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Post by Jonathan Sanders on Jun 6, 2021 17:25:52 GMT -5
PRELUDE: THE FALL*We fade in on a grainy, black-and-white replay of PWS: Apex Destiny, at the climax of the insane Collateral Damage Title Match between Jonathan Sanders and Cleo Phillips. Sanders is in the middle of his suicidal power play, rearing back for his run-up, and the sounds of Clint Mansell’s powerful theme for the movie "Requiem for a Dream" underscores the scene. In addition, we can faintly hear the voice of JR Freeman behind the music, as if carried by the wind:*JR Freeman: "What is he doing?"*Sanders begins his sprint forward, towards the fate we know awaits.*JR Freeman: "John, no!"*Sanders leaps into the air and catches Cleo with the Downward Spiral, propelling the two off the roof and into open air.*JR Freeman: "JOHN, NO!"*The footage slows down as they fall, elongating one fateful moment into several breathless minutes. The pair tumble headlong as the music picks up, approaching its first crescendo into the familiar motif fans will recognize (around 0:58-1:40), until it abruptly cuts as the pair crash through the roof of the production truck. We fade to black, and hold on that blackness as Sanders’ voice narrates.*
"It was not Death, for I stood up..."
*Abruptly, the blackness cuts to a new scene, as a young caucasian boy - no more than six or seven years of age - sits bolt upright in bed. His left eye is swollen shut and blackened by a deep bruise, and his lip is cut and swollen on the right. There is a small gash on his forehead, held shut with butterfly bandages, and the boy’s plump cheeks are streaked with evidence of recent tears. Slowly, wincing in pain with the movement, the boy slides out of bed and waddles to the door of his bedroom, turning the knob and slowly pushing it open to peer outside. He glances down the hallway towards a living room, where an older man - presumably the boy’s father - lies passed out on a couch. The boy then looks in the opposite direction, to a larger bedroom at the end of the hall, where a waifish blonde woman lies coiled in the fetal position on a mattress. The boy frowns, and Jonathan Sanders speaks again.*"And all the Dead, lie down -"*Gingerly pulling the door shut, the boy turns back to his bed, waddling towards it and scrambling back up on top. He stands up and reaches for his curtains, covering the bedroom window, then with great effort throws them open, and light floods the space, whiting out the screen entirely.*"It was not Night, for all the Bells…"*The sound of church bells tolling accompanies the narration, as the whiteness fades back into the present day. We see the three members of ANTITHESIS - Jonathan Sanders, Dionysus and Tyson Sykes - standing on the same rooftop we saw Sanders plunge off of earlier, gazing over the edge at the concrete below. Sanders is standing with one foot raised, poised on the roof’s ledge as the Collateral Damage title belt dangles from his fingertips, and Dionysus stands at full height to his right with Sykes crouching between them. It’s clearly the middle of the day, as sunlight glints off the faceplate of the CD belt and the men cast long shadows onto the roof at their rear. The greyscale filter over everything, however, mitigates any glare and keeps the scene sufficiently moody. The church bells continue to ring in the background, sounding a total of twelve times as Sanders’ narration continues.*"Put out their Tongues, for Noon."*As the bells cease to peal, a visible gust of wind blows through the champion’s hair. We follow it through the air back to the little boy’s bedroom in a smooth transition, as it ruffles through his jet-black hair as well.*"It was not Frost, for on my skin - I felt Siroccos, crawl -"*The boy climbs down from his bed now, surreptitiously reaching underneath and pulling out a small box. He flips the box open and takes out a small, well-worn matchbook, with only a few tired matches left within it. The boy slides one out and strikes it on the strip provided, sitting down on his mattress and gazing at the flame with a familiar sadistic glint in his steel-grey eyes. The corners of his mouth flick upwards into an equally-familiar wicked grin, the fire growing to engulf the entire screen as we transition to an image of the Cleo Phillips mannequin being immolated.*"Nor Fire - for just my marble feet, Could keep a Chancel, cool -"*With the word "cool", the flames around the Cleo mannequin vanish and we’re left with just the mannequin in the coffin, looking down on it from above.*"And yet, it tasted, like them all, The Figures I have seen…"*With each comma, the image of the person in the coffin changes, flickering from Cleo Phillips to Shawn Young to Sierra Williams to Heather Haze, all opponents Sanders or ANTITHESIS have beaten followed by Sanders’ opponent for tonight.*"Set orderly, for Burial…"*The image switches one last time to Sanders himself lying in the casket, arms crossed over his chest and the Collateral Damage title draped over his body.*"Reminded me, of mine."*A beat, and suddenly Sanders’ eyes open, staring into the camera with intense existential terror. He begins to thrash and struggle inside the coffin, silently, as the image flickers back and forth repeatedly between Sanders as he is now and the little boy we saw earlier, both in the same position and fighting to get out.*"As if my life were shaven, And fitted to a frame…"*Both forms of Sanders have begun breathing heavily, becoming more visibly exhausted with the effort, until - with one last mighty gasp - they fall still, lying motionless inside the casket as the image switches between them again.*"And could not breathe without a key, And ‘twas like Midnight, some -"*From here, the camera pans backwards out of the casket, which we now see in its entirety. The lid is closed, and the polished rosewood box is mounted on a plinth in a smart-looking funeral home. Mourners look on in great numbers, dressed in black suits and bearing sombre disposition, and chief among them - weeping silently at the foot of the coffin - is young Jonathan himself, now absent the injuries we glimpsed previously. As the narration resumes, the background and all other actors in the scene fade away until we’re left with baby Jonathan Sanders and the casket, frozen in a black void with a spotlight illuminating the scene from above.*"When everything that ticked - has stopped - And space stares - all around -"*We cut abruptly to an exterior shot, as the same mourners we saw earlier are shuffling away from the gravesite. Rain bombards the scene as the rosewood casket is slowly lowered into the open grave, set with a headstone carved into the shape of an angel; a familiar sight, the same one from Sanders’ promo at Destiny. We shift now to focus on young Sanders himself, his hand in the hand of the same older man we saw snoozing on the couch earlier. He’s gripping Jonathan’s arm tightly, pulling him away as baby Sanders tries to run back towards the coffin, unwilling to leave. Tears once again stream down his plump young face, masked by the pouring rain."Or Grisly frosts - first Autumn morns, Repeal the Beating Ground..."*Our camera now begins to zoom in on young Jonathan’s crying eyes, until the pupil has expanded to take up the entire screen. From the blackness, we pull back, now finding ourselves following present-day Jonathan Sanders, as he and his ANTITHESIS brothers stand before the very same stone angel monument he was just being pulled away from. The Lost Cause is on one knee, with his belt slung over his shoulder and running the fingers of his other hand along the smooth stone lettering at the base of the memorial.*"But most, like Chaos - Stopless - cool - Without a Chance, or spar - Or even a Report of Land - To justify…"*The camera swings around now, filming up from the “perspective” of the headstone. We see ANTITHESIS looming large over our position, the already-massive form of Dionysus made even more titanic by this diminutive camera angle. The three bear looks of appropriately solemn self-reflection, with the Collateral Damage champion himself wearing a frown that borders somewhere between deep personal sorrow and abject, unrestrained fury. He glares directly into the camera, speaking the last word of narration live.*"Despair."*A beat, and we fade to black.*-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ANTITHESIS: REFLECTIONS*We fade back in on a familiar sight, one nondescript room deep in the bowels of the PWS: APEX arena. The scene is bathed in a flood of eerie amber light, emanating from one single incandescent bulb suspended from the ceiling by an aging, rusted chain. The bulb swings gently, causing deep shadows to play in sinister patterns across the walls and sparse furnishings within the space. Seated in the far corner, partially obscured by these shadows, is the giant Dionysus, who slowly rocks back and forth while humming the sea shanty “What Will We Do With a Drunken Sailor” calmly under his breath. To amuse himself, it seems the Mad God has got his hands on a crate of wine or brandy glasses being stored in this room, and he’s slowly pulling out the contents one by one and squeezing them in his powerful fists until they shatter. He lets the shards fall to the floor in a pile by his crossed legs, gradually growing higher and higher as he crushes each fine china piece. To his right, Tyson Sykes is doing vertical push-ups against the room’s rear wall, still clad in his well-worn sleeveless "Fantabulous" Chaz Holiday t-shirt. In the foreground, better-illuminated, our view finally falls on the Collateral Damage champion, “The Lost Cause” Jonathan Sanders. The champion is clad in a black and white "ANTITHESIS" hoodie - left unzipped to reveal a Lamb of God t-shirt beneath - and a pair of baggy black TRIPP "Darkstreet" pants. Sanders is standing in front of a full-length mirror, twirling a smaller hand-mirror between his thumb and forefinger, which is the focus of his attention as he speaks.*"They say we give our enemies the means of our own destruction. Whether it was Aesop in ‘the Eagle and the Arrow’, or any of the countless other cautionary tales that have followed, the theme remains as true today as it was in ancient Greece. Through our actions, almost without exception, we give power to our enemies and set events in motion to bring about our downfall. Cleo Phillips learned this firsthand just last month, when the two of us collided at the aptly-named Destiny. Cleopatra requested a rematch to regain her crown, and she selected the stipulation which allowed me the freedom to conquer her kingdom so thoroughly and completely. I do commend you for fighting to the bitter end, rather than taking the path of the coward as your historical analogue did...but perhaps now you realize why death seemed so preferable to open conflict with the sheer malignant brilliance of the man who would be Caesar."*Here, Sanders pauses, grinning his sadistic grin into the camera as his stable-mates continue behind him.*"Tonight, another would-be Queen has fallen into the path of the conquering Octavian, though THIS particular conquest is one that I have chosen. The self-professed ‘Bad Girl’, Heather Haze. A former Queen of the Collateral Damage division, a Vixen of Pain who held the very same crown that I won from Cleopatra...and yet, so few would associate her with the same level of violence for which I have become so infamous. You worked so hard to obtain this bloodstained belt, then balked at upholding its vicious, brutal purpose. Why?"*The Lost Cause pauses again, moving away from the mirror to stand closer to his stablemates, taking a position between the Ripper and the Mad God, his grin having faded to a bitter, determined scowl.* "I know who you are, Heather Haze. I understand you intimately, just as I suspect you understand me. There are not many who I would wish to live with this."*He taps his chest with two fingers.*"This...ball of angst and anger, of existential anguish roiling in their chests, every hour of their waking life. But you? You may be one of the few who can handle it. One of the few truly equipped for this level of ever-present pain. I KNOW you can handle it, in fact, Ms. Haze...because I know you’re me. A grim reflection of the thing I tried to be. The LIFE I tried to LIVE. I played the superstar for a time, Heather. The swaggering, self-assured ‘bad boy’ who has tragedy in his past but doesn’t let it define him. I tried to move beyond my darkness, to distract myself by playing the role with passion and conviction. These fickle, sycophantic vultures devoured me for it. I gave them my heart and soul, worked SO hard to fight through the pain just to entertain them...and they responded with resounding, unfettered apathy. My efforts were never appreciated, my MESSAGE was never HEARD, until I let myself become this. I tried to be their hero, and they only wanted a villain."*Sanders pauses again, his lips curling into a hateful frown as he contemplates this last sentence. Slowly, his gaze softens, taking on a more wistful and oddly sympathetic bent as his diatribe continues.*"I know you try to play the villain too, Heather, although you are not quite as honest about yourself. See, we both came of age in worlds defined by tragedy. Abuse, neglect, mistreatment, ruination...this darkness has dominated BOTH of our formative years on this tiny little doomed blue ball. So why, then, are we so different? If you have suffered - TRULY suffered - just as much as I have...then why aren’t you like me? Humans may be flesh and bone, but our souls are made of glass."*Sanders tosses the hand mirror he’s been holding to his partner Dionysus, who immediately begins to squeeze it as he has the wine glasses that came before.*"Apply sufficient pressure, and sooner or later, we all eventually shatter."*The Snake of Eden’s sentence is punctuated by a soft crash as the rectangle of glass explodes into pieces in the Horseman of Death’s grasp. Sanders simply grins, leaning down to snatch one of the jagged shards from the floor and then holding it up to the camera.*"I have embraced my broken pieces, Heather. I live for the violence, and yet you shy away from it. Even though you held this title, the belt defined by misery and chaos, you still took pains to avoid violent or brutal matches whenever you had to defend it...and I think it is because you’re hiding from your past. Running from the frightened little girl that lives inside your mirror. I don’t believe that you’re afraid of the violence, Heather, but of what it might awaken if you felt it. I think that pain would bring you back there, to the moment when you shattered, and remind you of all the broken little pieces you have yet to put together. That’s why I requested this match, why I specifically asked that it be no holds barred...because I think I know what you can become. I think I know what I can make you. I just have to find the cracks, and let the pressure do the rest." *Sanders’ lips flicker up into a smirk at the thought, his eyes glinting with sadistic glee as his hands fall back to his sides.*"This is a wonderful opportunity I have given you tonight, Heather. I hope you realize that. See, what I’ve done is not a punishment, oh no; just like the eagle in Aesop’s tragic tale, what I have given you may just be the means of my destruction. It’s entirely possible that I will break you tonight, Heather Haze...but I think it’s equally possible that YOU may just break ME. Perhaps you’ll find a way to dig deep within yourself and FIND that violence so long dormant, BECOME that broken girl you know you are deep down...and I truly hope you do. Because in either case, I’ll get what I want. In either case, my work will make you better. When I’m through, you’ll no longer have to hide from who you know you are. You can embrace your pain, rather than running from it. Aren’t you tired of running now, Heather? Tired of working SO hard to keep yourself distracted? I can save you from that life. I can help you be who you were always meant to be, so nobody can ever shatter you again. I just need you...to trust me. Reach out for your reflection, and let me pull you through the looking glass."*Sanders’ wicked smirk expands into a chilling, bitter grin, as he holds the broken mirror shard up to cover his left eye. With his other hand, he reaches up to grip the cord that dangles from the lightbulb in the centre of the room.*"Are you ready, Alice? Wonderland awaits."*With that, Sanders tugs the cord with a soft “click!” and plunges the room into darkness. We hold on this for just the briefest moment, before the segment cuts completely.*Fin.
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Haze
Full-Time Member
21-12-04
Posts: 43
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Post by Haze on Jun 6, 2021 19:47:56 GMT -5
Purdy Lounge, New York City June 5th, 2021 (The scene opens to a trendy looking club looking almost decidedly less disturbing under sickly yellow lighting while bashing out the latest radio-friendly overplayed dance music. A few Partiers shuffle and wiggle in time to the music while bevies of dancing girls shake their grove on the raised platforms.) (We then spot Heather sitting alone at the bar, knocking back a big gulp of her bottled Aqua Minerale. She sneaks a look to the side where a group of guys and girls (a few of them in masks) flock around the dance floor, with glow sticks, having a time of their lives. On the far corner of the bar sat a middle aged yuppie in his business suit raising his glass to her with a sly grin. She makes a face, before plopping her water in front of her and ruefully pouts.) ~Bartender~ "Hey, sweetheart. Why the long face? Is there anything I can get you?"(Heather looked up from her water to the overly friendly tall scruffy looking 30 something-ish bartender casually leaning over the bar counter, giving her his full attention. She does her best to hide her gloominess by putting on a fake wide smile on her face.) ~Heather Haze~ "Long face? Me?? No Way! I'm having a blast. This club is so rad! Wooo. I'm all about fun, fun, and fun." (Heather gives an overly excited thumbs up as the bartender raised a weary eyebrow at her; Hardly buying into the act she was putting on.) (He then politely nods his head, playing along, as he wipes the glasses with a small towel while keeping his gaze locked on her.) ~Bartender~ "I can so tell. Personally, I think this place blows." ~Heather Haze~ "Oh? Why is that?" ~Bartender ~ (shrugs) "I dunno. Just not my cup of tea. If it were up to me I'd spruce this place up; give it a bit of elegance to it."~Heather Haze~ "I think the place is just fine. what do you suppose this place needs?"(The bartender snorts.) ~Bartender~ "Besides a serious makeover and a shock treatment..perhaps good looking waitresses or better dancers that can actually...y'know dance?" (The bartender motions with his head as Heather turns from her chair, looking at some HIPSTER who sashays his hips, impressing a couple of pop-influenced, sheep-molded GIRLS around him. She cringes at the sight.) ~Heather Haze~ "Ah, I see your point. Touche."~Bartender~ "So You gonna take me on my offer? We're currently hiring. I will even put in a good word for you with the boss lady. The pay is pretty nice. And The tips ain't shabby either."(Heather shrugs her shoulders and gives him a small smile.) ~Heather Haze~ "No..that's okay. Did plenty of waitressing and dancing to foot the bills when I was a broke actress. Besides, I already got a day job. Beating shlubs up for a living. It's kinda crazy where life takes you."~Bartender~ "Seriously? You're not one of those foxy boxing ring girls, are you?"~Heather Haze~ "Nah dude I am a professional wrestler. You've ever heard of APEX PWS? I wrestle there."~Bartender~ "Don't think I have. I'm not a wrestling fan myself. But My buddies are into that kinda thing. I just find it kinda awkward watching guys smothered in baby oil rolling around the ring in their tighty whites." ~Heather Haze~ "Well, You're missing all the fun out." ~Bartender~ "Clearly I have been. I wouldn't have pegged you as someone that would be involved in that type of physical sport. You look more like a runaway model. You should be on the catwalks or gracing the covers of magazine instead of putting that pretty body of yours through hell."(Heather's cheeks flush red, gushing from the praises.) ~Heather Haze~ "Aww, thanks. Sometimes I think to myself how did I even get involved in this crazy ass sport. Well, story of my life I guess."~Bartender~ "Do you need another drink?"(Heather stares down at her half-empty water bottle.) ~Heather Haze~ "No, I'm good."~Bartender~ "I meant a real drink."~Heather Haze~ "Oh. As in alcoholic beverage? Um... er, no. I don't really respond well to things that make me more hyper than I should be. Or rather, people don't respond well to me being hyper because of things that I shouldn't respond well to."(stops) "I'm babbling. Sorry."
(holds up her water) "See? Good thing." ~Bartender~ (smiling) "You don't seem that bad to me."~Heather Haze~ "Yeah, well. Try Telling that to my best friend who's completely avoiding me. Like I feel like I am the only one who truly cares for what she's going through." (The bartender leans over, and places his elbow on the bar.) ~Bartender~ "I'm all ears."~Heather Haze~ (blinks) "Oh, I couldn't... isn't sharing your problems with a bartender such a stereotype?"~Bartender~ "I don't mind playing it. For you."(Ego fluffed, Heather straightens in her chair, back to a reasonable facsimile of herself.) ~Heather Haze~ "There's nothing much to tell, really." ~Bartender~ "You mentioned about your best friend. Let's start from there." (Her eyes wander for a moment, striving to appear aloof. It doesn't work.) ~Heather Haze~ "I tried, you know. And it wasn't just about me, I genuinely care for Lexy and our friendship. I know it sucks-so-hard that we lost the belts to those idiotic Russows, who by the way CHEATED. But I hate to see her completely spiral out of control and lose her mind over it. And now she's deemed medically unfit and forced to check into some mental facility for some B.S. psyche evaluation, while my bosses are all trying to win me over by giving me a world title shot. As if it's gonna make it all right."(Heather pauses mid-way, taking a drink of her water, and then continues.) ~Heather Haze~ "I mean as awesome it would be for me to be the world champion, but I feel like I am kinda betraying Lexy with this. I figured we as Vixxxens would last longer than a measly sub-par four month title reign. We made a pact with each other to stick together; watch each other's back; To wipe APEX clean off those damn Russows. The Vixxxens wasn't an ego, power trip thing. Instead... it was a girl power thing. No boys, no trolls like Levi getting in our way...that sorta thing. That's why we girls needed to stick together. To bond in holy misery. It was us against the entire world."
(Heather rolls her eyes away, squeezing the bottle tightly in her hand.) ~Heather Haze~ "But nooooo, She wants to throw the one thing that came out of our beautiful friendship. Well, if she wants to shut me out for the rest of her life...then maybe she's better flying off solo into the cuckoo's nest. I got my own career to think of and I'm not gonna be dragged down along with her and all her other '99 problems'."(Her shoulders droop again.) ~Heather Haze~ "I think I want that real drink now."~Bartender~ "Coming up."(He starts mixing drinks.) ~Heather Haze~ "You think I'm really selfish, don't you?"(He puts a sparkling red drink in front of her. She takes it and sniffs it, wincing at the smell.) ~Bartender~ "That's the farthest thing from my mind."(Heather takes a sip, grimaces, but then takes another.) ~Bartender~ "In fact, I think you must be a special kind of person to want to care about your best friend that way." (He glances over at Heather almost with a sympathy look in his eyes.) ~Bartender~ "I'm sure your friend knows you care about her. She's probably just in a dark place and might just need her space to figure things out on her own. Just give it some time. She'll come around."Heather curls her lip into an amazed question mark. ~Heather Haze~ "You get all that from one rant? Damn. You're good. I don't think I could ever be a bar-person."~Bartender~ "I have a natural talent. I'm good at reading people."(He eyes the space behind her as the track changes and the crowd let out a collective cheer at the song.) ~Bartender~ "And I know how else to make you feel like your worries don't exist."~Heather Haze~ (holding her booze) "Ooh, I don't think I can take anything stronger than this."~Bartender~ (shakes his head) "The DJ is a personal friend, and uh... those ladies up there don't mind sharing some girl power."(Heather swirls in her seat and looks up at the podium. Cheerful WOMEN smile and beckon to her.) ~Heather Haze~ (frowns) "I'm straight."~Bartender~ "So are they. They're friends. Mostly. That's what you want, right? Look. You feel better for talking?"(Heather nods) ~Heather Haze~ "I mean it does feel good getting all that off my chest."~Bartender~ "And let's not forget that I did make you a good drink?"(Heather nodded and smiled.) ~Bartender~ "Then trust me. I'll get my man to play you a special song. You'll never look back. Kiss all your troubles goodbye."(Heather takes one more sip of the drink, before putting the glass back on the bar.) ~Heather Haze~ "Hell yeah! You're so right! It's time I quit being such a debbie downer and start looking out for ME. Thanks. You've salvaged my bad night."~Bartender~ "I aim to please." ~Heather Haze~ "So how much do I owe you for the drink?"~Bartender~ "It's on the house. Now go get up on there and have fun."~Heather Haze~ "I think I'll do just that. I'm gonna live my life the way I want to and parrty."(Heather downs her drink with a purpose, before getting up from her seat, and zigzagging through the crowd. As she nears the steps to the podium, the crowds part without seeing her. The women dancing wave her up. She joins them and nervously waves back when she is there. They greet her like she is an old friend. The MUSIC changes as The tribal beats pump out and women surrender themselves to it.) (Heather watches them for a moment before her own body responds. She moves her hips first, slowly in time to the heavy bass. The music builds and as it does, her body increases its tempo.) (A Redhead smiles at Heather and she smiles right back into an almost feral and wicked grin. She then closes her eyes and lets the music take her. No one else in the club comes close to the passion the women display as they dip and grind to the rhythm with Heather following suit, moving and twirling her hips around to the loud noise of the jeering men and women in the crowd bouncing and dancing to the beat.) (Her thoughts and mind slowly race off at the thought of facing Jonathan Sanders as Her body automatically flies upright, twirling erotically to the beat of the music while she spins, leaps, and dances around with her body glistening under the red, yellow, and purple strobe lights, with a thin sheen of sweat and pieces of her long, wavy hair sticking to her cheeks and her chest as she whips her head around to the music with not a care in the world.) "Hello, Johnny. Don't think I've forgotten all about our lil date we have this coming Tuesday. A match you have requested, but won't defend that belt? Coward much? Well, anywho you want me, you got me. And I'm sure we'll set no bounds and get to do all kinds of dastardly deeds to one another seeing that this lil scrimmage of ours is right up our alley. After all, pain is what defines you. Hate is what you've grown up living with all throughout your sad little unhappy existence. And why is that? Did your mommy never really love you back so much that it drove you to be some kind of a emo dweeb getting off on violence? Do you get your jollies off wearing her eyeliners and slitting your wrists off in your spare time over My Chemical Romance while your Antithesis boys argue over who gives you the reach around?? Good grief man get over yourself."
"Now don't get me wrong. I think you're a heck of a talent in the ring. You've left quite a trail of broken bodies along the way, which has already solidified your reputation as the most fiercest competitor with a killer mean streak since my good buddy, Mack, came along and brought APEX PWS on its knees to suck on his wad."
"But just because I am praising you don't mean that I got to suck up to yours in exchange to have you go all easy on me. After all, the wars that I've been through with ole Macky and the wars that you've been through with that annoying hood-rat that's been a pain in your ass for the better part of the year PALES in comparison to the horror show that Mack and I have done to each other just to put that Collateral Damage on the map! A championship belt that I've held in the highest of regards and excelled at it twice and broken all kinds of records with to this day. And mind you a championship belt that was unfairly stripped away from me by that bumbling troll of an idiot that is Levi Russow who did it out of spite for 'supposedly' crippling his peg-legged moronic dumbass daughter-in-law. So technically I never lost it in the first place. Which technically would make you a sham of a champion. An eye-liner wearning scam artist of a chump at best wearing around a property that rightfully belongs to me."
"However, This isn't me being a sour grapes or anything. In fact I am not even pissed or bitter at you for being a replacement to my belt and seemingly taking off where I left off. And I know a man like you would not think much highly of me or presume that I have absolutely no business being in a match like this with you. But let me remind you that I was hardcore waaaay before you came along with your whole, 'fear me shtick...'. I mean think about it. Beating me would definitely raise your stocks sky-high; It would grant you the favor of doing in a true pioneer and a trail blazer such myself who paved the way for deathmatch freaks like you to enjoy your glorified fifteen minutes of fame to get some much needed TV time just so you can take the liberty to be a glutton of punishment in order to captivate the mass audience that feed off on your pain. I know that feeling, dude. I know the thrill and the rush and the excitement that comes with it just for the sake of feeling 'alive' whilst sporting a crimson mask and tasting that rancid trickle of your own sweet blood as it slowly makes its way down your throat. I have been there and I've done it. It's almost... euphoric to say the least."
"But quite frankly, those days are put behind me and for a good reason because I have molded myself to be a far better athlete than to involve myself in garbage wrestling where anybody can beat anyone up senseless with a blunt object. There's no talent to it and probably taken off years and years of my career already. And I'm still well in my prime. I have used that belt as a stepping stone to get me where I want to be. And If we're totally being frank here. I don't even really care about this match let alone care the likes of you since I am already destined to have a date with that stuck-up bitch of a world champion herself at Rise 2 Glory where I'M gonna FINALLY knock her ass off her high pedestal and accomplish my goals of becoming the corner stone of APEX, and taking it to newer and bigger heights. Whereas you'll be pigeonholed and forever remain a mainstay fixture on the deathmatch scene to amuse and appease the fans and management as a sideshow act as they bleed you dry like a stuck pig and own a piece of your soul like the way they did with mine when I was in the exact same spot as you with that third tier belt that you hold so proudly. So my advice to you is get the hell out of the funk while you still can, bub. Don't dance to the beat of their drum let alone be their bitch."(shrugs) "Or not. I don't care. It's really up to you where you wanna allow the rabbit's hole to take you because it can only take you so, so far till it starts becoming all too clear.""But if it's really an ass whoopin you be wanting then you better come at me with everything you have, emo boy. Who knows maybe I'll show you a spectacularly good time since you're so void of having fun and excitement and sucking the life out of everyone around you with your long winded Nyquil- inducing speeches and those low-quality cheap ass Airbnb locations you rent out to make yourself look imposing and menacing on grainy cameras to add to your little mystique."
"Hell, Who knows Maybe I'm a little bit crazy myself. I mean, we all have to be at least a little bit unstable to be willing in a profession where one person can beat up another person senseless to a point where they can't move for at least three seconds, right? And when you add weapons to the mix y'know shit is gonna get real. So Which is why I see this match as a true testament to my will and fortitude as the true iron woman in this sport based on my consistency and my never-say-die approach to everyone including gothy lil' shits like you. This is where I got my start and this where I end this chapter as I go on to do what I came here to do for the last 2 years... and that is become...World... Champion. So, with all said and done... and um, everything on the table including our egos... I'd honestly like to extend the best of luck to you Johnny... because if it takes the last breath I have in me, I promise you're going to need it."(The music finally reaches its end and so does Heather, poised with her arms draped over the top of her head, breathing heavily as the crowd erupt in cheers and it is from here the scene slowly fades.)
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