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Post by Osh Vaughan on Jun 20, 2023 11:48:09 GMT
Mark Zout vs Ryan McCann
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Post by Mark Zout on Jun 20, 2023 18:38:50 GMT
Mark Zout
The scene opens in an all-grey concrete structure - save for the white lines painted on the ground and the black pipes above head. This would be a totally inconspicuous parking garage, if not for the sixteen by sixteen square foot ring placed smack dab in the spot of four of the parking spaces.
Mark Zout steps in to frame from the left side of the screen. His short dark hair, emerald eyes, and five O'clock shadow are showcased by a white arrow pointing up to his face from a black tee shirt with 'Mark' printed under the same arrow. Black athletic shorts that drape loosely away from his frame and black and white converse finish the fit. The tee is a classic piece of Mark Zout merchandise that was commonplace in arenas and on the street by his many fans - the people that identified as Marks - over a decade ago. The wrestler hops onto the center of the apron of the ring, sliding his hand down the top rope - three steel cables uniformly wrapped in latex - as he walks to the corner post. Slowly, as if he soaking in the memories, he ducks between the middle and top ropes and firmly pats the turnbuckle nearest him. He then sprints away from camera, turning and leaning hard into the ropes at the far side of the ring with his hip and shoulder blade before bounding off of them with maximum velocity. It takes him only two steps to cross the ring and do the same on the other side. He repeats this a number of times before slamming himself back-first into the center of the ring, arms and legs stretched out wide, spreading the impact over the largest surface area possible. The sound of flesh impacting on canvas reverberates through the concrete structure with a deafening thud that cuts through the eerie silence that had previously filled the space.
Without a grunt of effort the wrestler coils his legs before shooting them upward quickly. His back traces the arc of his feet and legs and he stands tall in the center of the ring. As tall as someone who's only 5'10" can stand, at least. Zout. "It doesn't just feel good to be back inside a ring. It feels... Right. Something that doesn't feel right, though, is the attitude of my opponent, Ryan McCann. Week in and week out Mr. McCann has made a habit, along side his cohort, of smacking his gums bragdociously. I know because I am the ultimate Mark. I watch every show. I view every promo. I realize that I come off as aloof and out of the loop, but I just know how to cut loose and enjoy my time away from the ring. Too much time, lately."
The last of his words seem to strike a chord within himself. He exhales, putting his mind to why he has decided to speak, then he continues. His tone is not angry, nor is it arrogant. This is a focused Mark Zout. Zout. "McCann, every week you talk a big talk about your technical prowess. You speak down to your opponents with insults and with disrespect. It is you, however, that regularly ends the night with your name jotted under the losses column. Now, there's nothing wrong with putting your best foot forward, leaving everything you have in the ring, and still coming up short. I would never fault anyone for a dignified loss. I wouldn't even fault someone for talking large - when that someone backs up their claims. But with you, Mr. McCann... With you everything seems to be all talk. Every comment on every show is making you into a laughingstock - and that's coming from a guy that stands apart by intentionally putting himself in the same category. The difference between us, though they laugh at us both, is that I am not consumed by false feelings of granduer."
The wrestler clicks his tongue. He speaks with intent toward the camera as he addresses his opponent. No uncertain terms are being used in today's promotion. This is a man who's path is clear. Zout. "I know who you are, McCann. I know you graduated as a Ram. I know you do have much technical talent. I know that looking past you, as if you were a common stepping stone, would be a critical mistake. I've made my share of mistakes in life, but I've always owned up to them. I've always faced the consequences of my actions head on, just as I'll be facing you head on. The fact that you outweigh me by eighty-five pounds, that you stand a couple inches taller, that you don't have a decade of ring rust to shake off before our bout... Those things don't matter. Not really. Facing adversity, being put at a disadvantage in weight and height - sometimes even skill, is nothing new to me."
Looking at the small-framed man in the ring, it is apparent his words hold true. Most of his matches have been at a physical disadvantage. Anyone aware of his previous matches could testify that the heart he fought from was more than enough to overcome any physical short comings. Zout. "What matters, Ryan McCann, is the people in attendance. What matters is those little Marks and Markettes watching at home through their screens. What matters is delivering to the people who make us the super stars we claim to be, the greatest show they could possibly hope to see. It is our duty to put our bodies on the line. It is expected of us - as it should be - to never give up, to never surrender, to fail only because our bodies fail us. I stand in this ring today for two reasons. The first is to make a promise. I promise, despite how long I've been out of the ring, that I will give the fans of IIW the show they deserve to see this week. That I will always give them the show they deserve to see. No matter how rusty, battered, bruised, stressed, or exhausted I become I will never - and I mean ever - yield. I will throw myself into a brick wall of an opponent until they crumple and collapse or until I'm too broken to lift myself. And then I will look to the fans. I will borrow from them the strength that I lack, and I will stand, ready to do it all over again. I will do this because I was that fan. I was the little boy glued to the television screaming 'GO!' at my greatest heroes. I won't forsake that little boy. I won't forsake any of our fans."
He paces the ring, side to side, never turning away from camera. While his voice in the lines above rang through the parking garage with the volume of pride, his tone dips now to emphasize the gravity of these next lines. Zout. "The second reason I have spoken today is to make a request of you, Mr. McCann. I ask that you do not look past me. I ask that you prepare yourself this week for a battle that that will push you to your limits. I will not go quietly into the night. I will not cower to threats. I will not be impressed by words alone. I have studied your matches. I understand how dangerous you can be on the mat. I am prepared to put my body on the line against you. I am prepared to push myself beyond my limits. Do not underestimate me, for your sake and for my own. I need to be pushed. I need to be tested. The fans deserve to see the very best from each of us, Mr. McCann. Perhaps you will destroy me this week on Combat. That is a possibility. I give you my word, however, that you won't destroy me without destroying yourself. Come prepared, Ryan McCann. Come at me with everything you've got. For your sake. For mine. For theirs. Mark, out."
He turns now from the camera for the first time since running ropes in the beginning of the segment and drops face first to the canvas before popping up in a burpie. He repeats this, and we're left with the feeling he will do many more as the camera fades to black.
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Every cool kid...
Mark Zout! [/color][/size][/center]
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Post by Ryan McCann on Jun 25, 2023 23:13:46 GMT
[The camera opens to a dimly lit arena, the atmosphere buzzing with anticipation. The IIW logo illuminates the center of the ring, casting a captivating glow on Ryan McCann and Chris Norton, who stand side by side, ready to unleash their cutting words upon the audience.]
Ryan McCann: [His voice dripping with disdain] Well, well, well, look who we have here. Mark Zout, the latest addition to IIW's roster. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but I have to admit, Mark, your Eminem wannabe act is more pathetic than flattering.
[The boos from the crowd intensify, echoing throughout the arena as they express their disapproval of Ryan McCann's arrogant demeanor.]
Ryan McCann: [Smirking confidently] Oh, don't get me wrong, Mark. I appreciate the effort you put into copying the style of a rap legend, but let me remind you of something. This is professional wrestling, not a karaoke contest. You can't just put on a costume, mimic some rhymes, and expect to be taken seriously.
[Chris Norton stands tall, his eyes fixed on Mark Zout, exuding an air of superiority.]
Chris Norton: [Speaking with conviction] That's right, Ryan. Mark, you may think you're the next big thing, but let me tell you, you're nothing more than a second-rate impersonator. You see, while you're busy playing dress-up, we've been busy dominating this tag team division.
[The crowd reacts with a mixture of boos and scattered applause, acknowledging Chris Norton's words.]
Ryan McCann: [Narrowing his eyes] You know, Mark, there's a reason they call us Pretty Technical. We're not just pretty faces; we're technically proficient in that ring. We've spent years perfecting our craft, honing our skills, and building a legacy that cannot be matched.
[The camera pans across the faces of the audience, capturing a mix of excitement, anticipation, and disdain.]
Chris Norton: [Pointing a finger directly at Mark Zout] And now, Mark, you have the audacity to step into our path, thinking you can make a name for yourself by imitating someone else? Well, let me tell you something, Mark. The only thing you're going to accomplish is getting crushed under the weight of your own delusions.
[Ryan McCann's smug expression intensifies, exuding an air of dominance.]
Ryan McCann: [Leaning closer to the camera] That's right, Mark. When we step into that ring with you, it won't just be a match; it'll be a statement. We're going to expose you for the fraud that you are. You can try to rap, you can try to mimic Eminem's style, but you'll never possess the raw talent and charisma that we bring to the table.
[The crowd's boos grow louder, drowning out any other sound in the arena.]
Chris Norton: [His voice filled with conviction] So, Mark Zout, prepare yourself for a reality check. You're stepping into the ring with two men who know what it takes to win, who know how to outsmart and outperform their opponents. We'll make sure that you leave that ring battered, bruised, and wondering why you ever thought you could compete at our level.
[Ryan McCann's smug grin widens, savoring the negative energy from the crowd.]
Ryan McCann: [His voice laced with arrogance] Mark, consider this your wake-up call. The spotlight belongs to Pretty Technical, and we won't allow some cheap imitation to steal our thunder. So, prepare to be exposed, Mark Zout
[The camera zooms in on Ryan McCann's face, his eyes gleaming with a mix of malice and confidence.]
Ryan McCann: You see, Mark, we didn't claw our way to the top of the wrestling world by imitating others. We did it by being ourselves, by forging our own path and leaving a trail of broken bodies in our wake. We're the real deal, and you're about to find out just how real we can be.
[Chris Norton steps forward, his presence commanding attention.]
Chris Norton: Mark, you may think you can play mind games with us, that you can rattle our cages and throw us off our game. But let me tell you something, my friend: we thrive on challenges. We thrive on adversity. So, bring your best imitation, bring your wannabe rap persona, because it won't make a damn bit of difference. Pretty Technical will prevail.
[Ryan McCann cracks his knuckles, a wicked grin spreading across his face.]
Ryan McCann: Mark, you're about to step into a world of pain. You're about to realize that the only thing worse than being a cheap knockoff is being on the receiving end of our wrath. We're going to dismantle you, piece by piece, until there's nothing left but a shattered dream and a reminder to never mess with the best.
[The crowd erupts in a chorus of boos and jeers, their disdain for Ryan McCann and Chris Norton palpable.]
Chris Norton: So, Mark Zout, consider this your final warning. Your days of pretending to be someone you're not are over. It's time to face the harsh reality that you're nothing more than a pawn in our game. And when the dust settles, and the echoes of your defeat fade away, you'll be left with nothing but regret and the bitter taste of failure.
[Ryan McCann raises his microphone to his lips, his voice dripping with arrogance.]
Ryan McCann: Mark, you wanted the spotlight, well, now you've got it. But let me warn you, it's a spotlight that burns. And once we're through with you, the world will see that Pretty Technical is the epitome of dominance. Get ready to face your worst nightmare, Mark Zout, because when we're done with you, your imitation career will be nothing more than a distant memory.
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Post by Mark Zout on Jun 26, 2023 22:59:35 GMT
MARK ZOUT On the promo's open we are treated to a clip of Billy Madison. The principal stands on a stage behind a podium, responding to Billy's final long form answer in the battle of wits that would decide the fate of his father's company. Principal. "What you have just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."
The screen cuts to static before we see the set of Fraiser, complete with a bearskin carpet that wears the Rocky trunks. We must be in the apartment of Mark Zout, Ryan Ross, and Litimus. On the couch, sitting in front of the TV are the three personalities previously mentioned. Ryan still holds the controller for the TV in his hand after having turned the screen off. Lit's head is rolled back and he snores, cuddling a half-smoked bong. Mark wears grey and silver trimmed athletic shorts and a white tee shirt that in light blue comic sans text reads 'Every cool kid...' across the chest. He runs a hand through his short hair and puffs his cheeks, exhaling with a loud, long, awkward whistle. Standing from the couch, Mark turns to face the impossible, but beautiful, Seattle skyline that is out the balcony window. As he turns to do so, we can read the back of his shirt. It just says 'MARK ZOUT!' in light blue, bold text. He turns again, addressing his good friend Ryan Ross. Zout. "These guys know it's a singles match, right? Like one on one. Mono e mono. What's all this 'we' talk they're doing? And how much money did they hav e to pay to fill an arena with audience members, get a ring set up, and have an actor who looks just like me stand in the ring for a non-speaking role? These guys are something else." Ross. "I think they're on to something with the rap gimmick. You've never tried rapping before." Zout. "Raw Mike did that. You remember that guy? He hung out with us when we tagged as The Renegade Souljahz. You remember being a Souljah, Ryan. Good times. We could get back into it. Break into the Point Defiance Zoo at night. Battle a mechanized Freemont Bridge Troll. Parachute dive into Safeco Field from a retired Air Force Helicarrier as the entrance to a Seattle-hosted pay per view where they hired Limp Bizkit to perform one of the worst songs they ever recorded - which is saying a lot? We had a blast, Ryan. We could take these clowns on together. We could take on the entire tag division, just like back in the day."
Ryan looks back fondly on the memories, but is otherwise unamused. Ross. "As much fun as raising all that hell was, Mark, I'm old now. That's the naritive we're going to stick with for a while. I started trading stocks and sh-t, man. You've got this. " Zout. "I dunno, Ryan. I'm contractually obligated to upload another promo for the singles match with McCann, but him and Norton seem to think it's a tag match. They're super confused on my superfan gimmick. Like, I'm a Mark for the People, not for Eminem. I've never tried to rap - ever, and I don't even think I look that much like the guy." Ross. "You want advice for your last promo with them, huh? Well, you tried the Cena approach. Why don't you try the Flair method? Maybe that'll get through to them." Zout. "I appreciate it, but I think it's time for more Attitude Era. We need a cut."
With that, the scene changes. We find ourselves viewing six tag team championships. Two of the name plates are attributed to Ryan Ross, one each to Eliminator and Powerhouse, and the last two, to Mark Zout. These titles are behind glass, hanging on a wall in a gym complete with three rings and weightlifting gear. On the wall next to the titles in large print it reads 'WHERE CHAMPIONS ARE BRED' Mark Zout steps into frame with a no-nonsense expression. Zout. "McCann, I tried the nice guy approach. I hyped you up and I explained how we would push each other beyond our physical limits for the entertainment of the fans and you... You came back at me with some hot garbage. Do you not realize who you are to face early this July? I am Mark Zout. I am a Mark for the People. I am a two-time PWA Tag Team Champion. With Ryan Ross at my side, I have beaten countless teams such as yourself and Norton. I have climbed to the top of the ladder - literally - and grasped the brass ring. I do what I set my mind to. I can not be stopped in my quest once the wheels of progress begin turning. What we are scheduled for is a singles match. Your little butt-buddy, Chris Norton, won't be avaliable to tag in. No one is coming to help either of us. It will be you, Ryan McCann, alone in that ring with me. I have nearly a decade of experience in a wrestling ring. I am a former champion. I am a future champion. I was introduced into this sport by two of the greatest tag team champions to strut through a ring. I inherited through my veins the blood of a champion, and if I'm really being honest, there's not a whole lot of ring rust on me to begin with. For the past ten years I was incarcerated with violent offenders and, for the duration of that time, I had a target painted on my back. If a whole cell block couldn't put me down, what makes you think you have a shot in hell of accomplishing the same feat so many before you failed at? And alone, at that. So which are you, McCann? Are you Pretty, or are you Technical? I take that back. We've all seen your face. There's no way in hell you're the Pretty one. But then again, it's been so long since you've had a significant victory in an IIW ring that to call yourself Technical isn't really accurate, either. So is that the joke? You and your ugly little butt-pirate of a tag partner are a comedy act? It's all an oxy-moranic wink at the camera?
"To put it plainly, you and I are not on the same level. I thought we might have been when I uploaded my first promo. After all, I've seen your matches. I know how ruthless you can be. But you have little commitment to this sport out of the ring, it seems. I guess I was mistaken when I assumed we were cut from the same cloth. I train. I study. I push myself beyond my limits nearly every day of my life because what doesn't kill me only makes me more formidable. Each and every show will see a stonger Mark Zout, a faster Mark Zout, a more learned Mark Zout. I don't keep myself beholden to past accolades. I look forward to what I can accomplish next and I use the present to study my opposition and train my mind, body, and heart to ensure success in the future. You can't even seem to grasp the concept that this isn't a tag match. You can't understand a gimmick that is literally spelled out for you clear as day. You spend your time cutting promos in front of an audience that doesn't even want to hear you speak. You don't want this fight, Ryan McCann. At this Combat you will find your name scribbled under the losses column once again. Not from a lack of effort. Simply because I am THAT good. I am THAT guy. And you? Well you're just the best you can hope to be."
Mark studies the lens with an eyebrow raised. He's really fired up now. His body language emphasizes his words, punctuating his points. Zout. "And as for you, Chris Norton... You've had a lot to say this week about me. That's a lot of hot air to be blowing at a guy you aren't even scheduled to compete against. So I'll tell you what. After I've shown your partner what it is to fight Mark Zout.... After I've shown him what true drive, determination, and technical skill really look like... After he suffers a Mark Out in the center of the ring, in front of the IIW patrons in attendance and all these little Marks and Markettes watching at home, then I'll let you have a crack at The Mark for the People. I'm in no hurry to chase the gold here. I don't need a meteoric rise to a title. If it means teaching chumps like you to respect their opposition, to truly prepare for a battle with a decorated veteran of the sport like myself, I can bide my time chasing a belt. I can make a pit stop at Humble Your -ss Boulavard on my way to Championship Lane. This week Ryan McCann becomes a victim to his own Daedalic idiocy. Mark my words, McCann. This week the referee will count one, two, three... and when he raises the hand of the victor it will be you staring up at the lights - and me. Mark, out."
He crosses his arms and we're left with the scene of Zout standing before his former accolades before the screen fades to black.
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Every cool kid... MARK ZOUT!
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