Post by Corey Black on Mar 5, 2006 5:33:50 GMT -5
Our scene opens up to a shot of a younger Creeping Death. Not very much younger than he is now, probably at the time of this he was 17 or 18. He is sitting in a school desk, drawing on a notebook while a teacher is talking about square roots. CD is decked out in a Metallica shirt, baggy dark blue jeans, and black wrist bands. As of this time, he has not donned the face paint. The teacher directs his speech to Creeping Death.
Teacher: Mr. Volz! Using the method I just showed you, figure the square root of seven hundred and eighty four.
Creeping Death: ...
CD looks up at the teacher and just bursts out in laughter. After his speel, Creeping Death continues to draw.
Teacher: That'll never amount to anything.
Creeping Death: You tell me the last time you used the method of square rooting without a calculator, and get back to me.
Teacher: And that'll earn you a trip to the principal's office.
Creeping Death: Gladly.
CD stands up, and on his way out the door, gets tripped by a guy in a letterman's jacket.
Jock: Awww, did the freak fall? See you in gym class, moron.
Creeping Death looks up at the guy, picks up his books, and delivers a swift kick to the jock's shin. The guy leaps in pain and grabs at his foot as the teacher escorts CD out of the room.
Out in the hall, Creeping Death walks straight past the principal's office, and heads to the vending machines. He places a dollar in, and gets himself a Mountain Dew. CD takes a drink and the bell rings. A mass of students fills the hallways, and CD doesn't acknowladge a single soul on his way. He reaches the gym, and enters. Inside, wrestling mats are set up. CD takes a seat by the wall as the others walk up to the stage, including that jock from before, awaiting the teacher's orders.
Teacher: Alright folks, I've been cleared to teach you how to wrestle.
CD snickers in the corner.
Teacher: What, Corey? Don't need to learn?
Creeping Death: I'm already in the process.
Jock: Oh what, pro wrestling? Ballet of men? Try a real sport.
Creeping Death: Whatever man.
Teacher: You guys give me a great idea. Kyle, get ready. Corey, come show me what you've got.
Creeping Death shakes his head as he stands up and walks over to the mat. Everyone gets in a line by the stage, watching.
Teacher: Alright folks, I'm not looking for points here. Just straight up pin. Kyle, show him why you're ranked number three in the state. Corey, use that goofy pro shit you think you're good at.
Kyle: Can do, coach.
Creeping Death: Coach? Figures.
Kyle rushes after CD, who uses his quickness to jump and front flip over the leg takedown attempt. Kyle eats mat as CD lands on his feet behind him. Everyone in the gym lets out an "ooohhhh". Kyle, furious, stands up and grapples CD, going behind in a waistlock. CD retains balance, and locks Kyle's wrists, opening his grasp. Creeping Death takes one little hop forward, lets go of Kyle's wrists, and lets off with a backflip Pele kick to the side of Kyle's head.
Teacher: ENOUGH!
The teacher jumps down and grabs Kyle as everyone else grabs CD.
Kyle: THIS ISN'T OVER!
Creeping Death: Too bad for you, eh?
Teacher: Alright, alright. Half a period left in the last hour of the day, you guys can just go. Whatever.
Everyone excitingly files out of the gym and out into the parking lot. Creeping Death grabs his binder and walks to his Camaro. He opens the door, but it gets shut on him. Kyle has kicked the door shut with a few of his buddies.
Kyle: Nice car, freak.
Creeping Death: I'm going to assume you didn't put a dent in my door.
Kyle snickers and unloads a big kick on the door, putting a dent for sure. His friends all giggle.
Creeping Death: If you really believe you need to show me up, I'll comply. Your friends better stay out of it, though.
Kyle looks down, nods, and unloads a huge punch, sending CD onto the hood of his car. Someone in the parking lot yells fight as the bell rings and people file out of the school. Kyle mounts CD and begins straight punching him in the gut and face, alternately. CD locks his hands behind Kyle's neck, places a foot in his gut, and almost monkey flips him off onto the pavement below. Kyle pops up and eats a dropkick from the hood of the car, knocking him into the side of the next car beside them. Kyle bounces off the car and back into Creeping Death, who locks him up in a powerslam. Instead of slamming him down, CD positions Kyle's head over the hood, and slams his face down with extreme force, having his hand hooked behind Kyle's head for the slam.
CD backs away, and Kyle looks at him, charging with a shoulder to the gut, pushing him back into his car. Kyle presses CD into the car, but CD gutwrentches Kyle, lifting him into a powerbomb, and diving down into the pavement. Kyle's head bounces off the ground. Creeping Death lifts Kyle to his feet. He's almost knocked out and all dizzy.
Creeping Death: Which one is this fuck's car. ... WHICH ONE!
Someone in the crowd points over to a beautiful new looking Ford Mustang. Creeping Death leads Kyle over, and places him on the hood. CD climbs up a truck sitting next to the Mustang, to the roof, and leaps off in a splash onto Kyle, denting the hood to hell. Creeping Death leans Kyle against the windshield, resting his head in the middle. CD jumps off, and walks ahead a litte. CD gets a running start, and at the bumper, Creeping Death leaps into a front flip, placing both feet in Kyle's face, sending his upper body through the windshield!
Creeping Death drags Kyle out of the mess of glass, and onto the roof. Once again, CD bends Kyle over, this time lifting him into a piledriver. Creeping Death jumps and sits out, caving in the roof of Kyle's Mustang. The scene fades out.
We fade back in with the next morning at school. Creeping Death walks into the school and is instantly cornered by two of Kyle's friends. They crack their knuckles. Creeping Death tosses his binder at one, who catches it, and eats a Van Daminator. The second charges, but CD side steps, hooks his hand on the back of his neck, and directs him with his own force into the wall. First friend is back up, and CD quickly opens a locker and slams it in his face, Jackie Chan style. Teachers rush in and break it up. Scene fades out.
Back in with Creeping Death's face, currently.
Creeping Death: I, too, was an outcast. I've never had a beef with an outcast, for I felt their pain. However, on my road back to the WCF Title, I must go through one. Sadly, for this Outcast, I won't be able to feel your pain, because I shall be the one delivering it.
I honestly don't know how you believe you're the "Hardcore Icon". What have you done? Did you bring barbed wire here? Did you bring light tubes? Have you even ever felt barbed wire? Outcast, your whole WCF career is based on a joke. You are in no, way, shape, or form, anything close to a "Hardcore Icon".
A legend, huh? The only pausable attribute to this fact would be the time spent around here, and the fact that you've won the only two world titles that mean anything to everyone in this company. The WCF, and the NCW. I was in NCW, too, remember? My first three matches were competing in the Cruiserweight Title Tournament, a Tournament I won, and never got pinned to lose that belt. I put it up for grabs in a Six Man Tag, with ALL the titles on the line. Sure, I lost my Cruiserweight Title, but I picked up the NCW World Title. Vic, if you're a legend based on your time and titles won, then frankly, I out legend you by thirty points.
I'd figure with you being friends with the new authority around here, you'd be put up against someone you'd actually have a chance against. It's a shame, really. Showing up with alcohol in your system must have shanked Davey's chain. And speaking of Davey, he's never liked me. During our little exchange while he was just the General Manager of Slam, I won the right to dominate him in an Ironman Tables Match. And what did he do? Sick a couple of his goons on me. I sincerely hope he's had a change of heart, for your sake, Cast. Nowadays, with the Team of Trechery running around here like chickens with their heads cut off, you can never trust anyone. You might have been on my side fighting the Team, but now that they don't hold any power, they're no doubt looking for it. You two would be the most probable pick-up.
I have never once heard anyone afraid of what you might do to them. Not once. However, there is documented proof people are afraid of what I can do. Our world champion, Reckless Jack, being one of the men.
You're going off about how you're not Outcast anymore, that you're Victor Taylor. Trust me, I've abandoned my identity once before as well. It pulls you back in. Deep down, you'll always be Outcast, not a Nightmare, but one of the sheep I'll count on my way back to the real dream, ... the WCF Title.
Creeping Death lowers his head and closes his eyes as the scene fades to black.
Teacher: Mr. Volz! Using the method I just showed you, figure the square root of seven hundred and eighty four.
Creeping Death: ...
CD looks up at the teacher and just bursts out in laughter. After his speel, Creeping Death continues to draw.
Teacher: That'll never amount to anything.
Creeping Death: You tell me the last time you used the method of square rooting without a calculator, and get back to me.
Teacher: And that'll earn you a trip to the principal's office.
Creeping Death: Gladly.
CD stands up, and on his way out the door, gets tripped by a guy in a letterman's jacket.
Jock: Awww, did the freak fall? See you in gym class, moron.
Creeping Death looks up at the guy, picks up his books, and delivers a swift kick to the jock's shin. The guy leaps in pain and grabs at his foot as the teacher escorts CD out of the room.
Out in the hall, Creeping Death walks straight past the principal's office, and heads to the vending machines. He places a dollar in, and gets himself a Mountain Dew. CD takes a drink and the bell rings. A mass of students fills the hallways, and CD doesn't acknowladge a single soul on his way. He reaches the gym, and enters. Inside, wrestling mats are set up. CD takes a seat by the wall as the others walk up to the stage, including that jock from before, awaiting the teacher's orders.
Teacher: Alright folks, I've been cleared to teach you how to wrestle.
CD snickers in the corner.
Teacher: What, Corey? Don't need to learn?
Creeping Death: I'm already in the process.
Jock: Oh what, pro wrestling? Ballet of men? Try a real sport.
Creeping Death: Whatever man.
Teacher: You guys give me a great idea. Kyle, get ready. Corey, come show me what you've got.
Creeping Death shakes his head as he stands up and walks over to the mat. Everyone gets in a line by the stage, watching.
Teacher: Alright folks, I'm not looking for points here. Just straight up pin. Kyle, show him why you're ranked number three in the state. Corey, use that goofy pro shit you think you're good at.
Kyle: Can do, coach.
Creeping Death: Coach? Figures.
Kyle rushes after CD, who uses his quickness to jump and front flip over the leg takedown attempt. Kyle eats mat as CD lands on his feet behind him. Everyone in the gym lets out an "ooohhhh". Kyle, furious, stands up and grapples CD, going behind in a waistlock. CD retains balance, and locks Kyle's wrists, opening his grasp. Creeping Death takes one little hop forward, lets go of Kyle's wrists, and lets off with a backflip Pele kick to the side of Kyle's head.
Teacher: ENOUGH!
The teacher jumps down and grabs Kyle as everyone else grabs CD.
Kyle: THIS ISN'T OVER!
Creeping Death: Too bad for you, eh?
Teacher: Alright, alright. Half a period left in the last hour of the day, you guys can just go. Whatever.
Everyone excitingly files out of the gym and out into the parking lot. Creeping Death grabs his binder and walks to his Camaro. He opens the door, but it gets shut on him. Kyle has kicked the door shut with a few of his buddies.
Kyle: Nice car, freak.
Creeping Death: I'm going to assume you didn't put a dent in my door.
Kyle snickers and unloads a big kick on the door, putting a dent for sure. His friends all giggle.
Creeping Death: If you really believe you need to show me up, I'll comply. Your friends better stay out of it, though.
Kyle looks down, nods, and unloads a huge punch, sending CD onto the hood of his car. Someone in the parking lot yells fight as the bell rings and people file out of the school. Kyle mounts CD and begins straight punching him in the gut and face, alternately. CD locks his hands behind Kyle's neck, places a foot in his gut, and almost monkey flips him off onto the pavement below. Kyle pops up and eats a dropkick from the hood of the car, knocking him into the side of the next car beside them. Kyle bounces off the car and back into Creeping Death, who locks him up in a powerslam. Instead of slamming him down, CD positions Kyle's head over the hood, and slams his face down with extreme force, having his hand hooked behind Kyle's head for the slam.
CD backs away, and Kyle looks at him, charging with a shoulder to the gut, pushing him back into his car. Kyle presses CD into the car, but CD gutwrentches Kyle, lifting him into a powerbomb, and diving down into the pavement. Kyle's head bounces off the ground. Creeping Death lifts Kyle to his feet. He's almost knocked out and all dizzy.
Creeping Death: Which one is this fuck's car. ... WHICH ONE!
Someone in the crowd points over to a beautiful new looking Ford Mustang. Creeping Death leads Kyle over, and places him on the hood. CD climbs up a truck sitting next to the Mustang, to the roof, and leaps off in a splash onto Kyle, denting the hood to hell. Creeping Death leans Kyle against the windshield, resting his head in the middle. CD jumps off, and walks ahead a litte. CD gets a running start, and at the bumper, Creeping Death leaps into a front flip, placing both feet in Kyle's face, sending his upper body through the windshield!
Creeping Death drags Kyle out of the mess of glass, and onto the roof. Once again, CD bends Kyle over, this time lifting him into a piledriver. Creeping Death jumps and sits out, caving in the roof of Kyle's Mustang. The scene fades out.
We fade back in with the next morning at school. Creeping Death walks into the school and is instantly cornered by two of Kyle's friends. They crack their knuckles. Creeping Death tosses his binder at one, who catches it, and eats a Van Daminator. The second charges, but CD side steps, hooks his hand on the back of his neck, and directs him with his own force into the wall. First friend is back up, and CD quickly opens a locker and slams it in his face, Jackie Chan style. Teachers rush in and break it up. Scene fades out.
Back in with Creeping Death's face, currently.
Creeping Death: I, too, was an outcast. I've never had a beef with an outcast, for I felt their pain. However, on my road back to the WCF Title, I must go through one. Sadly, for this Outcast, I won't be able to feel your pain, because I shall be the one delivering it.
I honestly don't know how you believe you're the "Hardcore Icon". What have you done? Did you bring barbed wire here? Did you bring light tubes? Have you even ever felt barbed wire? Outcast, your whole WCF career is based on a joke. You are in no, way, shape, or form, anything close to a "Hardcore Icon".
A legend, huh? The only pausable attribute to this fact would be the time spent around here, and the fact that you've won the only two world titles that mean anything to everyone in this company. The WCF, and the NCW. I was in NCW, too, remember? My first three matches were competing in the Cruiserweight Title Tournament, a Tournament I won, and never got pinned to lose that belt. I put it up for grabs in a Six Man Tag, with ALL the titles on the line. Sure, I lost my Cruiserweight Title, but I picked up the NCW World Title. Vic, if you're a legend based on your time and titles won, then frankly, I out legend you by thirty points.
I'd figure with you being friends with the new authority around here, you'd be put up against someone you'd actually have a chance against. It's a shame, really. Showing up with alcohol in your system must have shanked Davey's chain. And speaking of Davey, he's never liked me. During our little exchange while he was just the General Manager of Slam, I won the right to dominate him in an Ironman Tables Match. And what did he do? Sick a couple of his goons on me. I sincerely hope he's had a change of heart, for your sake, Cast. Nowadays, with the Team of Trechery running around here like chickens with their heads cut off, you can never trust anyone. You might have been on my side fighting the Team, but now that they don't hold any power, they're no doubt looking for it. You two would be the most probable pick-up.
I have never once heard anyone afraid of what you might do to them. Not once. However, there is documented proof people are afraid of what I can do. Our world champion, Reckless Jack, being one of the men.
You're going off about how you're not Outcast anymore, that you're Victor Taylor. Trust me, I've abandoned my identity once before as well. It pulls you back in. Deep down, you'll always be Outcast, not a Nightmare, but one of the sheep I'll count on my way back to the real dream, ... the WCF Title.
Creeping Death lowers his head and closes his eyes as the scene fades to black.