Post by Azrael Goeren on Nov 25, 2012 22:12:28 GMT -4
If depravity had a flavor, it would never be sweeter than it is here tonight.
An escape for some.
Home for a select few.
A dizzying strobe of blue and purple hues dance across Azrael Goeren's face as he rests his hands behind his head. After a particularly physical jostling he winces momentarily but encourages his partner to continue. He closes his eyes, letting the dull and repetitive bass wash over him. Some new pop song. Sounds like Rihanna. It’s definitely Rihanna. Figures in a place like this that her musical talents would be the song du jour. If one waits long enough it’s a near certainty that the usual suspects will start spilling out from the loudspeakers. Got to have a Ke$ha song in there at some point. Pretty sure its mandatory and regulated by federal law.
Even with his eyes closed, the nauseating effect of the light show that bathes every inch of this room cannot be ignored. Azrael squeezes his eyes tighter, hoping to block it all out and focus on this moment but he's constantly dragged back into the room by an errant purple spotlight or bright white strobe. It almost ruins the entire experience for him. Almost. Luckily, the song ends and the light show that bleeds into the next song is fairly tame by comparison. His lips curl slightly into a smile as he lets out a deep exhale.
No, No. Not anything you did. Continue.
Relaxation comes slowly to Azrael Goeren these days. True relaxation anyways. Not that it ever came easier in the past, but at least he was able to enjoy it a bit more back then. There is far too much work to be done these days. Men with purpose rarely have the luxury of kicking off their shoes at the end of the day. It’s a marathon race every waking moment. Eyes on the prize. You know what flowers smell like, no need to smell those roses today. Never lose focus.
If Azrael is completely honest with himself, tonight does seem a bit forced. This town isn't exactly a hotbed of entertainment, so when he wanted to go out and celebrate the news, he didn't exactly have a lot of choices.
The news.
Mark Mania. Overdrive Champion. One on One.
A voice whispers to him this is what you've wanted, isn't it?
He's not entirely sure if that voice was in his head or in his ear.
Doesn't matter. The answer is yes.
His mind is wandering now, every implicit motion barely even registering with him. This whole scenario, coming here tonight in a vain attempt to venerate himself has fallen flat.
Too much on his mind.
So much to gain.
Here you go sweetheart. Come back again in another twenty minutes and bring a friend.
Azrael's eyes flutter open as the young girl who was moments ago dancing across his lap grabs her top from the arm of the leopard print chair he's sitting in. She slips her clear heels back on and clops away, counting a handful of cash as she slips out of the VIP Room here at Club Desire in Providence, Rhode Island. Sitting next to Azrael on a padded stool is his longtime associate/assistant Michael Robinson who can only shake his head at his longtime employer.
This has been some night. So glad you wanted me to meet you here. It’s been a blast handing out your money to humiliated girls for you.
Sarcasm. Wonderful. Exactly what I need from you right now.
I absolutely love to watch you degrade women. It’s really empowering for me. It’s in no way a complete waste of my time.
Please. I've been nothing but a perfect gentlemen since I walked through that heart-shaped door.
Really?
Of course. They only allow true gentlemen in here. Says so on the sign. Why do you think I brought my top hat and monocle here tonight?
Funny.
I try.
Let's go.
No, I'm having fun.
No you're not. You're distracted.
How can you tell?
I just can.
How?
I've known you for over a decade and this is the first time we've been to a strip club for more than an hour and the cops haven't been called.
Clearly my top hat is working.
Mike shakes his head again before getting up from his stool and making his way over to the private bar. There are only a handful of patrons in the VIP section here tonight, and the girls who work this joint are clearly eager to attach themselves to the big money that Goeren brings. One of the girls approaches Mike at the bar, keeping her flirtatious stare in Azrael's direction the entire time. She plays with her raven-like hair with one hand, her mouth moving as she gives Azrael a wink from across the room. Mike calmly waves her off, whispering something to her as she shrugs her shoulders and walks off before giving Azrael one last look.
Something about her eyes seem...different. Not at all like the other girls you find working at places like this. Something fluttering behind her curtain, as they say.
Mike approaches him with a fresh bottle of champagne and pours the liquid into two plastic tumbler glasses provided to him by the waitress behind the bar. Azrael reluctantly grabs hold of his glass, tilting his head to the side as he watches the stripper that Mike was talking to leave the VIP area completely.
What did you tell her about me?
Nothing.
You said something to her. You scared her away.
I told her your name.
Ah. That'll do it.
That will do it.
To her credit, she didn't seem that horrified.
No...she didn't. Kinda weird actually, most working girls hear your name and have visions of roofies and hospital trips flash through their heads.
My reputation precedes me.
I'm honestly amazed they let you in here tonight. Weren't you banned from all strip clubs within a hundred mile radius of Boston after that fork incident?
Apparently this place did not get the memo. Remember how much PR you had to do after that?
Don't remind me. You're lucky I'm so good at my fucking job. Speaking of, you don't want to even know what you put me through this week.
What do you mean?
I don't think there are enough mail sorters in the world to sift through all the fan mail you got since Overdrive.
I'm sure they were all devastated by the complete ineptitude of my "team" during the Turkey Bowl, ja? Talk about useless, I could have gone into that match with a dead Norwegian hooker strapped to my back and still stood a better chance than I did with the likes of Shadow, Krunk and Gooch at my side. Christ, just listen to those names. Sounds like a Smash Brothers lineup.
Actually, it was all hate mail.
Vas? For what?!
For punching AJP in the face. The words "inhuman" and "prick" were used quite often.
Oh please, I turned that ugly duckling into a swan! Did you see the way her jaw almost shattered and her face swelled up? It was worth being stuck in that disgusting match just to do that to her.
You are so lucky you have me to intercept letter bombs, that’s all I'm saying.
Mike inhales his champagne in one gulp, glancing down at his watch.
So, we leaving? Or do you have more women you'd like to scar for life?
You're awfully testy tonight, you know that?
I just don't like wasting my time like this.
What if I just wanted to hang out? You know. Bro out with you.
No offense, but we've never had a lot in common. I enjoy spending my free time with my family, you enjoy spending your free time watching emotionally abused girls spin around on poles and paying homeless people to fight for ham sandwiches.
If only I could combine those two loves...
I'm leaving.
Wait! Talk to me about my business.
What business?
You know. My assets. My portfolio.
What portfolio?
Halt die Klappe, you know what I mean.
Well, since you brought it up all I can say is that you're lucky President Jeff signed you to that outrageous contract. You've been burning through cash lately and these nightly excursions of yours aren't helping matters.
What are you rambling about? My bank account is as healthy as it ever was.
It was until you started buying luxury sports cars and Vegas villas. It was until you started throwing parties every weekend and buying every pharmaceutical drug you could get your hands on. It was until you lost most of it along with the company your parents left you in the divorce with Evelyn and...
Mike stops in mid-sentence, his eyes quickly jolting down to the ground as he realizes his mistake. Azrael says nothing, leaning back in the chair a bit as his body instinctively tenses at the name.
Her name.
It still cuts him deep after all of these years, even though he lost her years ago. Not lost her. She left him. Ungrateful bitch. Disgusting pig. She never realized how good she had it. Never loved him for the man that he was, always trying to turn him into the man she wanted him to be. She was so stupidly naive. Hated the wrestling industry. Hated what she said it did to him. Dumb twat. She never understood.
Yes she did. Better than anyone. There was once a time when you were a better man than you are today.
No. That never happened. Ignore that voice. She was a cancer on your soul. You did the right thing cutting her out.
There once was a choice presented to him on a lonely night in Las Vegas, years ago.
Evelyn or fame.
He made the right choice.
Michael's eyes bravely try to make contact with Goeren, but Azrael seems lost in thought.
Sorry. I didn't mean to bring her up.
It's fine, Michael. The last thing I think about these days is that horrible slut. I only pray that she hasn't done any long term damage to our...to MY son. The moment that boy is eighteen you know he'll find his way to my side and ditch that useless hag just like I did.
Yeah. Sure he will Henrik. Sure he will.
Azrael stands up from his chair as he glances down at his assistant.
You ready to leave now?
Not just yet. I need you to do something for me first.
Please don't make me drug anyone, I left your Roipnols in my other pair of jeans.
Find that girl you spoke with earlier and bring her to me.
Why?
Something about her eyes...
Mike, having long since given up trying to figure out what Azrael is thinking, trudges out of the VIP Room in search of the young stripper. Azrael grabs hold of the champagne bottle in the meantime, downing the rest of the liquid inside before he smashes the bottle to the floor after victoriously conquering the alcohol. The girls and patrons in the room stare in bewilderment before the door swings back open and Mike is followed by the young black-haired beauty. Mike stares at the broken bottle on the floor and lets out a sigh, but Azrael's focus is completely on the woman in front of him. He takes her hand and politely kisses it, smiling up at her.
Shockingly, she smiles back.
I bet you do that to every girl you meet.
He usually licks their forehead.
Too bad. I would have liked that better.
Azrael's eyes light up.
My name is...
I know who you are. Kinda hard not to.
And you are?
Call me Angel.
Yes. Angel. Of course. Michael? Bring the car around, if you would.
Should I book a hotel room for you and your...achem...guest?
Nein. I have a more pressing matter to attend to. Do you still have your video camera in the car?
No more sex tapes, Goeren.
Azrael smirks, running a hand across Angel's face as she eagerly hooks arms with him.
Nothing like that, I just feel like it’s time to let Mark Mania in on the future.
*************************************************************************
A darkened room, nearly pitch black. The gentle whine of a video camera is the only audio that can be heard before the very loud and rhythmic sound of footsteps echoes throughout the room.
A single spotlight suddenly shines on, illuminating Azrael Goeren who is wearing the same clothes he was wearing while at Club Desire. His back is turned towards the camera as another loud spotlight clicks on, highlighting a giant banner featuring the Mania Enterprises logo. Azrael slowly turns and faces the camera, his hands outstretched at his sides.
Herr Mania. At long last, you and I finally have the chance to get to know each other. Long overdue, wouldn't you say mein freund?
Both of us seasoned veterans in this twisted business of ours, both of us known the world over to millions of fans. How many combined championships have you and I held over our careers before we made it to APW?
Twenty? Thirty? Enough to lose count?
Such rich histories you and I have to our names, I suppose you could say we are kindred spirits in that regard. Nobody was happier than I when I heard you decided to come back to professional wrestling after your latest sabbatical. A sharp mind like that always deserves to be in the thick of things, and I'll admit that I've always admired your tenacity in this business from afar. A tenacity that has earned you that Overdrive Title and all the recognition that comes with it.
You have made it. You've accomplished what you set out to do in winning that belt at One Night In Hell. Congratulations.
I dare say that in a lot of ways you and I are mirror images of one another...if not for one glaring difference between us.
Morality.
That conscience of yours holds you back Herr Mania and it absolutely disgusts me you allow it to do so. It keeps you from attaining perfection and...worse yet...you know that it does. Every doubt that has crept into your mind since you made your return to the ring is fueled by the fact you put your wrestling career secondary to other affairs in your life. You have people you care about, a company to run and crusades to blindly follow. You would rather be loved by the idiotic fans than be feared by them. You prance around in your suits and make these stoic speeches from your desk about how there is going to be a new era here in APW now that you're a champion.
A new era filled with honor! Integrity! Square dances! Lollipops! Taffy pulls and all of the other nonsense you promise APW.
It’s all mindless drivel that you spew out and feed to the drones that chant your name and feed your insatiable need for acceptance. It’s absolutely pathetic Mania, every action you take makes me realize that the choices I've made in the past were the correct ones. I look at you and I see what would have happened if I choose mediocrity over greatness. If I decided to be weak rather than be strong.
I didn't dominate 85 men and women at Survive & Conquer because I wanted my company to be in the limelight. I didn't win the CWC World Heavyweight championship because I wanted admiration from the fans. I did those things because I will literally die in that ring to prove that I am simply the best of our generation, Herr Mania. That's what fuels me. You don't prove that by making speeches with a shiny belt in front of you or using a taser on some lunatic in an animal shelter match. You prove that by breaking everyone you step into the ring with and making sure they never dare raise a hand against you in the future.
That's what a lack of morality can do for you. That's what will keep you chained down against a man like me and eventually cause you to lose that belt of yours.
The fact that I get to prove that to you personally simply shows just how much God loves me.
He gave me you, on a silver platter.
The false prophet.
The man who touts himself as some champion of champions when if you look close enough you realize what an absolute crock that is. You're just as arrogant and self-righteous as all of the other clones in the locker room you profess to be fighting against. Look at how you conduct yourself week in and week out. You have the temerity to publically claim you are restoring honor to a title while at the same time screaming from your soapbox about how fantastic of a person you are? Is that how you intend to bring honor back? By acting just like Delikado? Hardly becoming of a man of your stature, if you don't mind me saying.
Speaking of our mutual Cuban associate, I find it amusing that he terrorized you for what...three months? It took everything in you to beat him at One Night In Hell and then you start rambling about how you finally put him in his place after months of torture...only to lose to him the following week in a tag-team match. Bravo sir, you really kept that animal down. When I was given the task of dealing with that man-child, I concussed his thick skull and nearly broke his damn neck in the process. Three months compared to one night. That's how you deal with lesser men, Mania. That's how I'll deal with you come Overdrive.
You see mein freund, I'm not John Dionysus. I'm not a husk of a former champion whose losing streak somehow earned him a chance to prove himself against you. In three matches here in APW, I've beaten a former tag-team champion and a former Overdrive champion. When I was the CWC World Heavyweight Champion, I had the luxury of fighting CJ Gates. You know him. Former Undisputed Champion, ja?
I beat him to a bloody pulp.
Twice.
Then, I was lucky enough to be thrown against Kurt Noble. You know, former Tag-Team, Overdrive and Undisputed Champion? I'd like to think that his failure to beat me caused his mind to snap and then, just so he remembered never to stand against me again, I came here at Survive & Conquer and pinned him clean right in the middle of the ring.
That's how a true champion acts.
Unlike the sheep you are used to fighting Herr Mania, I'm not a coward. I don't tuck tail and hide because I'm going up against so-called "legends" or talk a big game but disappear when the high profile matches roll around. I'm a unique creature in that I absolutely adore the gore. I want our match to shock people, I want to bring out the absolute worst in you and shine a light on what type of man you truly are. I want every fan and wrestler backstage to look at you with disgust when you stumble out of that ring and they see you for the broken and two-faced liar of a champion you really are.
I want all of those concerns you have over your talent and all of those self-doubts you've had since you came back to APW to bubble to the surface when you step into the ring against me. I know you've tricked yourself into believing that since you have that title and since you won at One Night In Hell, you've hit your stride. You've hit nothing, Mania. Absolutely nothing. You took down an animal to win that title and then beat up a has-been. If that makes you feel confident about your abilities heading into our match, more power to you. I won't fault you for trying to delude yourself into thinking that I'm just another warm body in your way. So many others have tried that tactic and I honestly never get sick of it. I love that look in their eyes when they realize they've never fought a man like me before.
I'm something far worse, something you can't possibility prepare for.
I'm everything you want to be.
You won't allow yourself to go to the extreme to beat me because of some ridiculous code of conduct you abide by. You cling to phrases like "honor" and "tradition" like a baby clings to its security blanket. The words you use to describe your ideal APW are obscene to my ears. They churn in my stomach and make me want to wretch whenever I hear you spout them. They are nothing but sickening throwbacks to an imperfect and soon-to-be forgotten era.
I've said it from the first time I showed up here that I will be changing this promotion for the better and now that I've been given a chance to prove it against you, I will not relent. That Overdrive Title and everyone who ever held it represents the stale and hackneyed past of APW. It's time for someone to reinvent that title for the future. I've torn through the competition like a buzzsaw since I arrived on the scene, and I will not stop until I crash Overdrive to the ground.
Then I'll rebuild it.
I'll make it perfect.
Keep worrying about your stock options and how nice your hair looks on camera, Mania. Keep bringing honor and integrity back to that title publically while scheming on ways to hold onto it privately. While it’s not on the line this week, you know as well as I do it’s only a matter of time before Rebel forces you to man up and put the strap on the line against me after I brutalize you beyond recognition this week.
Please though, don't consider this match of ours a dress rehearsal for our eventual title match. I'm not. I'm looking forward to this more than any title opportunity that awaits me in the future.
I want you to understand that you don't have the luxury of choices.
By any means necessary I'm walking out of Providence with my hand held in victory.
I'm taking your hope away from you. I'm taking your health away from you. I'm taking away the notion that you are somehow APW's white knight. I'm stripping you of every preconceived notion you've ever had about yourself and leaving you with just the Overdrive title belt to your name.
Then...when the time is right...I'll take that too.
Sweet dreams, Herr Mania.
With that, the spotlight over the Mania Enterprises banner goes out leaving only Azrael in a single spotlight. After a polite bow and a twisted smile, his spotlight loudly clicks off and leaves the room in darkness.
*************************************************************************
An escape for some.
Home for a select few.
A dizzying strobe of blue and purple hues dance across Azrael Goeren's face as he rests his hands behind his head. After a particularly physical jostling he winces momentarily but encourages his partner to continue. He closes his eyes, letting the dull and repetitive bass wash over him. Some new pop song. Sounds like Rihanna. It’s definitely Rihanna. Figures in a place like this that her musical talents would be the song du jour. If one waits long enough it’s a near certainty that the usual suspects will start spilling out from the loudspeakers. Got to have a Ke$ha song in there at some point. Pretty sure its mandatory and regulated by federal law.
Even with his eyes closed, the nauseating effect of the light show that bathes every inch of this room cannot be ignored. Azrael squeezes his eyes tighter, hoping to block it all out and focus on this moment but he's constantly dragged back into the room by an errant purple spotlight or bright white strobe. It almost ruins the entire experience for him. Almost. Luckily, the song ends and the light show that bleeds into the next song is fairly tame by comparison. His lips curl slightly into a smile as he lets out a deep exhale.
No, No. Not anything you did. Continue.
Relaxation comes slowly to Azrael Goeren these days. True relaxation anyways. Not that it ever came easier in the past, but at least he was able to enjoy it a bit more back then. There is far too much work to be done these days. Men with purpose rarely have the luxury of kicking off their shoes at the end of the day. It’s a marathon race every waking moment. Eyes on the prize. You know what flowers smell like, no need to smell those roses today. Never lose focus.
If Azrael is completely honest with himself, tonight does seem a bit forced. This town isn't exactly a hotbed of entertainment, so when he wanted to go out and celebrate the news, he didn't exactly have a lot of choices.
The news.
Mark Mania. Overdrive Champion. One on One.
A voice whispers to him this is what you've wanted, isn't it?
He's not entirely sure if that voice was in his head or in his ear.
Doesn't matter. The answer is yes.
His mind is wandering now, every implicit motion barely even registering with him. This whole scenario, coming here tonight in a vain attempt to venerate himself has fallen flat.
Too much on his mind.
So much to gain.
Here you go sweetheart. Come back again in another twenty minutes and bring a friend.
Azrael's eyes flutter open as the young girl who was moments ago dancing across his lap grabs her top from the arm of the leopard print chair he's sitting in. She slips her clear heels back on and clops away, counting a handful of cash as she slips out of the VIP Room here at Club Desire in Providence, Rhode Island. Sitting next to Azrael on a padded stool is his longtime associate/assistant Michael Robinson who can only shake his head at his longtime employer.
This has been some night. So glad you wanted me to meet you here. It’s been a blast handing out your money to humiliated girls for you.
Sarcasm. Wonderful. Exactly what I need from you right now.
I absolutely love to watch you degrade women. It’s really empowering for me. It’s in no way a complete waste of my time.
Please. I've been nothing but a perfect gentlemen since I walked through that heart-shaped door.
Really?
Of course. They only allow true gentlemen in here. Says so on the sign. Why do you think I brought my top hat and monocle here tonight?
Funny.
I try.
Let's go.
No, I'm having fun.
No you're not. You're distracted.
How can you tell?
I just can.
How?
I've known you for over a decade and this is the first time we've been to a strip club for more than an hour and the cops haven't been called.
Clearly my top hat is working.
Mike shakes his head again before getting up from his stool and making his way over to the private bar. There are only a handful of patrons in the VIP section here tonight, and the girls who work this joint are clearly eager to attach themselves to the big money that Goeren brings. One of the girls approaches Mike at the bar, keeping her flirtatious stare in Azrael's direction the entire time. She plays with her raven-like hair with one hand, her mouth moving as she gives Azrael a wink from across the room. Mike calmly waves her off, whispering something to her as she shrugs her shoulders and walks off before giving Azrael one last look.
Something about her eyes seem...different. Not at all like the other girls you find working at places like this. Something fluttering behind her curtain, as they say.
Mike approaches him with a fresh bottle of champagne and pours the liquid into two plastic tumbler glasses provided to him by the waitress behind the bar. Azrael reluctantly grabs hold of his glass, tilting his head to the side as he watches the stripper that Mike was talking to leave the VIP area completely.
What did you tell her about me?
Nothing.
You said something to her. You scared her away.
I told her your name.
Ah. That'll do it.
That will do it.
To her credit, she didn't seem that horrified.
No...she didn't. Kinda weird actually, most working girls hear your name and have visions of roofies and hospital trips flash through their heads.
My reputation precedes me.
I'm honestly amazed they let you in here tonight. Weren't you banned from all strip clubs within a hundred mile radius of Boston after that fork incident?
Apparently this place did not get the memo. Remember how much PR you had to do after that?
Don't remind me. You're lucky I'm so good at my fucking job. Speaking of, you don't want to even know what you put me through this week.
What do you mean?
I don't think there are enough mail sorters in the world to sift through all the fan mail you got since Overdrive.
I'm sure they were all devastated by the complete ineptitude of my "team" during the Turkey Bowl, ja? Talk about useless, I could have gone into that match with a dead Norwegian hooker strapped to my back and still stood a better chance than I did with the likes of Shadow, Krunk and Gooch at my side. Christ, just listen to those names. Sounds like a Smash Brothers lineup.
Actually, it was all hate mail.
Vas? For what?!
For punching AJP in the face. The words "inhuman" and "prick" were used quite often.
Oh please, I turned that ugly duckling into a swan! Did you see the way her jaw almost shattered and her face swelled up? It was worth being stuck in that disgusting match just to do that to her.
You are so lucky you have me to intercept letter bombs, that’s all I'm saying.
Mike inhales his champagne in one gulp, glancing down at his watch.
So, we leaving? Or do you have more women you'd like to scar for life?
You're awfully testy tonight, you know that?
I just don't like wasting my time like this.
What if I just wanted to hang out? You know. Bro out with you.
No offense, but we've never had a lot in common. I enjoy spending my free time with my family, you enjoy spending your free time watching emotionally abused girls spin around on poles and paying homeless people to fight for ham sandwiches.
If only I could combine those two loves...
I'm leaving.
Wait! Talk to me about my business.
What business?
You know. My assets. My portfolio.
What portfolio?
Halt die Klappe, you know what I mean.
Well, since you brought it up all I can say is that you're lucky President Jeff signed you to that outrageous contract. You've been burning through cash lately and these nightly excursions of yours aren't helping matters.
What are you rambling about? My bank account is as healthy as it ever was.
It was until you started buying luxury sports cars and Vegas villas. It was until you started throwing parties every weekend and buying every pharmaceutical drug you could get your hands on. It was until you lost most of it along with the company your parents left you in the divorce with Evelyn and...
Mike stops in mid-sentence, his eyes quickly jolting down to the ground as he realizes his mistake. Azrael says nothing, leaning back in the chair a bit as his body instinctively tenses at the name.
Her name.
It still cuts him deep after all of these years, even though he lost her years ago. Not lost her. She left him. Ungrateful bitch. Disgusting pig. She never realized how good she had it. Never loved him for the man that he was, always trying to turn him into the man she wanted him to be. She was so stupidly naive. Hated the wrestling industry. Hated what she said it did to him. Dumb twat. She never understood.
Yes she did. Better than anyone. There was once a time when you were a better man than you are today.
No. That never happened. Ignore that voice. She was a cancer on your soul. You did the right thing cutting her out.
There once was a choice presented to him on a lonely night in Las Vegas, years ago.
Evelyn or fame.
He made the right choice.
Michael's eyes bravely try to make contact with Goeren, but Azrael seems lost in thought.
Sorry. I didn't mean to bring her up.
It's fine, Michael. The last thing I think about these days is that horrible slut. I only pray that she hasn't done any long term damage to our...to MY son. The moment that boy is eighteen you know he'll find his way to my side and ditch that useless hag just like I did.
Yeah. Sure he will Henrik. Sure he will.
Azrael stands up from his chair as he glances down at his assistant.
You ready to leave now?
Not just yet. I need you to do something for me first.
Please don't make me drug anyone, I left your Roipnols in my other pair of jeans.
Find that girl you spoke with earlier and bring her to me.
Why?
Something about her eyes...
Mike, having long since given up trying to figure out what Azrael is thinking, trudges out of the VIP Room in search of the young stripper. Azrael grabs hold of the champagne bottle in the meantime, downing the rest of the liquid inside before he smashes the bottle to the floor after victoriously conquering the alcohol. The girls and patrons in the room stare in bewilderment before the door swings back open and Mike is followed by the young black-haired beauty. Mike stares at the broken bottle on the floor and lets out a sigh, but Azrael's focus is completely on the woman in front of him. He takes her hand and politely kisses it, smiling up at her.
Shockingly, she smiles back.
I bet you do that to every girl you meet.
He usually licks their forehead.
Too bad. I would have liked that better.
Azrael's eyes light up.
My name is...
I know who you are. Kinda hard not to.
And you are?
Call me Angel.
Yes. Angel. Of course. Michael? Bring the car around, if you would.
Should I book a hotel room for you and your...achem...guest?
Nein. I have a more pressing matter to attend to. Do you still have your video camera in the car?
No more sex tapes, Goeren.
Azrael smirks, running a hand across Angel's face as she eagerly hooks arms with him.
Nothing like that, I just feel like it’s time to let Mark Mania in on the future.
*************************************************************************
A darkened room, nearly pitch black. The gentle whine of a video camera is the only audio that can be heard before the very loud and rhythmic sound of footsteps echoes throughout the room.
A single spotlight suddenly shines on, illuminating Azrael Goeren who is wearing the same clothes he was wearing while at Club Desire. His back is turned towards the camera as another loud spotlight clicks on, highlighting a giant banner featuring the Mania Enterprises logo. Azrael slowly turns and faces the camera, his hands outstretched at his sides.
Herr Mania. At long last, you and I finally have the chance to get to know each other. Long overdue, wouldn't you say mein freund?
Both of us seasoned veterans in this twisted business of ours, both of us known the world over to millions of fans. How many combined championships have you and I held over our careers before we made it to APW?
Twenty? Thirty? Enough to lose count?
Such rich histories you and I have to our names, I suppose you could say we are kindred spirits in that regard. Nobody was happier than I when I heard you decided to come back to professional wrestling after your latest sabbatical. A sharp mind like that always deserves to be in the thick of things, and I'll admit that I've always admired your tenacity in this business from afar. A tenacity that has earned you that Overdrive Title and all the recognition that comes with it.
You have made it. You've accomplished what you set out to do in winning that belt at One Night In Hell. Congratulations.
I dare say that in a lot of ways you and I are mirror images of one another...if not for one glaring difference between us.
Morality.
That conscience of yours holds you back Herr Mania and it absolutely disgusts me you allow it to do so. It keeps you from attaining perfection and...worse yet...you know that it does. Every doubt that has crept into your mind since you made your return to the ring is fueled by the fact you put your wrestling career secondary to other affairs in your life. You have people you care about, a company to run and crusades to blindly follow. You would rather be loved by the idiotic fans than be feared by them. You prance around in your suits and make these stoic speeches from your desk about how there is going to be a new era here in APW now that you're a champion.
A new era filled with honor! Integrity! Square dances! Lollipops! Taffy pulls and all of the other nonsense you promise APW.
It’s all mindless drivel that you spew out and feed to the drones that chant your name and feed your insatiable need for acceptance. It’s absolutely pathetic Mania, every action you take makes me realize that the choices I've made in the past were the correct ones. I look at you and I see what would have happened if I choose mediocrity over greatness. If I decided to be weak rather than be strong.
I didn't dominate 85 men and women at Survive & Conquer because I wanted my company to be in the limelight. I didn't win the CWC World Heavyweight championship because I wanted admiration from the fans. I did those things because I will literally die in that ring to prove that I am simply the best of our generation, Herr Mania. That's what fuels me. You don't prove that by making speeches with a shiny belt in front of you or using a taser on some lunatic in an animal shelter match. You prove that by breaking everyone you step into the ring with and making sure they never dare raise a hand against you in the future.
That's what a lack of morality can do for you. That's what will keep you chained down against a man like me and eventually cause you to lose that belt of yours.
The fact that I get to prove that to you personally simply shows just how much God loves me.
He gave me you, on a silver platter.
The false prophet.
The man who touts himself as some champion of champions when if you look close enough you realize what an absolute crock that is. You're just as arrogant and self-righteous as all of the other clones in the locker room you profess to be fighting against. Look at how you conduct yourself week in and week out. You have the temerity to publically claim you are restoring honor to a title while at the same time screaming from your soapbox about how fantastic of a person you are? Is that how you intend to bring honor back? By acting just like Delikado? Hardly becoming of a man of your stature, if you don't mind me saying.
Speaking of our mutual Cuban associate, I find it amusing that he terrorized you for what...three months? It took everything in you to beat him at One Night In Hell and then you start rambling about how you finally put him in his place after months of torture...only to lose to him the following week in a tag-team match. Bravo sir, you really kept that animal down. When I was given the task of dealing with that man-child, I concussed his thick skull and nearly broke his damn neck in the process. Three months compared to one night. That's how you deal with lesser men, Mania. That's how I'll deal with you come Overdrive.
You see mein freund, I'm not John Dionysus. I'm not a husk of a former champion whose losing streak somehow earned him a chance to prove himself against you. In three matches here in APW, I've beaten a former tag-team champion and a former Overdrive champion. When I was the CWC World Heavyweight Champion, I had the luxury of fighting CJ Gates. You know him. Former Undisputed Champion, ja?
I beat him to a bloody pulp.
Twice.
Then, I was lucky enough to be thrown against Kurt Noble. You know, former Tag-Team, Overdrive and Undisputed Champion? I'd like to think that his failure to beat me caused his mind to snap and then, just so he remembered never to stand against me again, I came here at Survive & Conquer and pinned him clean right in the middle of the ring.
That's how a true champion acts.
Unlike the sheep you are used to fighting Herr Mania, I'm not a coward. I don't tuck tail and hide because I'm going up against so-called "legends" or talk a big game but disappear when the high profile matches roll around. I'm a unique creature in that I absolutely adore the gore. I want our match to shock people, I want to bring out the absolute worst in you and shine a light on what type of man you truly are. I want every fan and wrestler backstage to look at you with disgust when you stumble out of that ring and they see you for the broken and two-faced liar of a champion you really are.
I want all of those concerns you have over your talent and all of those self-doubts you've had since you came back to APW to bubble to the surface when you step into the ring against me. I know you've tricked yourself into believing that since you have that title and since you won at One Night In Hell, you've hit your stride. You've hit nothing, Mania. Absolutely nothing. You took down an animal to win that title and then beat up a has-been. If that makes you feel confident about your abilities heading into our match, more power to you. I won't fault you for trying to delude yourself into thinking that I'm just another warm body in your way. So many others have tried that tactic and I honestly never get sick of it. I love that look in their eyes when they realize they've never fought a man like me before.
I'm something far worse, something you can't possibility prepare for.
I'm everything you want to be.
You won't allow yourself to go to the extreme to beat me because of some ridiculous code of conduct you abide by. You cling to phrases like "honor" and "tradition" like a baby clings to its security blanket. The words you use to describe your ideal APW are obscene to my ears. They churn in my stomach and make me want to wretch whenever I hear you spout them. They are nothing but sickening throwbacks to an imperfect and soon-to-be forgotten era.
I've said it from the first time I showed up here that I will be changing this promotion for the better and now that I've been given a chance to prove it against you, I will not relent. That Overdrive Title and everyone who ever held it represents the stale and hackneyed past of APW. It's time for someone to reinvent that title for the future. I've torn through the competition like a buzzsaw since I arrived on the scene, and I will not stop until I crash Overdrive to the ground.
Then I'll rebuild it.
I'll make it perfect.
Keep worrying about your stock options and how nice your hair looks on camera, Mania. Keep bringing honor and integrity back to that title publically while scheming on ways to hold onto it privately. While it’s not on the line this week, you know as well as I do it’s only a matter of time before Rebel forces you to man up and put the strap on the line against me after I brutalize you beyond recognition this week.
Please though, don't consider this match of ours a dress rehearsal for our eventual title match. I'm not. I'm looking forward to this more than any title opportunity that awaits me in the future.
I want you to understand that you don't have the luxury of choices.
By any means necessary I'm walking out of Providence with my hand held in victory.
I'm taking your hope away from you. I'm taking your health away from you. I'm taking away the notion that you are somehow APW's white knight. I'm stripping you of every preconceived notion you've ever had about yourself and leaving you with just the Overdrive title belt to your name.
Then...when the time is right...I'll take that too.
Sweet dreams, Herr Mania.
With that, the spotlight over the Mania Enterprises banner goes out leaving only Azrael in a single spotlight. After a polite bow and a twisted smile, his spotlight loudly clicks off and leaves the room in darkness.
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