Post by The Paragon of Hardcore on Sept 13, 2008 0:13:44 GMT -4
*Gods, its fucking hot... We find the King of Hardcore, "The Career Killer" Trevor Blackwell riding his 1979 Harley Davidson Fatboy down Route 66 in Death Valley on his way to San Jose, California, his red and black duffel bag hanging over a shoulder, his Singapore Cane strapped to his back like the Katana of a Ronin Samurai. Why, you may ask, would anybody be riding down and almost deserted highway in the middle of a sweltering September afternoon in Nevada, decked out in what Kenny Lambardo used to call "The Blackwell Armor", his leather Sons of Carthage jacket? Because he's fucking Hardcore, dammit... that or stupid... Most people say its pretty much the same thing. Of course, you could say, "Why don't you just wear a leather vest, Trevor?" Because that's just not Hardcore enough. And when you carry the last name Blackwell, you have a reputation to uphold... Even if it does mean sweating your balls off. Trevor takes a hand off one of the handlebars to wipe rivulets of sweat that threaten to drip into his eyes, almost swerving dangerously off the road and into the unforgiving desert hardpan. Thankfully, Trevor Blackwell is the only man Hardcore (stupid) enough to be on this famous stretch of highway this afternoon. He passes a road sign doing 75 mph and just briefly notices what it says out of the corner of his eye: "CALIFORNIA 159 mi". He sighs and shakes his head as he steadies the handlebars with his knees and reaches into his leather, producing a long, thick Vanilla Dutchmaster that has long since been relieved of it's tobacco and replaced with some particularly aromatic greens. The Excellence of Extreme slips the blunt between his lips and ignites it with a windproof butane torch. The cherry at the end glows to a bright red ember as he inhales deeply before exhaling in a cloud of smoke that envelopes his head and kinda makes him look like a Cheech and Chong version of Pigpen from the old Peanuts cartoon for a split second before the slipstream of his travel makes it disappear into the air. Another 159 miles... Gods, this has been a long fucking trip. But he's always hated flying unless absolutely necessary. No, he still hates even when its absolutely necessary but that's why airplanes serve whiskey. The Career Killer keeps reminding himself as he tokes more and more psychotropic smoke into his system, that this trip is worth it... That this is what he wants... That he needs to make this return to complete his legacy... That he can't go out with all these loose ends that need tying in his life... Who is he kidding... Its really just bloodlust. His mind wanders as one's mind tends to do when you ride mile after mile and the scenery never changes... The same hardpan... The same cacti... The same vultures that circle above him, hoping that he'll run out of gas. His body shifts to autopilot as his thoughts turn inward... and he remembers...*
*He remembers what it was like to not have the freedom of the open road. He remembers being confined to the hospital bed that Stonybrook Hospital provided for his home in Long Island, New York. He remembers laying there, watching APW Monday Night Overdrives and Test For The Best and Shockwave. He remembers watching other wrestlers like Dr. Phate and Twister getting shots at the World Heavyweight Title that rightfully belongs around his waist. He remembers watching that treacherous, backstabbing little shit, Kenny Lambardo, parading around the ring with his belt like he actually earned the damned thing... Like Trevor himself wasn't the one who put that belt around his waist in the first place... Like it wasn't President Jeff's corporate backing that put it there... Like he actually bought into all of the bullshit that poured from his lips. If Kenny Lambardo was a fucking god then Trevor Blackwell was Michael Lively's Mom. He remembers hating his own injuries and physical limitations. He remembers refusing the aid of the nurse Kristina hired to take care of him. He remembers refusing to acknowledge the doctor's orders that say that he stay in bed... that he still needed time to recover from the experimental bone fusion surgery... to allow his legs time to remember how to receive the messages from his brain that travel along his newly repaired spinal cord... that his body had to relearn how to walk. He remembers conveniently forgetting to ring the buzzer that the hospital gave him... the one that would call the nurse to come help him walk to the bathroom. He remembers falling on the floor everyday as his body wouldn't support his weight... pulling himself along the carpet by his arms and crawling back into bed instead of actually admitting he needed help. He remembers the day his legs actually worked again for the first time and he was able to make it halfway across the room before collapsing. He remembers the day he was finally able to leave his house. He remembers that the first place he went was the weight room at The Blackwell Academy. He remembers thinking about how Matt Metal would be his first target for supposedly calling that match "right down the middle" as he pumped iron and worked out harder then he ever had in his life... building his upper body to a more muscular tone then ever... building the traps around his neck as a shield against ever having this problem again... getting into the best shape of his entire fucking career. He remembers looking into the mirror and laughing at the fact that he'd started to look more like Sabur then the Trevor Blackwell that anyone remembers. Alright... maybe he's not quite that big...*
*The King of Hardcore's Harley roared over the state line into the desert of California's Silicon Valley. Great... more hardpan... and cacti... and vultures. One of the buzzards grew a set of balls and divebombed him. His mind still lost in thought, The Excellence of Extreme reacted on instinct and lashed out with his Singapore Cane... almost like it was an extension of his arm more than a weapon of destruction and slammed the large black-feathered bird in the face... knocking it out of the air and leaving it to roll across the road in his wake. The Singapore Cane returned to it's holster and Trevor continued his inward musings as he took another heavy pull of Marijuana. He remembered the conversation he had with Skyler. The little girl was much older in her mind than the seven years that she had been on this Earth would let on. He remembered her looking up at him with tears moistening her ice blue eyes that were the mirror reflection of his own... the eyes of a Blackwell. He remembered her asking him why he would want to go back to wrestling. Didn't he remember what the doctor said? He remembered all right... he remembered all too well. The doctor had said that the next time he injured his neck would most likely be the last... that it would kill him. And then what, Daddy? Sometimes its easy for people to forget that facet of who Trevor Blackwell was. They knew him as the Hardcore Icon. They knew him as the Excellence of Extreme. They knew him as the King of Hardcore. They knew him as the Career Killer. But very few ever kept in mind that his most important title is Daddy. Trevor never forgets that. He didn't bring her up to California with him on his Harley because he didn't think she'd be very comfortable riding in her seat on the front forks in this blazing sun. Her Uncle Glove Guy would be flying her up himself so that she could meet him at the arena. He'd been riding for five days now. She should already be there waiting for him with her Aunt Kristina. But this was before the flight. This was before Trevor Blackwell set off on his solo journey across the country. This was on the front porch of their home of Long Island, New York in a wealthy little section called The Hamptons. This was when she looked up at him, tears now streaming down her pretty little face. This was when the question he had hoped he'd never have to hear from her spewed from her lips in a wail. This was when she said, "Daddy, what if you end up just like Mommy?" Mommy... Her mother, Diana Steel, had been run down by a Mack Truck only a short month before this. Skyler buried her face in his stomach... the tears gushing from her eyes soaking his black t-shirt. She cried about how she missed her Mommy and how she was deathly afraid that her Daddy would be broken again and about how she didn't want to be all alone. She begged him. She pleaded with the man people called The Career Killer for him not to do this... for him to just stay home with her. And for a moment, Trevor considered this. But he knew he couldn't... What would he do? They had a home and a motorcycle. And Skyler had the best tutors money could buy. They had a lifestyle. And where would Trevor go from here if not to APW? This was all he knew how to do. This is what Trevor Blackwell was born for. Could anyone really picture The King of Hardcore in a three piece suit working for some investment firm? Yeah... neither could he... Besides, he didn't have much of a choice at this point. President Jeff had already booked him for a match. What was he going to do? No show? Who was he? John Green?*
*"The Career Killer' Trevor Blackwell's '79 Harley Davidson Fatboy passed a sign that now told him he was gracing the streets of San Jose with his presence. The Excellence of Extreme... here to show the people of this shitty little town what a real shark is. He keyed up the Bluetooth attached to his ear and said the name of his youngest sibling as he extinguished his blunt on his tongue. A moment later, the voice of an angel who smokes two packs a day echoed across the airwaves. He told the Hardcore Princess that he would be arriving shortly. She said she'd be waiting for him with bells on or some sadistically sweet shit like that. Sometimes the demented mind of Kristina Blackwell creeped even him out. Skyler grabbed the phone from her and told him all about how she missed him and loved him and all the fun she was having with Aunt Kristina and Aunt Kalayla and something about knives and sais. Trevor laughed and told her not to do anything Aunt Kristina would do. Skyler said that didn't leave very much and told him to hurry up and get there already. The Excellence of Extreme said his goodbyes and I love yous and hung up the phone as he opened up the throttle on his bike. It was time to stop playing around and get this done.*
*The private camera feed of The Blackwells' Personal Cameraman, Emrys, statics into life to show the parking lot of the HP Pavillion in the heart of San Jose, California. The air is hot and humid and devoid of breeze as a distant but strikingly familiar rumble shatters the stillness of this quiet afternoon. Soon, the rumble becomes the roar of a great beast as it shakes the camera and the very ground that Emrys stands on. The air chokes with the noxious smoke of exhaust fumes and a sandstorm-like cloud obscures all vision and pelts the screen of the camera with small pebbles. Riding out of the cloud like a demon crawling from Hell's depths, The Most Lethal Man In Sports Entertainment, "The Career Killer" Trevor Blackwell appears on the scene. He pulls up to a stop at a makeshift parking spot and is nearly knocked off the bike by an overly excited seven year old leaping into his arms. She almost chokes him out with the power of her hug, clenching him tightly in her happiness to see him, yelling, "DaddyDaddyDaddy" the entire time.*
Skyler: I missed you, Daddy!
*A genuine smile crosses Trevor Blackwell's lips for the first time in a week.*
Trevor: I missed you too, Beautiful. How was your flight?
*Refusing to let go of his neck in fear of him letting her down, the youngest Blackwell lays her head on Daddy's shoulder.*
Skyler: It was fine. Uncle Glover brought his portable DVD Player and we watched APW Sabotage the whole way over.
*The King of Hardcore dismounts his bike, carrying Skyler Blackwell in his arms as his little sister, Kristina, steps out of the shadows of the building, a sweet smile on her face despite all of her efforts to constantly look like a badass. The Hardcore Princess saunters over and gives her family a warm hug. Maybe this is what's been missing from her daily life in APW. She gives her big brother a disapproving look as she shakes her head, her now red tinted jet black hair hiding her face like a shroud.*
Kristina: Took you fucking long enough, Trevor. Its Friday already. Overdrive is on Monday and you have a match. Why couldn't you fly out like a normal person?
*The Career Killer puts his daughter down as the little girl pouts slightly. Her beaming smile soon returns as her Daddy eclipses her small hand in his much larger one.*
Trevor: Good to see you too, Kid. You know I don't fly unless I absolutely have to. Besides, the ride over gave me time to think and prepare.
*He looks up at the sign that says "APW PERFORMERS' ENTRANCE" and a sick smile threatens to split his face.*
Trevor: Who says you can't go home again?
*The Excellence of Extreme heads for the door with his daughter in tow but his little sister grabs him by the jacket sleeve.*
Kristina: Hey! You wanna put in a little work before going to relax? How about saying a few words about you opponent this week, Trev?
*Trevor Blackwell sighs and looks to Emrys and his camera.*
Trevor: Fine... Who the fuck am I fighting, anyway?
*The Hardcore Princess puts her hands to her mouth to stifle a giggle.*
Kristina: John Green...
*Trevor Blackwell isn't nearly as successful as his sister in controlling himself and explodes into full throated laughter. Skyler kinda jumps, startled by this sudden outburst.*
Trevor: John Green?! You've gotta be fucking kidding me!
*The King of Hardcore composes himself and tries to wipe the smile off his face.*
Trevor: Well, at least President Jeff gave me an easy match for my return. Shit... John Green... When did he come back? I thought Kenny sent him packing long ago.
*Kristina shakes her head with a smile of her own.*
Kristina: This is Green's return match too.
*The Excellence of Extreme turns to Emrys and his camera again, trying to mask his giggles with a sick smile and only looking more evil for the effort.*
Trevor: What did you do, John? Piss on Jeff's cape? How did you draw a short straw like this one? You must've done something really horrible to anger the boss to get a match with "The Career Killer" Trevor Blackwell. Especially when Jeff knows that I'm going to be returning hungry with something to prove. Y'know, I find it amusing. Jeff knows that I'm coming back gunning for Matt Metal so he gives me a guy who blatantly rips off his gimmick and only ended up looking like more of a jackass then the original... and that's saying something. Haven't we been over this already, Greenie? I've already proven on more then one occasion that you're not in my league. Shit, you've already proven on more then one occasion that you're not even in this company. Isn't this, like, your third comeback? And you never actually do anything with the opportunities that Jeff gives you. And I'm going to make it my personal mission this Monday to make sure that I curb your comeback campaign like I was Edward Norton in American History X. The only time ANYBODY in that crowd out there gave a fuck about who you are was during that five minute period when you were APW World Heavyweight Champion. And the only reason anyone cared about you then was because they were making bets on who was gonna be the one to take the belt off you. You didn't earn your spot then. And you haven't earned your spot now. You don't even deserve to be in a match with someone of my caliber. Someone who has built his legacy in this business on killing the careers of useless wastes of camera time like yourself. Go to some bullshit wrestling federation where lesser talent like yourself will be able to get by... like WWE. But here, you are in my world. And when you step into the ring with me on Monday, you will be in my playground. And I swear, you will be lucky to escape alive, let alone with a win. This will be a warmup for when I finally get my hands on that has-been, Matt Metal. You will be nothing more than another message... an example to Metal of what he's in for.
*The Hardcore Princess laughs at her brother's rant.*
Kristina: Shit, Trev... Don't hold back... Tell Green what you really think of him...
*The Career Killer does his best to ignore his little sister's childish tone but his ice blue eyes light up at her words.*
Trevor: Y'know what, Greenie... I don't have to say anything else about you. The world already knows what a piece of shit you are. I proved I was better than you when I held the Xtreme title and you were keeping the World title warm for a real champion. And I'm still better than you now. Instead, I'm going to give you the best advice you'll ever hear from a veteran in your entire career. Stay home on Monday. Don't show up to Overdrive. You'll be saving yourself a lot of time and humiliation and pain and doctor's bills. Stay home and don't come back to MY APW again. Do yourself a favor and make this just like all of your other "comebacks". No show. Find a wife... or a husband... or whatever works for you. Start a family. Buy a home. Get some cushy job asking people if they want fries with their order. And maybe someday you'll survive long enough to be able to tell your grandchildren how the "The Career Killer" Trevor Blackwell saved your life.
*He's about to say more but a small hand tugs at his jacket. Trevor Blackwell looks down at his little girl who seems to be doing some sort of dance.*
Skyler: Dadddyyyy!!! I gotta go to the bathroom... I think I have to take a John Green.
*Trevor and Kristina look at each other and start cracking up as the youngest... and perhaps smartest Blackwell leads them into the building. The Hardcore Princess's words accompany the scene's fadeout.*
Kristina: Out of the mouths of babes...
*He remembers what it was like to not have the freedom of the open road. He remembers being confined to the hospital bed that Stonybrook Hospital provided for his home in Long Island, New York. He remembers laying there, watching APW Monday Night Overdrives and Test For The Best and Shockwave. He remembers watching other wrestlers like Dr. Phate and Twister getting shots at the World Heavyweight Title that rightfully belongs around his waist. He remembers watching that treacherous, backstabbing little shit, Kenny Lambardo, parading around the ring with his belt like he actually earned the damned thing... Like Trevor himself wasn't the one who put that belt around his waist in the first place... Like it wasn't President Jeff's corporate backing that put it there... Like he actually bought into all of the bullshit that poured from his lips. If Kenny Lambardo was a fucking god then Trevor Blackwell was Michael Lively's Mom. He remembers hating his own injuries and physical limitations. He remembers refusing the aid of the nurse Kristina hired to take care of him. He remembers refusing to acknowledge the doctor's orders that say that he stay in bed... that he still needed time to recover from the experimental bone fusion surgery... to allow his legs time to remember how to receive the messages from his brain that travel along his newly repaired spinal cord... that his body had to relearn how to walk. He remembers conveniently forgetting to ring the buzzer that the hospital gave him... the one that would call the nurse to come help him walk to the bathroom. He remembers falling on the floor everyday as his body wouldn't support his weight... pulling himself along the carpet by his arms and crawling back into bed instead of actually admitting he needed help. He remembers the day his legs actually worked again for the first time and he was able to make it halfway across the room before collapsing. He remembers the day he was finally able to leave his house. He remembers that the first place he went was the weight room at The Blackwell Academy. He remembers thinking about how Matt Metal would be his first target for supposedly calling that match "right down the middle" as he pumped iron and worked out harder then he ever had in his life... building his upper body to a more muscular tone then ever... building the traps around his neck as a shield against ever having this problem again... getting into the best shape of his entire fucking career. He remembers looking into the mirror and laughing at the fact that he'd started to look more like Sabur then the Trevor Blackwell that anyone remembers. Alright... maybe he's not quite that big...*
*The King of Hardcore's Harley roared over the state line into the desert of California's Silicon Valley. Great... more hardpan... and cacti... and vultures. One of the buzzards grew a set of balls and divebombed him. His mind still lost in thought, The Excellence of Extreme reacted on instinct and lashed out with his Singapore Cane... almost like it was an extension of his arm more than a weapon of destruction and slammed the large black-feathered bird in the face... knocking it out of the air and leaving it to roll across the road in his wake. The Singapore Cane returned to it's holster and Trevor continued his inward musings as he took another heavy pull of Marijuana. He remembered the conversation he had with Skyler. The little girl was much older in her mind than the seven years that she had been on this Earth would let on. He remembered her looking up at him with tears moistening her ice blue eyes that were the mirror reflection of his own... the eyes of a Blackwell. He remembered her asking him why he would want to go back to wrestling. Didn't he remember what the doctor said? He remembered all right... he remembered all too well. The doctor had said that the next time he injured his neck would most likely be the last... that it would kill him. And then what, Daddy? Sometimes its easy for people to forget that facet of who Trevor Blackwell was. They knew him as the Hardcore Icon. They knew him as the Excellence of Extreme. They knew him as the King of Hardcore. They knew him as the Career Killer. But very few ever kept in mind that his most important title is Daddy. Trevor never forgets that. He didn't bring her up to California with him on his Harley because he didn't think she'd be very comfortable riding in her seat on the front forks in this blazing sun. Her Uncle Glove Guy would be flying her up himself so that she could meet him at the arena. He'd been riding for five days now. She should already be there waiting for him with her Aunt Kristina. But this was before the flight. This was before Trevor Blackwell set off on his solo journey across the country. This was on the front porch of their home of Long Island, New York in a wealthy little section called The Hamptons. This was when she looked up at him, tears now streaming down her pretty little face. This was when the question he had hoped he'd never have to hear from her spewed from her lips in a wail. This was when she said, "Daddy, what if you end up just like Mommy?" Mommy... Her mother, Diana Steel, had been run down by a Mack Truck only a short month before this. Skyler buried her face in his stomach... the tears gushing from her eyes soaking his black t-shirt. She cried about how she missed her Mommy and how she was deathly afraid that her Daddy would be broken again and about how she didn't want to be all alone. She begged him. She pleaded with the man people called The Career Killer for him not to do this... for him to just stay home with her. And for a moment, Trevor considered this. But he knew he couldn't... What would he do? They had a home and a motorcycle. And Skyler had the best tutors money could buy. They had a lifestyle. And where would Trevor go from here if not to APW? This was all he knew how to do. This is what Trevor Blackwell was born for. Could anyone really picture The King of Hardcore in a three piece suit working for some investment firm? Yeah... neither could he... Besides, he didn't have much of a choice at this point. President Jeff had already booked him for a match. What was he going to do? No show? Who was he? John Green?*
*"The Career Killer' Trevor Blackwell's '79 Harley Davidson Fatboy passed a sign that now told him he was gracing the streets of San Jose with his presence. The Excellence of Extreme... here to show the people of this shitty little town what a real shark is. He keyed up the Bluetooth attached to his ear and said the name of his youngest sibling as he extinguished his blunt on his tongue. A moment later, the voice of an angel who smokes two packs a day echoed across the airwaves. He told the Hardcore Princess that he would be arriving shortly. She said she'd be waiting for him with bells on or some sadistically sweet shit like that. Sometimes the demented mind of Kristina Blackwell creeped even him out. Skyler grabbed the phone from her and told him all about how she missed him and loved him and all the fun she was having with Aunt Kristina and Aunt Kalayla and something about knives and sais. Trevor laughed and told her not to do anything Aunt Kristina would do. Skyler said that didn't leave very much and told him to hurry up and get there already. The Excellence of Extreme said his goodbyes and I love yous and hung up the phone as he opened up the throttle on his bike. It was time to stop playing around and get this done.*
*The private camera feed of The Blackwells' Personal Cameraman, Emrys, statics into life to show the parking lot of the HP Pavillion in the heart of San Jose, California. The air is hot and humid and devoid of breeze as a distant but strikingly familiar rumble shatters the stillness of this quiet afternoon. Soon, the rumble becomes the roar of a great beast as it shakes the camera and the very ground that Emrys stands on. The air chokes with the noxious smoke of exhaust fumes and a sandstorm-like cloud obscures all vision and pelts the screen of the camera with small pebbles. Riding out of the cloud like a demon crawling from Hell's depths, The Most Lethal Man In Sports Entertainment, "The Career Killer" Trevor Blackwell appears on the scene. He pulls up to a stop at a makeshift parking spot and is nearly knocked off the bike by an overly excited seven year old leaping into his arms. She almost chokes him out with the power of her hug, clenching him tightly in her happiness to see him, yelling, "DaddyDaddyDaddy" the entire time.*
Skyler: I missed you, Daddy!
*A genuine smile crosses Trevor Blackwell's lips for the first time in a week.*
Trevor: I missed you too, Beautiful. How was your flight?
*Refusing to let go of his neck in fear of him letting her down, the youngest Blackwell lays her head on Daddy's shoulder.*
Skyler: It was fine. Uncle Glover brought his portable DVD Player and we watched APW Sabotage the whole way over.
*The King of Hardcore dismounts his bike, carrying Skyler Blackwell in his arms as his little sister, Kristina, steps out of the shadows of the building, a sweet smile on her face despite all of her efforts to constantly look like a badass. The Hardcore Princess saunters over and gives her family a warm hug. Maybe this is what's been missing from her daily life in APW. She gives her big brother a disapproving look as she shakes her head, her now red tinted jet black hair hiding her face like a shroud.*
Kristina: Took you fucking long enough, Trevor. Its Friday already. Overdrive is on Monday and you have a match. Why couldn't you fly out like a normal person?
*The Career Killer puts his daughter down as the little girl pouts slightly. Her beaming smile soon returns as her Daddy eclipses her small hand in his much larger one.*
Trevor: Good to see you too, Kid. You know I don't fly unless I absolutely have to. Besides, the ride over gave me time to think and prepare.
*He looks up at the sign that says "APW PERFORMERS' ENTRANCE" and a sick smile threatens to split his face.*
Trevor: Who says you can't go home again?
*The Excellence of Extreme heads for the door with his daughter in tow but his little sister grabs him by the jacket sleeve.*
Kristina: Hey! You wanna put in a little work before going to relax? How about saying a few words about you opponent this week, Trev?
*Trevor Blackwell sighs and looks to Emrys and his camera.*
Trevor: Fine... Who the fuck am I fighting, anyway?
*The Hardcore Princess puts her hands to her mouth to stifle a giggle.*
Kristina: John Green...
*Trevor Blackwell isn't nearly as successful as his sister in controlling himself and explodes into full throated laughter. Skyler kinda jumps, startled by this sudden outburst.*
Trevor: John Green?! You've gotta be fucking kidding me!
*The King of Hardcore composes himself and tries to wipe the smile off his face.*
Trevor: Well, at least President Jeff gave me an easy match for my return. Shit... John Green... When did he come back? I thought Kenny sent him packing long ago.
*Kristina shakes her head with a smile of her own.*
Kristina: This is Green's return match too.
*The Excellence of Extreme turns to Emrys and his camera again, trying to mask his giggles with a sick smile and only looking more evil for the effort.*
Trevor: What did you do, John? Piss on Jeff's cape? How did you draw a short straw like this one? You must've done something really horrible to anger the boss to get a match with "The Career Killer" Trevor Blackwell. Especially when Jeff knows that I'm going to be returning hungry with something to prove. Y'know, I find it amusing. Jeff knows that I'm coming back gunning for Matt Metal so he gives me a guy who blatantly rips off his gimmick and only ended up looking like more of a jackass then the original... and that's saying something. Haven't we been over this already, Greenie? I've already proven on more then one occasion that you're not in my league. Shit, you've already proven on more then one occasion that you're not even in this company. Isn't this, like, your third comeback? And you never actually do anything with the opportunities that Jeff gives you. And I'm going to make it my personal mission this Monday to make sure that I curb your comeback campaign like I was Edward Norton in American History X. The only time ANYBODY in that crowd out there gave a fuck about who you are was during that five minute period when you were APW World Heavyweight Champion. And the only reason anyone cared about you then was because they were making bets on who was gonna be the one to take the belt off you. You didn't earn your spot then. And you haven't earned your spot now. You don't even deserve to be in a match with someone of my caliber. Someone who has built his legacy in this business on killing the careers of useless wastes of camera time like yourself. Go to some bullshit wrestling federation where lesser talent like yourself will be able to get by... like WWE. But here, you are in my world. And when you step into the ring with me on Monday, you will be in my playground. And I swear, you will be lucky to escape alive, let alone with a win. This will be a warmup for when I finally get my hands on that has-been, Matt Metal. You will be nothing more than another message... an example to Metal of what he's in for.
*The Hardcore Princess laughs at her brother's rant.*
Kristina: Shit, Trev... Don't hold back... Tell Green what you really think of him...
*The Career Killer does his best to ignore his little sister's childish tone but his ice blue eyes light up at her words.*
Trevor: Y'know what, Greenie... I don't have to say anything else about you. The world already knows what a piece of shit you are. I proved I was better than you when I held the Xtreme title and you were keeping the World title warm for a real champion. And I'm still better than you now. Instead, I'm going to give you the best advice you'll ever hear from a veteran in your entire career. Stay home on Monday. Don't show up to Overdrive. You'll be saving yourself a lot of time and humiliation and pain and doctor's bills. Stay home and don't come back to MY APW again. Do yourself a favor and make this just like all of your other "comebacks". No show. Find a wife... or a husband... or whatever works for you. Start a family. Buy a home. Get some cushy job asking people if they want fries with their order. And maybe someday you'll survive long enough to be able to tell your grandchildren how the "The Career Killer" Trevor Blackwell saved your life.
*He's about to say more but a small hand tugs at his jacket. Trevor Blackwell looks down at his little girl who seems to be doing some sort of dance.*
Skyler: Dadddyyyy!!! I gotta go to the bathroom... I think I have to take a John Green.
*Trevor and Kristina look at each other and start cracking up as the youngest... and perhaps smartest Blackwell leads them into the building. The Hardcore Princess's words accompany the scene's fadeout.*
Kristina: Out of the mouths of babes...
