Venting Rage or Alone With The Career Killer

[The Paragon of Hardcore]

*Emrys switches on his camera in the dark room, the red light on the top casting The Hardcore Icon's already ghostily illuminated face into a devilish glow. Emrys has already found out that working for The Blackwells has its benefits... To start with, they pay him almost double what President Jeff was giving him... Trevor and Kristina smoke him out all the time... He even gets to be on camera and have his name on APW Television... But then there's times like these where he wonders if any of its worth it. Kristina isn't around tonight. She's out preparing for her match against Marcus "Stylez" Saxton this coming Monday on the first ever Monday Night Overdrive. She's out preparing to take her first step towards APW gold. She told him to stick with her big brother... that he needed him more then she did tonight. Emrys knew from the beginning that this was going to be a bad idea. He's never been alone with The Career Killer before... and quite frankly, he's kinda scared… any sane man would be. Emrys has watched the career of The Excellence of Extreme since he debuted with The Combat Wrestling Federation. He watched Trevor revolutionize the Xtreme Division that he and his sister are fighting to ascend again... This time it’s in a different federation but the principle is the same. He watched Trevor lead army after army of Hardcore Warriors into the Future. Whether it was The Future Shock or The Unholy Alliance or The Revolution, it didn't matter. The names and faces were different but the principle was the same and each time, Trevor and his men and women backed up every word they said with shocking, gory brutality. He watched Trevor decimate competitors like D2K, Rush, The New Mexico Kid, and even current WWE World Champion, Edge. He's seen him destroy supposed legends like Matt Metal and Andy McHeyman. He's seen him willingly subject himself to beatings involving Barbed Wire, Steel Chairs, Flaming Tables, and Singapore Canes. He's watched Trevor break bones, crush dreams, and kill careers. He's watched Trevor win title after title including the WWC World Heavyweight Championship. And now this sadistic monster is just sitting before him in the darkness, his Singapore Cane resting across his lap, his ice blue eyes focused on the television set in front of him... torturing himself by watching the main event of New Year's Retribution for the seventh time now. The Hardcore Icon freeze frames the video tape on a shot of John Green standing atop the ladder, holding the APW World Heavyweight Championship over his head triumphantly as the fans cheer around him. His lips curl into a sneer, showing a few missing teeth and canines that Emrys could swear are fangs. Not like the fangs of a vampire. But the sharp teeth of a predator... kinda like a shark or a wolf...or something even worse.*

*But its the ice blue eyes of The Career Killer that Emrys finds the most frightening. They stare intently at the screen, bearing down on the image of the new APW World Champ like they could burn a hole in the screen if Trevor tried hard enough. They are the eyes of a cold-blooded psychopath. They are the eyes of a competitor who will do anything he has to do to achieve his goals. They are the eyes of a born champion... and the camera watches as they flash with homicidal rage.*

*Emrys jumps back, more then a little startled, as Trevor Blackwell buries one large steel toed, steel heeled, leather clad foot through the screen of television monitor, knocking it over onto the floor, making it burst in an explosion of glass and sparks. You know what they say about guys with big feet... big egos... Emrys stays silent, waiting for The Excellence of Extreme to speak on his own. And he will... There's only one thing Trevor Blackwell loves more then gold belts... and that's the sound of his own voice... Trevor turns towards Emrys, bringing his blue bombardier eyes to bear on his new employee. The Blackwells' Cameraman almost shits his pants before realizing that Blackwell is looking into the camera, not Emrys's eyes. When he finally does speak, Emrys has to strain to hear as he turns up the volume on his camera's microphone. The Career Killer's voice is nothing more then a barely contained rumble of fury.*

Trevor: Hey has my title....

*The Hardcore Icon suddenly explodes out of his chair, his efforts to control his anger crumbling as he upends the wooden coffee table in front of him, his voice now a loud crescendo of hatred as he says the name that's plagued his dreams over the past few sleepless nights.*

Trevor: JOHN FUCKING GREEN HAS MY TITLE!!! I EARNED THAT BELT!!! I FOUGHT FOR IT WITH MY BLOOD AND SWEAT AND TEARS AND JOHN FUCKING GREEN WINS IT?!! AND DO YOU KNOW WHY??? BECAUSE OF...

*Trevor swings his Singapore Cane as Emrys ducks, taking out a lamp that was on an end table in another explosion of sparks and glass.*

Trevor: MARCUS!

*His second swing takes out the books on a shelf on the other side of Emrys as he ducks nimbly again.*

Trevor: STYLEZ!

*The third swing comes out of nowhere and blasts the camera into Emrys's face, breaking open the skin around his eye.*

Trevor: SAXTON!

*The Blackwells' Personal Cameraman shakes with fear but does his job. With his free hand he swipes at the blood dripping down his face, not wanting to take his eyes off this man for a second. Emrys keeps his camera trained on The Career Killer as he uses his free hand to bring a cigarette to his lips and flip open a Zippo lighter to set it ablaze. He needs to calm his nerves. His hand steadies and so does the camera. He wipes another film of blood from his eyes. Emrys quietly wonders if he's going to need stitches... Its a good thing The Blackwells agreed to cover any medical expenses. The Hardcore Icon visibly calms and turns to the camera. His ice blue eyes blaze with criminally insane intent. This is about as calm as he gets.*

Trevor: He cost me my fucking title! He had no business interfering in that match.... Sure, I busted up his knee with my Singapore Cane but two wrongs don't make a right! The bottom line is that he was officially out of that Fatal Four Way and HE SHOULD'VE FUCKING WELL STAYED OUT OF IT!!

*The Career Killer's face is turning red now. He reaches into an inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out a blunt. Blackwell sparks it and takes a long inhale before letting it out in a deep sigh, a thick cloud of white smoke enveloping his head. The Hardcore Icon's face is just a dark silouhette as he continues, his voice much more stable, but blind fury lurks just beneath the surface.*

Trevor: Because of that Anti-American asshole, a bullshit Placeholder Champion like John Fuckin' Green now has my belt. Of course he’s champ... its not like either ALF or Tall Dark And Xtremely Ugly were any fuckin' challenge... But you'll get yours on Monday, Marcus. Your very first Overdrive will be your last. You think your knee fuckin' hurts now??? This week on Overdrive, Kristina and I are going to do our best to end your fuckin' career.

*The Career Killer starts to pace back and forth as Emrys slowly gets to his feet. He still keeps his distance as he wipes another flood of blood from his eyes.*

Trevor: And on top of all of it, I have a match with Sabur... Kid, I almost feel bad for you… I watched your promo and you really have no fuckin’ clue what you’re getting yourself into… I’m sooo much worse then you’ve heard. I like you, Sabur. I like your style. But at Overdrive I’m going to take out all of my anger and frustration and rage out on you in this match. That’s why, if I was a man who was capable of feeling remorse, I’d feel bad for you. You don’t even deserve the brutal beating that I’m going to give you. I’d rather be giving it to Marcus “Stylez” Saxton or John Green but neither man apparently have the balls to face me. So instead it’ll have to be you. And unfortunately you don’t stand a chance, Sabur…. It doesn’t matter how big or strong or fast you are… I’ve taken on men who were twice what you are and I stood atop their broken bodies every time. You say that no matter what weapon I bring, you’ll use it against me but you don’t even know what you’re saying. You have no fuckin’ clue what I am. I don’t even think I’m human anymore. Humans have feelings like regret and compassion and humility. I feel none of those things anymore. And when you scream with pain and beg for mercy, it won’t fucking matter. Your cries and pleads will fall on deaf ears and when its all said and done, the Future will pass you by. Maybe the Xtreme Championship is what I need to remind everyone what kind of a Hardcore god I am. Maybe I need to remind everyone what a true Champion looks like.

*Trevor stops and looks at Emrys’s blood stained shirt. He sighs, realizing that he went a bit farther then he meant to… again… He rights the coffee table and takes the camera from Emrys’s hands, placing it on the table with a sigh. Emrys has fallen unconscious from the pain around his eye, his entire face a crimson mask. Trevor grabs a towel and wipes his employee’s face, putting the blunt in his mouth and hitting him in the stomach so that he inhales sharply. Emrys returns to us in a choking gasp as white smoke fills the room, his eyes dazedly locking on The Career Killer’s ice blues as he’s handed the blunt.*

Trevor: It’s your hit, Kid… I didn’t really mean to bust you up like that…

*The Hardcore Icon helps Emrys to his feet, leading him from the locker room.*

Trevor: C’mon, I’ll stitch you up and then we can meet up with Kristina.

*No compassion… Right…*