Everybody is going to tell you about how they're going to win this tournament. How they are willing to do whatever it takes in order to walk out of Worlds collide with the gold. To them, this is the most important thing in the world and their means of making a statement. Their way of standing at the top of the mountain, looking down at everybody with the gold elevated above their head. It doesn't matter if they are already here in the IIW or if they have taken up Joe Montuori's offer to come from outside the doors and walk in and participate in what he is calling the "JMont invitational", For them, this is another opportunity to add gold to their legacy. To come into a new company and win, just as they have done everywhere they have been in the past. Everywhere they will go in the future.
Or for those who are already here, how this is their chance to cement their legacy. To put their names within the history books... write their narrative on how they were able to overcome everyone thrown before them and prove why their name should be in lights and on billboards. Why their name should be stated when people talk about the best that this industry has to offer. What they don't realize though, is that there is a man they are all forgetting about. A man who night after night since walking through the doors, has gone into that ring and made it his. Who has left carnage and destruction in his wake as he has laid his opponents to waste, just as he did on Monday to the so-called "Blueprint". A man who was supposed to be able to match him for power, only to fall flat on his face when he simply did not measure up. When he was shown to be nothing more than a ragdoll. Just as he had been told before he stepped into the ring and looked into the eyes of the monolith standing before him.
That man being me.
Everywhere I look, I see people who are still sleeping. Who still believe that the greatest threats in this tournament are the ones infiltrating the company or those who have aligned themselves with The Mecca as they like to call themselves. Namely, one man who has stepped into the ring with me before and will again, if he is able to keep his end of the bargain and the man who will be stepping into the ring with me on April 10th. The first man standing in my way of taking that international championship and placing it on my shoulder, where it belongs.
The first being Clyde Newton and the second being Fred Debonair. Two men on the opposite side of the "hill" in terms of their careers. Where Clyde is rising, intertwined with myself, Fred is a Bonafide legend. One of the best wrestlers to ever set foot into the ring and a man whose name commands respect from anyone who comes up against him. A man who has done all there is to do in the sport. When he speaks, people listen and hang onto every word he says, for they know that when the lights are on and shining at their brightest, he can back them up.
He has proven it, night after night.
Yet, come April 10th. Come the opening round of the International championship tournament. One where he promised Clyde himself that it would be them in the final of the IIW bracket, his word will mean nothing. His promise will be shown to be empty as he steps into the ring with me. When he has no choice but to look into my eyes and see a man who is driven by hunger. By desire. A man who is willing to stop at nothing in order to cut down his legend. To tear apart the mythology and aura that his name holds, even if that means I have to extract everything that I have within me to do so. If I must go further than I ever have before to bring you down, then that is exactly what I am going to do. If it means I have to bleed in the middle of the ring to the point of passing out, then I am going to do just that. I don't just plan on visiting the kingdom you have made for yourself...
I plan on making it mine.
I have made that ring my own from the day I arrived here. From the moment I showed Knox that he no longer had it. That just as football had, wrestling had left him behind. I did just that when I stepped into the ring against Max Stone and Andy Donahue, proving that I am the future. That you can throw me in the ring with wolves. With two men who have established themselves and I will still set the standard. That I will bathe in the lights and shine. Just like I did when I stepped in the ring with Kenny and Clyde, no matter what the history books might say. I made sure they knew that Clyde is merely in my shadow. The one running in second place when it comes to the future of this company. No, the future of this industry. Just as I did against Michael when I left him staring up at the lights, the reality hit him that he was nothing more than a fraud. A man who wished he could be what he claims, but lacking the tangible tools to go out there and walk what he talks. I have walked my talk each and every Monday since I arrived.
That is undeniable.
April 10th will be no different. You and I are going to step between those ropes. You are fighting not just for the Mecca, but for a chance to hold gold in the IIW once more. To redeem yourself after you lost your belt to Max at K2S. Me with only one thing on my mind. Making sure that I put you away and ensuring I am the one who marches on. The one who takes the next step up the mountain and toward that very same gold. It wouldn't have mattered if it was Tony Bird or Michael Hunter once again in your shoes, the desire. The lust to open people's eyes and show them exactly who I am would be the same. It wouldn't even matter if you were Joe himself.
I am going into Mayhem and I am tearing you apart. I am going to make sure you understand your accolades. Your prestige in this business, do not matter to me when you are standing between me and the seat at the top. The championship that I plan on holding and making into the premier championship of not just the IIW, but the sport as a whole. This isn't about the Mecca. This isn't about the problems you are having with former owner Osh Vaughn and the group he has formed, or the masked men who reigned on Joe's championship celebration. None of that matters to me. What does, is stepping into that ring with you next Mayhem. Going out there and proving that this is the clash of the titans they have been making it out to be and that only one titan will be standing tall once it is all said and done.
You're going to be looking into his eyes.
I respect you. I respect all you have done in this sport, Fred. It doesn't mean I fear you. It won't matter a thing when we step between those ropes. This isn't personal between us. You're just the one who is standing in my way. The next man to step up to the plate and try to take me down. Attempt to be the first to hand me a loss in this sport. The man standing right in the eye of the storm coming his way.
The scene opens to a repurposed warehouse in the heart of Saint Louis, Missouri. One that has been transformed into a dance studio, with black mats placed on the floor and an oaken hardwood floor stage set up at the back, about seven feet from the window. Atop the stage, is a black leather couch, which Deandre is sitting on top of, a stoic expression upon his face. Attired in a black t-shirt with a Lion's head in the middle and the words "The IIW is my Jungle" wrapped around the head in crimson/white font, black jeans held up by a silver buckled chocolate brown belt and black/white Nike sneakers. The swoosh on the tongue. Looking into the camera set up in front of him, Deandre scowls, ensuring that the focus is on his face.
Deandre; Just as I said he would, Michael fell at my feet. Unable to do anything as he realized that he wasn't just stepping into the ring with a man. He wasn't just entering another match at Mayhem, but that he was entering a war. He was staring into the eyes of a monolith who cared only about tearing him apart and adding him to the list of those who found themselves rolled over by the freight train as it rolled. As it makes its way to the top of the mountain, leaving bodies and destruction on its path. It was over before it even started, as he should have just kept himself at home.
He should have just stayed tucked into bed, as there he would have been able to continue the illusion that he is a blueprint of anything. He would have been able to continue talking about how he can go toe to toe with anybody, instead of stepping into the ring and exposing himself as nothing more than a little puppy dog who whimpers and runs scared any time somebody steps up and forces him to back those words up. Any time he has to face off against an opponent who can leave him in the middle of the ring and expose him for what he is. A has been who doesn't measure up between the ropes.
That's exactly what I did.
He was just another message. Another victim who thought he could stand before me and do what nobody has. Another man who thought that I was just a footballer who had no idea about the ring or what it was going to take to walk out with the victory, only to learn that better men than him have tried that thinking and fallen. Men whose laces he wouldn't even be able to tie have fallen at my hands, realizing that I don't just tell you what I am going to do to you. I don't just talk for the sake of talking. I talk to give you an indication. A chance to prepare for what is going to occur when the bell rings and the lights are on and see if you step up. If you provide a challenge or if you are just going to be another workout. Another person who cannot handle having eyes that don't belong to your family turned onto you. Michael fell into the latter category.
Deandre's eyes narrow, as his scowl turns into a smile.
Deandre: He found himself with nowhere to hide as I ran a one man blitz, leaving him on the mat with no protection and nobody else to blame for his failure but himself. Destroyed in front of the entire world and served as a statement to whoever was watching. To those in this upcoming "invitational" tournament, it'll be them at my feet. Covered in blood and unable to stand once they find themselves against me. A message I know they all heard, loud and clear. One that will sit in the back of their minds, hoping that they can avoid having to stand at the plate. Praying that their number isn't called, for they are nothing more than gazelles attempting to elude the lion.
Trying to roam in the jungle and proclaim themselves as Alphas, even as the Alpha. The man who runs said jungle stands before them. Ready and waiting for the moment to drag them down and devour them, leaving them as nothing more than a carcass. Blood stained and for the medical crew to scrape off the mat, knowing that is just the price of war. That they just found themselves on the opposite side of the ring to the man who has made this sport look easy from the moment the ink dried on his contract. A man who dominated the high school scene for two years and is now dominating the professional landscape in the same way. The man who told them to keep the seat warm for him the moment he walked in. A seat that will be his the moment he decides it's time to take his seat and ascend to the top, where he belongs.
It's only a matter of time until I do.
Yet there are still people standing between me and the top. People who are going to have to find themselves in the line of fire. Waiting for their name to be called so that they can have their turn of learning that they are placeholders. Names that will soon be on the list of victims, a loss next to their name in bold letters and their eyes fixated on the lights above them. Their bodies broken and the reality of defeat sinking into every pore on their body.
Deandre's expression becomes cold once more, as he maintains his focus on the camera.
Deandre: A fate that will befall even the legend himself, Fred Debonair if he doesn't step into that ring with his focus strictly on me come Mayhem. If he sees this as just another match to be fought. Another battle that he can walk into with the same mindset as the hundreds that have come before, hoping that this one will end in the same outcome as them. You might be a legend of this sport. You may have been doing this since before I was born, but are you truly focused? Is your mind set on making sure that you leave your loss to Max, a man who I have beaten before, behind you and moving onto making the International title your own. Bringing gold to the Mecca and maintaining your rule over the IIW, or are you focused on Wargames? On trying to put Osh out of commission once and for all? Where are your loyalties lying? Are they with what some might call "the greater good" or are they with yourself?
What does this match mean to you?
Do you see it as the chance at redemption you claimed it was on Mayhem? Or is this just you believing I am nothing more than another youngster? Another person who is "green" and "too arrogant for his own good?" A song and dance Max tried before he found himself unable to win the triple threat we found ourselves in, so if you want to go that route. If you want to try and make me out to be like the other younger athletes you have put down and taught a lesson to in the past, you are going to learn I'm not them.
I'm not just somebody who you can pull the experience card against and expect it to make me fear you. Make me bow at your feet. I'm not somebody you can cast aside and see as "I'll get to him when I can". No. Do that and I promise you the result isn't going to be pretty. I promise that if I sense your focus is divided and you're more worried about your outside projects. About your other matches you might have. About Wargames... I will lay you on the mat and break you. Piece by piece until they have to put you back together again with glue. I don't want you using those distractions and being like "oh, but this happened so I lost" or "he could only beat me because I didn't have my head in the game."
No excuses.
I don't want to hear them. The fans won't want to hear them either, as all they'll do is make you out to be a whiny little bitch. A man who can't admit that he wasn't up to the task. That he couldn't get the job done when it counted and came up short yet again. Just as you did when you lost to Max and lost your UK title. It won't be a fluke or a bad night either, Fred. It'll be me outclassing you and beating you at your own game. A sport that you are supposedly an icon in, yet outplayed and outhustled by somebody who is still a "rookie" Somebody who only started performing on this stage this year. I'm sure you don't want that on your resume. I'm certain you want to send a message that you and the Mecca run this company, something you like to state every time you're in front of the camera.
Deandre chuckles, leaning forward.
Deandre: This is your chance to prove it. Show that you're not just saying you're in charge to try and hold onto relevance. That you're not just saying it out of fear that soon enough, the empire will come crashing down as I reach the peak. As I run through not just you, but Clyde in this tournament and leave you with nothing but a reminder that you ran into a freight train. That you found yourself right in the path of the lion as it tore you apart and feasted on you.
Raising his right hand, he strokes his jaw gently before placing it back atop his leg.
Deandre: You call yourself the "Kingdom". The ruler of an empire. Well, show me why you are a ruler and not just a false prophet. Not just a man who puts it on for show, in the hopes that people will just accept it, and don't walk up to the door and knock. Asking to be let in instead of hailing and calling for the exalted one to step to them. I know you wish I would do that. I know you wish that I would just let your legacy lay there in front of me and back away, intimidated and frightened of poking the bear. Sorry, that's not going to fly.
I'm marching into your kingdom and making it mine.
To the IIW, this is a clash of the titans. A war of two men who resemble the past, present and future of the sport. To me, this is where you pass the torch. This is where your reign. Your legacy comes to an end and you accept that you just don't have it anymore. That your aura. The mythology you have built around yourself and your accolades, aren't enough to carry you. That you just don't measure up to the storm that is approaching. Rolling your way with no regard to what is going to be left in its wake. Deep down, you know it too. That's why you're trying to convince yourself that I shouldn't be happy to face you. That you are going to teach me a lesson like I am one of your students in the ring. Why you have to tell yourself that it's going to be okay?
It won't.
The pressure is all on you. Their eyes are on you. Waiting to see if you can bounce back from K2S. Wanting to see if you can get back to the top and drape yourself in gold once more. You're the one they're expecting to win. The one that they're riding their hopes on. The one that their faith is in to strike into my heart and make me taste defeat. They want that, so that they don't have to admit the truth. So that they don't have to wake up and recognize that I am everything I say I am. That I'm the man they have to fear. The man who will step into that ring and make it his. To them, this is my "Welcome to the pros" moment. A moment they prayed Max would give them, but he failed. Will you? Will you fail as he did, or are you going to give them what they want? Are you going to give them the Fred Debonair that made the UK title his? The Fred Debonair who the Mecca couldn't deny?
That's the Fred I want/
Any other Fred, and it won't be enough. I don't just want to beat you. I don't just want to be able to say I beat Fred Debonair. I want to be able to say that I took his Kingdom. That he threw his A, B and C game at me but couldn't get the job done. That he was unable to match up when the lights were at their brightest and turned on him. That is the only way I can prove who I am. The only way I can show that the IIW is my jungle. That it is where I rule over countless bodies. The pack that resides within the halls, wanting their shot.
Deandre sits upright, allowing the camera to see his shirt.
Deandre: I'm not going to miss mine. April 10th. No excuses. I'm shooting at the "Kingdom". Make sure you bring it all, Fred.
Deandre stands up, turning the camera off as he walks off the stage. Having said all he wanted to say about the match. About his chance to make a permanent statement on the IIW.
The scene changes to Deandre's house in Joplin, where he sits, alone atop his chocolate brown leather couch. Attired in a white Nike singlet, the swoosh on the right breast, black shorts and navy/lemon Nike sneakers. Holding his phone to his right ear, he listens to the unknown voice on the other end of the line.
Deandre: I've got it, Mark. There's no need to worry about that. Already did the first shoot for them earlier and planning on doing the second tomorrow morning.
He continues listening in, reclining back on the chair with a stoic expression.
Deandre: Yeah. Melanie told me about that yesterday. Tell them that I'll come see them on Monday morning before I fly out to Manchester. They tell you a time?
He nods upon hearing the response on the other end by his agent.
Deandre: That's good with me. I'll be there at eight forty-five. Melanie going to meet me there, or she coming on the flight? I'm good either way but want to know if I should wait for her at the airport or catch up with her at Nike.
Deandre nods once more, making a mental note of the response he has been given before reclining back against the couch.
Deandre: Alright. Tell her I'll be waiting at the front of the building at eight thirty then and we can talk more about what we want then.
Deandre maintains his smile as he slowly removes the phone from his ear.
Deandre: Alright. Talk to you then.
Hanging the phone up, he puts it into his pocket before staring forward. A calm expression across his face.
Deandre: It's just a matter of time... I've always said I am undeniable. I've always gone out there and proven that no matter who you are or where you come from, it is inevitable that you are going to be left at my feet. Looking up as you see the bunger. The desire in my eyes. One that you simply cannot match.
Deandre's eyes narrow.
Deandre: That doesn't just apply in the ring. It applies to everything in my life. Mom and dad taught me that if I wanted to reach the top. If I wanted to be the one with Nike calling me. If I wanted to be the one everybody's eyes were on, then I was going to have to work for it. I was going to have to pour blood, sweat and tears to make sure I made myself a must have. That I outwork everybody else, because they are competition. They want the same thing that I do. That is what pushes me each and every day. That is why I get up and make sure that I carry the weight. That I set the standard and ensure that there isn't a single person that can match it.
Nobody will match it, either.
I know there isn't a single person on this planet who can look me in the eye and say they work as hard as I do. Not you, Fred. Not Joe Montuori, not anybody. That is what you are going to see first hand on April 10th. That is what Nike has seen. That is why they want me on their roster. They know the return they're going to be getting on their investment is greater than if they called anyone else up.
Deandre laughs.
Deandre: I don't plan on stopping there either. This to me, is only the beginning. This is the start of a dynasty. An era so brighter than the stars in the night sky. One that begins with you at Mayhem, Fred. Your kingdom is the perfect place for me to plant my flag. To truly make a statement and put down a former champion. Deny him the redemption. the road back to gold that he was hoping for and there isn't going to be a damn thing you can do about it.
You can bring the Mecca.
Line them up in front of you and have them play the role of O-Line. I'll find the hole and blitz right through it. There is no escape from what is about to happen. There is nowhere you can hide. Nowhere to turn where I won't be standing. I want you to realize that when you're out doing whatever you do. While you're out focusing on other companies, I'm going to be in the gym. My focus squarely on you. Preparing to finish the job at Mayhem. Nothing else matters to me.
Deandre stands, slowly making his way toward his hallway.
Deandre: Finishing the job is exactly what will happen. No excuses.
He then enters the hallway, knowing that in terms of both his branding and his wrestling career, everything is on track and ready to go. His preparations are in full swing for not just the match with Fred, but the International title tournament as a whole.