Post by Demon on Aug 11, 2011 13:39:09 GMT -4
*The scene opens on what appears to be moving day. Boxes strewn across the otherwise bare floor, the camera set low, capturing nothing but the occasional glimpse of black boots walking by from time to time, covered in metal studs and a plates. A voice booms through the air, echoing off the empty walls, through corridors and rooms alike, using the dull beige paint as a trampoline, rebounding over and over again until it finally uses your ear drums as a final resting place.*
“That’s the last of it.”
*With those words the camera raises, slowly rising in climatic fashion. Passing black pants, a lengthy trench coat that fully does its job of covering a dark shirt. The jacket looks large enough that you can be sure half a herd of cows died to make it. Footsteps ring through the scene as, what we can only assume, a small group of movers leaves the house. The tall man, who we have now identified as the same person that helped Jason Kash a few nights ago, a man by the moniker of the Demon, searches a couple boxes as thought looking for something important to himself. His thoughts play like a cheesy voice over in an old style detective flick*
It should be around here, I remember packing it. I didn’t think I’d have a use for it so soon, my first match, I’m just glad to have a place to claim as my own stomping grounds once again. Aha, here it is!
*He reaches down into a box pulling out a smaller one, resembling an unmarked pizza box, only slightly thicker. Pulling the top of the hinged box open he pulls out a shiny metal mask, wrapped in newsprint, a masterpiece of high polished metal, decorated with a green flame up either side. A mask designed to cover his entire face except his eyes, two small slits for his nose, and thin slotted grating for a mouth to allow breathing.*
Perfect. Who would have thought an old gift from an older friend would come in handy after there years? Who would have thought I would have returned to the ring after a four year break? Who? I did.
*The camera zooms to fill the entire frame with the Demon from the waist up as he begins to speak out loud.*
“Four years ago I hung up my boots after what many would call a career cut far too short. It was a career in which I put my body on the line every match, not necessarily in hardcore matches every night, I didn’t see the inside of a barbed wire ring every night, I wasn’t crashing through the tops of cages, off of ladders, getting hit by chairs, while falling through tables match by match… but I faced damn near every opponent that is viewed to be the top of the wrestling industry by many around the world. Names like Bradley Jackson, Spiral, Chris Madison, Bryan Fury, and Jason Kash. Yes, Jason Kash and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, but we’ve gained a mutual respect for one another, perhaps the number one reason that when I saw him on TV several months ago on APW Asylum I couldn’t resist the urge to return to action. Now I know what everyone is going to say, I’m rusty, a has been, a never was… they are going to say I’m trying to impress with past achievements like the countless tag titles, world titles, hardcore titles, TV titles and titles that are so company specific I’m not even going to start listing. The fact is anyone thinking any of this needs to pull their heads out of their ass and listen for a change.
“I’m not trying to gain a free ticket or respect by impressing, those accomplishments are in the past, and that’s where they will stay, and I expect the same of every person I face. Gloating about your past titles, tournament victories and feats of epicness will only prove you deserve nothing but to be laughed at. If you sit back and honestly believe that at this moment I am at anything LESS that the prime of my life, you will be in for a shocking discovery when your time comes, one Sunday night, when you have to step in the ring with me.”
*His tone drops a shade, giving the initial false sense of calmness. It doesn’t take long to realize this drop in tone, and possible calmness only intensifies his seriousness about the things he promises.*
“This Sunday, I am to enter the ring against one man I’ve never met before, and a man I use to team with. I still have yet to hear from Knoxville , but Brown… well… you seem to think you got me all figured out already, huh? Yet everything you assume is about as close to being accurate as saying Kangaroo’s are similar to great white sharks. Judging me on nothing more than my name, and the fact you have seen how big I am. Claiming I live on size and image, I must bleed evil, drink bats blood, I wake up every morning to watch the Munster’s and Frankenstein instead of the weather, and fall asleep reading the obituaries. At a young age I was coughed up from hell itself and live on a blood diet, maybe even eating the occasional corpse. Satan is my God… and Pinhead and Freddy Krueger are my idols.
“I hope that you have at least enough common sense, that this was sarcastic and facetious, not that the latter of the two words is likely to be in your mental dictionary. I wouldn’t expect anything of that magnitude that must resort to racism and government blabbering while cutting a promo for an upcoming match in a wrestling federation. Here’s the facts, Demon is simply a moniker I’ve acquired over the years.. A moniker is a nickname for the record,, and there’s reasons, yes, but I wish to not get into those right now. My name is Ted Soul, a Canadian of German descent working for an American corporation, and while my size is ONE of my advantages…
*His voice becoming much more bold with the later portion of this sentence.*
“…it is NOT my only advantage I have over you. I’m smarter than you, I’m stronger than you… and while you run your mouth about the experience advantages you hold over me you only prove your ignorance again and again. Go, sit in your park and tell me about how you got beaten as a kid, but still stood up to your bullies. I’ll shed a tear for you, really I will… actually, that was sarcasm also. Although I admit my childhood is now pretty much a blur, its memory escapes me, perhaps something a psychiatrist would credit to an abusive childhood, trauma, or bad memories I’m trying to block out… but that’s something I’ll likely never know for sure.”
“So sit back and treat your life like the soap opera you are trying to be for your promo. Sit back and think you have an advantage, think I’m underestimating you, but I’m not. I’m giving you the EXACT amount of credit you deserve, the amount you have proven to me you earn, the amount of respect I think you’ve shown me you’ve earned… not you goddamn bit. Now when you are ready, get in the ring and prepare to use me as a punching bag, because perhaps it’s the one thing that you were right about. I will be your punching bag, you can hit me as much as you want, and like a punching bag I will show no pain, but instead await that one split second when you stop focusing on your task at hand, to swing back from nowhere and crack you in the head knocking you straight on your ass. Go ahead and let me hit my finisher so you can try kicking out from it, because its not going to take a double hook of the leg, dropping a safe on you, and whatever other cockamamie ideas you have inside that stupid head of yours.
*He reaches out grabbing the camera by either side of the lens with one massive hand pulling it nice and close, until his face barely fits in the screen anymore. He glares deep into the soul of every viewer watching this promo, as if searching through the lens to find the “True Brit” himself.
“Brown… perhaps your disillusioned enough to think your lack of championship status is your own choosing. I don’t chase gold either… it finds me. It’s time for you to wake up, because your darkest times are about to begin now. Just like the rest of APW”
*His hand suddenly reaches up between his face and the camera, palming the lens and shoving it backward, sending the man holding it backward, and the camera into static, only the sound remains. *
“The Darkness has began…
*His voice lowers to a whisper.*
“Now… where did I pack those damn Oreos?”
“That’s the last of it.”
*With those words the camera raises, slowly rising in climatic fashion. Passing black pants, a lengthy trench coat that fully does its job of covering a dark shirt. The jacket looks large enough that you can be sure half a herd of cows died to make it. Footsteps ring through the scene as, what we can only assume, a small group of movers leaves the house. The tall man, who we have now identified as the same person that helped Jason Kash a few nights ago, a man by the moniker of the Demon, searches a couple boxes as thought looking for something important to himself. His thoughts play like a cheesy voice over in an old style detective flick*
It should be around here, I remember packing it. I didn’t think I’d have a use for it so soon, my first match, I’m just glad to have a place to claim as my own stomping grounds once again. Aha, here it is!
*He reaches down into a box pulling out a smaller one, resembling an unmarked pizza box, only slightly thicker. Pulling the top of the hinged box open he pulls out a shiny metal mask, wrapped in newsprint, a masterpiece of high polished metal, decorated with a green flame up either side. A mask designed to cover his entire face except his eyes, two small slits for his nose, and thin slotted grating for a mouth to allow breathing.*
Perfect. Who would have thought an old gift from an older friend would come in handy after there years? Who would have thought I would have returned to the ring after a four year break? Who? I did.
*The camera zooms to fill the entire frame with the Demon from the waist up as he begins to speak out loud.*
“Four years ago I hung up my boots after what many would call a career cut far too short. It was a career in which I put my body on the line every match, not necessarily in hardcore matches every night, I didn’t see the inside of a barbed wire ring every night, I wasn’t crashing through the tops of cages, off of ladders, getting hit by chairs, while falling through tables match by match… but I faced damn near every opponent that is viewed to be the top of the wrestling industry by many around the world. Names like Bradley Jackson, Spiral, Chris Madison, Bryan Fury, and Jason Kash. Yes, Jason Kash and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, but we’ve gained a mutual respect for one another, perhaps the number one reason that when I saw him on TV several months ago on APW Asylum I couldn’t resist the urge to return to action. Now I know what everyone is going to say, I’m rusty, a has been, a never was… they are going to say I’m trying to impress with past achievements like the countless tag titles, world titles, hardcore titles, TV titles and titles that are so company specific I’m not even going to start listing. The fact is anyone thinking any of this needs to pull their heads out of their ass and listen for a change.
“I’m not trying to gain a free ticket or respect by impressing, those accomplishments are in the past, and that’s where they will stay, and I expect the same of every person I face. Gloating about your past titles, tournament victories and feats of epicness will only prove you deserve nothing but to be laughed at. If you sit back and honestly believe that at this moment I am at anything LESS that the prime of my life, you will be in for a shocking discovery when your time comes, one Sunday night, when you have to step in the ring with me.”
*His tone drops a shade, giving the initial false sense of calmness. It doesn’t take long to realize this drop in tone, and possible calmness only intensifies his seriousness about the things he promises.*
“This Sunday, I am to enter the ring against one man I’ve never met before, and a man I use to team with. I still have yet to hear from Knoxville , but Brown… well… you seem to think you got me all figured out already, huh? Yet everything you assume is about as close to being accurate as saying Kangaroo’s are similar to great white sharks. Judging me on nothing more than my name, and the fact you have seen how big I am. Claiming I live on size and image, I must bleed evil, drink bats blood, I wake up every morning to watch the Munster’s and Frankenstein instead of the weather, and fall asleep reading the obituaries. At a young age I was coughed up from hell itself and live on a blood diet, maybe even eating the occasional corpse. Satan is my God… and Pinhead and Freddy Krueger are my idols.
“I hope that you have at least enough common sense, that this was sarcastic and facetious, not that the latter of the two words is likely to be in your mental dictionary. I wouldn’t expect anything of that magnitude that must resort to racism and government blabbering while cutting a promo for an upcoming match in a wrestling federation. Here’s the facts, Demon is simply a moniker I’ve acquired over the years.. A moniker is a nickname for the record,, and there’s reasons, yes, but I wish to not get into those right now. My name is Ted Soul, a Canadian of German descent working for an American corporation, and while my size is ONE of my advantages…
*His voice becoming much more bold with the later portion of this sentence.*
“…it is NOT my only advantage I have over you. I’m smarter than you, I’m stronger than you… and while you run your mouth about the experience advantages you hold over me you only prove your ignorance again and again. Go, sit in your park and tell me about how you got beaten as a kid, but still stood up to your bullies. I’ll shed a tear for you, really I will… actually, that was sarcasm also. Although I admit my childhood is now pretty much a blur, its memory escapes me, perhaps something a psychiatrist would credit to an abusive childhood, trauma, or bad memories I’m trying to block out… but that’s something I’ll likely never know for sure.”
“So sit back and treat your life like the soap opera you are trying to be for your promo. Sit back and think you have an advantage, think I’m underestimating you, but I’m not. I’m giving you the EXACT amount of credit you deserve, the amount you have proven to me you earn, the amount of respect I think you’ve shown me you’ve earned… not you goddamn bit. Now when you are ready, get in the ring and prepare to use me as a punching bag, because perhaps it’s the one thing that you were right about. I will be your punching bag, you can hit me as much as you want, and like a punching bag I will show no pain, but instead await that one split second when you stop focusing on your task at hand, to swing back from nowhere and crack you in the head knocking you straight on your ass. Go ahead and let me hit my finisher so you can try kicking out from it, because its not going to take a double hook of the leg, dropping a safe on you, and whatever other cockamamie ideas you have inside that stupid head of yours.
*He reaches out grabbing the camera by either side of the lens with one massive hand pulling it nice and close, until his face barely fits in the screen anymore. He glares deep into the soul of every viewer watching this promo, as if searching through the lens to find the “True Brit” himself.
“Brown… perhaps your disillusioned enough to think your lack of championship status is your own choosing. I don’t chase gold either… it finds me. It’s time for you to wake up, because your darkest times are about to begin now. Just like the rest of APW”
*His hand suddenly reaches up between his face and the camera, palming the lens and shoving it backward, sending the man holding it backward, and the camera into static, only the sound remains. *
“The Darkness has began…
*His voice lowers to a whisper.*
“Now… where did I pack those damn Oreos?”
