Post by Corey Black on Aug 12, 2011 19:57:22 GMT -5
The scene opens to Creeping Death's WCF HQ Office. It's a bit more decked out since the last time a video was played from here. The desk is black, the walls are a dark royal purple, band posters hang in evenly spaced intervals. There's a big HD TV on the wall directly across from the desk, hell, there's even black carpet. It's everything and more you'd imagine an office that houses a guy like CD would be. Kaylyn James Evans is sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk, but there's no CD. She is on her cell phone, surfing away, when the door opens. CD walks in, no face paint, wearing black Chucks, white workout pants with a black stripe, and a black wifebeater. His hair is damp, obviously coming straight from a workout at WCF HD in Oley.
Kaylyn James Evans: Hey hun, good workout?
Creeping Death: Ugh, yeah. Keeping in ring shape is one thing, but preparing for bodily torture is a whole 'nother animal.
Kaylyn James Evans: It gets worse... did you see the links I text you? Adam Young really thinks he's going to get rid of you.
Creeping Death: I did, indeed. Poor chap. How is your training going? And Joey?
Kaylyn James Evans: Good, good. Once I get that TV Title back I'll be able to focus a little harder. As for Joey.. well.. he's something. He's basically a carbon copy of you from seven years ago. Give him a month, and he'll be just as good, if not better.
Creeping Death: Oh shit, awesome. I've got business to take care of here, why don't you head into the Dojo and work on the shooting star?
Kaylyn nods, and stands up. On her way out the door, she gives CD a kiss on the cheek. CD moves over to the chair behind the desk, and hits the play button on his computer. That turns on a webcam.
Creeping Death: Alright, Young. The time for fun and games is over. You've started a crusade to stop me... the guy that signs your paychecks... from running WCF. You don't have to like me, but I'm the only one left. Who else will step in and take over once I decide I have done my duty here? It's been a long, LONG ten years, and now that I am finally in control, I'm stuck with people like you that always have a problem with what I am doing. Yeah, I know we've had talent leave. Yeah, I know most people in the wrestling world don't like me... but face facts. Since Seth Lerch, three people have tried, and failed to run WCF. It's down to me. You would not have a job to support your thirty seven illegitimate children without WCF, and by proxy, without me. Your very own crusade will be your demise.
... that is, if you even succeed.
It's funny how you mention Knoxville and Kash, beings as I was the one that wanted to hire security and ban them from every building we run. It was me, Young. At the time, I answered to someone else, and he didn't see the evil in their souls. Now that I am the one in control, when was the last time you saw them? Broken and beaten on the WCF Arena floor. My very first order of business was eliminating Danger ... ahem .. tainment, and I did just that. They're no longer a cancer in our lockerroom. Maybe you should open your eyes and ask "He Who Walks the Aisles" to read the dirtsheets a little bit better. But what would I expect from a ghost that will never return?
Yeah, you heard it here first, Adam. Your little pilgrimage is for nothing. Seth Lerch is never coming back to WCF. He has his demons, he has his family, he has his earnings. He still makes money off this place, good money. He doesn't need to come back and run it, that what he has us puppets doing. The only problem with that is ... I'm no puppet. I've been around Seth Lerch longer than anyone in WCF combined. He lives thousands of miles from me, but we may as well be brothers. I could tell you anything about his life, and he could do the same about mine. I know, in my heart, that WCF is now my project. You, Adam? You don't know shit. If you don't like it, well good, leave. I'll send your termination papers to the hospital for you to sign Tuesday afternoon. You're not in my mind, in fact, you're far from it. If anything, I'm in yours. Maybe after you see this, you'll realize that you're in the wrong. I'm hoping against hope that Seth will come back and I can just go back to being a wrestler. That's what I'm meant to do. I'm supposed to be in the ring hurting people, not behind a fucking desk. This isn't me. The second Seth comes to me and asks for his company back, it's his. Don't hold your breath, though.
I am making awesome money, yeah, but for something I don't even want. Adam, you know me. You've been around me for years now. This, legit, isn't me, man. Making matches, producing Slam, signing paychecks. A far cry from Burning Hammers, Shining Wizards, and Phoenix Splashes. With the power and money comes the ladies, I know. Kaylyn is a perfect example of a perk of being the man. Would she be on my arm if I was just a lonely ol' wrestler? Who knows? She surely wouldn't have met me under good circumstances, I'd probably have kicked her head off in the ring before we ever said a word to each other. However, being the guy that hired her, I was able to sit down with her for an interview, do a follow-up lunch, show her the Burning Hammer Dojo, all that, without being in the ring. It's a noble concept. This burden that has been laid on my shoulders has some good, some kind of light at the end of the tunnel.
Another light is shutting you the fuck up. See, when you try to piss off a guy like me, you end up hurt. I run things here. I can do whatever, whenever I want. I do my best to play fair, but you, Adam, you just don't get it. Let this be a lesson to not only you, but whoever else tries to piss me off. Do not start a feud with management. I will win. That's why you are booked in Minneapolis in, probably, the most dangerous match of your life. No ropes, barbed wire strands, and ladders ... against me. For me, Adam, this is just Monday. Nothing important. I'm going to walk to that ring, brutally maim you and whoever else you want to bring down, and walk back up. Afterward, I just might have a sandwich and a relaxing Diet Coke while you're being loaded into a stretcher and being carted out of the Target Center.
CD hits the button on the computer once again, turning the webcam off. He types out an e-mail address, and sends it off to the WCF.com webmaster. The scene fades out.
Kaylyn James Evans: Hey hun, good workout?
Creeping Death: Ugh, yeah. Keeping in ring shape is one thing, but preparing for bodily torture is a whole 'nother animal.
Kaylyn James Evans: It gets worse... did you see the links I text you? Adam Young really thinks he's going to get rid of you.
Creeping Death: I did, indeed. Poor chap. How is your training going? And Joey?
Kaylyn James Evans: Good, good. Once I get that TV Title back I'll be able to focus a little harder. As for Joey.. well.. he's something. He's basically a carbon copy of you from seven years ago. Give him a month, and he'll be just as good, if not better.
Creeping Death: Oh shit, awesome. I've got business to take care of here, why don't you head into the Dojo and work on the shooting star?
Kaylyn nods, and stands up. On her way out the door, she gives CD a kiss on the cheek. CD moves over to the chair behind the desk, and hits the play button on his computer. That turns on a webcam.
Creeping Death: Alright, Young. The time for fun and games is over. You've started a crusade to stop me... the guy that signs your paychecks... from running WCF. You don't have to like me, but I'm the only one left. Who else will step in and take over once I decide I have done my duty here? It's been a long, LONG ten years, and now that I am finally in control, I'm stuck with people like you that always have a problem with what I am doing. Yeah, I know we've had talent leave. Yeah, I know most people in the wrestling world don't like me... but face facts. Since Seth Lerch, three people have tried, and failed to run WCF. It's down to me. You would not have a job to support your thirty seven illegitimate children without WCF, and by proxy, without me. Your very own crusade will be your demise.
... that is, if you even succeed.
It's funny how you mention Knoxville and Kash, beings as I was the one that wanted to hire security and ban them from every building we run. It was me, Young. At the time, I answered to someone else, and he didn't see the evil in their souls. Now that I am the one in control, when was the last time you saw them? Broken and beaten on the WCF Arena floor. My very first order of business was eliminating Danger ... ahem .. tainment, and I did just that. They're no longer a cancer in our lockerroom. Maybe you should open your eyes and ask "He Who Walks the Aisles" to read the dirtsheets a little bit better. But what would I expect from a ghost that will never return?
Yeah, you heard it here first, Adam. Your little pilgrimage is for nothing. Seth Lerch is never coming back to WCF. He has his demons, he has his family, he has his earnings. He still makes money off this place, good money. He doesn't need to come back and run it, that what he has us puppets doing. The only problem with that is ... I'm no puppet. I've been around Seth Lerch longer than anyone in WCF combined. He lives thousands of miles from me, but we may as well be brothers. I could tell you anything about his life, and he could do the same about mine. I know, in my heart, that WCF is now my project. You, Adam? You don't know shit. If you don't like it, well good, leave. I'll send your termination papers to the hospital for you to sign Tuesday afternoon. You're not in my mind, in fact, you're far from it. If anything, I'm in yours. Maybe after you see this, you'll realize that you're in the wrong. I'm hoping against hope that Seth will come back and I can just go back to being a wrestler. That's what I'm meant to do. I'm supposed to be in the ring hurting people, not behind a fucking desk. This isn't me. The second Seth comes to me and asks for his company back, it's his. Don't hold your breath, though.
I am making awesome money, yeah, but for something I don't even want. Adam, you know me. You've been around me for years now. This, legit, isn't me, man. Making matches, producing Slam, signing paychecks. A far cry from Burning Hammers, Shining Wizards, and Phoenix Splashes. With the power and money comes the ladies, I know. Kaylyn is a perfect example of a perk of being the man. Would she be on my arm if I was just a lonely ol' wrestler? Who knows? She surely wouldn't have met me under good circumstances, I'd probably have kicked her head off in the ring before we ever said a word to each other. However, being the guy that hired her, I was able to sit down with her for an interview, do a follow-up lunch, show her the Burning Hammer Dojo, all that, without being in the ring. It's a noble concept. This burden that has been laid on my shoulders has some good, some kind of light at the end of the tunnel.
Another light is shutting you the fuck up. See, when you try to piss off a guy like me, you end up hurt. I run things here. I can do whatever, whenever I want. I do my best to play fair, but you, Adam, you just don't get it. Let this be a lesson to not only you, but whoever else tries to piss me off. Do not start a feud with management. I will win. That's why you are booked in Minneapolis in, probably, the most dangerous match of your life. No ropes, barbed wire strands, and ladders ... against me. For me, Adam, this is just Monday. Nothing important. I'm going to walk to that ring, brutally maim you and whoever else you want to bring down, and walk back up. Afterward, I just might have a sandwich and a relaxing Diet Coke while you're being loaded into a stretcher and being carted out of the Target Center.
CD hits the button on the computer once again, turning the webcam off. He types out an e-mail address, and sends it off to the WCF.com webmaster. The scene fades out.
