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Post by Cleo Phillips on May 3, 2021 0:20:20 GMT -5
People have had worse rookie years in this business, and others have had better. Cleo Phillips could sum hers up as somewhere around average. Short lived as it was, she did earn herself a championship, and with her recent change in attitude she could very well get there a second time, and when she does, she won’t make the mistake of losing it so quickly again.
Journeying down a new path in life, Cleo has still remained true to her core principals and who she at heart is. Love her or hate her, one can’t deny she has always been real. Now with a PWS cameraman she’s going to hit the streets of the real hood she grew up in.
---------- 1:30 PM On A Tuesday The Bronx, New York Giovanni’s Bodega -----------
The static of a camera starts to clear up, and we get a closeup of Cleo Phillips peering into the camera closely. [Cleo] Are we rollin’?As she takes a few steps back, the cameraman nods, moving the camera up and down slightly. We see Cleo in her NYC ballcap, a BLM armband, camo jeans and a “Set It Off” t-shirt, available now on the PWS shop [Cleo] Its okay...you can talk...I’m sorry I didn’t get your name. [Cameraman] Oh uh...It’s Anthony...but I’m really not supposed to speak to the talent. Just your friendly everyday camera jockey.
Cleo shrugs, not looking satisfied. [Cleo] It’s no big deal really, besides I asked you the question right? [Anthony] Well, yes I suppose that’s true ma’am.
Cleo frowns, and scrunches her nose as if smelling something terrible, while holding one finger in the air. [Cleo] Please...just call me Cleo. [Anthony] So..what is this place then Cleo?
Cleo smiles, beneath her NYC ballcap, and motions around her. A typical NYC Bodega, complete with Delicatessen, some everyday people mill about the store searching for their purchases. [Cleo] This is Gio’s Bodega man. The only store I never robbed. I also made sure nobody else ever robbed it. The owner Giovanni is this nice old dude from Italy, and he makes THE BEST Salami and Prosciutto sandwiches you’ll ever find. [Anthony] So..why are we here? [Cleo] I wanted to connect with the fans on a more personal level, show them a more real side of myself they might not always get to see. While Johnathan Sanders will delight them with fancy wordplay, spooky imagery, and some references to mythology, I am going to bring them what’s real.
Cleo's eyes shift slightly, and focus steadily on the camera. [Cleo] Yeah, I’m talking about y’all. You’re coming with me to some of my spots, maybe meeting a few of my favorite people, like Gio here for example.
Cleo motions over to an older, bald man stocking the shelves of various potato chips. Cameraman Anthony follows her over, as she engages him in conversation. His Italian accent showing through. [Cleo] Hey Gio!, What's good? [Giovanni] Cleo! It’s been a while. I saw you on the television. You’re making people around here proud you know. [Cleo] Me? Really? But Big Mo’ said everyone hated me around here. [Giovanni] And you believed her? You represent out there for us is what you do. [Cleo] She around still?
Giovanni shakes his head. [Giovanni] Last I heard she moved upstate somewhere.
Giovanni said she moved, but Cleo knew what happened and Giovanni probably did too. The old guy just liked to play naive to these sorts of things. Big Mo’ had been forced out by those still stuck in the hood. One of the rules was no rats, no snakes. A rule that most certainly had been broken by Big Mo’ after Cleo lost her championship. [Cleo] I see, well you reap what you sow I guess. What about Robert he still come by for his soup? [Giovanni] Every Friday night. [Cleo] Some things never change.
Giovanni and Cleo share a laugh, clearly enjoying each others company. [Giovanni] You’ve changed though, you’re finally growing up. [Cleo] What you mean? [Giovanni] I remember you coming in here as a young girl, I saw the woman you turned into and I even worried on the woman you would become. But you’ve grown in your year in that wrestling company. The rookie year is over, stay on the path your on and show the world what you’re capable of. What I saw in that little girl all those years ago. [Cleo] I won’t let you down Gio. I’m gonna win back that championship for ya’ll. [Giovanni] Well, we’re all rooting for you. Remember win or lose, you’re still our girl.
Cleo nods, and smiles at Giovanni. [Cleo] Bet. It’s good to know home is still a place I can come to and not much as changed. A nice getaway from all the lights of WWH, you know? [Giovanni] Of course, and you’re always welcome here, before you go, did you want a sandwich on the house? [Cleo] Can I get one for my friend here too?
Cleo motions in the direction of the camera. Giovanni nods. [Giovanni] Not a problem, Ham and Prosciutto as usual? [Cleo] You know me too well.
The two share an embrace, as Giovanni heads back behind the counters to prepare the sandwiches. [Giovanni] Coming right up, and please try and stop by tomorrow if you can. I have something to show you, just needs some final touches. [Cleo] You’re gonna love it, trust me. The secret is in his special deli dressing. Some secret family recipe. We can probably cut it here, we’ll hit the next spot after lunch.
The camera lingers on the scene, giving one last pan of the store, before the static cuts in, ending the scene. ---------- 3:00 PM On A Tuesday The Bronx, New York Howarth Park -----------
The static of the camera fades away to reveal Cleo on a park bench, sitting on the upper part of course because thats how all the cool kids sit, still in her same outfit from the Giovanni’s, but she has her shades on as well now. More families than usual are at the park, likely to to covid restrictions starting to be lifted, Cleos eyes watch as a black car with tinted windows passes by them on the street. Cameraman Anthony breaks the silence. [Anthony] So what’s the deal with this park?
Cleo turns her attention back to the camera, lifting her shades above her forehead. [Cleo] This is the spot. You know where all the homies used to hang out. Me, Big Mo’, Lucky Lester, Peanut, Z, G-Wild, Shitty Pete, the whole gang we always kicked it here, in this spot. [Anthony] So it was like, your territory?
Cleo shrugs, and watches the black car pass again through the sides of her eye. [Cleo] Yeah, I guess it was homebase so to speak. Marlo, and his crew...they were our rivals knew better than to try us here. [Anthony] Why do you keep looking at that car? [Cleo] Don’t worry about that. It’s fine. [Anthony] Um, well..ok. By the way, I never thanked you for lunch. You weren’t kidding about that sandwich. I’m usually a Turkey,Bacon, Swiss guy but I may have been converted.
Cleo nods with a smile and laugh. [Cleo] I told you. [Anthony] So, what sorts of things did you and your crew do here? [Cleo] I mean, we really just kicked it. Maybe..made some sells. If you ge my drift [Anthony] Drugs? [Cleo] Not good with the subtlety are you? But yeah, that was sort of Shitty’s area. We all had our roles, I was on the robbery team mostly. [Anthony] Right, that’s what you did time for, right? Armed robbery?
Cleo nods, but unlike the Cleo we frist met at Destiny last year she doesn’t look as proud of her actions. [Cleo] That it was. Fun tidbit, we never had any bullets in the guns. Little things like that can actually help lessen your charges in a lot of cases. We probably should have used fake guns as well, but hey live and learn right?
Once again, Cleo catches the black car circling around to pass by again. [Anthony] You sure it’s safe here? I mean we have all this equipment. [Cleo] Relax, it’s okay. They’re just trying to intimidate me. [Anthony] So we ARE in danger? [Cleo] I didn’t say that. But of course there is going to be a few people around here who still don’t like me. It just goes with the choices I made, some of them will never like me. But I just brush that dirt off my shoulder like Jay-Z and keep moving forward because I know that absolutely NOTHING can break me. I’m also quite stubborn, so I hope Jonathan Sanders is ready for a real war because I WILL be taking back that championship. Even if he squeaks by me at Destiny, I won’t stop, I’ll stay in his face, and will remain an absolute fucking problem for him until I do recapture the Collateral Damage championship. Maybe it takes a year and happens at NEXT years Destiny, but it will happen and when it does Sanders entire world will…
An unfamiliar off screen male voice interrupts Cleo as she’s speaking. [xxxx] Yo! Is that Cleo?! What brings you back around here? [Cleo] Oh Shit! What up Z?
The camera pans to see a young man approaching. Baggy clothes, dorage and some chains, the young man perfectly fits the stereotypical image of a common street thug. [Z] Not too much, you working or something? [Cleo] Just working on a new project for PWS. I figured I’d take the fans to some of my favorite spots, get them to know the real Cleo. See the places and people I grew up around. [Z] Bet. Did you go to Gio’s? [Cleo] You know that was the first place I went to, c’mon now. Says he’s got a surprise for me tomorrow. You should come. [Z] Right, right. Bet. So what’s with the white boy? [Cleo] That’s Anthony, he’s one of the many PWS cameramen. The unsung heroes of PWS. [Z] Wait this is going on the air? Like people are going to see me? [Cleo] I mean we can make edits. You got a warrant or something? [Z] Naw, nothing like that. Truthfully I’ve been inspired by you recently. After Lester and I ran Big Mo’ out of here… [Cleo] That was you? [Z] It was, and don’t you worry about the details. You need stay focused on yourself. You’re one of the few of us to make it out of this place and find a path to success. Worry about that. We can hold it down back here. [Cleo] That’s wassup. [Z] And I’m gonna try and do right too. Keep myself out of trouble you know. [Cleo] I hope you do Z.
Z eyeballs the camera for a second, and grins. [Z] Can I?
Cleo sighs as Z motions slightly at the camera. [Cleo] ...Go ahead.
Z nods happily, and turns to the camera, as the self promotion begins. [Z] Yo, it’s ya boy Z. AKA Big Money, AKA Finessen Azz Dollaz, AKA Z-Murda, AKA The Zack Attack, Check me on the Gram @bigmoneyz, join the Z-Train and peep my mixtape today because we gonna ride the tracks all the way to the top!
Cleo rolls her eyes and laughs to herself. [Cleo] You done?
Before Z can answer, he and Cleo notice the same black car once again. [Z] You should probably get out of here….. [Cleo] They’re just trying to scare us. [Z] Most likely, but we can’t take any chances. Most of us are with you, but there’s always the few that still want trouble. Better safe than sorry. [Cleo] If they have a problem, I don’t mind solving it. [Z] I know. But you can’t put your career in jeopardy. I’ll distract them you just take the white boy and get out of here.
Cleo doesn’t seem to keen on the idea, but when the car passes by again slower this time she gives Z a nod, and looks at the camera doing the “cut” motion with her hands, bring the scene to a rather sudden and jarring end. ---------- ??:?? PM on a Tuesday Somewhere In The Bronx, New York Redacted ----------- We open on the footage of ANTHESIS burning the mannequin of Cleo inside a furnace, but Miseria Cantare has been replaced with Bass by Merkules, Tech N9ne and Hopsin, still staying focused on the mannequin. #They throwing dirt on my name I might just burst into flames (burst into flames) They tryna surf on my wave I ain't gon' turn down the bass (turn down the bass) They throwing dirt on my name I might just burst into flames (burst into flames) They tryna surf on my wave I ain't gon' turn down the bass (turn down the bass)# As the words “burst into flame” enter our ears, the flames roar and grow bigger, we can see the same reflections during the flare ups like in Sanders promo, once it gets to the last turn down the bass, there’s a ripping effect on the video, to reveal Cleo Phillips standing in frog of a graffiti covered wall, somewhere in The Bronx, she holds her bat with on hand behind atop her shoulder, just behind her neck. [Cleo] I told you Johnathan Sanders, that you were messing with the wrong one. Now you have a problem with one stubborn ass bitch who doesn’t know when to quit. Understand all you hold dear can be taken from you an in instant. It’s just part of the fantasy world you live in. You’re not infallible Sanders. Tayler Parks already proved that.
Cleo gets a shit eating grin on her face. [Cleo] Tayler a sore subject for you? I honestly feel she deserves a shot of her own, but rules are rules and I get my rematch right? Sadly for Tayler she might have to wait a while longer because Sanders and myself are going to be facing off again at the next pay per view when he’s forced to use his rematch clause against me. See Sanders, I am going to repay the favor, make you feel like I did at Demons Run. I wonder how your bigger friend would respond to that?
Cleo re-postures herself, leaning back on the wall, and holding the bat in front of her mockingly whistling “what do you do with a drunken sailor.” [Cleo] Look, you did this to yourself. You awoke the wolf inside me. You could have taken the championship and I would have gone on with my life. But you and Sykes had to pull that cowardly act. That’s where you crossed the line, and now you only have yourself to blame when I catch this rebound, sink the shot and recapture my championship.
Cleo pauses for a short moment, as to not ramble. Not oo much noise other than the wind, so she’s somewhere secluded. [Cleo] You can burn all the effigies of me that you want, but you’ll never burn the real thing. Because I am the fire Sanders, and you are the gasoline that fuels me. All you do is keep feeding me fuel to get bigger and bigger. This goes beyond the Collateral Damage championship. This is about making a career for myself, rising above the darkness that engulfed my life, while using it in a more positive way to make my way to the top. Shit, one day I might even be PWS Champion, wouldn’t that be something? Sierra Williams better watch out.
Cleo gives a friendly wink at the camera. [Cleo] Maybe in the future, for now I need to take care of my Johnathan Sanders problem. A man field by his own arrogance. A man who let the own darkness of his past defeat him. A man who can’t stand on his own. A man who needs his allies to back him up. Is that really a man at all? Shit, when I ran these streets, sure my homies backed me up. Nobody ever jumped in on a one on one, that’s some weak shit. I’m just sayin’, I always fought my own fights, and my crew only got involved if they needed to. What can I say, I just like to fight.
Cleo cracks her neck, and swings the bat around slightly. [Cleo] You’re a talker Johnathan. You like your metaphors, allegories and all that. You’d probably make a damn fine politician. You do have that ability to pull people in with your words and imagery. But remember this isn’t Masterpiece Theater, words can only get you so far. Me? I’m a fighter. That isn’t to say you aren’t. But fighting is what makes me…me. You are more defined by how people see you, how cool the imagery you invoke is. All your references, historical, biblical or mythical. Take away all that, and all you are is a sad lonely little man. I’m just some girl from the streets who ended up here as a result of a probation order. An order my fans will be happy to know is over, now my future truly is in my hands.
Cleo pauses once again, really to just catch her breath. [Cleo] So go ahead, tell all the fantastical stories you want. But remember that you’re up against the realest fighter in PWS. Jonathan Sanders, you walking edgelord it’s time you pay the piper. He’s sending a body snatcher to collect, and she’s about to SET.IT.OFF.
With fire in her eyes, she heaves the bat straight at the camera, it falls over on its side, ending on a shot of Cleo’s combat boots, and a fallen tripod. ---------- 10:30 AM On A Wednesday The Bronx, New York Giovanni’s Bodega ----------- The static opens again on Giovanni’s Bodega, this time from the outside. The Italian gentleman from Cleo’s earlier visit is there as well as a collection of random citizens. A sheet covers the wall on one of the street facing sides. Cameraman Anthony starts recording mid-conversation. [Cleo] Well, I thought Z was coming but I guess he got caught up in something. [Giovanni] Well, I know you have a big match to prepare for, and your community is proud of you. We know you just want to represent and fight for all of us. You have a big future ahead of you. [Cleo] Well, like the song says, Don’t be fooled by the rocks that I got, I’m still Jenny from the block...or Cleo from the block I guess, you get it. [Giovanni] Indeed. I personally and proud to see the changes you’re making for yourself. You don’t need to do the things you did before, robbing people and all that. I appreciate you never robbing me, rather you kept my store protected. That’s why I was willing to invoke my first amendment rights when the police questioned me about your activities. [Cleo] Aw, no doubt. You know I always got you Gio. [Giovanni] You’ve always had good qualities buried under that tough exterior. You’re loyal, you stay true to your word and one can always trust you on a deal. You have a kindness for the less fortunate, and deep down you’re a truly compassionate person. [Cleo] C’mon now, I have an image to maintain.
Cleo motions to the cameras with a smile, Giovanni chuckles. [Giovanni] Well, let’s not keep you waiting. To show thanks, and our support to you. I had some art commissioned. Just something to show our appreciation.
There's some applause, as the curtain falls and painted on the wall is a stylized painting of Cleo, with the words “Set It Off” all done in some really good graffiti style. [Cleo] Oh, shit for real?!! Was this shit here the other day? [Giovanni] Well, we had it covered. [Cleo] Damn, that’s fucking awesome. Thanks Gio...Damn I guess I have to win now don’t I? [Giovanni] That doesn’t matter as much to the people around here. We just want you to keep fighting. You only lose when you give up. Just go out there, and give that Sanders kid the ass kicking he as coming to him...or rather finish the job you started at Riot. Just know we're happy someone out there is representing us. Because to many we don't even exist at all, like we're not even real.
Cleo and Giovanni both glance at the camera quickly. [Cleo] I’ll give it my best shot. Sanders is a tricky…
Cleo is interrupted by a slightly overweight young man, who seems slightly out of breath. [xxx] Cleo..It’s Z… [Cleo] Shitty Pete?..Is that you? What happened to Z? [Shitty Pete] He got stabbed the other day….he’s in the ICU. [Cleo]...MOTHERFUCKERS.
Angrily she tries to push past Shitty Pete, but he stops her. [Shitty Pete] No. He did this so you didn’t have to. But you probably shouldn’t hang around here much longer. Z will come out fine. We’re not going to let you lose everything.
Cleo sighs heavily, but she knows her friends are right. Whatever wars are going on in her hood still, are best left to her friends still stuck there, and she herself has her own wars to worry about. [Cleo] Fine...You’re right. We’ll go. I guess I’ll just have to take it out on Sanders. See, now they got me all pissed off…
Cleo rambles angry as she walks off-camera. Anthony gets one final pan up of the painting of Cleo on the building, the final image meeting our eyes, as the scene statics out.
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Post by Jonathan Sanders on May 3, 2021 2:26:17 GMT -5
PRELUDE: TAMERLANE“Need more friends with wings; All the angels I know put concrete in my veins…” *Fade in:
We begin with the sounds of Toronto post-punk band Billy Talent’s “Nothing to Lose” as the scene fades in on a black-and-white shot of a huge, stone sculpture of an angel. The statue is silhouetted, wings outstretched and hands clasped in prayer, as a dark spire against the monochromatic white glow of the setting sun. Slowly panning downwards, we can see a figure standing at the base of the statue and staring up at it; that of PWS: Apex Collateral Damage Champion, Jonathan Sanders. As we hold on the champion’s face, etched with steel and disdain, the music fades into the background and a narration in the Lost Cause’s own voice begins to play.*“Kind solace in a dying hour! Such, father, is not my theme - I will not madly deem that power Of Earth may shrive me of the sin Unearthly pride hath revell’d in - I have no time to dote or dream...”*As Sanders’ narration pauses, our scene shifts abruptly to a black-and-white shot of Cleo Phillips, months ago at Crusade 2020, celebrating after she won the Collateral Damage Championship.*“You call it hope - that fire of fire!”*The feed jump-cuts once again to footage of Demon’s Run 2021, and the formation of ANTITHESIS; specifically, the moment when Jonathan Sanders knocked Cleo out with that very same belt.*“It is but agony of desire.”*The footage quickly stutters and cuts again, as the music once again swells behind it. We see various shots of a much younger Jonathan Sanders - almost unrecognizable by his brightly-coloured ring attire and bleached-blonde hair - wrestling in different independent promotions throughout his life, being beaten soundly by various opponents. Some of them may be recognizable to indie fans in the audience, but most are more unknown. The shots have little in common except that in each one of them, Sanders is taking a finisher and being pinned.*“There’s nothin’ to lose When no-one knows your name. There’s nothin’ to gain… But the days don’t seem to change.” *As the chorus concludes, the music fades out once again as we cut back to the footage of the Snake of Eden in front of the angel statue, now kneeling at the base and holding up his Collateral Damage Championship, as though showing it off to the stonework. As the camera pans around, we can see a name emblazoned on the base of the carved cherub - “Bethany Esmeralda Sanders: Loving Wife, Caring Mother”. The Lost Cause stares at the headstone with intent, his face streaked with black, eyeliner-laden tears.*“If I can hope - Oh God! I can - Its fount is holier - more divine - I would not call thee fool, old man, But such is not a gift of thine.”*We cut again to a compilation of Sanders losing matches, though these appear to be slightly later in his career. Intercut amongst the match footage now, though, are interstitials that show us his mood outside of the ring; Jonathan and a tag team partner are seen in the middle of a heated argument, ending with Sanders storming off; an interviewer asks Sanders for an interview after his loss, and he simply turns and walks away. After a particularly egregious loss, which sees Sanders and the similarly-dressed tag partner from earlier thrown simultaneously through a pair of flaming tables, we’re treated to a scene of Sanders backstage, furiously punching a white brick wall until his knuckles are bloody while screaming in silent rage and anguish.*“There’s nothin’ to lose… When no-one knows your name. There’s nothin’ to gain… But the days don’t seem to change.
“There’s nothin’ to lose… My notebook will explain. There’s nothin’ to gain… And I can’t fight the pain.” *The clips of Sanders’ wrestling past continue as the chorus picks up for its final refrain, now depicting a moment where Sanders’ partner is locked in a submission hold during a tag-team match, and reaching out for Jonathan’s hand. Instead of accepting the tag, however, Sanders simply shakes his head and leaps off the apron, walking up the ramp to the back. We’re then treated to several clips which tell us that he wasn’t seen for weeks thereafter, including the tag team’s entrance video playing but Jonathan being nowhere to be found, and his partner scouring the backstage area to no avail.*“There’s nothin’ to lose… WHEN NO-ONE KNOWS YOUR NAME! There’s nothin’ to gain… But the days don’t seem to change.” *The shot changes once again and we’re now treated to Sanders’ unnamed partner from earlier in the subterranean parking lot of some unknown venue. He retrieves his bags from the trunk of what is presumably a rental car, then turns to make his way indoors...before being blindsided from behind by a hooded assailant! The attacker floors our indie wrestler with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, taking several shots on his fallen body before peeling back the hood to reveal a much more-recognizable “Lost Cause” Jonathan Sanders, complete with the jet-black locks and eyeliner we have come to expect from him. The young Outsider grins his now-signature sadistic, malicious grin and glares sidelong into the camera as the song blares its final grim refrain.*“There’s nothin’ to lose… WHEN NO-ONE KNOWS YOUR NAME! There’s nothin’ to gain… And I just died today.” *As the final notes of Billy Talent’s musical interlude gradually die off, the footage changes once more to depict Sanders many years later, in PWS: Apex, pinning Cleo Phillips to become the Collateral Damage Champion. With the music gone, his narration breaks the silence.*“I have not always been as now; The fever’d diadem on my brow I claimed and won usurpingly -”*We cut once again, now to slow-motion, monochrome footage of the backstage brawl between Sanders and Cleo on the go-home Riot. We see them both in handcuffs, being forcibly separated by police officers.*“Hath not the same fierce heirdom given…”*With one final flickering, stuttering cut, we’re treated to one more shot of Jonathan Sanders, now occupying the empty stands of the PWS Arena. He’s standing on a balcony, overlooking the ring, and flanked by the forms of Dionysus and Tyson Sykes. The scene is still in black-and-white although now the Lost Cause speaks his narration live, rather than as a voiceover.*“Rome to the Caesar…”*He motions to the empty arena as he speaks, then the camera zooms in on the champion as he turns his attention to the title belt slung over his right shoulder.*“This…”*Jonathan now turns his gaze on the camera, a wicked smirk curling across his lips as he speaks his final words.*“To me?”*Fade out.*---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ANTITHESIS: MASTEMA*After holding on the darkness for a long, uncomfortable moment, the camera begins to fade in once more. What greets us now is not a view of Jonathan Sanders in the PWS: Arena, but instead the facade of a public elementary school in some quiet, suburban neighbourhood. The red and brown brick building is clearly showing signs of age, with moss clinging to its craggy surface, pockmarked with nicks and chips belying a long and storied life. A small, well-tended garden rims the edges of the building’s plain, angular walls; the flowers and hedges are immaculately kept, rigid and “acceptable” in their overwhelming blandness. The entire ensemble reeks of corporate mandate, a “beautification initiative” with no true heart behind it. The moon is out in full tonight, bathing both the garden and the schoolhouse itself in an ethereal bluish light, offset in its serenity by the substantial light pollution leaking off the skyline to the school’s rear. This same skyline, coupled with the Canadian flag flying out front will inform our more-astute observers that this is likely somewhere in Toronto, Ontario. The school is clearly closed - both a result of the COVID-19 pandemic and because it is the dead of night - but a few lights seem to be on within. This suspicion is confirmed as we cut to the interior of the building, where a familiar figure stands in the entrance foyer, his back to the camera and focusing on an aging, yellowed yearbook photo hanging just outside the principal’s office. We cannot see much of the photo he is viewing, but from our vantage point we can make out “Class of 2007” emblazoned in the middle of the various graduation pictures of the student body from that year. The man, of course, is none other than “The Lost Cause” Jonathan Sanders, and the Collateral Damage Champion wears a black denim ‘Harajuku’ jacket. The outfit is finished with deep grey acid-wash jeans and Sanders’ signature “Peace and Anarchy” Converse sneakers. Without looking at the camera, the Snake of Eden speaks.*“We cannot foretell the future...”*Inhaling deeply, Sanders turns around, revealing an ‘ANTITHESIS’ t-shirt beneath his open jacket. His lips are painted once again in a deep midnight black, and his nails alternate black and crimson to match the back of his jacket. His eyeliner begins in black and fades into a deep blood red, and the champion’s short, jet-black fringe stops just above his right eye.* “And yet, time marches on. We are powerless to stop it. In spite of our every effort to prevent it, inevitably the end of the road is a destination we all will reach in time. We call it many names; fate, providence, predetermination...but in the end, they all mean exactly the same thing: that we are merely prisoners of time. Slaves to the never-ceasing march of entropy, each clambering in frantic desperation to find some meaning - some PURPOSE - for our lives before their bitter and ignominious end.”*As he pauses, Sanders now pivots on his heel and begins to stalk slowly down the hallway, allowing the Collateral Damage title to drag on the ground by his side as he does.*“As children, we are blissfully unaware of the ticking clock we’ve been shackled to since birth. We are free to gallivant and frolic, wholly ignorant of the inescapable cosmic pendulum inching ever-closer to our young and innocent souls. We cannot possibly grasp the magnitude of the life we are undertaking, where our every choice can carry consequences that we won’t become aware of until well into our years of jaded, cynical, world-weary adulthood.” *Here, Sanders pauses again, having reached the end of the hallway. On his left is the door to a classroom, both shut and locked, but with a large window set into the side allowing passers-by to see inside. The Outsider turns to gaze through this window, an oddly wistful expression crossing his face as he does.*“A boy attended this school once. A bright-eyed, optimistic, irrepressible ray of sunshine that could always see the best in people and only ever wanted to make those around him feel joy.”*Sanders’ face hardens as he slowly turns towards the camera, his dark eyes boring holes into the lens through sheer force of malice.*“That boy is dead now. He was swallowed up by darkness, a deep and penetrating evil nurtured through many miserable days and lonely, weeping nights. It grew inside him like a sickness, spreading and metastasizing with every passing year until there was nothing left but hate and vitriol, feeding on his joy until that sweet, bright-eyed little boy was never seen again.”*Sanders pauses, inhaling deeply to calm himself. He turns his gaze back into the classroom behind the door, and from our camera angle we can see both the room within and the reflection of the Snake of Eden’s face in the window.*“They say we each dig our own graves. That our actions, from the very moment we develop the capacity to think and reason for ourselves, will ultimately dictate how and when we meet our inevitable demise. The boy who used to go to this school learned that lesson all too well. He made a choice to open his heart to the world, to smile at the harsh and painful truth of reality and tell it ‘It’s okay, I forgive you’. That boy decided, every day, to face the horrors of this life with open arms and a loving heart...and all it ever got him was pain, sorrow and regret. That boy learned firsthand how our actions all have consequences, and in the process he discovered the bitter truth...of Destiny.”*The camera slowly pans out, following Sanders as he once again turns away from the classroom and begins to stride briskly down the adjacent hallway to the one he’d just come down.*“Destiny. Such a mundane word, for such a cruel, cruel concept. Seven letters, yet they hold so much power. How many dreams have been shattered simply by virtue of that one little word? How many worlds have been upended, how many lives forever changed...all in the pursuit of the concept we call ‘Destiny’? ...And how many more are yet to come?”
*Another pause, as Sanders turns to stalk down yet another hallway, this one lined with crayon drawings of various everyday items and situations, each one labelled proudly with the name of the child who drew it.*
“Tonight marks a turning point for many in this organization; indeed, it is perhaps a milestone for PWS: Apex as a whole. Tonight, the world will change. Tonight is HISTORY in the making! ...And tonight, yet more dreams will meet their bitter, tragic ends as desperate souls crash headlong into the rocky shores...of Destiny. But what IS Destiny, really? Some would claim it’s pre-ordained, a fate decided for each one of us before we’re even born. Others think we can alter our Destiny, that simply by virtue of focus and willpower, we can bring the life we want into being. I do not believe in either of these. The truth of Destiny, as I see it - the inexorable fact of its existence - is that Destiny is our punishment. It is the sentence that we earn over a lifetime of mistakes. Some choose to call it the ‘butterfly effect’; that when a butterfly in Tokyo flaps its wings it can influence weather patterns halfway around the world in California. A crude analogy, but it gets the point across. What we call ‘Destiny’ is nothing more or less than the sum total of every choice we’ve ever made, every wrong turn ever taken...and every trap we set for our future selves to spring.” *Sanders pauses again, having reached the end of this hallway. Immediately before him stands a trophy case full of memories from the school’s past; artifacts of a student body long-since graduated, collecting dust in a reliquary where they will never truly be appreciated again. One item that catches our eye, and - it seems - the champion’s as well, is a yellowed crayon drawing by “Johnny - Age 6” which depicts an abstract, finger-painted interpretation of a young boy with jet-black hair and a blonde, slender-figured mother. The caption reads “Me and Mommy at the Park”, and the plaque beneath it declares this illustration the “1st Annual Grade 1 Finger-Paint-Off Winner 1999.” Sanders’ grey eyes fixate on this drawing for a long, silent moment, his face playing through expressions from wistful nostalgia, through bitter anger, and finally settling on introspective sorrow. After this grim reflection, he finally turns away, inhaling sharply as he continues deeper into the halls of the school building.*“Another person who is very well-acquainted with the trials and pitfalls of Destiny is my opponent tonight, Cleo Phillips. I am sure this is not the fate you had in mind when you joined PWS: Apex, is it, Cleopatra? To work so hard, fight and struggle so long to finally be awarded a championship...only to have it stolen from you at your very first defense. I cannot imagine this is the reality that you expected to face as champion. But all things change, your majesty, and reality is only as real as we each perceive it to be. What is very real to me may be no more than a hallucination to you, and what you view as a living, waking nightmare may be no more than what I experience every day of my life. We each shape our own perceptions of the world, we are molded and formed by our experiences...perhaps you’d simply never prepared to truly face an Evil that was greater than yourself.
”Why, if I recall, haven’t you practically said as much? ‘Something wicked this way comes, and a new evil is revealed?’ The villain must become a hero to tackle this emerging threat? Oh, but Cleopatra, we have done this dance already, you and me. We know how this will end, don’t we? We’ve made all of the choices, suffered the mistakes...and now, all that remains is Destiny. But how do you believe that plays out? Will you be the avenging hero, casting aside her villainous roots to conquer the new emergent villain? The redemptive underdog story, where the former antagonist sees the error of her ways and finds catharsis in toppling an even greater threat? Or perhaps you believe you’re the dark and gritty vigilante, the streetwise anti-hero seeking her own brand of swift and violent justice? You are ‘a fighter’, after all, so perhaps this all falls right within your wheelhouse.”*Sanders grins his vile, malevolent grin, his eyes glinting sadistically in the raking fluorescent light of the school’s rear foyer.*“Except...you have no idea just what kind of Evil I am. You have no IDEA how precious little power you truly have to threaten me. I have fought through so much pain, I have LIVED through SO MUCH TORMENT, what more could you possibly do to surpass it? What could you put me through that I have not already survived, what else could you claim that I have not already lost? How far are you truly capable of taking me, beyond what I have faced and conquered at the hands of monsters far more vicious and terrible than you? You had the opportunity to stop me once, Cleopatra, and you FAILED. You took me to the very limit, piled on punishment after punishment, beat me until I was lying before you bloodied and broken...and still I got back up. You took your very best shot, and it was simply not enough. The dragon is unslain, the enemy has not been vanquished; and so I ask you, oh great and fallen Empress...where can you go from here? What is the next chapter in the story of the mighty Cleopatra? How do you fell an opponent who already has you beaten? If I may be so direct; you don’t. I am not a thing that YOU can stop. I am not a sickness YOU can cure. I am your Destiny, Cleo Phillips! The Octavian who will conquer your empire and strip you of your throne. Every decision you have made has led you here; every word, every action, every flap of the butterfly’s wings, all of it comes back...to me.”*Sanders pauses here, just before the rear entrance to the school. We can see that one of the doors is held ajar, stopped by a broken cinder block that’s been forced in between the edge of the door and the wall that it abuts. Sanders turns to face the camera, with the set of doors and the chill night air just off-camera to his left.* “And this is not a fate you can escape, oh no. You had THAT opportunity as well, and you chose to forsake it. All you had to do was heed my warnings and run. When Dionysus graced you with his presence, when the Mad God arrived on the night I claimed my prize, you simply had to flee. Nobody would have judged you; it’s only natural to retreat when confronted by unassailable opposition. But you didn't. Instead, you chose to stay. To fight against the inevitable. And now you are dealing with the consequences. I said before, Cleopatra, that we all dig our own graves. That one single mistake, however slight, can send ripples through our lives and ultimately lead to the moment of our destruction. For you, I am that mistake. This is that moment. Everything you have done over these past several weeks, over your entire career, has dug this grave for you - led you to your Destiny - and when we step into that ring together, your story will end in the only way it can. I have called you Ozymandias in the past, and I have called you Cleopatra; do you know what they had in common? Both were rulers, both Egyptian...and both of their empires crumbled to dust, to be remembered now as nothing more than cautionary tales against the pursuit of power and glory. Tonight, you too will be added to that list. Yours will be a story shared for generations to come; a critical moment in professional wrestling history, that all who come after will look to as incontrovertible proof that your Destiny cannot be avoided. Your fate cannot be changed. Proof that when ANTITHESIS tells you to run…”*Sanders leans forward, his steel-grey eyes locked on the camera in an intense, hateful glare.* “You. Fucking. RUN!”*Sanders pauses here, inhaling deeply after his outburst, and slowly straightens himself back up. Hoisting the Collateral Damage title over his shoulder, the slightest hint of a smirk flits across his face as he continues to glare into the camera.*“Because tonight, I am going to show the world exactly what happens when you don’t.”*With that, the champ has finished, and he turns on his heel to storm out the school’s rear exit and into the chill Toronto night.* Fin.
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