Author Topic: War Games: Team Kyra vs. Team Bridges  (Read 538 times)

Offline Boss Joe

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War Games: Team Kyra vs. Team Bridges
« on: November 14, 2017, 10:11:58 AM »
War Games Match!
Best individual RP wins for their team

1 RP Limit
4000 Word Limit

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Deadline: Sunday, November 26 2017 at 11:59pm Eastern

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Offline Matchwriter Caleb

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A Jury of Your Peers
« Reply #1 on: November 24, 2017, 04:14:46 PM »
Hard Hitting Soft Drink

November 13, 2017

As the Sandtown Kid hurdled over the security railing and into the crowd, he found a somewhat different experience.  This wasn't the first time the Kid had exited through the crowd; the Legion were his people.  Yet normally they crowded in close, clapping hands on his arms and shoulders, as if every part of his body were in need of a High-Five.  Tonight was different; tonight everybody was pulling back, spreading wide to create a path for him, as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea.  It was an odd experience and it left the Kid feeling confused, at least until, like Moses, he looked up and saw the title wave hovering overhead.

It was a cup of soda.  The entire world seemed to hesitate, time slowing to a crawl, so he could watch it while not actually being able to do anything about it.  The cup of soda arced through the air, going black for a moment as the arena lights behind it seemed almost to blind the Sandtown Kid.  Then it began it's descent.  First it tilted sideways.  Then, the soda within the cup sloshed to it's new orientation.  That threw the weight akimbo, and in a moment the cup was flipping end over end, tumbling through the air in it's slow motion descent.  Somewhere during the third rotation, the soda splashed against the plastic lid, this time with enough force to push it open, and thick, dark, syrupy cola sprayed out into the air, spreading around the plummeting cup like a sticky rainfall.

It was probably only sixteen ounces of soda and ice, but as it struck the Sandtown Kid in the side of the head, he felt himself stagger and nearly fall to the floor.  It was only a paper cup and some soda; Silva slept in a mess worse than this on a nightly basis.  Still it hit him like a ton of bricks, perhaps the most devastating blow of his young career.  The cup exploded on impact, spraying over his hair and clothes with the sticky mess.  And then he heard the booes.  The crowd, the Legion, the people he had stood by since his first day with the company, they were booing him.  They were booing the Sandtown Kid.  It was a pain that hurt worse than anything he'd ever suffered in the ring.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed as he was pelted with a half-eaten hot dog. "What's wrong with you people?"

"You suck, STK!" replied an angry voice, "You walked out on your team!"

"No!  It's was freaking Tweever," the Sandtown Kid tried desperately to explain himself, while the tidal wave of trash rained down on him from all angles.  "You don't understand."

"What about Trent Steel?  You bailed on your match!" came the voice of another armchair critic, "We paid money to see you.  You're a fucking coward!"

"Trent told me not to go to the ring," the Sandtown Kid defends himself, swinging upward with a backhand which knocks aside a brown, paper bag approaching him, causing instead an explosion of popcorn to shatter throughout the area.  "And he didn't need me, because he won.  AND when Raab came sticking his ugly nose into things, I still came out to help.  Just because he didn't want me in the match doesn't mean that I'm going to let him get destroyed."

"You're a traitor!" another fan shouted, the earthy smell of hops assaulting Silva's nose as a man behind him outright poured a cup of beer over his head, "You're just trying to get Phoenix hurt so you can take the title back."

"Were you even watching what happened out there?" the Sandtown Kid laments, grimacing as several pieces of ice slip down the back of his shirt following the impact of the beer, "Raab was the one trying to kill Prydor.  He was six inches away from Neckbreak City.  I was out there helping that smug ass-hat."

"It's always about YOU!" came the accusing voice of a woman, splattering him with the hot cheese and crushed chips from a poorly crafted tray of nachos, "Nobody else matters.  Always you, you, you!"

"What are you even talking about?" the Sandtown Kid cried out in a panic.  The crowd was closing in around him, screaming their accusations and pelting him with anything they could get there hands on.  For a brief moment, Silva felt like he almost understood why Gary Altus had hospitalized three fans.  The closer they drew around him, the more bold they grew in their actions, and soon he could feel their hands, not patting him on the back, but pulling at his hair and scratching at his arms.  The Sandtown Kid raced forward, bowling through the crowd and forcing his way back towards the exit, while the audience followed, sending a scattering of hard candy to stick inside his hair and bounce across the floor.  When the Sandtown Kid finally burst free from the crowd and into the hallway, he could hear them at his heels like a pack of wild dogs.

"Kid.  In here," came a rough, baritone voice, a door opening down the hall.  The Sandtown Kid didn't need any more encouragement than that.  In a sprint, he dived into the private dressing room, the door shutting behind him before that rumble of an angry Legion began meandering their way through the corridors, buying merchandise and lingering after the show, while Silva hid himself away from their sight.

"Thanks, man.  You totally..." the Sandtown Kid's voice drifted off, turning eye to eye with the stoic gaze of Jack Michaels.  Michaels smiled and the canyons of wrinkles painted across his brow.

"There's nothing wrong with a little professional courtesy," Michaels explained, shaking his head as he looked the mess of a boy up and down, "Looks like you've seen better days."

Silva sighed.  "They hate me now," he said, sounding utterly defeated, "After everything I've done for them, they still hate me."

Michaels nodded in understanding.  "Well, Kid," he asked in a calm, non-judgemental tone, "Do you think you did the right thing?"

"It was Tweever!" Silva groaned, "After everything he put me through, everything he's done, they really expect me to just forget everything and let it all go?  He's been trying to turn the Legion against me for over a year, and he finally figured out how to do it:  with a God-damned handshake."

"Do you think you did the right thing?" Michaels repeated, looking the Sandtown Kid sternly in the eyes.

"I...  I don't know," the Sandtown Kid hesitated, "They all-"

"Not 'they'.  You.  Do YOU think you did the right thing?" Michaels insisted, "Forget about everybody else for a minute.  Forget the crowd.  Forget Mohr, and War Games, and the rest of your Reject Brigade.  Do you, the kid with the hair, think what you did out there was wrong?  Do you regret it?  Do you wish you would have stood there by them?  Would you do it again?"

"If I had it to do over..." the Sandtown Kid considered thoughtfully, shaking his head from side to side, "If I had it to do over, I wish I would have punched Tweed in his big, stupid face."

Michael cracks the faintest amount of a smile.  The kid had spunk, that was for sure.  Michaels slapped the kid across the back, causing him to snap upright at attention instead of hanging his head in shame.  "Then there's your answer," Michaels offered with encouragement, "When you fight, you fight for you.  It makes no difference what anybody else thinks, as long as you're doing what you think is right.  There is only one person in this whole damn world needs to look at you with respect, and he's standing right there."  Michaels placed a hand over Silva's shoulder, turning him around to face the locker room mirror.  "Don't let anyone else dictate who you can, or can't, be.  You be you.  And anybody who doesn't like you for that?  They weren't worth your time to begin with."

Lucas Silva took a long, hard look in the mirror.  Staring back at him, he saw the Sandtown Kid, a version of himself that was bold and fearless, who always spoke his mind and never backed down from anything.  He saw years of second-hand clothes, and cold nights in lock-up, of sacrifice and suffering and loneliness.  He saw a boy who had grown up without anyone ever there to guide or encourage him, without ever getting a thoughtful word from a loving parent, and he realized that man had never needed anyone else's approval before, so why should it matter now?  The world had always treated Silva like a piece of trash to be discarded:  given up by his parents, bounced from home to home, locked away in a cell so that Baltimore could pretend people like him didn't exist.  Silva had stood defiantly against the world since his birth.  He never could be like all those people, watching Chaos from their comfortable couches in their moderately priced suburban homes.  He never could, and he never would want to.  He was a Sandtown kid since birth, and he would be the Sandtown Kid until the day he died.  "Yeah," Silva finally agreed, opening the locker room door to leave, "I know exactly what I gotta do.  Thanks, Jack.  I appreciate it."

"Give 'em hell, Kid," Michaels encouraged him, giving the Sandtown Kid another slap on the back as he ushered him out of the locker room, "And get a damn haircut.  You look like an idiot."

"No," the Sandtown Kid said, flashing Michaels a big smile, "Nobody tells me what to do."


Three Minutes Earlier

Kyra had been livid as soon as Chaos went off the air.  Silva was storming off through the crowd, turning his back on his teammates, and Kyra was in hot pursuit.  For Will Prydor, however, there was a brief moment of indecision.  He was already cautious about signing himself on for War Games, especially when his previous experience with the subject had resulted in members of his own team crippling his partner, softening him up so they could steal away his title.  Losing those tag belts had been rough, but seeing the Ice Man laid out by people they had trusted, that was a lesson that hit even closer to home.  The Sandtown Kid had lived and breathed for the Ultraviolent Title, and Prydor had beat him and taken it away fair and square, in a decidedly one sided match.  There was no debate, no questionable finish, no doubt on the minds of anyone:  Will Prydor was simply superior to the Sandtown Kid.  Yet the boy had held the title long enough to warrant a rematch, and he hadn't even made a mention of it.  That could only mean one of two things.  Either the Sandtown Kid had accepted defeat and realized he had no chance of beating Prydor, or he had some sort of scheme up his sleeve to see a rematch where the conditions of a 'fair fight' could be removed long enough for a potentially different outcome.

Will had felt so positive that Silva was setting him up, and when Silva left Trent high and dry for their match, that only cemented it.  Except then it all got turned on it's head.  When Bridges' team started to rally at ringside to ensure they won advantage, Silva was the very first one there in defense of Trent Steel.  Part of Will was disgusted, feeling as though Silva should have been there all along; but part of him had to admit that it was Trent who had demanded to fight the match alone, and Silva's response time certainly suggested that he was watching out for his partner, even if he wasn't right there by his side.  Trent Steel came to the ring with something to prove, and Silva had let him prove it.  Maybe in some sort of bizarre street-tough way, this was Silva's attempt at showing respect, honoring a partner's wishes instead of doing what he wanted for himself.

And then there was the moment at ringside.  Lord Raab had hiked Prydor up and over the ropes, dropping him backwards from the apron with a  German suplex.  For a brief moment, Prydor saw his life flash before his eyes, memories of Jesse Williams spiking him in the ring and breaking his neck.  Prydor had vehemently avoided any sort of climbing or risky moves since that day, and yet there he was, arcing through the air, in the hands of a German monster who was about to drop their combined five hundred plus pounds squarely on the back of Will's head.  He had braced himself for that nightmarish feeling again of being trapped in his own body, unable to move.  But it never came.  Instead it was the Sandtown Kid who had thrown himself underneath Raab, taking the impact of their fall over his knees and stopping Raab short just before Will made contact with the cement floor.  If the Kid had wanted Will out of commission, all he had to do was stand back and do nothing.  But he didn't.  He risked himself and saved Will, and those were not the actions of a traitor who was looking for a short-cut.

"I've got to find the Kid," Prydor told his teammates, stepping through the ropes and hustling up the ramp, on a mission to scour the arena until the Kid turned up.  "Shouldn't be too hard; he practically lives here."  Backstage, Prydor headed straight for the stage crew.  It was a commonly known fact that Silva had been hired on as a stagehand, and even on nights when he was competing, he still showed up hours early to help set up chairs and hang the lighting equipment.  Prydor hurriedly pushed his way through the crowds of people, finding the crew booth and tucking his head inside.  There were a half-dozen people there, waiting for the Legion to file out so they could set about their clean-up detail, but no sign of Silva.  "Any of you seen Lucas?" Prydor asked hopefully.

"Nah," a heavy set, middle aged man replied, "But when you find him, sock him one for us.  Bridges cut our health insurance.  We were counting on the Kid to get Bridges out of here, but he up and walks out on all of us.  What an asshole."

Prydor winced.  He wanted to defend the kid, to tell his friends that it wasn't how it looked, but he didn't have the time.  He needed to find Silva, and find him fast.  Before Kyra did and one of them said something that couldn't be taken back.  Will ducked back out of the crew pit, racking his brain for what little he knew of the rookie.  The Timekeeper!  Silva was always hanging out with that big Finnish timekeeper.

Will weaved in and out of the fans as the crowd slowly began to disperse, cutting a path to the door of the staff exit just in time to see it open, the towering figure of Boy having to crouch to make it through the doorframe.  "Excuse me," Will approached him, tugging at the large man's arm, "Have you seen Silva?  I wanted to talk to him for a second."

"The cold wind blows through the trees of orange," Boy replies, "And snow gathers over Mother's grave.  Dylan-"

"Nevermind," Prydor interrupts him dismissively, instead ducking his head to see around the timekeeper, just to ensure Lucas wasn't following by his side.  Talking to Boy would be slightly less useful than just shouting Lucas's name really loud.  Nobody understood the Finnish lug, and Prydor simply did not have the time to play twenty questions.

"Who else does he even talk to?" Prydor struggled, racking his brain for anything that could clue him in on the whereabouts of the mouthy young upstart.

"I can't believe what an asshole STK was being," Prydor overhead from one of the straggling members of the crowd, "The week before Ultimate Carnage and he just up and bails.  I already bought my tickets and everything."

Will was about to cut the man off, to defend his partner and crush the rumors before they could even start, when it suddenly hit him like a city bus.  The fans!  Nobody cared about the crowd as much as Lucas Silva; the kid actually knew half of the front row by name.  Surely he'd be hanging out near the exit, signing autographs and posing for pictures.  That's what the Kid did.  Prydor circled his way through the halls again, making another half-lap around the arena while he surveyed each of the main exits.  No sign of Silva.  Towards the rear of the building, the posters for Ultimate Carnage were already up, sporting the faces from both teams in as much as they had been announced prior to tonight's edition of Chaos.  And there was some punk kid with a sharpee, inking a stupid mustache and devil horns over the picture of Silva's face.  "Hey!" Prydor shouted.  The boy glanced back over his shoulder and then bolted, afraid he was in some sort of trouble.  Most of the crowd had already filed out, and the few stragglers around the merch tables gave no indication they had seen Silva.  Prydor sighed.  He wanted to apologize, to right the wrongs and offer up his thanks to a boy the rest of the world seemed to have abandoned, but it seemed as though it was too late.

Then a door swung open behind Prydor and he heard the very voice he had been hoping for.  "I know exactly what I gotta do.  Thanks Jack.  I appreciate it," Silva announced, walking out of the Paragon locker room with Jack Michaels patting him on the back.

"Give 'em hell, Kid," Michaels offered in encouragement, both men smiling as they exchanged friendly verbal jabs.  The world broke to pieces and came crashing down around Will Prydor.  There he was, the Sandtown Kid, caught red-handed collaborating with the enemy.  Joining Kyra, helping Trent, even saving Will, must have all been part of some elaborate ruse.  Will turned away disgusted.  At least Kyra had promised when the Kid turned traitor, she wouldn't stop Prydor from giving him what he deserved.  Lucas Silva could not be trusted, but Prydor had an ace up his sleeve.  He knew the truth about the Kid, and if the Sandtown Kid made the mistake of stepping into that cage at Ultimate Carnage, Prydor was going to make him pay for everything he had done.

While Carnage Burns

November 23, 2017

There is a tale that Roman Emperor Nero played the fiddle high atop his tower, while the good people of Troy were engulfed in flames beneath him.  The story is false; Troy burned in 64AD while the fiddle wasn't invented until the sixteenth century.  Instead, it could be say that Nero 'fiddled' while Rome burnt.  He became distracted from what was important, focused on matters of no consequence, and as result good people suffered while he 'fiddled around' doing what constituted no importance.

The Sandtown Kid had watched as Kyra was pushed out by a moronic board of directors who failed to see how much she had built from Dr. Winn's fledgling vision, and stood back while Jason Bridges was erected in her place.  When he should have been rallying the Legion and pushing for real changes, he allowed himself to be distracted, trying hopelessly to stand in the way of CON becoming the most dominant force in Carnage history.  Accompany that with his one man campaign to secure Boy's place in the Hall of Legends, and the fires of Bridges had burned unchecked for too long, while the Sandtown Kid had only fiddled.

Sitting on the roof of the Carnage Arena, looking down on the streets of Baltimore, the Kid unpacked the brown paper sack containing his lunch:  corner store sliced turkey, stuffed into crushed hot dog buns, and topped with a disposable packet's worth of mustard.  "Happy Thanksgiving, Boy," Silva toasted, tapping his sandwich his friend's as though they were clinking glasses.  "I'm thankful for one real friend."

"Snow gathers cold over mother's grave," Boy replies, "Dylan is not the only brother."

"Thanks, Boy," Silva says meekly, hanging his head, "You know, it's funny.  Even after Megan found my old man, I still feel like you're more family to me than anybody I'm really related to.  You and me, together, to die Tweever.  You actually get me."  Silva took a bite of his grade D deli turkey sandwich, enjoying what was sadly the closest thing he had ever known to a real family holiday.

Boy inhaled one of Silva's gas station caliber turkey sandwiches in a single bite, then placed an arm around his friend.  "When oranges blossom after midnight, make applesauce," Boy encouraged him.  Silva grinned.

"I know.  I know," Silva admitted, "It'd be nice to finally take down CON.  Maybe get a bit of payback against Paragon.  And hell knows Bridges deserves to get his.  But honestly, how can they expect me to team with these guys?  With Tweeder?  Kyra's probably the only one in that match who doesn't deserve an ass-beating."

"Tweever dies a thousand deaths," Boy agrees, "Children of grapes call the bells."

"When you're a kid in Sandtown, you grow up learning how to fight," Silva explained, "What you don't learn is how to trust people, or forgive the guys that screw you over.  You never learn how to bend over and take it when things just suck, or how to keep your mouth shut when some self-important asshole tries to tell you what to do.  All we do is work for what we want, earn everything we have, and fight to keep it once we got it.  Honestly, man, how do I just work with those guys?"

Boy sat thoughtfully, stroking over his chin.  "Ray Lewis?" he asked.

Ray Lewis was arguably the greatest Baltimore Raven of all time.  He was also accused of murder, which although it made most people skittish, Silva could still empathize with.  Maybe he did it; maybe he didn't.  Silva knew there were always two sides to any story.  Ultimately though, Lewis reached a plea deal where he testified against two of his good friends, blamed everything on them, and got off with little more than a fine.  Lucas Silva had spent five years locked up in the Baltimore Juvenile Justice Center, but even before that, as far back as he could remember, he knew that snitching was wrong.  A real man never tells, no matter what.  You pay the price for what you've done, and you stand by your friends.  After a stunt like that, how could anyone ever trust Lewis again?  But when Lewis walked back into the Ravens locker room, what did the Ravens do?  They won the damn Superbowl.  "Yeah," Silva begrudgingly admitted, "Ray Lewis.  I don't have to like them, but I can still carry them to a win.  And if somebody ends up needing killed.."

"Ray Lewis?" Boy asked.

"Die Tweever," Silva agreed.
Building a good story is like building a car:  it takes more than one moving piece.  Your opponent is not an enemy that you need to work against, but a partner that you need to work WITH, so that together you can build the best possible story you both can make.

Offline Webmistress Barbie

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« Reply #2 on: November 24, 2017, 08:43:04 PM »
November 13th 2017
Chaos 45 – Post Main Event

“I took it, 'cause even though those guys are a part of the problem, they aren't actually the cause of it.  But, if you think I am ever climbing into a ring with mother-loving Tweever, then clearly you're not as smart as either of us thought.”

Apparently this idiot Kid doesn't quite understand that he's supposed to be insulting the other team, not the people who he's going to expect to have his back in a couple of weeks inside Wargames.  Him and his snarky little attitude... If I weren't feeling so angry, I'd think his rebellious little stance across from the three of us was endearing... Maybe even adorable, the way his unruly hair flies away from his face like his common sense flies away from his brain.. the way his eyes look as if he's trying to set us all on fire as he speaks...

It's cute.

It's cute except for the fact that we're all a lot more dangerous than he is, and the little fucker just called me stupid.  I don't know if insulting the woman who handpicked him to be the first person on her team is the best idea.  And insulting the three other men who are to be helping him and I?

God help us.

I turn my head and sigh as Tweeder slides into the ring under the bottom rope and moves towards Silva.  Great.  I move in behind Tweeder, wanting to be close just in case he and Silva decide to create a little Wargames of their own... Surprisingly enough, Tweeder lowers his weedwhacker and extends his other hand towards the Kid.  Who knew Tweeder had a little bit of a nice streak?

I mean, I did.. but I don't admit that to anyone because fuck that guy sometimes.

He holds his hand out for Silva, who just glares up into his eyes.  This doesn't look promising.

“As I recall it, you still owe me a favor.”

Tweeder says, his voice barely picked up by the mic in Kids hand.  I move around Tweeders side in time to see Silva shaking his head as he drops the mic and backs away from Tweeder and the rest of us.  God damnit.  I come to stand beside Tweeder, the two of us watching as Silva drops to the mat and rolls out of the ring, moving to and over the barricade and out into the crowd.

I sigh, raking my hands through my hair as I turn towards Tweeder, bringing my arms down to my chest and crossing them there, trying to make my frustration as obvious as possible.

“Was that supposed to help?”

He shrugs his shoulders and I turn my attention to my other two teammates who obviously want nothing to do with this little skirmish.  Will made me promise earlier tonight that I wouldn't let Silva cheap shot him at Wargames – and that I wouldn't get in the middle of it if he did happen to get past me.  I've got Tweeder and Trent who I don't know if they're going to team together beautifully, or they're going to end up ripping each other apart for the fun of it.  Not to mention my own issues with Tweeder, and well.. Silva's apparent issues with every single other member of this team...

It's like I put together a team of the most fucked up individuals I could find, and now I'm expecting them to put all their issues aside for this one match... I'm expecting them to be able to work together towards a common goal and to have no issues with this arrangement at all.

I'm making promises that I'm praying I can keep.

I'm signing checks that I'm not sure my ass can cash.

But damnit... I need this.

I look out into the crowd, watching that unruly afro shrinking into the distance and I know that I can't let it end like this.  I can't let all of this fall apart before it even begins.

I move towards the ropes, falling over the middle one; landing on the ground.  I hop the barricade and push through the Legion, trying to make up distance on Silva before he made it outside and I lose him.  We're not leaving tonight like this.  I don't care what that little prick says.


I yell out over the crowd, seeing him step out into the backstage, the crowd pressing in around me.  By the time I reach the main hallway, I've lost sight of him.  I'm accosted by fans for just long enough to hear everyone else also agree how truly fucked we are, but then I finally catch a break of luck.  I see Silva out the corner of my eye, pushing his way through an exit and into the chilly Baltimore air.

I speed up, running towards the exit and pushing through the door and almost immediately regretting it as the cold air whips around my body.  I look both ways, trying to find him among the crowd that's already gathered outside, and luckily enough I see him walking towards the street.  I take off, knocking into a few members of the Legion who are more interested in stopping me for a picture or whatever in the fuck they want – but I ain't got time for that shit.


I yell out again, once I'm only a few feet behind him.  The little bastard ignores me though and keeps stomping his way towards the street.  I swear to God that it's going to be hard to choose between talking some sense into this kid or beating his ever-loving ass.


I scream into the back of his head as I grab him by the arm and turn him around.

“What the hell is your problem?!”

He sets his jaw as he pulls his arm out of my grasp.  I clench my fists, getting ready to knock this kid out and find myself another member of this team. 

Can't do that, Kyra... You need this kid.  You believe in this kid.

“Talk to me Kid, because I'm this close to--”

“This close to what?!  Knocking me on my ass?!  Then do it!”

I grit my teeth and dig my shoes into the sidewalk.  He just doesn't even know how much I'm holding back right now... my blood is boiling.  If he keeps it up I'm not going to be able to stop myself from what he's trying to goad me into doing.

“I don't want to do that.”

I say between my teeth.

“What the fuck are you thinking, Kid?”

“I ain't going to team up with that Butt-Trumpet, Tweeder.  It's bad enough you put those other two on the team.”

I roll my eyes.

“You do realize that one of those two is the man who took YOUR title, right?  And the other is-”

“Trent Steel, yeah.. Got it.”

“Don't fucking interrupt me, Kid.  You have no right to put them down, have you taken a look at yourself in the mirror lately?”

He moves backwards, shaking his head.

“I ain't got a mirror at my place.”

I close my eyes.  Jesus this kid is an idiot.

“I didn't mean literally.  I mean you know, you're not the most liked person around here either.  Didn't you hear the condition that Will gave me before he joined the team?”

He nods his head.

“They don't fucking trust you either, Silva.. but they're willing to put their shit aside to fight Bridges.  I'd of thought with as much shit as you talk, that you'd be willing to do the same... That's why I fucking picked you to begin with.  So why don't you stop being a little Bitch and help me get my match with Bridges so we can end this bullshit.  Prove to everyone that you're not a fucking Kid anymore.”

He glares at me, shooting daggers from his eyes.

"You know what kind of a guy I am; that's why you came to me first.  I didn't give conditions, and I ain't taking orders.  I don't got to prove nothing to nobody.  I'm going to show up to Ultimate Carnage, and I am doing to do what needs done."

He shoves his hands into his pockets, turning away down the cold Baltimore streets.  The Kid was walking, wasn't even wearing a coat, but he moved with his head held high, full of pride.  Little fucker looks like a younger me.

"Does that mean I can count on you?"

He doesn't even turn his head back towards me.

"If you knew me, you'd know the answer to that."

He can't even give a straight answer.  Everything with this kid has to be a fight.  And then it occurs to me, maybe that's exactly the answer I was looking for.

November 14th 2017
Robbie's Bar – Sparrows Point, Maryland

“How's baby girl?”

I ask, leaning into the bar as the barkeep pours me a glass of whiskey. 

“She's fine.  How are you doing?”

I roll my eyes, taking a quick sip of my drink – letting the liquid burn down my throat before I even bother with a response.  How in the hell does he think I'm doing?  I don't know, I just revealed my entire team and one of them walked out on us...

I see something familiar out the corner of my eye, a familiar unkempt pile of black hair and an equally unkempt beard on that all too familiar face.  I turn my head to look at him, fully expecting him to still be brandishing that weed whacker that he loves to carry around.  He and I make eye contact as I finally respond to my husbands question.

“I'm just peachy, John.”

“You don't have to be a bitch all the time you know.”

I smile as Tweeder walks over to me and sits down, motioning to the bartender for another round.

“As a matter of fact, I do.  Listen, I have to go.  I'll talk to you later.”

He says something into the phone, but I've already got it in my lap, pressing the end button before I can actually hear what he's saying. 

“How is JD, by the way?”

Tweeder asks as the bartender places a glass in front of him, filling it before moving to mine and refilling it.  Tweeder wastes no time in grabbing his and downing the contents in one shot and well, I'm not about to be outdone, so I do the same. 

“Wonderful.  How'd you find me here?”

“You're not that hard to find.”

He doesn't even bother looking in my direction as he demands another shot and disposes of it as quickly as he did the first.

“Damn shame.  What do you want?”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“Did you talk to the kid?”

I scoff and down my own glass before slamming it down on the bar.

“Yeah.  Says he doesn't want to be on a team with a.....”

I grimace.  There's no way I'm saying 'Butt-Trumpet' out loud.  I don't even know where the little prick got that at.  Jesus fucking Christ... say Dickhead or fuckwad like the rest of us.

“..An asshole like you.  Can't say that I blame him though.”

Tweeder is an asshole.  Biggest asshole I've ever met in this industry, and that's saying a lot considering the amount of dickhead I've encountered since being in Carnage this go around.

“So you think he's going to show up?”

I shrug and stare at my empty glass. 

“I hope so, or else I'm going to go find his scrawny little ass and--”

“Gonna have to get in line for that, Kyra.”

I can't help but laugh out loud.  He can't be serious.

“We can fight over it later... IF he fucks us over...”

I hate admitting it, but I believe in that kid and well, that's saying a lot since I don't believe in my own husband, or my own sister half the time. 

“What did you mean when you said that he owes you a favor?”

I ask, motioning to the barkeep for another round.  Knowing Tweeder, this could mean anything... and I'm sure I'm going to need a drink in order to hear the explanation. 

“He just owes me for getting him to Japan.”

My eyebrows raise.

“You're the one that got him there?”

Tweeder nods.

“Kid doesn't have an ID, a passport... None of that.  How'd you expect him to get to Japan for Underground this past year?”

“Listen, I just owned the joint... It was up to my employees to figure out their travel arrangements and if Lucas wanted to risk boarding the Tweeder express... more power to him.”

A shit eating grin crosses his lips as we take another shot.

“So you're telling me that you wouldn't--”

“Not on your life.  I might be stupid, but I'm not that stupid.”

We both chuckle.  Who would have ever thought, Tweeder and I – sharing a drink, laughing... actually getting along for once in our lives.  I mean it's happened before, so I knew it was possible but still.  He and I have always had our differences and I suppose we always will...

At the end of the day, I knew he'd always step up to help me do what's right.. even if his methods aren't exactly the best. 

“Your loss.”

I just shake my head and let the silence settle between us for a few minutes, which doesn't prove to be the best of ideas – my thoughts take over and I start thinking about this team and whether or not we can all make this work out... if we can all somehow get along for this one night, this one match – all in the name of getting me a match against Bridges. 

Is it worth it? 

Will they think it's worth it to risk themselves just to help me... someone who hasn't really shown in the past that she gives much of a shit about them.  I've got a lot of repenting to do... and I don't know if it'll be enough to keep this team together. 

“You're thinking about something.”

His voice pulls me from my thoughts and I glance over at him, realizing that in the time since he spoke last, our glasses have magically refilled.  I nod my head and down my shot.

“I'm always thinking about something, you should know this.”

“You're going to get your match, even if we have to fight them without Silva.”

I reach out and touch the glass, feeling the slight chill of it creep up into my finger.  How is it that he knows exactly what I'm thinking about?

“Let's hope it doesn't come to that.  Also, let's hope that this team doesn't decide to tear one another apart before we can rip Bridges' team apart.”

November 24th 2017
The Mohr Residence – Pensacola, Florida

There's a lot to be thankful this year, folks.  Wouldn't you say?  I mean come on... Twitter is full of half naked bodies to look at and Carnage Wrestling is full of whiny little Bitches to beat up.  How could life get any better, honestly? 

Well, that's a great question – and I'm sure we all know the answer to it. 

Team Kyra, winning against Team Bridges at Ultimate Carnage 3.  I know everyone's been saying that my team is primed and ready to implode at any moment and it's true.  I'm pretty damn sure that anyone on this team has the potential to seriously fuck up anyone elses day... myself included.  I also know I'm putting a whole hell of a lot of faith in these four men to not do what I'm sure they'd like to do to the other members of this team. 

Lucas.  I don't like the way you walked out of Chaos the other day.  I don't like it one bit.  Just because you don't wanna compete on the same side as Tweeder.  You don't want to compete with any of your team, really.. but Tweeder was the tipping point, huh?  Lets be honest here, Lucas.. Does anyone actually want to be on Tweeder's side?  Come the fuck on, Kid.  Grow up and quit letting your tag partners opinion of the Ultraviolent Icon cloud your own already skewed judgment.   

Speaking of skewed judgment... Let's talk about your issues with Trent while we're on the hardcore spectrum, Hmm?   You believed Megan Harris, much like the rest of us did when she accused Trent of beating her up.  But you took it one step further, Kid.  You championed her cause, you actively tried to tarnish that mans name because why, exactly?  Did you think Megan was going to give you a piece if you did?  Boy, you wouldn't know what to do with a piece of ass if one fell straight into your lap.

So yeah – to say that your teammates have issues with you, is an understatement, sweetie.  And I haven't even gotten to the best one.

You're teaming up with the man who took your Ultraviolent title from you.  I bet that just eats at you too, doesn't it?  A man who prides himself on his use of technical wrestling, a man who consciously stays away from the more hardcore aspects of this industry... How in the world could he have out wrestled you, Lucas?  How in the world could I have picked him?  Yeah.  You don't like him. 

Well, suck it up, buttercup.  Life isn't always fair, and sometimes you gotta do shit you don't like. 
I mean come on, the rest of your team is pretty damn familiar with the whole 'life isn't fair' mentality.

And no, I'm not saying that the rest of this team isn't filled with issues... but as I recall, the rest of us stood together... united in that ring at Chaos 45 while you walked out, Kid.  That doesn't look too good in my eyes, or the eyes of your teammates.  We're all obviously willing to put our shit aside for the greater good, and now that you've gone and thrown your little temper tantrum...

Well... are you going to prove everyone wrong or are you going to prove yourself no better than the man you told me you were going to help me beat. 

Speaking of...

Hi, Jason.

I bet you're watching this whilst beating off, thinking about how wonderful it's going to be to watch your team pummel mine.  I bet you're seeing it right now in your head... Me, bloodied and beaten – a shell of my former self... the only one left, watching me lose - one, two...... three.  Feeling that rush of relief wash over your body, knowing that you won't have to face me.. knowing that I failed to reach my goal.  Knowing that you showed everyone what I really am... a loser

Well, Jason... That's quite the fantasy you've got there. 

And in any other circumstance, I'd say you've got a very, very good chance at beating me and my team come Ultimate Carnage 3... but you see, I've got so much more to fight for than you do, than ANY of your team does.  Team Kyra has so much more to lose if your team ends up beating ours...

But that's not happening.

You've put together a kickass team though.  Gotta give you credit there.

I mean, as much credit as I can give you..  You did put CON on your team.

Hi, boys.. 

You gonna pull Jason's cock out of your mouth long enough to insult me some more?  Tell me, does one of you suck it while the other licks his balls?  Do you switch it up every now and again, or does Jason prefer it if you each stick to your area of expertise? 

You two really do crack me the fuck up though.  Two of OWF's lower class rejects coming into Carnage and trying to act like you've got anything here to really fight for.  You went from being two little fish in a GIANT pond to the same two little fish in a smaller pond full of giant fish..  You're going to be eaten alive, boys.  Congratulations for finding something to stand up for though, it's nice to see that while you're horrifyingly wrong... you're still willing to make yourselves look like absolute jackasses in order to stand up for your wrong opinion.

Let's move on, shall we? 

Bridges outdid himself when he drafted Lord Raab onto his team, don't ya'll think?  He's big.  He's scary.  He's strong.  He's everything that Jason Bridges is not.  I mean I guess that's the point, isn't it?  Bridges doesn't want to fight me, doesn't want to ultimately lose his job, so he got himself a team of people who weren't like him because he's a pussy.

Isn't that right, Raab?  How does it feel to side with that pussy?  How does it feel to lower yourself to being Jason Bridges little lap dog, conceding to all of his commands like you don't have a single independent thought of your own.  Think about that the next time he tells you what to do, or the next time he treats you like a fucking slave.

You're better than that, or at least I thought you were. 

Far be it from me to judge.

Last but certainly not least, though.. for Team Bridges are two people I never thought I'd see siding with the boss.  Well, make that one person because Jack, you look like someone who knows he's past his prime and well, you can't help but to grasp at anything to make yourself relevant again.  Sorry, darling but it's true.  You place your judging gaze upon me, and you tell yourself that I don't know, that I don't understand what Wargames is, that I don't get that this match could possibly end my career... that I think this is all a game.

A game, Hmm?

Let me give you a bit of a history lesson, Sweetie.  I owned this place.  I owned Carnage Wrestling until the network decided that I wasn't a good fit around here anymore.  Cue your esteemed team leader in to take my place.  Granted, I wasn't the best boss in the world, but I always gave a fuck about this place and that's why I'm fighting so damn hard right now to get Bridges out of here. 

I fucked up.  I've fucked up a lot and now I'm trying to fix my mistakes and if you get in my way, Grandpa?  I'm going to put you out of your misery because this is the furthest thing from a game to me.  This place is my livelihood and this place is my fucking home.  You don't get to call it that.  Not until you've fought, cried and bled for Carnage Wrestling. 

Man up and then maybe we can talk.  K?

Amber... It's a damn shame that we've found ourselves on opposite sides of this match.  I didn't expect to see you standing across from me in this fight, you being one of the very few people that I find anything in common with.  You and I, we're cut from the same cloth and I do look forward to showing the rest of these losers what true violence looks like.  I know you won't hold nothing back, and I hope you know that I'm going to throw everything I've got at you... because I can't lose this, Amber.

I hope you understand that.

I hope there are no hard feelings after I put your team down, because I can't lose.  I won't.   I've let Carnage Wrestling down enough in the past, I'm not doing that anymore.  So watch out Team Bridges.  Bring your best, and bring even more than that because you're going to need it.

Offline Will Prydor

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    • From the Ashes: the Trials and Tribulations of Will Prydor
Will Prydor: War is Hell
« Reply #3 on: November 24, 2017, 09:18:42 PM »
Aberdeen High School—Aberdeen, Maryland
June 3, 1964

“We did it!  No more school!  It’s time to celebrate!”

“No more Mrs. Roberty?  Thank you Jesus!”

As his fellow recent graduates whooped and hollered and celebrated, Donald Prydor, two months into his nineteenth year of life, looked around the bleachers one more time, hoping that this time he’d actually see his parents in attendance.  Once more, he was disappointed, which made the decision he had made a few weeks ago look even better from his perspective.

“Hey, Don!  Wanna go hit the New Ideal tonight?  I heard that Janice is gonna be there, and she was asking about you!”

“…no.  Not tonight.  Tonight I need to finish packing.  I leave in two days.”

“Leave? Hey, we just graduated high school!  We should be having fun, not turning into adults already!”

Donald just shook his head.  They didn’t understand.  They never would.  “Eddie, there’s bigger issues out there than avoiding turning into adults.  Have you even been keeping up with everything in Asia that’s going down?”

“Oh, the slant-eyes?  It’s their fight, why is LBJ dragging us into it?”

Donald sighed at this.  “Because it’s the right thing to do, Eddie.  Otherwise the Reds are going to get stronger.”

“Man, you don’t know shit about that!”

Donald had no retort for that.  Shaking his head, he patted Eddie on the shoulder and turned around to turn in his cap and gown.  It was going to be a long five-mile bike ride back to his family’s home. Once more, he put hope into the possibility of something…anything…happening, knowing all too well that those hopes, like everything else in his life, were going to be crushed mercilessly.


Skies above South Vietnam
February 2, 1968, 1:45 a.m. local time

“Soldiers!  Prepare for drop!”

The words barely registered in Donald Prydor’s head as he automatically stood up, M16A1 firmly strapped diagonally to his chest as the rest of his fellow soldiers in the 101st Airborne did likewise.  They were being dropped near the point of combat, sent in to reinforce the 82nd Airborne who had encountered more difficulty than expected in clearing out a pocket of VCs that had razed a few smaller hamlets outside of Saigon.  This would be Donald’s fifth time in actual combat, and the first since being promoted to Major.  This was everything he had wanted when he signed up after graduation almost four years ago.  A chance to serve his country, to fill his patriotic desires.  A chance to travel the world and face his country’s enemies wherever they may be.  A way to get out from the boring-ass small farm life that his family was content with.

So why did it feel like a part of him was dying every day?

The lights in the bottom of the plane went red, and the time for thought was over.  It was time to do what every soldier strived to do.  Survive.

This was war, after all.


It had all gone horribly wrong.

Charlie had seen them coming, and were ready.  A full third of their squad were mowed down within seconds of landing.  Donald had gotten lucky, being shot in the left leg but the bullet missing his femoral artery.  The numbness he thought he had felt on the plane was gone, replaced by the icy chill of fear fighting with the stabbing lightning of pain as he forced himself to use his wounded leg to help support him.  A rustling to his left caught his attention, and he turned, bringing his machine gun to bear on the source of the noise and squeezing the trigger of his M16A1.  A stream of bullets came out of the rifle, and the sound of a body hitting the ground was barely audible in the midst of the firefight happening around him.  Movement came from his left and he attempted to spin to face the new potential threat, but his leg decided to give out on him at that point and he fell unceremoniously to the dirt, biting back a growl of pain.

It turned out that his leg giving out was a blessing in disguise, as the figure turned out to be one of his squadmates.  “Come on, Prydor, let’s go! You’re not going to die today!”

Donald forced himself onto a knee, raising an arm to let the soldier lift him to his feet.  Shifting his weapon to a one-handed grip and pressing the stock to his ribs, the wounded soldier tried to keep his focus despite the pain in his leg telling him to succumb to the darkness trying to creep into his field of vision.  The next few minutes were a hellish blur around the sounds of gunfire, the screams of the wounded and dying, the smell of smoke corrupting every breath he tried to take, and the agony of his leg protesting every movement he tried to make with it.  The last thing he remembered before blacking out is being heaved onto the floor of a waiting “Huey” and feeling it lift off, taking him and other wounded to safety.


Some time later, he awoke to a throbbing pain in his left leg. Wincing, he tried to sit up on the cot that was allotted to him, finally reaching the position after a minute of struggling to do so without moving his left leg.  Almost as if by magic, a medic approached him a few moments later.  “Major, you need to lie down and rest.  You’re still recovering from surgery.”

“Surgery?  The hell am I?”

“The 36th MUST, a few klicks outside Saigon. We had to extract the bullet that was in your thigh, sir. You need to rest now or else you’re going to reopen the sutures.”

“The rest of my squad?”

“I’m not sure, sir.  They didn’t tell me.”

Donald fell silent as he processed this.  A moment later, he asked for some water, which he was given before the medic had to turn his attention to other wounded soldiers.  Looking around, Donald took in his immediate surroundings.  The 36th MUST—or Medical Unit Self-Contained Transportable—was better equipped than he had been given to believe a MUST unit would be.  While certainly not a MASH unit in his view, he nonetheless found himself grateful for what they had here.  Carefully falling back onto his cot, Donald closed his eyes and tried to block out the pain for a bit to get some rest.

That lasted all of twenty minutes before he, and most of the other wounded in the unit, had their reveries shattered by a blood-curdling scream.  Looking to the source of the noise, he saw a soldier being carried in, his hands holding his crotch protectively as blood spurted around his hands in time to the beating of the heart.  From the triage portion of the tent, Donald heard the conversation as he laid in his cot.

“What happened?!”

“He was on liberty, in the town.  Decided to shack up with one of the natives.  She apparently planted a razor blade inside her.  He went to fuck her, sliced his dick open.”

Donald fought back the urge to retch.  Being fired at was one thing, but this?  He never signed up for this, where the neutrals and even his allies were against almost everything he did.  This wasn’t war like he thought he was in the midst of.  For the first time since setting foot in ‘Nam, Donald Prydor wanted to go home.  He vowed, to whatever was listening to his thoughts, to tell any children he had that in the end, war was not what they made it out to be.  It changed people, and there were never any winners.

As he would discover later in life, not even his child managed to escape Vietnam without some sort of damage, some twelve years and more after Donald Prydor left the jungles to return home.


Residence of Will and Tori Prydor
The End of Nowhere—Bel Air, Maryland
November 14, 2017, 6:39 p.m. local time

“Will, why the hell are you agreeing to this match?  You know what happened the last time you went in there.  Plus, you even said it yourself—Silva may be trying to turn on you when you have your back turned!”

“You think I haven’t thought about that, Tori?  I’ve been replaying what I heard, what I saw in my head since driving back up here from Sparrows Point last night.  But I can’t wrap that around his actions earlier on, when he kept Raab from dumping me on my head and neck and maybe pulling a Jesse on me. He could just have easily let me be injured, or crippled…or worse…and gotten his rematch against someone else he thought he could beat easier.  There’s something missing here, Tori, I know it.  But I can’t put my finger on what.”

“Never mind that,” Amelia piped in from his left where she sat in his normal recliner with her injured leg resting on some pillows.  “You’ve been in a war games match.  You know what you’re getting into.  But why?  Is it just because of Bridges being an asshat to people?”

Will paused at this.  He knew this was a potential minefield he was about to walk into; the trick was to get out what he wanted to say without either Amelia or his wife deciding to tear him a new one for being a chauvinist pig in their eyes.

“It’s more than that, Ames.  Yes, Bridges being an insufferable prick is part of it.  What he did in trying to fire me I like to think has been made up for with me now holding that,” he said as he pointed at the Carnage Ultraviolent Championship he had hanging on the wall.  “Of Zodiac and Crucifix…I don’t need to explain that.  And I don’t have any beef with Paragon. So you’re right, Amelia.  On the surface I should be staying out of this.

“The reason I’m not is because he’s done more to people who don’t deserve it.  When he tried to fire me, he thought he was going to take away the healthcare that my wife and child would need.  He didn’t realize that I had purchased my own, but that’s another matter.  He terminated the contract of someone who was injured on purpose, under his watch, just to save the company a few dollars.  He’s taken what was a promotion that was filled to the brim with the characteristics of Baltimore, and has tried to turn it into OWF-lite or even NLW-lite. People like Bridges are the bane of wrestling promotions today; they think that by copying a successful formula that they’ll magically get the same success as the company who used the formula they’re trying to copy from.  That’s why so many new promotions fizzle out with a year or two.  Bridges is trying to push Carnage down that same path.”

“But surely there are others there who can defend the place?”

“Like who, Amelia?”

Amelia opened her mouth to retort, but slowly closed it.  Try as she might, the only names that were coming to her were The Avenger and Boy, and she didn’t hold much hope for the two of them inside the ominous structure…or to be frank, really in any other match.

To his right, Tori slipped her free hand into Will’s.  “There’s more to this for you, isn’t there?”

Will nodded, closing his eyes.  “My family has a history of standing up for what they feel is right.  A great-grandfather on my mother’s side joined the Army right before the First World War broke out.  ‘My duty to serve my country,’ as my mother would tell me from what little bit I can remember of her story. If memory serves, he came home from the war and became a full-blown alcoholic, and damn near got himself killed during Prohibition because he was that far down in the bottle.  My father went to Vietnam right after high school.  Said he felt it was necessary to save the world because of the Communist ‘domino effect.’  His decision to do that became the impetus for my childhood being a figurative hell.

“I know that some wrestling match doesn’t compare to an actual war, even if the name would indicate otherwise. But even if the rest of my family has stood for their beliefs and turned out in the end to have suffered for it, I feel like I can be the one to buck that trend.  I have a support network, and I like to think I’m more level-headed than my forefathers.”

“Plus you’ve been in this environment.  You know what to expect.”

“Yes and no, Ames.  In general, yes, I know what to expect.  Specifically…no.  A small sample size from last Chaos doesn’t give me much to work with in regards as to how those five will work together.  Plus I need to do some research on Ryan and Michaels.  Anything I can find on those two in cage matches would come in handy.  I’m gonna be spending a lot of time in the film room these next two weeks, for sure.”

The trio fell silent for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts.  That silence was shattered by a warbling cry shortly thereafter, as Elyssa announced to everyone within listening distance that she was awake, and hungry.  Tori got up to pick up Elyssa from the nursery, and Amelia took the opportunity to address Will again.  “Look, all the bullshit aside, Will.  It’s been eight years since you were in a War Games match.  At the time you didn’t have as much of an aversion to hardcore bouts as you do now. Now you’re going to be locked in there with five people who aren’t gunning for titles that you know about.  You’re going in against five people who Bridges has gathered together to try to keep Carnage going under his power.  There’s two men who have beaten us before for the tag belts, there’s two other people who are dangerous in their own right, one of whom is a former Carnage World champion, and then there’s a monster who probably will never submit.  How the hell are you going to deal with that kind of talent, Will?”

“I refer to my stock answer, Amelia.  ‘Very carefully.’  Everyone has a weakness.  It just falls to me to try to exploit it.  But remember, C.O.N. aren’t unbeatable.  Trent, Silva, and I beat then in a six-man match.  Amber Ryan, as talented as she is, lost to Amy Jo Smyth.  Jack Michaels might be in good shape but age certainly isn’t his friend.  Raab…well, if he’s immobilized, he can’t be a factor.  There are ways to take them all out, Amelia.  If nothing else, being more technical minded means that I can find a gameplan easier than most, and use that to my advantage.”

“Still…be careful, Will.  I have a bad feeling about this.”

“I’d be lying if I didn’t say I felt the same, Amelia.  Don’t worry about me.”

“Too bad, hon.  I’ll do the worrying for all of us.”

Will shook his head at his wife’s comment.  “Of course you will, dear.  I’d expect nothing less.  You’ll see me come back, just watch.”

Yet there was a small part of his brain that wondered if he was inadvertently lying to his wife, and that he’d end up in Johns Hopkins by the time the weekend was through.


So here we are again.

A match that is so dangerous it’s run less than a steel cell match.  Anyone with any sense would be avoiding this match as if their careers depended on it.

Hell…who’s to say that some of ours don’t already?  Jack Michaels is 50 or damn close to it. Trent’s put his body through more abuse than should be allowed by the law in thirty-three states. There’s a bullseye on my formerly broken neck.

That’s just the physical side of it.  There’s also the backstage politics to consider.  If Kyra’s team loses this, we can pretty much kiss our careers in Carnage goodbye. Kyra won’t get her chance at taking Bridges down, Silva’s likely going to be fired, I’m going to be beaten senseless to get this title off of me and then fired, Trent may well just disappear.  Tweeder may well be the only one on our side who would get off light.

If Bridges’ team loses, I don’t think they’ll get as drastic a punishment as our team would.  C.O.N. will have to defend their belts and maybe be forced to give up their rematch clause, Amber may be blackballed from the world title at worst, Raab simply won’t give a fuck as long as he gets to wreck people, Michaels may well retire or so back west.

Just another reason to dig deep into myself and make sure I’m not the one who will end up subjecting everyone to professional hell.  As if I don’t have enough reasons already.

Still…I can’t help but be worried.  Let’s face it, I’m the odd one out on my side.  The other four thrive in hardcore and ultraviolent bouts like War Games has the potential to be.  And then there’s me, the person who would rather pick apart a limb and cause a submission rather than use the cage as a weapon.  I’m totally the wrong fit on this team for that very reason.

But then again, aside from Trent, who else on Team Kyra has a submission signature?  That might be my only saving grace on this team—in a match based around submission or surrender, who’s the most likely to actually get an opponent to tap out?  Beating them senseless isn’t likely to work—in Raab’s case he’ll probably just gain power from any beating he gets.

But I’ll be honest here.  Of the five people opposing me, there’s one that has my attention.  I’ve wrestled and beaten three of the five in the past.  Yeah, I know that having beaten them in the past doesn’t mean jack shit when that cage comes down, but it does my mental state a hell of a lot of good knowing that I can beat them.  The fourth I have to watch out for his power—no one at the age of 50 should have the strength that Jack Michaels has.  There isn’t much one can do to counter pure strength short of my usual modus operandi of weakening a limb and throwing the strength balance out of whack.

No…my worry is their fifth.  Amber Ryan. Anyone with a record as stellar as hers I have to be wary of.  Plus my record against world champions, both reigning and former, isn’t all that great.  So yeah, she’s the one I’m studying the most film of leading up to this Sunday night. I once told her that we could probably sell out any arena that had the two of us facing each other, and I still believe that, even if I’m not entirely sold on my chances.

I was hoping that confrontation would have come outside of War Games.  But we can’t have everything we want, can we?

That leaves just one thing for me to keep in mind.  The elephant in the room, so to speak.

Lucas, I know what I heard backstage.  I also know what I saw during the donnybrook to close out Chaos.  You heard what I told Kyra and the world.  But let me say this, before the bell rings and all hell breaks loose in Baltimore.

You keep it clean with me during War Games, and I’ll be happy to give you a rematch.  Hell, I’ll even allow you to pick the stipulation.  Way I see it, we’re even-ish at one.  You knocked me out of the Monarchy of Anarchy tournament—a solo match, point to you.  I took your title in a three-way match—point-ish to me because it wasn’t a straight up fight. You’re more than due your return bout, one on one.  No interference, no bullshit.  You say when and where after War Games and I’ll show up…as long as you keep it clean during the Games.

Cross me…and I’ll make it a point to make sure that when I’m done, not even your acquaintances in Sandtown will be able to recognize who you are.

War is hell, folks.  I’ve had that lesson beaten into me since I was a child.  No one is going to be the same after Sunday night.


Gravesite of Elyssa Anderson
Bel Air Memorial Gardens—Bel Air, Maryland
November 26, 2017, 2:32 p.m. local time

“Hey, Elyssa. Thought I should stop by while I can.  Not sure I’ll be able to do this again for a while.”

Will knelt down, placing the half-dozen roses across the headstone, fingers tracing the raised lettering.

In memoriam
Elyssa Marie Anderson
October 2, 1980 – November 26, 2008
Caught in a blaze of glory
Where some gave all they had.

“It’s…I swear, November is cursed for me.  There was you nine years ago, followed by me nearly killing Trent Steel. Now it’s this.”

He paused, silently wiping a tear from his eye.

“Your namesake is growing up so fast.  I’m hoping she will have the same quality of character that you did, that our twins would have had.”  Swallowing a sigh, he continued.  “I can’t stay long; I’m due in Baltimore in an hour and a half.  But you haven’t been forgotten. And if only for one more night, Elyssa…watch over me.  Help me find the strength of will to do what needs to be done, to stand up for what I’m fighting for.”

Will kissed his fingertips, then pressed them to the recently-repaired headstone, closing his eyes as his fingers made contact.  Then, pushing himself to his feet, the man formerly known as The Phoenix turned to his car and got in, making sure his ever-ready duffel bag—and his crimson “armor” that he was wearing to war—was still secure in the back seat.  With one quick look out the side window of the car, he put his vehicle into gear and drove away.  He could afford no further distractions.

The war for Carnage was about to begin.

(Author's note:  Any "edit" notification is because my dumb ass forgot to title the RP.)
« Last Edit: November 24, 2017, 09:20:20 PM by Will Prydor »
Suggested reading: Will's RP history (still a WIP, updated through mid-2008)

Offline Tweeder

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Re: War Games: Team Kyra vs. Team Bridges
« Reply #4 on: November 25, 2017, 03:39:58 AM »
Stand for something or fall for anything-TFK

At The Academy

Tweeder is finishing up working with a group of new recruits who are wanting to break into the wrestling business. While they are raw, there is a chance that they could make it if they put their heart into it. Wrestling isn’t like other sports where talent can get you to the next level, but it requires git and sacrifice. There are some wrestlers who have talent, but lack the heart for the business as they are more worried about how much money they will get. Others like Dazi Miyashita felt like they were entitled to a number of title shots without earning them. Then there are promoters like Michael Rak who take advantage of young talent to suit their own purpose, both inside and outside of the ring. Tweeder has heard many stories of dipshit promoters who after they use talent to their advantages, they discard them like trash. This is one reason why Tweeder holds a grudge against most promoters. He has also experienced it first hand in 2003, but with Kyra, it was different. She actually understood what wrestlers go through and why she might not have been the best promoter, she at least tried and didn’t use others to her advantage. Plus, Kyra and Tweeder were always competitive with each other as they faced each other so many times in 2010. Damn, that seems so long ago.

Now Tweeder is trying to do his part in making sure his students create their own legacies and aren’t seen as copy cats of Jason Dynasty, Pumped, Zane Rush, or Harley St. James. Those wrestlers had some talent, but often times they cried if things didn’t go their way. So instead of working to improve their skills, they would throw a fit and blame someone else. The lack of integrity, character, and a code of honor. It is little wonder, so many promotions are always opening and closing. No one gives a damn, but it must change. It might not happen overnight, but at least The Academy is a step in the right direction. It is all about is trying to change that with his students, so they can make it further than people like Ryan Leaf, Yinka Dare, Ki-Jana Carter, or Lawrence Phillips ever did. Once again, talented athletes who didn’t work hard enough at the next level, had the wrong people whispering what they wanted to hear, or even refusing to be a person with integrity or character. It doesn’t matter what sport it is, you see it all the time. Most recently Netflix highlights the trend with their show ‘Last Chance U’ and you see the talent is there, but there is not any of integrity, character, and a code of honor.

After sending the green students to the locker room, Tweeder is in the middle of cleaning up when Asahi approaches him. Asahi who used to be Macho Libre of the Masked Debaters was employed by Carnage Wrestling, but was released after Underground: Survival, could have tried to get employment with another company, but he decided to get back to the basics so he doesn’t end up being the next Zane Rush. Plus he has taken some English classes so now people understand what he is saying.

Teacher, why did you move to the US?

I try not to go into too much detail with my personal life and I really don’t understand what that has to do with your training.

Well I thought it might be helpful to find out what drives you. You see to be the type that is always angry about something.

I am an angry person, but I do try to keep my emotions in check. Maybe it is because I see how the business is being treated by both owners and wrestlers alike. There used to be long standing traditions that were followed, but now they are thrown away.

What are some of the traditions that you followed when you were starting?

One tradition was respect was earned, not given. I remember when I first joined WFE, it took me months before people took me seriously. Another tradition is a title a defended at a big show and not the local house show. That way it gives the title and the holder respect.

Is that why you returned to Carnage after you retired in 2012?

For the most part yes. I got tired of watching how people were disrespecting Carnage and the values they held. As for when there are title defenses, it is something that I don’t have any real control over. I blame that one the promoters and their greed.

What about when people are asking for title shots? It seems like rather than waiting their turn, people say they deserve a title shot.

It depends on the person. You have to ask yourself if they have earned a title shot, the last time they had a title shot, and if they are running their mouth demanding a title shot. You have people like Gary Altus who deserved a few title shots, but he never complained about it once. Then you have Dazi Miyashita who moaned about not getting title shots. I think Kyra gave them to her to shut her up. I think I only requested two title shots in my entire time in Carnage. The first one was when Dark Shadow held the Chaos title and when I returned after seeing how the UV title was being treated by Matt Stone, who lost the title to Lucas Silva. Apart from that, unless there was a tournament with the promise of a title or a title shot, I can’t remember when the last time I requested a title shot. Mind you this is before challenge points were created.

What do you think of Carnage now that Kyra is no longer in charge and the Network which you hate is running things? It seems like some of the traditions you mentioned before aren’t there.

It is bad for business and I can see Carnage ending up like OWF. By that I mean out of business. It is a shame really because they don’t use the resources they have to help improve things. Instead they go with someone with no experience in the wrestling business. Also, yes most of the traditions and Carnage culture are being thrown away just so someone can line their pocket up.

What type of help did you offer them?

I offered to help them scout for talent, work with some of wrestlers who are still green, fine collector, and a few other things. I also offered to help run things until I was either dead or they found someone better.  I guess they are afraid that I might try to take control of things and ‘ruin’ their reputation.

What do you mean when you said ‘a fine collector’? Were you a collector of fine ass?

No, that is not what I meant. One thing a few promotions I have been in did was fine people for things that weren’t major issues, but were seen as major issues by some people. So things like if you used the last pot of coffee, you would start a new brew. Maybe you used the last bit of the toilet roll, but didn’t let anyone know. The craziest fine I remember is if you used the toilet on the tour bus, then you had to pay $500 each time you used it.

So why would you get fined for using the toilet on the tour bus? That sounds like a bad way to give money away.

Let’s just say the tour bus would end up smelling worse than Garbage Fence.

Did you hear the news about John Pariah? He recently passed away a few weeks ago in a car accident. Didn’t you used to work with him in PWX?

Tweeder pauses for a moment. It is true he worked with Pariah two different times in PWX. As a wrestler Tweeder had respect for the man, but as a promoter, left a lot to be desired. PWX was a great time as at one point, they had a strong roster. However, politics was always the downfall of PWX and one reason why Tweeder wasn’t fond of Pariah. Still it is never a good thing to hear about an adversary passing away the way Pariah did.

I did work with and I had heard from some people. It is a shame really as he still had a lot to offer to the younger generation of wrestler and I was planning on inviting him here for a few training sessions.

I wish I could have met him. He sounded like a great man.

I wouldn’t go that far, but let us talk about happier things. Besides, I understand you are working on getting a degree from one of the local community colleges.

Yes, I am. I would have never thought it would be possible, but you helped change my life around.

You did that on your own. All I did was show you the door and you chose to walk through it.

As Tweeder and Asahi walk away, Tweeder can’t help, but wonder what people will say about him when he is dead. When John Ojeda had told him about Pariah’s passing, it came as a shock. Tweeder had intended to invite Pariah to The Academy, but kept putting it off. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow’ was the excuse Tweeder had used. Now it was too late and it reminded him of another regret, the day his parents died. Tweeder never really wanted to go back to PWX, but after John ‘Wrath’ Ojeda contacted him and told him about the testimonial PWX was holding, he knew it was the right thing to do. Death has a strange way of causing someone to think about their future. Has he lived up to their expectations?

So here we are once again, Carnage Wrestling is divided thanks to the so-called leadership in charge. Rather than make Carnage about the fans and what they want, all the Network and Jason Bridges care about is making money and screwing the fans over. Yes this is the same Network that used to run OWF and the same Network that Kyra thought would be a good idea to join. Kyra was able to keep the Network in control, but they had to remove her in order for them to get what they wanted. Insert their puppet, Jason Bridges, who has done nothing to help Carnage, but instead fatten the wallets of the Network. Now Jay went crying to the board at the Network and said I was going to fire him. I said no such thing, but I did point out the flaws in how he was running things. Could it be he is afraid of what I said is the truth? I am willing to bet it is and now he is trying to do everything in his power to hold onto what little he has. I think the whole thing is funny because I don't want him fired. That would be too easy so instead I want him to suffer. I want him to get in the ring with Kyra. I want him to take the entry level job and work his way up. That is if he doesn’t quit or get fired for a poor performance. Jay thinks he knows everything there is about the wrestling business, but he doesn't understand traditions, the unwritten rules, or even his target audience and what they want. For that, he must pay for his crimes against Carnage Wrestling when Team Awesome becomes the Riders of Judgement.

Now people don't think Team Awesome doesn't stand a chance and we can't be unified. Everyone thinks we are going to just turn on each other the moment someone pisses someone off. What do they think this is, Game of Thrones? What those who doubt us don't realize is we all have a common enemy and that is Jason Bridges. He has alienated people like Lucas Silva, Baltimore's favorite wrestler, who does everything he can to put on a good match and he never takes a day off. He is kind of like 7-11, he isn't always doing business, but he is always open. He takes jabs at Kyra who took Carnage to a level that Dr. Winn never could and made it into a stable business. She also knows in order to be like a number of other promotions, what not to do. You have Will Prydor who seems like a simple and humble man, but for no reason, Jay fires his wife and then tries to get rid of Prydor. Lastly, you have Trent Fucking Steel, who like Silva, goes out to do something that the crowd will remember long after the show is finished.

"The Blast" Jack Michaels, I had an empathy. Do you know what an empathy is? I’ll buy you a dictionary. I know you might have a fairly decorated past and have your own school which is decent of you. However, do you think you are joining Carnage a bit late in life? I think it is more than fair to say you are officially the old man of Carnage Wrestling. Since you have been in Carnage for a short time, you should know a few things. Jason Bridges and the Network aren’t what holds Carnage together. It is the madness that keeps people wanting to come back for more. So while you have 30 years of experience, I highly doubt you have are fully prepared for Carnage despite how cunning you think you are. Besides this ‘renegade’ promotion offers more than you give it credit for. Come Ultimate Carnage, you will see first hand that you have been ignorant. Maybe we can teach you a thing or two at your age. Besides, while you might think your porno Stache looks good, Tom Selleck wants you to shave it. He thinks you look like a Magnum, P.I. knock off and Frank Reagan is going to be the arresting officer.

Amber 'Distorted Angel' Ryan, you did make an impression when you joined Carnage. You won the inaugural Monarchy of Anarchy and then won the World title. That seems like a good way to make an impression. However, how long did your reign last? Maybe you should go back to Jackie Boy and ask him to train you some more. I mean, you seem to think you have everything you need, but you are still missing a few things. Besides, you haven’t even faced Fluffy Unicorns Cute Kittens yet so how do you think you are going to do? I mean, you did lose your title to Amy who is one half of Fluffy Unicorns Cute Kittens so the odds aren’t in your favor. Maybe one day you can look back and realize how lucky you were. I mean it isn’t often you get to face a triple champion or the innovator of women’s wrestling.

Lord Raab is a giant! He is enormous! I can think of a million adjectives, but it is just another case of big things with small packages. Seriously though, I have been in the ring with people bigger, fatter, scarier, and dodgier than you. You may think you intimidate people, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. There was once an Australian named Wyatt Hendrix who used to be here in Carnage who thought he was a monster and everyone should be scared of him. In reality, he was nothing more than scarecrow who did more ducking and dodging than what most people do in a game of dodgeball. I don’t care about your past as you probably don’t care about mine, but while others say your size is your strength, I see it as a weakness. You won’t be able to keep pace with me and I will take you down like I have with other ‘big’ men. The only challenge I see with you is ripping your damn mask off. In fact, that is going to be my mission and by the end of the night, I will have your mask. I honestly wonder if the rumors are true. You know, you are so ugly your momma had to tie a pork chop around your neck to get the dog to play with you. By now you are going to say real mature Tweeder, but being Scottish outshines being German. Don’t worry Rabb, I won’t embarrass you too much

Robert Zodiac, do you remember what you said before Pool of Blood in 2016? Here is a recap of what you said a few hours before you got eliminated in case you forgot. You said I was I was a fucking moron who would intentionally screw himself out of a title shot and said all the promotions I was in failed because no one gave a shit about me. You also thought that no one would want to team up with me only to lose to Moxie Roxie and Greg Jackson. You wondered why I would place a target on your back for no reason and you were going to show how everyone thinks you are going to prove how big of a star you are. Oh, you also said you were going to eliminate me and break my back. That is the Cliff Notes version of it and Rodiac, I didn’t exactly screw myself out of a title shot now did I? Did I screw Phantasm over on my to get the title shot with Amy? Aye and I don’t deny that. It wasn’t your best showing as Hostile Takeover were among the first six people eliminated. How did it feel talking a big game and getting your ass handed to you? I guess you were forced to eat some humble pie. One thing you failed to realize at that time, I had signed an OWF in order to enter Pool of Blood.  I could have continued, but why waste my time? Carnage is my home and I was more concerned about showing people like Moxie Roxie, Greg Jackson, and everyone else in OWF, that Carnage has some damn good talent. Since you have joined, you have seen first-hand what I mean. You have done decent, but you are still that little kid who is a barking dog with no bite. You are content at facing two-star talent, but when you have you ever changed the liked of Amy Jo Smyth, Sabiru, Gary Altus, or even myself? The answer is never. You are content to go after the little things like the Baltimore City Championship because you know, you will never rise to a higher status. You want to get what you can now because you have no ambition in life. Poor Rodiac, always thinking he can be a man of great things, but in the end, tucks his tail between his legs when he sees the work involved. I can’t wait to hear what you say about me as I’m sure it will be a good laugh.

Brian Crucifix, I have one question for you. Did you leave the vacuum cleaner on? I always hear a loud sucking noise whenever you speak. Come on mate, if you really think you are that good, then why all the ass kissing? Weren't you the one saying you deserved a World title shot a few weeks ago? Now if you do get a title shot, it will be believed that you only got the chance due to some sort of sexual favors. Hey I don't judge and it is 2017, but you do make people wonder. At least be honest to everyone about your relationship with Jay. Then again, you like to ride other people’s coat tails. Maybe if you had any balls, you would have been trying to improve yourself by I don’t know, reading some books or be willing to face stiffer competition. Besides the Wyldes, I don’t recall you facing anyone with prestige. That is ok because now you get to be in the ring with some people with talent. I am sure a little tweenager like yourself is going to go through puberty quickly before the night is over. Don’t worry mate, you want to face the best because you think you are the best? Well now is your chance to show what you are made of. I saw you went to Battleground Union and I am going to guess you will try to do what I did there, but you are sloppy seconds. You will never be their first champion or be the person who helped put them on the map. In fact, if you were to win any of their titles, you will only be seen as the middle of the road, nobody champion. You will be a mere footnote much like you are in Carnage today. You will never be listed as one of the greats of Carnage and I am willing to bet, you will end up like returning to the bottom of the pile like you were in OWF. Don’t worry, I will help you get there.

It is funny how Bridges thinks the path to molding Carnage to the way he wants it is clear. Did you say everything was clear? Because to me everything couldn’t be more…unclear. You see, this whole Wargames is about setting the record straight. It could have been made straight a long time about, but CLEARLY, Bridges is too chicken shit and not man enough to do this on his own. He had to make ‘promises’ to just about everyone so they would join him. Let me help make ever thing clear and no I am not talking about Everclear, the vodka or band. You have to have someone else helping you. You lot think that your sugar daddy, Jason Bridges is going to keep his promises or help bail you out. Isn’t that why he decided to add a stipulation when C.O.N. faced Lucas Silva and Trent Steel? He knows you can’t clearly can’t beat the team Kyra has put together. Clearly, none of you have anything to gain from this Wargames. For us, it is about honoring the business and our own code. Yes, these codes end up being more like guidelines, but that isn’t the point. If we lose, then Carnage Wrestling is nothing more than OWF 2.0, CWC, CWF, and every other generic wrestling promotion out there. If we win, Carnage Wrestling keeps the identity that I helped forge along with Kyra, Sinc Mercier, Phoenix Matsuda, Brian Stryker, Dark Shadow, and yes, even Leon ‘Virus’ Roberts. Yes, Carnage might have been reborn, but the soul remains the same. This is not your Carnage Wrestling and it never will be. The soul of Carnage Wrestling has risen like a Phoenix from the ashes before and it will happen again.

Now this is normally the part when I tell you I am your judge, jury, and executioner. However, things are different. We are your judge. We are your jury. We are your executioner. Welcome to Ultra-Violence!


Offline Robert Zodiac

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Re: War Games: Team Kyra vs. Team Bridges
« Reply #5 on: November 26, 2017, 05:31:31 PM »
Date Unrecorded
Time Unrecorded
Downeast, Maine

*The scene slowly fades in on Zodiac sitting in a doctors office.  An older man with grey scruff on his face and a gruff voice comes in wearing a doctors uniform comes in.  He sets his clipboard down and begins filling out some papers.  There is a momentary silence that feels like an eternity for Zodiac before he finally speaks up.*

Zodiac:  "...So?  What do the results look like?"

*The doctor says nothing and continues to fill out papers on top of papers before bringing the chart over*

Dr.  Carson:  "Along with a mild concussion...I'm afraid the diagnosis is schizophrenia.  You're going to want to start taking Zyprexa tomorrow, twice a day.  The episodes may still occur, but this medication with any luck will help reduce the episodes you have."

*Zodiac sighs and looks down at the floor, closing his eyes for a brief moment before looking back up at the doctor.*

Zodiac:  "What if I can't take it at the time?  I'm on the road quite often for my job."

Carson:  "Then you'll want to take it the second you get the chance, this is not a lethal disease but it can seriously cripple your ability to communicate if your job involves working with other people."

Zodiac:  "It can, at this will be ready when i get to the pharmacy?"

Carson:  "Yes sir, it will."

*Zodiac stands up out of the chair and shakes the doctors hand, smiling as he does so before taking the prescription and sticking it in his pocket.  He walks out oif the doctors office and out into the out into the parking lot.  He gets to his car and gets into the driver seat.  He takes out his keys and starts the car before he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the prescription.*

Zodiac:  "Fuck you and your fucking pills."

*He scoffs and balls up the paper, tossing it out his window and into the ditch before starting his car and leaving the parking lot just as it starts to rain.  The camera shows the prescriptions ink begin to run and the paper get blown away in a gust of wind before the scene cuts to black.*

Friday, November 24th 2017
Time Unrecorded
Trenton, New Jersey

*The scene opens up with Zodiac pulling into the driveway of his friends' house, Travis Keith, or "TK" Oberson.  He gets up to the door and takes out his spare key, knowing he isn't home and unlocks the door.  He walks in and finds a note on the fridge:  "Ramen in the microwave if you want it.  -TK"  Zodiac chuckles and walks over to the microwave and opens it, only to find another note and no Ramen.  "I got hungry and you weren't back yet.  -TK"*

Zodiac:  "...Why didn't he just toss the other note instead of--ugh, nevermind.  I can't deal with this right now."

Sykotik:  "Bit of a dick move, if you ask me.  Made you think there was some delicious-ass ramen, only to find out that he ate all of it...and if I remember correctly, didn't you buy said ramen?"

Zodiac:  "Yeah well, not everything revolves around me...except the Baltimore City title picture obviosuly...since, you know, I'm champ and all."

*Zodiac was still riding a very clear high after winning the Baltimore City title less than a month ago.  He didn't want to brag to anyone though, because he knows they'd get tired of hearing it.*

Sykotik:  "Until someone challenges you for it and beats your sorry ass back to Maine, where you'll run a local promotion for year before it dies and then you'll have nothing left in your pathetic life and probably throw yourself off a cliff in a vain attempt at suicide."

Zodiac:  "Jesus, man...didn't need to take it that far."

Sykotik:  "Yeah, that's my thing.  I tend to exaggerate a bit."

*Zodiac doesn't say anything, but instead stops and stares at him for a moment before speaking up.*

Zodiac:  "You don't say?!  I NEVER WOULD'VE GUESSED THAT, NOT IN A MILLION FUCKING YEARS!  Seriously though, fuck off with that shit.  The only way anyone is going to get this belt off me is by breaking both my arms and legs so I can't fight back, other than that they'll be prying this belt from my cold, dead hands before I let this thing go."

*Syktoik chuckles a bit at this statement, which causes Zodiacs face to change into one of confusion.*

Sykotik:  "It's kinda funny that you're re-arranging your priorities so you don't know what you want to do with your career.  One minute you say you're one half of the best tag team ever, the next you don't say a damn thing about being tag champion, or even Brian, the man who is supposedly your best friend...well, almost-best-friend.  Your actual best friend died from cocaine, but we don't talk about that, do we?"

*Zodiacs face instantly shifts into an expression of rage.  He balls his fist up and punches the wall beside Sykotik, hard enough to leave an indent but not hard enough to create a hole that he would have to patch.*

Sykotik:  "Ooooh, that one struck a nerve.  What, don't wanna talk about you killed TK's brother?"

Zodiac:  "You have NO FUCKING RIGHT to mention James!  NONE, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!!"

Sykotik:  "Well maybe if you didn't leave your crack-cocaine at the bottom of that bowl of weed, he wouldn't have gotten addicted now would he?"


*Zodiac goes into his bedroom and can be heard unsheathing something, he comes back out wielding a machete with an 18 inch blade.*

Zodiac:  "I will fucking gut you where you stand, you son of a bitch.  LEAVE. NOW."

*For once, Sykotiks eyes grow wide as a look of fear slowly etches its way onto his face as Zodiac slowly moves closer.  Sykotik begins to back up towards the door.*

Sykotik:  "You can't kill me, i'm you."

Zodiac:  "I know."

*Zodiac quickly moves the blade up against his own throat, pressing against the Juggular vein on his neck.*

Zodiac:  "Go."

Sykotik:  "Okay, i'm leaving...ju--just put the machete down...don't do anything stupid, champ."

Zodiac:  "Get fuckin' going, asshole."

*Sykotik turns around and walks towards the door  as soon as he does so, Zodiac charges from behind and plunges the machete strqight through Sykotiks' back.  Sykotik slowly looks down at the blade protruding from his chest before he starts to laugh.*

Sykotik:  "I win again, bitch.  You can't kill what's in your head, unless you blow your brains out.  Have fun getting a gun after being diagnosed as a fucking schizophrenic freakshow."

*Sykotik simply walks forward, the blade effortlessly leaving his chest through his back with zero blood on it.   He opens the door and looks back before he winks and shuts the door.  The scene shows Zodiac standing there with his machete in hand before dropping it to the floor and leaning back first against the wall as he starts to sob before it slowly fades to black.*

Time Unrecorded
Date Unrecorded
Location Unrecorded

*The scene slowly fades in on Zodiac pulling into a familiar driveway.  The scene cuts t9o him knocking on the door before TK opens it up and there is inaudible dialogue between the two before TK steps to one side and lets Zodiac in, shutting the door behind him.  The two head into the living room and Zodiac seats himself on the couch while TK sits in a nearby recliner.*

Zodiac:  "Sorry to just show up unannounced like this, you know I don't normally do this."

TK:  "Hey, don't worry about it.  I said you were welcome any time and i meant it.  You got something on your mind?  You look conflicted."

Zodiac:  "I am.  For once, it's not about wrestling.  It's about me."

*This piques TKs curiosity as he leans forward in the chair, concerned about him.*

Zodiac:  "I...."

*Zodiac pauses before he sighs and runs his hands through his hair before holding his head in his hands, staring at the floor.*

Zodiac:  "I'm not right.  Something's off, and I don't like it...the doctor...he said I--"

*Something stops him from finishing his statement, which almost instantly causes TKs face to shift into one of confusion rather than interest.*

TK:  "The doctor said you what?"

Zodiac:  "It's nothing...he said I have low blood pressure and he gave me some meds for it."

*Zodiac didn't want to lie about his schizophrenia, but he was also incredibly skeptical about telling anyone about it in the first place.  I mean , he's a fucking schizo now, what are people going to think of him after he tells someone and then they tell someone, and that someone tells someone else and then by that time the entire roster knows THAT YOU'RE NOTHING MORE THAN ANOTHER REJE--*

TK:  "Well I'm glad they got it diagnosed, maybe it will help with your anger...was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

Zodiac: "No, nothing they told me about...Well, I do have War Games coming up."

TK:  "Oh yeah, the big match between Team Bridges and Team Kyra.  On one side you have PARAGON, C.O.N. and Lord Raab, but on the other side you have Will Prydor, Tweeder, Trent Steel, STK and Kyra herself.  I just hope that if team Kyra wins that you don't immediately get thrown into title match after title match just to try and get the belts off of C.O.N. because that's just not fair.  No matter who wins, nobody should be rewarded with anything--"

Zodiac:  "Yeah, that's not happening.  If I'm going to ensure our teams victory, i want some fucking compensation for it...and NOT just some shitty "thanks boys" that Jason would give out half-heartedly,  I want a shot at the UV title.  I've said it before, and I'll say it a thousand more time:  I'm power-hungry, I want as much gold as I can fit around my waist to prove that I'm the best damn wrestler on this fucking planet.  Anyone can hold a belt, but it takes a fighter to hold a championship and to make it worth a damn.  Look at how long we've been tag champs, almost 6 months.  We're closing out 2017 as the tag champions because there's nobody that will get a shot at us before then.  What, is Bridges gonna hold a tag title match the very next show?  Hell, if we can keep him in power i might be able talk my way into a "Get Out Of Jail Free" type of deal."

*TK prompty stands up out of his chair, walks over to Zodiac and smack him acrossed the face, hard.*

TK:  "That's bitch-talk.  You're not a fucking pussy, so quit acting like one!  You call yourself a fucking CHAMPION?!  YOU WANNA WORM YOUR WAY OUT OF PROVING YOU'RE THE BEST?!  Fucking pathetic, and you call yourself the best wrestler alive today, more like a fucking PANSY-ASS WHO'S AFRAID OF A CHALLENGE!"

*TK obviously didn't mean these things, but he could see, and even feel the self-doubt slipping into the back of Zodiacs head so he had to shut that shit down right then and there.*

TK:  "To think I wanted you to train me.  I'd get better training from KID FUCKING DYNAMO!"

*Zodiac quickly looks up at TK and snaps at him, throwing himself up off the couch as he does so.*


*Zodiac is now literally foaming at the mouth, seething with anger but TK just grins and puts his hand on his shoulder.*

TK:  "Now go prove it to the rest of them because I've always believed you were the best, but nobody else will listen.  Now it's time to make them."

*A sadistic grin slowly forms on Zodiacs face, now realizing why TK said what he said and why he said it.*

Zodiac:  "Oh I will...with fucking pleasure."

*The scene slowly fades out as Zodiac heads towards the door, opening it and exiting out through before closing it behind him as the scene fades to black.*

Sunday, November 26th 2017
12 Hours before Ultimate Carnage 3
Ringside in the Carnage Arena

*The scene slowly fades in on Zodiac sitting on the steel steps, looking out into an empty arena.  He is in his ring gear with a white towel draped over the back of his neck with water dripping from his hair.  He is staring down at the steps when he begins to speak.*

Zodiac:  "I've been in elimination matches, cage matches, fallen over 30 feet and continued the match...never have I ever seen anything like War Games.  Do not mistake my unfamiliarity with ignorance, because I know what steel cages can do to a career.  I'm not going to put on some sort of false bravado and say I'm looking forward to stepping in there, because I'm not.  This match is going to be Hell on Earth, there will be very little order and more than enough chaos to go around ten-fold.  I'm not looking forward to the match...but I am looking forward to the chaos."

*Zodiac looks up and pulls the towel off the back of his neck and stands up, hanging it up over the steel rung that is holding the top turnbuckle in place before he steps in through the ropes as he paces the ring slowly.*

Zodiac:  "Every time Brian and I are thrown into these type of situations, we ALWAYS find a way to win.  The difference this time is we have 3 people on our side;  Lord Raab, the engine of destruction from Germany and Paragon.  Paragon is a team like none other.  Jack "The Blast" Michaels and Amber Ryan, the Distorted Angel herself.  Jack and Amber have proven themselves to be the only real competition to C.O.N. but that's not what tonight is about.  Tonight it's about keeping Kyra away from Bridges and out of power.  Ever since Bridges has been in power I've gotten the respect I deserve, under Kyra I was forced to team with La Cucaracha and I CARRIED THAT TEAM!  We lost the tag belts and she straight up fucked off.  Then Brian and I won them...and we have been shredding the tag team division like paper ever since.  Tonight we need to learn how to...not exactly trust, but at least work with other people."

*Zodiac stops on the near side of the ring and leans over the ropes, looking down into the camera.*

Zodiac:  "But we're not focusing on our team, we're focusing on Kyras team..if you can call it that.  Let's start with her "best" choice, Sandtown Kid.  Lucas, you and I have done this dance more than enough to know each other in that ring by now, but the difference?  I choose to improve my moves and focus on training so I can get paid, while you shovel deli sandwiches down your throat that you bought from the change you picked up out of the fucking ditch.  You're a reject, Lucas.  The Legion doesn't love you anymore after your bullshit with Tweeder, the only person you have left in your life that even remotely cares has a single-digit IQ.  How about you fucking put your stupid bullshit to one side for once in your pathetic fucking life?  Maybe then you could work AS A TEAM!  But no, you won't do that because everyone that you don't like is a butt-trumpet.  Do everyone a favor Kid, just go.  Go back to the streets where you belong and fucking come back, Carnage would be a lot better off without you here.  Hell, they might've been bigger than OWF if you weren't holding them back."

*Zodiac chuckles slightly as he walks out away from the ropes, wiping his face off with his hands before he turns back around, saundering back over to the ropes*

Zodiac:  "Chances are i'm gonna be leaning on these ropes for a good portion of my shit-talking, so get used to it.  Speaking of getting used to something, here we are again Trent.  How many times are we going to be forced to beat the holy hell out of each other?  Key word is forced, i'm always up for a good old-fashined hardcore match with the sick son of a bitch you're known to be...but this isn't a one-on-one, this isnt even a tag match.  This is War Games.  Us and 8 other people, all set to rip each other to shreds just so Kyra can get her hands on Jason.  As much as I love watching others suffer, I can't let Kyra get back in power.  Her in power means I don't get jack shit, except thrown into bullshit scenarios.  You'd know somethinhg about that, wouldn't you?  You were forced to defend your belt with someone you borderline hated.  For once, I really hope it's us that start things out because this just seems what we're meant to do until one of us drops fuckin' dead...and I'm just fine with that."

*Zodiac smirks and drops down, rolling out onto the apron before he sits up and looks back into the camera lens.*

Zodiac:  "Tweeder.  We don't have much to say to each oother, other than the last time you faced Brian and I we were punk kids who didn't know their left from their right in that ring.  If you seriously still think we're the same two people you faced LAST YEAR, then it just goes to show how little attention you actually pay to a company THAT YOU HOLD SHARES IN!  One would think you'd be paying just little bit FUCKING more attention than what you do...and if C.O.N. is such a parasite to the tag division, then wehy don't you find a partner and stop us?  Oh, that's right...Amy Jo is too good for you now.  Too bad your little FUCK team never got the chance to share the ring with an actual tag team with actual chemistry AS a tag team.  Now you're stuck with Will Prydor, a.k.a. the cheesburger vacuum, Trent "Over The Hill" Steel, the Sandtown Wash-Out, and Kyra "I lost my own company" Mohr.  Good luck holding THAT team together with the same Krazy Glue you use on your cuts."

*Zodiac can't help but laugh after that last line*

Zodiac:  "Speaking of holding it are you, Kyra?  Better yet, how's JD?  Is he still fucking Lucy behind your back?  I honeslty wouldn't be surprised if he was, considering how much more mentally stable she is.  Why would anyone in their right mind get with your psychotic ass?  I have respect for you in the ring, you took Trent to his limit.  Not many people can do that...but you did.  I seem to do it every time I square off with the prick.  We've never faced please, don't take this personal when I try to break your fucking neck.  It's for Jason, not me.  He's not a wrestler, and you know that, yet you want him in the ring so bad that you scraped up a team with THE WORST CHEMISTRY EVER!  STK wants to murder everyone in that match, Trent and Will still don't trust each other but I don't blame them.  Asfter all, Will is the real reason they lost the tag belts.  Just think Trent, if Will hadn't been such a fatass loser, maybe you'd still be the tag champs...then again, maybe you would've dropped them to to Tweeder and Amy Jo in a "something stupid on a pole" match considering Will can't climb to get anything other than to get something edible.  I've been walking through the back and saw him eating a bag of straight hamburger buns, looking in between each set for a burger and getting depressed when there wasn't one.  Try subway, it's healthier and they have good food, but no burgers so i don't know why I'm giving you weight loss advice when you wouldn't even look at the shop."

*Zodiac reaches up and snatches his towel off the rung before he hops down off the apron and saunders towards the camera, leaning forward to look into the lens.

Zodiac:   "So you guys go do whatever it is that you all do, I'm going to go get ready to secure Bridges position here in Carnage.  Good luck to you and your "team" Kyra.  You're going to need it when you finally realize you're fighting a losing battle.  See you dicks tonight."

*Zodiac shoves the camera over and is heard walking up the steel ramp towards the back before the scene cuts to black.*
"Naaail...I shall henceforth be known as...Super Kami."
"Yes, Super Kami--"
"No, wait...Super Kami Guru."
"Can I just call you Guru for short?"
"Super Kami Guru allows this."

Offline Dustin i.e. Jack Michaels

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The Reality of Hope
« Reply #6 on: November 26, 2017, 09:50:27 PM »


  “I have never been a fan of Thanksgiving at all. As funny as it sounds, I never enjoyed the obligation of being social. Put me in front of the masses to speak my mind, sure. Let me feel the rush of 20,000 screaming fans… Great. Do it on my terms. Do it my way. While I never had a problem opening my door to feed friends and family, the feeling of it being expected is less than ideal.”

“That is why I sneak away during these periods. I find my way past the drunken relatives, my Mother, my friends and my daughter to whom I give a quick peck on the cheek. She knows that there is an unspoken feeling I have to act on. I want to shift… No… NEED to shift my focus to something less intrusive. She smiles at me and tells me she will hold down the fort. Honestly, I never had any doubt.”


“If there was nothing else going on in my life, I may make my way into the city. Enjoy the solace of a Scotch in the Bellagio or a glass of wine at the Mandalay Bay. Take a minute to reflect on my spot in life and enjoy what I have accomplished during it.”


“I have other things on my mind.”


November 23rd, 2017
Las Vegas, NV
Jack Michaels’ Mansion
7:28 PM

Amber Ryan was drunk.

She had come to Jack’s home for the holidays because he had asked and there was good booze. Plain and simple. She had stayed here before so the feelings of unfamiliarity did not bother her nor did spending time with Jack and his daughter Amber. She actually enjoyed the company of the 17-year-old name sake even if it baffled her how she could be a fan of hers. No, what bothered her were the people. Social for the sake of being social was not in her wheelhouse. It hit too close to home and the repeated glasses of Whiskey did not stave off these feelings. She knew it was time to get away. For her, that meant swiping the bottle of Gentleman Jack off the bar and to wander away from the group.

Amber found herself stumbling down the hallways of Jack’s home and still in shock at the sheer size of the thing. It beat the hell out of her apartment in Jersey but seemed awful wasteful for just Jack and his daughter. Jack had once told her it wasn’t so much the size of the mansion but what you could do with it. Amber chuckled to herself as the memory of cracking a very vulgar joke to that line and his exasperated reaction flushed into mind. She wondered what Jack was doing as well as he too had slipped away from the party. The hanging of Jack’s coat and tie next to the basement stairwell gave her direction on where to go next.

Amber stumbled down the stairs in-between slugs of her whiskey until she came to a cracked open door. Peering inside, she saw something that surprised her even in a drunken stupor. There was a huge gym built underneath Jack’s home complete with a wrestling ring, a Jacuzzi and Sauna and enough exercise equipment to make a bodybuilder cream themselves. Towards the front of this huge gymnasium was her tag partner in the midst of a spurring scene. Standing shirtless and with wrapped fists in front of a heavy bag, Jack was hitting intently as the mirrors along the wall proved to be something more. Each mirror was a giant flat screen TV that played footage of all the competitors in the Wargames match. Jack watched one by one intensely, seeming to time his punches with the movements he was watching on screen.

Amber was in awe at what she was seeing, first at the thought of the sheer cost of such a set up but then by the entirety of Jack as a whole. The man moved in an almost seamless rhythm, his body illuminated by the symphony of light from the screens. Every muscle tensed and contracted in unison as his punches echoed off the basement walls. He was strong, he was agile and he was built like a Greek God. A man his age shouldn’t be built the way he was, shouldn’t be as strong as he was, shouldn’t have the endurance he did but here he was… Flesh and blood with the scars, wrinkles and light grey hair of a man who had seen and done it all.

  Hello, Amber.


 “Wargames is something to be afraid of.”

“In my career, I have been part of 7 Wargames matches from 1998 until 2014. I was on the winning team 5 times, the man who got the win 3 times and was carted out twice. I went in first, I went in last and I went in anywhere they needed me. I broke bones, spilt blood and did WHATEVER it took in order to walk out as the victor. Most important… I recognized what Wargames truly is…”


“Wargames is suffering.”


“The details of how I got into this match are irrelevant because the fact is I am here once again. It may be a different generation, it may be a different federation and it may be different opponents but the match is the same. The circumstances for winning or losing mean little to me outside of what is the lesser of two evils. One gives my cause leverage and one does not. I know this.”


“I know I have three partners I cannot trust to watch my back. I know that standing across from me are five very hungry talents that view me as old… As a relic… As something other than the most dangerous man ever to lace up the boots. I also know they take pride in what they do. I know about Carnage and its ‘ultraviolent’ roots. I know what these kids have done to carve their niche in this crazy world we call wrestling. I know all of this… But my question is do they know me?”


“One thing sets me apart from anybody in this match and it’s been the driving force for me my entire life. When these kids were still in diapers, that thing pushed me to build my body and my mind. While these kids were still in grade school, that thing forced me to break bones and wreck careers. While these kids were having their first date, first love, first kiss… I was jumping through tables, being hit with chairs, landing on thumbtacks and losing more blood than a man should ever have to. Why? Because my thing was my purpose in this life. My thing was real… It was more than money, more than belts and more than fame…”


“My thing was hope.”

Amber was a bit taken back that Jack had sensed her entry without so much as a glance but buried that under the whiskey and false bravado she kept up. She walked towards Jack and motioned around the gym.

  I guess money has it’s advantages huh?

Jack forced a small smile as he grabbed a towel off the ground and put it around his shoulders.

  Something like that kid… Enjoying the festivities I see?

Jack motioned to the bottle of booze clutched in her palm.

  Gotta make the holiday tolerable somehow.

Jack raised an eyebrow and noticed the slight slur in her voice that made him think that her tolerable levels were at an all time low.

  Fair enough. What brings you down here Amber?

Amber shrugged and took a small drink off her bottle.

  Probably the same thing as you I imagine. Avoiding the necessary evils- although all this… little overboard maybe.

Jack stood to attention and tossed the towel off his shoulders.

  No such animal. I know how bad a match like this can be and I also know that as the outsider, I am the one nobody expects to have the impact. I also know that my entire wrestling life is documented for these guys to watch which means they can try to find my weak points if they are smart…

Amber snorted.

  What weak points?

Jack held up a finger and smiled.

  I said ‘try’ mind you.

Jack walked around the bag and slowly turned his attention back to the screens. He watched them intently as he spoke.

  Mohr, Silva, Steel, Prydor, Tweeder… Well… Maybe not The Sandtown Kid but the rest are all stuck in their own mind about how they helped establish this Outlaw federation and how this is somehow going to be the match where they take it all back. What they don’t realize is that we, Paragon, could care less about their own message. But… I am a realist. I know that singular mentality is dangerous. I know that drive to establish the base of the federation is real. They want to do whatever they can to hurt us and THAT is why I am here watching this Amber… I care about finding where they are weakest, exploiting that holier than thou mindset and burying the 5 of them in that god damn cage… But I also care about what this could mean to us both if we win… And if we lose.

Amber looked incredulously at Jack.

  What the fuck do you mean ‘if we lose?’

Jack kept his eyes glued to the screen and shook his head.

  There are no guarantees in Wargames and that fear of the worst needs to keep driving us to reach our goals. There is nothing like being scared to make you fight that much harder.

Amber rolled her eyes as she walked up to the punching bag and put her whiskey on the ground. She lightly tapped the bag a couple times as the alcohol caused her need to adjust her depth perception several times.

  I don’t know about you Mr. Michaels… But do I look scared to you?

Jack turned around as Amber suddenly unleashed a flurry of punches into the bag. She throws a bunch of lefts and goes to throw a big right cross but suddenly stops and grabs her shoulder.

  God damn it!

Jack rushed up to her as Amber stumbled to the ground.

  What? Are you okay?

Amber waved him off as she grabbed her bottle and took a big swig before answering.

  Fine… Don’t worry about it.

Jack sighed as looked at his drunken partner on the ground. He leaned down next to her spoke more to himself then to her.

  I knew that shoulder wasn’t a 100 percent after your last match… I just knew it. Look… Maybe we should talk a bit about this… Obviously you are hurting and I know you want to go into this match first with Kyra but maybe we should think of something else for this one.

Amber turned her head as a rage came over her eyes.

  Are you deaf Jack? I said I am fucking fine okay? No one else on our team can do better in that opening spot.

The anger in her voice came as both a shock and as an insult to Jack. Jack stood back up straight and took a deep breath as he weighed his retort.

  Look… Amber…. I’m not saying you can’t fight but I am saying that maybe you need to let down your shields a bit and worry about more than just your pride. Maybe I should go into this match first and you can follow me after that.

Amber shakily got back to her feet and jammed a finger into Jack’s thick chest.

  YOU? Are you FUCKING kidding me? Why in the FUCK would you get to go into this match before me?

A small sneer crossed Jack’s lip as he stared hard into Amber’s eyes.

  Well, maybe the fact I have been in - 7 - of these god forsaken matches over the last twenty years gives me an insight on how to survive out there… You don’t need to risk yourself when you know you are going to be two on one because of Kyra’s advantage. If you have 50 percent of that wing, you are a liability to us and to yourself.

  I said I was FINE for fuck’s sake. I don’t need to have a 50 year old man dragging us down because he thinks he is a god damn doctor.

The second insinuated insult from Amber seemed to finally push Jack over the edge as he got right up into her face.

  Excuse me for giving a damn about your health Amber but do you want me to prove you are not ready to start this match for us?

  And how the fuck do you expect to do t…

Like a flash, Jack fires an open left hand slap to Amber’s face but pulls it back at the last second. Amber tries to get her right hand up to block but it is desperately late as Jack just lightly taps her on the face.

  Boom. I can’t let you do this Amber. I care too much to just let you...

Amber turned bright red in her face as she stared daggers at Jack.

  YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT NOTHING BUT YOURSELF! You are a… You… I... You know what? FUCK YOU Jack. You are just jealous that I can do this and you are a piece to shit who can’t even trust me. I should of known better than that.

Amber leans in close and stares up into Jack’s face.

  The great Jack is wrong about this and I think you need to take a step back and FUCK YOUR OWN FACE if you think I am going to listen to this horseshit.

Amber turns to storm off as Jack starts to shake in his own rage. In a flash, he grabs one of the mirrors off the wall and THROWS it to the right of Amber. It explodes as Amber stops and Jack rushes in front of her.

  For the love of God girl… This is not a pissing contest on who has the bigger balls. We are about to step into a god damn cage of death and you need to be a little of afraid of what could happen to you…

  Pfft. I told you, I am not fucking afraid and I sure as hell have nobody that fucking cares about me eit...


Amber shuts back up as Jack actually tears up a bit as he shakes his head.

  I can’t do this anymore. The only reason no one cares is because you’re too fucking drunk and too fucking stubborn to see what's in front of you. If you want to do things your own way, fine, then fucking do it… but you are not always right Amber Ryan. Some of us like having you in their life. Some of us… Can’t do anything else to prove how much they really care. -I- care about you. Give that some thought and maybe take the time to do some studying on what you are about to step into instead of drinking yourself to death. Turn out the light when you leave.

Jack turns heel and storms out of the gym which leaves Amber stunned and alone...


 “Hope has been a driving force in my life and it’s what drives me to keep pushing forward even at my age. The thing that is funny to me is that I look across at our opponents and I question how much hope do they really have? I mean Kyra wants to get control of Carnage back, wonderful. But let’s assume she gets in this match and has her head smashed in by yours truly… What good is that cause when you have your career ended before you can do anything with it? 30 years old and brain dead to let her family support her for the rest of her life… Good call girl.”

“The Sandtown Kid? A lost sheep in the world of wolves. What hope does he have? Fighting for a cause he doesn’t believe in with people he can’t trust? What a waste of time.”


“Trent Steel? So you hope to… Do what exactly? You hate Bridges, you hate the direction of the federation and you hate… Well basically everything I guess. Even if this match doesn’t kill you I figure you will probably blow your own brains once you realize how much of a joke you have become so hey, good to see you.”


“The one that really baffles me is Tweeder in this match. You held on to this fraction of the federation and waited until this night to hope and change it back to the way it was. It’s Carnage Baby right? Well let me let you in on something you should already know. Part time wrestlers and half-time men do nothing to impress me at all. Yeah, I may of been impressed with some of your work in the past but why is it now you feel you need to make your impact? A real man would of kept fighting when the going got tough. A real man would of broke everything he had to make his dream a reality. Instead you get to learn why it’s PARAGON’S world and your lack of effort is going to crush your soul in the cage.”


“At last I look at you Will Prydor and say here is about as close of a man to my own heart that there is in Carnage Wrestling. You hope to prove your merit as a champion by coming into Wargames and standing for the good… For the just… For the right… Honestly? I can respect that. I can respect that and I can respect you. The sad fact for you is that respect does not equal reality. You are NOT a hardcore wrestler. You are NOT somebody who can handle the pain of the cage. I have spilt more blood in more arenas for more years than you have been alive boy. I have learned more ways to inflict pain than anyone you will ever find in this world. The scary part? I will break my own body to do it. Good luck Willy Boy and pray to god you can find a place to hide in that cage.”


“Now I just have to figure out if I am going to have to do this alone because the only partner I trust… I just don't know."


Jack stood in his hallway as Jack’s daughter listened to him explain what had happened with him and Amber. Amber M. listened intently as Jack finished his thoughts.

  … I just never have had to deal with somebody like this… She is an amazing girl but god damn is she just… Ugh.

Amber smiles lightly and hugs her Dad before speaking.

  Daddy… She is a human being who has been hurt and broken and molested by every person she has ever met. Everyone in her life has either left her, used her or died… And you are the first real exception to that rule. I mean… The reason she can’t see that we care for her is that she never has had somebody who would be willing to stand by her forever. Good or bad. Right or wrong. You need to realize we are all she has and you can’t judge her for that.

It amazed him that a 17-year-old girl could see something so obvious but he himself could be so blind. With a quick peck on her cheek, Jack turned back around to head back towards the gym. He arrived quickly enough and looked at the carnage in his gym while his shoulders sag. Amber was no longer there but where she sat was a small pool of blood that caught Jack by surprise. He walked over and noticed a chunk of bloody glass and a trail that led towards the stairs that went to his garage. A large bloody hand print stained the door as the sounds of an idling engine played a unique symphony with an Enrique Iglesias song piercing the air.

  What the hell?

The smoke was thick and black in the industrial garage as Jack came through the door coughing. He tried to find the switch to open up the large hanger doors but the madness of the situation caused him to become lost in the haze. Trying to shield his eyes from the smoke, Jack began to listen to the strains of “Hero” as he pushed towards his prized Cobalt Blue 1997 Dodge Viper. There was much sentiment with the car but Jack had no thoughts of it as he found the window. Though barely visible in the smoke and tears of his own eyes, Jack saw a bloodied Amber passed out over the front seats of his car. He grabbed at the door handle but found the car was locked. He slumped over in a coughing fit as he slammed a hand against the window.

  AMBER! *cough* *cough* AMBER! WAKE UP! *cough* Please…

Jack’s voice was hoarse as he felt his head starting to spin from all the Carbon Monoxide in the air. He braced himself on shaky legs.



With a primal scream, Jack used his fist to explode the driver’s side window. Superficial cuts lined his arm and chest as he pushed through the broken glass, unlocked the door and grabbed Amber from the seats. Carrying her in his arms, Jack stumbled back from the car but found himself completely lost in the haze. He stumbled back and forth as the blood from his wounds dripped onto Amber. He fell to a knee and looked down at the young woman in his arms.

  Not like this… No. NO!

Jack forced himself back up and pushed on in one direction of the garage with all of his might. He walked for what felt like hours but was only several seconds before coming to a side door. With everything he had left, Jack rushed forward and slammed his foot into the door. The door came splintering off the hinges as the duo went falling out of the garage and onto the cold pavement of Jack’s driveway. The two lay on the pavement as guests from inside were finally able to see what has happened. Jack’s Amber was the first to rush outside and ran up to her father who lies on his back on the ground.

  Daddy! Are you okay?

Jack waved her off and pointed towards the garage.

  Go… Open the… Door. Turn off the car… Call… 911….

Amber M. nods as she pulls out her phone and rushes over to her own car in the driveway. She opens the door with the clicker to vent the smoke as Jack picked himself up to a knee and leaned over Amber R. Jack put his ear to her nose to find she wasn’t breathing.

  Oh God… No, no, no, no, no…..

Jack tilted her head back and started to give her CPR as sirens could be heard in the distance. After the third gust of air into her body, Amber began to cough and sputter the smoke out of her lungs. Jack sat above her checking her eyes as Amber slowly came back to reality. She looked around in confusion before making a realization aloud.

  Jack… You’re bleeding on me.

Jack just stared at her in disbelief before chuckling. His chuckle turned into a full blown laugh as he nodded.

  Yes, yes I am.

The two partners laid under the night stars as we slowly fade to black…

Offline Distorted Angel

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... The Concept Of Trust ...
« Reply #7 on: November 26, 2017, 09:51:30 PM »
“I bet you're sleeping safe and calm, and you can stay there, it's safer there, and you wouldn't stand one night on this journey my mind wanders off to every night you close your eyes. I'll stay here one day and I will never come down.
I promise I can fly before I hit the ground.
It doesn't even hurt anymore.
I swear, it doesn't hurt.”
― Charlotte Eriksson, Empty Roads & Broken Bottles; in search for The Great Perhaps

Jack Michael’s House
Las Vegas, NV

Rock bottom never looked so fucking bright.

Maybe it was the drink, Gentleman Jack with pride of place by her side like an unofficial plus once since she walked through the door with lips firmly planted around the bottle like an unholy kiss. There came no solace though, no reprieve that she’d been promised time and time before… It was the holidays no doubt. Each one a little harder than the last.

She vaguely remembered the first one after her father walked out, god, her mother had tried so hard for normality- a table full of food that came with little merriment and less satisfaction when a table for three had become for two.
After that, she tried less every year.
Turkey started coming frozen and processed, sides straight from a can and booze flowed freely as though still being consumed for two. Hours of preparation became minutes of throwing things into an oven and hoping the seven/eight/nine year old might remember to not let them burn like the year before.
Sometimes they’d be joined by another of her revolving door boyfriends, their kids as bewildered as young Amber to their place among this clusterfuckery of relations and bottles of cheap vino stacking by the bin.

… ‘Go and play... They might be your brother or sister one day.’ ...

Young Amber didn’t care for them much, they never stuck around long enough to be remembered. Wrestling on VHS, videos watched so many times it’d started to wear away in places. That’s all that ever remained. That’s also where she’d first heard of Jack, curled up in the blankets on the couch as her mother and whichever asshole cared just enough to slip between the sheets disappeared until lust devolved into arguments and self-loathing.

Thanksgiving was hardest when you had little to be thankful for.

Amber swallowed hard, she was supposed to be thankful for her career yet she’d fallen so goddamn fast recently she couldn’t remember where it had started. Opportunities to advance had come crashing down around her cause she couldn’t allow success to become habit, making sure to hit every possible snag on the way down before landing with a sickening thud and dislocating her shoulder for the fourth time in three years.

Maybe she should have been thankful for the bottle of Gentleman Jack in her hand but even he, like everything else in her life it seemed, was on his way out as well.
No one could win forever, not even ‘The Blast’ Jack Michaels but given the opportunity he’d tell anyone who’d listened that it was possible and that he’d done it at one time or another.
Fuck him, fuck his opinion and fuck his stupid thanksgiving that made her feel as though she were just a little more inadequate than when she’d walked through the fucking door.

… “Do you want me to prove you are not ready to start this match” …

All he’d proven was that she’d drunk a little too much. That her reactions were a little off.

Didn’t stop him slapping her, as though it somehow proved his point. It didn’t hurt, if anything she found herself more offended that he’d held back as though she couldn’t handle that either. Precious delicate little Amber who just needed saving cause she clearly couldn’t protect herself.

He said she wasn’t ready, all she heard was that she wasn’t good enough.

… “I can’t let you do this Amber”...

Fear didn’t justify potential failure. Empty words rang insultingly as their upcoming foes fluoresced across her skin. Fear couldn’t justify something more real, more tangible that he couldn’t allow words to express. Despite everything she’d accomplished, he couldn’t trust her.
Couldn’t. Wouldn’t Shouldn’t. It all felt the fucking same as the bottle of Gentleman Jack slipped from her hand and off the chair edge where she’d held it precariously, swearing loudly as it shattered on impact with glass scattering across the gym floor.

Such a fucking waste.

... “The only reason no one cares is because your too fucking drunk and stubborn to see what's in front of you. If you want to do things your own way fine but you are not always right Amber Ryan. If you want to be alone in this god forsaken world fine but some of us like having you in their life.” ...

More fear spewed into words he thought she needed to hear. More lies to mask an uncertain truth. Unsteadily, Amber slid off the chair and onto her knees, glass crunching slightly beneath the weight as she tried to pick up the worst of the bottle she’d broken- an attempt to do right.
Must have been wonderful being Jack Michaels, the world falling proverbially on it's knees whenever he walked into a room. Distractedly glass sliced into her hand, only serving to piss her off further.

Another effort. Another fuck up.

No one ever questioned his talent, his ability or what he’d done to get this far. Just his age. Unavoidable perhaps, while Amber suffered beneath the harsh lights and microscopic nit-picking. She was too young, past her prime, one dimensional, bipolar,  too violent, not violent enough, unstable, boring, choke artist.
Never good enough to be champion, never good enough to stay champion.

She’d lost a step somewhere along the way and no one thought she could get it back.

… “I care about you.” …

God, she wished the room would stop spinning.


“Just when you think you’ve got the whole thing figured out right?

I thought our team was dysfunctional, what with Lord Raab using his limited vocal range to groan menacingly every time Bridges walks into a room- which oddly enough isn’t too dissimilar to the feeling I get as well although I have the capacity to adequately portray what a douchebag I think the guy really is.

Then you’ve got CON… I mean they have the tag titles… I suppose I’m meant to just accept that their contribution to this match is the fact they haven’t really had any competition worth mentioning since they won the belts. We’re expected to be grateful cause they showed up for work only half hour late right?
To be fair, it makes them right on time to crawl right on under the desk and split sack duties for our great and glorious leader…

Let's not lose sight on the important stuff though cause we still have a match to win.


Honestly though, I’m still trying to figure out where I stand.

See on one hand, Bridges is an asshole and well… Yeah. Lets not get into that.

On the other hand… in case you can’t tell already… I really don’t like losing.

Puts us at an impasse, right?

Still, at least we aren’t trying to kill each other before the match- personally I’m waiting till everyone gets to the party before we play career musical chairs cause frankly that's just manners.

Can’t say I’m surprised though that somehow Lucas fucking Silva finds himself at the centre of controversy once more then wonders why the fuck everyone's calling him out on it.

Even Boy is disgusted, I think.

Here’s a future tip, if you’re gonna light the fuse maybe try to run before the explosion rather than sticking around to watch it blow. That being said,  it's not like anyone expects you to actually do anything in this match anyway...
After all, you lost the Ultraviolence title to the least hardcore guy on the roster who’s not my esteemed tag team partner- I kid, Prydor makes even Jack look like he’s on my fucking level when it comes to depravity.

Then Die Tweever lost against Paragon- which to be fair should have come as a surprise to absolutely no one.

Now you think you’ve hit rock bottom, but sweetheart the best is yet to come.

See I know all about that place, about falling for what feels like forever and waiting for the crash. It doesn’t come though, not in the way you’d expect. There isn’t this jarring moment of clarity or body collapsing epiphany that somehow makes everything make sense.

It just hurts.

And nothing makes it stop.

You just l accept it, carry it with you and learn not to breath even as your chest collapses from within.

Come War Games? It's not even Paragon you should fear, hell it's not even Lord Raab… and let's face it, no one thinks CON is remotely scare worthy. Look over your shoulder Kid, you’re own team is gunning for you and you’re touching up that bullseye between your shoulder blades.

Guess that’s a nice little segue to you Will, huh?

To be honest though, I’d have preferred to do this in a more formal and less ‘lets kill each other’ capacity however beggars can’t be choosers.
Kudos firstly, you did what many dreamed, yet it seems to be your own worst nightmare come to life.

I don’t count Twitter really, not when it comes to something as important as a first impression and we both agreed that Will Prydor vs Amber Ryan would sell out the Carnage arena twice over provided STK and CON weren’t stinking the place out beneath us.
Yet something just doesn’t feel right- does it?
Circumstance is funny in that way, everyones so busy watching everyone else that they don’t stop to consider their reason for stepping in the cage…

Everyone says they’ve got something to fight for and something to prove.

You’ve got neither yet stand proudly like the soldier you desperately wanna be seen as. I get it, honestly, I really do. Fighting for something you believe in, it's admirable especially if you happen to buy into it… Carnage. It's home, remove the cancer and it's happily ever after.


You don’t though. You say you do but I see it inside you, stepping up cause you feel obligated, cause somehow justice and revenge are enough to force career suicide into being an option. An eye for an eye when everyones already half blind and wholly fucked.

That's still okay- just makes our lives a little easier.

Bring that real wrestling game of yours, I’ll personally have a good chuckle when Jack grinds you into the canvas. Hell, try come at me with it cause I’ve always got a few surprises up my sleeves, and in my pockets especially for those who think they’ve done their research. Young dogs, sick tricks- and truth be told someone like me never stops learning.

You aren’t dumb Prydor… Just gullible. Hopeful and determined that somehow you’re making things better.

You’re not, but who am I to tell you otherwise?

Wave that Carnage flag nice and high, maybe you’ll convince yourself you belong. Maybe you’ll finally drink the Legions kool-aid even though it's well-known every front row fan has pissed in it at least once.
Become the next STK while the UV title eats you alive.

Yeah, goals as fuck kiddies.”


Anywhere but here.

That’d been the goal, although in truth it was a minor miracle she’d managed to get this far without keeling over in a pool of blood and drool, so far she’d calculated the damage to be a broken bottle and a bloody handprint she suspected she’d left on a wall.
No- the blood and drool, the pounding headache and promises to never drink again… That’d be tomorrow sometime, right about when the hangover would take hold.

It wasn’t tomorrow yet, or maybe it was.

Seemed irrelevant as the door to the garage slammed in her wake, no one would hear her now though, the party had long since died and anyone with sense found themselves curled contentedly into a food coma before horrific toilet blocking messes ensued.

She wouldn't be here to witness it though.

Maybe sober she’d have appreciated the car more, she’d always loved anything mechanical… it made more sense than people, less effort to maintain and generally could be fit with blunt objects without too much complaint.
Dodge had never been her thing, she’d had a busted up 1970 Chevelle bought with her first main event money and restored into something she’d loved.

Sentiment was strong until she’d rolled it four and a half times.

She hadn’t owned a car since, preferring now the simplicity of her 2011 Hayabusa that lurked contentedly in the driveway outside. She’d scratched it to hell, replaced more than what it was ever worth- it was imperfect but it was undoubtedly hers.
Slipping inside, barely missing smashing her head along the way, Amber got to work drunkenly trying to dismantle the steering column- she’d learned to hotwire cars from one of the delinquents her mother had brought home, only to dump him when he’d found spending time with her 9 year old daughter preferable to her.

It’d been a skill that had come in handy- especially when her mother had frequently lost her car keys amid drunken stupors and insecure outbursts. Begging her daughter to start the car cause she just need to run to the shops and get a couple more bottles to last the week even though it was only Tuesday.
Now, with unsteady hands she poked her tongue out to improve her focus- only to look like a drunken idiot with her tongue sticking out.
It took longer than she anticipated though, dizzy and swearing loudly as she’d burnt her fingers a couple times with the ignition wire as it sparked against her bloody hand while only now wondering if blood conducted electricity.
Just a couple revs though, that's all it’d take.

Roaring to life, Amber stomped on the accelerator a couple times as the engine responded in glee.

Freedom was just beyond… the garage door.


Another couple stomps kept the engine idling happily as she searched briefly looking for a door opener, as if the logical thing would be to keep it inside the car whilst blissfully unaware of the exhaust fumes piling into each other consuming the car in a rolling wave of thickening exhaust. It was heady, almost euphoric in a sick way as her drunken haze blocked out everything but the idea of freedom… and sleep.
God, she hadn’t realized she was so tired, eyes drooping as she swayed in her seat, fumes burning the back of her throat raw.
Maybe she just needed a little sleep to clear her head, to improve her focus. Freedom could wait while she closed her eyes for a little… Maybe then Jack might realize that he wasn’t… something something something…

Her thoughts blurred and eyes burned as she tried to wave the smoke from her eyes, slumping sideways into the passenger's seat.

Dizzy. Drunk. Exhausted.

Anywhere but here.


“I wish I could feel sorry for you Trent.

I mean you’ve had a pretty rough time of it lately, all that back and forth with Redemption and JC? It's enough to make a man wanna wash his mouth out with buckshot- and then you step out of line.
It’s with all the sincerity I can muster that I say this- why the fuck did you get involved?

Cause you hate Bridges, jesus fuck join the club- we meet on tuesday and expect new people to bring juice boxes… Seriously though, you wanna take it a step further and fuck around in War Games cause… reasons?
People like Kyra and Tweeder, they have legit reasons… People like Prydor, well he tries so give him a half point for that and people like Lucas Silva can’t stand not being talked about for 2 minutes.

So what's your excuse- and don’t say cause you love the depravity, that's what the dominatrix industry is for. Boredom perhaps? Trent Steel has nothing better to do than get his head caved? Get a fucking hobby. Seriously, anything… Pilates, spin class, knitting- we’ll only judge for a little while I promise.

Maybe you’re the dark horse, the man to watch as he emerges like a goddamn hero. Truth is, you’re just another black knight about to drown in his armour cause the standards are rising faster than you can keep up with- Trent Steel isn’t feared anymore. Just pitied. Trent Steel isn’t a secret weapon to be pulled in times of desperation, just a tool jerked about by those too busy over-compensating to realize that he’s just not that guy anymore.

Trent Steel is a burden, and the funny part is… He’s probably going to agree with me.

At least Kyra didn’t fuck up entirely though, I mean she’s still got you right Tweeder?

5% owner and Ultraviolence icon. You’re the guy, or so I’ve been told, and maybe about the only other person in this match besides Kyra whose reasoning I can get behind.
You know, until I remember that you winning means that I have to take a loss and frankly, I’m just not okay with that- even if it means the power hungry cockroach breaths another day.

Priorities Tweeder, it's just a shame that Carnage hasn’t been one of yours.

Nice of you to show up when it's convenient though, I mean waiting until Bridges had made sure at least 85% of the locker room had openly daydreamed about the ways they’d gut him while keeping him alive long enough to watch his intestines unravel onto the floor.
I just picture it now- Tweeder makes the save, promotes an absentee world champion and then disappears back into the abyss like CON’s imaginary fan base.

Valiant yet entirely underwhelming.

Kind of like your effort in Monarchy Of Anarchy, granted I don’t remember seeing you…

Oh yeah, that's cause you lost in the first round to the same person I beat in the 2nd. Let's not bring that up though, I’d hate to taint the infamous legacy of an AWOL hero.
You were kind of a big deal around here, but things have changed… The landscape has shifted while you were busy trying to find a way back into relevance- people like me have fought to keep the memory of people like you from fading.
Mutual respect is just that and nostalgia is wonderful on it's own time, but War Games is no time for rose tinted yesterdays.

You had your time Tweeder, you made your mark and  you had your chance to do more yet all you’ve done is play last minute savior to the forsaken Legion.

No, fuck you Tweeder. That’s not how this works.”


Always seemed to be raining when she was here.

Familiarity bred comfort as she allowed the breath she was holding to leave her chest.

No wreck, no car, no lights and sirens forever a couple miles away. No tree bent and damaged, no shattered glass dancing with the raindrops across bitumen… Just the same open, tree lined highway in the dead of night illuminated only by the stars and the blinding light a little way down from where she stood. She never could see through it. Never could move past it, even if she wanted. Squinting hard, the rain seemed to drip down her face, though maybe it was tears she hadn’t realized she was crying.

Still the light looked warm and comforting, the purest incarnation of a loving embrace as it whispered sweet nothings and soft promises that there would be no more pain.

Deep down though, she knew it felt like nothing.

“It's not as exciting as it looks.”

Amber hadn’t recalled her being here before, almost materializing at the redheads side amidst the lashing rain. Here she was still 13, raven haired with those same blue green eyes that met Amber in every mirror she tried to avoid and same mischievous disarming smile she’d inherited from her older half-sister.
Rebecca Ryan seemed bored, typical teenager with hands buried in her pockets- she didn’t seem to notice the rain as much, the wind whipping her hair around her face as it danced between the pair.

“I know, seems better than this though.”

What ‘this’ was seemed unclear to Amber, it was meant to be easy. Go forth, walk through and be done with it- her mind felt clearer, although her chest ached but she couldn’t understand why.

“Does it? Then walk… but don’t you dare look back.”

Rebecca’s voice rung out clearly, despite the growing winds and sharpening ache. Everything hurt, every drop of rain like a tiny dagger, each more painful than the last with the damp on her skin almost warming as though she were being torn to pieces.

“You never said which direction.”

Amber’s throat felt stripped raw as Rebecca chuckled softly beside her.  She’d had never forgotten how sweet it sounded, even after all this time.

“I know. That's the point.”

Neither of them moved as trees uprooted around them, flying dangerously close as the road beneath them slowly tore itself apart at the seams. Stars extinguished overhead, one by one until all that remained was a light that seemed to slowly collapse in on itself.

“You’re not ready Amber. Not yet.”

It hurt so bad she couldn’t feel a thing.

Those words- before they would have cut to the bone, they would have ignited an inferno in her veins and spurned the hurricane between her ribs…She would have done anything to force those words down the throats of anyone who dare utter them, to shove them so deep into every orifice that broomstick sodomy would have been a preferable way to go.

She’d always fought to prove them wrong.

Only this time, they were right.


“Oh how different things could have been, right?

Ifs. Buts. Maybes.

What if Kyra had done more, what if she’d been able to put her emotions aside. What if she’d just done what was asked of her… Would we be in this situation?

There’s those maybes again, nasty little things they are. Uncertainties, wonderings about what might have been- it's all rather toxic actually. Poisons what's left of the soul if you’re so lucky to still have one.

Honestly though? I don’t blame you one bit.

I should, but I don’t.

After all, it leads us into what can only be described as a sadistic dream match of epic proportions- Kyra Mohr vs Amber Ryan, no one ever knew how much they wanted this until you got yourself fired, disgracefully removed and reinstated for the amusement of a jerkoff asshole with a desperate need to be brown-nosed.
I know I didn’t. Maybe this is all a blessing in disguise but I can’t help but wonder- what if you manage to win, what if you get Bridges in a match, what if you find your way back into an ownership position…

Deja vu?


People like us Kyra, we’ve a habit of going round in circles, vicious cycles I suppose. We continue to make the same mistakes over and over again, and we say we learn but we don’t.

Retreading the same treacherous ground like somehow the result will change. Truth is, it won’t and the inevitable sticks under the skin like a splinter- you disappointed Carnage once, you let everything you worked towards fall beneath the wheels of your own drama.

Now you’ve got an army together to save what you broke.

Well, you did have an army.

Now all you have is a pathetic child, an anticlimactic champion, an underwhelming dark horse and an icon struggling to re-find relevancy in what he created.

Oh, and you.

Hmmm, good luck with that.”


4CW: 10-6-0
Carnage: 11-2-0
Life: 0-1-0

Offline Lord Raab

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Re: War Games: Team Kyra vs. Team Bridges
« Reply #8 on: November 26, 2017, 10:50:18 PM »

Family struggles/teaming with woman issues and the war games match discussions. Baltimore, Maryland. Saturday 26th November.

Lord and Konrad Raab had only just gotten to the apartment Lord Raab's shrink Henry Losak hired for him as he's completely banned from being in hotels from around the world and it was in a way good for Konrad because he wasn't able to use his medication in a hotel due to still being against the law to use, but that's in case he needed it which of course at this time, he didn't and although Lord Raab's been here for the last few days, Konrad arrived from Germany so he could be with his brother to support him in the match.

A match where Lord Raab had a ton of experience in and the apartment had two bedrooms which was perfect for Henry to plan at the time as he knew about Konrad coming to make up for the amount of times Lord Raab's seen Konrad wrestle in Las Vegas and Berlin Germany for both Breakdown shows.

It was really good to have that support, although Konrad knew at the same time he had a lot to discuss to his twin brother about Lord Raab's son that suddenly appeared in his life he wasn't aware of along with the phone call he had about Lord Raab not being able to parent a child very well. They sat down on the sofa, looking around the apartment Henry was hiring for Lord Raab and Konrad speaks.

Konrad Raab: “Before I get into the whole wrestling business side of things, Henry wants me to talk to you about Callum.”

Lord Raab: “I don't want to.”

Konrad Raab: “I do because I want to help you. I heard you're afraid of showing love to him, but that's what being a father is about. I'm aware you never knew about Callum or that you already had a kid, but life comes unexpected and you have to prepare for it.”

Lord Raab: “I'm not afraid, I just don't know how to show love to another person. It's bad enough I struggled with Samuel and even you.”

Konrad Raab: “It's OK, you'll be fine and he also told me that you haven't got Callum into a school yet. Is that true?”

That did bother Lord Raab a lot that he found out he was breaking the law and he explains the situation.

Lord Raab: “Yeah, it was true, but me and Samuel only just recently got that sorted. Fact is Konrad, I was a stupid dad to not even realise he was at a school age to go to one. I'm fucking clueless as a dad.”

Konrad Raab: “It takes time. You think when I had Aldetruda for the first time I was a good dad straight off the bat? No I wasn't and even I'm still learning to this day to be a better dad for my kids. You just need to be patient and you aren't a bad dad, just things you need to work on like getting Callum up earlier than nine am.”

Lord Raab: “It's more me putting him to bed at the wrong time is the problem. I put him to bed at nine at night.”

Konrad Raab: “That's too late. I'd suggest putting Callum to bed at seven thirty at least so he has plenty of sleep and wakes up at a decent time.”

It was really good advice for Lord Raab to get from his brother who was a parent himself to eight kids where they run rings around him, although the two daughters he had were from his previous marriage. Of course Lord Raab places his head down, realising the other thing he was so afraid of when it comes to matches, something that still hunts him every single day.

Lord Raab: “I love the match I'm in as violence is so my territory, but the only issue I have is me working with Amber Ryan aka a woman. You know I'm still afraid of being in the same room, let alone working with one in a match.”

Konrad Raab: “I understand, but the end of the day, there's things I'm afraid of like hardcore matches still scare me, but I have to work through them to pass the course, you have to not force yourself to attack her.”

Lord Raab: “I'm not comfortable with it and I never will be as I hate women all around the world, except our family of course, but it's bad enough I have to get counselling now for it as I'm having a daughter and a son in this world and I can't cope with that.”

This left Konrad stunned, he knew Lord Raab was having twins, but he had no clue of their gender as he wasn't told that and he pats Lord Raab's back and he addresses it.

Konrad Raab: “I had no idea, that's why you're panicking?”

Lord Raab: “Yes. What your saying is just focus on the opponents I have up ahead?”

Konrad Raab: “Exactly and this is the first time I'm experiencing a war games match too and I know it's something I could very well be in the near future.”

Lord Raab nods at his brother as he gets up from the sofa and goes to the fridge to get himself and Konrad a can of coke and there wasn't much in the fridge as they were only staying in the house for two nights together because Konrad had a match on Wednesday to do and Lord Raab closes it before he brings the can to Konrad and they open the cans up and touch them as they take sips of them before Lord Raab speaks to explain what the War Games is.

Lord Raab: “I got the most experience for the War Games match out of everybody in that match because you see, it's a cage match where you have two cages and two rings to move around and sometimes, you have to drop from one cage to the other, but I think this is just an all out brawl and no, I'm not a team player, but you got to hurt your opponents so bad that they won't stand up.”

Konrad Raab: “How do you win a war games match?”

Lord Raab: “By pinfall or submission, but only when everybody is in the cage as you come out one at a time to raise hell. I've won it twice in my career before in APW and in Inferno Wrestling, but also taken part in 4CW war games twice too.”

Konrad Raab: “Sounds your right at home. To be honest, I do respect Will Prydor mainly because he's a lot like me.”

This was the one thing of course Lord Raab always had a major problem with when it came to his brother was how different they were to their attitudes towards wrestling as he sees Konrad being dead serious with his eyes and he saw it, but he didn't like it and he speaks.

Lord Raab: “Of course you respect him because unlike you and him, you both don't have the killer instinct, but he trashes hardcore wrestling to a whole new level. At least his buddies, well except that slut Kyra Mohr, but she and this Tweeder guy are the only people I lack any info of and that's down to me only just joining Carnage Wrestling and never facing them in a match yet.”

Konrad Raab: “Well I can't say I don't trash it because I do, but only cos I hate them that much, but I do it as I'm forced to evolve as a wrestler, but you haven't faced The Sandtown Kid either.”

Lord Raab: “No I haven't, but with him, he's been the UltraViolent champion for a year and that's impressive record in itself so of course everyone is gonna see him as a threat more than Will who treats the UltraViolent title as a fucking joke. I hate everything about Will. I heard Tweeder is some sort of legend around Carnage, but like I give a fuck about him, considering I haven't heard much about him, but I got things to say about him.”

Konrad Raab: “Like what?”

Lord Raab: “For one, he seems to be a big football fan like us with FC Koln, but little does he know what happened Thursday night and that was fucking awesome and funny at the same time. Then again it's not gonna matter when I beat his ass down. Trent Steel is the last guy I've not spoken about, but I made him my bitch a month ago on the last Supershow when I pinned some star for the three count, but I still beat him.”

Konrad nods, listening to everything Lord Raab was saying with a bit of aggression coming out of him as he knows Raab was not a team player and wasn't in there to work as a team or kissing people's butt. Lord Raab knew what his purpose was and he speaks.

Lord Raab: “My object is not to work with these fucks, it's to hurt and destroy everyone in my way. They can work with me if they want, but I'm going in with the same process as I did with Inferno Wrestling when I was forced to team up, winning the match for myself and you better not che.......”

Konrad Raab: “What? No, I'm not gonna cheer for Will to win, no matter how much I respect that guy, I do want you to win because family comes above wrestlers I respect and I may not even like watching it, but I'm paying you back as you having my back and supporting me for Las Vegas and Berlin shows.”

Lord Raab: “You better Konrad cos I'd get pissed if you do. Lets go out to a restaurant and eat as you must be starving man. Thanks for coming here to watch me wrestle tomorrow night.”

Of course Konrad always finds a way to pay his brother back when he came to watch Konrad wrestle and this was that time as even if it's for one match, for Konrad it's better than nothing and they stand up and leave the house to find a local restaurant that has a lot of vegertarian options due to Konrad's strict diet at the moment and they eat a meal together before coming back to the apartment to get some sleep in different rooms before Lord Raab wrestles the next day. He opens up his laptop as soon as he woke up this morning and addresses the War Games match on camera.


Representing myself in the War Games match shoot

“So far, I'm glad to be apart of the Carnage Wrestling roster as I've never felt more at home to be in more hardcore situations than I've been in a very long time. At least this place lives up to it's name and I'm permanently focused on business with this company now, the other company is dead and buried to me now and it was god awful being there and I've never been happier, regardless of how much people hate me and how much I hate the thought of teaming with a fucking woman in this match cos the truth is, I don't work well with women as I usually stab them in the back and it's cos I had a bad past with trusting women in the past as so has the man who's actually going to be in attendance tonight, my twin brother Konrad Raab.

I honestly don't care who's teaming with me as I'm not gonna work as apart of the team as it's never been the kind of guy I am, but simply known to be reckless and dangerous which is why a match like War Games fits who I am as a wrestler. I've been in four War Games matches in my career and this would be my fifth one.

Some could say Team Bridges has the advantage purely down to my experience with this match. Of course this leads to me not knowing two wrestlers very well when I've only just joined here a month ago and I'm like wow, has it been that long? How things have gone fast, but enough about that, I get down to business to talk about the two people I don't know much about.

Tweeder, I'm sure you have your reasons for being in this match if you hate Bridges or other members of my so called team, but all this violence talk you do well you haven't fucking faced me yet who's willing to take things to the extreme with brutalising and beating the living shit out of you and of course, I know you're known as some sort of icon around here and done a heck of a lot for this company, but you're time has been done a while ago and you'll stay retired once I send you back on a stretcher. By the way considering you like to talk about football, what about when Tottenham couldn't beat Arsenal, but a few days later, my team FC Koln beat Arsenal in a European Cup on Thursday which was funny to watch so you support the wrong team.

Then we have a silly tart who thinks she knows what Ultra Violence really is on Kyra Mohr. It's not hard for me to beat the living shit out of a women, considering women are evil pieces of shits of the world, regardless of what other people think and you'd wish you hadn't gotten involved in this match, especially how I enjoyed attacking you because I love to cause violence towards stupid women like yourself who's not brave, is a complete utter fool acting like she's got tits when in reality, she won't be having any once I've left her for dead.

Like I did with Trent Steel who still goes on about the glory days of OWF and nobody gives a shit about that dead company which it is and for you to shut the fuck up about it and focus on what's happening now right in Carnage Wrestling. I have no problems beating you once again, considering you haven't done anything worthy since I beat your ass at the last Supershow, even though you claim to have done a lot, I haven't seen you done shit since I put you on the injured list and I'll do it once again.

But then again we have this idiotic Sandtown Kid who to give him credit and the only person I do that's been a champion for a year and a half almost with the Ultra Violence title until that idiot team mate I'll get to in a minute beat him and that's impressive, honestly it is, but however, I didn't like the fact you attacked me to protect your Trent from getting his ass kicked again amongst your team who are at this point a bunch of ass kissers much like yourself. You may had the upper hand on Chaos, but you'll get no chance of that in this upcoming match, being I'm the master of War Games matches.

I can't even believe I'm saying this, but you Will Pydor have somehow gained the respect from my twin brother who as I said will be in attendance tonight, Konrad Raab. Do you know why he respects you? Because the pair of you are fucking alike, being in hardcore matches despite hating them, but the difference is Konrad is only in them because he has to complete a course meaning he has to, you however don't have a reason or want to be apart of the division and I don't even know why you even became Ultra Violence champion when you're better off with the Carnage title? It makes me sick how you treat Ultra Violence division like shit and most of all, how you defeated me in the match, but that's not gonna happen ever again and I'm beating the holy shit out of you just because I hate guys like yourself who wrestle for the sake of the fans who don't give a shit about you and I don't respect you one bit.

Yes I know I got Brian Crucifix, Robert Zodiac, Amber Ryan and Jack Michaels on the team with me, but they can go to win as a team all they want and they can go for it, but I don't give a shit other than beating the fuck out of everyone on the opposite team to win the match for myself, not for Bridges or the stupid war they've been having, I enjoy beating the shit out of people in War Games matches.

In fact, War Games is one of my favourite matches in this sport and I do well in them because I enjoy busting people wide open, beating the holy shit out of my opponents with weapons and on the steel cage. Nothing stops me from doing what I want in the cage and that's what I love. I hate restrictions being put on me as it's no fun wrestling within the rules that's a borefest wrestling match, I never got into wrestling by two guys being the better wrestler one on one matches.

I got into wrestling from pure violence and I enjoyed using a weapon to a wrestlers head after a show in Germany finished years ago along with seeing this guy wearing the mask I wear right now to inspire me to get into this world of violence sport and tonight, of course this war ends, but I'm gonna walk away as the victor of the match, not giving a fuck what everyone else does and achieve yet a third win in my fifth War Games match to overcome the odds once again after I've caused injuries to everyone on the other team by myself. Nobody wants to try to destroy me as I'm far too dangerous in this sort of situation to be stopped which I won't be because this is my house and where I belong as I've represented myself before in team matches and I won all, but one War Games matches and that streak is gonna continue all the way through my wrestling career because I'm motherfucking unstoppable and nobody will stop me from destroying mother fuckers on the other team. Tonight team Mohr, prepare to be Raabinated by The Masked German Monster as Mohr will go bye bye once the match is over and dominated by me.”
« Last Edit: November 27, 2017, 07:14:00 AM by Lord Raab »

Offline Bowen ._.

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Toast to the Ghost
« Reply #9 on: November 26, 2017, 10:56:28 PM »
“You’re not the man I married,”

A pause.

“You’re not the man I once loved,”

A second pause.

“I wish he were still here today to show you who he – who you – once were.”

A sigh. This time the sound, or in her case a lack there-of, was from myself. She was in tears, but I wasn’t. I had a single “bud” in my ear, with the volume up to a volume only the weakest of man uses when he doesn’t want to face confrontation. She continued to rant about how there was no love in our marriage, but all I heard were the lyrics of Hall and Oates’ “Maneater”. Strangely enough, they fit the situation perfectly. This woman didn’t know me, she didn’t even know me when I asked for her heart and received it.

I stood, and she turned, asking a question I hardly heard, but I heard enough to gather a response.

“When are you going to grow up?”

“You don’t understand what my life is, do you? I wake up every morning surrounded by filth. Because of my need to have some kind of financial security, I don’t spend money on anything. I live in the back of my car, Brooke. I do it so when we have kids, they don’t have to worry about waking up in the same filth I do. Do you hear me, Brooke?”

I knew she did, but she didn’t give an answer. It was a shame, if I’m being honest. I could feel my bones aching, my head throbbing, and my heart slowly tearing in my chest. She continued her silence, and I let out a second sigh.

“I’ll take that as a no. If you ever listen to one thing I tell you, let it be this: everything I do is for the benefit of you and our future. I do the things I do, no matter how dastardly and vile they may seem, so we can continue to live a good life. You understand, don’t you?”

I wished she’d knew how bad it felt to be in her presence. Not only was I sitting here fighting a losing battle, I was losing her as well.

She stood, placing a hand on my chest, then a second, before pushing me into the wall. There was a moment of confusion when she didn’t lean in for a kiss like we were in one of those 80’s Romance films. She placed her head up against my chest where he hands had been, and she began to weep.

Times like these make me wish someone wrote a step-by-step guide to keeping a marriage together. I placed on her back, letting her tears fall to the floor.

“I understand that people do things that they don’t want to, but I don’t want that to change who you are.”

“They haven’t, I promise.”

She frowned. I looked down in confusion, and she backed a few steps away.

“Brian, they’ve changed you. When we met, you looked like a proper gentleman. When I look at you now, you look like you’re going to rob me at gunpoint. Like the old saying goes ‘He that lays with dogs rises with fleas’, and right now you’re laying with the dirtiest dogs in the game.”

“I don’t think we see things the same way, Brooke. Bending the rules doesn’t translate to being a piece of shit, alright?”

“But it does, Brian. It really truly does!”

“Then where are the flies, Brooke? I don’t think you understood me when I said I do these things for you. I don’t do them for me, I don’t do them for Zodiac. I do those things so you can have money when I’m gone, but I can’t even do that right without you spending all the money I’ve made!”

I had the feeling that she was in the same state as I was, but that made no sense to me. She was the one in the palace with her jewels and I was the one sleeping in the back of a car, or in a run-down motel, waiting for someone to come in and blow my brains out. Maybe she was toying with me, waiting for my scaled armor to fall so she could slit my throat slowly as she took notes on how the blood left my body.

I may have been over-analyzing things. I may have been making assumptions, but I no longer cared. I was my own man, and this little – I don’t even want to give her the benefit of knowing she’s a whore, at least a whore has another cock to suck when she’s done milking someone of their cash.

“You know, maybe Andy was right about you. Maybe you are just a gold-digging bitch. I’m done, Brooke. We’re through.”

At this point I knew nothing. Here I was, getting ready to leave the life I had built up all this time behind. As I left the front door, there was a moment that I wanted to turn and say it was all just a joke, but it wasn’t. I was being used, and no matter how hard she pleaded, no matter how many times she’d try and tell me “You have kids, Brian. Your kids need you!” I’d know that those kids weren’t mine.

It’s like she said – if I were never around, then how in the Hell could she be pregnant with my children? I was done with her, and I was done with everything she tried to make me become. Just, where would I go?

It had been a week since the divorce. The papers had been signed, I wasn’t able to get custody of the unborn child/children (another thing she never told me was what the baby – or babies – ended up being) because they weren’t born yet. I was fine with that. They weren’t my kids. They never would be. What saddened me the most about the whole damn thing was that now that I had all this time on my hands, I’d been in the gym, beating myself over it.

“It’s not your fault.”

I froze. I knew that voice. It wasn’t my little pup Lobo, nor was it Aiden. I hadn’t seen either of them in a while. No, this man used to be my kin. He used to be my brother, but I screwed all that up. I turned to face the individual. He smiled and walked over to the punching bags, faces of team Kyra’s members plastered on each of them. As usual, I’d had to put up a fourth Trent Steel one, though that was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

He helped me set up more punching bags for Prydor and Tweeder, then stopped.

“You know, you can always stay at my place until you’re on your feet.”

“I don’t take charity. Not anymore.”

I could feel his smile. I didn’t like the sensation of it, so I shot him a look, trying to get him to back down. He continued to smile, so I turned back to my training.

“Come on, Brian. You’ve gotta give yourself a break.”

“What did I just say?”

“I don’t take charity.”

“Exactly, so unless you’re trying to help me get ready for the fight of my life, then get out of my hair.”

He sighed and sat at the bench behind me, probably messing with Paragon on Twitter. I continued to slam punch after punch into the bags, watching as my strikes did virtually nothing to them. I continued on like this until I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d been here from dusk to dawn every day, no breaks. My body wasn’t in that type of shape, but I needed it to be.

I fell to my knees, trying to gather my breath, but nothing came. TJ came to my side and helped me onto my back before grabbing a water bottle, forcing me to chug it down. Water rushed up my body and shot out with constant coughing. I sat up against the wall, and TJ did the same.

As I gathered my composure, TJ began to ask questions.

“Why are you doing this to yourself, Brian?”

“I need to win that War Games match, TJ. We need to win this thing. Honestly, I don’t give a damn what happens to Bridges. The man can be set on fire and lynched in Baltimore town square for all I care, but he’s given Rob and I an opportunity. The least we can do is help him out here.”

“But knowing you, that means you’re going to cheat to win.”

“All’s fair in love and war, Tyler.”

The day after the incident at the gym, I awoke in the back of my car, as usual, but it was parked outside of TJ’s house. I climbed into the front seat and drew the keys from my side pocket, placing them in the ignition and driving off.

To say I had no idea where I was going would be a major lie, an insult to you, the audience. I was heading back to the gym, the same place I had been every day of the previous week. I had begun to realize that I had had nothing to eat in the past day and a half, so I scrounged for some coins, hoping to get something off a dollar menu, or buy a sub sandwich from the local deli.

I continued my search, constantly checking back to the road, but still I found nothing. I hit the dashboard in anger, then noticed a small envelope fall from the glove box. I glanced down at the envelope and instantly noticed what it was and who it was from.

Less than a year ago, when the OWF closed and I was forced to find refuge here in Carnage Wrestling, a man by the name of Trent Steel (I’m sure you’ve heard of him) visited me to make sure everything was fine with my financial state and everything around the holidays. I never used the money. At the time I was saving it for my wedding, but there’s only so little $1,000 can do to help you get a marriage license at the county clerk’s office.

” Just know...If you win...I'm coming for it. We got a rematch yes?”

His words played back in my mind, but I didn’t want them to. I didn’t want to think of what I was becoming, and how it had affected my relationship with the only role model I’ve ever listened to. I was doing what he wanted me to, after all. He told me to make the most of every opportunity I was handed, and I did so. I helped team CZR win the tag titles. I earned Ragnarok’s trust so he could help Robert and I win the tag titles.

Everything over this past season has been closely articulated by Brian Crucifix, the mastermind behind the record-setting championship reign of Creatures of the Night. From bringing in the Matthews Brothers so we could have an easy championship retention to getting STK off his guard so I could have a shot at taking the Ultraviolent Championship from him … it was all my fault.

Even after all of the trickery, I knew Trent Steel had some kind of soft spot for Robert and I. It was almost as if he found comfort in knowing we hadn’t fallen into the gutters that we were held hostage in during our time with the OWF.

He knew I wouldn’t want to take the charity from him eventually. He knew I’d try and come crawling back to him, apologizing for what I had done.

No, he thought that. That’s why I still had the money in my position, as a crutch for when my life was upside down, and this classified as my world being upside-down.

Reaching into the envelope, I pulled out enough money for a simple meal, nothing more. As I pulled out the money, I noticed a small note slipping out of it’s hiding place. I pulled it out and stared at it. The note read:


You've got the raw talent to make it in this business. What you lack you'll gain just by watching and wrestling more. I have no doubt I'm looking at a future world champion. I'm proud of you for what that is worth. The one thing I am worried about you is your pride. I'm starting to see it come up and you've got a chance to do something I didn't do. Become something better than me. I know you've told me you were a fan of me, but Brian I'm a fan of you. Seeing you go out there makes me feel like all the matches that I had to endure against Jesse Williams were worth for guys like you to get a shot to show off in front of the crowd before those matches. You've got a real chance here. I know you don't have a lot of confidence now. It'll come. Just sit back and learn. Be the first one there and the last one to leave Brian. I've been doing this since I was thirteen. Think about that. That's how many more years you got to get good. I was as bad as you were, but I took an easy route. I wanted to be punished Brian. I wanted to suffer because I felt like I deserved it. Don't be like me. Be better than Trent Steel. Be superior and made of sterner stuff.

Also there is a check in here. I know it's a lot of cash. You don't owe it back to me. Consider it a down payment on your future. From your first big fan.

-Trent Steel”

I knew this was quite the gesture from someone like Trent Steel, someone who keeps his emotions within them. He knew I was something more than what the OWF wanted me to be, and I ripped all his compliments to shred, and for what, an envelope filled with green? I thought he was my friend … he thought I was his friend … and I stabbed him in the back. Seems fun, doesn’t it?

I slowly pulled into the drive-through and ordered my food. While I waited for my food, I made a call to Zodiac. No one answered, so I let the call go to voicemail.

“Hey man, we need to talk.”

What can I say about the War Games match that hasn’t already been said? I could mention how one of my partners still won’t accept my apologies, or how all of us are just here for our own benefits, but that’s nothing in the larger scale of things. The thing about this match isn’t about who’s in it, or how I’ve beaten them before. It’s a thing of pride.

Forget what they say I’m fighting for on the website, in the promotional material for this show, because they’re wrong. I’m not fighting to keep Jason Bridge’s job. I’m not fighting so he can continue to shove my dick down his mouth, because unlike what Team Kyra has been saying, I’m not sucking up to Jason Bridges. Zodiac and I didn’t turn around and ask him to be on his team, he asked us to be on his. The only reason he and I accepted Bridge’s offer was because he bartered with the two of us.

Jason Bridges gave Zodiac and I something the two of us wanted, and that was the freedom to choose our next attack. Zodiac may want a successful championship match or something stupid the Outsiders would’ve given him, but I want to fulfill a promise to someone. I want Trent Steel to know that I didn’t forget about his little shpeal from December 27th, 2016. You said I had potential, and throughout my stay here in Carnage Wrestling, you’ve seen that potential grow into something more.

Unlike the other people that came over from the OWF, Robert Zodiac and I evolved. We were green, real green, and we were stupid. You told us who to be, and we listened to you out of respect. We knew that without Trent Steel, there would be no Brian Crucifix or Robert Zodiac. If I hadn’t seen you on television, I would probably have a good paying job. I’d still be married, I’d have kids that belonged to me. If I hadn’t wanted to be like you, Trent Steel, I would’ve been a better human being. I wouldn’t have gotten beaten up in school for what I believed in because I wouldn’t have believed in you, but I did. No matter what was put in front of me, I fought through it because I knew one day I would face you … but you didn’t seem to care about my struggle.

Now, most people would wish death to you, given the same circumstances, but I wanted to thank you, Trent Steel. I wanted to thank you for helping me realize who I was meant to be. You see, I spent years trying to be in your shadow, but this year I realized that I’m not you … I’m me. So, at War Games I will fulfill my promise to you and make sure I help my team win so you and I can get our one on one match, whenever that may be. Who knows, maybe I can cash my points in on Will Prydor and win the Ultraviolent Championship from him so I can defend it against you. It doesn’t matter though, Trent, because you’re not the Trent Steel that wants to be my friend. You don’t have time for friendship anymore, and that’s cool with me. I’ll face the Son of a Bitch head-on if that means I can earn your respect back.

I don’t know if you remember, but I beat JC, the man who left you BLOODY in the middle of that ring back in the OWF, and that was when both of you were at your best. Now, if I beat JC at 50%, and you’re at 80, I feel that I fair pretty damn well against you, Trent. So bring all the weapons with you down to the ring and try and do the one thing no one has been able to do, not even myself. Bring your weapons … and try to kill Brian Crucifix.

I find it weird that my own teammates hate me. I’m not the one stabbing people in the leg until they can’t wrestle again, I’m not a 50 year old jock, I’m not the one giving my opponents brain damage, I’m not even the monster trapped in your nightmares. I am a human being, and I ask to be treated like one. What have I done to people that don’t deserve it, huh? Nothing. The actions of CON as a group do not reflect Brian Crucifix as a person, because if I were alone, I wouldn’t have done those things. Look at my match with JC, would ya? Ragnarok and Zodiac wanted to attack Joe, but I told them to back down. Why? Because I have a heart, God dammit!

And it’s not just my own teammates that are doing it, either. It’s team Kyra and their whole “We’re the top dogs” shit. Lucas Silva is a child who’s parents pitied him by throwing him out on the streets because they knew they would’ve beaten him to death for his stupidity. They brought him to a new life by dumping him on the streets because they didn’t want him in the first place, yet he’s a better human being than I am. Let me remind you who defended Meghan Harris during the Trent Steel scandal, alright? Lucas Silva was so hard for Ms. Harris that he defended her until Trent Steel beat him half to death, then he went back and continued to defend her! Now that she’s shown her true colors, he thinks he can just crawl back to Trent and sat he’s sorry.

Trent Steel isn’t a man of apologies. Ask William J. Prydor, the only man who respects me in this match, I think. If I’m correct, he knows the Amelia situation wasn’t my intentions. He knows I’m more saddened by her situation than Zodiac could ever be, and he even listened to what I had to say when I was ready to take everything away. Will Prydor deserves everything I have, just as Trent Steel does, and Kyra Mohr does, but not Tweeder.

Tweeder, you fail to see what I am. You see me as another OWF invader ready to take this place over and burn it to the ground, but I’m really just the future of Carnage Wrestling. Zo and I are the longest reigning Carnage Wrestling tag team champions, we’ve had the most defenses, and we’ve proven we can hold our own against the best. Will Prydor, JC, Trent Steel, and countless others may not have “prestige” to you, because you’re a fucking idiot. You haven’t paid attention to this company if you haven’t seen how hard I’ve been trying. I pushed myself to my limits to get a win over JC. I took punishment from him that I hadn’t take from anyone else until that point, but you don’t see that, do you? You’re just too blind to notice who I am and what I’ve done, because you know nothing about me, Tweeder, and I don’t care to know anything about you.

Now let’s move onto the main event, shall we? Kyra Mohr, the former owner of Carnage Wrestling. You know, I you shit on social media, but you’re not that bad. I mean, you went from wrestling intense opponents to running an entire fed, to being fired by the network because someone paid to take your spot. After that, though. You gave up on Carnage Wrestling. You gave up on all the guys and gals that were trying to make careers for themselves, and you did it without batting an eye, but the moment you get reinstated, you want your old job back. You want to run the pen again and herd us back into the uniformity you used to have us in, don’t you? You’re jealous that Zodiac and I are real threats.

Look at the Harris brothers, look at Amelia Midnight – though I grieve my childishness in her attack – look at La Cucaracha, even. All these people have been wiped off the map by the us, yet you continue to hurt them by saying we are not threats. I thought Redemption was a threat, eh? Well, riddle me this: if Redemption is doing the same shit we do, then why is he the threat, and we aren’t? Why is it that you put Drake Munday on a pinnacle that we aren’t on? Oh yeah, because he’s another OWF “God” that you pray to when you think of how to make Carnage Wrestling just like the promotion that kept it afloat all these years.

Let me enlighten you for a moment, Kyra. There is no God … there’s only Brian Crucifix.

Offline Trent Steel

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