Rise Up

[Manhattan White]

~*~“Face to the Floor” floods the air of the arena at an APW House Show and the crowd loses its mind as everyone pushes toward the aisle. The curtains part and Manhattan White steps out onto the stage area. The crowd cheers for their hero as he stands at the top of the aisle and soaks it all in. The lights play on the lenses of his sunglasses and the glint in his broad smile. He lifts his arms over his head and pyrotechnics fire off before he strolls down toward the ring. He shakes hands with the fans before climbing up the side of the ring and slipping through the ropes. The crowd gets even louder as he stands on the turnbuckles, looking out over the fans. An APW staffer hands him a microphone and he hops down, making his way to center-ring as the song dies out.~*~

MW: APW, how are you doin’?!

~*~The fans cheer him as Manhattan White pushes his glasses up onto his forehead.~*~

MW: Now, I guess there are a few things that I should cover here, so I’ll cut right to the chase.

~*~Manhattan White walks up onto the middle of the second rope, leaning out over the crowd.~*~

MW: I said, APW HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU DOIN’?!

~*~The crowd cheers even louder. Manhattan smiles and nods his head.~*~

MW: All right, that’s better. Back to business. I guess you’ve noticed that there isn’t a whole lot of entourage at the ring tonight.

~*~The crowd boos at the reference to the rest of The B-Team. Manhattan looks up toward the ceiling with a slight grin before beginning.~*~

MW: Yea, that’s pretty much my thoughts and feelings. Although The Pete’s taught me a few things about myself the last month or so, I don’t completely appreciate them either. But the fact of the matter is, you can’t keep a Jersey boy down, I’ve got my head on straight, my body’s all healed and I’m ready to kick some ass for you, the fans here in the building, the fans watching at home, and most importantly, I’m ready to climb into this ring and whip ass come Sunday Night in The American Airlines Arena in Miami, Florida!

~*~The crowd cheers, but Manhattan motions for them to settle down a little.~*~

MW: Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, here. I want to get this promo done, set the bar where it needs to be, and wait for the rest of my opponents to chime in, so let’s get the ball rolling. Shall we?

~*~Manhattan White smiles as the crowd cheers in approval.~*~

Crowd: Welcome back! Welcome back! Welcome back!

MW: Normally I’d come out here and break down my thoughts on each opponent. I’d take the things they’ve said about me, either lies or just flat-out inaccurate nonsense, and then I’d either turn those ideas and thoughts back on them, point out their shortcomings, and then sum up how I’m a far superior competitor. That’s pretty much how these things go, right? And since this is a match for the Suicidal Championship, I’d usually also mention how prestigious of a title this is, how it is an honor to be competing for it, and then myself and the rest of you in the audience get all excited and we’re ready to roll out of here and destroy the next evil-doer that gets in our way, am I right?

Crowd: Let’s kick ass! Let’s kick ass! Let’s kick ass!

~*~Manhattan White holds up a finger and waits for the chanting to stop.~*~

MW: No, no we can’t do that this time around, sorry guys.

~*~The crowd boos with disapproval and Manhattan White chuckles to himself.~*~

MW: We can’t do that because I haven’t the foggiest idea who any of these people are OR what this title is about. Suicidal Champion? Now, I don’t know about you, but that sounds like some serious shit. My opponents? Phil Atkens? Michael Callahan? Odin Balfore? And the current Suicidal Champion, Katrina Olivetti? They sound like some serious professional wrestlers. But I don’t know a thing about any of them. I know, that sounds pretty terrible on my part, but you have to understand something. I’ve been really busy.

I’ve been busy incredibly busy being in the…MAIN EVENT!

~*~The crowd laughs at this as Manhattan White smirks before holding up another finger.~*~

MW: Now, I know that the argument can be made that I’ve fallen off, that I’ve lost my place in this industry, that I’ve become a joke in the APW because –

~*~The crowd starts to boo at this before Manhattan White motions for them to quiet down.~*~

MW: You guys are out of control tonight.

~*~The crowd cheers.~*~

MW: Seriously, the critics are saying this stuff, and I don’t particularly blame them, you know? I’d probably say the same things if it were about someone else. That’s just the nature of the business. One minute I’m in the Main Event at Christmas Chaos, I’m Main Eventing on the regular on Asylum, and now suddenly I’m way down on the card in the opening match. And with The Petes lurking in the corners willing to do whatever it takes to teach me a lesson or two, anyone can make the case that I haven’t a chance in this match. Anyone could plead the case that I could walk into this match a favorite and walk out the biggest joke of professional wrestling, you know? Some could say that I climbed too far and too fast, that I got too close to the sun and I got burned.

~*~Manhattan White looks out into the crowd, now dead silent, hanging on to his every word. He scratches his forehead and looks down at the ring.~*~

MW: Not too long ago, my friends were in this ring after I’d essentially quit wrestling, and they proceeded to beat me mercilessly. And they didn’t do it once on television, they did it twice. One week, they set a table on fire outside of the ring, and after Happy Pete delivered a couple Brickshithouse Slams to me, he did it one final time from the top turnbuckle, through a burning table. I laid there, in that aisle, writhing in pain, screaming out as the flames cooked the skin on my back. And then two weeks later, they drag me back out here just to do it all again, in some ridiculous show of a match where little Eddie showed the world, that despite his size, he’s a serious danger to anyone that crosses him or The Petes.

~*~Manhattan looks out into the crowd, up into the upper levels.~*~

MW: These were supposed to be my friends.

You know, when I first got here, I put a lot of stock in the fact that I was born and raised in the streets of one of the most dangerous cities in the world, Camden, New Jersey. Between the gangs, the crime, and the poverty, I thought I was some badass white boy for surviving, for getting out of there and making something of myself. You know? I thought I was going to be some monster that walks into this company and storms right passed everyone. I thought I’d be tearing right through this roster with no effort, that I’d be able to focus on what was important to me. I thought I’d be able to come out here and entertain all of you, to make this company what it should be. And what did I do? I made friends with the very last people that I should have gotten close to. Because once my confidence got a little shaky, they taught me the respect and humbling attitude that I should have had since day one, in a manner that should have really just ended me. And so, I fell.

~*~Manhattan pauses to drive the point home. Someone on the concourse coughs and it rings through the entire arena.~*~

MW: But like the Phoenix, I rise from the ashes of that burning table. I’m out here tonight to set the record straight, to put the APW on official notice. This is a new year. It is a time for new beginnings. So, with the first Pay Per View of 2012, I’m in the first match. A fresh start, if you will. Those critics that now slam my name, not just a few years ago, their heads were spinning. Not just because of what I was able to do inside the ring during a match, but what I was able to do in and out of the ring before and after the match. Take Jason Kash, for instance.

~*~The name Jason Kash brings about a mixed reaction from the crowd.~*~

MW: I showed up in this company, I shut down two legends and cut a number of really great promos. One day Jason Kash came to me and said, “What you do, those in-ring promos, they’re amazing. No one does them anymore, and no one has done them as well as you’ve done them, ever. I can’t wait to work with you.” Wow…

A man that was just champion of the Asylum was impressed by what I was doing. He was blown away by my talent, the fact that the bragadocious Bobby Bodacious and Sally Talfourd had fallen after facing me, that Tommy Knoxville was never the same, that Mike Morrison now has to hide in the shadow of Rico Casteel and Rico Casteel has to drag Morrison around, Manhattan White rightfully made a name for himself. I may have climbed too fast, I may have fallen too far, but there’s a reason that it all happened.

Manhattan White is just beyond comparison. There’s a reason why Jason Kash had never seen an in-ring promo like mine. There’s a reason why I blew him away. There is no one like Manhattan White, in, out, or around the ring. I’m a master of the microphone and a maistro in the match. Suicidal Championship match? Regular match, Triple Threat, Dog Collar Match, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.

~*~Manhattan White motions toward the stage area. A parade of APW staffers walk out onto the stage area, and ultimately down the aisle pushing carts loaded with weapons. Manhattan walks over to the ropes, looking down at the carts lined up along the outside of the ring.~*~

MW: Hello, my pretties…

~*~He climbs out through the ropes to get a closer looks. He pushes his hands through the piles, paying no attention to the blades, sharp edges, barbed wire, as he sifts through.~*~

MW: Ladies and gentlemen, these are the Instruments of Destruction. The last time I took stock of this company, I was part of a show called Asylum. It is time that we’re reminded of what that means. I don’t care that we’re on The Food Network. I don’t care if Rachel Ray is going to turn over in her predetermined butter infused early grave. I’m coming out to these matches, from now on, loaded for bear. It’s a singles match? Let’s spice it up with bats wrapped in barbed wire. Tag team match, you say? Screw it, how about landmines set to spray thumbtacks? Triple threat? Chairs, ladders, tables, garbage cans, metal pans and every other delicious weapon you can think – oh there you are…

~*~Manhattan White pulls out his trusty hockey stick and climbs into the ring, swinging it around.~*~

MW: Be named whatever the hell you want. Be the current champion, or from what I’ve been told, a no-show-queen. Be The Petes. Be Rico Casteel with some deluded score to settle. I don’t give a crap who you are or what you’re about. My name is Manhattan White and I’m here to put on a show. You want an Asylum? You’re going to get an Asylum!

~*~The crowd begins to cheer as Manhattan White gets amped up.~*~

MW: My name is Manhattan White, and come Sunday Night I’m going to be the Suicidal Champion. Not because I’m better than the other competitors, not because I’m faster or stronger, not because I deserve it more, or belong in an entire class all together. No. I’m going to be the next Suicidal Champion because of all of you.

~*~He uses the hockey stick to point at the crowd around the ring.~*~

MW: I’m coming out here to put on a show, to fight when that first bell rings, and I’m going to shed some blood, laying to waste anyone that steps in this ring with me. And for my opponents? When you’re on your back, looking up at the lights in the ceiling, hearing the crowd cheering, the referee counting to three, listening to that ringing in your ears? It’s because you made one mistake. You climbed into the ring with Manhattan White. You climbed in and faced him, toe to toe, but from the word “GO!” you were at a disadvantage. It doesn’t matter who you are, whether I know who you are or not. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, where you’ve come from. It’s all about what you do in this ring, and all you’ve got to do is lose. Because my name is Manhattan White, and I’m coming out here, night after night with something to prove. Something to prove to myself. Fuck the critics. Me? I’m my biggest critic, and I’m not happy unless these fans are happy. Listen. Listen to the fans.

~*~Manhattan White holds the microphone out to the crowd before looking intently into the camera as the scene fades.~*~

MW: These fans want me to win. They want me to be the next Suicidal Champion. My name is Manhattan White, and I give the fans what they want…