SURVIVE AND CONQUER RP THREAD

[John Slade l The Executioner]

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and no woman feels quite as scorned as this one does right now. Young in the voice and young in the mind, Kandi Kollins, the live-in partner of John Slade and not quite romantic interest screeches furiously at Slade for his servitude to Sabra Nikoalyev, SCW's Queen of Sin.

“I can't take it any more John! How much more do you expect me to take?”

“Don't... call... me... John.”

“WHY?! Because I'm not your high and mighty Queen Sabra? You care about that slut more than you do me.”

“That woman is the very reason you and I are living comfortably in Vegas and not going back to Montana. You would still be a worthless harlot struggling to make it as a dancer were it NOT for her! Now stay your tongue and think about your words before you conjure them, you inconsiderate wench!”

“Wha---.... what?!”

“You heard loud and clear Kandi. Normally, I would not be abowed by your follies and your japes but I can not take this anymore. Regardless of whether you like it, I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to Sabra. I would have nothing but the axe and the trees were it not for her blessing and faith in me. I would certainly still not be here with her-”

There's a pause, then Kandi whispers the question that's burning on her mind in a disgusted, venomous whisper.

“You fucking love her, don't you?!”

“No. Don't be so paranoid. She is a married woman and I am but a commoner, indebted to her by virtue of her kindness.”

“You think she's prettier than me. You love her more than me, you -”

“I don't love you, or her.”

“You-...wh-... heh... I don't-... Oh God. You... you son of a bitch.”

“My lady, you live with me, you eat my food, you struggle to hold down a job in that wretched little brothel you call Sully's and you just about manage to pay your share of the upkeep. You nag and you persist, have the emotional and intellectual maturity of a bloated cadaver and don't simply accept that my debt gives me a sense of purpose like I've never felt before. That's not love, that's a passive burglary and emotional manipulation.”

“Stop... please stop.”

“Tell me, what is there to love? You don't support the decisions I make. You never find time to ask me the questions that matter. You are essentially the servant girl that I have taken something of a shine to, enough to stern the loins but nothing more than worthless street trash with blood so corrupted and tainted that it would be a blight against my fine shoes.”

“I'm... I'm going.”

And with a slam of the door, she had gone. Yet the ringing sound reverberated through John's ears... all through the night... night.... night.

---

And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.-Matthew 10:28

”Slade...”

”The Mad Butcher”, “The Executioner”, “Her Infernal Majesty's Personal Headsman”, John Slade goes by many names but the themes of his monikers are unified by their description. Death is is his business, and business... is good.

A man of recluse, John Slade calls the old House Viola atop Sorrow Hill his home. It's a large house but one that seldom receives the interest of the mobile and the wealthy. Centuries of neglect have taken its toll on House Viola and allowed the once serene and picturesque gardens to grow into a jungle of weeds and vines and habitats for small creatures, a maze created by Mother Nature so that the frogs and mice and other like creatures may find themselves lost forever in its depth.

Although no windows were broken and there was no obvious signs of dilapidation, the occasional missing roof-tile, the dire need of paint and the lack of any lights at the front of the house told any potential guests all that needed to be said about their welcome here at Slade's home. Inside, a vastly different story is told. Although the same ill-lighting situation was prevalent on the interior, what could be seen of the inside was positively palacial. Rooms upon rooms of perfectly maintained drapes, curtains, upholsteries and furniture alike. Bookshelves upon bookshelves regularly dusted and grand tables that glimmered and shined so that even in the darkness you could see your own reflection.

Yet the best sight to behold was the grand hall, a large, open dining area with rows upon rows of long tables and empty seats that had not been filled in a long time. At the top end of the room stood a set of steps leading up to two large wooden chairs that overlooked the dining hall, positioned in front of two large royal purple banners that hung from the high, high ceiling with John Slade's seal, the two crossed war-axes.

These seats were the only seats to be occupied, as sitting side by side was a man and a woman. The man was tall, gaunt, skin as white and chilled as the first flakes of winter, yet with a muscular build that had to be seen to be believed, piercing green eyes that narrowed contemplatively as he peered into the darkness at the empty tables and long cascades of raven. His lady friend, small in stature but with a waif, nymphet body like Mideia. Her black gown and white bonnet concealed a myriad of body ink and a head of flame blue hair that would tumble wildly down her shoulders if set free from her headwear. These people were John Slade and Matron Blackwell, regents of Sorrow Hill and the occupants of the mighty House Viola.

John Slade l The Executioner: My dear Matron... Where are our humble guests?

Matron Blackwell l Nurse Tourniquet: They are on their way my dear butcher. I promise it.

John Slade l The Executioner: Good. And how many guests are we expecting?

Matron Blackwell l Nurse Tourniquet: … Ninety nine of them.

John Slade l The Executioner: Ninety nine? How exact... Yet... there are no lights to show the way, Lady Blackwell. How are we possibly to let them know who is holding court?

Matron Blackwell l Nurse Tourniquet: We must light the way, my love.

With a flick of her wrists, torches along the walls lit one by one until there was no shadows but that of the curtains. From above, the chandelier glowed brighter and hotter than it ever has and ever will. With a ghostly breeze of Matron Blackwell's dark power, the doors flew open and the floodgates well and truly opened as apparitions entered the hall en mass. All ninety nine of the guests arrived simultaneously and flooded in to fill the tables where the shadows of Matron's incantation had filled with an incredible buffet. These were Survive and Conquer entrants... and they were dining before Butcher Slade.

John Slade l The Executioner: This is it. This is all of them. The Survive and Conquer combatants... assembled here before me. Do they-... do they even know I'm here? They're laughing and dining yet... not one of them has looked at me.

Matron Blackwell l Nurse Tourniquet: Yet is there any other way you would want it my love? These people do not know themselves, never mind each other, and certainly not you, the butcher who lives within his means and within the shadows. You scarcely leave these walls, my lord, how would you expect them to see you? Yet here they are, eating your food, drinking your drink, dining in your court. How would you expect this to be?

John Slade l The Executioner: I must... I must see these people. They will surely notice me if I make my presence felt.

John eagerly gets out of his seat before The Matron can stop him. She reaches out to grab him but gets nothing but a handful of thin air as Slade grandly saunters down the steps to confront his guests. He looks through the crowd, still unnoticed by the cold-blue tinted visions of his opponents and while he recognises most if not all of the faces though there are some he cannot put name to, he looks for one that at the very least he has spoken to before. That's when he spies the spectre of Adrian Spectre, the tongueless lord of Sin City dressed in a fine black robe with golden lining and a scarlet neckerchief to cover his ghastly injury.

John Slade l The Executioner: Lord Spectre... what an honour-

Nothing. Not even a glance in his direction. The Matron coils her skeletal arm around Slade's and presses her head against his bicep, a pillow which she has taken solace in on many a night.

Matron Blackwell l Nurse Tourniquet: He cannot hear you, my love.

John Slade l The Executioner: But... I can see him, I can feel-

Slade reaches out to place a hand on the shoulder of Adrian Spectre but it sails right through him and out the other side. Slade drops his jaw, then pulls his back and feels it with the other to make sure that it is not in fact he who is amongst the undead. He feels very real, but Spectre does not.

Slade turns his attentions to the apparition of “The Last Magician” Sally Talfourd, dressed in colourful jester clothing sans the jingling hat and living up to her moniker, wowing an impressed crowd of J.T. Cash, Aurora Jansen and Aubrey J. Parker with a display of handkerchiefs from her loose sleeves. Slade stands to the side to watch but his presence is unnoticed. When Sally distracts them with her patter and her hands do the real work, the words that come from her lips are of no human tongue. They sound distant and muted, like she's underwater and drowning.

John Slade l The Executioner: Sal.... Sally? Lady Talfourd?

Nothing. Slade doesn't make the same mistake of trying to touch Sally like he did Spectre, but simply watches in stunned silence. Matron Blackwell sidles into him yet again and presses her head against his barrel-like chest.

Matron Blackwell l Nurse Tourniquet: My love... you can not simply beg their indulgence. You need to stand tall atop that podium and MAKE them listen. You are the armada and counsel of Queen Sabra Nikolayev, if you wish to make these people real and show them your true might then you simply give them no choice but to force them to listen. What is your creed, Lord Slade?

John Slade l The Executioner: For the loudest speaker, the quietest action is the one that is heard. A promise is a cloud, fulfilment is rain-...

Slade pauses for the briefest of moments, but Matron Blackwell is there to fill in the missing letters for him.

Matron Blackwell l Nurse Tourniquet: And the quickest answer...

The two stare into each others eyes, the smile of recognition tugging Slade's usually pursed lips into a smirk.

Both: Is doing...

He could've kissed her, but he kept his composure and simply observed as the shadows danced in his dining room.

John Slade l The Executioner: Then they give me no choice. I must make them notice me. I must unsettle the ground underneath their feet, stomp with malice and pride and roar my battle cries as I charge into the thick of it with the mightiest warriors that The Feifdom of The Storm Lord can assemble. They call him “Hurricane”, the storm that can not be quelled. Well in his domain where the titans stroll and legacies are forged, I must...

Matron Blackwell watches with a keen eye as Slade walks to the wall at the edge of the room, where he reaches up and plucks the torch out from it's holster. The bright flames burn hotter than the open fires roasting in Hell as he places the torch onto the wooden dinner table and watches with a smile on his face as the flames begin to catch and lick.

John Slade l The Executioner: Burn it. Burn this place to the ground. So that there are no walls they can hide behind, no doors that they may enter, just an open battlefield for all to see. What other symbol to signify the extent of my might than this burning beacon? For it is here, on the battlefield that heroes are made and legacies created. All shall know fear.

As the flame spreads along the table, one by one the apparitions become real. Matron Blackwell flicks her wrists once again and the doors to the grand hall slam shut and lock all at once, forbidding escape. The Survive and Conquer competitors solidify and become material as the flames spread rapidly around the room, as one by one they pound on the doors looking desperate to seek their escape but only to find there is none.

The flames eat away at the wallpaper and rush up the ceiling and along the bookcases, setting the whole room ablaze and casting a dark orange glow as it eats away at the wooden foundations of the building and brings timber crashing down from above. The screams of his fellow competitors is a deafening cacophony, as Slade raises the torch high above his head before setting himself alight and cackling maniacally as his flesh starts to melt.

-

Slade opens his eyes and stares down at his lap where his executioners cowl sits, simply waiting like the grandest of ironies as if he were on Death Row. He holds the mask up in front of his face and remembers the look of fright and horror he instilled in the audiences eyes that first night he jumped the crowd barrier at Sin City Wrestling to defend Sabra. He was about to hopefully have a repeat performance.

He stared aimlessly into the eye sockets of the mask, not even entirely away of what the time was when suddenly there was a knock at the door. Whoever it was was not in the habit of waiting for a reply, as a young man with curly blonde hair peered through the doorway.

Kenny Walters l APW Intern: Mr. Slade sir, #69 has just made his entry. You'll be out in two minutes.

John Slade l The Executioner: Thank you.

Slade sighs and walks through the door to follow the intern to follow him to the entranceway. He takes one last look at his cowl as he sits on the bench near the entrance curtains, to finally collect his thoughts for the last time before stepping out before the masses. The roar of the crowd is deafening, like a true Coliseum just waiting for the next gladiator to step out there.

John Slade l The Executioner: Here, in Wembley, England, the largest rogues gallery in the history of this blood-sport has been assembled for the delight and delectation of the common folk of foggy London town. One hundred men have been gathered here for love, for the adoration of the people, for one million dollars and for epic gladiatorial combat that can only be found in a match of this scope and magnitude. Yet you people want to know why it is I, John Slade who should catch your eye, why I should stand in prominence over the rest of these people. Well let me tell you why, because I am NOT here to win Survive and Conquer. I am not here to earn myself the grand prize of one million sovereigns like some desperate game show contestant. Hell, I'm not even here to get my name in the newspapers when I eliminate one of your favourites out there...

The crowd boos as yet another competitor is sent tumbling out of the ring into an abyss of shattered hopes of winning Survive and Conquer.

John Slade l The Executioner: I'm here... to put the world on trial. I'm here to pass sentence on the wicked. I'm here... to watch this wretched planet hang for it's ghastly crimes against good taste and honour, as blessed executioner under the jurisdiction of the true sovereign power in wrestling. I come to Survive and Conquer, the battlefield of the brave and the gathering place of champions at the behest of Her Imperial Majesty, Sabra Nikolayev to punish the wicked and inflict suffering upon others like they have never felt before. Although her grace resides and reigns in Sin City Wrestling, her authority is universal. Her power knows no geographical boundaries. And as her emissary and messenger, I am to declare war upon this sordid little grief hole in her esteemed name so that all may fear the name of her grace, Queen Sabra!

The sound of the ring shaking from a high impact move whips the crowd up into a frenzy. The seconds are ticking away as we come closer and closer now to Slade's grand arrival. Yet he waits patiently, staring straight at the camera with a face as cool as plate metal while his heart pounds like a ticking time bomb in his chest, waiting to explode in a rush of adrenaline.

John Slade l The Executioner: Out there, awaits a world to be conquered. Mere mortals risk life and limb out in that ring, clashing swords in their game of chance, completely oblivious to the beast that lurks back behind these curtains. The great danger is the danger unknown, and how unknown I truly am here. These people realise not who I am or the power that I possess. They can not even put a name to my face. To them, I am but another commoner on the list of dreamers ambitious enough to believe they can win this competition. Yet when I make my grand arrival and charge into battle with the rest of them, blessed truly are the ones already been defeated. For I, John Slade, The Executioner who stands towering over the competition will systematically inflict the dark horrors of my work upon each and every swordsman who dares cross my path. There will be no survivors, there will be no mercy, there will be vindication for the wickedness of their crimes.

His fists clench tightly around the rough fabric of the mask he wears, his nails digging intio the groves by his stretching hands. Hooking his fingers through the eye-holes for but a second, he pulls them out again and pulls the mask down over his head so that he is well and truly ready to do battle psychologically before he has even arrived on the field.

John Slade l The Executioner: Tonight, there is no glory in the work I do, no prize or honour. I simply seek to inflict as much human suffering as I possibly can, to cast a shadow of fear over that ring and the rest of the competition, marking what was meant to be a joyous occasion as one of great suffering and pain like a vile plague of a dreadful massacre. It is not the ends to which I work for but rather the great pleasure I take in employing the means. I, Butcher Slade, love simply tearing asunder those that would dare underestimate me and spread a message of universal fear of the power that Queen Sabra commands at her hand. Limb from limb, bone by broken bone, as many as dreams I can shatter I will gladly take like the greedy child in the candy store. For this is my dining hall, where I get to feast on broken minds... It is here... where battle will commence.

The intern taps Slade on the shoulder, a dangerously bold move by any stretch but even more-so when he is in the midst of waxing poetic about the fates of his opponents.

Kenny Walters l APW Intern: Thirty seconds, sir.

John Slade l The Executioner: Let's do this.

Slade stands and takes his final steps towards the curtain, ready to unleash the inner-rage and lust for mayhem upon the rest of the competition. It's now or never, the clock is ticking and his number is up. Will Slade be the man to win the 2013 Survive and Conquer Battle Royale?

? l ? : JOHN, WAIT!

It is often the voice of woman that will shatter the determined mindset of man, yet Slade can barely believe his own ears as he turns to see the tear-soaked face of Kandi Kollins sprinting through the corridor towards him as fast as her legs can carry her.

John Slade l The Executioner: Kandi... I-... how did you get here? What're you doing?

She slams on the breaks, nearly flooring herself as she crashes into Slade. In floods of tears, the masked butcher simply looks down at the woman that just two weeks ago he told he didn't love.

Kandi Kollins l Nurse Tourniquet: It doesn't matter. I just wanted to tell you something... I love you, John. I know you hate me calling you that, but I can't help it. I love you with every inch of my being. I've always felt worthless because I'm not a scientist or even able to do basic Maths, but when you're around, I feel like I can do anything-

Walters taps his wrist-watch to remind Slade of his time constraint.

Kenny Walters l APW Intern: Fifteen seconds, Mr. Slade.

John Slade l The Executioner: Just a minute, go on, Kandi.

Kandi Kollins l Nurse Tourniquet: I can read books and it makes sense, I can do sums, John... I got a place at the Las Vegas University Nursing School on a foundation course because of you... and... I was wrong about you and the Queen. Your loyalty to Queen Sabra makes you the man you are. It makes you strong, determined, gives you a cause in life. Hell, I saw how miserable you are the day we met on the bus to Vegas. But when you've got something to stimulate you, you're incredible. You've changed my life, now let me be a part of yours, please, I'm so sorry. We'll never fight again...

Rare is it that Slade is at a loss for words, but rather than confront this he turns for the curtain so that he can escape to the ring with his clouded thoughts.

John Slade l The Executioner: Kandi... I need to go.

She jumps in his way and puts her arms out, despite knowing that there's little she can do to stop Slade getting past her if he truly wanted to.

Kandi Kollins l Nurse Tourniquet: Just promise me you'll stay. Please, John. You fight for Sabra, so let me fight for you...

Slade sighs and yields.

John Slade l The Executioner: I promise. Now please... I've gotta-'

Kenny Walters l APW Intern: Five seconds, Mr. Slade.

Kandi smiles up at her butcher, the happiest she's ever truly been.

Kandi Kollins l Nurse Tourniquet: Kiss me, John.

Slade reaches down to kiss her, their lips brush for but the briefest of moments until Kenny reminds him once again.

Kenny Walters l APW Intern: You're up Slade.

John Slade l The Executioner: Alright. I'll see you after the match, Kandi.

Kandi Kollins l Nurse Tourniquet: I love you John. Give them Hell, for me, as well as Sabra.

John Slade l The Executioner: I will Kandi... I will.

As Slade pulled back the curtains to step out into the Wembley Arena, a bright light shone down onto his gloomy, hulking frame and the sound of the lions roar of the crowd hit him like a meteor.

THREE!

TWO!

ONE!

Slade took one last look back at Kandi, smiled then stood tall and stepped into the lime light as he cast his dice into the fires of Survive and Conquer, to build himself a legacy once and for all.

Fade

[biggs]

”What do you mean there's no real wilderness in England? I'm looking to do a sort of Man versus Wild, or Survivor Man type trip to get myself ready for a big wrestling match this weekend, and you're telling me that England doesn't really have any place that I could do that in?” I exclaim, flabbergasted with the travel agent I'm visiting in London. As part of my training regiment for the upcoming Survive & Conquer Match, I had decided early on that in the week-and-a-half between the last episode of Overdrive and the Survive & Conquer pay per view itself, I was going to expose myself to the dangers of the wild, to hone my senses and build up the proper mindset in regards to the potential dangers I would be facing in the 100-Person Battle Royale. Unfortunately, the travel agent I'm talking to tells me that there's not really that much of England that's been left untouched by man.

”You could take a ferry to Knoydart, Scotland. They say that they're the last great wilderness of Great Britain. They have excellent accommodations from what I hear, as well...” he replies, looking down at his computer screen. He's a neebish man, short in stature, and short of hair. The bright lights of the sterile office reflect off of the bald spot on his forehead, almost blinding me every time he looks down at the screen.

”Listen..” I pause, trying to read his name tag.

”Nigel. My name is Nigel.”

”Nigel, my man, you gotta help me out. I've got a big match later this week, and if I don't get an authentic wilderness survival experience, well, my training will just seem incomplete. Is there anywhere you can think of that doesn't have accommodations, or running water, or civilization or anything of that nature?”

He looks at me through his horned-rim glasses, sniffling a bit as he responds, ”You have very unorthodox training methods, sir. Unfortunately, England itself is largely populated, and the best you're going to find is the idyllic pastures and farm lands. Would you like me to put you in contact with a nearby farmer and see if you could camp out in their pasture for a few nights?”

I sigh, and look around the small office, seeing if there's anyone else that can help me, or if there's even a manger to talk to. Unfortunately, all I see is a small box lined with blue wallpaper, several discolored posters for countries in South America, and several empty desks. It looks like it's just me and Nigel.

”That's the best that you can do?”

Without hesitating, Nigel smacks his lips as he responds, ”Yes, that is the best I can do.”

”Fine. I guess it'll have to do.”

”I'll get right on booking that for you, sir.”

About a half an hour later, Nigel has all the i's dotted, and all the t's crossed, and I'm on my way. I ride the bus a few hours out of London, and before long, arrive at the farmland with which I'm going to get my outdoor experience. The farmer and his wife greet me. They're nice people, if a bit plain. The farmer himself cracks a couple of jokes about my weird request.

”I've been raising sheep in these pastures for the better part of 20 years, and I have never received a request as odd as yours. Still, we are happy to have to you.” he chuckles.

”Thank you for your hospitality. Now, I know that this isn't going to be as dangerous as anything Bear Grylls faced on Man versus Wild, but is there anything I should beware of, like wolves or the like?”

”Not likely. The worst you'll probably have to endure is the sheep themselves. A stupid and curious lot they are.”

”That's unfortunate. Oh well. Thanks again. I think I'll get headed out. What direction would be best for me to take to be at the most remote part of the pasture?”

He points me north, and tells me to head about 2.4 kilometers. I cinch up my backpack and head out.

The countryside itself is beautiful, if a bit cold and wet, but I'm okay with it, considering that I came out here to hopefully suffer and build some character. About an hour into my trek, I find a hillside with a giant rock sticking out of it that I figure will make for a good shelter. I set up camp, and before long, the dark settles in. As I fade out into sleep, I look up and see the starry sky, thinking about how much my life has changed in the past few months.

I immediately think of my recent divorce, how my self-centered way sabotaged any chance I had at making my marriage work. All the arguments come back to me, how I refused to see my ex-wife's point of view, how I would dismiss her as being silly or unfair. How professionally, things have been going for me about as well as they ever have, yet personally, I'm literally at the lowest point I've ever been in my life. Losing Ellie is what prompted me to examine my character, to try and change myself for the better. As I lie with my head propped up on a rock for a pillow, I think back to my conversation earlier in the day with Nigel, and how for all the efforts I've put in thus far, old habits die hard. I was rude to him, I wanted things my way, and couldn't accept the fact that I wouldn't get my way, at least not how I envisioned.

Survive & Conquer is just a few more nights away. I may have survived my personal demons thus far, but can I say I've truly conquered them? Probably not. Looks like I'll have to settle for fighting my professional ones.

***

Depeche Mode's “Spacewalker” plays as the words FIRST CONTACT flash across the starry background in big, bold blue letters. The video transitions to Biggs seated on the ring apron inside an empty Wembley Stadium.

”Survive & Conquer.”

“In two nights, I will find myself competing in the biggest battle royale in the history of not just APW, but perhaps in all of professional wrestling. 100 men and women will come from all over the world just to participate in this most spectacular of matches.”

“Survive & Conquer.”

“One match, two words. Okay, two words and an ampersand, but still, just look at those two words.”

“Survive & Conquer.”

“In a match that's all about numbers, the first word, Survive, is the most important. Because you can't Conquer 100 other superstars from all over the world of professional wrestling unless you survive the initial phase of the match, the Over-the-Top Rope Battle Royale. 96 of us won't make it past this stage. You have to survive the Steel Cage Match, in which one more person will be eliminated. You have to survive the Triple-Threat Street Fight, meaning that only two people will have the opportunity to truly conquer the rest of the competition, claiming the S&C Trophy and one-million dollar prize. However, before the eventual winner can do that, they must survive the Hell in a Cell Ladder match.”

“When you break things down, this match is 99 percent Survive, and only one percent Conquer.”

“Because there will only be one winner. Only one wrestler will outlast 99 other competitors to win the biggest match in APW history.”

“And my number in all of this? Nine.”

“As the ninth entrant into the Battle Royale, I have a Herculean task ahead of me. 91 other competitors will enter the match after me. I'll be in the ring for at least an hour and a half to even hope to get to the Steel Cage Match portion of the contest. It will undoubtedly be the biggest challenge of my career, yet it is one I welcome.”

“I'm not going to go on some cheesy soliloquy about how I'm on Cloud Nine, how I'm going to go the Whole Nine Yards in this match, how by preparing for this match now, that a stitch in time saves Nine. Nor am I going to complain about my number of entry. Because as I said earlier, this match is about survival, and if there's anything I've proven over my career, it's that I am more than capable of surviving.”

“About a year and a half ago, I found myself in the middle of a cancer scare. Thankfully, it proved to be merely a benign tumor, but I still used the experience as motivation to become only one of three people to defeat Level-One to become the APW Undisputed Champion. I came back from a career threatening concussion, and was the runner-up in the Elimination Chamber. While it would help my case more had I won that match, and been the sole survivor, the fact that I outlasted such APW stalwarts as the aforementioned Level-One, C.J. Gates, Kurt Noble, and Chris Hart is something that I can be proud off, especially considering that I missed most of 2012 due to injury.”

“The fact is, my strategy for this match is simple. My primary goal is to survive. It might not be flashy, it might not draw a lot of accolades, but if I'm going to be able to last for more than an hour and a half, I'm going to need to pace myself, pick my spots. My goal isn't to go out there and eliminate as many people as possible. My goal isn't to make myself a target by having a dominant performance. Let's be honest here, I'm not really built for a dominant performance in these kinds of matches!”

“As a smaller wrestler who relies more on my speed and technique, I'm not going to be able to just power people over the ropes. I'm not going to be able to come in and eliminate people at will. I'm going to have to wrestle smart, wrestle conservatively, and minimize unnecessary risks. Granted, no matter how much I try to be in control in this match, no matter how much I prepare, there is no such thing as being in control of a Battle Royale, especially one with 100 competitors! Not only do you need to have eyes in the back of your head, those eyes need eyes in the back of their head! Make no doubt about it, I'm in Survive & Conquer to win it all. I intend on going the distance, but I also realize that I'm going to need a lot of luck, and some help to make it far.”

“I know that I already have an ally in C.J. Gates. I'm pretty sure that I can count on Sally Talfourd until things get down to the final four. But beyond that, I don't have many, or perhaps any other friends in this match. Sure, there will be temporary alliances, marriages of convenience that will last for a bit for the mutual benefit of those involved, but any partnership in this match will be temporary at best. It's the nature of the beast. When it's ultimately every man or woman for themselves, it's expected to play out like that. Dog eat dog, that kind of thing.”

“That being said, I eagerly await the challenge that's facing me in Survive & Conquer. My entire career, I've been talking about my legacy, how I want to be remembered as one of the greatest of all time. The thing is, for most of my career, it's largely been talk. Sure, I can harp my Undisputed Championship win over Level-One, I can cite my three reigns as Overdrive Champion, but in this business, it's not about what you have done so much as what you have done lately. I've built a reputation as of late of being a high level competitor, but ultimately as a high level competitor that can't get the job done. Runner up in the Elimination Chamber, losing to Terry Marvin at Christmas Chaos in an Undisputed Championship match, this is my current track record. The guy who puts on a great performance, the guy who wows the crowd, but ultimately can't close the deal.”

“I won't be satisfied with merely having a good showing in the Battle Royale. I won't settle for just making it to the Fatal Four-Way Steel Cage Match. I couldn't be proud of simply getting to the Triple Threat Street Fight. And I absolutely could not take it if I made it all the way to the Hell-in-a-Cell Ladder Match just to come in second place.”

“This is a matter of pride. This is very much an ego thing. I know I'm supposed to be the so-called good guy now, that because the fans are now cheering for me that I'm some goody two-shoes who's just happy to be in the Survive & Conquer match. The thing is, Survive & Conquer is a lot like the NFL Playoffs. The teams that are 'just happy to be there,' like the Indianapolis Colts or Washington Redskins this year, got eliminated early.”

“Or perhaps in a more appropriate analogy, the Roman Gladiators of old, none of them were 'just happy to be there.' Actually they were all pretty miserable to be there, but my point is that they were so focused, so intent on surviving, that they had no choice but to win.”

“The same thing applies to Survive & Conquer. Of the field of 100 competitors, a lot of them are just coming into the match, trying to get their name out there, trying to get some valuable experience in a big match setting. And the people that come into the match like that will not win! After all, they're just happy to be on a big stage like the Survive & Conquer Match.”

“No, if I'm going to win S&C, I have to go in expecting to win. I have to go in with this attitude, otherwise I'll be just one of the 96 people unceremoniously dumped from the ring over the hour and forty minutes at least it will take to get to the Steel Cage portion of the match, and more realistically, I'll have to be in the ring north of two hours to have a shot of winning it all. But I knew what I was potentially getting myself into when I signed up for this match. I knew the risks, but I also knew the reward, and that is a shot at wrestling immortality!”

“Just looking at a list of the past winners, you see a veritable who's who of professional wrestling. There's Level-One, Victor Hades, Ryan Ruckus, and last year's winner, Alioth Starre! And this year, I'm hoping to add my name to that list.”

“It won't be easy, but anything worth having never is. There are 99 of the best wrestlers in the world each trying to stake their claim at the same thing that I am. Alright, so 98 of the best wrestlers in the world and Branden Harvey, but I digress.”

“Now to go through a list of each and every one of my opponents would not only be boring and repetitive, not to mention largely based on flash assumptions, I'm not going to waste my time or yours by picking apart everyone entered in this match. Simply put, I'll be competing with a lot of these individuals for the very first time in my career, and until you've actually fought somebody in that ring, you can watch all tapes you want, you can talk all the smack you can muster, the fact is that you don't know them as a competitor. You can't truly know all that they bring to the table, you can't possibly hope to say whether you're better than them, or have more heart or passion than they do, and have it mean a darn thing!”

“So rather than badmouth people I've barely even met, I'm going to simply wish everyone whom I am facing for the first time good luck, but not the best of luck, because I'm hoping to reserve that for myself!”

“However, there are plenty of people in the match whom I've faced off with before, and I have no problem giving them a verbal rundown, especially the ones I don't like!”

“I'm going to start with the highest profile guy in the match, at least to where APW is concerned, none other than the APW Undisputed Champion himself, Terry Marvin. Now Terry, you've come close to winning one of these Survive & Conquer matches before, coming in second place to Ryan Ruckus two years ago. The fact that you hold the top belt in all of professional wrestling would peg you to be a heavy favorite in this match-up, but I think your reputation will hurt you more than it will help you, Terry. Because you know as well as I do that each and every competitor in this match will be gunning for you! If they can't win, they might as well eliminate the APW Undisputed Champion! It's the closest thing to a silver medal that this match has, the only other thing that you can get a feather in your cap for besides winning the whole darn thing!”

“Last year was undoubtedly the year of Terry Marvin in APW. You won often, and you won big. You have made yourself a focal point in this match. But the thing is Terry, because of your pride, because of your arrogance, you've but the spotlight so firmly on yourself that you're going to get burned by it!”

“The fact that you let DeLorean what's-his-name talk you into entering the match by yourself, without your running buddy Level-One in there to watch your back, it shows your hubris. Because while he did bring up a valid point that Lester would most likely stab you in the back at some point in the match, he also failed to mention that you're going to be absolutely, horribly alone in that ring with 99 other people who want to make sure that you do not win this match! Even I have a few friends in this match. You have none.”

“You're good, Terry Marvin. Heck, you're great. But with the way you carry yourself, with the way that look down on others, there's nobody in their right mind who would help you out inside that ring during the Survive & Conquer Match. Nobody...”

“Speaking of your pal Level-One, I must say that I'm disappointed that he was too chicken to enter this match himself. Lester, I know you went out to the ring and ran your mouth about how you were above this match, that since you've already won it once, you have nothing more to prove in this type of contest. The words that you spoke, Lester, and what you actually said are two very different things. The fact that you bullied Vannah White all month, practically forcing her out of the match, shows just how afraid you and Terry Marvin really are. As the Sindicate, you may go on and on about how you're the top two guys in all of wrestling, about how it doesn't get any better than you and Terry, but when you get the one chance to actually prove it, by being the last two men in left standing in the S&C match, what do you do, Lester? You walk away. And when somebody comes along that you think could potentially threaten your 'best friend,' well, you take her to task as well. You're a bully, plain and simple, Level-One.”

“And because you're a bully, I fully expect you to stick your nose into this match at some point, if only to screw me over. We have our big match coming up at RassleMania, and it's predictable, almost cliché even, to know that you're going to try and make sure that I don't get my chance at glory in just two nights. Because you can't have the Survive & Conquer victory this year, admittedly by your own choice, there's no way in heck you're going to want me to have it either.”

“But you know what Lester, if that's what floats your boat, I say bring it on! Because like I said earlier, the Survive & Conquer Match is a match of numbers. What's one more butthead for me to overcome on my way to victory? If I'm going to outlast 99 other men and women, why don't we throw you into the heap as well? It'll only make my win that much sweeter!”

“I may be putting a lot of undue focus on the two of you, especially considering that Level-One isn't even in the match, but as two of my biggest rivals as of late, where else am I going to turn my focus to? This match is too big, too enormous to break every little variable down, to go in with any sort of coherent game plan beyond don't get Eliminated.”

“A survivor is somebody who does what they must in order to keep on living. If I'm going to stay alive in this match the length of time necessary, I'm going to have to be willing to do whatever it takes. I know that I'm going to have a lot of trouble reconciling this fact with my recent change of attitude, but there's no room for nice guys in this match. There's no room for gentlemen. I will honor my friends, I will honor myself, but beyond that, anything goes!”

“I know that I said earlier that conquering only made up about 1 percent of this match, and I stand by that, because only one person will be able to conquer the field of 100. But if you look at the conquerors in ancient times, Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, Augustus Ceaser, Napoleon Bonaparte, all of them had one common trait, and that is that they believed in their own greatness! I know it may sound prideful, it may rub some people the wrong way, but if I'm going to conquer this match, I must believe in my heart of hearts that I am the greatest competitor in this match up. Whether I prove it or not remains to be seen, but the heart will still be there.”

“Each of the men I just mentioned didn't just only believe in their greatness, they had a vision, a firm, singular vision, that drove them to do what they did, day in and day out. My vision right now is to silence my critics, wrestle the match of my life, and leave Wembley Stadium as the winner of the 2013 Survive & Conquer Match.”

“The bottom line is that I am entering Survive & Conquer with every intention of getting my arm raised at the end, being awarded the Survive & Conquer Trophy, and leaving Wembley Stadium one-million dollars richer. I didn't enter this match to come in second place, I didn't enter this match to come in last place. In this match of numbers, there's only one number that matters to me, and that is One.”

“One survivor. One conqueror. One winner.”

“I don't just hope to be the One, I aim to be the One.”

“Because I am quite simply OUT OF THIS WORLD!”

[Lyon]

The Manifesto of A Mother Lyon

[/u]

“The lioness, stoic and strong, will take all measures to protect her young.

Nature can be fierce; thus, cubs are completely dependent on their mothers.

For a cub that loses its mother is certainly destined to die itself.

The mother lion’s primal instincts are to defend and fight off threats that jeopardize the cub’s chance for survival.

As danger approaches, the lioness becomes the ultimate predator.

Lying low in the weeds her amber eyes sparkle, as she awaits the opportune moment to pounce.

Preying on the unwelcome visitors, she strikes, thrashing her claws violently against them.

Stumbling backwards, she slips, defensively clenching her carnivorous fangs around its neck and restricting the flow of blood to its brain.

A heinous growl warns the others of her presence.

The hunter, deceased, lies motionless below her paws.

The lioness stands tall: courage, conquering fear and love, conquering hate.”


------------------------------------------------------------


Prelude:

It’s intimidating as fuck to sit down and try and describe in what ways I, Lisa Loriann Lyon, am better than 99 other competitors. So I’ll make it easy on myself:

I’m not better.

As always: I have a story to tell. This is how I choose to tell it. If this image… projection… spiritual hologram of who I perceive myself to be, or rather to become, in the future… makes me better, worse, ranked above or even below him, her or you, then so be it. Because when it comes right down to it: I’m less worried about where I finish and more so about where I begin… again.

Welcome to the Lyon’s Den

11 Months Ago

Right as I go about piecing myself back together from the last mess, I find myself in a whole new predicament. This one, however, was all together different from the rest. As it was solely center on something that would teach me unconditional love and selflessness, and provoke me to care for it more than any drug, drink, slut, addiction, activity or job.

“You’re pregnant Lisa.”

“Excuse me?”

Peering up from his paperwork, the balding doctor made eye contact with me. “Yep, looks as if you’re about 6 weeks along too.”

Hopping down from the examining table, I approached him, attempting to glance over his broad shoulders. “You’ve got to be mistaken. There’s no way that… I mean… that’s literally impossi….”

“Well then, apparently we are witnessing one of God’s miracle babies. Because, yes, you are indeed pregnant,” he giggled, jotting notes down on his set of lab results.

“Tell me Lisa, it says here that you’ve battled bouts of depression and shown suicidal tendencies in the past, is that something that continues to be monitored?”

Still stunned from the doctor’s surprising confirmation, Lisa coughs up a quick response. “No, no, no, there’s no more issues with that.”

Checking the validity of her statement, he makes further eye contact and nods. “Because, I must inform you that in cases such as these, abortion is still an option and often recommended at this stage.”

Raising an eyebrow at his suggestion, my stomach cringed. I gently lifted my bag and as usual, opted for the exit.

-------------------------------------------------------

One Night Earlier…

Picking at the scarred-over tissue along the side of my wrist, I relaxed my bruised body further down into the inner walls of the bathtub.

What the fuck was I going to do…

My thoughts overwhelmed me as I soaped up the front of my right thigh. In attempts to numb myself, I dipped the razor into the diluted water and pressed it firmly against my ankle, sliding it up my leg. A checkerboard of scratches re-emerged behind the center of the blade as it was drawn towards my kneecap. However immature, this was still the only thing that could bring a sense of control back to my body. So many long nights I relied on this tiny tattered piece of metal to bring me back down from the day’s events. Today was no exception.

Self-harm was never something I originally found pleasure in. Actually, it hurt. But each time it became something more… something different. Something that I soon would crave. Until it became something I couldn’t live without. Something I depended on and finally, something I obsessed over.

Sound familiar?

Pulling the drain out, I gazed at the water spiraling through its sturdy pipes. The sting of fresh air dried my new trophies, until the blood was crusted over. As the water level lowered, the scars of my past exposed themselves. Each with a story to tell of how I got to this point in my life and the lessons I’ve learned along the way.

Sure, there have been those that have passed through my life that tried to fix me and do away with them. But, all it ever turned out to be was a temporary band-aid. One, that was continually ripped from me over and over again. The habit became something I repeatedly tried to cover up and lie about. The fools often believed my clumsy “accidents” were real. Or maybe that’s what they wanted themselves to believe. For every time they thought I was cured, the demons hid deeper inside the wounds, laying in wait under the initial covering of skin.

And as others evaluated me as susceptible to self-injury or suicide…

I saw this as my only means of survival.

---------------------------------------------------

Present Day

The sub zero temps froze the tips of my ears. With each passing car, a rush of brisk air smacked me across the cheek. With one foot off of the sidewalk, I leaned towards the traffic. Looking as if I was preparing to take a step, a gentleman in a long pea coat paused to yell out to me.

“Don’t do it! Life’s worth living!” he chuckled, exhaling a gasp of white smoke into the air.

Glancing at him briefly, I cracked half a smile to please his curiosity and returned to my focus of the nearby cars passing by.

Taking a step closer, he lined up next to me and tried to assist me in crossing the street. “New York traffic… won’t stop for anybody. Here, let me try.”

“I’m actually ok, but thanks,” I snidely replied, turning him a cold shoulder.

“Oh. May I ask what it is you’re doing out here then?” He couldn’t let it go, adjusting his oval-rimmed glasses.

Trying to catch him off guard, I revealed the truth of my random exercise. “You ever stood right next to a moving bus? It’s the greatest rush. Very few things in life can give you that natural of a high.”

“Can I buy you a cup of tea?” The man rapidly changed the subject, directing my attention to a nearby coffee shop. I wasn’t one to turn down a warm beverage, especially if a stranger’s paying. So, I followed his prompt indoors.

“I know who you are you know,” he proclaimed proudly, resting his coat along the back of the wooden chair.

I took my place across from him at the table, and waited patiently for my Chai tea. Noticing the press pass in his front pocket, I soon realized his trap. “Oh you do huh?”

Grasping at the tall glass in front of him, he smiled. “Yes indeed. You’re the infamous Lisa Lyon. I’ve seen you on television before.”

In repetition, I sipped the warm tea that was placed in front of me. “I see. Did you want an autograph or something?”

“Ha ha, oh no. I’m not a fan.” This caught my attention, as I was now piercing my vision through his skull.

Pressing the rims of his glasses up his nose, he retried. “What I mean is. I work for the local radio show around here. I mainly just cover the sports beat. And I thought… I’d try and catch up with you since the fans … haven’t really seen you around in awhile.”

“Took some personal time,” I kept to myself as I leaned back in the chair, not biting at the prospect of his game.

“So now you’re retired?” His suggestion caused tension between us.

Before I had a chance to react, he finished his thought. “Have you ever thought about a career in radio? We could sure use a fiery personality like yours at KTIT!”

“K-Tit? You’re trying to recruit me to work at a station called K-Tit?”

“It’d be a 6-2. Plenty of time to be at home with the little one at night.” His true intentions came out, as his sly sales smile creeped across his cheeks.

“What is it that makes you think I won’t go back to wrestling?”

“You quit? Isn’t that what you’re known for? Plus, wrestling has too many ups-and-downs. I mean… it’s not like it’s a stable career to raise a family in. You deserve to be some place that’s exciting… some place that can offer you a rush, so you no longer have to resort to jumping in front of buses on street corners to get that high.”

Swallowing deep gulps of tea, I finished my cup and slammed it back down onto the table.

“You said you knew who I was eh?”

He shrugged, unable to decipher where I was going with this.

“I’m finding that a little hard to believe. Because here I am, Lisa Lyon, in flesh and blood and silly you… has convinced yourself that the manner in which you just spoke to me was anywhere near acceptable. So what is it that you’re suggesting then … Terence (I squinted, reading the name on his highlighted press pass)?”

“Shit… have I been gone that long? Do you have no recollection of the delight I took in the torture I bestowed upon the innocent? Had you never witnessed the deep-seated rage, which was repressed to my very core? The disregard for order?”

Feeling uncomfortable in his skin, Terence readjusted his positioning and composed himself. “I thought you’d be more than happy to take a nice paycheck and go home and play mommy at night. A woman such as yourself should be in the household raising your children, not out risking your body every night while fighting numbskull macho men. What’s past is past… this is your future we’re talking about. Future for not only yourself, but your child.”

Terence spoke elegantly, and triggered an impulse of emotions that overwhelmed me. The demonic thoughts died down, and were overtaken by those of a positive nature.

“I may be a mother now. But this “mother” doesn’t need a stable, safe environment to succeed or bring security to her family. In fact, I’ve built a career out of pure, unadulterated chaos. I’ve garnished successes from the amount of risks I’ve taken. It’s these hectic up and down moments that I’ve thrived in. In fact, I’ve considered signing up for the annual Survive & Conquer match that APW holds annually. There isn’t a match more tumultuous than 100 competitors from all over the world forced to eliminate one another inside of a 20 x 20 ring. It happens only one night a year. It’s cluttered, it’s disorderly, it’s pure pandemonium… which is why this match was custom designed for a competitor such as myself to excel at.”

My emotion had been uncapped, as Terence began collecting his things.

“When I left professional wrestling, I left as a torn apart, run down mess. I went nearly a year trying to duplicate the rush that wrestling gives me. I tried to replicate it. I tried to force it out of me. I didn’t give a fuck what I had to do. I was going to find a way to relive the life I once had. But what I came to realize was… I will never have that life again. I will never be able to live the way I once did. I’ve changed and the person, the athlete, the fighter inside of Lisa Lyon is… has and will continually evolve. That doesn’t make the drive in me any less diminished. If anything… having a child… a family… only makes the hunger to succeed professionally, that much more of a necessity. I don’t want to win. I want to provide. I want to set an example. I want to make a name for the Lyon family. So THAT Terence is why I belong in the wrestling business and why I plan on making my return at Survive & Conquer.”

“100 competitors, I wouldn’t say the odds are in your favor,” Terence snidely remarked as I rose from chair and got within an inch of his nose.

Gasping, I sent a flying head butt his way. Losing his balance, he fell sideways onto the tiled floor. My black heels clicked on it as I rounded the table and stood over him, peering down at his pathetic positioning.

“A mother Lyon fighting for her cub, I wouldn’t bet against that.”

-------------------------------------------------------

4 Months Ago

“Lisa we may have to do an emergency c-section,” an ensemble of nurses hovered over my bloodied stretcher. I am, after all, Lisa Lyon… even my momentous life moments would have to involve guts and gore.

“I’m only 7 months along?” I screeched in a panicked tone.

“The baby is struggling to breathe. We don’t have a choice.” The Russian nurse led me through the doors of the Emergency Room, while the young college aide missed the initial insert of my IV.

“I’m not ready. I’m not ready to do this.” I reached up, gripping the metal bars along side the stretcher. “No. I can’t.”

The group of nurses tried to pull me off, with no luck, as my stomach may have ballooned but my arm strength was still intact. The tall lead nurse ordered them to back off, brushing them away from me. Kneeling down, she placed her strong, steady hands on top of my own.

“This isn’t about you,” she attempted to calmly explain to me.

“It isn’t!? It’s my fucking body,” I tried to regain control.

“What are you not understanding about this? How do you expect to raise a child when you are such a self-centered bitch!?” The room became silent.

“Your body is merely a vessel for your offspring. And after this C-Section… which you ARE going to do… your life is no longer going to be centered around your wants or needs. In mere hours, it won’t be about what you are doing. It will be about what you are doing for this little baby. Everything that seemed so damn important yesterday means nothing today. Every mistake you’ve made in your past, becomes a learning experience to teach your child. And forever more, whatever you do in your future endeavors, will not be for what best benefits Lisa Lyon. It will be for what best benefits your family.”

“I don’t have a family,” I snidely remarked.

Brushing a strand of hair from across my cheek, she softly smiled.

“Oh sweetie… you do now.”

My eyes went wide as I fell flat on my shoulder blades. With a snap of her fingers, the nurses reconvened around all sides of my stretcher. No more hesitation occurred, as they rolled me down the hallway in through the doors of the ER.

---------------------------------------------------

Present Day

“Ladies and gentleman of APW, we are proud to present the replacement of number 65, Alex Black in the 2013 Survive and Conquer match.”

Behind the red satin curtain, my stomach cringed. Feeling out the ambience, I waited for the right moment to make my entrance. Going from spit-up on sweaters and scrubs to black dress pants and a formal button-up was an unusual feeling after 11 months of seclusion. But then again, so did standing in front of thousands of media members and fans.

“LISA LORIANN LYON”

Brashly, with arrogance, I stepped forward into the bright blinding lights of camera flashes. Each spark brought back feelings of disdain for this business. In that, these people are the Kings and Queens of this “kingdom” of wrestling. They write the rules of the kingdom, while I am nothing more than their loyal Jester. Bowing before them, I approached the podium.

LISA LYON PRESS CONFERENCE/CLICK HERE TO LISTEN

– Transcript 700 words long --

Transcript (If you don't want to listen to audio)
------------------------------------------------------

The Day My Life Changed Forever:

A steady beep reassured me that I was safely inside a hospital. Inside of my room, my body began to stir. As my mind re-booted, the rapid panic began over memory loss.

My vision was blurred, as I blinked a few times, trying to clear my head. The light above my head was extremely bright and almost paralyzing. On the ledge next to me was a peace lily plant, struggling to bloom. The rays of sun peeked through the window, causing even more light to shed through the window’s shades. Hanging above my right arm was a pouch of liquid, a sack, connected by a narrow tube to something near me. Where does that tube go, I questioned? My eyes followed it down to a needle, which is now correctly inserted into my hand.

“Good Morning Sunshine,” the bright whites of the lead nurse welcome me back to the world.

“Are you ready to meet your newest family member?”

A white crust had formed along my chapped lips. I felt the dryness as I went to wet them. The standby nurses helped me adjust my body upwards in the bed, while the lead nurse turned her back. As she re-approached me, I noticed the tiniest creature lying asleep inside the comfort of her arms.

I was so taken aback. In shock. Yet, I smiled as my eyes met her tiny blue ones. How could someone with a body so ravaged, a mind so psychotic, a soul so corrupted have created something so fucking beautiful?

The nurse set the little one in my arms and tucked a blanket under my head for support.

“Hi baby,” I whispered to us both.

“Baby?” the nurses chuckled, with the lead nurse addressing the delusion.

“Is that what you’re naming her?”

“No, no.” I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She anxiously twitched in her pink blanket, unready to settle down for me. I could barely keep a hold on her, until she finally wore herself down and opened her mouth wide for a yawn.

“This little baby is one hell of a fighter,” the assistant nurse piped in.

“More like one hell of a survivor if you ask me,” another added.

“What do you think Lisa?” the lead nurse ducked lower, long enough to catch a momentary glance from me.

Glaring down at the C-Section scar that spanned across my waist, I knew I would forever be reminded of the most influential period in my life.

Nothing leading up to this moment ever felt as real as she did. I had experienced plenty of highs. I had overcome plenty of lows. I’ve stood amongst the best. I had given my heart to this profession. I’ve ripped myself apart to feel more. I had felt the glory of successes, the depths of failure. I had led the way. I had fallen behind. I had been picked apart. I had held up the gold. I soon planned on holding up 1 million dollars. And as much as that would be the pinnacle of my career… NOTHING would ever compare to the prized possession that I now held in my arms.

“My little Leona Lyon.”

The End[/center]

["Ballistic" Bryan Deas]

(On Camera)

We just fade in as “Ballistic” Bryan Deas, begins to speak on Survive and Conquer!

Bryan: You know, in this business we call wrestling, I have done a lot in my career! Win titles, win matches, becoming the man that the fans respect....and then, there are THOSE who don’t respect me and this business! Now, when this event was announced, and people were representing their respective organizations....I didn’t have one to represent because I wasn’t in one....but that was then, and this is now, because I am a part of the SVW banner! I wasn’t when I signed up for this...but now, I am! And this should show you people that I, “Ballistic” Bryan Deas will always be a major player in this game! But right now, I am focused to win this Survive and Conquer match...but it won’t be easy!

Bryan pauses for a minute before speaking.

Bryan: I mean, a 100 people in this match......

Bryan just blinks before speaking again.

Bryan: 100 people! God damn....that’s a lot of bodies, but I wonder....can the ring hold that many? Now, granted that everyone won’t be in there at once because people tend to get a big head and just eliminate people left and right! But then again, I have never been in this type of a match...so lets see how this match goes!

Another pause is met.

Bryan: This match begins as a Royal Rumble type match, until the 100th person has entered. Then, after that, when there are 4 people left.....then, the match turns into a Steel Cage! Then, 3 of the 4 will have to escape the cage and then, the match turns into a Street Fight! Then, the final 2, it turns into a Hell in a Cell where you have to escape and climb a ladder for a prize, and that is where the winner will be announced! Man, all of this work just to win a prize! But hey, with this many people....the prize better be worth something good!!!

Bryan just looked at what the prize is as he blinks.

Bryan: Wow, one million dollars, a Survive and Conquer trophy, AND bragging rights! Now, if that shit doesn’t fire you up! I don’t know what will, and with the people in this match....a lot of fires will have to be put on, but there is some people who I will mention and how they have no chance in winning! First on the list is YOU, Misty Whitmore!

Bryan pauses for a minute before speaking.

Bryan: Now, Misty, I see that you are #5 in this thing, and the only thing I have to say is this......

Bryan begins to laugh so hard that his face turns red!

Bryan: HA HA HA HA! You are #5 and you have NO chance of winning! I mean, hell, you have to go through 95 of the best damn people in the world, plus maybe go through 3 matches, just to win the damn thing! But, if you can do it, Misty...you will totally have my respect, but it won’t happen. But, I do wish you luck, but luck can only do so much for you! Now...onto Miss Jodie Gray!!!

Another pause is met.

Bryan: Miss Gray, the Queen of Gaming! Well, you are #10 in this, but you might have a chance....if you have a Game Genie or a Gameshark! I mean, I hope you saved all of your bonus lives, cause even if you found a Magic Mushroom, a Fire Flower, or hell, even a Magic Flashy Star....you wouldn’t even come close to winning! So, I really don’t think that all the powerups in the world will help you win....so just like Misty, you have no chance either! Now...whos next? Oh fuck, Christian Kane and Lyn Dallins is in this match too?! Well, seeing that I have to deal with them in SVW soon, I will worry about them when the time is right! Thank god....Gary Gilray isn’t in this match or I will just eliminate myself! Now....who’s......

Bryan just looks and he sees the name of Terry Marvin, on the list of people in this thing.

Bryan: Woah! Terry Marvin? The thorn in my side is a part of this? Wow.....I really don’t know to say but THANK YOU! Thank you for giving me the pleasure to take this bastard down!!! You don’t know how long I have been waiting for this moment! Terry, do you know how long I had to hear about you saying this and that about you being great! Really? You really think that you are great? Well, I hate to burst your bubble, sir, but until you live a day in my shoes...you will NEVER be great! Why? Cause I bloody well said so, you little misfit!

Another pause is met.

Bryan: Terry, ever since I have heard your name, I been wanting to tear you apart, limb from limb. but we really didn’t get the chance to do that...but now, since I am #54 and you are #60....that dream that I have been having will turn into a reality....unless I am a stupid moron, and get eliminated before you enter....but it will happen! No...I am not a stupid moron, but I will be awaiting your arrival, and when you enter....I will be the first one to eliminate you from this match! So, guys, as a personal favor...when T-Marv gets in the ring.....get out of the way cause I want the first shot at him! Do you all hear me? Stay back....until I get him out....then, it will be open season on everybody!

Bryan just pauses again before wrapping it up.

Bryan: Now, I would talk about everybody, but I really don’t want to bore you all to death with my speech, so I will make this brief! It has been a long time since I have been a part of something this BIG, but rest assured....when I am climbing that ladder to gain the prize....granted, I have to be in the final 4 to get that far, but rest assured, if I am in the final 4, or climbing the ladder, you can rest assured that “Ballistic” Bryan Deas has made history! And this event just screams for me....Survive and Conquer....cause after this event is over, I will have SURVIVED and I will CONQUER it! Don’t believe me? Well....you will have to wait and see what happens! And with that....see you all there!

And now, the scene fades to black.

[Tyson Phoenix]

The scene opens up, and the inside of a large darkened building is shown. The camera view slowly pans around back and forth a bit, and the only features of the building that can be clearly made out is a stage area that’s seen set in the back corner of the building. A large fluorescent neon green Heineken clock acts as the room’s only light source, hanging from the rafters of the ceiling above the stage and revealing the stage itself with a dance floor out in front of it. The stage is visibly worn, revealing the years of wear and tear and partying that have taken place in its honor. A few pieces of random litter is seen scattered across it and a microphone stand sits in the center with a mic resting at the top and the cord leading back off into the darkness. The view stops and remains focused on the mic for a few moments, and then a voice is heard coming from off camera somewhere.

“They say some things get better with age….”

After a few more second a man comes walking out of the darkness and up to the microphone, smiling into the camera with a boastful grin.

“Well for my sake, I sure hope I fall under that category too.”

The camera zooms in on the man, a rough middle aged looking gent with a medium build, five o clock shadow, and long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. He’s wearing jeans and an unzipped leather jacket with a black t-shirt underneath, and a pair of black motorcycle boots covering his feet. He smiles into the camera and opens his arms, as if to present himself.

“It’s been a long time wrestling world, but your rock and roll hero is back at it again!”

After a few moments of posing, the smile then disappears from his face and is replaced by a frown as he lowers his arms.

“Wait a second….look at me, I’m only back for ten seconds and already I’m forgetting my manners. It’s been quite a while since I last showed my face in the wrestling world hasn’t it? About four years I think? So allow me to introduce myself to those of you who might not know me…”

He reaches up and removes the microphone from the stand and sets the stand to the side, then takes position in the center of the stage and looks up toward the ceiling as he puts the mic to his mouth.

“Ladies and gentlemen…..coming to the stage from the dirty ole’ city of Detroit, Michigan….standing twenty feet tall and weighing in at a whopping eight hundred pounds…this man is a former world champion inside the wrestling ring, but according to the ladies he’s still the current world champion inside the sack….he is the best in the Midwest…the icon from Motor City….he is the one, the only….The Rockstar Tyson Phoenix!!!”

Tyson holds out his arms again and poses as if the place was full of people applauding. After a few moments he raise the mic back up to his mouth.

“That’s not really exactly how it goes…a couple of those details I kind of threw in there last minute, but you get the picture right? My name is Tyson Phoenix. Some of you may not recognize that name right now, and that’s understandable since I’ve been absent from the wrestling scene for four long years. But after Survive and Conquer….Tyson Phoenix will be a name that none of you will ever get out of your heads again. The headlines all over the wrestling world will be showcasing it, your children will be writing it on their notebooks at school, your wives will be screaming it in bed, and you…the pathetic chump who’s sitting back and shaking his head right now at all of these claims as I lay them out…you will be standing in the mirror every morning looking at yourself and wishing you were me.”

He smiles again with his cocky grin as he walks forward and drops down to take a seat on the edge of the stage before continuing on.

“Now before you get all pissed off and start throwing stuff at your television or your computer or iPhone or whatever other little gadget you kids are using, allow me to elaborate for you a little bit. Four years ago I was at the top of this life that we call professional wrestling. I belonged to one of the greatest wrestling promotions to ever grace the globe. We were an elite group of wrestlers, and I was the king that held our world heavyweight championship. I had some of the most memorable and hardest fought battles of my career in that company with some of the toughest people I have ever worked with, and in the end the company’s foundation just could not contain us all. Whether it was egos, tempers, or just the same old bullsh(BLEEP)t politics that have ruined so many feds before, the company folded and we all went our separate ways to pursue lives of professional wrestling elsewhere. Now many of you are probably saying right now, “What the hell is this guy talking about? Wrestling’s not a life….this guys is not making any sense! I mean, he’s damned good looking, but he’s just not making sense!”

He laughs.

“Ah but you see, that’s where you’re all mistaken. Of course, not about the good looking part…but about wrestling being life, because I’m here to tell you that’s exactly what it is. I used to think otherwise after the ECF folded, but time is a very good teacher and it has a way of showing us some very valuable lessons. Wrestling is not some sport that we all come and play every season, because there is no offseason and besides…you don’t really play wrestling do you? And wrestling isn’t some athletics competition that we all come and sign up for and hope to win, because there is no final reward to the life of wrestling. World Champion? Grand Slam Champion? Hall of Fame? Is there ever really a point when we’re satisfied as a professional wrestler?”

He shakes his head, imagining that there are also number of people shaking their heads along with him right now, people who have also tried to walk away from this great industry without any avail.

“Wrestling isn’t a sport, or even a competition….it’s a way of life, and that’s all there is to it. I’ve tried to deny this fact to myself over the past four years as I repeatedly told myself I was retired from professional wrestling. Slowly I realized that there’s no such thing as retirement from what we do. You can’t retire from a way of life. I mean, what are we supposed to do after wrestling? Get an ugly little lap dog that pisses itself anytime it barks? Move to Florida and buy a condo so we can get the hell away from our grandkids? Play bingo every evening and eat yogurt just so we can pass a turd before we go to bed at eight o clock? That all sounds like a great way to spend the end of our lives, but you see…that is not how the final chapters of a professional wrestler’s life story comes to an end and every single one of you knows it. Retired is a transparent word in our industry, because nobody ever truly retires from wrestling. The desire to compete in one form or another doesn’t go away until we draw our last breaths on this planet….and that day is a long ways away for this guy. For me, there is no escaping this life no matter how hard I act like I try to. I’m a slave to it. I’m addicted to it. I can’t even lie my head down on my overly expensive pillow at night without thinking about how much I love being in the ring and in front of the fans…even if they are booing me.”

He smiles as he reminisces back to his old ECF days as the world heavyweight champion and the heat that he used to generate on a weekly basis just by walking out to the ring. It’s a feeling that he misses dearly and he hopes to rekindle soon after Survive and Conquer.

“For the last four years I have sat back and I’ve watched as my inferior associates acted in my stead, learning the same hard lessons that I had to earn but failing to live up to the bar that I set so high for them.”

He picks up an old flyer from among the litter that’s spread across the stage and glances at it, and then he lets out a sigh as he shakes his head and tosses it aside.

“Although valued associates, it just further proves the fact that when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Even this club, look at this place….what a damned mess. You let amateurs take care of things for you, and this is what happens.”

He looks around at the broken down stage area.

“Well now it’s time to get off my ass and start taking care of things myself. This place needs some work, and I have plenty of that to offer. But before any of that happens I have something else that I plan to accomplish first….the catalyst that sparked this entire eye opening experience.

He smiles and looks up, appearing to be in thought as he thinks back to the day he learned he would be in Survive and Conquer.

“It was a phone call I got from an APW representative regarding this event called Survive and Conquer. I don’t really recall the guy’s name, President Jerry or something like that, but anyway just the name of the event…“Survive and Conquer”….I have to admit, just that name alone was enough to spark my interest.”

Tyson quickly glances down from the camera for a moment and gets a serious look on his face.

Of course, I don’t tell this guy that…I mean, if a star like me is going to compete in the ring again he’s gotta get paid a fat salary am I right?”

His smile is replaced and he looks back up again as he resumes his story.

“Anyway, the guys tells me, “Hey Rockstar….man this chump Jason Kash just dropped out of this huge event that we have planned called Survive and Conquer and we really need a replacement. We really hope that you might be interested in the spot because no wrestling show is complete without “The Rockstar” Tyson Phoenix.”

He looks back down again and into the camera as he continues.

“It went something like that anyway, but basicly I tell the guy sure, I’m in. I mean a hundred superstars in a single match? This is history in the making! I have to admit, for a little while I thought that the wrestling scene was going downhill fast. With all of the repetition of the same old crap that failed the first generation through, along with all of the paper champions that you see hiding behind owners who pimp out championship title belts in exchange friendships…it was really starting to make me sick and for a while there I thought I would never step into a wrestling ring again. But even then I hear about this Survive and Conquer match with such unforeseeable odds, and instantly I am drooling at the thought of competing in a match like this. What in the hell have I been thinking for four years? Is this what I’ve been missing in the wrestling world?”

He shakes his head

“I have a lot of making up to do inside that ring, so at the APW’s Survive and Conquer event I’m going to do what I do best and outclass one hundred other superstars, and then I’m going to walk away from it a million dollars richer as the first step in jumpstarting my return to the top of the wrestling world. And for those of you who do know me and know what I’m all about, you already know that when the Rockstar commits and says that he’s going to do something.…it damned well gets done doesn’t it?”

He slips off the stage and to the floor, then he starts to head off across the dance floor and towards the opposite corner of the room. He disappears into the darkness, but after a few second a click is heard and all of the lights come on, illuminating the entire room. The room looks to be about two stories tall with a cathedral type ceiling, and in the upper back wall is a large bay window with reflective glass on it. The camera then pans around to the side to show the other side of the large building, and the bar area is seen set up against that wall separated from the stage by a couple rows of tables with chairs turned over onto them. The view zooms in and focuses on the bar area, the countertop’s cracked and lusterless surface revealing its age just as the stage area did. Instead of being stocked full of liquor as it was when it was under Tyson’s ownership, the shelves on the back wall behind the bar are now empty aside from a single dusty bottle of liquor with no label. The rack that used to stock hundreds of crystal glasses are now nothing but wire racks collecting dust, and the wall around it that used to house dozens of autographed celebrity photos are now nothing but scratched up paneling and wood. Tyson is seen standing next to a breaker box around the corner, and he closes the door to the box and walks behind the bar as he continues on.

“I’ve always been honest with myself, which is one of the main reasons I was able to become so successful in my last run in professional wrestling. I was never one of these clowns who walked out to the ring and attempted to pander to the sheep in the stands in order to gain respect, because I knew that their respect was merely a paid-for illusion created by the pencil pushers sitting backstage. I have much more fun luring these mindless sheep to stray from the rest of herd and become true wrestling fans who see things in my perspective than I would trying to please the ignorant ones who just eat the feed that the invisible hand tosses at their feet. Those people don’t understand or appreciate that it’s natural human instinct that drives a person to do whatever it takes to rise to the top of our way of life and claim greatness, even if it means going beyond the limits of the rules and creating your own. It’s every man for himself.”

He pauses as he looks down underneath the bar and fumbles around a bit, then after a few moments he produces a shot glass. He grabs the dusty bottle of liquor from the shelf, and then he walks around to the other side of the bar and looks back into the camera as he picks up where he left off.

“No, I don’t fool myself into thinking that I walk out there and put my body in the line for anybody else. The fans? Sure, they’re a necessity, but they don’t drive me to get up every day and eat my Wheaties so I can get in the gym and stay in shape. I do that for myself. And they don’t inspire me to walk out to that ring in whatever promotion I’m working for and defy all of the odds that are placed in front of me, because I do that for myself too. So at Survive and Conquer when I walk down to that ring as the 27th entrant and defy the 73 or so to one odds to claim the million dollar victory and the title of Survive and Conquer winner…..that of course I will be doing for myself as well.”

He takes a seat on one of the barstools next to the bar and sets the glass on the surface. He then blows off the dust from the bottle and spins open the cap before taking a smell of the contents. He pours a little in the glass and sets the bottle down on the bar, then looks back into the camera as he picks up the glass.

“It’s not that I’m greedy, or don’t care about anybody else but myself…..it’s just that there’s nobody on this planet who cares about me more than….me. I look out for number one, because being number one is what most important to number one. Does that make sense? Maybe. In any case, that’s I’ve shown in the past and will continue to show that I don’t care about rules or ethics or even about shaking hands with my opponent after the match is over. I’m not coming to the APW’s Survive and Conquer to make new friends with any of the people who are booked in this thing or even to reflect on the good ole’ times with the acquaintances that I already know….even the ones on the APW roster who may have unfinished business with me. One tough son of a bitch in particular, and he knows who he is, because the last time we fought we shook the god damned earth from the streets Detroit all the way to Philly. But since I didn’t see his name on the list of entrants, I guess that will be another time, another stage.

Tyson holds up the glass, appearing to be toasting to the camera, then he downs the shot and sets it back down on the bar, continuing where le left off.

“There’s a couple of you entering this Survive and Conquer match who’ve I’ve encountered before in my career, many I’ve heard of, and many more of you whom I have never even known existed. That’s what makes an event like this so damned exciting and irresistible, the thought of walking out to the ring and putting our skillsets up against so many unknown threats is something that no true professional wrestler can resist. In fact, like I said….it was the sheer mention of this event that snapped me out of my four year trance and forced me to realize that inside the wrestling ring is where I belong. Not on the beaches of Maui, not in the coffee shops in Holland, not in the massage parlors in Japan….but inside the squared circle where I’m the frontman for the most fulfilling way of life the people our planet have ever seen!

He turns and pours another shot from the bottle, then sets the bottle back down, picks up the glass, and raises the shot up to the camera.

“So here’s to me getting better with age...

He downs the shot and then gazes into the camera with his cocky grin just as it begins to slowly fade.

“…and leaving APW’s Survive and Conquer one million dollars richer.”

[The Main Attraction]

[glow=red,2,300]Video Log: January 26th 11:58 PM[/glow]

The scene opens back at the home of “The Main Attraction” who seems to be pacing back forth, The tension seems to be coming from anticipation of The Survive and Conquer match which is tomorrow. Mannie can’t stay still until he is interrupted by his new bodyguard Alec Quartermain, who was alerting Mannie that the hospital called about his Uncle Charlie.

“Mannie the hospital just called, they said Uncle Charlie is almost ready to come home. So should I make the proper arrangements?"

“Yeah…Yeah go right ahead.”

“Ahhh are you okay Boss?”

“Yeah…Yeah why you say that?”


“Well ahhh you been pacing all day, are you sure you don’t want anything?”

“Oh! Sorry I can’t get tomorrow off my mind, It’s like literally the biggest match of my life. A 100 man battle royal, I mean this is the first Survive and Conquer I been in for a long while. Before the most number of participants were like 30-40, Not they added 60...and that’s just ungodly. How am I supposed to conquer that many men?”


“Hmmm 99 Wrestlers all gunning for the same prize, Seem to me conquering is the last thing you should be worrying about. Well I’ll go make those arrangements”


Alec goes to get up and leave the room, when Mannie stops him. Alec smirks as turns back around


“Wait…What do you mean?”


“I’m just saying with 99 other people in the ring, I wouldn’t have time to focus on winning. The match itself sounds a bit dangerous, you have to protect your future and you are the future of APW.”


“Right, Right…So what did you have in mind?”


“Well how about instead of trying to conquer, how about instead you just Survive!”

“Oh okay I get it?”


“You don’t do you?”


“Hmmm I don’t”


“All I am saying is don’t get caught up on trying to beat 99 people in a battle royal, Just focus on doing what you can to outlast them. Do whatever it takes to get out that match in one-piece. This match could go from you putting on a clinic to you being carried out on a stretcher. So I suggest once your in to eliminate as many of them as possible, Stay away from the ropes and most importantly make alliances.”


“Makes sense, I can do that or I could just drop out the whole thing!”


“Right but if you were to do that, It would make you seem like a coward. Its too late to drop out. So like I said you just got to do whatever it takes to Survive. See Boss you have to think how I am thinking, There are 99 souls in this match. That means they’re 99 different motives. Some of these buggers are in it for the prize, while some are just bloody crazy. So while you yourself are just trying to make it out, So the biggest question is what are you going do?”


“Your right, I got to much to lose to worry about winning. I can gain just as much my surviving. So what I will do is prove everyone who said I couldn’t survive wrong. I’m not going into that match to win, but I’m going in there to survive. See I will out do those expectations that all of those in my company have predicted for me. I mean I got other things on my agenda anyways for 2013, I mean the biggest thing I have to do is outlast Branden Harvey. I can do that! So come tomorrow I have no worries, but seriously with so much on the line. I have to prove to myself that I can hang, I know it’s a long chance of winning but I just got to try. I’m tired of being told what I can’t and can do, See now I will do what I want and need to. So if anyone things there going to hold me back, Well I feel sorry for they’re asses when I toss them on it. Because you see “The Main Attraction” is going to survive and do what he plans to accomplish in APW. So I plan someone on trying to take me out, That means you to Amy Zing try to hi-jack the battle royal I will be waiting but I won’t be the one who will be laid to waste. Now I can take say this If I’m eliminated, then I am. But I refuse to just lay down or be thrown just to be thrown. If they want me out that damn ring, they will have to force me out. I don’t care what promotion, who, or what motive. I will fight for that spot and I will keeping fighting till both my feet touch the floor.”


“Well good…That what I love too hear, So I will make the arrangements for Uncle Charlie and leave you be.”


Scene fades as “The Main Attraction” starts exercising and Alec leaves the area allowing him to prepare for the fight of his life.

[Reya Serra]

Vincent, The Doctor, And 99 Red Balloons

What am I in the eyes of most people - a nonentity, an eccentric, or an unpleasant person - somebody who has no position in society and will never have; in short, the lowest of the low. All right, then - even if that were absolutely true, then I should one day like to show by my work what such an eccentric, such a nobody, has in his heart.

A brilliant man spoke those words once. He was a painter regarded during his life as insignificant at best, a man who endured a tumultuous life including moments such as when he severed a portion of his own ear off and spent time in an asylum where he ironically painted his most famous and critically acclaimed masterpiece. Unfortunately for him, however, he did not live long enough to receive the acclaim for his work that he truly deserved. Yet in death, a death which was caused by a self inflicted gunshot wound to the chest I might add, this man is now viewed as perhaps one of the most prolific artists to have ever lived at all.

Who was this man?

He was none other than the fiery haired Dutchman himself, Vincent Van Gogh.

One can draw a few similarities between Vincent and myself. I, Reya Serra Janason, have also had a tumultuous life. At an early age, I was separated from my two sisters, forced to endure a lengthy period of time trapped in what could best be described as a dungeon. When I did manage to break free and escape, I was lost without a sense of direction. As I became adept at defending myself on my own, I came upon my best friend and found my way into the wrestling business. A terrible accident led to the temporary loss of my memory but the gain of my faith in the Lord. Eventually the memory returned, which just so happened to coincide with meeting the man I love, and I managed to capture a few championships along the way. Thankfully though, I do not share with Mister Van Gogh a laundry list of psychological problems.

However, like Vincent I feel that at times my accomplishments are underappreciated by some, if not many. With my faith and talented abilities I have won championships in every federation I have stepped into but even still I know when there are conversations about the best competitors in the business I am often not listed among them.

Oh...and did I mention that Vincent Van Gogh and I also share a fondness for a plant?

“Reya! Here it is! Room Forty Five!”

The face of my best friend Paxar Vega lights up instantly as we arrive at our intended destination inside of the National Gallery of London. Glancing over at her, I flash a bright smile.

“Indeed it is. I do not know about you, but I am very excited to see this.”

“Me too! Who would’ve thought that we would have the same favorite artist, who just so happens to be the greatest painter that ever lived?”

“Given our differences in personalities I have a feeling that nobody would have thought that we would both , Paxar.”

“I know, right? Our personalities go good together though, kind of like peanut butter and jelly or something.”

Letting out a slight laugh, I notice the particular painting which prompted our visit and point it out to Paxar.

“Ah, there it is.”

In an usual twist, I take the hand of Paxar leading her over towards the painting until moments later the two of us are standing directly in front of it. We both look at one another, then at the vivid painting in front of us.

“Sunflowers by Vincent Van Gogh, one of the most popular and frequently visited paintings in the entire National Gallery. A splendid painting by an underappreciated man that I simply adore.”

“You know, it’s kind of ironic that this painting’s one of your favorites, Reya.”

Curiously, I glance at her.

“Why is that?”

“Seeing as how they position themselves in order to get the maximum amount of the sun’s rays that they can possibly get, sunflowers are often viewed by people as a symbol of faith. The last time I checked, you’ve got more faith than anyone else that I know.”

Blushing slightly at her compliment, I cannot help but smile as Paxar turns serious.

“You’re going to need all of that faith when you step into Wembley Stadium though, Reya. This Survive and Conquer match is no joke. One hundred people starting off in an over the top rope battle royal, with the final four beating each other inside of a steel cage, the three left from that brawling in a street fight, and the last two battling in a cell ladder match until only one remains.”

“I may only be one out of one hundred participants, but I have the utmost faith that I will emerge as the winner of this match. After all, as you said yourself, I have more faith than anyone else you know.”

As I focus my attention back on the painting in front of us I feel Paxar glaring over at me and see her in my peripheral vision beginning to appear a bit worried.

“That’s true, but it’s going to be brutal. People are going to do anything and everything they can to try and win this thing. As you like to remind me and anyone else that pays attention, you’re not the hardcore type.”

“I am not the only person taking part in this match that does not resort to such violence and prefers to rely on the technical abilities given by God.”

“I know. I just don’t want to see you get hurt...”

Facing her once more, I place a reassuring hand upon her shoulder.

“Fear not, my friend. The Lord will protect me, as he always does.”

There is a slight pause between us until I smile at Paxar once more.

“Now, we have seen what we came here to see. What shall we do next?”

Paxar ponders for a moment before shrugging her shoulders.

“I don’t know. There’s the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace...”

Waving my hand, I interrupt her.

“I have a much better idea.”

Taking her by the hand once more, the two of us make our way out of the room and out of the National Gallery. A few hours later, after a lengthy trip to Cardiff, Paxar and I emerge from an immense building after taking part in something that could only be done here that I knew she would absolutely enjoy...the Doctor Who Experience.

“Oh...my...fudgecakes! That was amazing, Reya! We got to step into the TARDIS! We went on an adventure with The Doctor! We saw Daleks, Cybermen, and Weeping Angels! Weeping Angels, Reya!”

“I am glad you have had a good time.”

“Good time? It was great! Fantabulous, in fact! Did you have a good time?”

Glancing at her beaming with joy, I flash a little smile.

“Indeed. It was most interesting, not to mention that I think I have learned a valuable lesson after this experience that I can apply in the Survive and Conquer match.”

Curiously, Paxar glares at me intently.

“Never leave home without a sonic screwdriver is a valuable lesson Reya, but unfortunately it’s not going to help you win the match.”

Laughing slightly, I shake my head at her.

“No. However, look at the traits of the enemies of The Doctor that you mentioned. Take the Daleks, for example. They thrive on pure, unadulterated hatred.”

Paxar nods in agreement.

“Yeah, the Daleks are a bunch of haters. You know what they say though...haters gonna hate.”

“That is not necessarily true, but I digress. In any case, the Daleks are similar to many of my opponents in this match. They seek to take anger and hatred and use it to their advantage in order to achieve victory.”

Narrowing her eyes, Paxar appears confused.

“That won’t work with you though, Reya. It takes a lot just to get you to shout, let alone be angry. Not to mention that I don’t think you’ve ever hated anyone ever.”

“You are correct. Such tactics will not work on me. Then there are the Weeping Angels...”

Suddenly, Paxar shivers just slightly in terror.

“Man, those things are creepy. They totally freak me out.”

“They are frightening to some, yes. Anyway, the Weeping Angels can only move when they are not being seen. To keep a Weeping Angel at bay, one must keep a vigilant eye on them. I must do the same when I step into the ring with my upcoming opponents for this match.”

“There’s a hundred people that are going to be in this though, Reya. There’s no way you’re going to be able to keep your eyes on all of them. It’s just not possible.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, I frown in dismay.

“It may not be possible, but I must try. To turn my back on any of them only invites the possibility of being eliminated, which is the last thing that I want. I cannot...I must not turn my back on any of them.”

“Well you might not have to keep your eye on all of them necessarily. You’ve got a few friends in this match too, you know.”

With a look of seriousness, I nod at her.

“They are my friends, yes. However, in a match such as this one cannot rely on such friendships. It is every person for themselves in this match. After all this is a competition, a competition that everyone desires to win. If being victorious in this match means that I have to eliminate one of my friends, then that will be what I will do. As with other matches in which I have faced friends and family alike, what happens in this match will not negatively affect my friendships after the match has concluded.”

“Careful though, Reya. Keep in mind some of your friends almost know you better than you know yourself. Just watch your back, okay?”

“Not to worry, Paxar. I fully intend to do just that.”

Smiling at my friend, the two of us continue departing from the Doctor Who experience to begin making our way back to London...

“So here we are, ladies and gentlemen. It is almost time for the big show, the main event for which we have all gathered.”

Smiling brightly I stare deeply into the camera in front of me, being held in the hands of Paxar.

“One hundred competitors, all vying for the same prize. It is a prize which is one of the most coveted in the wrestling business. We will do battle in an arduous, grueling match until finally only one emerges as the victor, and to the victor go the spoils.”

Paxar zooms the camera out, bringing into view a room containing a rather large abundance of red balloons surrounding her and I. Grabbing one of them in my hands, I hold it to the camera.

“There are ninety-nine balloons here in this room, one to represent each and every one of my opponents in this match. Some of these men and women are unknown to me, while some are mere acquaintances, and still yet there are a few that I call close friends. I could name off each and every single one of them, but people watching this would most assuredly fall asleep if I were to do so.”

Suddenly I stop, pausing for a moment to chuckle slightly at the thought, before continuing on.

“In any case, I am sure that there will be some that will ask why balloons? See, these balloons represent the hopes and aspirations of victory that fill the hearts of those that I shall be facing in the ring. They all want the same thing. All of them wish to win one million dollars, hold the trophy high, and prove that they are better than all of the rest of their peers. I have no such desires for any of those things. I neither need nor want for money or trophies, nor do I seek to place myself upon a pedestal as being superior above all others. No, I am merely a very faithful and talented competitor with wondrous abilities in the ring that are on par with some of the best in this business. Faith and talent are the only two things I need in order to win this historic match, not superiority or greed or egotism that is possessed by some of my fellow competitors...”

Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention from the camera onto the balloon itself. Reaching into my pocket, I remove a tiny needle.

“An ordinary sewing needle. Small in size yet quite sharp, much like myself. In this match, it is I that is the needle among the proverbial haystack of balloons. Now, what happens when a needle comes into contact with a balloon? Shall we see?”

Taking the needle, I move it closer to the balloon until finally I pierce the balloon with it and it makes a loud popping sound that surprises Paxar, shaking the camera slightly as it does.

“The needle pops the balloon, causing all of the air to escape as its remnants fall to the floor in shreds. The same will occur when I become the twenty-second person to step into the ring at Survive and Conquer. I will burst the balloons of all of those with hopes and aspirations of achieving victory, whether they be the great Action Packed Wrestling star C.J. Gates...”

Grabbing another balloon, I quickly use the needle to pop it. As I continue speaking, I repeat the action over and over again multiple times.

“...The Action Packed Wrestling Undisputed Champion himself, Terry Marvin, one of the Pillars of Asylum Sally Talfourd, the egotistical New Era Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion James Stall, the tongueless former lover of both of my sisters Adrien Specter, my close personal friend Matthew Slater, or any one of the rest of the competitors in this match.”

Finally, I burst the last balloon and turn my attention back to the camera smiling brightly.

“When all of the balloons have been popped, lying in pieces on the ground, it will be I that will still be standing. I, The Herald of Holiness Reya Serra, will have survived this hellacious battle for the ages having conquered them all. So sayeth The Herald, and so it shall be done...”

[Delikado]

Some-Kinda-Something-Productions presents
B
-U T O P I A-
S
S

[/color]

Survive and Conquer Special: The Last Monzón

My official law-degree-earned opinion has come through. Aaaand the person who will be representing Deli Tee Vee in the Survive and Conquer iiiiisss…

December 29, 2012[/u]

…

Sofia!

The Carnival[/u]

There’s a mixture of gasps and heavy exhales, perhaps of relief, as Manny Valdez, lawyer to everyone in the room, holds the slip of paper into the air directly after pulling it from a bunch of other slips within a top hat and reading the name written on the paper. The other nine DTV staffers who were in the S&C running turn to Sofia Monzón, who smirks in satisfaction as she stands a few feet away with her arms folded across her chest. Silence lingers for a few seconds, before a small golf clap passes around the room. The half-assed reception gives Sofia a soft chuckle as she strolls past the group toward the door.

Sofia Monzón: I guess I better start training. That money’s not just going to fly into our pockets.

Sofia stops and faces a medium-sized clown balloon hanging from the ceiling. She cocks her hands up in a boxing defensive pose.

Sofia: This is it! What I’ve been waiting for…

She immediately strikes the balloon with a right jab. And then a left. Followed by a right hook, then quickly by a left. As she strikes this improvised punching bag, Sofia speaks out with an energetic voice. Each word is heightened in intensity by a punch.

Sofia: To finally! Get! Some god! Damn! Respect! And credibility! To my! Name! In this shit-run! Asshole-fueled! BUSINESS!!

With the most intense uppercut yet, Sofia pops the clown balloon. The small explosion echoes more than usual due to the elevated structure of the room the scene is presently in, giving Sofia’s partners plenty of reason to flinch.

Moss Carrington: Jeebus. Maybe we should pick someone else for this…

Sofia snaps her head toward the big Carrington and immediately makes a line for him.

Sofia: What the hell did you say, Carrington? You can go back to tag teaming in Knoxville shitholes if you’re so eager to return your shoulders to the mat.

With this humiliating choice of words, Miss Monzón turns her back on Moss and the others. She goes over to her corner and pulls her signature weapon, a whip, off its hook and begins to wrap it into a tight circle.

Sofia: Yeah, I haven’t actually had a match before, least of all a giant collection of matches like the Survive and Conquer, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how it’s done. I’ve been in this business for years. Maybe some of you are thinking that just because it’s been mostly managerial shit, I can’t cut it against veterans or champions or even returning S&C competitors, that I “can’t hang” with the physical sort. I’ll work my ass off, represent the idea of this team RIGHT.

She turns to her quiet comrades as she bounds the whip to her back. With a grand motion, she then points to a banner of Boss Delikado, her superior and boss, in the background.

Sofia: You could all be thinking it’s Delikado’s role alone to do the hard labor of competing around here, because his name’s on all the material and merchandise. Thinking it’s impossible, or at least unwise, for someone else among us to enter “Da Bawse’s” ring, “Da Bawse’s” APW, “Da Bawse’s” world, and try to make a name for themselves.

Dr. Apartment: It might not sit well with his ego, especially depending on how far you get, and that just raises the risks of his rabies-induced aggression to elevate…

Sofia: *scoff* Boo-hoo to Delikado’s rabies. I’ve got about as many problems as he does, and I know how to use them proper when it comes to getting down and dirty. Mister Cuba’s just going to have to get used to me being part of Survive and Conquer. This is my moment, my chance…I don’t intend to waste a second of it.

With that, Sofia starts to walk away when a side door opens and a midget enters.

Midget: Hi. I’m here for the janitorial job—

Sofia cracks the whip at the midget’s feet, wrapping the knot around the man’s pudgy leg-things, and jerks him through the air. The midget flies, screaming, into an empty dunk tank some thirty feet away. Effortlessly and without losing a step, Sofia cracks the whip again and walks out of the room, wrapping the whip around her back. Her last words echo from the doorway as she vanishes from view.

Sofia: That enough of a ‘Like a Bawse!’ moment for you bitches…?

(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)

One Week Later[/u]

Sofia: Vivienne! Viv! Where’s your little skanky ass at?

Guantánamo, Cuba

Sofia enters the small trailer and looks about. There is nothing but silence greeting her as she stands by the TV. Sofia notices the TV and several other pieces of furniture are dusty, at least dustier than usual, and steps over the coffee table toward the back bedroom, with its door slightly ajar.

Sofia: I need your help, sis. I’ve got myself into a bit of a scuffle, was wondering if you had any pointers?

Manny Valdez: Sofia? I think you should take a look at this?

Sofia turns to the front door and sees Manny holding a piece of paper in his hand.

Sofia: What’s that…?

Valdez: Just look, it’s a note from your sister.

Sofia pauses before taking the note. She glances up to Manny real quick before her dark eyes begin to read the note:

“To whomever it may concern,

I’ve had enough. I’ve decided this life’s too rough for me, and it’s time to end it. I’ve also decided to give myself one last crazy ride, and then I’m out for good. I’d prefer you not come looking for me, to try and stop what I plan to do—what I HAVE to do--but if you must on behalf of some ‘morality bullshit’ or whatever, I’ll be in Vegas, at the ‘World Civ Casino’. Again, save yourself the trouble. It’s my life…let me do what I believe is best for it.

Adios,
Vivienne Monzón”

[/font]

Sofia inhales heavily as she releases the note to the mangy carpet on the floor. She hangs her head, staring at the note in silence. Manny seems hesitant to speak at first.[/i]

Valdez: W…Well…?

Sofia looks up and then storms past Manny out the door.

Sofia: She’s not quitting while I’m still breathing.

Manny hurriedly follows Sofia out as she climbs into the jeep the two rode to get here.

Valdez: Whoa, whoa, whoa, where’re you off to?! I thought we came here for the Survive and Conquer! You can’t just rush off, there’s a schedule to keep, Sofia!

Sofia: If there’s ANYTHING that’s going to determine my fate in the Survive and Conquer, Manny, it’s this!

?: She’s right.

Suddenly, a person in a giant zebra suit sits up in the backseat, giving the two a start.

Sofia: Who the hell are YOU?!

Magical Mystery Zebra: I am the Magical Mystery Zebra.

Sofia: Magical Mystery--Oh, goddammit I do NOT have time for this! Did Delikado send you here to try and screw with my head? That jealous man-whoring twerp, I should—

MMZ: Your sister, Vivienne. You came here to get Survive and Conquer tips from her, because she was a great wrestler at one time, leader of the Monzón wrestling clan. She is…or, perhaps, WAS the last professional wrestler in the bloodline. Until you came along. To take up the mantle? To become the revival of the Monzón family name? To unleash your own brand of kickassness onto the remaining participants of the APW Survive and Conquer and maybe even the world? But before you can do any of that you must come to terms with the destiny ahead and meet with your sister one last time, even in the present as she prepares to transform herself beyond this world? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm?

Sofia begins to inhale and exhale as she lets this strange zebra-person’s words sink in.

Sofia: Huh. You know what, let me…let me just wrap my head around this. You…I don’t even know WHAT you’re supposed to be, but you’re here spouting off things about my sister, reading my mind and apparently knowing what I’m thinking and why I’m here now, and I’m just supposed to WORK WITH THAT?!

MMZ: *horse sound*

Sofia: ….I’m gonna twist your snout off!

Sofia reaches to the back of the jeep as the Magical Mystery Zebra hikes his arms up in fear.

MMZ: NAAAAAY! NAAAAY! FEAAAAR!!

Valdez: Sofia, cut it out!

The lawyer is actually able to restrain the Cuban fireball as she continues to try and claw at the zebra-person. Sofia bends her arm around her back and tries to reach for her whip, when a hand takes it off her back and away from her reach.

Ron Reynolds: I got it.

The timely appearance of Ron Reynolds and the effort of Valdez prove to be enough to restrain and suppress Sofia before she can do any damage. Her temper is still pretty heavy though.

Sofia: This is bullshit! Ugh! Stupid bullshit—

Valdez: I know, I know, sweetie, but we run into this kinda stupid bullshit almost weekly.

Sofia: Gaaaah! OKAY, OKAY, I’m fine!

After a few moments, Sofia is released and she exits the jeep to pace around like a panther. The Magical Mystery Zebra pokes his head out the window.

MMZ: You are still very much the potential warrior of the future, Sofia. The Survive and Conquer is your oyster, and it is up to you to figure out how to crack into it. They all underestimate you, your opponents, and even your closest friends. Now is the time to step up. You want to just put in a showing that’ll win that money and fame, OR do you want to thrive and succeed in the world that is still to come? *horse sound*

Sofia spits onto the ground and brushes her hair back with her hand as she glares at the talking zebra-person.

MMZ: The Monzón name is to be revered, cherished, remembered, even in all its acts of your past, your sister’s past, your Papa’s past. That is what you dream of.

Ron Reynolds: Agreed.

Sofia glances toward Ron Reynolds, who gives her a confident nod.

Ron Reynolds: I’m standing behind you on this one, Sofie. Screw it being Delikado in the event, this is YOUR big break. Everyone else in this match has had their chance before, they either used it or blew it; and even the people who could have signed up but didn’t like Deli himself coulda jumped in the pot, but they didn’t. It’s not just because of the ratings—though let’s face it, good ratings are godly—but because they ain’t able to cut it.

Sofia: I need…my sister…

Ron Reynolds: We know where to go, where to look.

Sofia hangs her head and sighs. She angrily walks to the passenger side of the jeep and climbs in.

Sofia: If this is supposed to help, it’s not doing it for me.

Ron Reynolds: Then we’ll find Vivienne, and then she can help you. Help you on your feet to Survive and Conquer, to enter that ring where you belong.

MMZ: The Serengeti is calling, it’s time to take flight to Vegas!

Almost numbly Sofia plants the side of her head against the window and looks out. Ron Reynolds climbs into the jeep and starts it up, taking the four away from the trailer and back to the airport.

Sofia: I hate every last one of you. I can’t be left alone in this god-awful business without Viv…

(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)(o)

Las Vegas[/u]

Sofia: I love my sister, just so you know. She owned anything she wanted and put her mind to everything. The ORIGINAL badass bitch. Smoking, drinking, fighting, screwing…I looked up to her…still do, actually. And if there’s anyone who can train you to take war to all these Survive and Conquer punks, it’d be my Vivienne.

Ron Reynolds: She’ll be fine, Sofia. Everything’s gonna be fine.

Sofia slowly turns her head to the left, facing Ron as he drives down the Vegas Strip. Her dark eyes flash threateningly from the lights of the night shining upon them.

Sofia: You better pray you’re right, Ron. Otherwise things will get very, VERY bad for everyone…

Ron tries to hide his swallow of fear as keeps his eyes on the road while Sofia, in a tense fog, returns to looking out the window. The car comes to a stop outside the “World Civ Casino” and the four of them move out.

Sofia: Okay, my sister’s a hardass, so nobody goes to her but me. I mean it, she will jack your shit up into an unbendable pretzel.

MMZ: Be the mind, Sofia. The hunter. It will be your path to the building of your soul, a soul that will overcome the trials of the Survive and Con—OH SHIT, LION!!

The three walk past a statue of a lion as the Magical Mystery Zebra flees off to the side of the casino. Sofia immediately goes past the clerk, ignoring all other persons around her, even as an employee steps in front of her with a smile.

Casino Employee: Excuse me, ma’am, but we’re more of an exclusive casino. I’m going to need to have you sign in or register. Thank you—

Sofia slips her whip out from her jacket and, before anyone can stop her, whips the employee once in the knee. The crack sends him to the ground, before Sofia whips her initials into the back of his fancy suit.

Sofia: You’re welcome.

She keeps walking. Before any other employees or security can stop Sofia, Manny runs by them all flashing official looking documents.

Valdez: “Learning disability”, gentlemen. Do NOT touch my client if you want to stay in business, this mess will be cleaned up ASAP, thank YOU! Lawyer with papers, coming through.

His lawyer power coming into play for the first time in, like, ever, Manny smiles at the confused employees and cops and continues following Sofia, who has quickened her pace in the hunt for her sister. Miss Monzón spots an official looking man in a cowboy hat and walks up to him, the whip at ready.

Sofia: You look like a guy who knows where to find people. My sister, Vivienne Monzón, where is she?

Cowboy: Huh?

Sofia: I know she visits this casino all the time when she’s stateside, so tell me where she is! Now!!

Cowboy: Ohhhh, Miss Vivienne! Yes, well, she’s not here now. She was earlier, though, and she made a mighty fine donation to a charity event we’re hosting.

Sofia: C...Charity? MY sister...gave to a charity?

Cowboy: Yes, it’s for the “Adults Who Can’t Write Internet Roleplays To Save Their Lives” Foundation. It’s really quite popular.

The scene jumps over to a handsome, yet stupid fella sitting in a chair with a laptop on his lap under the charity banner just mentioned.

Me: Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh! Me no can write good roleplay, no smurts, I sucks! Turribles. Turrible turtles!

Stupid throws his laptop to the ground, breaking it in half, and begins to clap his hands together like a seal, laughing moronically. The scene jumps back to Sofia, who gets eye to eye with the cowboy.

Sofia: Then where’d she go. It’s important, more than I can put into words, that I find her. I’d rather not have the whip ask.

Cowboy: Uhhh, she mentioned something about going to the monastery across the street. About bringing about the end to this wretched life or something…

Valdez: Cuz that’s not convenient.

Sofia: Shut up, Valdez.

Ron Reynolds: Hey, the shut up wasn’t to me that time!

Sofia shoves past Ron and Valdez and leaves the casino. Almost blindly does she run across the street into traffic, and it’s only by luck (or convenience) that she isn’t struck by a car. Ron Reynolds and Manny Valdez run after her in a panic, and the three reach the monastery seconds apart. Sofia grabs the door handle and pushes the door open. She rushes inside as church bells ring overhead dramatically.

Sofia: VIV! VIVIENNE!!

Lead Nun: Rise, Sister Martha, and give your life to Christ.

A ceremony comes to an end as several nuns look up at the arriving trio. One nun, kneeling, stands up and turns in surprise. She looks exactly like Sofia, a twin.

Vivienne/Sister Martha: Sofia?

Lead Nun: May all the wicked sins of your past life be absolved, and may you live anew.

Sofia: What’s happened, Viv?! Tell me!

Vivienne/Sister Martha: I’ve joined the nunnery, my dear sister. I’m giving up on the evils of my life and giving my soul to the Lord our God. May He be praised.

This is more than Sofia can bear as her face contorts into wretched agony and she paces side to side.

Sofia: N-No! NO!! NO, DAMN IT, GOD! FUCK!

Sofia is sobbing hysterically as the nuns cover their mouths in horror at the blasphemy. Vivienne tries to move to comfort her sister.

Vivienne/Sister Martha: Sofia, it’s all right. I can see you are troubled, and I will do all I can to help you.

Sofia: NO! WHY?! NOT THIS! NOT THIS!! IT SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN LIKE THIS!! NO!!

Sofia’s emotional breakdown is inconsolable as she pushes her “Original badass bitch” turned nun sister away and walks out the door. Ron Reynolds and Manny Valdez are left speechless, to the point all they can do is awkwardly walk out of the monastery. Sister Martha is stunned as she glances to her sisters of the nunnery. Sofia, apparently grieving for her sister’s transformation into a nun more than anything else that could have happened, paces about in the streets and kicks over a trashcan in her emotional crisis. The Magical Mystery Zebra approaches her now, holding a fish in between his lips.

Magical Mystery Zebra: And now you are alone to the world. The Monzón name must be carried, lived on, naaay, elevated by you and you alone. No assistance. No passing of the torch. Just…you. *horse sound* Survive and Conquer will be…your rebirth.

Sofia, tears in her eyes, looks up amidst her weeping and scowls. She has nothing to say to the zebra-person though, as she turns around and throw her head back in agony.

Sofia: NO! NO!! NNNNOOOO!

The camera pans up the night sky as Sofia’s cries echo, and we fade out…[/size][/font]

[Speede]

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?!?

GOOD!

START ROLEPLAY!

Roy Speede is sitting on the bench in the locker room; he has a strait-jacket restraining him completely, and is sitting with his legs pulled up, pressed against his arms. He is slightly rocking back and forth.

Roy Speede: “I’ve been told I’m crazy to even think I have a chance in life. I’ve been told I’m absolutely insane and that I should be locked up, and at times, I almost believed them. I mean, I’m not the biggest or the strongest, and though I’d like to believe otherwise, I’m not the fastest guy out there. And yet somewhere, deep down, I’ve always wanted to be a wrestler. Since I was young, way before I even took any of it seriously, I dreamed of one day becoming the greatest. I was the one who believed in myself, even when nobody, not even my own parents, supported my goals and the fact that I fought to achieve my dreams, and when so many of them said that I should be in an asylum for my crazy dreams, I didn’t listen.

I’m in a strait-jacket not because I’m a menace to society, not because I’m some cold-blooded killer, but because everyone always told me, ‘no, Roy. You can’t do it. You can’t make it in that kind of a career. You’ll fall short and end up disappointed.’ I didn’t listen, and I kept telling myself I could, and I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am now, and because of it I’m looked at as completely insane by quite a few people I know who have told me this business is no good for me and that this is all a waste of my time. According to them, I should be in college, studying to be a doctor or a teacher or some other job in the workforce that isn’t for me.

Am I in this straight jacket because I’m being taken away and locked up like I’ve been told I need to be? To put it simply, that’s not the case. I’m in this thing to prove a point; I’m in this thing because it’s a metaphor of everybody’s view of me. I’ve been told following the dream I have always felt was crazy, but back when I first realized something like the career path I’ve taken now was even remotely possible, I took that shot. When I realized that I just might be the kind of person who just might have what it takes to overcome the odds and make it in wrestling, I jumped on it, despite what everyone told me, and even sparked tension with my parents about it because they didn’t think it was right for me.

I mean I... Actually, it’d get boring to just sit here rambling on about all this. Rather than rambling like a moron, it’d be much more effective to show you what I mean... Watch this!”

W-W-W-H-H-H-O-O-O-A-A-A-A!!

The camera starts to shake slightly, the scene fading out, and it takes us to a...

FLASHBACK!!

It’s December, 2008. Roy Speede, fifteen years old, is sitting in his bedroom playing video games, more specifically, a wrestling game based off of the APW roster of talent, featuring such names as John Green, Kenny Lombardo, and Twister. All three, in fact, are in a triple threat, with Roy in control of Lombardo, at opening bell, a voice can be heard calling out to break the silence otherwise only sliced by the sound of the television and subsequently the video game.

Mama Speede: “Roy, it’s time for dinner!”

All at once, Roy lets out a groan and pauses the game, stands up off the edge of his bed, and sets the controller down to go eat his dinner. Upon opening the bedroom door, his mother is standing right outside the door, and she has a concerned look on her face.

Roy Speede: “I’m coming, mama. What’s wrong?”

Mama Speede: “Your dad is very upset right now, Roy. He got fired from work today, and he went and got drunk after I told him not to. Don’t say anything about it, okay?”

Roy Speede: “Okay, mama.”

Mama Speede: “And Roy, what you said the other day, the whole ‘becoming a wrestler’ nonsense...”

Roy Speede: “It’s not nonsense, mom! I do! I want to become a wrestler!”

Mama Speede: “You can ‘want’ to become a wrestler all you want, but it’s not going to happen, Roy. You’ve got to be bigger and stronger. You’re much more suited for track or soccer.”

Roy Speede: “I don’t care what I’m suited for, mama. There are at least a hundred wrestling companies out there, all looking for new talent every day. I’m not going to go to Europe for soccer, and I’m not interested in the MLS, even if I were good at it. And the only career I could even hope to have in track is the Olympics, and that wouldn’t be enough to be but a couple of years and I wouldn’t make enough just running! I could actually accomplish something as a wrestler!”

Mama Speede: “Right! And maybe your grandmother will be resurrected from the grave and your father will stop smoking.”

Roy Speede: “Stop it, mama! I thought you said no antagonizing dad tonight?”

Mama Speede: “He’s downstairs. And I was serious; don’t you say anything to him about what happened today, or about your silly occupational fantasies, or about any other topics that might get him upset. You know how he gets when he’s upset and drunk and something makes him mad.”

Roy Speede: “Yeah, I understand mama. Come on, I want to eat. Pleaseeee?”

The woman sighs.

Mama Speede: “Oh, alright. Just remember this conversation, understand?”

The young boy nods, and Roy’s mother turns and starts down the stairs. Roy follows closely behind her down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he turns on the sink, pushes down the plunger that adds a dollop of soap, for lack of a better word, into his hand. He lathers and rinses, and then dries them off on a paper towel before making his way across the kitchen and into the adjacent dining area.

Roy Speede: “So what are we having?”

Mama Speede: “I made roast beef, mashed potatoes, and green beans. And I’ve got a little surprise for dessert too.”

Roy Speede: “Sounds great!”

Roy pulls out the chair at the table in which he usually sits and lowers himself into the seat. Across from him, his father sits, an empty look on his face contained in glazed eyes and the marks down his cheeks and under his eyes from his tears of frustration. Roy stares at him for a few moments, trying to figure out just why he looks so much different than usual, not even thinking to the statement his mother made earlier about him being drunk.

Roy Speede: “Hey dad, what’s up?”

His father hesitates, and then opens his mouth to respond.

Papa Speede: “Whaddaya mean what’s wrong? Every-y-ything’s just fffff-peachy!”

His words are incredibly slurred.

Roy Speede: “Are you sure? I mean, you seem kinda-“

His mother gives him a glare from in the kitchen, and Roy stops speaking in mid sentence.

Papa Speede: “I seem kinda maddd? Or are you sayin’ I’m a drunken slahhhb? You’re your mouth shut about itt!”

Again his words are slurred, especially the ‘slob’ at the end of his sentence. Roy hesitates to respond.

Roy Speede: “Oh, no dad. I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean it seems like something’s bothering you is all.”

Papa Speede: “Of course something’s -BURP!- bothering meee! I lost my jahhhb today! My boss is a fffucking jackass that’s what!”

Roy Speede: “Oh no! Dad, I’m so sorry!”

His mother clears her throat loudly from in the kitchen, and brings the pan of roast beef into the dining area. She sets it on a hot pad in the middle of the table, leaning over far enough to where her husband couldn’t see her mouth ‘Shut Up!’ at Roy. He nods once to show his understanding and she walks into the kitchen again.

Roy Speede: “So anyway, how are the 49ers doing this year?”

Papa Speede: “They ssssuck! They’re five and nine and they ssssuck!”

Roy Speede: “I’m sorry, papa. I really wish things were going your way right now.”

Mama Speede: “I said stop, Roy, and I meant it.”

Papa Speede: “What, I c-can’t talk to my ssson like a responsible aaaadult?”

Mama Speede: “I told him to keep his mouth shut about today, and he won’t stop bringing up your job! And lord knows as long as it takes you to find a job I’m going to have to take more hours again to pick up your god damned slack!”

Papa Speede: “WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME, WOMAN!?!”

Roy’s father stands up out of his chair and turns toward the kitchen, toward Roy’s mom, who drops the bowl of green beans to the ground in surprise at the rage in his eyes.

Roy Speede: “Dad, don’t you hurt her!”

Papa Speede: “Dammit, woman! You can’t do shit right!”

Mama Speede: “I’m doing better than you, you jobless, worthless cretin!”

Roy stands up quietly as his father lunges for his mother, who takes a step back, holding her arms up to try to shield herself. Roy puts his foot up into the seat of his chair and then steps onto the table to get over it, breaking the dining plate that was in front of him moments before. His feet land hard on the ground.

Papa Speede: “YOU DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!”

Roy Speede: “Dad!”

Papa Speede’s hands reach for Roy’s mother, aiming for her throat, and only just clench around her windpipe when Roy grabs him, ripping his arms back by hooking his own arms under and pulling up in a full nelson style hold. Roy’s mother leans over coughing and gasping for dear life, and Roy pulls back hard. He throws his father to the ground in what today would be recognized as the Silver Bullet, only without lifting him, his back landing in the heap of broken glass and scalding hot green beans, causing him to yell out in pain as his back arches off the ground. Roy steps forward and leans down, getting in his father’s face.

Roy Speede: “I said don’t hurt my mama.”

The camera starts to shake slightly, and all at once the scene starts to warp again.

W-W-W-H-H-H-O-O-O-A-A-A-A!!

The scene starts to zoom in on Roy again, out of his strait-jacket with it sitting on the bench in...

Present Day!!

He is leaned over and has his elbows resting on his knees, looking at the ground, and then his attention shifts slowly back up toward the camera. He shakes his head slightly, and then his lips open to speak.

Roy Speede: “That was the last time I ever really saw my father. I mean, there were times that I’d had opportunities to go and visit him, but the fact of the matter is that I really didn’t want to. What happened that night was torture for me to go through, and I was certainly glad to be away from him. It wasn’t me who got locked up for that; it was him. He got thrown in prison on charges of domestic violence and attempted murder, and I’m glad my mom and I don’t have to deal with him anymore...

Anyway, you may be asking why I’ve chosen to show this clip, and why now. It was right then that I realized that if I could handle my father, a man two inches taller and at least forty pounds heavier than me at the time, when it really mattered, that I could possibly use my ability to my own advantage. Sure, he wasn’t going after me, but he was going after my mother, and he was threatening our family, and that wasn’t something I was willing to let happen, and I took control of the situation how I saw fit. Was it the best idea? No. Was it effective and did it convince my mom that I might not be so full of shit when it came to my dream of wrestling professionally? Yes.

I had the support of the one person that mattered more than any other in my life as far as my dream of becoming a wrestler was concerned, and it was from that point on that my focus became truly learning the trade. All that goofing around in the backyard with my friends, wrestling on the trampoline and imitating the best wrestlers in the world was over. It was time for me to get serious and focus where it mattered, and that’s exactly what I did when I had to do it; I got serious about it, and I developed the craft that I had dreamed of honing into my own little baby to nurse and develop and raise into something big and strong and successful.

I got a job working part time at the restaurant where my mom was a waitress bussing tables; it didn’t pay much, but once we moved into a smaller house where we didn’t have to worry about fifteen hundred a month for rent, got rid of the non-essentials like Internet and cell phones for a while, and only worried about the basics, I was able to afford to take classes from a former pro, went to learn a bit better a couple times a month, and started truly progressing and getting better. It wasn’t long before it became truly evident to not only my mother and me but to my friends that I was serious about this business.

I signed on a couple months before my eighteenth birthday, with my mom’s permission, to a smaller wrestling company that could help me truly develop my talent and learn to be a bit more realistic about this whole thing, and that’s where my career took off. I developed my skills, I became better, I worked my way up inside a small company where I could potentially get noticed by a bigger, better, more prolific company if I worked hard enough and if I always put on my best performance, and after a while, I don’t know really what happened, but one of the friends I’d made in that company who had since departed contacted me. He told me he had a scout coming to check me out, and that he wanted to help me move up to a company more ‘worthy of my talents’ as he put it.

That company was Action Packed Wrestling.”

Roy looks down at his left, and sees the strait-jacket still sitting on the bench where he had set it. He grabs it, picks it up, and looks at it, holding it tightly in both hands before lowering it and looking up at the camera again.

Roy Speede: “I got a chance to try out for APW, and it didn’t look the best for me, but I got a callback, and I made it onto the roster of one of the top companies in the wrestling business today and a major part of that was because I didn’t give up on my dreams. I’ve put forth every last ounce of effort I had in me since day one, and now that I’m in the big leagues, I’ve realized something very significant to me that I never had in the past; I did it. I accomplished the goal I said I would accomplish, and I made my dream come true.

Everyone told me I was crazy, and for a while, I believed them, but by February 2011, I had proved them wrong. I started out, and my abilities grew as I entered into my late teenage years, earned the right to vote, to smoke, to drive without a curfew, and a whole bunch of other opportunities I wouldn’t have had otherwise. But that wasn’t what made my eighteenth birthday so special; by my eighteenth birthday, I was being given the kind of opportunity all but a small handful of people in this world were telling me not long earlier that I would never get.

I didn’t realize it yet, but by that point I had already proved everyone wrong. I was even starting to believe the talk that I wasn’t good enough by that point, but I even proved myself wrong. I just didn’t realize that everything everyone had ever told me, all those people who had practically spit in my face when they told me my dream was a big joke, were wrong. It didn’t sink in until I was well on my way up the ranks down there that I had really even broken into the business beyond being just some kid who had dreamed his way into a ‘rookie’ contract through some ‘beginner’s luck’ sort of accomplishment. Oh, how wrong I was.

They all said I was crazy to think I could be a pro wrestler, and yet here I am, at the top of the world, looking back at them all, and I think to myself, ‘who out of us all is the crazy one now?!’ I know, I know, I’m still not the least crazy one of us all; I am still the one sitting here with a strait-jacket in my hands, contemplating the fact that I’m in the wake of one of, if not the biggest match of my entire career in Survive and Conquer, and thinking about how ninety-nine people stand in the way of my goal of being the number one name in professional wrestling, but again... I proved them all wrong, and I still ask it. Who’s the crazy one now? Not me!”

Roy throws the strait-jacket to the ground.

Roy Speede: “Anyway, getting back on topic, once I made it to Action Packed Wrestling, it can be said that my ego sort of... accelerated, per say. I got a bit cocky, and my head got a bit bigger with the fact that I was in one of the best companies in the professional wrestling world, even if it was on their developmental show. I realized that, hey, I made it farther than anyone thought I would just by wrestling a professional match, let alone showing up in APW with a trip to London and a date with destiny on my hands in the wake of the Survive and Conquer battle royal. And I realized something about my cockiness, too...

Why the hell not?! I made it this far, and I deserve to be cocky, because let’s face it, one does not simply get signed to Action Packed Wrestling. You’ve got to be the best of the best of the best, SIR!

Oh, no, this isn’t Men in Black. Sorry! I mean, you’ve got to be the best of the best to get here, and now look at me; I’m in Action Packed Wrestling, and less than three months into my APW career I’m in the Survive and Conquer match! I’m not sure if I’m more proud of that or more concerned with the fact that I’ve got another ninety-nine people to deal with before I can get that briefcase and win a million dollars! That’s my goal, and with the lack of failures upon reaching my goals so far, I’m looking to accomplish yet another one.

Now, I’ve got a question for you... Remember when you were a kid, and you were in one of your elementary school classes, and your teacher asked you to write a paragraph saying what you’d do if you had a million dollars? Back then, I didn’t know what I was talking about. I said I’d buy a mountain out of ice cream and build a castle out of whipped cream at the top. I didn’t realize that I’d actually have a shot at a million dollars, let alone this early in my professional wrestling career. In fact, I haven’t really thought about how I’m going to use it if I win it; sure, some of it will go toward charity, like the Alzheimer’s Foundation and the ASPCA, but I’ve got to figure I’ll still have some of it left after that point, and I realize that I’ve got an opportunity ahead of me that I won’t soon forget.

However, let’s take a look at this match by the numbers, shall we? There’s only one winner out of one hundred participants, and that means that ninety-nine will have to lose the biggest match in the history of wrestling, a match that surpasses even last year’s record of eighty-six. Out of this match, another number stands out; that number is seventy. I enter this match at number seventy, everyone’s lucky seven with a zero tacked onto the end of it, and while seven wasn’t always my lucky number, seventy is certainly lucky enough for me to count on it when the bell rings.

Another number I’d like to point out is twenty-one. There are twenty-one different companies represented in this match that for the last two years hasn’t even been won by an employee of Action Packed Wrestling. We’ve hosted this thing, and it’s time that we bring it back to the company that puts so much work into hosting the match and deserves to have a winner this year if not every year. And I say that because, and yes this is the funny part... Twenty of those companies, although their names are out there, aren’t getting represented by a winner. They’re going home with nothing.

APW is staying the face of the wrestling world, and we’re winning it all this year. I say this confidently because this year, APW is being represented by yours truly. APW is being represented by the underdog who nobody thought anything of, and everyone who looks at me will say ‘this guy might make an appearance, be in the ring for thirty seconds, and then get tossed out like the little brat he is’. They’d be dead wrong; I say that confidently, and I know that Action Packed Wrestling is represented well since I’m here, and I’m going to win it all.

Hate if you want, but we all know what’s going to happen. Seventieth person to enter the match, last person standing at the top of that ladder with a briefcase in his hands and a million dollars to his name. Sure, there are a lot of names standing in my way, hometown heroes like Sally Talfourd, Johnny Knuckles and the great Terry Marvin, and outsiders like Adrien Specter, Aurora Jansen, and Vannah White, all of whom are looking to cement their names in glory as the best wrestler in the world for one night, making themselves coveted and envied by every company on the planet, but everyone knows their faces and everyone will target them. The difference is quite simple; I’m not a big name. People hear ‘Roy Speede’ and they think, ‘Who?’ They don’t see me as a threat.

I am a threat to anyone and everyone, and when I make my way down the ramp to the ring, nobody will think twice, and that’s what allows me to strike. Most of my opponents haven’t heard of me and don’t realize how dangerous a competitor I really am, and out of those that do, they all seem to have bigger fish to fry. It leaves me wide open for the chance to reign supreme, and I’m taking it. I know what it takes to tangle with the best of the best, and I fully intend to do just that, by any means necessary. And when that bell rings and that briefcase is unhooked, it’ll be my hands grasping it tight and raising it in victory.

Just you wait.

It’ll happen.

And when it does, I’ll be a million dollars richer.”

Fade to Black!!

OOC: Word Count 4000 by MS Word Count (Including Coding) 4376 by board count (Including Coding). Thanks again for having this thing! It was a blast to write and I'm proud to be a part of this match!

[Job]

My name's Piter Svoboda, and recently I've come to acknowledge that I'm an addict first and a wrestler second, at best. I'm 150 pounds with a pocket full of change and haven't wrestled in over a year. That is only one of the reasons I'm surprised to hear my cell phone ringtone, what was once sweet tintinnabulation turned to annoying noise over years of sporadic activity. I stop tying off long enough to check the ID, then take my shot.
It's a New Hampshire number, and not in my contacts list, so I figure it's Jommy calling from the home office in Seabrook. Jomatran "Jommy "The Armenian" Armenian" Armenian has been my agent, almost without complaint, since late 2003. I used to be his top client, but that well's dried up and he's moved onto more marketable talent. I think the guy juggles fish.
I ease back onto the air mattress and sigh. No, I haven't heard from Jommy in a while, and a while longer would be nice, but I mash the Talk button on my phone until it starts ringing on his end.
The details are about the same as usual. Big match, fat purse, a bajillion opponents: it's almost like the guy knows me or something. Almost. I finally hush him on the hype long enough to get some details. London. guess I won't be driving. I say as much, and he points out that I'm high as fuck anyway and I should really take a limousine to the airport, ideally soon, because the match is Sunday and I can't put down a lead foot going transatlantic.
I let him know I'm not really feeling the drive to Sky Harbor and maybe next year, so he lets me know I'm obviously high as fuck and he called a limo. I tell him I've got to pack, to call me back, and he says it's idling outside. I don't bother squeezing out how he knows where I am before hanging up. Probably the Kid's doing.
The Freedom Kid used to be my biggest fan, before he got into politics or whatever. Drove fifteen hours just to have me sign his mask. Now? Now he's better off. Out in Vegas for a big match while I crash at his old place in Why, Arizona.
Why Arizona? Options have been pretty limited since the feds busted in my door. Here or Gitmo? Why ask Why?
I pull on a pair of cut-offs and a T-shirt, check myself out in the mirror and I look like hell, like the poster boy for a Not Even Once campaign. I cinch my bike chain belt as tight as it will go, throw on my old motorcycle jacket to hide the track marks, and strap into the Redwings I was given for a promotional deal in 2000. 9 triple-E is a hard size to find, and so I haven't bothered looking since.
Seems like I'm about as ready to go as I'll ever be, and yeah I'll probably have to leave the bundle and the works I scored from the needle exchange behind. Yeah, I mean, I've heard some limousine drivers will let you do whatever but I think that's mostly for the superstars of the world.
Not for me. Not for the Show-Opener.
Halfway out the door I turn around and bump another half a bag. I don't like flying; I may actually like dope more than I dislike flying, so this is win-win.
I walk up to the limo, frosty as I can manage, and climb in. The driver doesn't say anything, makes a face like he smells something bad and can't figure out what it is; I think I know, though.
I never meant for it to be like this, not once. On my way to Survive and Conquer when this, yes, this exactly is the breadth of my existence, my empire after almost twenty years in the business.
I wish I could just rewind.
It's never that simple, though. A lot of people get a second chance. A lucky few get a third. I've lost count, and blown them all along the way. This event is unlikely to be an exception, so why bother? How is this going to help?
I live in my past because, with a little creative editing, I can be happy then.
In the past, I had to choose between the pain of a broken back and dope. I could've chosen the pain and kept some self-respect.
In the past, I had to choose between my love for Amanda Davis and the security my no-account high school drop-out ass felt in the wrestling business. I could've expanded my horizons, maybe even gotten my GED, and been happy.
In the past, I've had to make a lot of tough decisions and in the present I'm paying for the decisions made by my past self, that guy's short-sightedness. In the present, I can take the long view on my past.
I have plenty of time in the limo to think, plenty of time to kick myself for the mistakes I've made. There was a time in my life when I thought, "if not for all that, then I wouldn't have this." Needless to say, I had more going for me at that point.
But what, ultimately, would have happened differently? What different mistakes would I have made? Would they have been worse or better? What if things aren't so black and white, what if they're really blue and orange and it just doesn't matter? What can change the nature of a man?
I was an addict before my first injection, that much is clear. I was a smoker before my first cigarette, an alcoholic before my first drink. I always thought I knew better, but I was so wrong it hurts. I always knew worse.
And yeah, maybe an airport limousine isn't the place for this morbid self-interest, and maybe on my way to the biggest match of my career isn't the time, but I can think of no better place than here, no better time than now. So let me have a look at Piter Svoboda and try not to flinch too bad, try not to look away.
It can all be found in Dante's Inferno, when I really think about it. I wish I could stop myself at the First Circle, could claim that my only sin is being unbaptized, but as much as I want to remain in Limbo it's obvious my place is lower.
The Second Circle? Well, I'm the home-wrecker who ruined Amanda's engagement to Michael White with some poorly-timed sexual misadventures. It's a fair cop, I suppose, though I maintain there was more to the two of us than simple Lust.
Ah, then Gluttony? The Third Circle of Inferno seems appropriate, if only for all the Newports I've burned, the drinks I've tipped, the dope I've banged. My skin grows cold at the thought, but I've deper to delve.
The Fourth Circle, Greed, may not seem right to those who know me well. After all, I've never been too reticent about spending the money I have and, occasionally, the money I don't have. I'm a squanderer rather than a hoarder, but still I could find my place in the eternal duel of Pluto's kingdom.
Wrathful or sullen, those who have known me at different times in my life could each find a place for me in the Fifth Circle of Anger. Whether I were to withdraw beneath the black waters of Styx or duke it out on the surface, it is a place I could eke out a niche if not for my deeper damnation.
The Sixth Circle is an easy fit. I don't know anybody whose religious or spiritual beliefs quite line up with my own, and that includes my selves of yesteryear. From the Gnostic heresy to Buddhist philosophy and at all points in between I've secured myself a place within the flaming tombs of the Heretics. At this point, I can see my soul tripping and dipping and ripping into the deeper locales of downtown Hell.
The Seventh Circle's hold on me is obvious. Though I don't remember the circumstances leading up to my suicide attempt in 2000 particularly well, the fallout of it is something I'm likely never to forget. I spent subjective ages in a coma, unresponsive, from which I recovered by what seemed at the time a miracle. It was a second, no, a later than that chance to do well with my life. I squandered it, didn't I? Learned nothing until it was too late.
Circle Eight? Nah, I forget what eight was for.
Number Nine... Number Nine? Number Nine! The circle of traitors. I think back to that crazy night in Iowa.
Bryan "Above Average Man" Barnes and I rolled up to her house in my beat-up Jetta, the car I still drive all these years later. I watched him go up the steps, hesitant and unsure. The murder allegations looked like they were going to stick, to be made to stick, and sure I knew he hadn't done it but the rest of the world had no idea. His damned pride. He talked to the girl of his dreams for all of a minute. Her boyfriend came out, and he turned and left.
He just left.
Came back to the car telling me to drive away, and at first I wouldn't do it. I told him to get the fuck out of my car, and when he didn't listen I tore him new orifices from top to bottom. I was supposed to be his ride across the border, we were so close he considered me family...
The next night I made him get out and walk. The broken neck that never quite healed right, both knees blown out, and I made him walk. I'm tempted to just get out of this limo and walk my ass to London, but I know that's silly.
I would never make it.
But he did...

[ford]

(MULTIPLE INTERLACED BURSTS OF STATIC, alongside an “ACTION PACKED WRESTLING” logo image.)

(CUTTO: A snow colored Mohawk'd individual with the crazy eyes grasps both sides of a commercial camera. The Friendly Neighborhood Lunatic, FW legend and all around crazy pants, Jack Harmen smiles to the camera. The camera is held low and is focused on a close up on Harmen's wide eyes. His expression changes from jovial to stoic in this extreme close up.)

JACK HARMEN: My name is Jack Harmen. And today, I'm here to tell APW...

(HARMEN pushes the camera closer to you can only see his eyes. His brows narrow.)

JACK HARMEN: You have all been put on notice.

(Harmen raises a legally signed document to the camera.)

JACK HARMEN: No more business as usual. From this day forth, my impact in Action Packed Wrestling will be felt RIPPLING throughout this promotion. I am the pebble, thrown in the lake, that triggers a tsunami.

(CUTTO: Medium shot as the hand held camera dangles loosely in one his hands.)

JACK HARMEN: I may only be a part of APW for one night, I may have no TRUE intention of dominating or ASSUMING I'll walk out of Survive and Conquer the winner...

(Harmen smiles. He raises his hand held camera back and we CUTTO: Close up on Harmen as the camera shakes steadily.)

JACK HARMEN: But everywhere I go, I create CHAOS AND MAYHEM. I pour gasoline on the fire, just to see the world BURN! And Survive and Conquer? My intentions will be NO different!

(CUTTO: Wide shot. Harmen paces in front of the APW flag.)

JACK HARMEN: Maybe I'll kick Sally Talfourd's teeth so far down her throat she'll eventually have a child with an extra set of chompers. Maybe I'll drive down to the ring in a Zamboni, CARMAGGEDONING the recently eliminated Mr. Leverage Christian Kane or Doc Holiday JUST FOR SPORT. Or, hell, maybe I'll go get tacos while the other 9 wrestlers enter and battle it out with the remaining guppies swimming in the deep end. Then I can gingerly make my way to the ring once the match gets to the final four.

(Harmen's shoulders shrug.)

JACK HARMEN: Who knows what mood I'll be in when. But eventually, AS ALWAYS... I'll have my secret weapon. My indestructible, roaring... stampeding... CRAZY TRAIN.

(Harmen stomps his foot, the same foot he uses to hit his patented running yakuza kick, the Locomotive, onto the cold concrete with each word. The sound echoes throughout the studio.)

JACK HARMEN: Cause the Locomotive will be departing, with a final destination of 99 NOSES TO CRACK, SKULLS TO SMASH, and just some good old fashion light hearted DECAPITATIONS!

(Harmen raises the small camera to his face as we CUTTO: Close up shot.)

JACK HARMEN: Because I may not be able to survive 99 other men. I may not be able to conquer the entire world of Action Packed Wrestling in a single night. But even if I can't, even if I can't outlast, outshine, and outmaneuver my competitors, I can still leave my mark on this fine promotion. By leaving MARKS, and SCARS, and DESTRUCTION in my wake. I AM A HURRICANE, riding a CRAZY train, straight to LUNACY!

(Harmen lowers the camera. CUTTO: Medium shot.)

JACK HARMEN: Because BEYOND my usual desire to cripple, maim, and generally injure whoever I stand across the ring from, I have EXPERIENCE in these big Mr. Cluster Fuckingsteins. You see, just last year I wrestled in a one hundred and twenty eight man single elimination tournament, making it to the final four.

(Harmen shrugs.)

JACK HARMEN: And sure, single elimination is entirely different than what this battle royal will be. Anytime the ring has to be reinforced exponentially, you've got to make sure you know what you're getting into. But throughout my entire career, I have EXCELLED in these INSANE matches. When I was apart of the long closed IWO, I participated in EVERY version of their yearly FORTY PLUS MAN SCAFFOLD match.

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Last one I was apart of? I WON the thing.

(Harmen paces.)

JACK HARMEN: Then, in 2005, I outlasted 19 other tag teams, and then wrestled and PINNED my partner, to earn my opportunity at EVERY and ANY belt the FWO had available to defend. In 2007, I conned the world, defeating every member of nbW in the process for a contract that allowed me to take on the World championship, and wrest the title belt away from him and onto my waist.

(Harmen starts to speak more rapidly, as he remembers things off the cuff that would otherwise have been forgotten.)

JACK HARMEN: And then, just last year, even though I failed to win it, I WAS the last man in Jolt's big DIVIDE and Conquer match... which I assume is the same sort of match that Survive and Conquer is, except it's less about mathematics and more about NOT DYING.

(Harmen looks at his watch.)

JACK HARMEN: And judging by my twenty years in this industry, I've learned how to SURVIVE, to LIVE to fight another day.

(CUTTO: EXTREME close up on Harmen's narrowed brow.)

JACK HARMEN: Not to mention, just last year I had a grueling two night tag team tournament where myself and my partner came out victorious. We were beaten, bloody, delirious, but we still came together and overcame the odds. We SURVIVED.

(Harmen smiles as he pulls the camera back to just a simple close up.)

JACK HARMEN: Punch drunk and loopy, I fight like Rock Lee on saki. I brawl like Marv in his final days of Sin. I don't have the motivation anymore to have my hand raised high wherever I go. No, see, my desire is to simply LOVE this business. And what I love most about this sport more than anything else in the WORLD? It's MAKING PEOPLE BLEED.

(Harmen laughs, cackling.)

JACK HARMEN: And THAT, my friends, is WHY I joined Survive and Conquer. To END CAREERS, to TEAR at flesh and STRAIGHT UP MAYAN SACRIFICE THE UNWORTHY. I've got a few empty spots above my mantel... I think the burnt crisp decapitated heads of Shadow or Donald Deruty would look BEAUTIFUL displayed above my fireplace, where my glorious previous accolades currently reside.

(Harmen chuckles.)

JACK HARMEN: It's the only way Donald Deruty will ever see his own face in the reflection of a WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP. Maybe the only way ninety five percent of this pissant forgettable FUCKTARDS who made the... MOST regrettable life choices would get that chance. I mean, I'm sorry, but you've chosen to enter a WARZONE, because when I enter I will MAKE IT SO. Where ONLY the strong survive.

(Harmen pauses. CUTTO: Medium shot, as Harmen contemplates.)

JACK HARMEN: Well, the strong, AND the cagey. The chicanerous, the devious, the DESTRUCTIVE. Cause I don't care if you HATE me here. APW is NOT my home. APW is my PLAYGROUND, and I'm going to have SO much fun.

(CUTTO: Extreme close up.)

JACK HARMEN: So to all my competitors in Survive and Conquer, I leave you with this.

(CUTTO: Medium close up as Harmen begins to pace.)

JACK HARMEN: Whenever I FINALLY make my way down to the ring, after signing a few autographs or stealing some poor woman's hot dog, maybe taking a swing by the commentary booth to plug my latest EWZine Magazine cover or an archived episode of EFG Radio I was apart of... or finish picking up my dry cleaning and paying my cable bills...

(Harmen smiles.)

JACK HARMEN: Whenever I am GOOD AND READY, whether that's at number 95, 100, 90, 5, 10, 45, I've NEVER been one to follow the rules anyway... I will CHARGE down to that ring like the freight train I am. I will spit SO much FIRE, LITERAL FIRE, the arena sky will look like we've seen an Aurora Borealis! And as the camera's lights flicker and I Bowser EVERYONE'S FACE, Mt. Vesuvius erupting in the background, I'll shout “YOUR PRINCESS IS IN ANOTHER CASTLE!”

(Harmen on an extreme close up shot, where we only see his bulging eyes.)

JACK HARMEN: And I will BURN this FUCKER TO THE GROUND!

(CUTTO: MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC, with the APW LOGO spliced in. Each time we see it, the APW logo BURNS brighter, before CRUMBLING to ash. FADE TO BLACK.)

[Ernie]

“Pat Gordon, Jr. has two chances of winning this thing, slim and none. And old Slim just went back to the frat house.” - Coach Lee Corso

Boston, Massachusetts.
Sunset.

The sky bears a pinkish hue as the burnt orange sun slowly fades beneath the horizon. Pat Gordon, Jr. is in an abandoned rail yard, surrounded by trains that haven’t seen use in years. Some have been decommissioned for decades. Pat, dressed in blue jeans, winter coat and knit hat, and his “Pat Lock” t-shirt that FGA made for him, sits atop a freight car that is encrusted by rust. Apparently the young Gordon isn’t afraid of tetanus. His legs swing in a rather happy-go-lucky manner.

PGJR: “One hundred of the best wrestlers in the world today will be in that ring for APW Survive and Conquer. One hundred wrestlers of all different styles, backgrounds, shapes, and sizes. One hundred people with one hundred different attitudes. Rookie upstarts looking for a chance to put themselves on the fast track with the biggest win of their young careers will collide with wily old vets who want that one last shot at glory. High flyers, finely tuned ring technicians, and brawlers are all gonna try to make their mark as the best in their trade. From people who don’t mind getting nasty and cheating, who think the world owes them something... to people who want to go in there and prove they can do it fair and square, through hard work and dedication. And maybe a little luck. Everyone wants to win this thing.”

The Southie Scrapper’s legs stop swinging. His eyes narrow and he gets a look of seriousness on his face.

PGJR: “And I have to admit, what initially drew me to this competition were the entries of two men: Jack Harmen and AJ Fairchild. I rooted for AJ in his bid to win the FGA Heavyweight Title from Chandler Scott, and ever since then, he’s been running his mouth about me like an arrogant little prick, saying that I’m,” Pat makes air quotes with his fingers, “‘not in his league.’ The funny thing is I’ve beaten him once before, and it’s a shame he drew number two, because it makes the odds I’ll get my hands on him that much more unlikely.

Pat hops down from the freight car. He starts to stroll through the rail yard.

PGJR: “And Harmen, well I’d love the chance to prove that I can beat him. He’s the one who ended my run in UltraTitle last summer. Hell of a competitor and I know it would put me on the map in some parts to be the one who eliminates him from this epic event.

“Then when I heard Malcolm Drake was in this thing? Well that was an added bonus, because Drake has been running around attacking me and my friends back in FGA, and I can’t think of much I’d like more than to tear him a new one.”

PGJR stops his stroll to wring his hands together, snarling. A little bit of saliva drips from his lip like a rabid dog. He takes a second to calm himself down and continues walking. He walks with a purpose, with determination.

PGJR: “But looking at the list of competitors, some I know and respect, like Ryan Kidd and Jared James. Some I can’t wait to throttle until their eyes bulge out and send them sailing over the top rope to that hard floor below. And lots of them I’ve never had the pleasure of facing, like Johnny Rebel or Jake Youngblood. And the one thing everyone on this list has in common... I don’t see one person who couldn’t win this thing.”

He holds up a single finger.

PGJR: “But at the end of the night, only one person actually WILL stand victorious atop the peak of Mount Wrestling. Only one can claim to be the best of a hundred. And it’s gonna take a lot of heart and a great fighting spirit.”

The Southie Scrapper approaches a little old steam engine. He looks at it and gives a warm smile, patting it on the side.

PGJR: “That’s where I come in. Last summer in UltraTitle, one hundred and twenty of the finest wrestlers gathered in Greensboro, North Carolina. And nobody saw me coming. Every oddsmaker and pundit in the wrestling world thought I was gonna lose in the first round. Then the second. Then the third. Nobody thought I had what it takes, but like the Little Engine That Could, I told myself, ‘I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.’ And I kept going - all the way to the Sweet 16.”

Pat Gordon, Jr. points off into the distance.

PGJR: “And just like UltraTitle, I seem to be flying under the radars of every wrestling expert again. Just like the UltraTitle, I’m the one nobody saw coming. And that’s even after drawing a fantastic number eighty-two in the order of entry. But I’m gonna come out there and be like the Little Engine That Could. I’m gonna have that drive, that fighting spirit, and that self-belief that yes, I CAN make it to the top! Because those are the cornerstones of accomplishing any great feat. You have to believe in yourself and have the heart to keep on going when the odds are against you. And I’ll fight tooth and nail to win Survive and Conquer - to mark not just my name, but my father’s name and my uncle’s name in the history books. To give the Gordon family its place as one of the great families in the annals of wrestling history.”

“But unlike last year, when Jack Harmen proclaimed 2012 the Year of the Lunatic and made it to the semi-final...”

Boston’s Favorite Son jabs his thumb into his chest.

PGJR: “2013 is gonna be the Year of the GORDON. Because I have the belief that I CAN win this thing and top Daniel ‘Rudy’ Ruettiger as one of the most inspiring athletes in sports history.”

Gordon starts chugging his arms and legs like a choo-choo train.

PGJR: “I think I can.”

“I think I can.”

He jumps up in a ball of energy.

PGJR: “I THINK I CAN!”

Pat Gordon, Jr. pats the steam engine on its side again and nods.

PGJR: “The Little Engine That Could.”

He turns and walks into the sunset.

[Kaji Fireson]

You've gone and done it now.

I know this whole wrestling thing was meant as a new challenge for you to face head on, but a 100-man battle royale is going a little overboard I think.

...

You're right. There's not really any way to properly prepare for war, either, and we made it out of that just fine.

...

Well, we made it out alive and with all our limbs still attached, which is a damn sight better than the rest of our squad can say.

...

Yes, I know they can't say anything at all because they're dead, smartass. I'm not the most clever talker in the world, even in my own head, but I'm not fuckin' stupid, either.

...

Then why am I in Survive and Conquer? Because I'm a warrior, a soldier who doesn't know how to do anything else. I put myself in the most devastating battlefields I can find so I don't drink myself stupid.

...

Fine, stupidER. Smartass. Either way, if you're supposed to learn from defeats like we've been taught, we should be fucking geniuses by now.

...

Look, you're my little mental sounding board, so you know damn well when I say "we" I mean "I." The fucking point is we're on the worst losing streak of our career so far and we have a chance to turn our fortune around in the most dramatic way imaginable, by outlasting 99 of professional wrestling's best--

...

Look, you don't know that. Maybe no one will be eliminated by the time we come out. It'll be a packed ass fucking ring if that's the case, but it's possible.

...

Fine. We can turn our fortune around by outlasting UP TO 99 of professional wrestling's best competitors. Better?

...

No I'm not. You can talk to yourself and you can answer yourself, but you're not insane until you lose an argument with yourself.

...

Call it a draw?

Good. Now to focus on what's important.



January 25th, 2013
En-Route to Virginia Tech Montgomery Executive Airport
Blacksburg, Virginia

Donovan Davenport: I don’t really like doing this much.

We cut to Donovan as he drives along. It’s hard to tell from this angle what He’s not looking at the camera, but it’s set-up to record him as he drives along. He seems focused enough on the road to not get arrested for doing a promo, but he also looks rather glum as he drives along. The camera is not the highest quality machine in the world, as the feed looks like it was recorded from an iPhone camera, but it is steady enough for us to see a bit of detail, like how Donovan is dressed in a desert camo-colored pair of cargo pants and a snug black t-shirt.

Donovan Davenport: By ‘this’ I mean talking to an audience and/or opponents for the sake of doing it. I know it’s a part of my job, but I’ve always preferred to speak through actions rather than words. Combine that with how, the few times I’ve gone out of my way to make a big, long-winded speech about what I want to accomplish and what I feel, I typically come out of it looking like a huge idiot, and doing something like this is not on my list of priorities, but there are a lot of people in this match that don’t know who I’m in, so I should at least introduce myself.

As you might have guessed by now, I am Donovan Davenport. As you might not know, or care, I am a former CRW Tag Team Champion. Lately, though, I’ve gone through a bit of a rough patch. I lost my tag team titles to a team that’s no longer in CRW, so I can’t get my revenge on them for going through all the underhanded tactics and crap they used to get the title shots they didn’t deserve because someone took a railroad spike to their glorious faces, and I’m on the longest losing streak of my career.

Which brings me here.

The world outside the car stops moving as Donovan puts the car in park.

January 25th, 2013
Parking Lot
Virginia Tech Montgomery Executive Airport
Blacksburg, Virginia

The scene cuts away from the iPhone camera to a proper camera that approaches Donovan as he steps out of his car, which we see from the outside is a blue Ford Mustang. He’s grabbed his smartphone and stashes it in one of his many pockets before closing the door and locking up his car so he can walk through the parking lot toward the terminal.

Donovan Davenport: When I originally signed on for this match, I was just intrigued in the challenge of competing with 99 other wrestlers from all over the world. Now, I’ve got that challenge to tackle as well as an opportunity to turn around a frankly terrible run of matches. I’ve got a hell of a losing streak going, but I’ve also got a hell of an outlet to release months of anger and frustration, don’t I?

I am entry number 46. Pretty much right in the middle of the road. Wait nearly an hour to wrestle, but have at least an hour to go once I start. It’s going to be a hell of a night either way, but I’ve got to dig deeper than ever if I want to have even a ghost of a chance at winning this massive battle royale. Hell, I'm going to have to dig deeper than ever if I want to even last long enough to wrestle CJ Gates at number 50.

Let's be really honest here. I got a sort of warm-up on this last CRW show a few days ago. I was in a 12...

Donovan pauses and furrows his brow a bit as he nears the entrance to the airport. He stays outside and sits on a bench so he can finish his business with the camera, which includes a self-correction.

Donovan Davenport: Wait, one guy was missing. 11-man battle royal for a chance to be in our Crucible tournament.

I know most of you don't give a shit because this is happening outside of your spheres of influence, which means it doesn't exist, but stick with me for a minute.

I was pretty dominant. I eliminated several people and was only eliminated myself right at the very end, a casualty of Adrien Specter putting his body on the line once again. That doesn't sound very impressive, but it did give me an idea of the sort of environment that I'm going to find myself in on Sunday. The scale is much greater than what I experienced on Face Off, but the same general rules apply. Pick my spots, use my strength to my advantage, try not to get too much attention on me to get double or triple teamed. I know there are other matches to be had once we're down to the final four, but I can't worry about that. I can't train for the fucking hell in a cell match and perfect that if I'm not even going to make it past the battle royal bit.

Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat more...

Actually that's a lie. I wouldn't, I don't like talking even this long. The fact is, I've got a plane to catch, so I'm going to go do that. See everybody on Sunday.

With that, Donovan pushes himself up to his feet and goes inside the airport. The camera does not follow him; instead, the scene fades out.

[Megan Andrews]

ONE PUSH IS ALL YOU'LL NEED
- - - - - - - - a fist first philosophy - - - - - - - -
Tag: everyone involved in Survive & Conquer Words: a lot Lyrics: Diamond Eyes - Shinedown
Outfit: Ruby 1, James 1, Grant 1 Ruby 2, Ruby 3 with wrestling boots Notes: good luck everyone, may the best one win, & may the odds be ever in your favor (yes, I stole a line from the Hunger Games)

[/color]
- - - - - - - - - - - - -[/center]

You Need Closure

Here I was...walking the streets on Montreal, Quebec, Canada once again for the upteenth time in less than a year. I never thought that I'd be back in this wretched place as much as I had been lately, but James wanted to see the place that made me who I am. He and I were in the beginning stages of dating...or trying to rather, but truthfully, I didn't see it going well if I was wanting to be honest with him. I was used to the single, bachelorette life just as he was used to the single, bachelor life, but when I yelled at him, months ago, about not being able to wait while he sorted out his feelings, I apparently woke something up inside of him that made him realize exactly how he did feel about me. Of course, now that he realized it, I was moving on and leaving him in the dust. I had bigger and better things to take care of, better people to have fun with (or date if I so desired) rather than worrying about him and his decisions concerning life and love. I was going to be there for a few days...well probably more than a few days, but I wasn't planning on James staying with me through that entire time. Actually, I had plans for him leaving later in the evening.

”You are leaving tonight, right? I don't want to have to spend my time here dealing with you constantly considering the fact that I don't come here that often. You're lucky I'm even letting you go with me to see Grant since visiting him isn't something that I like doing with other people.”

”Don't worry about me bothering you. As far as I'm concerned, right now, I only know you enough to get a decent tour around here. I won't even walk in with you to meet this guy since you obviously don't want me to.”

Okay, so maybe the whole trying to date bit was a no go too. Truthfully, it didn't bother me considering that I was enjoying my time fooling around with Corey Casey in Insurgency Wrestling Federation. I rolled my eyes and stepped up my pace, leaving him walking behind me as we came up to the bar that Grant ran and owned. I took a quick glance back at him, a slight glare in my eyes before I opened the bar door and walked inside with a bit of a smile on my face. Once Grant noticed it was me coming inside, he came around the bar and hurried over to me in order to give me a hug. I hugged the middle aged man back and watched as James walked past us to go to the bar. I looked at the bar a bit more closely and saw that the sperm donor that I, unfortunately, had to claim as a father wasn't at the bar like normal. I looked over at Grant as we walked over to the bar ourselves.

”Where's the sperm donor at, Grant? I figured he'd be sitting at the bar same as he always is.”

He went around the bar and had given me a mixed drink before asking James what he wanted to drink. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, daring him to order a drink considering he was driving home in a few hours. I smirked in satisfaction when he ordered a coke and told Grant that he was driving in a few hours when the fatherly figure, who had taken care of me, gave him an odd look. Well he was in a bar and asked for a non-alcoholic drink, so if I owned the place, I would have given him an odd look as well. The graying man made his way back in front of me and let out a sigh before he spoke to answer my question.

”He's in the hospital, Rubs. He's got appendicitis, and his liver is gone too. Unless they can find a donor, which it's not likely that he'll even qualify considering it's gone due to his drinking. If they can't convince the board to let him have one then they've told me that he's only got 3 or 4 days at the very most. He's been asking about you too, you know. I really think it'd do the both of you some good to go see him before he passes...you know for some closure so to speak.”

I sipped on the fruity drink that Grant had given me as I listened to what he told me about my father. Sure I knew it would only be a matter of time before his alcoholism claimed him like it claimed my mom, but I didn't know how to feel about it really. I always thought I'd feel relieved when I found out the news, but I also didn't think that I'd hear about it while he was still living. I wasn't really sure what I thought about Grant's suggestion considering I had vowed to never willingly visit that man. I glanced up at Grant and then tore my gaze away from his caring eyes and looked down at the countertop of the bar. I pushed my long, red hair behind one of my ears and sighed.

”You know what he did to me, Grant...you know what he did to my mom. I just don't know if I can actually forigve him and get closure concerning it. He gave me up...his need for booze killed my mom, whether it was inadvertently or not, it still did. I was yanked out of the only place I had known because of him.”

”But you were also able to make something of yourself and earn so much success because of him. If he wouldn't have given you up then you wouldn't be wrestling or modeling right now. Just please think about that before you completely write off going to see him...whether you like to admit it or not, closure is something that you and him both need desperately. It's not just something to think about as a reason to go see him.”

I nodded towards Grant as I nursed the drink. Yes, I always worried about alcoholism, but I never really drank enough for it to really get a hold of me. I looked down the the bar again and caught James's eye; I knew he had heard what Grant and I had been talking about. I shook my head and looked around the bar, seeing some familiar faces from when I was a child. I sighed once more and began sipping at my drink again as Grant went off to serve the newest arrivals to the building. Visiting my father before he died was something that I was going to have to seriously think on, so I knew that I had a lot to think about as the day and night went on.

Go For Me[/size]

I knew I was dreaming; it was something that was quite obvious to me. And how did I know that I was dreaming? My mother, who had been died for almost 15 years, was standing right in front of me just as beautiful as I remember her being. I tried to walk towards her, but I felt rooted to the spot I was standing. I tried over and over again, actually tiring my dream self out as I tried moving towards her. I looked up at the woman that had birthed me with a pleading look in my eyes. I was silently pleading with her to let me come towards her, but she held her hand up and shook her head softly.

”You can't come over to me, sweetheart. I'm not going to be here with you for long. Grant was right though, you need to visit your father before his time is up. You'll regret it later on in life if you don't. Don't you remember how much you wish you could have one final good-bye with me? Your father is as he was before he allowed alcoholism to take control of him. He is as he was when we met and fell in love...I forgave him years ago, and it's now your time to do the same.”

”I can't forgive him for what he did to us, mom. I was taken from everything and everyone that I knew as a child...I was thrown into places that were so strange and unfamiliar to me. The only good was everything that I accomplished thanks to my relocation.”

”Then thank him for that. He doesn't have much longer before he joins me in Heaven. You must visit him, you must forgive him, and you must say good-bye to him. This is your only chance for closure over everything that has happened....don't just throw that chance away.”

As my mom disappeared from my view, slowly at least, I felt myself being unrooted from my spot. I started running towards her, but by the time I reached where she had been, she was already gone. I fell to my knees and cried, but I knew that it was no use.

I shot up in my hotel room's queen sized bed. I was drenched in sweat, my hair was stuck to my neck and face. I got up and put my silk robe on, not bothering to tie it together as I stepped onto the room's balcony. As the cool night air hit my face, I sighed and gripped the cold, metal balcony. If my mom was telling me the same thing that Grant had, then I knew that I really had no choice but to go see my father.

Don't Count Me Out[/color][/size]

I had gotten a small camera crew sent to my locker room before the big rumble match for Survive and Conquer in APW. I was going into the match later in it, thankfully, but I knew that I was also the most disadvantaged considering I hadn't been wrestling too long. Of course that didn't mean that I should get counted out or pitied as the underdog. I was standing in front of the camera with a smirk on my face as I nodded for them to start rolling.

”You know, when I heard about Action Packed Wrestling's big interfed rumble at their Survive and Conquer pay-per-view, I was rather intrigued. I had never heard of anything interfed wise taking off without a hitch. You can imagine how surprised I was when I heard that this had been going on for years now without anything major happening problem wise. Of course I brought it to the attention of IWF's management, and I assured them that they would at least have 1 representative that wouldn't screw up her chances in the match. Needless to say, that made the interest of some of the board peak quite a bit.

I've been referred to as the First Lady of IWF, the Busty Jewel, the First Lady of Natural Law while it was still formed. I earned every single name that I have, that doesn't refer to my looks at least, by winning a title in my first month with IWF. Natural Law took me to new heights as a rookie wrestler. I won the Queen of Wrestling championship. Granted, yes, I lost it a few weeks later to Rosalie Knight, but it means nothing to me concerning the loss. I had still made a name for myself in IWF.

Tonight, in the Survive and Conquer rumble, I plan on making a bigger name for myself. I don't plan on going in there and relying on my looks to get me anywhere in the match. My plan is to kick some ass and take plenty of names as I proudly represent IWF along with a few of my co-workers. Tonight, this jewel is going in as the rookie wrestler, but I plan on coming out with more and more people knowing my name and talking about my excellent performance. I don't care if there's 10 or 100 people in this match, don't count me out just yet."[/color][/blockquote][/size]

- - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - we watch with wounded eyes - - - - - - - -
SO I HOPE YOU'LL RECOGNIZE
- - - - - - - i'm on the front line, don't worry, i'll be fine - - - - - - -

template made by !LIEBE IST FÜR RAMMSTEIN! @ caution 2.0!

[/b]
steal and you'll be eaten by cannibals[/size]

[leonstone]

Seven wrestlers stood infront of a golden gate. they stood silent they had never been together in one place other than a wrestling ring, enemies trade. They had all been gathered in one once place by Leon Stone. He said something about some great award. They stood out side of the gate for fifteen miniutes. Finally something happened, Leon dressed in a big purple suit with a purple hat comes sommersalting out, midgets with orange skin and green hair are dancing around him. he pops up out of his somersalt and yells “ Welcome to my wrestling factory.” They look around comfused. One of them answers back “ What the hell is a wreslting facory?”

Leon Smirks and walks right up to the guy that spoke. “Why my friend, come one in and find out.” Leon and the midgets dance their way up to a set of golden doors. The rest of the group follow with curiousity. When they get in side wrestling rings filled with golden championships stretch from wall to wall.

Leon: This wrestling factory gives you the chance to have more titles than ever before! All of these will be yours every title all the gold, but only if you can win the challenge. one of the wrestlers names was Mike, you could see the the sparkle in his eye, he wanted the gold he wanted it bad.

Mike: But there are so many there is no way you would realize if one or two was missing,

Leon: Then go ahead try and take one.

Mike walked over to one of the piles and picked up three of the titles, turned and walked back to the ground, he took three steps when one of the orange midgets flew from the ceiling and drop kicked Mike knocking him out. Then the midget started singing.

Loompa Looompa loppidy loo Mike is greedy are you too? looompa loompa  loppidy lee try and take a title and like mike you will be.

The orange midget danced off singing some more of his song. The rest of the group stood looking around for more drop kicking midgets. They dont see any and start to relax.

Leon back up from the group spreads his arms and says

Leon: This is the wrestling factory, any one else want a title?

No one else makes a move.

Leon: Then we keep moving.

Leon walked straight down the hall way, straight into the next room this room was filled with chair, ladders, tables, all the things you would use for a hardcore match. One of the six remaining wrestlers, Alex. See whats in the room and smiles as he picks up a chair.

Alex: I like this, this is my type of room, everything it takes to take out my rage on to one of ass holes.

Leon: Why so much rage brother?

Alex: I am not any of your siblings, you are nothing compared to me.

Leon: Seriously you're acting like that cuz I said brother? You are the weakest link goodbye.

Leon snaps his fingers and camoflauged midgets, yes even with their orange skin they were pratically invisable, but the midgets come from nowhere and attacked Alex. Alex fought a few of them off, utilizing the weapons around him, but the number over whelmed him and he was dragged off, the last thing we heard was another song from the midgets.

Leon: I suggest you start acting like you have some sense, these midgets dont have patience with selfish and vane....

He barely got the word vane out before he saw the two twins that had come on the tour checking out their reflections in two gold plated title belts, they were arguing over her was the best looking, but they were identical twins.

Leon: Oh my fucking god! I invite you people to represent the wrestling world and this is what I get, a bunch of vane, wrathful, greedy mother fuckers.

Leon threw his hat at one of the twins and whistled a little tune and when he hit the last note, piles of garbage fell onto the twins, ruining their apperance. Leon lead the remaining three to the next room. This room had a dining table set with food, there was four of them, and two places where set with steak and the other two had butter and bread. He lead every one to their seat and let Jon pretend he got the other steak. He waited for Jon to take one bite, and finally Leon took the rest of the food from him and said that no one but him gets steak, he smirked as everyone started to bicker, and there it is, the last sin, Jealousy, gangs and gangs of midgets came out from the walls and attacked the group leading them away Leon turned to the camera.

Leon: Im Leon Stone and this is my Factory.

[jrich]

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF JASON RICHARDSON
RECOVERY

Laying back on this chair makes Jason reflect on all of his life, from the beginning, the middle and the right now. Right his lying here in this therapist’s office, who’s about to try and pick his brain. Jason is here for his first psychological test since being released from the Dunning Asylum Institute for the Mental Insane. Jason has to wonder how he has gotten to this point from a promising amateur wrestling career as a teenager. Now Dr. Carter is about find out how Jason got to this point and if he has improved or gotten worse since his release. Jason has on a pair of black suit pants, a white, button-down, dress shirt and a black tie. The black suit jacket is resting on the head of therapist couch as Jason gets comfortable. Dr. Carter is sitting behind his desk with his long, white, doctor-style coat, while holding a clipboard with a checklist of things to go over. Finally, Dr. Carter begins the check-up.

Dr. Carter
Good morning Jason, I’m Dr. Carter. I will be your doctor for the foreseeable future, doing your check-ups periodically until I feel you are completely competent and able to stand a member of the regular society. This is the first check-up so I just want go over a few preliminary questions to start. First, What is your name?

Jason relaxes on the couch with his hands folded across abdomen as he thinks about the answer he is about to give. He’s knows that any kind of red flag could land him back in the Dunning Asylum, so he’s choosing his words carefully.

Jason Richardson
I was born Jason Rhodes Jr., but today people world-wide know me as Jason Richardson. So, forgive me if I refer to myself as Jason Richardson as well, Doctor.

Dr. Carter writes down Jason answer and makes a few side-notes to go back to in front of the review board.

Dr. Carter
I understand Mr. Richardson, and feel free to address yourself as you see fit, I am here to hear you. Now my next question is, what kind of line of work are you in?

Jason remains in the same position as he again is slow to answer such a simple question.

Jason Richardson
I work as a professional wrestler for the World Wrestling Generation. I have been employed their over the past three years, give or take a year or two.

Dr. Carter nods his head as he begins to write and note again.

Dr. Carter
At this wrestling organization what accolades have you achieved?

Jason is quicker to answer this question as he talks about his accomplishments in the WWG.

Jason Richardson
Well for starters, I am a two-time WWG Undisputed Champion, soon to be a three time WWG Champion. I’ve held the WWG tag team championships, along with my partner Thaddeus Rains. Rains, along with his brother Desmond and I formed the Natural Born Killers faction and caused chaos for everyone in the WWG. I was a member of the 2012 WWG Hall of Fame class, the headliner of the class. Just this year I was voted most likely to become champion in 2013 and I am on pace to do so. I also have been training and teaching my own crop of superstars to follow in my Legacy to be WWG Champions. I am recognized as one of the greatest WWG Superstars in the company’s history and I deserved every accolade that I have achieved. I put in the training time, had top ring performances every match and had the overall dedication to this craft and business to earn everything, nothing was given to me and it can’t be taken away.

Dr. Carter looks impressed by Jason’s answer as he writes down notes, this time taking a minute or so to complete. Then he flips a page on the clipboard to the next set of questions.

Dr. Carter
Jason it sounds like you were one of, if not the top guy in the WWG the entire time you’ve been there. So can you explain to me how it is you ended up at the Dunning Asylum?

Now Jason’s posture changes and Jason slides his behind his head, using them as a pillow. Jason grits his teeth as he begins to answer the Doctor’s question.

Jason Richardson
My boss Gabriel Tizo had me committed to the Asylum.

Dr. Carter is confused by this answer and instead of writing he goes more in depth with the same question.

Dr. Carter
That seems rather odd, don’t you think? Why an employer would commit one of his top employees to an insane asylum, could you explain more?

Jason bites his lip as he is about to talk about the man that almost took everything Jason had work for away. Jason tries to remain calm, because he doesn’t want a bad report.

Jason Richardson
I took a leave of absence for about six months at the beginning of the year 2012 to heal some nagging injuries that I had complied over the years. Obviously, the boss wouldn’t like that. He especially didn’t like when I took a role in a movie and flirted with the idea of becoming a movie star first and a wrestler second. But when I was invited back to the WWG as a part the 2012 Hall of Fame class, I thought the hatchet had been buried and everything was okay, but it wasn’t. I was attacked and beaten on the night I was supposed to be honored and nobody did a damn thing about it, excuse my language. I went to Gabriel and brushed it off as nothing. So, I decided I would return to avenge the wrongdoing, but when I came back things were different. I didn’t see the same faces. I saw a lot of new people and I was scared. My friend Thaddeus had since retired and I didn’t know who or if I could trust anyone. So, I stayed to myself. I got dressed by myself, and I rode from town to town by myself. That’s when the rumors started swirling backstage about me being crazy or mentally insane. Then, the rumor started to become fact in the eyes of most of the guys backstage and I ridiculed for just wanting to be by myself. People often fear what they don’t understand and I didn’t speak for myself nor did anyone else speak up for me. Then, one day, I don’t know how or why, but I was committed.

Dr. Carter continues writing, taking a few minutes to note everything. Dr. Carter taps his pen on his lip as he reads the next set of questioning.

Dr. Carter
After finding out that it was Gabriel Tizo that had you committed, how did that make you feel?

Jason crosses one leg over the other as he lets out a sigh, to relive some of the pressure that he is under.

Jason Richardson
As any normal human being, I was upset…at first. I knew that me and Gabriel were on bad terms but I never thought he would be capable of this. He literally took my lively hood away from me. I had everything I ever wanted and to have it taken away, it hurts. I didn’t think anything could hurt like losing my mom and my dad, but this definitely did.

Dr. Carter
In your opinion what was the most difficult thing to deal with throughout this ordeal?

Jason Richardson
I think it was the uncertainty that got to me the most. I mean to have someone come and take you away and you not know where you’re going, or for how long that can be scary. I thought it was a bad dream at first, but as the hours turned to days and then the days to weeks, I knew it was the real deal. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know if I was ever going to get out of that place. That was the most difficult thing, being uncertain about your life from that point on.

Dr. Carter writes more notes as he gets to know Jason more and more. Now he wants to get into where Jason is headed now.

Dr. Carter
Jason you spent approximately three months in the Dunning Asylum, according to our records. In all the time you were there, what did you do to pass the time? How did you get by?

Jason Richardson
Well at first I tried to stay sane, because it’s easy to lose sanity in a place like this. I had to refocus and use this time I had. I worked on my body, because I still had some of those nagging injury problems because I returned prematurely. So, I began to train again and get back into the shape that I’m used to being in. Even though I didn’t know if I would ever get into the ring again, I’m and athlete and I need to train, it’s an addiction almost. I trained for hours and hours, till I was sick sometimes. I didn’t know what else to do. Then, one day I engaged in a game of Chess with another patient during our recreational time. I began learning the game, even playing against myself sometimes. Chess is a game for the mind and it’s exactly what I needed to take my mind off the situation I was in. Then, I began to browse the library that they had there. Then, I started reading books. I read more books in those three months, than I probably have read in my entire life. I read mostly books about leadership, battle strategies and biographies. I read biographies of guys like Nero Caesar, Alexander the Great, Martin Luther King Jr. and a few others. I think it was reading that helped me get through this trying time in my life. It was reading that I think changed my life. Now I’m able to think on a level that I never thought possible. I can plan and strategize more extensively than ever before. It has made me better in the ring and out of the ring.

Dr. Carter
So would you say that you are grateful for the time that you spent in the Dunning Asylum?

Jason chuckles a bit as he has been posed a question that he thought he knew the answer too, but now he has changed his opinion.

Jason Richardson
Well after going over everything that was able to accomplish while in the Asylum I guess I am grateful. I don’t think I would have ever reach this level of intellect had it not been for the Dunning Asylum. I don’t think I would’ve ever read some of the books I did, learned some of the things I did, if I wasn’t lockdown. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be away from that place, but looking back on it now, it helped me. Now I am able to do things that I wasn’t able to do before. I am able to lead a group of men, to teach them, train them to become champions. I thought I had accomplished everything in the WWG when I left before, but now I see so much more I can do…so much more.

Dr. Carter writes in his notes and then flips to the last page of his questioning.

Dr. Carter
Jason what is your wrestling career like now?

Jason Richardson
Dr. Carter it’s better than ever! I would say that I’m back to my old self, but no, now I’m better. I am a better technician and a better strategist. I know what it takes to win and I know how to win. I am still train the hardest. I still am the best performer. I still have the dedication. But now I have a plan. Now, I have a purpose. I may not have the friends that I used to have, but I have soldiers following me that will stand and with me unlike any friend I know. I am the number one contender for the WWG Championship and I’m looking to capitalize on that in the near future. I have also volunteered to compete amongst the best wrestlers in the world in the Survive and Conquer challenge. I going to be on stage with guys that are best their respective companies and we will battle to see who the best of the best is? I’m looking forward to proving myself outside of the WWG. My focus has been on another level. My drive is on another level. The way I feel right now, I don’t think anyone on the planet is on the level that I am. Now all I have to do is go out there one more time.

Dr. Carter looks down at a few of the other questions, but instead puts his clipboard down and begins to talk to Jason on a personal level.

Dr. Carter
Jason I think you have shown substantial improvement thus far and are on the right track to recovery. I think you have used your time in the Dunning Asylum to better yourself as a person and that you have embraced your second chance more than any other patient I have had sit on my couch. I don’t want you to get too excited; I think there is still room for improvement. You are excited about wrestling but, I want you think about things other than wrestling. I want you to think about family, about fun, about life away from wrestling. I know that your parents aren’t here and I think that is holding you back. I think you long for that family connection. Jason you’re a great wrestler, but I know there’s more to you than that. I want you to think about all of this and I’ll meet you again in a few weeks.

Jason stands up off the couch and readjusts his pants and shirt. Jason ponders the thought of family as he grabs his coat and throws it on. Jason walks over and shakes the hand of Dr. Carter. As he is walking out, Dr. Carter wishes him luck.

Dr. Carter
Good luck in your match.

Jason stops in his tracks and talks without looking at Dr. Carter.

Jason Richardson
You don’t need luck when you’re the best.

Jason continues walking out of the door, as Dr. Carter ponders Jason last statement and writes down on his chart.




RELAPSE?

Jason stands on the curb outside of the Doctor’s office, as he attempts to flag down a cab. Soon enough a cab pulls over and Jason hoops in and directs the driver to the location of the Survive and Conquer match. The cab driver quickly begins to head toward the destination. But soon the driver begins to take notice of who he has in his backseat.

Cab Driver
Hey, aren’t that guy from WWG, you know the wrestling show?

Jason Richardson
Yes I am on that show.

The cab driver’s excitement rises but Jason isn’t all that trilled about it.

Cab Driver
You’re Jason Richardson right?

Jason Richardson
Guilty as Charged!

Cab Driver
I’m a huge wrestling fan. I can’t believe Jason Richardson is in my cab. Hey I was listening to the podcast on the radio the other day and I heard that you’re in the Survive and Conquer match! That’s pretty sweet!

Jason continues to look out the window but answer the driver’s questions as short as possible.

Jason Richardson
Yeah, I’m looking forward to the opportunity.

Cab Driver
Well I haven’t been checking WWG in a while; last I remember you were the franchise. Which was great and all with you, Drake and PR Star, but if you want my opinion, I’d go back to that notorious, sick bastard that you were when you came in. I mean in a match like this you’re going to need that.

Jason finally turns his attention to the cab driver. Even though Jason has long left The Franchise gimmick behind, and is returning to that notorious style. He actually wants to hear what the driver has to say.

Jason Richardson
You think so?

Cab Driver
Hell Yeah! I mean you can’t go into the match telling everybody how good you are, you just need to go out there and show it. People might not have like the way you went about getting things done, but at least you got it done. When you first came in you didn’t take any crap from anybody. No way would the Notorious One have stood for somebody like Scott Carr coming out and doing the thing he did to The Franchise.

Jason nods in agreement with the driver.

Jason Richardson
You know what you do have a point there.

Cab Driver
I know that deep down; you have a little bit of that Notorious One still in your heart. I know that sometimes you have a guy at your mercy, then you smile and continue beating on him and it feels good to you. People want you to be the safe Franchise, because they can handle a talker. What they can’t handle is a cold-blooded assassin. That’s what you need to be if you want to win this match.

Jason Richardson
You want that cold-blooded assassin?

Cab Driver
Hell Yeah!

Jason Richardson
Well, I can’t give away what I’m going to do when I’m in that match but I can tell you that it’s going to be something that will not want to miss. I’m grateful for the opportunity to go in and compete but I’m not looking to make any friends. I want to win, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to win. So, if I have to get my hands a little dirty, or be that cold-blooded assassin then that’s exactly what I’m going to be.

Jason rides along with the cab driver talking about wrestling for another five minutes or so and then the reach the destination. Jason tries to pay the man but he won’t accept payement.

Cab Driver
No, don’t worry about paying, just go out there kick some ass!

Jason Richardson
Count on it!




PREVENTION

Jason steps out the cab to a slew of flashbulbs and microphones. Jason is not in the mood to do interviews, but he’ll answer a few of the people’s questions.

Interview Guy
Jason this is your first Survive and Conquer match, how do you think you will do going into the match?

Jason begins to walk toward the arena as he answers the question that was posed to him. Jason is being followed by the mob of flashbulbs.

Jason Richardson
Well just like the title says, I plan to survive. I don’t know if everyone in the match is paying enough attention to the basic principle of survival. It doesn’t mean win, no it simply means to endure. To endure longer than any other participant in the match, and that’s what I plan to do. Every man in this match has their own claims to fame and I’m not here to talk about mine. In this match I represent the WWG obviously, but more important I’m here to represent me. There are three other WWG wrestlers in this match and I hope they do well for the company. But we aren’t here team up or even watch each other’s back, because quite frankly I can’t stand the guys from WWG in this match. I might try to eliminate them first, because they are the ones I hate. Everyone is just gravy. I love competition, especially ones like this. This match is the ultimate claim to fame for any wrestler competing. I don’t want to talk about WWG accomplishments because that means nothing in this match. I’m looking for the overall accomplishment. To beat best that everyone has to offer. To be the champion of the WWG is one thing, but Champion of the world is another! All I have to do is prevent. Prevent myself from walking to compromising position and prevent others from surviving. It’s a simple strategy but it’s a winning strategy. Just get to the end then my wrestling ability can come into play. Who has the guts to make it to the end? Who has the endurance to make it to the finale? Who has the durability to withstand this match? It’s simple…I do!

Jason walks through the arena doors leaving the cameras and microphones behind, and his future looking brighter than ever.

End Of RP

[President Jeff]

Deadline is now

Thanks to everyone who Rped for this match. We had a great turn out. I’m gonna try my hardest to get the show posted on Sunday before the Royal Rumble PPV. However, I’ll keep everyone updated on Sunday with the status of the show. Right now I’m not making any promises, but I’ll have a better idea come Sunday when the show will be posted.

Again, thanks everyone who Rped and good luck