Post by Steve Thunder on Jun 15, 2011 16:24:03 GMT -5
Illumination – to light up; that’s exactly what I did to the crowd at Blast when I landed the Climate Control right in the face of Shane Borderland. I turned the lights even higher as I clinched Odin Balfore by the head and planted him with the Static Shock. I’m the game changer; I’m the person who can bring light to the darkness and flow like Electricity on Death Row. Borderland and Balfore are in this war over a title that I never lost; they are fighting for something that belongs to neither of them… because it still belongs to me!
The scene opens.
The storm clouds are high above us, rain is coming down all around us and darkness has set in. Where are we? It’s hard to say. The wind is mild considering the storm that seems to be brewing. We can see the lights from the city in the distance; it seems we are overlooking them, really quite beautiful.
In front of us there is a car, it’s too dark to make out what kind of car, the lights gleam of its well-kept exterior. Sitting on the hood of the car is a figure, presumably a man by the build, with his back to us.
Moving toward the man we can make out his clothing. The man is wearing a worn brown leather jacket with the collar slightly flicked and some jeans, either dark blue or black. The attire of only one man; Steve Thunder.
Thunder never looks back at us as he begins to speak, all the while, overlooking the cliff edge before him and gazing toward the city lights.
Steve Thunder: You know… It’s been almost a year since I stepped foot in a WCF ring; and it has been over a year since I wrestled there. Strange.
Thunder pauses for a moment, bowing his head and playing with something between his fingers.
Steve Thunder: Strange, indeed, that the fans still remember me. Strange, indeed, that the United States Championship still looks good in my hands.
Thunder tilts his head round and glances at us.
Steve Thunder: In one year, I have done a whole lot of soul searching and a whole lot of rebuilding. There was a lot going on back then that nobody understood. There was the mystery of the Black Masks and the mystery of why I joined them. Some people may hate the decisions that I made. I beat three men down in the middle of the ring with a steel pipe and then never showed my face again…
A brief pause.
Steve Thunder: Until Blast.
People think I sat around, picking my ass and getting out of shape. They think that I let everything slip because my conscience did, but they’re wrong. I waited, I waited for the perfect time and the perfect strike and when that moment arose I was there to make it. My attack at Blast wasn’t the act of a desperate or sloppy man; my attack was the act of a precise and calculated man.
Thunder slides back on the hood of the car, pressing his back against the windscreen of the car and letting a small grin cross his face.
Steve Thunder: Where do you go from there? After you beat down on three men, where the hell do you go? I mean really. Look at the victims. First there was Michael Diamond, my “friend”. He took my place in the match because I couldn’t be found, to even his amazement, I was never lost. He was a nobody to the WCF; he will not be missed by me or any of the fans or roster here. He was merely a pawn in the bigger picture. Am I proud that I betrayed a friend? Never. Was it a necessary action to progress what was happening? Definitely.
Thunder shrugs his shoulders. He stops playing with the item in his hands, and using both hands drops it over his head and round his neck. Clearly a necklace of some kind.
Steve Thunder: Next we had Karl Voronov, unfortunately for Karl, he was in the wrong match at the wrong time. Karl could literally have been anybody and he would have received the exact same treatment; he was just an obstacle. Where the hell is he now? Did he disappear? I figure he probably isn’t even worth mentioning anymore…
Thunder lets out a little laugh.
Steve Thunder: So, finally, there was D-Day. My third and final steel pipe victim. Now, D-Day was almost like the Wild Card in all of this. I had fought D-Day and beaten him on a couple of occasions, I had no real issue with the guy, but hey you gotta do what you gotta do. He spouts his mouth that he had to “overcome” people like me on his path to the Championship that he won at Blast, but guess what Donald? You never overcame me. See, I have watched you Donald, I have watched you grow as an athlete and take the reins of this company as your own and for that I congratulate you. You earned it.
D-Day, he always baffled me. He got no credit for the shit he put up with or the shit he did. He was put in some really fucked up situations by management, and never given the chance to shine. The kid has worked his ass off for what he has and he deserves every fucking ounce of it. He never bitched, he never moaned, he never whined about a loss that was unfair. He came to that ring every single night and he left it all behind, anybody who gets the chance to work alongside him is truly privileged. In the same breath, he never beat me, and until he does he will always be missing that little bit of respect that can only be earned inside the ring.
Thunder leans back and looks up at the stars, the rain bouncing off his face and body as he closes his eyes for a moment to take in the atmosphere of the evening.
Steve Thunder: Those stars in the sky that you can see poking through the clouds as they pass the illumination of an otherwise dark night; fantastic. To me Donald, that is what you have been to the WCF in my absence. Everybody has turned their backs on what they believe, everybody has changed and yet you, Donald, remain the same as you were when I left here and for that I applaud you. Even I changed, I fought for something real and suddenly that all changed and I fought only for selfish reasons.
A cracking of lightning in the distance, Thunder extends his arms outwards, lying like a crucifix on the hood of his car. So similar to the crucifix he was strapped to for weeks by the Black Masks.
Steve Thunder: You know, all those weeks I was strapped to that crucifix wondering when my saviour would come gave me a lot of time to think. It made me realise, no matter how hard I fought it didn’t matter because nobody was coming to save me. Not Diamond. Not D-Day. Not Seth Lerch. The WCF Universe was willing to let me rot, and their one concern was when they next saw the United States Championship on the line. Was it a nice thought? No, but it was realistic. That’s the reason I decided that for once I would be selfish.
Thunder slides off the hood of the car, and walks to the cliff edge; he stands with his back to us.
Steve Thunder: Things have changed in my time away. That anger toward the WCF for not helping me has subsided. The hostility to the fans for not caring has gone away. I came back with one focus and that was getting back on track, and that means picking up right where I left off with the United States Championship. However, D-Day, don’t think I forgot about you, one day soon maybe we can fight for your title instead of mine this time…
Thunder turns back to the camera.
Steve Thunder: That’s for another time though. Odin Balfore, how you doin’ big man?
Big? This guy is huge. I probably could have emphasised that a little more, and talk about impressive. When I came back at Blast, it was to take down literally the biggest man in the company simultaneously with a member of the biggest faction in the company. Making those kind of enemies in the space of five minutes always makes for a fun few weeks, and that’s something I welcome and look forward to now.
He pauses; almost waiting for an answer.
Steve Thunder: I believe you have something that belongs to me? Well, it’s time to give it back. See, somebody like you really brings the good name of the United States Championship down. Maybe you want to use the title as a stepping stone to the World Title, unfortunately for you the only stepping stone here will be you on my path. You beat some half-ass excuse for a champion for MY title, you never beat its rightful owner and you never will, not unless my heart stops beating in that ring. Look at what you did to Borderland. You destroyed him in the ring, he barely fought back, and the announcers were saying he was a fighting champion? Why? Because he excels at getting his ass kicked by his challenger? Big deal he hung in there, but let’s face it, that’s all he did. He clung on for as long as he could. That’s nothing to be proud of, and neither is your victory over him.
A feint laugh is heard from Thunder.
Steve Thunder: Before I get to you Balfore, I have to take care of Mr Borderland. Now Shane, I think I have made it pretty clear my feelings for you and your so called ability as a wrestler, much less a champion. The attitude you bring to the table is that you’re above and beyond anybody else in this company, you and your little stable of nobodies. You came here right as I was leaving, and don’t get me wrong, as a foundation you have truly impressed me. However, as an individual you had to resort to beating up women… hot women, yes, but women none the less! Without Jason Kash what exactly are you? You rode his tail feathers and caught a lucky break fighting some chic for the strap. Do NOT run around here and pretend you’re the best shit to hit since sliced bread because what you’re looking at is the best shit to hit the United States Championship in… EVER, and soon enough you’ll be crystal clear on that fact when it’s back over my shoulder.
Thunder steps a little closer to the cliff edge.
Steve Thunder: Shane, what you fail to realise is that you’re stepping in with the big boys this week. Regardless of the fact I haven’t been around for a while, don’t perceive that as weakness. Even on my worst day I’m still twice the wrestler you are. You brag around that you were named the up and comer of the month or year or whatever the hell it was… Do you know what that translates to in this industry? It translates to “Rookie”, Shane, and this week on SLAM! I’m going to prove that to be exactly what you are… a Rookie. You weren’t in my league when I left, and you’re not in my league now, nor will you ever be in it. You are merely a bump in my road to the World Championship, but listen man, you should be proud of that because it’s probably the highest accolade that you will ever achieve again.
Borderland has massive potential, but he’s too busy telling himself he’s the best to ever actually become the best. I sincerely hope he tests my game, I sincerely hope he gives me a reason to respect him; I just can’t see it ever happening. Sometimes the thought process is different to what the brain actually tells you to think, as much as I believe Shane is leagues below my own, my thought still tells me that he has potential locked somewhere in his numb skull to be great one day.
Thunder keeps his back to the camera but turns his head just enough so that he can see us.
Steve Thunder: A lot has changed in my life in the time I spent away. I have rebuilt; I have restarted. I have come back here to show everybody that the Steve Thunder you first saw inside that ring, the one that beat Gravedigger, or Hector Rodriguez as he was known at the time, is still alive and well and he’s back to take his place back. We all slip down roads we sometimes don’t want to be on, and the hardest part is to find our way back to what we know. Shane Borderland, this week you’re going to be the first person to see that the new me is just as good as the old me was… but hey…
Thunder turns back to the cliff edge, tilting his head down slightly. The camera moves toward the edge of the cliff.
Steve Thunder: … Some Things Never Change…
Looking over the edge the camera sees an army of men in Black Masks with their heads bowed. It’s a truly eerie sight. Thunder commanding his army even after all this time?
Fade.
.:: Some Things Never Change ::.
The scene opens.
The storm clouds are high above us, rain is coming down all around us and darkness has set in. Where are we? It’s hard to say. The wind is mild considering the storm that seems to be brewing. We can see the lights from the city in the distance; it seems we are overlooking them, really quite beautiful.
In front of us there is a car, it’s too dark to make out what kind of car, the lights gleam of its well-kept exterior. Sitting on the hood of the car is a figure, presumably a man by the build, with his back to us.
Moving toward the man we can make out his clothing. The man is wearing a worn brown leather jacket with the collar slightly flicked and some jeans, either dark blue or black. The attire of only one man; Steve Thunder.
Thunder never looks back at us as he begins to speak, all the while, overlooking the cliff edge before him and gazing toward the city lights.
Steve Thunder: You know… It’s been almost a year since I stepped foot in a WCF ring; and it has been over a year since I wrestled there. Strange.
Thunder pauses for a moment, bowing his head and playing with something between his fingers.
Steve Thunder: Strange, indeed, that the fans still remember me. Strange, indeed, that the United States Championship still looks good in my hands.
Thunder tilts his head round and glances at us.
Steve Thunder: In one year, I have done a whole lot of soul searching and a whole lot of rebuilding. There was a lot going on back then that nobody understood. There was the mystery of the Black Masks and the mystery of why I joined them. Some people may hate the decisions that I made. I beat three men down in the middle of the ring with a steel pipe and then never showed my face again…
A brief pause.
Steve Thunder: Until Blast.
People think I sat around, picking my ass and getting out of shape. They think that I let everything slip because my conscience did, but they’re wrong. I waited, I waited for the perfect time and the perfect strike and when that moment arose I was there to make it. My attack at Blast wasn’t the act of a desperate or sloppy man; my attack was the act of a precise and calculated man.
Thunder slides back on the hood of the car, pressing his back against the windscreen of the car and letting a small grin cross his face.
Steve Thunder: Where do you go from there? After you beat down on three men, where the hell do you go? I mean really. Look at the victims. First there was Michael Diamond, my “friend”. He took my place in the match because I couldn’t be found, to even his amazement, I was never lost. He was a nobody to the WCF; he will not be missed by me or any of the fans or roster here. He was merely a pawn in the bigger picture. Am I proud that I betrayed a friend? Never. Was it a necessary action to progress what was happening? Definitely.
Thunder shrugs his shoulders. He stops playing with the item in his hands, and using both hands drops it over his head and round his neck. Clearly a necklace of some kind.
Steve Thunder: Next we had Karl Voronov, unfortunately for Karl, he was in the wrong match at the wrong time. Karl could literally have been anybody and he would have received the exact same treatment; he was just an obstacle. Where the hell is he now? Did he disappear? I figure he probably isn’t even worth mentioning anymore…
Thunder lets out a little laugh.
Steve Thunder: So, finally, there was D-Day. My third and final steel pipe victim. Now, D-Day was almost like the Wild Card in all of this. I had fought D-Day and beaten him on a couple of occasions, I had no real issue with the guy, but hey you gotta do what you gotta do. He spouts his mouth that he had to “overcome” people like me on his path to the Championship that he won at Blast, but guess what Donald? You never overcame me. See, I have watched you Donald, I have watched you grow as an athlete and take the reins of this company as your own and for that I congratulate you. You earned it.
D-Day, he always baffled me. He got no credit for the shit he put up with or the shit he did. He was put in some really fucked up situations by management, and never given the chance to shine. The kid has worked his ass off for what he has and he deserves every fucking ounce of it. He never bitched, he never moaned, he never whined about a loss that was unfair. He came to that ring every single night and he left it all behind, anybody who gets the chance to work alongside him is truly privileged. In the same breath, he never beat me, and until he does he will always be missing that little bit of respect that can only be earned inside the ring.
Thunder leans back and looks up at the stars, the rain bouncing off his face and body as he closes his eyes for a moment to take in the atmosphere of the evening.
Steve Thunder: Those stars in the sky that you can see poking through the clouds as they pass the illumination of an otherwise dark night; fantastic. To me Donald, that is what you have been to the WCF in my absence. Everybody has turned their backs on what they believe, everybody has changed and yet you, Donald, remain the same as you were when I left here and for that I applaud you. Even I changed, I fought for something real and suddenly that all changed and I fought only for selfish reasons.
A cracking of lightning in the distance, Thunder extends his arms outwards, lying like a crucifix on the hood of his car. So similar to the crucifix he was strapped to for weeks by the Black Masks.
Steve Thunder: You know, all those weeks I was strapped to that crucifix wondering when my saviour would come gave me a lot of time to think. It made me realise, no matter how hard I fought it didn’t matter because nobody was coming to save me. Not Diamond. Not D-Day. Not Seth Lerch. The WCF Universe was willing to let me rot, and their one concern was when they next saw the United States Championship on the line. Was it a nice thought? No, but it was realistic. That’s the reason I decided that for once I would be selfish.
Thunder slides off the hood of the car, and walks to the cliff edge; he stands with his back to us.
Steve Thunder: Things have changed in my time away. That anger toward the WCF for not helping me has subsided. The hostility to the fans for not caring has gone away. I came back with one focus and that was getting back on track, and that means picking up right where I left off with the United States Championship. However, D-Day, don’t think I forgot about you, one day soon maybe we can fight for your title instead of mine this time…
Thunder turns back to the camera.
Steve Thunder: That’s for another time though. Odin Balfore, how you doin’ big man?
Big? This guy is huge. I probably could have emphasised that a little more, and talk about impressive. When I came back at Blast, it was to take down literally the biggest man in the company simultaneously with a member of the biggest faction in the company. Making those kind of enemies in the space of five minutes always makes for a fun few weeks, and that’s something I welcome and look forward to now.
He pauses; almost waiting for an answer.
Steve Thunder: I believe you have something that belongs to me? Well, it’s time to give it back. See, somebody like you really brings the good name of the United States Championship down. Maybe you want to use the title as a stepping stone to the World Title, unfortunately for you the only stepping stone here will be you on my path. You beat some half-ass excuse for a champion for MY title, you never beat its rightful owner and you never will, not unless my heart stops beating in that ring. Look at what you did to Borderland. You destroyed him in the ring, he barely fought back, and the announcers were saying he was a fighting champion? Why? Because he excels at getting his ass kicked by his challenger? Big deal he hung in there, but let’s face it, that’s all he did. He clung on for as long as he could. That’s nothing to be proud of, and neither is your victory over him.
A feint laugh is heard from Thunder.
Steve Thunder: Before I get to you Balfore, I have to take care of Mr Borderland. Now Shane, I think I have made it pretty clear my feelings for you and your so called ability as a wrestler, much less a champion. The attitude you bring to the table is that you’re above and beyond anybody else in this company, you and your little stable of nobodies. You came here right as I was leaving, and don’t get me wrong, as a foundation you have truly impressed me. However, as an individual you had to resort to beating up women… hot women, yes, but women none the less! Without Jason Kash what exactly are you? You rode his tail feathers and caught a lucky break fighting some chic for the strap. Do NOT run around here and pretend you’re the best shit to hit since sliced bread because what you’re looking at is the best shit to hit the United States Championship in… EVER, and soon enough you’ll be crystal clear on that fact when it’s back over my shoulder.
Thunder steps a little closer to the cliff edge.
Steve Thunder: Shane, what you fail to realise is that you’re stepping in with the big boys this week. Regardless of the fact I haven’t been around for a while, don’t perceive that as weakness. Even on my worst day I’m still twice the wrestler you are. You brag around that you were named the up and comer of the month or year or whatever the hell it was… Do you know what that translates to in this industry? It translates to “Rookie”, Shane, and this week on SLAM! I’m going to prove that to be exactly what you are… a Rookie. You weren’t in my league when I left, and you’re not in my league now, nor will you ever be in it. You are merely a bump in my road to the World Championship, but listen man, you should be proud of that because it’s probably the highest accolade that you will ever achieve again.
Borderland has massive potential, but he’s too busy telling himself he’s the best to ever actually become the best. I sincerely hope he tests my game, I sincerely hope he gives me a reason to respect him; I just can’t see it ever happening. Sometimes the thought process is different to what the brain actually tells you to think, as much as I believe Shane is leagues below my own, my thought still tells me that he has potential locked somewhere in his numb skull to be great one day.
Thunder keeps his back to the camera but turns his head just enough so that he can see us.
Steve Thunder: A lot has changed in my life in the time I spent away. I have rebuilt; I have restarted. I have come back here to show everybody that the Steve Thunder you first saw inside that ring, the one that beat Gravedigger, or Hector Rodriguez as he was known at the time, is still alive and well and he’s back to take his place back. We all slip down roads we sometimes don’t want to be on, and the hardest part is to find our way back to what we know. Shane Borderland, this week you’re going to be the first person to see that the new me is just as good as the old me was… but hey…
Thunder turns back to the cliff edge, tilting his head down slightly. The camera moves toward the edge of the cliff.
Steve Thunder: … Some Things Never Change…
Looking over the edge the camera sees an army of men in Black Masks with their heads bowed. It’s a truly eerie sight. Thunder commanding his army even after all this time?
Fade.
