Sloth

[Corey Black]

Pride Envy Wrath Gluttony Lust Sloth Greed
The Seven Deadly Sins


Chapter 1: Psychopomp

We open up to a hotel room, presumably in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Corey Black and Nikki Venus are picking up bags and about to head to the 2300 Arena, the former home of ECW. Nikki opens the door and Corey walks through, stopping at a window out of the hotel in the hallway. He pauses for a good long while, gesturing to the window and Nikki peeks through.

Nikki Venus
You're far - far better and you know it. This isn't the time, nor the place to relive that. He's the most sinful of all, but there's a Deathmatch Tournament to be won, and some heathens to be eliminated.

Corey nods in agreement, taking his focus off whatever was in the window. A split-second glimpse of a tall building is seen before fading out.

---

Coming back in, backstage at the 2300 Arena. It's the first night of the tournament, it's a madhouse. Only three matches, but the preparation is daunting. WCF workers tote boxes upon boxes of weapons and plunder to the ring through the backstage area. Inside the private locker room, Corey Black and Nikki Venus stand there, Nikki going over some stuff, Corey simply listening on and nodding occasionally. Hank Brown, famous WCF reporter comes in with a microphone and his own cameraman.

Hank Brown
Corey! Corey! Can I get a word on the tournament?

He simply shakes his head no, then points to the exit.

Nikki Venus
Don't you pay attention, Hank? Get the hell out of here. Leave the cameraman though, the world is going to want to see this.

Hank stops dead in his tracks, drops his head and mopes out of the locker room. Nikki grabs the lens and points it at her face, disgusted look on it.

Nikki Venus
You have a man, and you take away what makes him ... him. You strip two years from his brain and what are you left with? A confused and weak mess known as Psychopomp. Cheerfully oblivious to the world around him. Eating in soup kitchens, looking up hardcore in the library. What business does a person like this have in a Deathmatch Tournament, let alone in the ring with Corey Black? None, he serves no purpose other than canon fodder for this tournament. It's a wonder he had the balls to put his name on the line to sign up. The scars on his torso might make one think he's been in this rodeo before, but we all know that would be a lie. He's never seen an animal like a WCF Deathmatch Tournament. Only one other of it's kind has ever been put on - at XIII in 2009. Won by - you guessed it - Corey Black. These are Corey's roots. It's widely documented that he brought ultraviolence to WCF. Shinji Kiryu was one of the best deathmatch wrestlers Japan had seen. Take that mask off and you have Psychopomp's opponent tonight.

You have obligations, Psychopomp. It is your duty to get yourself organized and ready to fight, but you won't. You can't. You're too far out there in space land to even recognize the danger facing you in round one! The ring will be surrounded by dozens - maybe even hundreds - of light tubes. Glass, metal and a toxic gas. Wielded by the most feared striker in the game. Pomp, can I call you Pomp? I hope you've enjoyed this bliss you've had for the last few months, because you're going right back to sleep for two years from a barrage of elbows.

Take responsibility for your actions. You thought it would be a great idea to throw your name in the hat in WCF's first official foray into the organized ultraviolent. You can't even take responsibility for what you've done in the past. Who knows who or what you were? You might have been a politician that got abortions banned in Illinois. You could have been a rapist that planted his seed in a young woman against her will. Or maybe ... just maybe ... you were one of the brightest young independent wrestlers on the scene but now you've got the mental capacity of a toddler. Frankly, it doesn't matter what you were - because now you are what you are. Now you can pay the piper when you have to. It is your duty to walk into that ring tonight and give Corey Black a reason not to cut you into a thousand pieces. Show him you're worthy of this contract you hold, unlike Vic Viceroy. He went down in six moves, Pomp. One of the brighter of the new crop was chopped down in less moves it takes a champion chess player to beat a novice. Are you ready to challenge The Jomsviking on his turf? Will you finally be the one new wrestler that can step up to the plate and show us that you aren't from the minor league team we had to pull to the big show to fill roster slots? You're the second on the list of newcomers thinking you own the place because the main event scene split - soon enough, Corey will have enough victims to unleash his voice once again. Until then, he will not be wasting his breath on you peons.

Make no mistake, if you can't remember or don't know who Corey is yet, you have a quick lesson coming in a matter of a few moments. He's a multiple time World Champion, Hall of Fame, King of All Wrestlers on his way to the King of the Deathmatch. You, Pomp? You're a bug waiting to be hit by the freight train of violence that is about to smash through the ECW Arena with the greatest of ease. The place where the ultraviolence was popularized in the US, where the men Corey Black looked up to wrestled the most - to be in the same building is an honor and a privilege. You'd never feel that warmth, though, would you? Because you're not a true rooted wrestler anymore. You don't care where any of this came from. You're a fucking idiot in a wrestler's body. You're a sham, a true blemish on the company. Keep on reaching for that moon, kid. That all elusive victory in this tournament you'll be trying to get only to come up short. But if by some modern miracle you're able to gather the strength.. the courage.. the fortitude.. to even jump for the prize, to thrust your body mass into the air and fight like you've never fought before..

You won't be able to jump high enough to grab this moon because Corey Black's boot will be on your forehead.

Heed my warning, Psychopomp. He goes by many names. The Jomsviking, The Avenger, The Ghost of Tokyo and more, but on Sunday, the world will bow to their new King of the Deathmatch.

And you're sure as hell not going to be the one to topple the king on his way to the throne.

Nikki pushes the lens away from her face, causing the cameraman to lose balance and fall backward thanks to the heavy equipment shifting weight. He stands up and scurries out of the room, leaving Corey and Nikki alone once again. On a table sits photos of every competitor in the tournament. One by one, Nikki posts them up on the wall.

Nikki Venus
These men are the sinners that will be judged, Corey. Psychopomp, a goddamn fool at best. Triple A, the cockiest cock to ever walk. Odin Balfore, the one you toppled at One and took the World Title from. Mikey eXtreme, former DRG scum. And Adam Young - the filthiest of the bunch. Your mission this week is to take all their hopes and dreams of grandeur, all their opinions on you and the old guard, and break their will to even compete. You're a deathmatch wrestler at heart, Corey, tap into the feeling. Tap into him. Don't release him, but let his anger and his hatred flow through your body. Use what we saw out the hotel window..

That strikes a nerve. Corey slams his fist into the stone wall of the 2300 Arena, right beside the photo of Psychopomp - the first victim this week.