Role Playing Thread

[CyberTranz]

All RP's can go in this thread.

Also if anyone has any plans to submit RP's for the show, I can run something like this...

[CyberTranz]

…scene fades to an old abandon warehouse. A couple men are inside rummaging through old pieces of the C-CWA ring. The ropes are tattered, the ring posts are rusted but the plywood canvas, positioned in a fort like display, still looks to be in good condition. The men begin pulling piece by piece off exposing what appears to be a bum’s home. There’s a sleeping bag, an old AM radio and a collection of Good Housekeeping magazines, some of which look to be stuck together. Suddenly a body emerges from around the corner smacking one of the defenseless men square in the face with a sledgehammer. The other man begins to run away but trips over one of the ring posts. He cowardly asks the mysterious man with the sledgehammer to spare him as he creeps closer and closer. Now with the light gleaming on the face of this sledgehammer wielding weirdo, the man almost instantly recognizes the face.

[Man]: Matt H!? What the hell are you doing here?!

[Matt H]: i live here.

[Man]: What do you mean you live here? This place is privet property! You shouldn’t be here. We need to get this ring in shape for the show next week. The C-CWA needs their ring back

[Matt H]:the c-cwa wants to get THERE ring back well you can go screw your self,

…Matt H brings up the sledgehammer above his head, ready to give the defenseless man his final deathblow. The man tries to make a last ditch effort to reason with him.

[Man]: Matt listen!! Just listen!! We need to get this equipment out of here for the show. There are a lot of people counting on this show to take place. There are a lot of people counting on seeing you wrestle at this show. You want to be there right!? You want to prove to everyone you’re not a joke right!?

[Matt H]: THAT @#%$ THINK IM A JOKE?A @#%$ JOKE?I SHOW THEM WHO'S THE @#%$ JOKE AFTER I'LL KILL APOC RIGHT ON THE SPOT AND THEN WIN THAT TOURNAMENT,THAT SON OF A @#%$ BITCH THINK HE'S GREAT BECAUSE HE GOT THE @#%$ LAST DEATH MATCH TITLE?WHAT A PIECE OF @#%$!APOC!I'M GONIG TO KILL APOC @#%$,I GONNA BASH HIS BRAINS IN THEN I'M GONNA RIP HIS RIB CAGE OUT,THEN I'M GONNA TAKE HIS TITLE AND BURN THAT SON OF A BITCH TO FLAMES!GOT IT MAN,NO WRESTLING MATCH IS GONNA HAPPEN A DAMN,ITS GONING TO BE A BLOOD BATH WITH HIS NAME ON IT.SO APOC BETTER GET READY BEACUSE IT'S ABOUT TO GET HEAVY @#%$!

…Matt H storms out of the warehouse with shear determination in his eyes. The man that was smashed with the sledgehammer begins to awake as the other checks on him.

[Fade]

[jeebs]

The scene opens in a messy office; paperwork, video tapes and DVD cases everywhere. There's something that sounds like wrestling without a crowd going on in the background, muffled. A door- off screen- opens, then closes. A loud sigh comes from the same direction. A man walks on screen, head above the camera, wearing a wifebeater and red shorts with white stripes. Heavily and intricately inked, with a deep crimson color running underneath most of the art, all of it sitting atop tanned skin. The man moves to the chair, and takes a seat. A deep breath is taken, and the man slumps towards his desk. With his tired face resting on his propped right hand, he looks to the left of the camera, eyes tracking and responding to the sounds of wrestling in the background. Another deep breath is taken.

“December 6th... I've talked about this enough. I mean, not on camera... but, I've talked about it.”

His voice sounds very, very weary. He leans back in his chair, still looking in the same direction. He turns to the camera, and his eyes flash, a slight smile on his face.

“People come up to me and say, 'hey, Nate! Hey, T-Bone! C-CWA is back! One night only! You're pretty stoked, right?!' And I just get so excited that I... I... I lie to them!”

The smile fades.

“I lie to them. I'll tell them what they want to hear, The only people that really know what I think are my wife and one of my business partners. C-CWA sends me a camera, and asks for a quote about the show on December 6th. No Place Like Home. I was all ready to lie to you guys, too. There's a few takes around, of me doing my best sell, and... I just don't have it in me any more. The last time that guy came out was for the last C-CWA show, and it felt dirty. I'm really tired of feeling dirty. So, I'm going to be honest.”

T-Bone leans forwards, arms folding over one another on top of the table.

“The C-CWA was the best time in my life, and I squandered it. I was just starting in my physical prime, I was bright eyed and idealized, and I was ready to be a major player and all that. I was going to be someone, man! Yeah, I was going to be something... T-Bone was it, man.”

His eyes look over his desk, as he sighs.

“I really gave it a good shot, man. Believe that. I really tried. And... What I took from everything that happened is... it's worth more to not make it and be proud of what you did, than to make it and be ashamed. I'm a former C-CWA World Heavyweight Champion, and I have to live with that. I have to live with how I won that belt.”

T-Bone looks back into the camera.

“Because after long enough, it wasn't good enough to just be the Technical Mastermind, the biggest prospect in C-CWA. I got testy, and I didn't want to wait any more. I saw other people... people I thought were less qualified, people who never tried as hard as I did, I saw them rise and have doors opened for them. And I got rage. I was the best, goddamnit, and I was going to be the best. I was going to be the C-CWA World Heavyweight Champion.”

In the midst of this little speech, his fists have clenched. He notices, and opens them up, taking a deep breath, and looks down at his hands..

“So, I did the one thing I was most against. I played politics.”

His eyes drift back up to the camera.

“It was like when I first started training with weights, you know? I didn't know I was a mesomorph until I tried, and I saw those results REAL fast. It was the same thing with playing the game. Those doors opened so quick that I almost wasn't ready for it; it was easy for me to get into a title match. I knew I had the tools, I just didn't get the opportunities, and once I started spouting my crap, and once the right people bought it, I had it all. I got my title match, and, I beat SPUNK for the World Heavyweight Championship.”

T-Bone puts his elbows on the desk, and his face in his hands, sighing deeply.

“As soon as I held that title, part of me... part of me knew what I had done. The selfish little man that won this title... I don't know where he came from, but I knew what he had done wasn't what I had wanted. It got worse the more time I spent around that belt.”

T-Bone lifts his head.

“In this hysteria, I made a challenge. Because... I still thought I was the best wrestler in the world. And I had this belt, so, that must have meant something close to that. So I challenged Catalyst. We'd fought a lot before then, when S^3 was running everything, and he had a stranglehold on the television title. I repeatedly ran up against him, and just... couldn't get the job done. So I was champion, and goddammit, it was time to wrestle like it.”

T-Bone leans back in his chair, and looks around, looking at the ceiling.

“...we had seven matches. I lost six. I lost six straight, while I held the C-CWA World Heavyweight Championship. I was a laughing stock, and... each loss made it all worse. I started hating that goddamn belt. And then, our title match... I dropped him on his head. I took Catalyst out.”

His head slowly tilts.

“A week later, I had a nervous breakdown, and I vacated the title.”

He sits very still for a long period of time...



...and then returns his gaze to the camera.

“I tried all sorts of other things after that, and for one reason or another, I couldn't get the job done. The California Wrestling Association, MST-PWC, REDBRAND, Pro Wrestling WILD, Lucha Libre Pacifico, one after another.”

He looks away from the camera, leaning towards the table again, hands clasping in front of him.

“I've had time to figure out what all this is... it's a curse. It's a curse. I've never been able to really beat you, Catalyst. It's my curse. And... God, I can't stand you. See, that's the one thing I didn't lie to anyone about. I want to wrestle you again. I've been retired for a while now, and I've had to fight to get into shape. I'm 32 years old, and I'm leaving my physical prime. I have my business.”

He expresses a natural happiness that is short lived.

“My wife and I have kids now. We've got our daughters, and we have our students, and...”

The happiness is replaced with a grim look and a wince as he looks away. One hand reaches up and, nearly absently, grabs at his chest.

“...and I have this curse. This hollowness in my heart... December 6th isn't a homecoming for me; it's bereavement.”

He looks back at the camera.

“On December 6th, none of the people that care about me are going to watch. We're not going to celebrate, we're not going to talk about it. I'm going out there to wring out everything I have left, to shake and fight and scream. I'm going out there, Catalyst... and I'm gonna get rid of this curse. I'm going to get rid of your curse, Catalyst. I've got this darkness on it's way out, and on December 6th, I'm taking it out, just like I took you out six years ago, because that's what needs to happen. That's what I need, Catalyst, and your needs are God damned, just like I was."

He stares into the camera, eyes becoming distant and empty, almost staring through the camera for a few minutes. Eventually, a shudder runs through his body, jolting him out of the thousand yard stare. With a moment of hesitation, he stands up, and walks slowly around the desk. The scene fades as soon as his hand touches the camera.

[dave]

An old, dusky gym is poorly lit as the camera fades in on a shadowy figure, kicking an old leather bag, the sound of the thud each time a shin connects is followed by a grunt and the sound of the chains clanging as if they want to give out.

A left middle kick, left low kick followed by a right savate kick, finishing with a left high kick.

"This," a familiar voice-over is heard as the figure continues to work on the bag, clinching the chains and driving knee after knee into the bag. "This is my reality. Revolution is defined by the amount of blood you spill."

Camera zooms in closer as he takes one final kick at the bag, wiping the sweat from his brow and stepping into a stream of light cascading through a high window in the gym, to reveal none other than Spunk.

"I've spilled a lot of blood in my day, my enemies know from their scars, both mental and physical, exactly where they came from." He runs his fingers through his hair, holding it back as he takes a few deep breaths. "On December 6th, I step into a ring that I built, a ring that I have not felt under my feet in years.

"I know what you are saying, that I didn't build it, it was already there. The C-CWA existed before I stepped in between those ropes and began a reign of violence and allure," a smirk washes over his face. "Does that really matter? Before I arrived C-CWA was, by definition, a sideshow. A world of men who wanted to be something more, but didn't know how to reach it. That brass ring on the carousel was always just out of their grasp. They'd reach up," he reaches up, flexing his fingers. "They'd reach up with their little fingers, still sticky with cotton candy like reject children whose parents were bumping lines in the bathroom to forget while they rode a broken down ride with a rusted ring hanging just out of their grasp.

"When I came, their world changed. It didn't turn to gold, no, not gold. My appearance wasn't some costume jewelery fiasco that turns green after a few years of absence. No, nothing like that. Instead, it was platinum, stained with the blood of my enemies. I painted C-CWA pink at first, bringing style and class to a world full of needless depravity all in the name of entertainment. I took my style and helped C-CWA rise from the Tim Horton's parking lot and into the arenas.

"No other man," he picks up a bottle off of the bench next to him by the top, flipping it over and uncapping it, pouring it over his head, shaking afterwards sending water everywhere. "No other man held the C-CWA World Championship four times. No other man said forget the rest of the titles, I matter, so therefore I only take the big fights. My arrogance upset you, it upset the fans, it upset the wrestlers, it upset the networks, but I never lied and I never exaggerated. I delivered exactly as I said that I would.

"When you were bored, I brought in the Destiny Series, and not only did I pen it, but I dominated it. When you didn't know to cheer or boo Catalyst or Tape Cracker, I took them in and modeled them after myself, helping them achieve more greatness than they could ever imagine... But I don't like people riding on my coattails. Not every man can stand alone, a lone wolf with a smirk and blood on his hands.

"The next time I step between a set of ropes, it is in a C-CWA ring, the first time I've set foot in a wrestling ring in almost a year, and maybe the last. The two heads of a three-headed beast will meet with tireless aggression what I define as mediocrity at its finest." Spunk pulls back and feigns a middle kick at the bag, then snaps a high kick off without bringing his leg down. "X-Ander doesn't even belong in the same ring as me. He never has and he never will; just a child in a man's world trying to find his spot in the sun. You held the title once, X-Ander, but you flew too close to the sun and I had to clip your wings off once and for all.

"Then there is my old friend, Ryan Rose. Rose, you thought the world should bow down to you, the fans wanted you to forever be etched in their memories. I live without regrets, but the closest I get in C-CWA was not destroying you when I had the chance, for letting you have that last moment of fleeting glory and making one mistake to allow you to capture the C-CWA World Heavyweight Championship and close out what was C-CWA with their hero at the helm. On December 6th there will be no more heroes, there will be no happy ending or fond memories. Instead, Brian Lee and myself will step into that ring for one last time," he holds one finger up to the camera, then looks down at it shaking his head. "One last time you'll hold your head up high, until I kick it off your shoulders and raise it far above mine, for one last time, but this time, it will be my finest victory. Maybe rose petals will flow from your head onto the mat, forever cementing your legacy and edifying myself? What I do know is I will plant a lone rose on your grave, Ryan, with a star always blinking over you every night, so you'll remember for the rest of eternity that I was always better than you."

He smiles his mischievous smirk as he snaps a kick off at the camera, sending it to static.

[steve]

[Crimson]: Just a quick note before I get started -- to all of you self-righteous hypocritical little twits who have taken it upon yourselves to bomb my inbox and demonize me for deathmatch wrestling... I've taken the liberty of forwarding your IP addresses to the FBI, so you might wanna worry less about me and more about hiding your kiddie *** you think nobody knows about.

Now, as far as this deathmatch tournament goes... things are gonna get messy. Because apparently, the fact that I was a three-time C-CWA World Heavyweight Champion doesn't matter. Apparently, the fact that I'm the only man to ever be both the C-CWA and MDWF World Heavyweight Champion doesn't matter. Apparently, the fact that I've never even been the Deathmatch Champion doesn't seem to matter. "Hey, it's the freak with the tats and red hair! Let's put him in some deathmatches!"

Don't get me wrong, I love deathmatches. Lovelovelove 'em. I love being able to legally commit attempted murder. But it still feels like a slap in the face. Feels like they're shuffling me off into the sideshow 'cause I'm not good enough to be on the main stage. That makes me feel... disrespected. And that's bad news for the other seven suckers they got to agree to be in this thing against me, 'cause it's not like I can go and take it out on the match-makers... that'd be the illegal kind of attempted murder. So, my only recourse is to take it out on you lot.

I've already made peace with the fact that I'm probably gonna do something that will keep me awake at night. I've made peace with the fact that I'm gonna irreparably stain my boots in your gore. But, instead of wasting my time to think of ways to describe the things I'll do this Sunday, I think I can best sum it up in five simple words:

I'm gonna cut you faggots.

[CyberTranz]

…We cut to a scene on the beach. There’s a camera crew surrounding a bald man sitting in a hammock. The shot tightens in on the individual, the sun is glistening off his baby smooth like scalp and as the shot gets closer and closer, it can only be one man… Brian Lee.

[Lee]: Just when you think you’re out, they pull you back in.

For the last couple years I’ve been enjoying a life outside of wrestling. I’ve been working for an elusive insurance company making six figures a year. I basically work when I want and for how long I want. I sit back watching the money just pour in while laughing at all these bums who are getting laid off because of the recession.

…Lee takes back a swig of his Corona and continues.

[Lee]: When I’m not making lots of cash, I’m working on my tan. When I’m not out working on my tan I’m out banging hot chicks. It’s very good being Brian Lee right now, it really is.

…Coincidently a couple hot chicks surround Lee at this moment.

[Lee]: The other night I get a call from one of those ass clowns that ran the C-CWA, basically begging me to come in and work a reunion show. I first thought no fucking way. I never attended my high school reunion, why the hell would I go to that sausage fest? I understand that I was very good at my job; I understand that I was better then any other guy that stepped foot inside that ring. Why on earth would I have any reason to go back there when there is nothing else to prove?

Well it’s quite simple, the money was right. I may have a six figure a year job but I’m not going to pass up on the chance for free money. I don’t want to lace up the boots again. I don’t even want to be in the same city with these pricks. But because the money is right and I’m a greedy son of a bitch, I’m going to do it.

…Lee takes another drink of his Corona and approaches the camera with a more stern look on his face.

[Lee]: So after accepting the offer, I find out what’s in store for me. Main event… two out of three falls match… it’s me and SPUNK versus Ryan Rose and X-ANDER. Three guys who have a long storied history with me. Three guys who I would consider to be on par with me if that was humanly possible.

First we have SPUNK. A history that’s documented so far and so deep into our wrestling careers that you could pretty much write a book that rivals in size of the bible. The last time I seen SPUNK was in Pro Wrestling WILD. We were on the same side at the time but we had an understanding that no matter what would happen, neither guy would turn a blind eye to kicking the shit out of each other. I will fight along side SPUNK at the reunion show but there’s only one guys back I’ll have that night and that’s my own.

Second we have Ryan Rose. The C-CWA’s poster boy, the epitome of excellence and the last C-CWA Heavyweight and Prime Time TV champion. Does this mean anything to me? Not a thing. Why? Because this guy lost in a main event match to a fucking girl at the C-CWA/MDWF PPV. Yup, your name means nothing to me Rose. You have never been credible since that embarrassing loss.

…There’s some quiet giggles from the ladies.

[Lee]: And then we have X-ANDER. I honestly didn’t even know this guy was still alive. The last time I saw X-ANDER his body laid in a crippled state next to mine, battered and beaten after taking a 10 foot fall from a ladder through a burning table. It was a car wreck, something that I have not forgotten after all these years. But after all the bumps and bruises from that match I still managed to pull myself up. I continued to wrestle for four years after that night. I continued to put my life on the line every night because I was the best at it.

…Lee now pulls the camera in closer.

[Lee]: Can I say the same thing for him? What happened to X-ANDER? Did he finally face on his own self? I hope he’s there… god I really do. Nothing would make me happier then to punch that jerkboy square in the face again!

On December 6th... Brian Lee will fuck your shit up one more time.

[Fade]

[reverendslaughter]

[Sunset. Lonely streets caress the kiss of night that slowly falls upon them - and in the center of the scene - a building. Old and broken - robbed of it’s former glory by boarded up windows, chained doors and graffiti. Above the main doors is the remnants of the sign of a local psychiatric hospital - long since abandoned - leaving its inhabitance to wander the streets without hope of getting better. The front doors swing gently in the breeze, the chains just loose enough to allow passage for those curious enough to enter. The camera fades to black and dissolves into the inner halls. It becomes obvious that the weather-worn outside was barely representative of the fate of this building. Medical trays rusted and laying on the floor, old broken down stretchers and shattered glass litter the floor. Doors barely on hinges, spider-webbed mirrors - cracked and ugly like the minds of the people once housed here. At the end of the hall - a voice slowly registers - a soft lullaby sung in obvious falsetto. The man known as Sykopath rounds the corner, arms outstretched to the sides, staple-gun in one hand, and an old, worn out children’s doll in the other. He slowly steps towards the camera, closer and closer. He stops, about 5 feet from the camera - and looks directly at it with stark white eyes, obvious contact lenses. He stops singing, lowering his arms to cradle the doll with the cold steel of the staple gun.]

[Sykopath]: “It’s been a long time my darlings. Too long. Haha, of course, this… setting [he gestures to his surroundings] was quite obvious when I was asked to make a statement about the upcoming reunion show. Once again I will don the garb, and revisit my past… the monster I was. The monster I will become again. Viper. An old… friend, let’s say. A worthy opponent to say the least - at best, a force of destruction. Enough men were just crazy enough to enter the ring with him, but few crazy as I. [He pets the doll with the staple gun, giggling to himself] I’ve had a lot of good times in that C-CWA ring, and I plan to go out with a bang. Win or Lose. It’s going to get bloody. You can be damn sure of that Viper. And after that…. I’ll be gunning for Apoc and Matt H….. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the show. Welcome to the night - make sure to laugh, because it’s Time. To. Play.

[The scene fades to black as Sykopath begins singing again, singing to the doll with a wicked grin.]

[rosscowan]

The scene opens in the arena for tomorrow night's C-CWA: No Place Like Home reunion show. Ross Cowan is standing observing the various crews setting up the ring, lighting, cameras and the other equipment required to put on a wrestling show. The camera pans back to reveal he's standing next to commentator Brian Cross, microphone in hand.

[Cross]: So, it's been over 5 years since the C-CWA's 'final' show, Boiling Point, back in September of 2004. What brought about the decision to get everyone back together for the reunion show?

[Cowan]: I don't think there was any one particular reason. I guess we just wanted to make sure that nobody forgets just how much talent we had here in the C-CWA.

When you look at the roster we had here from when we started back in '01, to when the doors closed in '04, it's pretty much unrivaled compared to any other wrestling organization past or present.

For the reunion show, we've got just about everybody back together, and we're going to put on a hell of a show once again. Not just for our fan base, but for all the guys in the locker room that missed doing this shit.

[Cross]: Were some of the guys harder to convince than others?

[Cowan]: Definitely. Most of the people we called agreed pretty much straight away. Some of the others took a little bit more convincing, but we've ended up getting everyone we needed to get this thing to work.

[Cross]: Onto your match. The last time we saw you, you defeated Shadow and Bak Fu at Boiling Point '04. Tomorrow night, you're taking on Black Knight. Are you confident you'll be able to shake off the ring-rust and get the win?

[Cowan]: I'm always confident. It may have been a few years since I've stepped into the ring, but I'm a fuckin' natural. Talent like I've got doesn't diminish just because it's not been used in a while, Brian. I'm just as capable of beating anyone on the roster now as I was back in the day. Hell, if we do this again in 20 years time I'd still happily suplex anybody all over the ring.

Knight and myself wrestled various times in the past, so I know what to expect, and I'm sure everyone at home will be expecting a match-of-the-night candidate.

[Cross]: You did have a pretty successful time here, wrestling wise. With World, Prime Time TV and multiple Tag Team championship reigns.

[Cowan]: You're damn right I did. Even aside from title runs, there's only a few of the other guys that can claim to have been in as many five star matches as myself.

[Cross]:Didn't you originally say that you weren't planning on becoming a member of the active roster when you opened the C-CWA?

[Cowan]: Well, yeah. I'd had enough success inside the ring before the C-CWA opened for business that I thought I could just get involved in all the back office stuff, but it turned out I wasn't exactly the greatest at the business side of things, so I had to get into the ring to occupy my time...and i'm damn glad I did.

[Cross]: You hired various staff members to do the day-to-day running of the company.

[Cowan]: Right. It takes a shit-ton of work to do that kind of thing, and there was help from a lot of people along the way. This interview's going on the DVD we're bringing out of the show tomorrow, so I'd like to just thank those guys on camera, because I don't think I ever really got much of a chance to do it properly before...

Cowan turns to face the camera

[Cowan]:Everyone that worked here in the office over the years, all the referees we had officiating our matches. Thank you. You all contributed a hell of a lot to making this place what it was.

One person stands out above everyone else though, and that's Paul Couto. He did, and is still doing, so much shit for this place that I can't even think what his job title would be; Booking the matches, talent liaison, organizing the camera crews, webmaster, hell, he even made the fucking posters for our pay-per-view shows. Without Paul, this place wouldn't have got anywhere near where we did, and we certainly wouldn't have gotten to to the the point where we could be selling out an arena this damn big with our reunion show tomorrow night...

Cowan turns back toward Cross

[Cowan]: And you better believe that it's going to be fucking awesome.

The camera pans away from Cowan and Cross, taking a final look at the arena being set up for the show, then fades to black.

[otaku2255]

Heavy rain distorts an already darkened picture. The camera zooms in, out, and all around, observing the metropolitan city street, seemingly very late at night. Various buildings of varying importance are displayed to the viewer, including a bank, a school, a convenience store, a library, and a police station, creating the image of a heavily occupied location. Or perhaps the camera is searching the desolate streets for something. As this question arises in the viewer’s head, the camera seems to pause and zoom in on an object directly ahead. Nearly impossible to make out at first, the image is refreshed every few seconds, revealing itself as moving towards the camera. After 30 or so seconds, a man is clearly made out. He is wearing a black leather jacket, faded blue jeans, a black beret covering a painted/distorted face, heavy gloves, and black boots. He is seemingly unaffected by the heavy rainfall as he moves closer and closer to frame. When this mysterious man reaches reasonable distance, the camera man begins to follow him slowly. Noticing this, the large night dweller waves in acknowledgement, signaling the camera to continue behind. The pair walk together, without a single verbal or emotional display, until they reach a factory which seems to be abandoned. Once inside, automatic lighting reveals an empty training facility, which includes a large blue wrestling ring. As the camera peers around the room, soaking in the wonders of this forbidden fortress, the viewer notices the man being followed remove his thick jacket and begin to stretch near the bottom of the ring. On closer inspection, it is now fairly obvious this man’s identity is none other than professional wrestling legend Larry Sparks.

In a soft, manic voice which masks the yearn to bellow, he begins to speak, jarring memories of yore, if only for but a moment.

[Larry Sparks]: “Hello wrestling world. It has been quite some time since I have been able to speak to my fans…” (he pauses, showing disbelief in his own statement) “… and even longer still since I have laced up my boots. I’m not here to make up for anything. I’m not here to beg forgiveness for past actions. Hell, I’m quite comfortable with what success my actions have netted me. I just really want to test something. I want to know where the heart lies in a wrestling arena. I know you can ask 1000 different people and receive as many answers, but none can appropriately observe the situation well enough to surmise an adequate measurement, unless they have bounced off of every wall this business allots.”

He folds a steel chair which lies beside the ring. Sliding in with the chair in his grasp, he swings at an imaginary target for a few moments before opening the chair and sitting.

[Mr. Sparks]: “Now, I’ve been all around the world. I’ve held titles and won accolades in company with and opposing this industry’s giants. I’ve performed before thousands of fans, all foaming at the mouth in anticipation. I’ve… ah, fuck it. You already know my life story. Who am I babbling to?”

He scratches his chin. The blue, white, and black facepaint which hides his identity shows wear from the rain water and his repeated touching of the face.

[Larry]: “But there’s always been one stop in my career which did not open the doors I envisioned. One company which did not appreciate the talents and services I provided. One location which only hindered my progression. Obviously I am referring to the cesspool known the world over as the C-CWA.”

He drops to the ground and seems to be shadow wrestling, selling invisible submission holds. And then he performs a few crunches, before becoming bored and talking again.

[Sparks]: (rising to his feet) “Undeniably, this is where the heart I spoke of before is found. Not shared through-out the fans. Not created by the bookers. Not counted by the refs. Not recalled by the commentators.” (points to his brain, and then his heart) “The only heart of value here is that of the megastar taking a bump in fame to share his craft with a different audience. Some would call it a payday, but Mr. Sparks already owns the most elaborate riches of all the world. Some would label me vengeful, bitter, and a man trying to prove he still has some fuel in his engine. WRONG! WRONG! WRONG! I am passionate, intelligent, prepared, and humble! I promise!” (maniacal laughter rings out, as if wrestling with inner thoughts) “Regardless of what martyrdom you would attach to Larry Sparks’ nameplate, I will be making an appearance tonight. Yes, even the backwashing, inbreeding management behind the C-CWA recognizes my potential to sell tickets and have called me to appear on their anniversary show. Kiddies, take notes. It shows true heart to step through a displeasing curtain, before an unappreciative crowd, wrestle a chump barely worth a hot dog, and deal with corrupt officials. But I do it for the fans… I do it for the admiration and remembrance. I do it for everything. Measure my heart… after… tonight…”

Larry Sparks, a true enigma of the wrestling industry, finishes his interview, channeling various personalities and creating ridiculous images of grandeur. After his speech, his face grows cold as he banishes the camera man from his facility. Moving backwards, he stays in frame for a few seconds. The viewer is shown a man in the center of the ring, ripping his black “T.W.O.” t-shirt and collapsing to the floor with tears. The camera fades with a loud scream of displeasure echoing throughout the gym…

[kitty29]

::A darkened room, pitch black save for a roaring log fire on one side of the room. In the flickering light it provides, the back of a very tall armchair is revealed from time to time. Though the high back conceals whoever is sitting there, occasionally a flicker from the fire illuminates what looks like a heavily muscled arm trailing along one of the armrests. A deep, ominous voice speaks out from the darkness...::

"The time for destruction...is once more upon this world...And today, the End of Days, several individuals...will feel my wrath once more...

It has been too long...since the world witnessed the suffering...the pain...and the humiliation I...and only I...can inflict...And today, starting with Matt H...you will all see once again...

Because I...AND I ALONE...have the power...to dispense such punishment...You have all seen it before...and you cowered in fear...in terror...And I enjoyed it..."

::The words trail off for a moment, replaced by a deep, rumbling laugh that sends a chill down your spine::

"The end is coming...prepare to behold...your extermination..."

::Fade::

[kitty29]

::Black Knight is shown arriving at the arena for tonight's Reunion show. He's dressed in street clothes, though he obviously still wears his mask. A reporter comes running up to him, in an attempt to get an interview ahead of the show. Knight simply turns to look at the guy and promptly smashes him in the face without saying a word. The reporter falls to the ground, knocked out.::

God, that's the one thing I don't miss about this place. There's frikkin' retards EVERYWHERE! Gah! Who do they think they are?! I decide if I want to give interviews to random stooges, and quite clearly the answer is NO!

::He shakes his head, and carries on into the building::

"This whole place has probably been crawling with retards since I was last here, probably ones that LiKe JaAm and ask for rAnDoM tItLe ShOtS, ahahahahahaha! Well, I am back in town and it's time to GET THE RETARDS OUT!

Everyone KNOWS that this is the house that Knight built. I am the GREATEST star to ever pass through these doors, and tonight, even if it is for one night only, I am claiming back my castle! And who's going to stop me? Surely not YOU, Ross Cowan. Puh-lease, don't make me laugh. Remember what happened last time you crossed my path? Because I do.

::He taps his head with one finger::

I was far too clever for you then. And guess what? I'M STILL TOO CLEVER FOR YOU, MORON! And tonight, I will be serving up a little reminder of that fact! Ahahahahaha!

::Still laughing, Knight disappears somewhere amongst the many corridors of the building. Fade.::