Post by Xtreme on Sept 8, 2016 15:36:04 GMT -5
OH MY GOD!! Wilds just tackled Eric Michaels from the fucking rafters!!
Wilds with that wicked Pele Kick straight to Bubba's nose!! I think it's broken!!
ARE YOU SEEING THIS?! ARE YOU FUCKING SEEING THIS?! Wilds, from the TOP OF THE CAGE, with that damned barb-wire wrapped chair!! Dante is DEAD!!
The scene opens on a garbage dump. Heaps of scrap line the scene, various trash piled around. As the camera pans the area, we come upon what appears to be a makeshift ring. It's nothing fancy; shingle-lined flooring for the base, busted flagpoles for ringposts, various loosely-wrapped wires for ring ropes. There's little in the way of safety measures, but that doesn't stop the figure climbing into the ring from bouncing around. After a few laps around the ring, he pauses to survey the landscape, nodding.
It's been a while. Pioneer closed its doors years ago. REBEL Pro and Underground X folded. Even Wikkid Awesome Wrestling went under...
For a while, I thought my career was over. I thought I was done. Sure, I have some tag titles, a few mid-card championships and the world's biggest names in the business under my belt. But after so many years, I don't know what else to do. I can't go back to the circus; those are far and few between, and it wouldn't exactly last long.
But as I scan the television lately, one show keeps grabbing my attention. One brand still stands the test of time: Wrestling Championship Federation. So here I am.
Jaice jumps out of the ring, walking towards the camera. He takes a moment to scan the area, spreading his arms.
You could say that, after a few years, my life has turned to garbage. Sure, I still have some money saved back; I never really craved the "finer" things in life. I keep it small and simple. So my checks from my previous stunts have kept my bills paid.
But this isn't about the paychecks. This is about purpose. This is about finding my passion and moving forward. And my passion is the business. THIS business. I am, deep down in my soul, a wrestler. And that means I belong in the squared circle.
Wilds takes a moment, cracking his neck. He sits on a short pile of tires, inhaling deeply.
Now, I know my style might be a little much for some of these kids. I fly like a mockingbird, I'll sacrifice my own body for a win, and there is ABSOLUTELY no length I won't go to in order to progress. At this point, it's going to be most of the week before I finish unwrapping all the barbed wire from my shin guards. But if I have to dial back the hardcore to compete, then I'll just bust faces the old fashioned way. And I start with a Fatal Four Way.
Cliff of Doom. I want to like you. I mean, we're both smaller guys and high flyers. We share a common ground. But that name... Cliff of Doom. By god, if that isn't the most cliché name I've ever heard. You're a former teacher, dude. You're telling me you couldn't come up with anything better?? Gah. I hope your ring ability supersedes your name choosing abilities, as I prefer a challenge when I step between those ropes.
Jaice shakes his head, taking a breath. He gathers his thoughts, refocusing.
Then there's the overhyped pretty boy, Jake Wakefield. The self-proclaimed "Uncrowned King of Pro Wrestling".
Oh, dear god, take me now. What in the bloody fuck have you done, Jake, that makes you deserve such a title? Really, what?? I mean, I'm scanning all kinds of record books, and at best you got a couple tag team titles under your belt. So please, please tell me how a guy who needs help to get anywhere in the business deserves to claim himself it's uncrowned king.
Shit, I've never won the big one. But I have multiple singles titles under my belt. RPW Aggression Championship. FCW/WAW Genocide Championship. BTWF Television Championship. Yes, secondary and tertiary titles. But all earned ON MY OWN. Whereas you... you're a goddamn joke without some form of backup.
Look, Jake. I'm gonna make this simple. After I kick your teeth so far down your throat that you shit enamel for a week, do yourself a favor and go back school for a while. Learn some of the basics of wrestling so you can turn yourself into something worth talking about, then maybe earn the right to call yourself this business' uncrowned king. For right now... you're just a tool.
Jaice jumps down, taking a moment. He grabs his phone, clicking through some screens. After a moment, he lets out a huff and looks up, almost flabbergasted.
For the life of me, I can't find a damn thing on this Jason kid. I mean, sure, his name and profile. But nothing worth mentioning.
Look, I Google searched "Real Deal", and I got the Little Caeser's 5 dollar meal. Or the BOGO events at Payless. Seriously, there is absolutely NOTHING worth looking into for this O'Neal fella. So I guess I'll just have to make something up.
Jason! You're a big dude! And I bet you hit really, really hard. If you CAN catch me, I bet you'd hurt me very badly, and that wouldn't be good for my career!! Please, please don't hurt me too much, Mr Sensation. I don't want my whole life being thrown out the wind...
Okay, I can't do this. Jason, you're bigger than me. And you have enough training that I'm sure your mat game is stronger than mine. But to USE your mat game, you'll have to ground me. And while it's happened before, I can promise you it's gonna hurt you FAR more than it does me. Much like a bird, I'll come down once in a while; but I ALWAYS fly again.
Wilds walks off a bit, throwing a few kicks into a wooden door. A few more steps, he plants a fist deep into some aluminum siding. He turns back, purposeful.
You can run. You can show. It's on you three. Whatever you choose to do, it's going to end the same way. Four broken, bloody bodies. One victorious Xtremeist. And a crowd full of fans who more deeply appreciate our sport.
Til Slam, gentlemen.
The camera fades away as Jaice continues to work out on various pieces of junk.
