Post by Chris Strike on Oct 27, 2012 19:10:40 GMT -4
“… Hisashiburi da na, Tokyo…”
The voice is but a whisper as the cameras go from a black screen to slowly focusing on the outside of the Tokyo Dome, the shot gradually widening to capture the stadium’s full essence on the lens before moving to a different shot displaying the busy, busy streets of Tokyo – many people all at once crossing its sidewalks, shots from various areas of the Shibuya shopping district along with Harajuku Station, there’s even a shot of the bullet train and Mt. Fuji that sneak in there before it returns to the Tokyo Dome, many people passing by and walking through the area. As the shot narrows, one person can be seen with their back to the camera, staring at the Dome as the shot gets closer and closer before stopping just a few feet away from said stranger.
Slowly turning around, the man is dressed in a full green track jacket with matching track pants – a canary yellow stripe running up the arms and onto the sides of the neck of the jacket, the Nike swoosh logo in those same bright colors and the CBF logo across the heart with five stars at the very top of it in yellow. Neck-length, wavy brown hair, a pair of matching brown eyes, a full beard and a man who’s seen his share of battles in his years of professional wrestling glanced at the cameras with a confident, welcoming smile that belonged to a man who was quite comfortable in his skin.
“I remember this place.” He glanced at the Tokyo Dome yet again, that beautiful feeling known as nostalgia coming back to him little by little. “Many fond memories – be it wandering around Tokyo Dome City and hitting up the amusement park and shops before or after shows with the boys and gals, exploring the Japanese Baseball Hall of Fame and most importantly, the ability to wrestle and headline shows here.” He took in a deep breath, savoring the oxygen coming to his lungs as the clouds covered the sun more and more by the second. “The atmosphere that exuberates out of this place every time there is a show here is something that needs to be experienced to be believed.”
The man’s smile turned into joyous laughter as his mind relived some of the moments he had inside of that arena. This level of excitement is something he has felt many times in the past and yet, this was special. Like the days of old, being surrounded by this atmosphere meant and was something more – the kind of feeling that he couldn’t fight anymore, in REO Speedwagon fashion.
“The Ryōgoku Kokugikan, Yokohama Arena, Saitama Super Arena, Osaka Prefectural Gymnasium, Sapporo Nakajima Sports Center…name them, I’ve wrestled there but none of those places have come close to equaling to the feeling I get inside of this Dome.” He pointed to it yet again, without looking back from the lens. “Not even the legendary Nippon Budokan and Korakuen Hall could equate to this place. This place, this Big Egg – as the locals call it – became my first pantheon. It’s where I rose from commoner to royalty. It is where the people felt fit to ascend me from royalty with a touch for gold to godhood, giving me the one and only moniker that I would ever need to bear in my entire career: raijin.”
It is at that moment that the Brazilian-born wrestler’s smile expands from ear-to-ear.
“For those of you who have been living under a rock for eleven years and don’t know me, I guess an introduction is in order,” he said, adjusting his posture. “My name is Chris Strike. I’m the guy they call the ‘God of Thunder.’ And it all started here in this very building when I won the IGPW Jr. Heavyweight title. The Dome and I go back. I’m emphasizing this because some of you seem a little bit slow on the uptake and the whole information process department…” Feeling himself going off the tracks from the main subject, Chris clapped his hands together, almost as if a way to jolt out of this tangent. “Regardless, this is the part where those of you who recognize me start to wonder why is it I decided to come to APW. Why not just settle for staying under the Experts banner in Vegas and Vegas alone? Whether it’s the Overdrive or the Asylum brands, APW has proven their mettle in the wrestling world and I’m one of those guys that just can’t look away from competition. This company has been in my sights for quite some time and for the first time in five years…I step foot into the place where I became infamous and take the next step in my own evolution.”
Strike unzipped the track jacket down slightly, revealing a white t-shirt underneath with the golden APW logo on it and the logo for “One Night In Hell” being somewhat visible. “This world’s expanded immensely since my time at the top of the mountain and no longer I will idly sit by and watch as those around me continue to evolve while I stay stagnant. To go up against the very best in professional wrestling and to overcome them on my way back up to becoming a World champion again, that is my purpose,” Strike explained, placing his hands on the pockets of his track pants. “My addition may be very much last minute, but to all of APW and most importantly, to all of you in that over-the-top rope battle royal, you can consider this the ‘Here Comes A New Challenger’ screen. The rumors are true.” He exhaled, grinning wickedly. “God will descend from his heaven and step forth into the flames of hell for one night.”
It was one of the rather amusing things about the Pay-Per-View’s name – the puns to be made. Even with his demeanor being very serious in the ring, outside of it, to those who bothered to get to know Chris Strike, he was rather easy-going and lax on many aspects, even a bit witty when the opportunity arises. The few closest to him know that, including two men inside of Action Packed Wrestling that would be competing in the night’s big main event for the APW Undisputed title.
“Johnny Knuckles, Yarmouth, Stefan Raab, John Dionysus, Tek, The Red Crow, The Snake Boy, Ashton Daniels, Jerome Dubois, Mr. Dangerous, Williams D. Williams Jr, Amy Zing, Kaylyn James Evans and Deviticus…new names, new faces, new challenges, call it what you will. Thing is, when it comes to battle royals, anybody has a legitimate shot at it.” He’d seen it from experience over the years that the most unlikely people could make a run at it if they played it smart or if they felt inspired enough to give it their all, knowing they didn’t have much to lose in the process. “This match will be the proverbial cool down prior to the main event, or so I hear. Normally, a very smart strategy – get people some time to relax before the main event, especially with the crowds in this country who watch and admire every detail of this sport and come out of their seats for it. Unfortunately,” Chris’ brown eyes narrow, accentuating the same wicked grin he flashed the cameras moments prior to listing the names of the competitors in the battle royal. “They won’t have a chance to cool down. They will be standing up on their feet, making and exceeding the kind of noise that crowds anywhere else in the world make when the mega stars of Action Packed Wrestling are in the scene. Because the man they dearly call raijin is stepping foot into his first pantheon for the first time in five years.”
Hands coming out of the pockets of the jeans, Chris Strike crossed his arms, maintaining his grin. “It doesn’t matter how many titles you’ve all won between yourselves here and elsewhere. It won’t matter how big of a game you talk leading up into this bout or how the Japanese Deathmatch style may or may not favor you. When it is time to go into that ring for my APW debut, you can expect one simple thing to happen when I come out through the curtain.” Each and every word exuberates confidence that borderlines on sheer arrogance and it is spoken as if it were the law of the land. “A dominating performance. To make this analogy a little clearer, this is my domain you’re all stepping into and the people inside the Tokyo Dome are my faithful subjects who have been waiting a long time…and I do not plan on disappointing them once I step through those ropes!” His statement is an octane louder, turning a few heads from the folks passing on by the Dome. “Everything about professional wrestling is something that I love and cherish with every part of me and when I told President Jeff to throw me into the fray of this battle royal, I didn’t do so with just the intention of giving the people a few seconds of joy and then let myself be tossed over the top rope by some random somebody. The fact of the matter is simple, it doesn’t matter what level and volume of a Mega Star that you are, none of you can hold a candle to me – be it in a battle royal, be it one-on-one or however they see fit to have me compete in this company!”
Taking two steps forward, Strike approached the cameras, giving them a closer look at his upper body and facial expression. “This is only the beginning, but for any of you who have their doubts after seeing the news after I signed on the dotted line…I want you to watch this match very carefully. Because this is what you have to look forward to on the oncoming months of your careers.” The words and actions of his opponents at the battle royal were of no consequence. He respected the competition enough to take it seriously enough where it mattered: inside the squared circle. “Can you hear me, mega stars? Can you understand the words that come out from my lips? Can you truly, honestly fathom what you are dealing with when it’s time to spend One Night In Hell? Can you find it within yourselves, can you draw out the guts and the bravado to step from your feeble, mortal souls into the depths of Hades and take on the God of Thunder?!”
Whether Overdrive, Asylum or Meltdown superstars, that no longer mattered. This was his message not just to the current folks participating in the battle royal but also for the rest of Action Packed Wrestling. Because sooner or later, they would be crossing paths with Chris Strike and the sooner they realized exactly what they were dealing with, the better. Strike didn’t want any excuses from the lot…
“Then you have better come at me as though your lives depend on it. Because unlike the rest of you, I am not worried about being thrown off a ring or about being hit time and time again with foreign weapons or put through tables or explosives. I am not worried about keeping shiny gold titles around my waist. In fact, I have absolutely no worries. Because any punishment you wish to dish out, I can do it ten times more effectively and with far more malicious intent.” And that last part came with the territory – Chris Strike was very familiar with the style of match he had walked into as a last-minute entry due to wrestling a few of those in this country, be it in singles competition or with his long time tag team partner in Lyn Dallins. “In fact...an old friend, a hardcore legend of sorts – a man by the name of Masamune – he once looked me in the eye and said: ’Given the right circumstances and the timing, the God of Thunder can decimate anything in his path.’ And this match…this battle royal…this Japanese Deathmatch…”
The God of Thunder’s right index finger pointed straight at the camera, like the sword of a ruler ready to strike down any threats to his empire and as though Zeus was about ready to throw one of those mighty thunderbolts of his from Mount Olympus, all while he’s starting to shake, resisting the very urge to laugh maniacally at all the possibilities. Because just like Masamune once put it to him, this was the right circumstances and the timing just could not be any better…
“This match enables me to outright plow and destroy anything within sight that dares keep me from claiming the spot on the ladder that I so desperately desire! Those who are not familiar with my repertoire of moves will start wishing I never signed in the dotted line after I’m done with them! In this debut match, I’ll make blood rain and provide more anarchy, violence and chaos than anyone in this entire company could ever dream about,” Strike stated, controlling his breathing, keeping any and all extreme emotions at bay – saving that energy for when the time comes to do it inside the ring. “Why? Because each and every single one of you in this battle royal...fuck, everyone in this entire company represents an obstacle standing between me and Mount Christopolis!”
Chris Strike’s finger slowly lowered itself down, a small sigh escaping him before he began shaking his head, not quite believing the fact he used an older name for his status as the top guy in the company that somebody had given him once he brought the God of Thunder persona to the States. A few seconds of silence pass and once his breathing returns to a somewhat normal state, the mysterious smile in his lips is no more. Now...it is simply replaced by a grin filled with wicked intentions.
“At One Night in Hell...the God of Thunder steps through the flames. At One Night in Hell, I begin the long road to immortalize myself for eternity in this business, unleashing my wrath at any living soul that comes within eyesight. And if any of you mortals dare to step me in my way and stand between me and my ambitions...then I will make you bleed. I will break your bones. I will end your careers. I will turn you into nothing but pages of ancient history.”
Arms extending out wide, Chris Strike’s facial expression took a turn for the stoic, his hands are open and his posture is that of a bold challenge for those Mega Stars of present and future to come right at him. He would be there, waiting for them…swearing to rise through the rankings and to the next stage of his wrestling career.
He will be the absolute best in the world once again!
“And there isn’t a damned thing any of you can do about it!”
