opens up the potentiality for defeat.
Club Chaos. The den of thieves. Where drunks go to wash their pathetic lives away and gulp down the bitterness of wasted dreams. Where sleazy men hunt like rabid wolves to satisfy their miniscule, STD ridden penises. Where filthy sluts fail to preserve their façade of chastity to seek the faintest whiff of self esteem. Club Chaos - the only place its occupants can be considered VIP. This is the kingdom over which Viceroy presides. This is where he is Lord and this is the domain to which I will send him back.
Lester Parish said it himself - Viceroy is merely a red herring, a distraction. Somehow, in spite of his striking lack of talent, Parish has earned himself an opportunity at my TV Title. I was fully expecting to be meeting him this week and the prospect brought me great amusement. Yet, an even more humorous prospect awaits me. Vic Viceroy laboured to a victory over a group of terrible competitors, the dregs of WCF's recent meltdown. That apparently earns him a place above Parish in the queue.
Do not be mistaken. The WCF hype machine continues to grind along. A conveyor belt of sugar coated shit parades itself for a couple of weeks before returning to the job centre or prisons they emerged from. Occasionally, one or two of these inbreds fluke their way to a long term contract and stick around to offer fans worldwide hope that they too can prevail in spite of a complete lack of talent and luminosity.
This is not a new phenomenon. Rinse, wash, repeat. It's a crap shoot of mediocrity, essentially. The only difference with the current batch is that they are an even crapper shoot! The WCF has come out the other side of a devastation which led to significant financial losses and a cull of personnel. The production values have decreased markedly, which has led to such abysmal efforts as Viceroy's latest. In fact, the only redeeming feature of this promo was a replay of my victory over Neforian - his first in the WCF, may I add.
The hype machine is less proficient in this brave new world. The hype machine that fooled the world into believing that Corey Black, the Creeping Death, has even a modicum of competence, has long lost its ability to perform such illusions. Therefore, we see Vic Viceroy for all he is - a pathetic infant with unfulfilled daydreams of being a tough guy. In fact, I'm not even sure that the marketing magic that so benefited Corey and the other 'legends' could disguise the sheer paucity that Viceroy so wonderfully embodies.
Black seems to have some sort of interest in Viceroy. It's clear that he's insidiously Creeping his way back into the WCF. But Corey, haven't you heard? The time of Death has ended. The WCF stopped mourning the second that I graced it with my presence. If you are the Creeping Death, consider me the Outstanding Life. I am the radiance that is keeping this company in business and heralding a new era of thriving. If you creep into my match, there is only one destination you will carve out for yourself. Here's a clue - it's not life.
Hovering unthreateningly on the horizon is Lester Parish. I will have more to say on him soon but, for now, will not dignify him with any further undeserved utterances. He should consider it a vast privilege that I would even give him a moment's thought.
My real focus is on Ultimate Showdown. Although the TV Title is currently the most prestigious accolade in the business by virtue of the mesmeric sparkle of its holder, I am feeling kindly inclined to bless the World Title with a trade. I unleashed a supposedly vicious attack on Stuart Slane several weeks ago but it will feel like a tickle compared to the brutality I have in store for him. All that glitters is gold and Slane has never glittered for even a fleeting moment. He might try to provoke me by meeting up with Esther but I could not care less... as a nurse, she is drawn to sick and weak individuals.
Realising the implications of what he has just said, Alpine squirms and recoils in his seat.
Brent Alpine: Err, like him. Not me. Assholes.
Viceroy, Parish, Corey, Slane, whoever else the WCF decides to humiliate by placing them into my glow, I will expose what dark and pitiful individuals you are. You will all be blinded by my brilliance. A showdown with me will be your ultimate downfall. Hit the lights because... THE SHINE'S... TOO... BRIGHT!
Alpine slumps in his throne and appears a shadow of what he just was. He turns to Percy Micro who is seated on a nearby couch.
Brent Alpine: Was that OK?
Percy Micro: It was a step in the right direction. There was still too much clemency, however. You must develop a killer instinct, Mr. Alpine, or my boss will no longer have a need for you. As long as my master wants you around, your secret is safe. You must not test his patience again.
Brent Alpine: I won't. Now can you tell me if Esther is OK?
Percy Micro: Forget about Esther. Your sole concern is self preservation now.
Fade out.
The SWAT team member drapes Esther down on the tarmac surface. He stands over her and pulls a knife from his pocket.
Esther: Please don't kill me! Oh God help...
The dark figure caresses her throat with the blade of his knife. Just as he's about to apply pressure, we see another blade be positioned around his neck from behind. We hear a familiar voice.
Familiar Voice: Put the knife away.
In response, the threatening SWAT member throws his knife onto the ground. Esther is paralysed in fear and doesn't seem to realise that she has been saved.
Familiar Voice: You're safe now...
Through the darkness, we can see a much larger figure with intense eyes staring down at his small companion. He slowly slides to the other side of his luxurious emperor sized bed. As his feet hit the bedroom floor, the red light on Percy Micro's headset flashes on.
Percy Micro: WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
The robotic voice emanating from its microphone wakes up the poor pig who bears it. Caught red handed, Brent Alpine turns on the light, revealing a room far too plush for a WCF midcarder.
Brent Alpine: Just going to the piss mate.
Percy Micro: You know the rules, sir. You must take me wherever you go or else my master will tell the world the sickening events that unfolded in Cairns. He does not wish to bring you to ruin... at this moment... so you must comply with his wishes.
Brent Alpine: I know dingo but I can't go with your eyes on my bloody wanger.
Percy Micro: We've all seen it before, Mr. Alpine. Serena from the morning shift was particularly enamoured with one's 'wanger'.
Brent Alpine: But why can't I have just a bit of freedom? I'll do what your master wants. After all, I annihilated that Henry Spearman bloke last week as he requested. I fired Esther. Why can't I have a little bit of time without carrying around this flamin' pig wherever I go?
Percy Micro: Simply put, you are my boss' prisoner. He wants eyes on you at all times and he always gets what he wants. This pig is merely his chosen vehicle of control and surveillance.
Brent Alpine: But even prisoners get visitors and times of privacy?
Percy Micro: You're a special kind of prisoner, Mr. Alpine. When my boss keeps a prisoner, they are not entitled to rights that the system offers. My master is a cruel slave owner and he does not kindly to any form of disobedience. His dominion is supreme.
Brent Alpine: Hey, speaking of disobedience, the WCF officials told us that we had to keep Esther as my nurse or else my contract would be terminated. Remember? So how can we just get rid of her like that?
Percy Micro: I think you will find that the WCF will not pursue this particular contract clause. Especially not after my master informed them of some rather concerning news of young Esther. She was evidently not the angel she presented herself as. Anyway, you should be pleased sir. Less than a week after her services were dispensed of, she was seen canoodling with the new WCF World Champion, Stuart Slane, in the Burger Walla restaurant. That says it all.
Brent Alpine: What?! Why would she do that?
Percy Micro: Power. She's attracted to power like a moth to a flame. Like a whore to a king. However, she is foolish because Stuart Slane will not be in his throne for long. My master will see to it that you take your crown at Ultimate Showdown. You will be his appointed king and he will be the puppet master that controls you and your empire.
Alpine sits back down on the bed and rests his chin on his clenched fist. He stares vacantly in a mixture of betrayal and contemplation.
Percy Micro: Esther is a harlot, sir. A harlot. Don't you forget that.
Later that day, Brent Alpine sits tentatively on his 'throne' within the living room that we first saw during last week's promo. Percy Micro is curled up on the sofa and appears to be struggling with swinish flatulence. 'The Vulture' Dallas Culture, Alpine's cousin and spiritual guru, is in the lotus position on a mat in the centre of the room. He is salivating over a beautiful young yoga teacher on DVD but does not appear to be copying the moves she is instructing.
Brent Alpine: So Percy mate, what's the deal with that Vic Viceroy dag I'm facing this week?
Percy Micro: You should have done your research! Complacency is the thorn in your side, Mr. Alpine.
Brent Alpine: Magnificence doesn't need to concern itself with mediocrity. In fact, mediocrity is being kind. The bloke lost to that awful bloody jobber Lester Parish! Losing to Lester Parish is a feat in itself!
This piques Dallas Culture's attention.
Dallas Culture: Did someone say 'feet'?
Alpine sighs at his cousin's perversion.
Brent Alpine: Anyway, what I don't understand Percy... is why you made me fire Esther but keep this weirdo around? No offence, Dal.
Percy Micro: Dallas amuses my master. There's no more profound answer than that. Esther was eliciting inappropriate feelings within you, Mr. Alpine, and her presence was a great detriment to your career.
Brent Alpine: Inappropriate feelings my arse! I have no feelings for Esther. None whatsoever.
Percy Micro: So you must not grumble over her departure.
The doorbell rings. Alpine dismounts his throne and walks towards the hallway.
Percy Micro: SIR!
Dallas Culture: Brent, you need to take the pig along.
Defiantly, Alpine continues towards the front door and mutters to himself.
Brent Alpine: Only opening the flamin' door.
As Alpine opens the door, he is accosted by what appears to be a four man SWAT team, clad entirely in black. They are frail and spindly figures and barely move him despite using all their force. A large white van awaits them on the drive. Spotting this, Alpine looks inside and peers back to the swat team, who have now given up trying to kidnap him.
SWAT Team Member 1: Erm... could you kindly come with us... please?
Alpine laughs before moving towards them. He widens his arms, inviting them to capture him. They feebly grip him and lead him towards the white van.
Brent Alpine (unconvincingly): Oh strewth! I'm being kidnapped.
The SWAT team struggle to open the back of the van and attempt to lift Brent into it. However, despite best efforts, they fail to get him off the ground. Alpine laughs and enters of his own volition. He looks in bewilderment towards the as yet unseen person inside.
The van departs at a far too moderate pace for what seems to be a kidnapping. An old woman is the getaway driver and takes regular glances at her speedometer.
Towards the rear of the van, Alpine sits on parallel benches either side of the vehicle. He is joined by the SWAT team members and faces his primary capturer. She is revealed as the beautiful Esther.
Brent Alpine: This is an interesting way of arranging a date.
Esther: Well, we're away from Percy, aren't we?
Brent Alpine: Who are these drongos?
The SWAT team all remove their helmets. They are composed of four old men, none of whom are under 70, seemingly.
Esther: This is Dave, Wilson, Israel and Jack. They go to my church.
They nod at Brent.
Brent Alpine: G'day.
Wilson: Sorry we were a little rough on you, young man.
Alpine laughs ironically.
Brent Alpine: No worries mate. It felt like I was in the ring with Vic Viceroy! But never mind that. Esther, you do realise that Percy will find us soon... well, his boss anyway.
Esther: I know. He can stop us seeing each other but he can't stop me caring about you. Whatever dirt he has on us, it's worth the risk. I can't just walk away from you.
Brent Alpine: What dirt DOES he have on you?
Esther: What dirt does he have on YOU? Look, whatever it is, it doesn't matter. Everything can be forgiven. You're letting Percy's boss use this secret to keep you captive. Why don't you take away his ammunition and reveal the secret to the world before he can get chance? It might be hard to do but it's got to be better than being under his stranglehold. The truth will set you free.
Brent Alpine: That's easy for you to say. Your secret is something minor like bukkake with a football team or something. As for my secret... well, what happened in Cairns is something I can't live with, never mind the world living with.
Jack: What's bukkake? It's not the newest Apple product, is it? I'm afraid I'm quite the technophobe.
Esther: Err, yes Jack, it's the latest iPhone.
She turns to Alpine, awkwardly.
Esther: I know you think they have something seedy on me, like some sexual escapades but I promise it's not that. The truth is... I've never had any sexual escapade. Ever. If you get what I mean...
She blushes and looks down in embarrassment. Alpine sincerely lays his hand over her shoulder. He starts to stroke her hair but thinks better of it.
Esther: I'll tell you the truth very soon but not today. I just promise that it's not anything to do with sex.
Brent Alpine: So why are you dating Stuart Slane? He might be a boy scout but I assure you he just wants one thing and it's not conversation.
Esther: Actually it is. Stuart's been a great support to me since you terminated my contract. I know you think he's a fake but he's honestly a good man. You would like him, Brent.
Brent Alpine: Ah right, a good man. Well, I'm happy for you two.
Esther: No, it's not like that. I have feelings for someone else. Despite all wisdom...
Her eyes are transfixed on Brent's and his gaze softens. Recognising his lovable vulnerability, she smiles warmly. She gets up off her bench and leans over him. Her lips purse and move slowly and tenderly towards his. There is a frisson of electricity in the air. Alpine cups her cheek in his hand and smoothly tilts towards her.
SMASH!
A vehicle collides with the van, veering it off at a 90 degree angle. One of the old SWAT team members, Israel, appears to get whiplash and holds his neck in agony. Alpine shelters Esther with his embrace as she falls on him through the impact.
Brent Alpine: Are you OK?
Before she can respond, the rear door of the van is ripped open. Another SWAT team are outside. This militant group are huge and imposing. One of them carries Percy Micro in his burly arms.
Percy Micro: Mr. Alpine, come immediately!
Brent Alpine: FUCK YOU!
The SWAT team proceed inside the van and manhandle Alpine. He valiantly fights several of them off but more arrive and subdue him. They drag him off the van as Esther screams. The old men look on helplessly.
Percy Micro: Take the girl also. Leave the geriatrics.
They wrestle Alpine into another van, this one black. Another SWAT team member picks up Esther and pulls her over his shoulder. She kicks and fights but cannot flee. The black van speeds off into the distance.
The SWAT team member drapes Esther down on the tarmac surface. He stands over her and pulls a knife from his pocket.
Esther: Please don't kill me! Oh God help...
We return to the Alpine residence. Brent sits on his throne. He is battered and broken and anger dominates his demeanour. He looks straight into the camera with a stare that could pierce even the most courageous soul.
Brent Alpine: Welcome to my State of the WCF address. This will be a ripper of a speech.
Percy Micro: Mr. Alpine, my master also demands that you refrain from your Australianisms. It is impossible to take you seriously with all your 'dingos' and 'bonzers'. You will speak in plain English. If your words are not satisfyingly intimidating, my boss will grow in his commitment to your absolute ruin. You are treading a fine line.
Alpine groans before composing himself and resuming his menacing posture.
Brent Alpine: This week's Slam is an insult to 'The Shine' Brent Alpine. Clearly, there will never be an adequate opponent because I make all men inherently inadequate. Yet I have been truly demeaned by the latest amateur that will cross my path. My Television Title is the most prestigious belt in the company, so why are the WCF disrespecting that honour by allowing the winner of a 'meet your favourite wrestler' contest? They have plucked this no name from off the street. I'm convinced that he must have allowed WCF officials free passes to his nightclub in order to let him step foot in my ring.
So who is Vic Viceroy? All I've been able to ascertain is that he's a fighter. A fighter? Wow. The very role is, by its nature, a position of inferiority. Losers have to fight for what they want. Do not be confused - 'The Shine' is not a fighter. I have never had to fight for anything in my entire existence. Why? Because I was born a conqueror. I am the light, the effervescent star that all the kings and wise men follow. I have never wanted for anything and have lacked nothing. To fight is to be weak. To fight opens up the potentiality for defeat.
Club Chaos. The den of thieves. Where drunks go to wash their pathetic lives away and gulp down the bitterness of wasted dreams. Where sleazy men hunt like rabid wolves to satisfy their miniscule, STD ridden penises. Where filthy sluts fail to preserve their façade of chastity to seek the faintest whiff of self esteem. Club Chaos - the only place its occupants can be considered VIP. This is the kingdom over which Viceroy presides. This is where he is Lord and this is the domain to which I will send him back.
Lester Parish said it himself - Viceroy is merely a red herring, a distraction. Somehow, in spite of his striking lack of talent, Parish has earned himself an opportunity at my TV Title. I was fully expecting to be meeting him this week and the prospect brought me great amusement. Yet, an even more humorous prospect awaits me. Vic Viceroy laboured to a victory over a group of terrible competitors, the dregs of WCF's recent meltdown. That apparently earns him a place above Parish in the queue.
Do not be mistaken. The WCF hype machine continues to grind along. A conveyor belt of sugar coated shit parades itself for a couple of weeks before returning to the job centre or prisons they emerged from. Occasionally, one or two of these inbreds fluke their way to a long term contract and stick around to offer fans worldwide hope that they too can prevail in spite of a complete lack of talent and luminosity.
This is not a new phenomenon. Rinse, wash, repeat. It's a crap shoot of mediocrity, essentially. The only difference with the current batch is that they are an even crapper shoot! The WCF has come out the other side of a devastation which led to significant financial losses and a cull of personnel. The production values have decreased markedly, which has led to such abysmal efforts as Viceroy's latest. In fact, the only redeeming feature of this promo was a replay of my victory over Neforian - his first in the WCF, may I add.
The hype machine is less proficient in this brave new world. The hype machine that fooled the world into believing that Corey Black, the Creeping Death, has even a modicum of competence, has long lost its ability to perform such illusions. Therefore, we see Vic Viceroy for all he is - a pathetic infant with unfulfilled daydreams of being a tough guy. In fact, I'm not even sure that the marketing magic that so benefited Corey and the other 'legends' could disguise the sheer paucity that Viceroy so wonderfully embodies.
Black seems to have some sort of interest in Viceroy. It's clear that he's insidiously Creeping his way back into the WCF. But Corey, haven't you heard? The time of Death has ended. The WCF stopped mourning the second that I graced it with my presence. If you are the Creeping Death, consider me the Outstanding Life. I am the radiance that is keeping this company in business and heralding a new era of thriving. If you creep into my match, there is only one destination you will carve out for yourself. Here's a clue - it's not life.
Hovering unthreateningly on the horizon is Lester Parish. I will have more to say on him soon but, for now, will not dignify him with any further undeserved utterances. He should consider it a vast privilege that I would even give him a moment's thought.
My real focus is on Ultimate Showdown. Although the TV Title is currently the most prestigious accolade in the business by virtue of the mesmeric sparkle of its holder, I am feeling kindly inclined to bless the World Title with a trade. I unleashed a supposedly vicious attack on Stuart Slane several weeks ago but it will feel like a tickle compared to the brutality I have in store for him. All that glitters is gold and Slane has never glittered for even a fleeting moment. He might try to provoke me by meeting up with Esther but I could not care less... as a nurse, she is drawn to sick and weak individuals.
Realising the implications of what he has just said, Alpine squirms and recoils in his seat.
Brent Alpine: Err, like him. Not me. Assholes.
Viceroy, Parish, Corey, Slane, whoever else the WCF decides to humiliate by placing them into my glow, I will expose what dark and pitiful individuals you are. You will all be blinded by my brilliance. A showdown with me will be your ultimate downfall. Hit the lights because... THE SHINE'S... TOO... BRIGHT!
Alpine slumps in his throne and appears a shadow of what he just was. He turns to Percy Micro who is seated on a nearby couch.
Brent Alpine: Was that OK?
Percy Micro: It was a step in the right direction. There was still too much clemency, however. You must develop a killer instinct, Mr. Alpine, or my boss will no longer have a need for you. As long as my master wants you around, your secret is safe. You must not test his patience again.
Brent Alpine: I won't. Now can you tell me if Esther is OK?
Percy Micro: Forget about Esther. Your sole concern is self preservation now.
Fade out.
The SWAT team member drapes Esther down on the tarmac surface. He stands over her and pulls a knife from his pocket.
Esther: Please don't kill me! Oh God help...
The dark figure caresses her throat with the blade of his knife. Just as he's about to apply pressure, we see another blade be positioned around his neck from behind. We hear a familiar voice.
Familiar Voice: Put the knife away.
In response, the threatening SWAT member throws his knife onto the ground. Esther is paralysed in fear and doesn't seem to realise that she has been saved.
Familiar Voice: You're safe now...
