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Post by Shaun Hart on Nov 14, 2022 19:04:48 GMT
Match one Fatal Four Way Match Mike Angelo vs Andre Cash vs Mark Alessio vs Obsidian
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Post by The Mafioso on Nov 17, 2022 15:43:42 GMT
The Alessio Files - Episode 002 - The Way Back.
Prologue: Scene opens to Mark, sitting in front of a long, mahogany table inside of his father's mansion on the outskirts of Rimini, having promised that he would attend a debriefing session before he heads off to Barcelona for his return to an IIW ring. Attired in a charcoal Armani suit/navy blue tie/white JC penny shirt with black loafers set, he appears to be all business at one side of the table, whilst his father is attired in a black Armani suit/black tie/white Louis Vutton t-shirt with chocolate brown loafers at the other side of the table.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" the elder Alessio asks, looking deep into his son's eyes.
"Yes." Mark affirms. "I need to do this. For me. I need to know that I can get back into the ring and perform at my best. Get back to where I once was."
Dante, unable to deny the fire in his son's eyes matching the one within his words, simply nods his head, a small smile peering across his face. Proud of his son for wanting to get back into the rigors of wrestling once more.
"Just remember," Dante states, exhaling. "Go out there and show the world what it means to be an Alessio. Make us proud, son."
"I will." Mark whispers.
With that, the scene ends with the two staring at one another.
Scene 1: Scene re-opens to Mark, this time sitting inside of Room 212 of the Eurostars Grand Marina Hotel GL in Barcelona, atop a black leather one seat couch. Attired in a white Burberry Polo shirt, black pants and chocolate brown leather loafers, he reclines back in the chair as he looks at the fifty-inch TV positioned six feet from where he is sitting. On the TV currently, appears to be a news studio, talking about the hot button topics of the day in global news, as well as about upcoming events in the city. Including the Pay per view event that in a little over two weeks' time, will signal the return of Mark to a wrestling ring. An event that has been on his mind ever since landing.
"This is where it all begins again. Where I see just how far everything has come in the eighteen months I have been away," he comments to himself. "If I can keep my word and get back to where I once was. To finding my way back into the hunt for the international championship."
Upon stating those final two words, a sigh leaves his lips as he reflects upon that match with Grace. Knowing that even if the physical scars are healed. Even if he has medically cleared to resume his career, stepping into the IIW ring again is a completely different story. He knows that psychologically; scars still remain inside of him. They have caused numerous nightmares and sleepless nights for him, and he knows that if he is to truly prove to himself that this is the right choice. That he is capable of stepping back into the ring, these are the sort of hurdles he has to jump over. Continuing to intently watch the screen, he grasps the remote that is resting on the right armrest, turning up the volume.
"In the opening match of the night," the presenter, a woman in her early thirties and wearing a forest green t-shirt, denim jeans and white Adidas sneakers states "We will be seeing the return to the ring of both Mike Angelo and Mark Alessio, as they, along with newcomers Andre Cash and Obsidian in a fatal-four-way match,"
He smirks at this, listening as the presenter continues on.
"A match that will be a test to see if either Mark or Mike have lost a step in their time away from the ring, or if the youth of Cash and Obsidian will be able to show they are ready to climb up the ranks of the company and how far it has come since the former two were last here. It's a match I know I'm not going to be missing and you shouldn't either,"" flipping her cue cards, she prepares to move onto the next match, as Mark turns the volume back down.
"Perfect," he remarks "Three men. One in the same position as me, two who are where I was when I first came into the IIW. This is exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I need, to ensure my statement is heard loud and clear."
It is then that Mark's train of thought is broken by the sound of his phone's ringtone. Pulling it out of the pocket of his pants, he sees that it is Giorgi, his agent slash advisor and presses answer, raising the phone to his ear.
"Hello Gio," he states in an all-business tone, awaiting the elder man's response. "Yes, I just heard about it now."
His reply hinting that Giorgi had just asked him if he heard about the match, he lightens the pressure against his ear.
"Don't worry. I'm ready for anything they might want to throw at me. I know I can handle this," he states, both as a message to himself and Giorgi. "I wouldn't have come back if I didn't think I could get back into the picture. I'm still only twenty-three after all,"
Listening once more, he chuckles at an unheard statement coming from the other side of the line.
"Trust me, they won't know what hit them in that ring," he allows himself a smile at those words "That I am sure of,"
He then leans forward, moving the phone slightly away from his ear.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow," he remarks, pressing the "end call" button and placing his phone back into his pocket. "I hope they're all ready, because I'm planning on making sure the world knows just what they have been missing since I've been done."
Those are the final words heard, as Mark returns his attention to the TV and the scene fades.
Scene 2: Scene re-opens to Mark, this time wearing a navy-blue JC Penny t-shirt, denim jeans that are held up by a chocolate brown, golden buckled belt and black leather cowboy style boots, sitting in front of an oaken table within the Con Gracia restaurant. He has rented it out for this express purpose, having set up a tripod and camera at the other end of the table. Behind him, is a ornately painted wall with a snow-white background and gold trimming, matching the classy and fine dining vibe the restaurant gives off to patrons who enter the establishment.
"Mike Angelo," he remarks. "I have heard good things about you, although you and I have never shared a ring together. I know that like myself, you too are returning to the ring and that this match presents an opportunity to show you haven't lost a step, just as it does for me."
His words sincere, he looks into the camera, relaxed but remaining all business in his approach.
"I respect you. I admire your willingness to return to the sport and prove that even though you might be older. Even though a lot of people might disregard you as a relic of a bygone era. A man who is only in this for one last payday before he rides off into the sunset, that you are still more than capable of hanging in the ring. That you are somebody who cannot and should not be cast aside."
He smiles, glancing at the glass of red wine that is positioned in front and to the right of him, shaking his head. Turning back to face the camera, his expression returns to its business-like appearance.
"Just as it was the last time you were in the IIW. When you were able to win the United Kingdom championship and prove that an old dog can learn a new trick. Or at least, keep up with the newer, most flashy dogs in this industry," he states, pondering something. "I watched you at home, thinking to myself about how it would be amazing to be able to step into the ring with you. To go toe to toe against a legend of this sport and see where I stand. Back then, I was still hurt. I was unable to walk, let alone consider anything more than stretches but now... now I get the chance to go into that ring and look you dead in the eye."
Mark places his right hand atop the table, his posture straightened as he gives off the illusion of a mob boss. One not too dissimilar to his own father.
"Dad always told me to respect but not fear the opposition. to give them their dues but be mindful of seeing them as anything more than what they are. Another person who is standing between me and where I want to be. That is how I am treating you, Mike. I respect you. I know you are still capable in between those ropes, but that doesn't mean I am going to allow you to walk out of Explosion triumphant," his words become more direct "That it will be you who takes home the glory. Not while I'm in that ring."
His forehead begins to wrinkle as he scowls. His stare becoming more intense.
"We may both have something to prove. We may both be the known names in this match, you more than I seeing as you were here more recently and you did what I couldn't, but don't think for a second that will guarantee you a victory. Or that I am simply going to lay down for you in the ring." he laughs "I plan on going into this match and showing that even though you are a legend. An icon. A man who has never lost here in the IIW, you are still just a man. he lowers the tone of his voice, though it is still loud enough so as to be audible. "A man who can be beat. A man who I can take down and show the world just what should have happened all those months ago... what I was going to do in the international championship tournament before my injury.”`
Mark then reaches out with his right hand, grabbing the glass and gently swirling it around. Being mindful not to spill any of the contents within.
"Making sure I am the first man to beat you. The first one to overcome your aura of invincibility here in the IIW." he smiles once more "It's not personal, Mike. It's just business."
The scene then closes as those words resonate throughout the air; the camera having automatically stopped recording upon Mark's signal.
Scene 3: Scene opens to Mark, sitting in the pitch black of night, inside of what appears to be a gym on the outskirts of Barcelona, judging by the shadowy outlines of equipment that can be made out. Much like the shadowy figure of Mark, who is wearing a black Nike t-shirt, black Nike shorts and black Nike sneakers as he sits atop the freshly polished oak bench closest to the lockers. It is then that a light is flicked on, confirming that this is a gym.
"Andre Cash..." he states, making sure to look into the camera as his voice floats through the air. "A man who was the most ejected player on the football field in his state back in high school and is seen by many as the future of the sport. Someone who feeds off the violence and the spotlight."
Mark twists his mouth into a smile.
"Something you put on full display when you walked into the ring at Mayhem and dispatched Jack Tyde, proving those statements about you being a threat. A name that people should remember to be correct, and now you find yourself stepping into the ring with three other men, including myself. Looking to continue to dominate," he pauses, leaning back against the cool steel of the locker behind him "To ensure that the entire locker room is put on notice that you are ready and willing to tear through them. Yet here I am, standing in your way. A redwood of a roadblock that you must tear through if you are to make that statement into reality."
He chuckles, remembering that redwood line from when he used it to refer to himself against Xander Fillmore. A statement that most who have encountered him agree with.
"I'm sure you'll see me as just like your opponents on the football field and believe you can move me as you moved them, but you will learn that it won't be as easy as you think. That I'm not like those you faced in high school. That you can't just mow through me and think you are going to walk out of the ring with a victory. Stand over me with your hand raised in the air," he comments, his eyes steely in their focus. "No matter how strong you are. No matter how hard you hit."
It can now be seen that his hands are taped up with white sports tape. A tradition he has partaken in whenever he has completed a training session, and has done ever since he started out in kickboxing.
"I'll hit back twice as hard. Just as I did in judo and kickboxing and just as I did to Xander Fillmore when he stepped into the ring with me eighteen months ago. Like you, he had an athletic background. He was even an Olympic gold medalist, yet he stepped into the ring against me and realized that I am the very redwood I said I was. That I am immovable without assistance." his words cut through the air as he leans forward "A lesson you shall learn at Explosion. I respect your achievements. I know you're going to go into this match with momentum on your side. A chip on your shoulder, but so am I. I'm here to prove I belong. That there is nobody who is going to stop me from getting back to where I need to be."
Mark pauses, his lips curling upward.
"Where I know I can be. You, along with Mike and the third man joining us in this match. A man who I will get to soon enough, are the ones I plan on going through in order to truly commence my rebirth," his voice lowers into a whisper "No matter what it takes."
With that, the scene fades.
Scene 3: Scene opens to Mark, this time sitting on the snow white and mint green carpeting inside of his hotel room, wearing the same attire he had at the gym. His legs are crossed, and the camera is positioned in a manner so that it is looking up at his face.
"They say that we should fear the unknown," he states in a prophetic tone "That it is what lurks in the shadows, that care the most frightening things to confront,"
He glares downward, looking directly into the camera. Not a shred of fear crossing the young Mafioso's face.
"That is what you are in this match, Obsidian," he remarks "The unknown element. The shadow that lurks in the darkness, waiting for the moment to reveal yourself. Where Mike, Andre and I are known, you are not. Whether that is because you are the monster you are alluded to as being, or because you are simply a lost soul, I do not know..." he hesitates before continuing "Is that you appear to feed off the fears of those who cross you. Those who you feel you can make into your prey, knowing that your mask. Your cold heart and ensuring they are not the same after they encounter you. After they step into the ring and look you in the eye."
His expression turns sterner as he shifts his body weight.
"I'm not them though. I'm not those kids you claimed to terrorize back in Mexico. I'm not those gyms you roamed, looking for people to feed upon. I'm not intimidated of scared by you being able to hide your emotions behind your mask or the mystique that surrounds you," he confidentially states, his eyes narrowing "I am the man who will look you dead in the eye and tell you to bring your worst. To punish me as you so put it. To show me why you are the monster. The bear that roams the IIW. Why you will be the one to rule this company,"
Exhaling, he lifts the camera, so as to give people, specifically Obsidian himself, a better look at the cold expression across his face.
"Show me why I should be scared of you. You might be the unknown, but I embrace it. I welcome the unknown because the moment you step into the ring, it will all come out into the world," he drops his voice to an eerie ton "You won't be able to hide behind your mask. Your threats. Your supposed demonic desires. as we, along with the fans, will be able to see them in person."
Mark then returns his voice to normal, though states more bluntly "Show us why you aren't just smoke and mirrors. Otherwise, you will be left at my feet, the victim of the rebirth. Of me ascending back toward the throne I was once headed toward, just as Mike and Andre will."
He then smiles, giving one last stare into the camera.
"It's just business. Remember that. I'm doing this not just for me or my family, but for the IIW as a whole."
The scene then slowly fades, as Mark holds his stare and the camera zooms into his eyes.
Epilogue: With his intentions made clear for his explosion match, will Mark be able to come out on top? Or will one of Mike, Andre or Obsidian stand in his way? Will he have anything else to say before Explosion? Is he truly ready, or are the psychological scars still burdening him?
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Post by Mike Angelo on Nov 19, 2022 22:10:51 GMT
~ This place feels so familiar, yet so different. It's like something I've done before, but alien all the same. The last time, I think I was running from something. A specter that had been haunting me for years, decades even. But this time its different. Now I'm the one who is doing the chasing. No, not just chasing...hunting. I made a lot of mistakes the last time that I won't make again. I tried to be someone who I wasn't and that was never going to work. I may have been successful, but at what cost? For the first time in a long time, I finally know who I am and what I should be doing. Not only is the body healed, but the mind is also. The self-doubt, the feelings of guilt, the family drama...none of that matters anymore. Nothing in life is ever going to be as important as this. It was true back then and it is true again now. I have always had just one purpose in life and one reason for being on this planet. I may have spent a long time trying to change that, but facts are facts and I have finally accepted it. No more running. ~
~ The truth kept pressing on me as each day, each year, passed by. It kept calling to me from a place that I thought was long gone. The same place I tried to ignore last year. But I was more afraid than anything to find it a year ago. I'm not afraid anymore. Now I'm going to do everything I can to make sure I get it all back. It isn't just about the fame or the money. It's about the acceptance. Not from the fans or the other boys in the back, but an acceptance of something much greater. It was like the universe was holding me in the very palm of its proverbial hand. I was the most important person in the world, even if just for a short period in the grand scheme of it all. And I have spent every moment of my life since losing it fighting the burning need to be that same person again. I'm done trying to suppress it. The world will be mine once again. I will reclaim that place of importance and glory I once held. Nothing, and nobody, is going to stand in my way of that. ~
~ Whatever mistakes I've made are of no consequence now. Whatever relationships I ruined along the way can be buried and forgotten. The only thing that matters now is the only thing that mattered all that time ago. It isn't about proving anything to anyone, it's about recapturing my place among the immortals and seeing my name burning bright at the top of the card once more before its too late. The ignorance of my youth has been replaced with the hard earned wisdom of life. I am more dangerous now that I was back then. And soon, the wrestling world is going to witness that first hand. Every voice who steps up to challenge it will find out the hard way when they are silenced. And believe me when I say I welcome any and all who think they'll be the ones to derail my destiny before its fulfilled. ~
~ Time takes everything away in the end. But I'm here to take it back. ~ The scene opens up on a busy gym, full of treadmills and weight sets, with a wrestling ring in the middle of the layout. There are dozens of people talking and running around, students mostly, while a few are in the ring practicing back bumps and other basic moves. Standing off to the side, away from the action, are two men. One is dressed in workout attire, a cutoff shirt and gym shorts. The other is wearing a pair of black work boots, blue jeans, and an old wrestling t-shirt with an unfamiliar logo on it. It's clear to anyone who knows anything about the wrestling business that it's Tyler Hawk and Mike Angelo, the owners and head trainers of the Young Breed Academy training center. Angelo, last seen on IIW T.V. late last year, has a manila folder in his hands with the IIW logo clearly on the front.
Tyler Hawk: “That's wild, man. Are you going to sign it?”
Mike Angelo: “I don't know. I just got it today, literally right now. Just looked at it in the car before coming inside.”
Tyler Hawk: “Oh come on man, you know you've got to sign it. Especially now, considering...”
Mike Angelo: “Considering what?”
Hawk puts his hands up in the air, palms outwards.
Tyler Hawk: “I just mean, you know, with all the stuff going on between you and Elise. I figured you'd want to get back out on the road and clear your head some.”
Mike Angelo: “Clear my head? You've got to be kidding me. Signing this would be a whole lot more than just clearing my head. Especially since I've already signed the deal with the other place.”
Tyler Hawk: “Yeah, but that's not a written thing. And I figured that since you're going to be out making money again, why not go all out, ya know?”
Angelo laughs at the thought.
Mike Angelo: “Did Elise put you up to this? You sound just like her. Trying to get me to go anywhere but here.”
Tyler Hawk: “Come on, Mike. You know that's not what I'm trying to say. I just feel like you've already got the bug again, so why not go all out with it?”
Mike Angelo: “You have no idea, bud. And I do have some unfinished business there.”
He looks down at the logo on the envelope before opening it up and reading the first page of the document. He laughs again.
Mike Angelo: “The new faces of IIW look to make an impact and send a message to the fans and locker room that they aren't any one-hit wonders but legit stars that will shine but only one can walk out with a win and the bragging rights.”
Tyler Hawk: “Are they serious? Or confused by the name thing maybe?”
Mike Angelo: “I mean, I know a year is a long time in this business, but it's not like I wasn't there for a good few months, right?”
Tyler Hawk: “You won the belt Freddy has now too, didn't you?”
Mike Angelo: “I did, yeah. But hey, guess I have to start from square one again. If I decide to sign, that is.”
Hawk takes the contract from Mike and begins to read it over.
Tyler Hawk: “The pay is pretty good, at least.”
Mike Angelo: “It always was. There was a reason I was willing to move over there last year, after being out of the game for so long. Plus you add that into what I'll be making working two companies and I should be all set, even if Elise wants half of it.”
Tyler Hawk: “Come on, Mike. Don't say that, you guys have gone through rough patches before and worked things out. You'll be fine no matter what you decide to do.”
Mike Angelo: “This time has been...different. Through no fault of her own. My priorities are different now. And she has Moira on her side too.”
Tyler Hawk: “I can tell.”
Mike Angelo: “Look, there's just stuff I need to do before it's too late. I know you quit wrestling full time a long time ago, but you understand what I'm talking about. I have unfinished business and I owe it to myself to explore that before I run out of time.”
Tyler Hawk: “Jesus, Mike, you act like you're dying or something.”
Mike Angelo: “Maybe part of me has been...”
Angelo takes the contract back from Tyler and puts it back into the folder before walking away. He heads back to his private office, pulls the contact back out and sets it on his desk. He then spends the next couple of hours just...thinking. Finally, as the gym fully empties out and the lights get shut off one by one outside, he sits down at the desk and pulls out a pen and sets it down. Before signing, he pulls out his phone and puts it on record before propping it up against his computer monitor so that both the contract and his chair is within frame.
The Epitome: “IIW...my old friends. How the hell have you been? It's been awhile, hasn't it? A little over a year since the last time I appeared for the company. But it certainly feels a lot longer, doesn't it? That's how it's always been in this business. A year may as well be ten. The fans stop caring the moment they latch on to some other star and forget you. Most of the so called friends you make in the locker room forget you once they realize you can't help them advance their own career anymore and stop taking your calls. Hell, even the promoter forgets about you once the merchandise sales dry up. I can only assume that's what happened with me and IIW. When I decided to leave the company and go back home to Canada, I could have taken a championship with me. But I did the right thing, and left the United Kingdom belt there. I didn't leave on bad terms or anything like that, I just had some things I needed to take care of from a personal and professional level and it was holding me back in wrestling...even though I never lost a match during my return run.
Yet, now that I am back, and back to using the moniker I made famous almost 20 years ago, the IIW...you...stick me in the opener against a bunch of guys who haven't done a single thing in this business? I have to prove myself? I guess not once having my shoulders pinned in an IIW ring wasn't enough to prove myself before, huh? I guess beating Shawn Stone for the Interim UK Title wasn't enough, was it? I guess making Anthony Phoenix look like an absolute coward before easily taking the actual UK belt from him wasn't enough for you, was it?”
His demeanor is much different now than when he began the promo, and vastly different to the man who was in IIW just a year ago for those who do remember him.
The Epitome: “You know what, though? It's fine. It's all fine. Because to be honest, the man who you all saw last year is not the man that I am now. The IIW never got the Mike Angelo experience, because I was too afraid to be who I know I should have been. I was worried that I was going to fall into the same trap and make the same mistakes I did in the RWF years ago, but the longer I tried to avoid it and ignore it, the more I began to realize that there were no mistakes made at all back then. The wrestler I was back then was dangerous. I had a reputation that was built on the blood, energy, sweat, and tears of not only myself but those unlucky enough to cross my path. I did whatever I needed to do, and took out whoever I needed to take out, in order to keep on my path to the top. I won every title there was to win, a true Grand Slam champion, because I refused to sit by idly and watch as my career stalled out or my name got diminished. I refused to let my star dim, and nothing stood in my way of making sure that it didn't. I burnt a lot of bridges, and ruined a lot of relationships, but if given the chance to do it all over again, I wouldn't blink twice.
Which is what leads me to here and now. Signing this contract and coming back to IIW a changed man. I'm getting another chance to do it all over again, and I won't try to be someone that I am not a second time. So I'm going to sign this paper and send it back and step back into the ring against whoever it is you want me to. I've already shown that I can beat the best that the IIW has to offer, even when I'm not fully committed to myself and after being away from the ring for over a decade. Now that I've spent the last year here training and getting into even better shape, and doing the soul searching that I needed to do, nothing is going to stop me from blazing my way to the top in this company, and whatever other company I decide to wrestle for. I have always been a winner. I have always been championship worthy. And now the IIW is going to get the full experience first hand.”
He leans back in the chair, now sitting with a much more casual posture, and picks up the top page of the contract, reads a few lines to himself and laughs.
The Epitome: “Look, I'm going to be honest with you, I have no clue who any of these guys even are. The only Obsidian I know is a rock. The only Cash I know is Johnny. And...who's the other one? Alessio? Sounds familiar but can't say I remember anything of importance. From what I know, he's just another rich asshole, and I only have room in my life for one of those. Sorry, Fred. But here's the thing, boys, I have never once had an issue letting the new guys take a shot at...taking me out. Why? Because I was once in that same spot. A literal young and hungry unknown guy who had nothing but guts and a desire to be something in the wrestling world. I never backed down from a challenge, like I'm sure none of you will, and took my lumps, just like you will. But the big different between someone like The Epitome Mike Angelo and...Obsidian and Andre Cash...and maybe to a lesser extent Mark Alessio for the sole reason that he's at least been on TV more than once before...is that I had more than just passion or drive. I had, and still have, that little bit extra that matters most. That thing that separates the enhancement talent from the megastars. The thing that turns a mid-carder into a main event guy. It's not something that you can teach, and trust me, plenty have tried. You can tell who has it and who doesn't just from watching them in the ring and how they carry themselves out of it. Some people try to fake it, but you can always tell who is legit and who isn't. I have always been legit.”
He sits back forward in the chair.
The Epitome: “But you boys...well, you're not. And I can tell, even from just the little bit I've managed to find about all of you. I had to make some calls to old pals of mine who still run the Indy circuits around the globe to even get any kind of info on most of you. I was wrestling in Mexico before Obsidian was even born. I was ripping off masks and beating guys half my size before anyone even knew who I was. I was wrestling in rings surrounded by chickens and dirt and booze and shady characters. I know all about Mexico and the Lucha world, even if there is a whole country between me. I also know that men who hide behind a mask are hiding their insecurities. They say its tradition, I say its cowardice. You have to hide your true identity and pretend the mask is someone or something you're not? Been there and done that, pal. It wasn't a mask but I was pretending to be something I wasn't. Never again.
I made friends with some of those shady characters. They've been able to piece together whatever they could on you, Oblong. Wrestling since you were a kid? In my eyes, you're still a child, and at the PPV, I'm going to wrestle circles around you, son. You may have the benefit of youth on your side physically, but that's about it. I may have to ice my knees a little longer after the match, but it's not going to change the outcome at all. You're a non-factor in my eyes. The edgy, spooky attitude and colorful costumes aren't going to phase someone who's done it all and seen it all. I've been in the ring with every personality you can think of. I've been in the ring with every style of wrestling and beyond you can think of. And the truth is that I always found a way to adapt and win. If you're lucky, I won't tear the mask off your face this time. In fact, I'm sure we'd all be lucky to let you keep the thing on.”
He puts both of his hands up in the air in a mocking manner.
The Epitome: “But wait, what about that ol' mountain of a man, Andre Cash? Surely he'll be able to beat the Epitome, right? I mean...he's just so big and strong! And foolish. Foolish enough to believe that he can stroll into IIW with his pals and be something that he isn't. You look like a million bucks, but so has countless upon countless others who have gotten into this business. And frankly, I've never been impressed with the big, dumb body builder types. Well, actually, they tend to be pretty easy to beat, so maybe it's not so bad having guys like you on the roster, Andy. In fact, it always makes the guys like myself look better when we can pin the big dumb oafs like you. So in a sense, maybe you can serve a purpose here in IIW. You can be the guy who makes others look better by losing while looking like a monster. You might have the size and power advantage over myself, and the two other guys in the match, but that's all.
I suggest that whatever else you might need, you try and grab it fast because I really don't think you know what you've gotten yourself into. If you think you're just going to get in the ring at the PPV and toss me around like whatever nobodies you've done that to before...well, you're going to be in for a reality check. I'll be three moves ahead you at every step, and that's giving you the benefit of the doubt. And when you start making mistakes, which guys like you always do, I'll be there to take advantage of them. Say you take your eyes off me for a minute to focus on our buddy el perdedor de la lucha libre Obsidian, and I'll make you pay for it. As I said, I've beaten plenty of guys like you in the past and I'll beat plenty more in the future, starting with you. You've got a long way to go before you have the wits and experience to beat someone like me. But maybe you can do yourself a favor, at least, and try to learn a thing or two from me in the process. That way even though you'll still be a loser, Andy, you won't have a complete waste of a night in the ring.”
He pauses for a moment, looking back at the contact on the desk.
The Epitome: “Mark Alessio, huh? You know, it's always funny when I'll recognize a name and upon doing a little digging realize that it's not the one I was thinking of. Your dad was a pretty well respected and big name in wrestling, wasn't he? That's got to be some reputation to live up to, isn't it? In fact, from what I remember, weren't you kind of a big deal when you first signed with the IIW? People wanted to see just how good the son of a legend like your dad would be. But nothing really ever came of, did I? I mean, I don't recall seeing your name anywhere over the last year or two. I don't have any students here at the Academy saying that they want to be the next Mark Alessio. What happened? An injury, or was it something else? I get wanting to protect whatever bit of pride you have in your family name and bow out before you did anything to embarrass them. I guess it doesn't matter too much now though, since you're back and wanting to give it another go. I'm sure this time will be different, and all that pressure to be something more than you are capable of being won't push down on you and make you break again, right?”
He had a half-smile sort of smirk on his face while saying the last few lines, which fades away before speaking again.
The Epitome: “Look, Alessio. I saw what you had to say about me the other day. About how you respect me and that you can appreciate my desire to get back into the ring after a long layoff to prove myself. That's a nice sentiment, but you know what? I couldn't give a single shit what you think about me. There are only a small handful of people in the wrestling world who's opinion I care about, and even less in IIW. And you're a long way from ever being one of those people. I didn't come back last year just to have one last run, even though that may have been what I was telling myself. I came back to show the world that I was still just as good as I always was. Did I believe that at the time? No, but with each and every win that began to pile up, I started to realize that I was even better than I was before in the ring. But something just wasn't right...I wasn't the person I knew I should have been, no matter how good I was between the ropes. The person that I should have been is who I am now. And that is a bad thing for you, and everyone else in IIW. I have the experience and the desire to become the biggest name in wrestling once again. Something that you could only dream about. The kind of thing that you or your father thinks you should be, I've already been. And will again be soon.
We're not the same and we never will be. You're returning to the nothingness that you were before. I'm returning to uphold a legacy that has been built at the expense of everything I've ever had or held close in life. You're returning to a name that you were lucky enough to be born with. I'm returning to cement my name among the immortals. You, just like the other two, will find out just how serious I am about this when we get into the ring at the PPV. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, will stop me from what I am setting out to accomplish in the wrestling world now that I am back.”
He stands up, picks up the pen again, and signs the contract before putting it back into the folder. He then picks his phone up, and holds it out in front of his face.
The Epitome: “The three of you are just the first three who are going to be lined up and sat down in front of me. I welcome you boys to bring whatever fight you might have in you, but I think we all know that nothing any of you can do is going to be enough to prevent me from walking out of Explosion with my hand and head held high. I know the rest of the IIW who was here the first time remembers who I am and what I am capable of in the ring, even if I'm coming back under a different name. Not to many of them with admit it, but in the back of their mind, they're scared. Especially anyone who is holding a title belt right now. I burned through this company like a field on fire the first time, and it's going to be no different this time. I just have loftier goals this go-around. I want you to be prepared IIW. I want you to be prepared Alessio, Cash, and Obsidian. Because like they say...time takes everything away. But the Epitome is here to take it back.”
With that, he turns off his camera, and preps the video to send into the IIW production team. He also takes the signed contract to get shipped priority back. His return to the IIW and to wrestling is now official. And when the PPV comes around, he's going to pick back up from where he left off...as a winner.
~ End Scene ~
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Post by Obsidian on Nov 20, 2022 0:48:28 GMT
Destruction. That is what awaits the trio of competitors who are unlucky enough to find themselves having to step into the ring against the monster. The masked man of mystery known simply as Obsidian. A man who all they know about him, is what he told them about himself when the ink dried on his contract and he decided to inform them about who he was. Give them a taste of what to expect when he steps between the ropes and engages on a stage far larger than the gyms that he had called home in the past. The gyms that had banned him due to his brand of violence.
Violence that he will rain down upon the poor souls of the IIW who find themselves opposing him. Who find themselves standing in his way toward causing as much pain and suffering as his heart desires. For it could have been twenty men they put into this match, he would still look them in the eyes and cause them to feel fear. To become afraid of just what he is hiding behind the mask. Of just what is the truth about who he is. That's even if they want to know. Yet come Explosion, it will be those three men who will become the first victims. The first trio of people to understand that his bloodlust. The ominous sensation of dread that follows him are not just smoke and mirrors. That they aren't simply idle words used to try and mask a broken soul, but the reality of the man.
Something that enticed the IIW to him, for they know that having a monster. Having a man who is willing to leave bodies in his wake if it means he can hear their screams. Their cries for mercy as he squeeze the life from them. Leaving them bloodied and broken on the mat. Something that the three who are stepping into the ring against him will experience first hand. ~
Atop a rusted steel chair inside of a dimly lit boiler room, inside of the basement of an abandoned and decrepit building, sits Obsidian. Steam surrounding him, there is a small but evident smile across the mouth of his mask as he looks around at the boxes strewn about everywhere. Small stains of water appear on the fabric of his black t-shirt and wolf design but the man appears to be in a sense of peace with his surroundings.
"Three men..." he remarks, looking out at the vast concrete surroundings. "Three men will walk into the ring, knowing not what is about to happen to them. Failing to understand the truth of their situation."
His eyes narrow, as he casts a glance over at the steel cauldron positioned to the left of him. Small blocks of wood are within it, coated with a fine layer of ash.
"It is not my fault that those who control you. Those who give you the false sense of hope you have been feeding of have decided that you are expendable. That you are the ones that they wish to be laid in my hands and destroyed. Just like the poor souls back home who all believed I was a myth." His words filled with disdain, he leans back, the rusted steel pressing against his back. "Just like them, you wish to hold onto the small dosage of life they give you. The ability to say that you have made it in this world, when it is but a figment. A small shard, in order to keep you under their thumbs and cast you away the moment they see no more use for you."
His words stated in a low hiss, he hears the screaming sound of steam attempting to escape from the rusted pipes that run throughout the room, yet pays them no attention. It is a sound that he has become all too familar with in his times residing in rooms just like this. Alone and with nobody to bother him or get into his path. Just the way he likes it.
"It is their way of telling you that you are expendable. That the moment you become a liability to them, they will find themselves a new toy. A new person to mold into their image, hoping that they can do a better job than you did. Hoping that they can withstand the monsters that lurk." He states. "Monsters who are unafraid of them and see them for what they truly are. Children, lost and in need of a direction. A cause that they can rally behind, in the hopes that it will be enough to overcome. That they will be able to escape from its wrath and walk out the other side of the tunnel."
The masked behemoth chuckles.
"What you fail to understand, is that I am no ordinary monster. I am not the sort of monster that you are able to conquer. That you are able to fight and survive... the sort that you can forget about once you are done with them and move onto the next one. Just ask the poor souls who have confronted me in the past. Souls who had convinced themselves that I was all smoke and mirrors. That they would be safe as long as they stuck to what they had been taught. The experiences they had learned." Steam continues rising around him, as his voice turns ice cold. "Only to see that I was the one they couldn't overcome. The one who revealed to them that all along, their fate had been sealed... that they had been led astray this entire time. Lambs who had been led to their slaughter by those who they trusted the most."
Another smile crosses his face, as he states "Just as has happened to the three of you." While his eyes begin to glow a crimson shade of red.
"You three are the ones they have set up. Attempted to instill in order to showcase how the talent here. The wrestlers are supposedly the best in the world, yet all I see are three men who cannot understand the first thing about why they are here. Why they find themselves with no choice but to stare into the eyes of a man who has no other intent but to cause them to suffer. To strip them away from their own comfort zones and drag them into the darkness." He leans forward. "Into the pits of their own sanity. A place from which there is no escape... unless you are able to truly break yourself free from your shackles. From those who set you on the path toward me, refusing to allow you to back away until it is too late and you end up just like those who fell before you."
Rising, he spreads his arms out, the steam beginning to cover him like a cloak. Its water staining the fabric of his clothing, yet he shows no emotion. No sense of discomfort.
"Something that is beyond the three of you." He remarks, his voice more gravelly than it has been. "It does not matter if you believe you are the ones who will finally escape me. Who will step into the ring and prove you are stronger. Better men than those who were in those gyms, because your outcome will be the same as theirs. This is a situation where no matter what you may believe, you are not the ones in control."
His laugh is demonic as he takes three slow, calculated steps forward.
"All you are, are the three puppets chosen to dance for their entertainment. Their amusement. You may believe you are unafraid. That I am simply trying to decieve you and cause you to doubt yourself but the truth is... you already doubt yourselves. You habe already shown fear by trying to make yourselves out to be more than what you are." His eyes continue to glow as he continues. "Trying to make people rally behind you, in the hopes that it will extinguish the terror brimming inside of you. That it will allow you to rationalize why you cannot follow through with what you promised."
Squatting, the hissing of the cauldron grows louder and louder, to the point that it is ear-splitting.
"Why you became just like the rest." He whispers. "I know that is what scares you the most. Knowing that you are no different. That you are just as faceless. Nameless as everybody else whereas I am the one that you cannot ignore. The name that holds itself on your lips. The one who causes you to look over your shoulder, lest I choose you as my prey. When we step into that ring, you will experience what it means to see a monster. To stand in hell itself as you drown in its flames."
Walking toward the exit, he makes one final statement. "I will be your guide. All you have to do, is step into the ring," before vanishing into the distance.
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Post by Mike Angelo on Dec 2, 2022 0:38:01 GMT
~ It's close now. I can almost reach out and touch it. The thing I've been running from for so long has finally caught back up to me. I thought I would be more afraid, but I feel the opposite. I welcome the changes that it will bring. They are...familiar when everything else in life is so unfamiliar. It reminds me of a time in which I wasn't afraid of anything. A time when I was a better man. When I would do whatever I had to do in order to succeed. I lost that somewhere along the way and thought it was for the better. But the longer I tried to ignore it, hide from it, the more and more I slipped. I caught myself from falling just in time and now the world will see just what I can do now that I'm who I was always meant to be once more.
Whoever I was trying to be only lead me down a path of failure and resentment. It was as if I was the one going out of the way to sabotage my own legacy. And for what? So that I could make amends with a family who didn't care? So that I could appease thankless fans who had all but forgotten about me? So that I could make excuses for the things that time had taken away from me? None of that was ever going to matter as much as what I had accomplished before and what I will once again. The only thing that matters to me now is being victorious. Not just in the wrestling ring but at life. I will not stop until I am once again at the very top of this world. And when I look out at the bodies before me, the burning bridges, and broken friendships that will surely come from my rise...I will simply smile. For I have witnessed the same before me long ago and will again soon.
I felt as if I was losing my mind, but now I see. The man I was always meant to be. It all makes sense like it used to. You want to talk about reality? I am reality. ~ Mike Angelo drives through the desert of the American Southwest in his rental car, not entirely sure where he's headed. It's not as warm as he thought it was supposed to be, which has him reconsidering renting the convertible. Especially now that the top won't go back up. The guy at the counter of the Hertz tried to warn him, but nobody tells him what to do, not before and not now. But to be fair, what is a Canadian supposed to know about the desert? The GPS on his phone decided to lay down to take the J.O.B and now he was driving down barely paved roads and desolate highways with nothing else but semi trucks with weary looking drivers behind the wheel.
Mike Angelo: “Where the fuck am I...”
He sees another sign for a town he's never heard of before, knowing that it was likely going to be nothing but another half mile stretch of sketchy looking service stations and convenience stores. But he also needed gas and didn't want to end up having to walk through the desert thanks to running out, no matter what the temperature was. Plus, even though it pained him in every way, stopping to ask where he was and where he could find the place he was going might be a good idea. Nothing in life ever seemed to be easy, but he knew that sometimes it was okay to take the easy way out. He reached the town, if you could call it that, and his previous suspicions about it were right on point. It was a nothing little place that only had a single place to stop to fuel up. He pulled in, got out and took out his wallet to pay at the pump, only to discover that the place was so old that you could only pay inside.
Mike Angelo: “Wonderful...”
A bell rings as he steps through the door of what might be the oldest looking gas station still in existence. He may as well have taken a time machine back to 1995. The old man working behind the counter, the unhealthy looking guy buying cigarettes, and the old woman sweeping an aisle all stopped what they were doing to turn and look at him as he entered. He was used to having eyes on him, but most of the time they weren't this weird. Actually, the three of them looked like they would fit in at most wrestling shows considering the kinds of fans that show up to them. He gets behind the guy in line and waits as the clerk takes a good ten minutes just to ring up the pack. Angelo tilts his head to the right far enough to crack his neck, doing everything in his power to keep calm about having to wait. The day seemed to only be going in one direction and little things like this had been setting him off ever since landing in Vegas. He wonders if perhaps all the luck stays in the epicenter of the city and the further away you get, the worst time you're going to have. After what feels like another ten minutes of waiting, he finally gets his turn. The old man looks him up and down, before croaking out a greeting of sorts.
Clerk: “Can I help you?”
Mike Angelo: “Yeah, can I get forty on...uh...the pump out there?”
Clerk: “Which one?”
Mike turns and glances out at the two pumps, one empty and the other with his car parked next to it.
Mike Angelo: “Whichever one that is?”
Clerk: “You ain't from around here, are ya?”
Mike Angelo: “What gave it away? Look, can you just ring me up? I'm trying to get to where I'm going before it gets dark out.”
Clerk: “Where ya going?
Mike Angelo: “Uhhh...yeah, maybe you can help me with that too? It's uh...well, it's an old radio station that is supposed to be someplace out here. Owned by a local guy, Bart Ringer. Wouldn't happen to know where that is, would you?”
Clerk: “Ahhh! Now it makes sense! You're one of them flyin' saucer huntin' boys, ain't ya?”
Mike Angelo: “Unless that's some kind of weird euphemism I don't know about, no, no I'm not. Look, can you help or not?”
The clerk lets out a big laugh.
Clerk: “Son, I'm the least of your problems if you're out here looking for Bart. But sure, I know where you need to go. Keeping heading northwest and when you hit the next town over, his place is on the far end of there. You can't miss it. Now that'll be fifty dollars, please.”
Mike Angelo: “I said forty.”
Clerk: “Yeah, but that was b'fore I done helped ya out. Seems like ya owe me.”
Mike Angelo: “You know what, I can respect it. Here.”
He hands the old man a fifty dollar bill, and heads back out to his car to fill up the tank. Once he's back on the road, it's another thirty or so minutes before he reaches the next town over. This place was somehow even more desolate looking than where he had just been. Half the houses and stores along the highway were shuttered up and long abandoned. The one thing he could see was what he had been looking for: a tall pair of radio antenna that rose high above any other building in the town. Upon following the antenna and pulling up to the location, he begins to wonder just what he was doing out here. He knew the place he was looking for was going to be a little off the beaten path given the man's reputation, but he was not expecting this. The compound, for lack of a better word, looked liked something out of a doomsday scenario. A high fence with barbed wire surrounded three very old and very worn down looking trailers sitting in roughly a triangle shape in the middle of the property. The gate was open, however, and he was able to pull in and park. It was getting dark fast and he could see that only one of the trailers had any lights on, so he went to the door and gave it a good knock.
Mike Angelo: “Hello? Anyone in there? I'm looking for Bart...”
The door swings open wildly towards him suddenly, and an older man in thick black frame glasses, a white t-shirt that had seen better days, a pair of old shorts, and flip-flops stands before him with a shotgun in his hands.
Bart Ringer: ”DID THEY FOLLOW YOU?! QUICK, GET IN HERE!”
Mike Angelo: “Wait what? Did who follow me? I-”
Bart Ringer: “Did you not hear me, dipshit? I said get in here!”
Bart steps out of the doorway and grabs onto Mike's arm to usher him inside. Mike takes a few steps in and turns around to see Bart locking at least five different locks on the door before peering back out through the peephole.
Mike Angelo: “Who is it you think is following me? Do you even know who I am?”
Bart Ringer: “Yeah, yeah, you're Michael Jay Arches, also known as The Epitome Mike Angelo. You have a daughter name Moira and an estranged wife named Elise. Son of a Canadian country music star. You're a former RWF World Champion and once burned the title belt with acid.”
Mike Angelo: “How the hell did you know all of that?”
Bart Ringer: “Wikipedia, you idiot.”
Angelo looks around the trailer and notices that it's actually much more clean and orderly than the outside led on. Almost as if the whole look of the exterior was a ploy.
Bart Ringer: “Not bad, is it? Keeps the riff-raff from digging around out here if I keep the outside looking like shit.”
Mike Angelo: “How did...”
Bart Ringer: “How did I know what you were thinking? How do you think, genius? Your face gives you away. You got too much...what's the term? Personality? You need to learn how to just exist. Keeps people like me from knowing everything about you the moment I look at ya.”
Mike Angelo: “Look man, I didn't drive all the way out here for games.”
Bart Ringer: “Does this look like a fuckin' racquetball court to you?”
Something in Angelo knew that he probably should be getting pissed off at the confrontation, but another part of him could see that the old man was in fact playing a game. He was testing him.
Mike Angelo: “Alright, alright. So you obviously got my email, even though you still use an AOL email address, so you know why I came to you. So can we cut the shit and just talk business?”
The man sets the shotgun down upright next to the door and pushes his way past Angelo and into the small kitchen area of the trailer.
Bart Ringer: “Can't.”
Mike Angelo: “Why not? I'm here now, what's the problem?”
Bart Ringer: “Can't. Got a show to do.”
Mike Angelo: “Yeah, see, that's kind of the whole reason I came out here.”
Bart Ringer: “I know exactly why you came out here. And did from the start. But that don't matter, you'll have to come back tomorrow.”
Mike Angelo: “Come back tomorrow? My hotel is back in Vegas!”
Bart Ringer: “Ain't my problem, Michael Jay Arches. Sleep in your car or something.”
Mike Angelo: “It's a convertible, the top won't go back up, and it's already cold out there.”
The man heads back to the door with a thermos of coffee in one hand and begins unlocking the locks with the other.
Bart Ringer: “Not my problem, I'll see you tomorrow or never again. Your choice. Don't forget to shut the door on your way out.”
He leaves through the door, with Mike still standing alone in the trailer.
Mike Angelo: “Can I at least get a blanket or something...”
Angelo walks back out of the trailer in time to see Bart entering the one with the antenna on top. He knew it would be a losing battle, and he once again accepted a small bit of defeat for the day and went back to his car. He gets back in and tries to get the top to come back up one more time, before just turning around and forcing the thing up and over. He heard a loud pop and could tell he broke something, but the top was closed and that's all that mattered. He tilts his head far to the left this time and it cracks again. He then pulls out his phone, turns on the overhead light, and props the phone up on the dashboard before hitting record.
The Epitome: “Holy hell, it's about that time isn't it, IIW? It's about that time that I once again prove to the world that I am still a force to be reckoned with. That I will not be fucked with nor denied. That I will not be talked down to without recourse. That I will humble those who are unlucky enough to step between the ropes with me. Each and every one of you know that what I'm saying is the truth, because the last time I walked into this place, I walked out without anyone beating me. I hadn't wrestled in 12 years when I debuted in the IIW last year, and yet not a single person that management put in front stood a chance of getting the better of me. They were lined up one by one and I kept putting them down in order. I won a faux championship and then easily beat the coward who held onto the real belt. The guy tried to run away from me, that's how afraid he was to even face me. And who was it that finally put a stop to my run of dominance? Who was it that was able to break through and do any kind of real damage to me? Just one man...myself. I came back to wrestling in the physical form, but was far from there mentally. It was as if I was a stranger wearing the colors of another man. I was donning the mask of someone who I didn't deserve to be last year. I was never even close to being as good as I know I can be, because of the fact that I was holding myself back. And yet...the results speak for themselves. I never lost in IIW, and now that I've unshackled who I was always meant to be, that streak with only continue now. The last time I returned to wrestling, it was for all the wrong reasons. I was trying to appease people who only ever took from me and gave nothing in return. But now I'm back to recapture the rightful glory that I had earned a long time ago. I came back to find that person I was once was. The person who cared about only one thing in life...success at any cost.
I have spent far too many wasted years pretending to be someone who I was clearly never meant to be. I rested on the laurels of past achievements and became complacent. I let people walk all over me and allowed myself to fade into the twilight. I was a fucking shooting star and I let myself burn out! But no more. No, you see, now I'm making up for the lost time. I'm going to go harder than I have ever gone in this business, and prove to the world that I deserved what I had all those years ago. And that I still deserve what I'll take now. Winning the UK Title last year was just a preview of what I can accomplish, and now that I've got my mind right for the first time in a long time, nothing will stop me. Nobody can stop me.”
His gaze begins to drift from the phone to out into the night sky before focusing on the blinking red light atop one of the radio antenna.
The Epitome: “But even I can admit that the journey back to the top is only just beginning. Instead of running away from something, I'm hunting it down. And I am more than willing and able to go to the deepest, darkest places that a man can go in order to find it. I am no stranger to those places. There are plenty of men and women in the wrestling world who can attest to the fact that The Epitome is willing to do whatever it takes to win. The people who get taken out along the way of this journey will simply be nothing more than trophies around me as the crown is placed back on my head. They'll be honored like fallen flags on a battlefield. Nothing more than proof that I have conquered them and retaken my place as the very best. But every war must begin with a skirmish, and that's what leads us to Explosion. A fitting name if there ever was one, for I am exploding back onto the scene a changed man. And the first three to fall will come at the PPV.”
He is focused once more on the camera as he continues to speak.
The Epitome: “And what a three we have as my first victims of this war. A man who has been too afraid to show his face since learning about the match, another man who seems to think that things should just be handed to him, and the last being some goofball teenager in a spooky mask who thinks playing silly childish games will get into the head of his opponents. When the world tunes into the PPV, they're going to see four men standing in the ring, but one of them will very clearly be better than the others. That is a fact that none of you three can deny. I've done it all in wrestling there is to do, and I'll do it again. A Fatal Four Way is only fatal to those who have any chance of being beaten. I am not one of those people. I don't have to beat the three of you, I just have to beat one of you. But you know what? I'm thinking that I'll just go ahead and destroy each and every one of you just to prove the point I have been trying to make all along. That I am still one of the best wrestlers on the entire planet and that whatever I may have lost with age has simply been replaced with cunning and guile. Any kind of match you can think of, I've probably competed in...and won. This is nothing new to me, and I'll more than back up my words when the bell rings and my arm is raised in victory. None of what I am saying should be a surprise to any of you.”
He rolls down the side window and takes a deep breath of the fresh desert air.
The Epitome: “You smell that? It's calming, isn't it? It's comforting to me. But do you know what else I smell? Fear. Why is always the biggest ones who become the cowards? It's an old trope, Andre Cash. The man who looks like a million bucks can't even show his face due to being afraid. How...sad. Some might take it as if you're just not worried about who you're facing. That you're so confident in your ability that you have nothing to say. But anyone who's spent more than a day in this industry can see through the façade. You're just the average kind of man who relies on his genetics to get by. You think that you can use your size to bully others and use brute force to dominate and earn victories. But the problem with that logic is that when you're stepping into the ring with someone with as much as experience as I have, none of that is going to matter. The size of you, the muscles you have...meaningless when it comes down to it. I have beaten plenty of guys your size and with the arrogance you portray. In fact, the old adage of the bigger they are, the harder they fall is something that I've come to find out is very much a fact. As I said before, I like beating guys who look like you, Andy Boy. It makes me look even better.”
His breath can now be seen as he talks, even with the car heater on low.
The Epitome: “And what of you, Mister Mafioso? Mark 'My Daddy Was A Wrestler Too' Alessio? Still living that life of unearned luxury? Still spouting off as if you're some kind of veteran? I may be the bearer of bad news here, but you're a nothing. And you may always be a nothing from what I have seen of you so far. You speak as though you've ever accomplished anything of note, simply because you've beaten a few other nobodies and managed to get on a network wrestling show. That screams of someone who's used to being handed things, and who will make excuses for themselves when failure finds them. You got hurt and you left. And now you're back and think that you'll just waltz back in as if you were some star before you left? When I left the IIW, I handed a championship back to Osh himself. I left this place having never been beaten, but I wasn't just beating the enhancement talent like you may have done. You think this is just business? Son, this is my life. And humbling blowhards like you is something I have done time and time again. And come the PPV, will do once more. The only thing you could hope for is that I don't choose you to be who I hit with the HighRoad and pin. Fuck, it's cold in here...”
He rolls the window back up.
The Epitome: “I've the chills. Maybe even goosebumps! Oh no! Could it be?! Could I have seen what Obsidian had to say about the match?! Naw, it's just cold outside. Because frankly, you did nothing but make me laugh, kid. The only monster you've ever been was probably to the poor foster parents who took you in when your parents dumped your bebé feo ass on the streets. Why does it seem like no matter where I go and where I've wrestled, there's always some asshole in a mask who thinks that anyone is going to be afraid of them because of it? I see wearing a mask as a sign of weakness, and a sign that you aren't comfortable with being who you really are. If anything, that just makes you a coward who can't face the reality of life without a barrier to protect yourself from the hardships of it. You want to talk about inflicting pain? You want to talk about hearing the screams? Boy, my mind is haunted by the things I've done and had done to me inside the ring. I've bleed for longer than you've been alive. I've been dragged down to hell and clawed my way back up. And you think you of all people can intimidate or scare me? My world has always been full of darkness and despair and loss. Nothing you can do to me will ever be as bad as the things that have already happened. You just have to take a look at my body and count the many battle scars it holds. And you will know that I am not afraid to collect more to get what I want.”
He opens the door, grabs his phone, steps out into the night and changes the camera to show the many stars in the sky before switch back to himself.
The Epitome: “And that...you see...is what I want now. All of it. Everything. Not just the world, but the entire universe. You're not going to get in my way of that Cash, or Alessio, or you Spooky Mask. I'm not going to allow the three of you to prevent me from catching what it is that I've been hunting for all this time. If anything, I feel a little sorry that you three had to be put into the ring with me first. It's not fair to you to end up looking so over matched in every way. But I can't help it, I'm not the booker. I will say this much...a little bit of advice from your elder. Take the time to learn what you can from me. Trust me, you'll appreciate it later on in life. If you stick with wrestling, that is. Don't take the chance to lose to me for granted. Though it happens a lot, it's up to you to use it. And believe me when I say it has happened and will continue to happen a lot. I am undefeated in IIW, and plan on keeping it that way for as long as I can until the entire company, and the wrestling world, realizes just who I am once again. See you boys at the PPV.”
With that, he shuts off his phone camera, and climbs back into the car, but this time in the back seat. He takes his jacket off and puts over his head in an attempt to try and get some sleep. Hopefully he can get some actual answers from Bart Ringer in the morning...
~ It's all becoming a little bit more clear now. The reality of the situation I am in. The thing I've been searching for all this time. I can feel it now. I think I know what it is...I remember now. Nothing can stop me. Not you, not me, not anyone. It's a familiar feeling to be so...familiar with this stranger. This person who I once was. Who I always should have been. It's time to stop running. It's time to stop hunting. It's time to start fighting. It's time. ~
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Post by Andre Cash on Dec 2, 2022 18:50:28 GMT
*The scene opens with Andre Cash looking at multiple monitors of his competitors speaking about him. His massive frame looms in front of the camera. The sound fades in and each line of the competitors can be heard through the camera*
Mike Angelo: You’ve got a long way to go…
Mark Alessio: No matter how strong you are. No matter how hard you hit. I’ll hit back twice as hard.
Obsidian: When we step into that ring, you will experience what it means to see a monster. To stand in hell itself as you drown in its flames.
*Cash’s frame moves as he brings a drink to his lips, no words are spoken, just intensity and focus. Malik Kaun and Apollo Moore enter from behind the camera, each placing their hand on his shoulder.*
Malik: Boss, it’s time.
*Cash stands and all three men walk out of frame.*
*The shot fades and an announcement can be heard*
The following message has been paid for by the Andre Cash Foundation…You’re Welcome!
*As the camera fades to a new scene, a large leather chair is in frame and Andre enters the frame, sitting in the chair clad in a stunning maroon suit with a black shirt and a grey tie. Cash removes his sunglasses, glaring down the barrel of the camera, intensity oozing out of him.*
Underrated…a word that every egomaniac who feels they haven’t been given what they deserve calls themselves. There have been men and women who have called themselves underrated throughout history, to the point that they have killed for what they believe to be theirs. But just when they think they’re about to receive the recognition they deserve, someone more qualified arrives and they become apoplectic. That’s you, Mike, you sit there and you claim to be next in line, BOOOOOOOOYYYY, you’re over the hill and out of yo goddamn mind if you think you’re about to walk into this match and beat me. “I’ve seen men like you fall” Nah, you ain’t seen shit because those punk-ass bitches you’ve beat before aren’t me. I’ve been all over the world and beaten men just like you over and over and over again. You’re nothing more than a washed-up never-was who believes they still have it. Well, let’s see what Angelo has in the tank…not a motherfucking thing. You see, Mike, I wanted to respect you, I wanted to admire you for stepping up to the Alpha, but then you came in like the limping lion who just needs to be put away, you’re the old leader of the pride coming back to realize that the man who made sure you weren’t on top has died and has already been replaced by someone bigger, faster, stronger, and flat-out better. You’re walking in full of piss, vinegar, and whatever else yo doctor tells you will lower that blood pressure expecting the world to bow down to you but there’s no one in that fucking locker room who knows OR CARES who you are! You signed the contract thinking you were stepping into the ring with 3 chumps but you didn’t take into consideration the major mistake of stepping up to the Alpha of IIW! You didn’t take into consideration that you didn’t sign a contract for a match…
You signed that damn death certificate because you bout to meet God, you’re welcome!
Aside from “underrated”, another word that people throw around too much is monster, I’ve watched so-called “monsters” walk into this business and fall faster than a bowling ball off the Empire State Building. Obsidian, you claim to be a monster, a man of mystery, a higher power even, let me tell you somethin’ you overhyped bitch. You wanna be a monster, gain some weight, hit the gym, and actually put some fucking bass in yo voice when you talking to me. because you sound like a whole ass bitch trying to start a My Chemical Romance cover band. Oh no, he’s so edgy and mysterious, and nothing more than an act. At least when I’m on your screen you know you’re getting the true me, this bitch has to hide behind a mask because he’s too scared that people will judge him for looking like a Hispanic Quasimoto! If you wanna prove you’re a fucking monster, then I suggest you go back to Mexico and find some “huevos” because I’m coming for you and I promise…
Getting back to Mexico is way easier in a coffin!
Finally, we have “The Mafioso” someone who wants to sit back and claim to hit twice as hard as I can…bitch, where? You think because you’re some kind of kickboxer, you know how to do some pointless ass karate, that you’re a threat…BOOOOOOY, you ain’t worth shit when I split you in two! If you wanna talk about how hard I can hit, I suggest you step up and look at some film of me in the ring. I’ve broken men in half because I fucking felt like it, but your little statements pissed me off. You think I’m JUST a high school athlete, I’ve been a champion all over the world, beaten men with more talent in their little finger than all three of you combined, yet you think you can just come in and claim you hit harder than the Alpha? Nah, you belong on the short bus licking windows if you think you pose any threat to me! I’m here to make a name for myself and whether you wanna be the Godfather, claim to be a Corleone, or even just like wearing expensive suits daddy buys you, I promise that you’re about to see why the Alpha is here!
So come one, come all, witness an old man, a masked moron, and a bitch with daddy’s money fall at the feet of the Alpha. I’m coming to save this business from bitches like them…
YOU’RE WELCOME!
*the shot fades away as Andre puts his sunglasses on with a smile on his face*
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