Scars and Hypes! [Special]

[irobin]

Long: Hello ladies and gentlemen, welcome to “Scars and Hypes”! I am “Glorious” Sidney Long and I will be your host for this one of a kind special hype show for Scars and Stripes, where we’ll go backstage and get some superstar thoughts on the upcoming pay-per-view, including the Royal Rumble match itself, along with some of the biggest events of the past week, here in the Asylum.

Long is wearing a smart dark blue suit, with a white shirt, gold tie and matching gold cuff links, whilst standing behind a small podium, which he is leaning upon. A large screen is on the wall behind him, with the Asylum logo on one side, and the Scars and Stripes promotional poster on the other side.

Long: So, what better way to kick off the show than with a contract signing? Yes, amidst all the excitement of the first ever Asylum Royal Rumble, we still have some other matches on the card that are sure to excite wrestling fans, and one such match is the culmination of a long and bloody rivalry between the veteran submission expert Warrior, and the turncoat Jason Ambrose. Now, normally, I can’t stand that Ambrose kid, with his cocky attitude and smart mouth, but as this is all leading to him getting the ever loving snot kicked out of him by a model professional, I’m all for it!

Let’s see what happened when Jace went to meet Mark Rivera and sign the contract for his Grudge Match against Warrior at Scars and Stripes…

~~~

We see Jace Ambrose and Danny Tenfold walking through the entrance to the Asylum corporate headquarters. Jace nods casually at a few of the staff, whilst some of the woman make the “call me” sign at him. Danny instead waves to a large, hairy, fat man sat at a desk and gives him a big hug on approach.

Tenfold: My man, Shane! How’s it going, buddy?

Shane: Ah, you know, lad, same old, same old. Still, it beats spending time with the wife, you know?

Shane and Tenfold laugh, Jace says nothing.

Shane: …What’s the deal with him? Come on, lad, that joke’s a killer!

Tenfold: Uh… His girlfriend recently left him.

Shane: Oh, well, you’re a good looking guy, go get a new one. Hell, why not get two, or three or even one for each day of the week?

Danny steps back awkwardly, Shane shrugs as Jace remains stoic, not even looking at Shane as he speaks.

Jace: Yeah, thanks for the advice. Danny, you can stay and chat to this guy, I’ve got business to attend to.

Tenfold: I know, man, I’m coming with. Shane, we’ll shoot the breeze some other time.

Danny shakes hands with Shane and follows Jace to an elevator, it’s empty so they step in and head up to the sixth floor.

Jace: So, who was that guy?

Tenfold: You didn’t recognise him? That was Shane Houghton, better known as The Iron Butcher.

Jace: That’s the Butcher? Damn, he’s let himself go. I swear man, I won’t ever let that happen to me when I retire from this.

Tenfold: Eh, the guy wrestled for almost thirty years, now he’s got a desk job and he can finally spend time with his friends and family again. I guess he’s just enjoying life.

The elevator reached the ninth floor and Jace stepped out, Danny following him as they walked down a corridor towards room 6-LD. Stepping into the room, they are greeted by the sight of Mark Rivera sat in a leather office chair on the opposite wall, a table in the centre with some papers scattered on it.

Rivera: Good morning, Jason, I see you’ve brought the wife with you.

Jace clenches his fist and then lets it go as Danny shakes his head.

Tenfold: That’s a professional, mature attitude for the boss to have, isn’t it? We come here on business and this is how you behave?

Rivera: I just don’t see why Jace here can’t sign that contract alone. Is the pen too heavy for his little girl arms? Or does he need your emotional support now that May’s gone?

Jace clenches his fist again as Rivera smirks, his comments doing the job of annoying Jace by taking a cheap shot at an obviously sensitive issue.

Jace: Let’s just sign the damn contract. Danny’s only here in case you and Warrior have tried to set this up as some sort of ambush. I wouldn’t put it past you, either, we both know that there is no level that you won’t stoop to, just to get what you want.

Rivera: It’s all a part of being a good business man. I get what I want, and I’m not afraid of how I go about it. You, Jace, you on the other hand, well, have you gotten anything you wanted at all since leaving my Empire? You haven’t won any titles, you haven’t managed to beat Warrior and now May has left you. The only thing you’ve picked up is… This.

Rivera motions disdainfully at Danny Tenfold, who rolls his eyes.

Rivera: If you had stayed with me, well, you would be a champion by now. You would have four or five beautiful ladies on each arm and you’d be rubbing shoulders with the elite, not with some guy that gets his kicks out of pissing off angry Vikings.

Jace shakes his head and grabs the contract from the desk, he glances over it.

Jace: I’m surprised. This is actually a contract for a straight up singles match, no stupid gimmicks, just a simple one-on-one fight to decide who the better man is, and Warrior’s already signed it. Doesn’t he want his stupid submission advantage again?

Rivera: Well, after the last Vengeance, he was pretty pissed off. The only contracts I had to hand were for singles matches, so it’ll have to do. Frankly, I wanted that submission match, because we both know that you can’t win and you won’t give up, so Warrior would kill you in that ring. He’d break every bone in your body and you still wouldn’t give up.

Jace: At least you recognise that much.

Jace grabs a pen and signs the contract, passing it across to Rivera. He and Danny turn to exit the room, finding a hooded figure stood in the entrance way.

Tenfold: …Viper.

Viper: Good morning to you too, Danny. Jace. How are we doing, boys?

Jace: We were just leaving. Out of my way, Snake.

Viper: Those are some tough words, Jace, do you really think you can back them up?

Tenfold: Just move it, Roy. We’re done here.

Roy: Ah, is that so, fellas? I’ve just come down here because Mr. Rivera’s got some news for me about this Royal Rumble. Good news, he says, don’t you fancy sticking around to hear it? I’d think you might be interested Danny, you’re in that Rumble too, aren’t you?

Roy barges through Jace and Danny, approaching the desk as Rivera stands up and the two shake hands.

Rivera: Ah, Roy, one of my favourite employees. A true model for the children, not like these two wasters here.

Roy smirks, Jace and Danny just exchange a knowing glance.

Roy: So, boss, what’s the news? There’s a lot of talk about this Rumble, but no-one seems to have any facts yet.

Rivera: Well, it’s got people talking, hasn’t it? If I told everyone all the details now, then it would cause the hype to die down! It’s just good business, but, Roy, as you’ve asked, I’ve got a fact for you. As a reward for your… Loyalty to my Asylum, and for your continued work for myself, I’m going to give you number twenty-five in this Rumble. Yes, Roy, you shall be the last entrant.

Roy: Well, thank you, Mark. It’s nice to be appreciated.

Jace shakes his head, but Danny barges in, pushing Roy aside and leaning across the desk to stare into Rivera’s eyes.

Tenfold: Is this how it works now, “Boss”? Roy gets a title shot and now the last spot in the Rumble because he’s kissing up to you? I know you’ve been talking to Brett Cross, too, he wouldn’t change so drastically of his own accord without you in his ear-

Rivera: Careful, Danny. I haven’t told Brett any lies, I haven’t “twisted his arm”, he’s just doing what he wants, and finally getting the respect he deserves as a champion. However, I am a fair man, and you have worked hard for this company, trying to entertain the fans. I think it would only be fair to reward you for such loyalty and hard work.

Rivera leans back and pulls a small box out of his briefcase, he throws it across to Danny, who catches it and stares at the box for a few moments.

Rivera: Go on, open it! It’s not as if it’s anthrax or anything.

Reluctantly, Danny opens the box, finding a small, light blue ball with “ONE” written on it in black. Danny is puzzled for a moment, but Jace shakes his head.

Jace: Damn.

Tenfold: Is this…

Roy: It’s your reward for your continued hard work and loyalty.

Danny slams the box shut and throws it against the wall.

Rivera: Ah, so you have caught on. Yes, you’ll be the first entrant. That way, no-one can say you haven’t earned it if you win the Rumble. It won’t happen, but at least now you’ll have an excuse for losing.

Danny clenches his fists, glaring at both Roy and Rivera as Jace pats him on the shoulder.

Jace: Come on, T-Man, it’s not worth it. You’ll just have to win this thing the hard way…

Danny breathes out heavily, still giving Rivera the eye.

Tenfold: This isn’t over.

Rivera: How little you know! It’s only just beginning!

Jace shakes his head in disgust as Danny leaves the room, Jace following him out as Roy grins smugly, Rivera standing up from the desk as the pair walk away. He shouts after them.

Rivera: Congratulations, Danny! You’re number one around here!

[irobin]

Long: I can’t wait to see Jace get what’s coming to him! He won’t look so amazing once Warrior’s done with him. Not to mention Tenfold, I’ll bet he wasn’t expecting that! Still, it’s what he deserves for not knowing his place. Rivera’s a great boss, once Danny Tenfold sees this he’ll finally understand what’s going on around here. Until then, he’ll keep struggling.

That said, it's time to join the beautiful Sarah Thompson backstage, where she is interviewing Roy Viper, one of my favourites here, a man that knows all about making the right choice at the right time and doing what it takes to get a result! Let's see what insight he has to offer...

~~~

The feed opens with Roy standing against a brick wall with Sarah Thompson right next to him. He looks annoyed and flustered.

Sarah: Ladies and Gentlemen I’m here with Roy “The Cobra” Viper, the man who single handedly destroyed the proud EUW lead by Kirk Kennedy and left its shell to be transformed into the wicked Asylum run by Mark Rivera.

Roy smirks holding back a laugh while nodding his head as Sarah shifts the focus to Roy.

Sarah: So, Roy, all the fans want to know why you did it. Any chance you’ll provide an answer after all this time or are you going to keep that knowledge to yourself until it’s beaten out of you by the EUW faithful like Danny and Jace did this past week?

Roy: Well Sarah to be honest do you even need me to answer? Everyone has formed their opinions and speculated as to why I did it; do my reasons really matter enough that when I explain them they will be believed? I highly doubt it. No explaining myself is a waste of everyone’s time since no one really cares what I have to say they just want me to get what’s coming to me after what I did.

Sarah: True, but don’t you want to defend yourself and possibly win the fans back over to your side? Save some face or something so that you’re not on the most hated men in the Asylum list?

Roy: Why bother? But I will say there is more to what happened that most know and that while I might have blown the title shot Mark gave me that wasn’t my true goal when I cut my deal with him.

Sarah: What do you mean?

Roy smiles as she asks the question before waving over someone unseen.

Roy: I mean the main reason I bashed Kirks face in was to get these talent Irish brawling stars off the streets and into the ring watching my back

Roy explains as all the members of the Seven Sin’s of Ireland fill the camera screen.

Roy: See Sarah Kirk was great at his job. Knew each member and made sure to interview everyone whether he would like them or hate them. But unfortunately not all of my friends here would have been hired under Kirk. Sure he was a great boss and knew what he was doing but I didn’t bring them in to wrestle for a company I brought them in to gain power and do things the world will be talking about for decades. I hate Mark Rivera as much as everyone else, even though people would believe otherwise. But you got to go along to get along, I might hate the guy but he has his uses.

Sarah: So you’re just using Mark to get what you want? Then what?

The entire group laughs at Sarah’s comment before Morgan moves in between Roy and Sarah, taking center stage and demanding attention.

Morgan: Then we stun the world a second time.

Roy pulls Morgan back by her waist and holds her at his side with an evil smile.

Roy: Yes I am using him, and as Morgan so delicately put it we will do what we fill will leave a lasting mark on the Asylum or what it might change to. Sarah I’m not a guy that wants titles or main events. Don’t get me wrong they are awesome but they’re not what I want. See champions get forgotten and main events vanish after the next Pay-Per-View. Why would I want a limited legacy? It’s been over a month and still you’re asking me about one chair shot so imagine what I’m going to do at the first ever royal rumble. It’s a permanent thing to be called the “first ever winner” but maybe that’s not big enough for me.

Sarah: What do you mean? I mean to say that yes Scars and Stripes Royal Rumble will be a historic thing but what could possibly be bigger than that in the near future?

Roy: Whatever I want. Retiring a few people would get you remembered, being the first whatever champ works, a chair shot to a company owner, a death, a marriage, there are plenty of ways to shock the world. The real question is what will I do next? I’ve already destroyed one company and have just admitted I wouldn’t think twice about doing it twice.

Sarah: Are you going to challenge Mark Rivera for control of the Asylum?

Roy: The thought is nice but I couldn’t manage that many people. I have a hard enough time with this bunch. No, Mark can sit behind his desk and believe he has power, I on the other hand will focus on changing the business whatever way I have to in order to be remembered.

As Roy finishes his statement the Seven Sin’s pour ale on him and Sarah as the feed fades out with the sounds of the group cheering.

[irobin]

Long: …I might have to reconsider Roy’s place in my top five, and I’m sure that Mr. Rivera will be fascinated by such comments, but we’ll have to wait and see. I know Mark well enough to know that he’ll have something prepared for Roy, just in case he changes he gets a bit too big for his boots. That said, the guy’s got number thirty in the Rumble, so he’s definitely got an advantage there; you would say that he might even be an outside favourite with that number, and he’s proven before now that he can go toe-to-toe with some of the best around, with wins over the likes of Brett Cross under his belt to prove it.

And speaking of Brett Cross, what does the Mighty Viking have to say? Our camera man caught him at the arena recently, and here’s what Brett had to say to the Asylum…

~~~

First-person was the view, as the cameraman walked down the hallways of the arena. Ever since Brett Cross was awarded the title of the first ever Lionheart Championship by Mark Rivera, he has been acting a little... strange. And that's an understatement. He's become pompous, confrontational, cocky, disagreeable, and the list goes on. Not that he was the perfect picture of personable to begin with, but you get the idea.

As the feed showed, the camera man took a right, and as he rounded the corner a very elaborate doorway came in to view, one unlike any of the others they had passed. While others were simple white trim around simple oak doors, this one was far more bold. With trim of massive logs and an equally massive wooden door that looked like it could withstand the assault of a small army, this was quite obviously the locker room of that pompous champion we spoke of. Everything from the large golden door-knocker to the massive horns that sat above the doorway, it was fit for a king - and inside was even more lavish.

A hand came in to view from behind the lens and he slammed the knocker twice, the booms reverberated inside and then a voice boomed back, echoing through the oak.

Cross: "Aye, enter!"

With a groan, the cameraman pushed open the door and it creaked in protest as it swung open to reveal not a locker room, but a throne room. The innards in fact looked nothing like a locker room. Without the context of the arena's hallway, you would assume the operator had fallen through a time warp and landed in a Viking king's mead hall in the year 793. No bench, no lockers, no training equipment, no weights nothing you'd expect to see in a locker room. No, what took up the space instead was a large vat which by the smell was most likely for mead, furs of exotic beasts, tapestries and golden decorations and of course, a lavish throne of the same thick logs the door frame consisted of. And in it sat Brett Cross, title about his waist and clad in both furs and armor. In his hand was a large horn of mead and the smirk at his face showed his new personality clearly - he fit the role of the king all too well.

Sitting up from his slouched position, Cross raised his mug to the camera operator. He had called him here not only to show off his throne room, but for a short interview before Scars 'n Stripes as well. As the camera man set up the tripod for the camera, Cross sipped his mead and began. His voice loud and strong, confident and booming.

Cross: "Warriors and peasants, listen well! Ah've been appointed by Mark Rivera as ye'r king, and as ye'r king Ah demand only the best. This is the new throne room o' The God o' Midgaard and shall remain for every realm we visit. Know it's look, for if'n a single mistake be made in its creation, the wrath of the Bifrost Brawler will come upon ye.

But Ah have hailed ye not for frivolous items. Nay, The God of Midgaard, ye'r King, has called upon ye for matters most important. Upon the next battle field, the one whose banner speaks of both Scars an' Stripes, Ah have the number o' one Danny Tenfold. If'n that lad thinks he has a chance against the mighty lord o' this kingdom, he is both a fool an' a dead man. No one challenges Brett Cross, no one argues their fate. Ah've beaten ye once, and ye'r lucky to have come out alive. If ye ask for a duel again, Ah cannae guarantee the same fate. Think this over well, Tenfold. If'n ye want to challenge The Norse Hammer, Ah will not back down. But know ye awaken a giant who wants nay to be stirred. And I will not resist the temptation t' tear out thy throat. Bane learned this well in the week past, an' all who continue t' test fate will learn it, too.

But on the eve o' this battle Ah've got not one war to wage, but two. For the duel of a lifetime is upon us, a battle where no sides are drawn an' every man is for himself. These events are a Viking's speciality. Here is where glory is won, where legacies are forged. An' if any soul knows glory, if any man knows how t' forge a grand legacy - it is ye'r king, Brett Cross. So know this everyone, the warning for Tenfold rings true for all who step up to the mighty Norse Hammer. Know ye'r place an' back down. For if'n ye don't, the hammer will come down upon ye, an' Ah will nay think twice over ending a life. For Ah'm ye'r king, an' Ah'm more than willing t' start my reign 'ere with a 'earty example o' why ye should nay cross paths with The God o' Midgaard.

Now begone, scop. Leave my presence wordsmith, and bring the commands to all."

With that, Cross took another swig of his mead and the camera's feed faded to black.

[irobin]

Long: There’s no denying that Brett Cross is one of the favourites for this Royal Rumble match up, he’s a huge wrestler, dominant in the ring and more than capable of such a task. Let’s not forget that he took TITAN to the limit not so long ago, if anyone can beat off twenty-four other men, Brett Cross is the Viking to do it.

He even made a spot on my co-commentator Rock Gibson’s list, and that’s got to count for something, right? Gibson might be a bit wet, but he does know his stuff, so we asked him for his Rumble predictons…

~~~

The feed cuts to a video tape of Gibson stood in front of the Asylum logo, sporting a Scars and Stripes t-shirt.

Gibson: Hey guys, it’s me, Rock Gibson, former produce of the EUW dirt sheet, so here I am to give you my own personal predictions on who I think will be making a name for themselves at the Royal Rumble! So, here are my three picks, or “Rock Locks” as I like to call them!

A graphic of Rock Gibson holding a giant lock appears on screen, with the number three.

THREE!

Gibson: At number three, I’m predicting big things for former cop, Bane! He’s not the most technical wrestler around, but he’s a powerhouse with a good engine. He’ll keep fighting and he’s got stamina to spare, so I can really see him going the distance in this Rumble. Some may think that Bane isn’t quite ready, but to me, he shows more determination and hunger in each match, learning from every loss and picking up momentum from each victory, as he learns his craft the best way possible – by wrestling. I think this could be the chance that Illidan Bane needs to really make the wrestling world stand up and take notice. Maybe a long shot, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see him in the final six of this match!

A graphic of Rock Gibson holding a giant lock appears on screen, with the number two.

TWO!

Gibson: Second on my list is the Bifrost Brawler, Brett Cross! His attitude may have changed of late, and I’m not sure I like where it’s heading, but there’s no denying his sheer brute strength! He’s a big guy, so he’ll be tough to eliminate, and he’ll be able to throw smaller opponents out of the ring with ease! Brett Cross has been building momentum steadily, and he seems to be more and more confident now, this could really be the chance for him to progress to the big leagues!

No-one’s going to deny Brett’s strength or talent, and whilst other wrestlers might be faster, Brett is capable of holding his own. In a match like this, raw power might be the best tool anyone can have and as I see it, Cross is easily the strongest competitor in this one! That said, does his power and size just make him a target? Will other superstars band together to eliminate Brett Cross before he gets going? Only time will tell!

A graphic of Rock Gibson holding a giant lock appears on screen, with the number one.

ONE!

Gibson: In at number one on my list is my close personal friend, and an Asylum favourite… Jack Bull! Yes, the five star brawler and ultra-charismatic hero has come close to winning the big prize before, but never quite managed to pull it off. Now, he’s in with a chance to get a title match at Prestige, the biggest show of the year!

I see Jack taking such an opportunity with both hands, and beating the crap out of it! Bull’s got a great level of ring “knowledge” and some brilliant instincts, probably from being a former boxer, but his reactions are quick and his eyes are shape. He’ll spot the opportunities that others might miss, and his naturally explosive style of brawling could be of much more use here than an aerial, or mat-based strategy. A few quick jabs to daze the opponent and… BAM!

Gibson quickly throws a punch at the camera.

Gibson: Elimination! A solid haymaker on a dazed opponent will send him right over the top and out of the ring. That’s the name of the game here, it’s not about keeping them down, it’s about throwing them out!

~~~

Long: Well, folks, there you have it, Rock’s “Locks”. We’ll only find out on the night if Rock really knows his stuff, but a lot of you seem to be in agreement, according to polls on the Asylum website, the current favourites are Jack Bull and Brett Cross, and I think those are fair choices, if I’m entirely honest!

We’ll be right back after these commercials, so don’t go anywhere!

[irobin]

Long: Welcome back, folks! We’ve now got an exclusive look at the life of our new Champion, TITAN. Sergio, it’s over to you!

~~~

A black brick wall comes into view.

Standing with a microphone in one hand, EUW News Reporter, Sergio Vasquez looks into the camera dressed in a sharp suit. His dark hair is pumped back, he smiles at the viewer through a thinly cut mustache:

Sergio: Hello, I am Sergio Vasquez with a special in-depth look into the life… of a Monster. Today, my crew and I will be journeying to the “Freak Factory”, a gym owned by the current champion of the World.. TITAN! Up until now, no one has been allowed into the premises so you can imagine this reporters excitement as we capture a world never before filmed! To explain a bit of history about today’s focus, TITAN is a man who has taken the world of professional wrestling by storm! Raised in various group homes until the age of 11, young Billy Johnson was deemed incorrigible, becoming a ward of the state of California soon after. This landed the young man into the California Youth Authority until the age of 18 where he was taken in by EUW Legendary Manager, Terry Jones. From there, his life led him to become one of the most explosive talents of all time!

Sergio walks a bit as a monitor comes to life over his shoulder. The image of Terry Jones is shown, paused and frozen, as it awaits activation.

Sergio: We had a moment to interview Terry Jones about his experiences with the World Champion. Jones was hesitant at first to participate in this interview but after repeated phone calls to his office, he finally agreed.

The feed zooms into the paused monitor now as the screen comes to life. We see Terry Jones smiling now as he leans back in a wicker chair. Across from him is Sergio, smiling once again. Behind Jones, silk curtains gently blow in the wind.

Sergio: Wonderful home you have, Jones. Very classy.

Jones: Thank you. Finest money can buy, I assure you of that.

Sergio: Of course you know why I am here… TITAN. Nobody has seen TITAN at his most primal level besides you, the very man who discovered him. Can you give us some sort of insight into this man who would one day turn into a monster? What makes him tick? What does he fear?

Terry Jones takes a moment to think over the question as he sips from a glass of sweet tea. Running his fingers through his white hair, he smiles and answers.

Jones: When I first met Billy, he was a good kid with a lot of promise. There was no denying his God given talent, that is no lie. I knew instantly that if I could harness the power and physique within that kid, there would be no stopping him. Unfortunately, the kid had a pretty rough life, one that will haunt him for the rest of his years. You see, I truly believe that some people are just born… evil. Others are created that way. Billy, the young man I met that day, was not the evil monster you know today. TITAN, the man who you all know now… is pure evil. What makes him tick? As much as it pains me to admit it, causing pain to others seems to really get the man off. The more damage he causes, the more excited that he gets. What does he fear? I don’t know. The only time that I have seen any emotion inside of his eyes beyond hate was when he faced Chris Sabora awhile back. That might have been fear. If TITAN was able to overcome that though.. There is no stopping him.

Sergio: So in your own words, where does TITAN rank amongst the all time greats? Will he self destruct or manage to hold it together?

Jones: That’s a hard question to answer. TITAN seems like a man who is on a one trip to self destruction.. Sure. The thing is, it is in this world of chaos that TITAN truly thrives. He doesn’t seem to live in the same world that all of us do. All of the years of abuse by his family and the prison system truly created a monster capable of becoming a killing machine. Will he rank as one of the all time greatest? I think he already does. As for being the best, the jury is still out. There is no denying that he might be the most powerful, exciting, and devastating champion of all time though. Defeating Sabora as Scars and Stripes will put a lot of questions to rest. If Sabora can’t put that man away.. I don't know who can.

Sergio: Thank you, Terry. It has been a pleasure.

The feed pauses as we see Sergio in front of the brick wall once again. He is smiling now with a completely new outfit on.

Sergio: After getting this interview, we decided to head on down to the “Freak Factory” and have a word with the champion himself. Before we head into it though, I would like to issue a warning. If you have any children in the room when watching this segment, please ask them to leave. The subject matter and language is quite strong, and at times bordering on masochistic levels. This is truly a conversation meant for mature ears.

The screen behind Sergio comes to life once again, showing Sergio and a group of camera men entering what looks to be a workout gym. Sergio glances back at his TV crew once uncomfortably and then heads into the structure. We then see various weight lifting equipment all strewn about. Approaching Sergio looks to be a group of security guards. They begin to ask him to leave when Barry Jordan arrives, asking them to let the crew into the establishment.

Sergio: Thank you, Mister Jordan.

Jordan: No problem at all. The champion has been expecting you.

Sergio: May I ask, why the security? Surely TITAN could handle anyone that walks in off the streets?

Jordan (Laughing): Those security guards are for YOUR safety… not his. Right this way.

The crew walks past some bits of equipment until they reach a dimly lit backroom. Walking through a brick made archway, they enter and find TITAN himself suspended from two hooks that are buried into his shoulder blades. His eyes remain closed for a moment as his body hangs in complete peace. Around his wrists are sandbag bracelets to add more weight. The hooks slowly lower, allowing TITAN’s feet to touch the ground. Barry Jordan begins to unhook the World Champion and wipe up the spilled blood as TITAN finally takes notice of the TV crew..

TITAN: Make it fast. I got shit to do.

Sergio: No problem at all. Let’s get right to the point. First of all, thank you for allowing us access into your training grounds. What was it that you were doing on those hooks?

TITAN: Pain therapy. The object is to live with extreme pain in hopes of becoming immune to it. The longer you stay on the hooks, the more numb your body becomes.

Sergio: How long could you stay up there?

TITAN: As long as it takes. So, ask your damn questions. I have a match to prepare for.

Sergio finds a seat on a nearby metal chair.

Sergio: Can you explain your childhood? What made you the man that you are today?

TITAN takes a moment to answer as he wipes the sweat off of his brow.

TITAN: My childhood? It was fucked up. What is there to tell? I am sure some jackass is out there writing books about my history, so go read one. I spent enough of my life thinking over what happened to me and I will be damned if I am going to waste another minute on it. Let’s just say, I am the man I am today because this is what the fucking world made me! All of you parents out there, hug your fucking kids! Tell them that you love them! If you don’t, they will grow up cold and merciless… just like me. Hate is a powerful emotion when used as a weapon. Especially if there is incentive..

Sergio: Is there? If so, what is it?

TITAN: I look over the EUW and I just feel fucking disgusted. For so long we have watched the same tired ass people reign as world champion. Now, here I am on my second reign and people are saying this shit about me! I am only 24 fucking years old! I have accomplished more in my short career than 90% of the past World Champions’ whole careers! People overlook that. That’s incentive. If I could embarrass every single fuck face who ever dares to shit talk me, than call it mission accomplished.

Sergio: Anyone in particular? Scorpion? Warrior? Sabora?.. Oblivion? Surely some names stick out in your mind? Who do you feel is a danger to your reign?

TITAN: Danger? You have to be fucking kidding me. I am a fucking savage amongst goldfish! I feed off of these retards like they serve my needs upon calling! Warrior? Right. Scorpion? He was a place holder and nothing more. Sabora? Don’t get me started. Let me be straight with you. Chris Sabora may have been the greatest World Champion of the world… thus far.. But his time was long over before it happened. It was obvious that he was being carried towards the end. How many times did he actually defend it and when he did who was it against? 415? Really? 415 was a fucking jobber at best and Sabora insisted on facing him at our greatest show.. Prestige? What a fucking joke. My only regret is that I didn’t end his fucking career when I had the chance. I will get another chance though.. In a few short weeks. Then, whatever fucking monkey manages to rise above the pack in that joke of a Royal Rumble can face me at Prestige… as I make them into my bitch.

Sergio: Well thank you. Good luck in the next few we-

TITAN: WHAT?! I DON’T NEED LUCK! DO YOU HEAR ME!! The world does. I will feast on whomever is placed before me.. And Sabora is next in line. Those of you who are waiting for the return of the Machine, you will be quite depressed very soon. I am going to dismantle their hero, and send him right back to the fucking hospital. NOW GET OUT!

The feed pauses as we see Sergio against the black wall once again.

Sergio: Watching the composure of the World Champion change they way it did was quite eye opening. This reporter can honestly say that only hate lives within the soul of our champion. To defeat this hate will take a man or woman who is grounded, skilled, and ready to lose anything to gain everything. At Scars and Stripes, Chris Sabora and TITAN will square off once again for the greatest prize in our sport. The world will be watching.. And so will I. I am Sergio Vasquez… pro wrestling news.

[irobin]

Long: A truly fascinating insight into TITAN, a man feared and respected, but not always understood, there’s clearly more to him than meets the eye, and more than we could ever hope to understand from one interview!

In one of many bloody matches at Scars and Stripes, a pay-per-view that will surely live up to its name, we have the HardKore Title on the line as Immanuel Taylor faces off against Tyreke “Church” Bell in a brutal barbed wire match! Sarah Thompson has just spotted the mysterious douchebag, Immanuel Taylor backstage, and will be trying for an interview with him. Good luck to her, I say, she’ll need it!

~~~

The camera feed cuts towards Immanuel Taylor who is carrying a gym bag, walking up one of the corridors inside the arena. Sarah Thompson quickly jogs into view, carrying a microphone.

Thompson: "Taylor! Taylor! Can we get a few words from you concerning the Barbed Wire Match against Tyreke Bell at Scars and Stripes?!"

Taylor: "I am not here to conduct nor participate in an interview. I apologise."

Thompson continues to follow Taylor as he walks down the coridoor towards the Parking Lot doors, grasping them and pushing them open. The camera watches as Tyreke "Church" Bell walks out from the Parking Lot, stopping in the doorway and staring at Taylor. Taylor stops, slowly turning his head and looking at Bell. Bell clenches his fists roughly.

Church: "Just a few more weeks, little man. Just a few more weeks."

Taylor: "Indeed. But until then, I have no interest in fighting you. I would rather keep our war in the ring, as opposed to fighting it out here."

Church snaps a fist up, stopping it barely short of Taylor's face. Taylor doesn't even flinch, instead giving a small, slow blink.

Taylor: "If you are quite done with the childish behaviour, I would like to drive home now and continue the preparations for our match."

Church: "Childish? Boy, if Rivera hadn't put forward the rule that we can't go toe-to-toe before Scars and Stripes, you'd be on that floor with your teeth in your hands! Don't you try to act all high-and-mighty over me, you little bitch!"

Taylor: "I'm not here to fight, Bell, but if you try something, I will retaliate swiftly."

Church: "Don't tempt me."

Taylor: "I'm not. Stand aside, please."

Church: "And if I don't?"

Taylor: "I'm not in the mood to play games with you, Bell."

Taylor remains calm, instead edging past Church, completely blanking him, and walking into the Parking Lot. Church walks through the doors and into the coridoor as Sarah Thompson, who was watching the whole thing, steps in.

Thompson: "Mr. Bell? Mr. Bell? I was wondering if we could have a few words concerning your match at Scars and Stripes--"

Church: "All you need to know, missy, is that at Scars and Stripes, Taylor's going to be crying to his mommy once I’m done tearing him apart with barbed wire. Now get the fuck out of my way."

Church shunts Thompson aside, walking past her and the camera as the scene cuts back to Asylum Headquarters.

[irobin]

Long: Time for our second contract signing of the night! This rivalry seemed to come out of almost nowhere when it got started, but it won’t soon be forgotten! We’ve had brutal beatdowns, kidnappings and it’s really been more of a war than anything! Yes, I’m talking about one of my favourites, Mr. Luck, taking on the despicable Oblivion. I hope Luck retires that tired old man for good and sends the Big Dog back the kennels! Our camera men went along to catch up with the action at the contract signing…

~~~

The feed cuts to Mark Rivera's office within the Asylum Headquarters in San Francisco. Sitting at his desk in the top floor, Rivera is busy finalizing a set of documents, concerning deals made with companies concerning the distribution of Scars and Stripes. He sets down his Parker Pen, looking up suddenly as his door bursts open. The cameraman turns around, watching as Mister Luck storms into view, slamming his hands down on the desk and looking straight into Rivera's cold eyes. Rivera calmly looks up.

Rivera: "Yes?"

Luck: "You son of a bitch. Where the hell was your security?!"

Rivera: "..Excuse me?"

Luck: "You heard me: Where the hell was your security? Zack got kidnapped last night, and there was absolutely no-one there bothering to either dislodge the Devils Due or to even extend a hand out to Zack! I thought I was your project, huh? Or have your eyes turned to that little shit Viper instead?"

Rivera: "Luck, hold your tongue, NOW."

Luck: "I want answers, Rivera, and I want them right here and right now."

Rivera: "And why, pray tell, should you get them?"

Luck: "Because Zack--"

Rivera: "I don't care, Luck. As far as I am concerned, the Las Vegas Commission is solely your problem, and not mine. I have already given you little nudges and pushes along the way, so don't you dare forget that, and don't you point the finger at me for your own shortcomings! Who signed you? Me. Who got you the match with Oblivion? Me. Who shunted you towards the Tag Team Championships? Me. Now, I will not sit here and allow you to blame me for Zack's kidnapping, as sad as it may be for you--"

Luck: "I get it, now.."

Rivera: "I'm sure you do."

Luck: "Titan and Viper are your new little toys, aren't they? Little superstars to mold into the perfect shape for your regime."

Rivera: "Luck, if you have nothing productive to say, get out."

Luck: "Oh yes, I've got to go prepare for my match at Scars and Stripes, don't I, Mark?"

Rivera stands up, getting into Luck's face.

Rivera: "Listen here, kid. I don't have time for you, nor do I have the energy. You have a lot to owe me for you, more than anything I owe you for. You're dispensable, so just you remember that. The fans hate you, so I could easily just drop you like a used tissue. Get that through your skull."

Luck: "Get this through yours, MARK: You don't trust anyone else with fighting Oblivion, do you? You only trust me, because everyone else who has faced Oblivion has either vanished off the face of the Earth, or has turned to Oblivion's side to kick your ass. You think i'm dispensable? Well, the moment i'm done with Oblivion, what's to say that I won't bite the hand that feeds me?"

Rivera: "You won't."

Luck: "How do you know?"

Rivera: "Because whether you admit it or not, I am still at your back, pushing you towards the right direction. You may be blind to it, but luckily for you, I am forgiving. Luck, at Prestige, I can give you your World Championship shot that you earned with a flick of my pen, and guess what that means? That means money. You would be helping to headline the biggest damn show of the year, coming off of destroying an absolute legend in this business. That will put money in your coffers..if you continue to prove your usefulness."

Luck falls silent, pulling away from Rivera's desk and stroking his chin in thought.

Rivera: "See? There we go. I know you, Luck. You're a smart kid, you're goddamn curious, but you're smart. I know you won't turn a good business deal, will you? At Scars and Stripes, Zack will be safe. At Scars and Stripes, you will defeat Oblivion, and following that? The world is your oyster."

Luck: "Rivera, this doesn't happen again. EVER. Once i'm done with Oblivion, you better treat me with a modicum of respect. I toiled for months under you as Tag Team Champion, barely getting any exposure or respect, because you just left me to turn to dust. Now, Scars and Stripes is coming up, and you better not just brush me under the rug when the dust has settled between me and Oblivion and I stand as the lone victor in that ring."

Rivera: "I won't. You have my word."

Luck: "Good."

Rivera: "Of course, it is up to you and you alone to make an impact at Scars and Stripes. I'm not going to hold your hand."

Luck: "I know. I've been doing a little bit of business behind your back, Rivera, and I already have something in place for Oblivion. A little present for him to unwrap."

Rivera: "Oh?"

Luck: "It is something I have put together to show Oblivion that I am the master of playing mind games, and not him. A little farewell present for our feud. I am sure he will enjoy it."

Rivera: "I have a feeling I know what you are talking about.."

Luck: "A cunning plan, isn't it?"

Rivera: "...Quite cunning, actually. I never expected it from you."

Luck: "That's why I am head-and-shoulders above the rest of your little puppets: I know what it takes to get shit done in this business, and I know what it takes to get those little sycophantic bastard fans to cough up their money. You scratch my back, and I will scratch yours. I'm not some two-dimensional plebeian, Rivera: I am a king amongst men. I can pull the strings without anyone ever knowing that a puppeteer is at work."

Rivera: "I will keep that in mind. But for now, you should leave. You had better be prepared for Scars and Stripes."

Luck: "Oh, don't worry: I am prepared. The real question is if Oblivion is prepared for what is to come, because even if I lose, I still win. Now, if you excuse me, I have plans to finalise and legends to destroy.."

Luck turns around, heading towards the still open door and sliding out of it, shutting it calmly behind him. Rivera simply shakes his head, returning to his paperwork.

[irobin]

Long: Can you feel the electricity in the air, folks? I haven’t been this excited for a show since I was an active competitor myself, and believe me, I would have loved to be in a Royal Rumble like this! Yes, people would see exactly what “Glorious” Sidney Long is capable of, and more than a few men would suffer disappointment and heartbreak after my “Glorious Boot” sent them over the top rope and back to their lockers with a headache to match their heartache!

Now, with the sheer number of entrants, it would be impossible to speak to all of them, but our backstage cameras caught a few of the other entrants talking backstage, so let’s see what they had to say!

~~~

The camera feed cuts to the locker-room inside the arena, where six of the wrestlers scheduled to participate in the Royal Rumble are waiting to hear news concerning the match. Shawn Ashen is sat in the upper-left corner of the room by himself, watching a television set a few inches away with great interest, while Natalie Burrows and Brandon Young are sat near the middle of the room, talking to each other. Diabolik is pacing around impatiently, muttering various things under his breath, while Shawn Coulthard is sat on a chair in the lower-left corner of the room, waiting patiently as Stephen Callaway, who has just entered, grabs a folding chair leant against one of the steel lockers and unfolds it, sitting down near Coulthard.

Callaway: "I've heard news that Viper and Tenfold are getting their numbers tonight. Should give us some idea as to what we can plan for."

Burrows: "I’m just interested in finding out my own number. This nervous waitin’ around is what I hate most…”

Young: "Does it even matter? Whatever number we're given, we go out there and win this thing. Number one, number twenty five, does it really matter?"

Diabolik: "Pretty confident for a rookie, aren't you?"

Young turns around in his chair, coming face-to-face with the pacing Diabolik.

Young: "Excuse me? I don't think I heard you correctly. Did you just call me a rookie, you old fuck?"

Diabolik: "You call me old again and I'll grab that chair your little girlfriend is sitting on and wrap it around your scrawny little neck."

Young goes to lunge at Diabolik, but is interrupted as the locker room door opens and the looming form of "Big" Dave Markinson trundles in, looking at all six of the inhabitants of the Locker Room.

Markinson: "Oh, great. And here I thought this place would be empty. What the hell are you people doing here?"

Callaway: "Hoping to hear something about the numbers. Apparently, a draw is happening tonight with Viper and Tenfold, so we're crossing our fingers and hoping that one of them draws number one."

Markinson: "Seriously? You people are here for THAT?"

Young: "Then why the hell are you here?"

Markinson: "I had business to discuss. I was just going to sit here and wait until Rivera was free."

Coulthard: "Well, take a seat, because we're not just here because we want to be, y'know."

Ashen: "Will you idiots shut up?!"

The others look over at Ashen, who is firmly wedged in the corner on a steel chair and busy watching the television set. The door opens once more, and from behind Markinson walks in Bane.

Bane: "Have the numbers been drawn yet?"

Markinson: Not tonight. They're waiting to see if either Tenfold or Viper draws number one or number twenty-five. They're hoping that number twenty-five remains free so one of them doesn't have to lift a finger to win this thing."

Bane: "I'm just curious. I don't really care, because I feel it's my time to shine anyway. I want to go out there and win. I want to prove to the entire world that Bane is the best in this business."

Young: "Join the club: We all do."

Markinson leans against the wall, folding his arms as Bane strolls into the Locker Room, grabbing a folded steel chair leant against one of the lockers and opens it up, taking a seat. Diabolik walks away from Young, continuing to pace around the Locker Room.

Coulthard: "What does it matter who draws which number? Everyone knows that it's not about the numbers, it's about the talent, which eliminates most of you from the equation already. Real men draw number one, go out there, and win this thing."

Young: "Keep telling yourself that if you draw number one, then. I'm sure that when you're on your knees, begging for air and begging for a break just to regain your bearings, you'll be glad that you proved yourself as a 'real man' as I toss your sorry little ass over the top rope."

Ashen: "Alright, how about you all shut up, and let me tell your uneducated brains what's going to happen: One person is going to win this thing. Only one. Now, you can all sit around, whining and complaining about who will draw what number, but the fact of the matter is that only one will be going to Prestige to fight for the World Championship, and that one man will be Shawn Ashen."

The locker room falls silent for a few seconds.

Callaway: "Yeah, right. What are you going to do? Be the first one thrown out and then buy yourself back into the match? These matches are judged by the size of your heart and strength, not by the size of your wallet."

Ashen: "Excuse me? Who the fuck are you? What makes you even begin to think that you have the right to address me?"

Callaway: "Me? My name is Stephen Callaway, and I am the man who is going to Prestige."

Markinson: "You? Really? Then I better make sure I have an eye on Hell, because if you win, they'll be making snowmen down there!!"

Callaway: "But the difference between you and me, big man, is that I don't need to be carried to win a match."

Markinson storms over to Callaway, who immediately shoots up to his feet. Bane quickly jogs over, grabbing Markinson's shoulders and pulling him away from Callaway, who looks ready and eager to begin the fight a few weeks early.

Burrows: "Guys, calm it down. Y’all will get a chance to fight each other plenty at the Rumble, there’s no need to go overboard with it now. Besides, it’s not about size or strength, if it was, I wouldn’t stand a chance. Wouldn’t that be a treat? Little ol’ me winning the Asylum’s first ever Rumble!”

Diabolik: "You? Please! You're a rookie! A curtain jerker! You don't know your way around that squared circle like I do. None of you do!"

Callaway: "You? Gimme a break, you're almost as pathetic as Dave here--"

Dave lunges forward, forcing Bane to pull back. Dave turns around, shoving Bane away. Bane responds by shoving Dave roughly in the chest.

Bane: "How about you all calm down right now? We are going to settle this out there and in that ring, not in a locker room. So just sit yourselves down and let's wait to see the results of the draw."

Bane's words have an effect on the locker-room, as the atmosphere seems to calm somewhat, albeit remain incredibly tense. Markinson and Callaway exchange vicious glares before Dave walks over to the wall, leaning against it and folding his arms as Bane and Callaway take their seats, waiting to hear about which numbers get drawn..

[irobin]

Long: Well folks, we’re almost out of time, so we’ll wrap things up with the following words from the ever-professional Jack Bull…

~~~

As the camera walks down the backstage corridor we can here someone singing. Well, attempting to. The sound is awful, like a cat being savaged by a wild fox.

“Ooooh if I don’t get some shelter…. Oohhh I’m gonna fade away!”

The voice sounds vaguely like Jack Bull, in a very off key, slightly drunken way. The camera shows us the locker room door and a hand reaches up to open it, pushing it backwards and entering. As we come into the locker room proper, we see the room is almost empty. It’s nice and clean, obviously having been given the once over after the show.

All the lockers bar one are closed. In front of said locker is an open, more than half empty crate of 24 beer cans. Running along the middle of the locker room is a low bench… standing upon which is Jack Bull, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt with a white bulls head on it.

Bull has a beer in one hand and is dancing back and forth with his lips pouted out like Mick Jagger.

“Waaarrrr children!! It’s just a shot away… It’s just a shot away! Waaarrr! Children! It’s just a shot away… it’s, just, a shot, away! Yeeeaahhh!”

Bull stops suddenly when he notices the camera, then throws his arms out in a welcome!

“WAAZZUUUUUUUUP!!”

Bull tries to carefully step down off the bench but stumbles, falling sideways and slamming violently against the lockers.

“Ahh, fuck! It’s cool though, it’s cool. Waazzuuuup! Come, come,”

Bull beckons the camera to come further into the locker room. As we approach the camera pans left, showing the entrance of the showers. Though we can’t see inside, we can hear the sound of water still running. The camera presses on though and Bull pats the bench, beckoning the cameraman to sit down in front of his open locker. As the staff duly obliges, Bull steps back to set himself up in front of the locker.

“Hold on a second. Let me get set,”

Bull takes a long swig from his beer, finishing the last of the can before throwing it away. He then steps back and slides into the locker.

“Just gonna take a seat in here, in here, in here… woah fuck!”

Whatever it was that Bull tried to sit on had just broken, sending him sliding down to the floor of the locker with a crash, prompting him to begin cackling with laughter.

“Hahaha Fuck! Where’s my beers? I need beers…”

Bull tries to reach out and grab a beer from the open crate, but he appears firmly wedged into the locker. Thinking on his butt, Bull reaches out with his leg and starts using his heel to try and hook one of the beers and knock it over.

After several failed attempts, he finally manages to land his heel on the top of one of the cans, pulling back and knocking it down. With the skill of an experienced drunk, he uses his heel to slowly roll the can back towards himself, finally bringing it within arms reach.

Bull stretches out and grabs the beer before sinking back into the locker. His inebriated fingers fumble at the ring pull, forcing him to hold the can right up to his face, just a few inches from it. He mumbles something to himself as he sticks his tongue out and finally manages to hook a finger on the ring pull. With a triumphant laugh he opens the can, sending a jet of fizzed up and frothing beer flying out of the can and into his face.

Having spat out some of the beer and wiped his eyes so he can see again, Bull now opens his arms and smiles at the camera.

“Waazzzzuuuuup!!

Yo-yo. It’s been an up and down week,”

Bull slaps himself on the knee and closes his eyes in laughter. At first his mouth is open but there is no sound, then suddenly it comes squeaking out. Having eventually finished congratulating himself on his joke, he finally settles down, wiping some spittle and beer from his mouth before looking up at the camera.

“So how you guys doin’ huh? Everyone doin’ good? Everyone ok huh? That is… fucking awesome dudes. Just awesome. No I’m glad. Honestly I’m glad. I’m very happy for everyone. I’m glad that everyone is feeling fucking awesome!

You know I’m drunk right? I know, I know, I hide it well. But yeah, I’m drunk. In fact dudes, I am fucked! Shit I don’t think I’ve been this drunk since the last time I went out with CJ,”

Bull begins laughing again as he tilts his head back. In the background somewhere we hear a moaning noise.

“Don’t worry about that. That’s nothing. That’ll all be ok, trust me. But seriously though, dudes, seriously, I’m glad that everyone is awesome. I’m glad that everyone is having a such a great time. Shit I wonder what happened to CJ? Where did that dude go? I don’t even hear from him anymore,”

Jack sighs a little, staring at the floor for a minute.

“I miss that dude. But he went away. He went away huh. But it’s cool, because everyone is awesome right? I’m awesome, you guys watching this are awesome. Everyone in the locker room is awesome. All the backstage dudes are awesome; you know, Curt, Randy, Lou, Andy, John etc. All those dudes who we owe a lot too. Everyone is awesome, except maybe Mark Rivera. But other than that, everyone is awesome,”

“But my boy CJ? Guess he just didn’t fit in. Didn’t fit the mould I guess. Shit. People come, people go. People make their choices I guess. But it doesn’t matter, because everything is awesome. I’m awesome, you guys are awesome. Everything is awesome,”

Bull stops to take a swig of his beer.

“Everything is awesome, right? Right? Everything is awesome right? Everybody is feeling awesome? Except me maybe. Except me. I’m just a drunk, and an asshole,”

Bull takes another sip of beer.

“Right? Yeah I said it. I said it. I’m an asshole. I get it. Everyone is awesome but not me right? Because I’m an asshole. Because everyone thinks I’m an asshole right? Well, frankly… fuck you!”

Bull flips the bird with his non-beer holding hand.

“Yeah fuck you. Fuck ‘em. Fuck everybody. Fuck everything,”

Bull stops for another sip of beer.

“Fuck ‘em. Fuck ‘em. You don’t like me? Tough shit! Huh pal. What are you gonna do huh? You gonna hit up some message board huh? Right some nasty shit about me? You gonna post shit on your facebook wall? Tell people how much you hate me? Good. Fuck you,”

Bull takes another sip.

“What? What? The fuck are you staring at? Not you dick, put your hand down and just hold the camera steady. I mean them. The people out there watching. What everyone thinks Jack Bull is all Mr. Nicey, nicey? Ohhhh I get it. See I didn’t realise you couldn’t be a good guy, a good guy in here you know…”

Bull taps his heart.

“… without like… picking flowers and shit. Is that what people want? People want me to pick flowers, and hug some fucking trees and shit? To prove I’m a nice guy right? Fuck that shit!”

Bull squints, staring just off to camera.

“What? Swea? Sweating? Sweating? What the fuck are you talking about? What the fuck does that mean?”

Bull makes a swiping motion at his neck.

“No sweating? What am I sweating round my neck or something? No sweating? Ohhh, no swearing. What’s that? What does that thing with your hand mean? Is that like… turn it down? Turn it down? Tone it down! You want me to tone down the swearing!! Ah right, I get it,”

Bull takes another swig of beer.

“Fuck you dude. I’ll swear if I want. You don’t wanna air it then fine, but I’m swearing. Now where was I? You made me lose my place!”

Bull stops to take another sip while he thinks about what he was saying.

“Oh yeah, oh yeah. I got it. And three, two, one, action. So yeah, you want me to be a nice guy right? You want me to stop being an asshole right? HA! Who do you think I am huh? Do I ask you to change? No, no I don’t. So shut the hell up!”

“So why isn’t Jack Bull awesome huh? Everyone else is awesome, so why isn’t Jack Bull awesome? I mean we got beer. We got, uh…”

Bull reaches down underneath him into the locker and pulls something out.

“We got, uh, Jock straps! Oh fuck dude that is nasty. Get that shit away from me! Oh wait that’s mine. Or is it? Ah fuck it, who cares. We got beer, we got jock straps, we got a passed out dude trying to cool off in the shower, and we got a cameraman. Put that all together and what do you get? That’s right, a sausage-fest!”

“But that’s not why Jack Bull isn’t awesome. That’s not what’s annoying Jack Bull. What’s annoying Jack Bull, and what is making his night, uh, non-awesome, is stuff. Stuff. Stuff with Titan. And stuff with Mark Rivera,”

Bull takes another sip of his beer.

“See, shit, in 1999. 19-fucking-99, around like October, Novembery type time, I walked out on to a stage. I don’t remember what stage it was. I don’t even remember where it was. But I walked out on to some stage, and then I walked down to some ring and I wrestled a match against some fucking nobody who you don’t ever hear about anymore,”

“And that was the inauspic, inauscop, inauspicad, inauspicious! That was the inauspicious debut of the man they now call Jack Bull over here in the United States of America! USA! USA! USA! USA!”

Bull stops to take a swig.

“Shit I don’t even know why I’m singing that. I’m not even from this country. But fuck it. That was my debut here in the US of A. And now, twelve years later here I am. Here I am in, sitting inside a locker with a beer in my hand talking to you. So what’s this got to do with Titan? Or Mark Rivera? Simple. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Did I spell that right? Yeah. Cool,”

Bull shakes his beer a little and then drains what’s left of the can, beer spilling over the corners of his mouth. He finishes with a serious burp before chucking the can off screen. We hear a groan coming from the direction of the showers.

“Shut up dude. It’s not the end of the world. Beer,”

Bull reaches out at first, but then immediately remembers his predicament, reverting to the foot method of capturing beer. After two or three tries he gives up.

“You know what, fuck that. Dude, get up and grab me a beer,”

The cameraman gets up and grabs a beer, chucking it to Bull, before dragging the whole case over to him.

“That’s the spirit. Thank you dude. Respect for that,”

The cameraman sits down and gets set again as Bull cracks open his beer, a little more carefully this time.

“Alright, we ready? And three, two, one, action. So yeah, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by a lack of beer, all I want is respect. R-E-S, you get the picture. I want respect for what I’ve done. For what I’ve achieved. See I see you there Titan, and I think to myself how the fuck? How the fuck are you our world champion?”

“I mean don’t get me wrong, I look around the locker room and what I see is a bunch of people who would take 15 minutes to open a fucking door if they didn’t have personal assistants to do it for them. I see human beings so fucking laughably inept at life that this clown show we call wrestling is the only place that they can realistically seek gainful employment,”

“I know. I know this is what we’re dealing with here. But I wanna ask you a question Titan. I wanna ask you one simple thing; where did you get that title? Huh? Where did you get that belt? Who did you take it from? I know the answer. You know the answer. Everybody knows the fucking answer,”

“You got it from The Scorpion King right. The Scorpion King. That fucking greasy haired, mentally handicapped Oblivion wannabe. In fact, actually, while I’m here I just wanna give a nod to The Scorpion. Any one at home who gets that gets a free beer!”

Bull holds up his can, then takes a long swig.

“And there is my problem dude. It’s the same problem that I have with you and that piece of crap Mark Rivera. ‘Cos, and here’s the funny thing Tit, I can call you Tit can’t I? Here’s the thing Tit, I already pinned that God bothering hippy. Not once Tit. Twice. Shit if you include our Pure title encounters, that’s four times now!”

“But you see, Mark Rivera doesn’t want someone like me as the face of his shitty ass Asylum. So guess what? I pin him at Retribution and where’s the ref? Missing in action dude. Can you believe that shit? So instead of a one, two and a three, all I get is a long pause,”

“Shit I could have sat down in that ring and fried a damn egg in the amount of time it took a replacement ref to get there, all the while with my boot laid over the Scorpions chest, racking up the three counts like a pinball stuck between two bumpers. But instead what did I get? I got precisely diddly shit, that’s what I got!”

Bull pauses for a sip break.

“So then I get another shot and I’m thinking to myself, now we’re talking. I’m thinking this is it, this is my time! This is the chance to set right the wrongs of the past. But no. That butt humping, suit wearing jack off Mark Rivera decides to slip himself into the limelight as the guest ref and surprise, sur-fucking-prise!”

“Once again Jack Bull is there, once again with The Scorpion laying prone on the canvas while I make the cover. What else did you expect? But what’s this? No count! Or a count so fucking slow that a sloth would think it was in slow motion. And that’s how the story ends right? I’m supposed to just nod and say ‘yeah, that was my crack at the whip done’? Fuck that man!”

“You want me to sit here and clap my hands and tell you, ‘Titan, you the man. Titan, you the champ!’ then you know what, I’ll sit here and I’ll clap my hands for a second,”

Bull puts his beer down securely, then claps a slow, mocking clap.

“You the man Titan!”

Bull gives it a few more claps then stops and picks up his beer to take another long swig.

“You the man Tit. You the fucking man! And by man of course, I mean you’re the asshole with the belt, and I’m the asshole without one. But everybody knows son. Everyone in that audience knows. Everyone at home knows. Everyone in this locker room knows. Every time we show up at an arena. Every time we show up at a fan event. Every time we go on TV. Everyone knows who the true champion is now. And everyone knows who the paper champion is,”

Bull takes another sip break.

“And you’ll never escape that, will you? You’ll never be able to get away from the facts. It happened right there on TV, there’s video evidence. How many people do you think still have that match on their Ti-Vo huh? How many people took pictures? How many eye witnesses were there in that building, sending text messages to their friends and posting on Twitter about that bullshit?”

“And how do you think the fans feel about it huh? Mark Rivera just robbed them. They paid good money to watch a match where four guys go at it for the world title, and they just got robbed. They were expecting a fair competition if nothing else. Instead they got that piece of shit ending? Now how do you think our fans feel about that Tit?”

Bull stops for a burp, followed promptly by another sip.

“Of course they’ll let you know dude. Next time you head out for a match, you’ll hear something that’s gonna scare the shit out of you! Yeah, even a big, dumb bastard like you. It’s gonna scare the shit out of you and make you nervous as hell. Because you’re gonna walk out there into that arena and what you’re gonna hear, you steroid pumped piece of shit, is the sound of twenty thousand people whispering to each other,”

“Oh they’re gonna be whispering all right. Each and every person in that building is gonna lean towards the person next to them and quietly whisper ‘here comes the paper champ’. You’re gonna have twenty thousand people whispering to each other, telling each other that you’re a poser, that you got the belt over your shoulder but all your respect is still back in that original arena where we faced off,”

“And the scary thing, at least from your perspective, is that you know they’re all right. You know that those people aren’t just telling tales out of school. You know, I know, and they know, that every time you look at me you’ll be looking at your superior. You’ll be looking at the true champion!”

“Now how does that make you feel huh? Angry perhaps? Well shit, there’s a surprise! You’re always angry. That’s probably the only emotion a pent up, roided up dickhead like you can express. Every week you stick your face in front of a camera or you come down to the ring and get on the mike, and sure enough, yep, thought so, we got an angry Tit on our hands,”

Bull indulges in another sip break.

“You stand there and you thump your chest and you tell people ‘I’m gonna rip that guys dick off next week’ and then you go out there and you beat up some nobody, but ultimately you don’t rip the dick off shit! You talk the talk real well, you tell people about all the crazy, angry shit you’re gonna do to them. But you don’t walk the walk. Shit I’ve seen people in wheelchairs who can walk the walk better than you,”

“And you know what, that used to bug the shit out of me. It used to eat me up inside that I went into Retribution and pinned the champ, clean, right there in the middle of the ring, but still wasn’t the number one guy. And then it used to eat me up inside that I went into that show, into that Sunday Night Vengeance, and pinned The Scorpion, pinned Roy Viper, and yet still came out empty handed. It was fucking gnawing right at my stomach, like stomach cramps after a bad case of food poisoning,”

“That was until tonight. Until I started getting drunk after the show. Huh buddy, getting drunk tonight!! Then, then Titty boy, then I saw something that changed everything. Literally everything. See I saw a Roy Viper interview. Roy the fucking greasy haired, unwashed, stinking, ‘alternative lifestyle‘, gypsy, thieving, probably drug addled, Paddy fucking the Cobra, Viper. And you know what he said Titty? Do ya?”

Bull lifted his beer can to his lips and had a refreshing sip.

“He said that with one chair shot, one fucking chair shot, he had left a longer lasting mark, more of a legacy on this company than most champions and legends ever do. And I had one of those moments ‘champ‘. I had one of those moments that only the truthful kiss of alcohol can shed light on,”

“I suddenly realised that what I just heard that gypsy fucking scumbag say, was in fact the most profound thing that I’ve ever heard come out of the mouth of any wrestler since I first got interested in this business. Now how about that huh? Not bad for a stinking, thieving Irishman!”

“See right then, right at that moment I realised something champ. I realised that not only is Roy Viper ten times fucking smarter than you’ll ever be, which frankly isn’t an achievement I’d want to put on my resume, considering that there are fucking paperweights with more personality and intelligence than you. I realised champ, not only is Roy Viper smarter than you’ll ever be, but I also realised that you can take that belt of yours, you can take your title, and you can shove it up your habitually and regularly stretched rectum!”

“Because at the end of the day, all you got right there is a piece of leather with a few gold plates on it. That’s it! That’s fucking it Titty boy. It’s just an inanimate object, albeit one that has more charm and charisma than you could ever dream of. It’s a strap for you to use to spank your bitch manager with. And that’s all it is. Now how about that for profound statements huh? You got a few pounds of leather and metal, but I got what really matters. I got the respect that I craved so highly,”

“Ever since I was kid I’ve wanted to be above everyone else. Not just to be liked or any of that shit. But to be above everyone. I’ve always wanted to find myself in a position where I can look down on all the people who I went to school with, all those people who used to give me shit, so that I could piss on every single one of them. Well here I am!”

“And I think back now to all the useless, good for nothing dumbasses that I used to work with and I smile. I think of all those people who thought they were better than me because they started working at some place like a year before I did. Well now look where we are. While those fucking low life scumbag pieces of arrogant shit are sweeping the floor at fucking McDonalds, I’m here, living the dream, getting shit faced with my buddy and celebrating being one of the best wrestlers, one of the toughest men, in the entire world,”

“Not only that though. I walk out there into that arena, or any other fucking arena, and I know that you’ll be watching me on a monitor somewhere, watching a real champion at work. And until you otherwise pin me or make me tap out in a fully sanctioned match, then you’re just gonna have to live with that. Now how does that make you feel bitch?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m calling you for what you are. You’re a little bitch compared to me, just like Luck is a little bitch. Him and Dave were getting trashed tonight, absolutely fucking destroyed, when out come a set of brass knuckles and a bent fucking ref. See he’s just like you man. Without Rivera watching over you, setting shit up for you, you’re both a pair of little bitches in comparison,”

Jack stopped for a swig.

“You don’t have the heart, the guts, the determination, or the toughness to stand toe to toe with Jack Bull. You hearing this bitch? Is your fucking roid compatible hearing aid switched on? Maybe you could get your manager to record this and then translate it into crayon for you? How about that?”

“Maybe you could call fucking Sesame Street and see if they’ll do a one off episode just for you, translating what I’m saying into some numbers and word games for you? I can just see the director now looking at the word ‘fuck’ and then having a think about how he’s gonna translate that, before turning to his assistant and saying ‘right guys I‘ve got an idea. Go fetch Burt and Ernie…’”

“Man I’d love to be there, to see your face when you first saw that image on TV. Your childhood crush getting fucked in the ass by another puppet. Then Burt and Ernie sitting there afterwards sharing a cigarette and an awkward conversation. With Burt getting all angry and disgusted about what he’s done while Ernie’s crying ‘why won’t you just hold me Burt!’ And there you’ll be, sitting there in a pool of your own tears wishing you could wind back the clock and un-watch that moment,”

Bull took another swig break and ended up draining what was left of the can before crushing it and tossing it. He paused now though, not ready to take up another beer just yet.

“The fact that I was getting at champ, before we got diverted by all that talk of Sesame Street Sodomy, was that you just can’t handle someone like me. And yeah, I’m sure Rivera will work something out to keep you clean, keep you away from me. I don’t think he wants anyone rocking the boat after all, what with your big match coming up against Sabora,”

“Shit this a dream come true for Rivera! Here comes Sabs back from the fucking ether or wherever the hell it was he disappeared to, and now he gets a ready made main event match for Scars and Stripes dropped in his fucking lap. You defending the belt against the man you took it from huh? But that still doesn’t change a thing. Whether you walk out of that event with the title, or whether Sabs walks out of that event with the title, fact is everyone still knows who the real deal is,”

“Which, surprisingly enough, gives me comfort. It replaces that gut wrenching feeling inside, and replaces it with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Knowing that here amongst my peers, trying to find someone with a clean win over Jack Bull is like trying to find an honest man in Congress,”

“And the knowledge, the knowledge that I’m still fucking number one baby! No matter what you, or Sabs, or Luck with his little piece of paper says, Jack Bull is still the man to beat, still the true if not undisputed champion of the world. Shit, if I was a smoker you know that’s what I’d be doing right now? I’d be puffing away on a big, fat, true Cuban cigar and you’d have no choice but to look at my smug face and know, know that I am better than you can ever dream about,”

“Now how does that feel? How does that catch you champ? How does it feel to know that you’re nothing but an impostor, an imitator, a shadow of a champion? How does that feel to know that without Mark Rivera to hold your hand for you, you’re nothing but my bitch? How does that feel to know that you’ve got a locker room full of guys and gals back here who are laughing at you behind your back? How does it feel to know that there will be literally millions of people watching Scars and Stripes, giggling at you and Sabora going at in the most pointless world title match ever seen? Huh?”

“I wonder what that’s like? See I wouldn’t know, because I’ll be busy in the battle royal match, with all eyes on me as I go about kicking ass and taking names. I’ll be busy fighting off guys left, right and center who all want a piece of the true champion. They’ll all be picking up scars as they try and earn their stripes, if you see what I mean? The sad thing is, it’ll be a waste of time,”

“Number one because that’s my match for the taking. That’s my win in the bag right there, I just haven’t collected it yet. And number two, because in the highly unlikely event, in fact no. In the extremely, insanely unlikely event that someone out there manages to put yours truly over the top rope, then what? They go on and get a shot, but what at? That belt that you’ve got around your waist? Please!”

“You tell me now champ, who actually wants a shot at that worthless piece of shit? Until that things ends up around the waist of its proper owner, then it’s nothing more than a symbol of Rivera’s corruption. It’s just an object that you happen to be carrying around at the time, keeping it warm for me until the day I come to collect it,”

“And mark my words champ, I’m coming to collect. You can hide behind your manager for as long as you want. You can hide behind Mark Rivera for as long as you want. But those guys are not invulnerable. They can and will be broken down and when they do champ, it’ll just be me and you left. One on one. For my title. And that’s a fact, Asshole!”

“Now excuse me, I have to puke,”

Bull grabs the sides of the locker and hauls himself up, ducking to one side and unleashing an almighty jet of vomit. Satisfied that there is no follow up, he grabs a beer can, pops it open and washes out his mouth, spitting the ensuing vomit/beer mixture onto the floor. Then we hear another groan coming from the showers.

“Oh yeah, shit. Go check him out, see if he’s ok,”

The cameraman gets up and climbs over the bench, heading for the showers. As he turns the corner he finds a fully clothed Xplode, his attire completely soaked through, crawling on the floor.

“Tonight - I think I drank - all the fucking Vodka in the entire world. Every last drop. And now… I feel like shit. Excuse me for a second,”

Xplode hauls himself up on his arms and lets rip a very light coloured stream of vomit, that is probably about 50% pure vodka. His guts emptied, he lowers himself right back to the floor, his face laying sideways on the cool caress of the tiles, some of his long hair dipping into the puke.

“I’m going to sleep now...”