Author Topic: Redemption & Trent Steel vs. CJ Wylde & JC  (Read 212 times)

Offline Joe

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Redemption & Trent Steel vs. CJ Wylde & JC
« on: August 22, 2017, 10:21:52 AM »
Standard Match!

1 RP Limit
4000 Word Limit
OOC Note: Winner will be determine by secret ballot, with all RPs rated 1-10.

Please check your word count
(this is a new word count website - Hopefully it works out for our needs)

Deadline: Saturday, September 2, 2017 at 11:59pm Eastern

Good Luck!

Offline Sabiru

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End Game
« Reply #1 on: September 02, 2017, 11:55:31 AM »
Every day I receive a message. A message from my body. A twinge where there shouldn’t be a twinge, an ache where there never used to be an ache, pain in places that never used to hurt.

This isn’t a new development, of course. I was hurt before I put on the mask, some fifteen years of wrestling without a break has taken its toll. And after I put the mask on, I said to hell with the consequences. When people look back on Redemption, they’ll remember the things that I did to other people – but in every limp, every scar and every sleepless night I am forced to reflect on the things that I did to my own body. The sacrifices I made to get ahead in a business filled with workers far more talented than I.

But these messages from my body fill my inbox with an increased urgency as time goes on. My body is telling me to quit. My body is telling me to get out now while I can still lead a normal life. And naturally, I won’t listen.

I am the greatest wrestler of my generation. I am Jesse Williams. I am Bryan Barnes. And I refuse to be the first of my kind to leave the industry in a worse place than how I found it. I refuse to let men like JC destroy the industry that I love so much.

I believe in the future of wrestling. I believe that we should look forwards, not backwards. Forwards – to men like Brian Crucifix and Robert Zodiac, men who will undoubtedly stand where I stand in ten years time saying the exact same things that I say now. Not backwards to men like JC – the most manipulative and deceptive man I have ever known. JC is a snake, a snake who uses and discards those who’s affection he acquired. And not just me. You have to understand – not just me. Drake Munday was naďve and impressionable – when he wasn’t being taken advantage of by JC, he was being taken advantage of by someone else. This is not about me. I don’t blame JC for my weakness, if anything I thank him for making me stronger. This is not about me.

It’s about everybody else.

I have dragged Trent Steel, kicking and screaming, out of the sewer because I believe in him. Because I know what he’s capable of. I know that Trent Steel, ten years ago – before The Rogues, before JC got his claws into him – was one of the best wrestlers in the world. And he could be again. I have taken control of Trent Steel’s career not for my benefit, but for his. I will save Trent Steel and in doing so I will make professional wrestling better. We have lost a number of great wrestlers in the past year, along with the OWF. I stayed in order to ensure the survival of professional wrestling. JC stayed in order to further his own career.

The OWF World Heavyweight Championship that JC so publically desecrated was not his to destroy. He never won it in an OWF ring and as far as I am concerned he didn’t beat the real Jesse Williams – the man I knew. He beat a shell of a man, a hollow man decorated in facepaint. A lifesize Jesse Williams action figure. JC is not my champion, nor is he anyone’s champion. JC could never be champion.

Not like CJ Wylde.

CJ Wylde is a phenomenal wrestler – talented in all of the ways that JC so desperately wishes he could be. Had the Outsider Wrestling Federation lived, it is a certainty that he and I would have gone on to do battle, and each left our scars on the other. As it was, CJ Wylde went to the Unified Global Wrestling Coalition and I have been content to let him stay there. I have showed him mercy, allowed him to exist beyond my jurisdiction. I wanted nothing from CJ Wylde; he was no enemy of mine.

But he has been corrupted. Corrupted by a force so malevolent that it pervades itself across promotions. Seeking out the weak-minded and filling their heads with lies. I speak, of course, of JC and his attempts to brainwash the Wyldes – to drag them away from their lives in the UGWC and to bring them here, where they do not belong, to fight against me. To fight for him.

I am accused of being many things. A villain, a sociopath, a monster – and I am all of these things. But I am, and have always been, an honest villain. A truthful sociopath. A trustworthy monster. I am not the two tongued demagogue that the world paints me as, not like JC. JC is everything that I am – but he could never get it done in the ring. And to distract from his increasingly sagging wrestling ability he wears the push-up bra of false friendship – as he has always done. I was never his friend. Specter was never his friend. Trent Steel was never his friend. You, CJ, have never been his friend.

It is not fate that has brought you to stand against Trent and I at Chaos, nor is it your pursuit of justice or doing the right thing. It is not, as you have been led to believe, as straightforward as good vs evil. You have been lied to. You and countless others. The only truth I can tell you, the only truth that matters – JC is more disingenuous than any other that I have encountered. JC is a liar. JC is a manipulator. And JC will be exposed.

It’s just regrettable that you have chosen to stand between us.


Redemption presents…

End Game



A lifetime ago JC hurt me.

He methodically and callously tortured me across all four corners of the canvas and everywhere in between for ten minutes. I was nowhere near the wrestler that he was, and he knew it. For him it was a spar, a ten minute practice bout while he kept in shape for bigger matches. For me it was my career.

We’d wrestled before, of course. In June 2008, the Outsider Wrestling Federation splashed the cash to bring in a number of independent names who had been making waves. The Japanese sensation Akira Kanemura, the ‘urban’ G-Dogg that they hoped would translate into cool markets that had so often evaded the company, the hardcore and exciting daredevil Sythe and JC – then Joe Cool – the only one among the group who truly had ‘star’ written all over him.

And then, as an afterthought, they signed Drake Munday. Not quite Shane Perry – but under the circumstances, he’ll have to do.

Even then I wasn’t keen on the idea. Even then I still had my pride. I didn’t like the thought of being anybody’s afterthought, didn’t like being anybody’s shadow. Not Shane’s – and certainly not Joe’s.

So as soon as I arrived in the OWF, I took the last chip on my shoulder and I used it to bet on myself. I went straight after Joe Cool because I was young, because I was stupid – and because I wanted to make a name for myself. And so in our OWF pay-per-view debut at High Voltage 2008, Joe Cool put me through a table while the commentators laughed.

I was outmatched. I’d bitten off more than I could chew. I’d poked the bear and now I was reaping what I’d sown. He was better than me. He was more experienced than me. And he was willing to do what I wasn’t. But I tried, god damn it. I tried against Joe Cool. And I would continue to try even as the losses mounted, I would continue to try even as the other three men the OWF had signed in mid 2008 floundered and found themselves released. And my continued efforts would land me a ten minute draw against JC on a throwaway Addiction. A ten minute draw that Joe allowed me to have.

And afterwards, the ever gracious, the ever magnanimous Mr Cool congratulated me. He congratulated me in much the same way Jesse Williams would after Drake Munday’s first and only match with him some five years later. JC told me I was worthy of remaining in the OWF, and worthy of his tutelage. Jesse Williams would tell me that I wasn’t a joke anymore, and that I was the future of the OWF, if it had one. And I remember the feeling I had distinctly – it was the same feeling both times. Not pride. Hatred. Because I have always hated to be patronised.

And this is what I have never understood. In the years since, just about everybody has blamed my ruthless ambition, my ego – they’ve said that I got warped and twisted somewhere along the way, that the losses got to me. Some of them say that I’ve just been evil all along. All I ever did – all I continue to do – is the exact same thing we tell our children to do. I kept trying. And if I, or you, or your child keep trying – then Redemption is the end result. What you should have told them, what you should have told me is: Know your role. Know your role and stay there. Make a career out of losing and be content with the paycheck, Drake. A lot of people would kill to have a job in the OWF, even if meant losing all the time.

But nobody did. And so, here we are.

Just like that.


Friday the 13th, November 2015

“He’s older than I am!” I complain loudly. “Jesse Williams was supposed to be the hard part.”

I’m backstage after an exhausting title defence, an elimination triple threat against Jesse Williams and a man that I had been unfamiliar with until tonight: CJ Wylde.

“Well, you beat him.” Trevor, my trainer, is on the other end of the phone – unsympathetic to my plight.

“But I’m supposed to be the best. “ I exclaim into the phone. “I train so hard to be the best. I pay you to train me to be the best. He made me look like a fool out there.”

“He made a fool out of himself, more like.”

He had me. And that’s the scariest part. With an assist from the Violent Society, I was down and out. The title was his. The moment was his. And he didn’t take it. And as much as I’d deny it publicly, if I was in his shoes – I’d have taken the victory.

He’s better than me and he was morals. Maybe that’s a weakness, but I envy him nonetheless. He didn’t have to sacrifice all the things I did and he’s better than me.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” I snap at Trevor. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I hang up, hating myself and everyone else. If I still had The Movement with me then maybe they could have helped me even the odds against Stewart and his cronies – the way they had against Bryan Tann earlier that year. But the World Champion has no friends. Especially not when he’s me.

CJ Wylde.

To tell you the truth, I barely knew who he was. You spend so much time scrambling to stay on top of the mountain that you never have the time to look down to see who’s ascending it. Maybe if I’d been more aware, I’d have known more about him – wouldn’t have gone in so complacent. Focussing on Jesse Williams, focussing on my pay-per-view title defence – just over a week away – against a mystery opponent. Timing, that’s all it was. If I faced him again, prepared – then he’d have no chance.

But those words ringed hollow inside me. I knew how lucky I’d been.

As I wrestled him, I realised that CJ Wylde was no joke. A part of me even thought that he might be the future of the Outsider Wrestling Federation, if it had one. And that didn’t make me respect him, it didn’t make me proud of him – it just made me hate him. Because I would rather die than cede control of the OWF to someone so blatantly better than me. I would rather the OWF die than ever concede it to someone with morals.

I convinced myself that there was no other way. Every time I did something unforgiveable, every time my mind threatened to hint at remorse for what I’d done – I told myself that it was the only way. That to get ahead in a company like the Outsider Wrestling Federation was to forgo all morals and boundaries. The end would justify the means, but the means were always ‘whatever it takes’.

Wrestling CJ Wylde suggested to me that there was another way. That you could be the future, or indeed the present, of the Outsider Wresting Federation without betraying your humanity. And that fact scared me. And from then on, my confident title defences became less confident. My strong foothold atop the mountain became shaky. That night, though I may have ‘won’, was a great defeat for me. CJ Wylde was the beginning of the end.

I have lost the OWF World Title twice in my career and I blame CJ Wylde for both of them.

I hate CJ Wylde.


I’m helping.

For the first time in my life, I’m the good guy.

And I don’t know whether it’s the fact that the ghost of Specter keeps showing up in my bathroom to lecture me or just the fact that I’m getting soft in my old age – but I’m helping and I like it. For once in my life, I’m doing the right thing. I’m being CJ Wylde.

If only CJ Wylde could be CJ Wylde.

I have saved Trent Steel – or at least I have started to. Every day he gets a little stronger, like a malnourished puppy. Every day he becomes a little more of what he once was. I am helping Trent Steel.

I have saved GI – as he rehabilitates his knee free of the all-pervasive influence of his brother he will have time to reflect upon his life and career. He will have time to realise everything I did for him when I shattered his knee with a sledgehammer, and everything that his brother has failed to do for him. I have much to empathise with GI. I, too, have felt the weight of my brother’s shadow – Jamie Munday was among the top independent prospects in the Great Lakes region until his career-ending injury. And I, too, have felt the crippling weight of JC’s shadow as well – fell victim to his manipulations just like everybody else. But I refuse to allow it to happen anymore, to anyone else. This is not about me.

I will save CJ Wylde. I would save anyone. It doesn’t matter what CJ and I have been through, it doesn’t matter that we haven’t got along. To be JC’s bitch is a fate I would not wish upon anyone. There is only one slave in our forthcoming match – and it is not Trent Steel. If only you could see it, CJ. If only you could see the way your mind has been warped. But I suppose if you could, you wouldn’t need my help to rid yourself of JC. Just call me Mr Underground Railroad. Soon you, like Trent Steel, will be free at last.

I came to Carnage Wrestling to destroy Sabiru, but Sabiru is small-time compared to the larger evil that has taken root in the company. JC had come to this pleasant, provincial independent company and turned it on its head. Evil runs amok in this company – bound only to the law JC sets it. Management has lost control, Kyra Mohr is out the door, replaced by a shadowy figure whom I have no doubt resides in the pocket of JC. I hold no attachment to Carnage Wrestling, that much is true. But JC is one of the criminals responsible for the death of the OWF, a crime for which I refuse to allow him pardon – and I refuse to witness him destroy yet another company from within as well.

I once said ‘Everyone is going to fucking pay’, but the price that JC charges is too much. He has taken my message to heart but he has taken it too far. He is a warped, twisted version of myself. He is a warning as to what I may become should I lose clarity of mind and purpose. In many ways, JC is Redemption. But he is Redemption gone wrong. He is evil for the sake of evil. He is worse than I could ever be.

And so I am the good guy. I am the hero. I’m helping. But, like any true hero, I face the adversity of those around me. They do not want to be saved, they tell me. They do not see the danger. JC has changed, they’ll say, you are the problem here – not him. But they’re wrong. They’re brainwashed. They don’t see things as clearly as I do. In the end, when all of this is over, they’ll thank me. When JC is dead and Carnage Wrestling is free, they’ll thank me.

And I have never been thanked before. I have never helped before. I wonder what it will feel like.
"Sabiru doesn't have a Twitter, which is a good thing, because if he did, we're sure it would be scary."

Offline CJ Wylde

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Re: Redemption & Trent Steel vs. CJ Wylde & JC
« Reply #2 on: September 02, 2017, 01:10:59 PM »
People say that it's the razor that cuts the skin.

They see the blade dragging along; picture it in their minds. Metal on flesh, separating; life's essence inevitably trickles out of an infant wound.

But it's not the razor, but its edge – that sharpness – that causes the will of the whole to surrender. The edge of the blade where the metal has been worn down; ground until it's almost not even there.

It's this edge where feel myself stand. It's this edge that I feel where my path has taken me. I stand in a place where balance is a myth, and comfort is a mystery. I've had it all, lost it, and gained it back again... only to do the one thing that I swore I'd never do again.

I've slipped, I've slid. Gravity has carried me one too many times, perhaps. Or perhaps I'm meant to- Just as we can bind together, so too the blade can render us (as simply) incomplete again.

I'm broken, I'm bleeding. I've been that way for a while; but now I'm wondering.

Wondering too, if this is as whole as I can get?

Is this all that I'm destined to become?

CJ Wylde Presents


OWF's Chief Practitioner Preston Christopher has been one of the few doctors that I've been able to trust. Trust is an important thing in any relationship.

Sitting around his office in Phoenix has become a past-time of sorts. To my left, not my wife, but my advocate, William T. Hickerson. To my front, and center, Doctor Christopher, himself. To my right, a monitor showing us my latest x-rays.

“Well as you can see here CJ-” (our relationship had evolved to one of a first-name basis) “-the treatments have had success.”

Hickerson is a man who simply cannot contain his excitement.

“That's a good thing, right?”   

“Yes, and no.”

Christopher x's out of that window, and with a few clicks of the mouse, he shows a new picture.

“Those x-rays were from six months ago. I wanted to show them to you so that you could see the difference between that and this.”

The cloudiness in my lungs looked smaller six months ago. Today, it was back again, almost to where it had been before I had started the high-dose steroid treatments, and I hadn't yet stopped taking them.
“What does this mean?” Hickerson asks stupidly.

I've already put two and two together faster than Christopher's lips can part.

“The treatment is no longer effective.”

Hickerson's eyes widen. He's watching his new meal ticket slip away from him just as quickly as it was gained. The edge of the blade. He looks over at me with that look in his eyes. He's trying to find some emotion, any emotion- but I buried it.

I buried that long ago.

I've sat in many offices. My ass has smashed plush cushions several times. The day that I had to choose which style coffin my first wife and child would be buried in. The day I chose which headstone would be theirs. Then, there was the day of my initial diagnosis, cancer, to which both my wife and I sat in utter horror as the manner of my own death was revealed to us. Then, I sat alone, when I learned that it wasn't cancer, but sarcoidosis that was what was really trying to kill me from the inside out.

But make no mistake about it, I've died.

Several times.

Hickerson turns his plea back to the doctor.

“So what now? What's the alternative? What's the other treatment?”

Christopher shakes his head.

“The best I can do is to continue to monitor the situation.”


“Yes, unfortunately, Mister Hickerson. That's all anyone can do at this point. I'll ask that CJ please stay on his current regimen as I'm not entirely sure that stopping the steroids would be for the best at this point-”

“Hey- I don't want to hear that this is the best that you can do! Don't you know who we're talking about? We're talking about five-time wrestling world champion CJ Wylde, here! You can't just-”

“Mister Hickerson. The disease is causing scar tissue to build up in your clients lungs. If you truly are concerned for CJ, as I am, then perhaps you can convince him to stop wrestling altogether.”

“Stop... wrestling...?” Hickerson blinks. “No. My client would never consider such a thing!”

Christopher turns towards me.

“CJ, please. You've got a lot to think about. You've not only got yourself, but your family to think about. Think about how Lucy feels.” 

That's all I ever do.


“Thank God Carnage Wrestling doesn't give a shit about health. hmm?”

Fresh off of the phone with whom I'd presume to be that new dick that is running things, Hickerson's smile has returned.

“It was fucking misery trying to get you into that stupid match with Dave Rydell. Why in the hell did you want to face him, anyway?”

I don't answer. I just drive.

Luckily for me, a Corvette seats two. That's all I ever have is two – myself and my thoughts... myself and another person who thinks just like me... or at least likes the way that I think.

I'd much rather have Lucy sitting next to me than this smooth-talking money-hungry advocate that does nothing more than facilitate my own conscientious suicidal tendencies. A few weeks ago, it was Dave Rydell calling me out for nothing more than the fact that I'd be a 'challenge'.

I didn't even train.

Yet it was Hickerson's golden lips that said the right words, pushed the right buttons so-to-speak and got my foot back in a closed door that was the UGWC. Unsanctioning the match just so that they wouldn't have to perform their mandatory blood testing on me? Absolute brilliance.

This, however, would be much simpler. Much more precise.

“Whatever. It's all set. In a short while you're going to be teaming up with JC, to take on the team of Trent Steel, and Redemption.”

I sigh.

Perhaps deeper than I've ever sighed before.

“What's wrong, CJ? Come on man, you've got to talk to me.”

The road back to Western Maryland is a long one, and it can get a little treacherous in traffic. Besides that, it makes a great excuse not to talk to anyone about anything.

“This is your big chance. You've been wanting to get your revenge on Redemption; this may be the very last opportunity you get at doing so-”

“Hmmm.” I say.


I've lived and died through so many of those that the premise isn't even funny anymore.


“I get it-”

Hickerson says as he watches me attempt to curl a barbell with approximately 120 pounds on it.

“-I've seen this in you before. In your tapes, those old things you made me watch.”

I turn my head away, grunting.

“You don't really like teaming up with anyone other than Lucy, do you?”

The blade strikes a nerve.

“You don't really like or respect JC, either, despite what he's done?”

Suddenly, I'm bleeding along my own training room floor.

I throw the barbell down to the rubber mats below. Hickerson can't see my blood; it's not the type of life's essence that comes visible to the naked eye. I point a finger at him, but all I end up doing is coughing. It's that nagging smoker's cough that never quite goes away...

Eventually it will, but that will be because I will have no lungs left.

“I dunno, CJ. JC has done a lot for this industry. Like him or not, he stands as the last OWF world champion, so I think that it's a good thing that you got him on your side.”

He's not on my side.

“He's got the talent, the drive... he can take over three-quarters of the match and just tag you in to do what you do best. Clean things up in the end. Look, CJ, I'm not telling you how to live your life, but take my advice on this one thing, alright? Even if you aren't completely motivated for this tag-team match for whatever reason, your partner is. And hey, if you're not really worried about winning and losing and just wanted to get your hands on Redemption one last time, this match couldn't be any more perfect for you.”

Instead of saying anything, I move over to the treadmill. Hickerson follows. I turn the machine on at a jogging pace and I try to tell myself how important cardiovascular health is... considering the lack thereof is going to kill me anyway.

“CJ, you're going to be in the ring with Redemption and with two other guys who hate him just as much as you do. This literally couldn't be any more perfect of an opportunity-”

Except I know it is. More perfect, I see, for Redemption.

Just when it seems like you have the man's back against the wall, you realize that it's where he wanted you all along.


It's a new gravestone... and I don't visit here often.

Not nearly as often as I should, anyway. I think the last time that I was here was for a funeral for a friend. He's buried over on the other side of the hill... and like me... he's guilty of putting himself here.

People don't remember that the night that I won the OWF Championship, Angel was here destroying my family's headstone with a sledgehammer. People don't remember that on the night of what might have been my greatest moment, that he was here digging up my daughter's body by hand with a shovel.

People don't remember it, but then again Redemption doesn't qualify as people.

Angel and Redemption, the last of OWF's Tag Team Champions... married to one another like oil and water. They could never mix, but surely, you'd be hard pressed to separate them once you tried.

Redemption remembers, because he remembers everything. Everything OWF related he remembers vividly; His own OWF Championship reign was the dream that serial killers dream as they sit on death row.

I mocked them... I mocked him... because I lived their dream.

I not only lived their dream, but I took their dream away from them. I took the OWF Championship away, and I held onto it as something precious to me... never quite understanding how precious it was to them.

Redemption is a hollow. A hollow mask.

A mask without a man.

Only I know what Redemption is like because I've been there. I've lived it. Redemption is no more a man than he is an ideal; an experience, or perhaps simply a feeling. A gross feeling of overwhelming emptiness. Redemption is a creation born solely out of that which longed to be greater... a creation forever trying to find wholeness and meaning through the suffering of others. Redemption doesn't just hurt people... he murders them.

Redemption doesn't reside beneath the mask.

Redemption is the mask.

It's fate that brings us all together. Destiny and irony twist and bind... and now Redemption is looking for absolution at the gravestone of the OWF.

Welcome to my world.


If you truly want to finish off what Chase Johnson started, then be my guest.

If you want to seek your absolution, feel free to try.

It is a shame that our world had to die the way that it did. Truly the whimper that none of us could have foreseen. Chaos 41 was not where this all was supposed to end, was it Drake? But you and I, we've got no control over the future... no matter how twisted our sick minds have become.

Look at us... look at you. Teaming up with Trent Steel, while I've got JC. Who would have thought that we'd bastardize ourselves and our legacy to this? Who would have thought that our last clenched fists would be thrown among the rubble of the fucking Rogues?

Jesus Christ. You and I... we need a priest. We need to retire... perhaps Chase Johnson was right. Perhaps it was time to just call it quits – to rip it off like a bandaid – so quick that maybe we wouldn't even feel the pain. But we're hurting still, aren't we? You perhaps more so than anybody. Where's Angel been anyway? Prison? Dead? Does he even care that Drake Munday is trying to perform his farewell tour?

Do you?

For a former kid who once donned a mask to make people care, you sure did make it work the first time. But boy, this attempt is feeble, downright lame. Who are you now, the OWF's grim reaper? Are you donning the mask of 'death' just to justify picking on old man Steel and his kids? Or do you honestly believe that you're capable of writing the very last chapter of OWF lore?

Well, I'm here, Drake.

...and to be honest, I don't even like JC. I don't even care about this match; and if it weren't for the miracles of modern medicine, I'd probably be dead.

But I came here because I want something, too. I want what you've wanted ever since you pulled that mask down over yourself to hide an innocent face. I want what you've needed ever since the mask became the person and the mask started controlling what you are today.

I've come for Redemption.


“What are you going to do when you get out there?”

My music hits. I know that in a few moments, I'll already have overstayed my welcome.

But in a few moments, I'll have Redemption in my hands. And a few moments after that, I'll cut Redemption away from Drake Munday. I'll be the blade that severs the child and his mask.

I turn towards Hickerson and nod.

“I'm going to die.”  I say. “But at least I'll have fun.”

Offline Joe

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« Reply #3 on: September 02, 2017, 04:26:36 PM »
Maybe I'm foolish,
Maybe I'm blind
Thinking I can see through this
And see what's behind
Got no way to prove it
So maybe I'm lying
But I'm only human after all,
I'm only human after all
Don't put your blame on me
Don't put your blame on me

Offline Trent Steel

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