Saviors you are not...
Oct 22, 2013 10:09:09 GMT -5
Post by shaunsindelman on Oct 22, 2013 10:09:09 GMT -5
Standing in front of the new FGA promotion tarp is Johnny Blayze, garbed in a hood and sporting his trademark bushy beard. Standing to his left with his eyes staring intently at the floor is Chaths, his hands clenched tightly in fists. To Chaths’ left stands an obnoxiously smiling Justice Young, dressed a black suit with a brown belt and a Coke from a local mini mart planted firmly in his right hand. He holds up his left pointer and waves it back and forth.
Justice Young: Tch… Tch.. Tch
He shakes his head like a parent scolding their child.
Justice Young: Jason….Jason…Jason... I'm disappointed in you. You're playing it cool, trying to keep things close to your chest but you and I both know your range as an actor is limited to playing a corpse or a retard.
The former "Voice of FGA Wrestling" takes a long sip from his Coke, with a loud 'ahhh' after his draught.
Justice Young: No, Jason, I am not mad at you. I'm not angry and I'm not taking anything personal. I've always thought you were soft, stupid and utterly forgettable. But just because I think so little of you doesn't mean I don't want to see you suffer greatly.
Justice Young looks earnestly at the camera.
Justice Young: No, Jason, I want to see you bleed, see you beg, see you plead. I want to see you crippled. I want to see you dead. I want to feel the overwhelming joy that comes from knowing a little pissant like you is just a stain on the ground. There's no malice in my wishes, I just get a kick out of misery. Always have but never the outlet to execute it. Hell, wouldn't care if it were someone else putting the boots to you Jason, just as long as I get to bask in the warm, bloody glow of your demise. I'm not a monster, Jason. Just a man with very specific tastes and very little moral fiber. However, I know a monster. This monster will be more than willing to dig his fingernails into your skin and shred. And that's something that makes my little heart go pitter-patter.
Johnny Blayze glances calmly from his manager to the camera; a small, enigmatic smile appearing briefly on his ghoulish features before he speaks.
Johnny Blayze: We've seen you before, little Jason Richards… we've watched quietly while you played to the vapid sheep that make up the crowds and took their affection for payment while you allowed any hope of honing your killer instinct to atrophy.
Blayze pauses, shaking his head in mock disappointment, the grin still upon his face.
Johnny Blayze: You are everyman in the wrestling industry. The fan favorite... the hero desperate for their approval, too involved to see the hypocrisy of playing up to people that deep down only desire bloodsport, whether they admit it to themselves or not.
Blayze’s grin sours to a frown for a second, but he catches himself and the grin returns.
Johnny Blayze: And little Sylar Drake, with you, Bloodbath & Beyond will give the sheep what they desire. We will allow them to see you endure a baptism in pain... we will spill your blood and taste your pain.
Blayze casually strokes his beard, tilting his head upwards thoughtfully.
Johnny Blayze: We wonder: As you both lie there, feeling your life's blood running from you... will you then ask yourselves if it was worth it? Will you ask yourselves if you made a terrible mistake, to stand in our way? Will you have that moment of clarity, brought about by the agony that we will inflict upon you, or will you continue to muddle through the remainder of your days in the same miasma of mediocrity in which you've traveled thus far?
He leans forward, cocking his head slightly to his left.
Johnny Blayze: You have crossed The Beast...and The Beast is not pleased...
Blayze stands upright and looks to Chaths who continues to stand with his head held low. His eyes, completely visible to the camera, stare blankly at his boots. Justice glances at Chaths, confused by his comrade’s lack of attention. He nudges Chaths with his elbow, but gets no response. Blayze looks at Chaths, annoyed. Justice flashes a nervous grin to the camera and whispers loudly.
Justice Young: Chaths!
Justice attempts to nudge Chaths once more, but Chaths catches his elbow to the surprise of Justice and to the amusement of Blayze. Chaths’ gaze remains to the ground as Young aggressively removes his elbow from Chaths’ grasp. He fixes his tie which has come undone before motioning to the camera in front of them.
Justice Young: If you have something to say, now would be the ideal time.
Chaths exhales fiercely through his nostrils as he raises his head. His brow is scrunched together from the frown on his face and his nose is twitching profusely. His pupils violently dilate as he turns his gaze upon Justice. Justice takes half a step sideways and puts his hands up in a semi surrender to the irate man in front of him. Chaths inhales and exhales torridly as he returns his gaze to his feet.
Chaths: I had his pride.
He looks up to the camera, his mouth crunched in a violently throbbing scowl.
Chaths: I had Chris Bond’s pride. I had his only reason for coming back to this sport, and I let him take it back.
He starts to scoff almost uncontrollably.
Chaths: My hatred for that man and EVERYTHING that he stands for… My passion for wanting to make him see NOTHING but the darkness of unconsciousness… And the referee actually counted me out, for my passion…
Chaths shakes his head and begins to chuckle maniacally. He throws his head back, enjoying his laugh at the mockery of officiating that took place in Dearborn. Justice looks to Blayze uncomfortably, but Blayze just smirks barely able to contain himself from joining in. Chaths finally begins to calm, sarcastically wiping a tear from his eye as the natural scowl sets upon his face.
Chaths: And everyone wonders why we have made it our goal to obliterate this company and everyone that stands loyally at its side. They wonder why we go after poor, innocent Jason Richards…
Chaths contorts his body sideways and points behind him at the new FGA tarp, his eyes darting between it and the camera.
Chaths: It is simple. He thought that he could be a savior for THIS company, but it turns out that HE was the one who needed saving. We came down to the ring to give Jason the chance to see the light, but then Sylar Drake came down and pulled him back into the darkness.
Chaths turns his body towards the camera and looks to Blayze, and then to Young. He extends his arms outward and behind the two men that surround him.
Chaths: WE are the true saviors of this company… Nay, of this entire SPORT. WE are the apex, the crème de la crème… We are the perfect mixture of brains…
He looks to Blayze who smirks.
Chaths: Cunning.
He looks to Young, who reclaims his half step back towards Chaths, a smug grin on his face.
Chaths: And physicality.
He brings his arms downward and into himself, using his outstretched hands to point at himself.
Chaths: WE are the Trinity of Power, and Jason Richards has the GALL to profess himself as a righteous man of FGA. And then there’s you, Sylar Drake. You, a man who didn’t even have a stake in FGA. You did what can only be described as the epitome of stupidity. You Pissed. Me. Off. No one… NO ONE! Gets in our way when we are administering justice. You want to make a name for yourself by going after the top dogs, Sylar? So be it. I am going to personally make your name the most irreverent and infamous name in the history of this sport when I write your epitaph with your blood, using the ring as the headstone. You have dug your own graves, and I will jubilantly cast you both into them while you barely cling on to the precipice of consciousness. Burn in hell.
Chaths inhales and exhales deeply, the menacing scowl causing his nostrils to flare. Justice Young softly places a hand on Chaths’ shoulder, the eternally smug grin still upon his lips.
Justice Young: Words from the mouth of the damned. I hope you live your lives to the fullest gentlemen. I hope you enjoy each day as best you can. I hope I get to see you two carried off on a stretcher with a flatline and a next of kin notification. Because The Psychotic One and The Beast are coming to Toronto...and by night's end, the flag won't be the only thing red in Canada.
And we fade.
Justice Young: Tch… Tch.. Tch
He shakes his head like a parent scolding their child.
Justice Young: Jason….Jason…Jason... I'm disappointed in you. You're playing it cool, trying to keep things close to your chest but you and I both know your range as an actor is limited to playing a corpse or a retard.
The former "Voice of FGA Wrestling" takes a long sip from his Coke, with a loud 'ahhh' after his draught.
Justice Young: No, Jason, I am not mad at you. I'm not angry and I'm not taking anything personal. I've always thought you were soft, stupid and utterly forgettable. But just because I think so little of you doesn't mean I don't want to see you suffer greatly.
Justice Young looks earnestly at the camera.
Justice Young: No, Jason, I want to see you bleed, see you beg, see you plead. I want to see you crippled. I want to see you dead. I want to feel the overwhelming joy that comes from knowing a little pissant like you is just a stain on the ground. There's no malice in my wishes, I just get a kick out of misery. Always have but never the outlet to execute it. Hell, wouldn't care if it were someone else putting the boots to you Jason, just as long as I get to bask in the warm, bloody glow of your demise. I'm not a monster, Jason. Just a man with very specific tastes and very little moral fiber. However, I know a monster. This monster will be more than willing to dig his fingernails into your skin and shred. And that's something that makes my little heart go pitter-patter.
Johnny Blayze glances calmly from his manager to the camera; a small, enigmatic smile appearing briefly on his ghoulish features before he speaks.
Johnny Blayze: We've seen you before, little Jason Richards… we've watched quietly while you played to the vapid sheep that make up the crowds and took their affection for payment while you allowed any hope of honing your killer instinct to atrophy.
Blayze pauses, shaking his head in mock disappointment, the grin still upon his face.
Johnny Blayze: You are everyman in the wrestling industry. The fan favorite... the hero desperate for their approval, too involved to see the hypocrisy of playing up to people that deep down only desire bloodsport, whether they admit it to themselves or not.
Blayze’s grin sours to a frown for a second, but he catches himself and the grin returns.
Johnny Blayze: And little Sylar Drake, with you, Bloodbath & Beyond will give the sheep what they desire. We will allow them to see you endure a baptism in pain... we will spill your blood and taste your pain.
Blayze casually strokes his beard, tilting his head upwards thoughtfully.
Johnny Blayze: We wonder: As you both lie there, feeling your life's blood running from you... will you then ask yourselves if it was worth it? Will you ask yourselves if you made a terrible mistake, to stand in our way? Will you have that moment of clarity, brought about by the agony that we will inflict upon you, or will you continue to muddle through the remainder of your days in the same miasma of mediocrity in which you've traveled thus far?
He leans forward, cocking his head slightly to his left.
Johnny Blayze: You have crossed The Beast...and The Beast is not pleased...
Blayze stands upright and looks to Chaths who continues to stand with his head held low. His eyes, completely visible to the camera, stare blankly at his boots. Justice glances at Chaths, confused by his comrade’s lack of attention. He nudges Chaths with his elbow, but gets no response. Blayze looks at Chaths, annoyed. Justice flashes a nervous grin to the camera and whispers loudly.
Justice Young: Chaths!
Justice attempts to nudge Chaths once more, but Chaths catches his elbow to the surprise of Justice and to the amusement of Blayze. Chaths’ gaze remains to the ground as Young aggressively removes his elbow from Chaths’ grasp. He fixes his tie which has come undone before motioning to the camera in front of them.
Justice Young: If you have something to say, now would be the ideal time.
Chaths exhales fiercely through his nostrils as he raises his head. His brow is scrunched together from the frown on his face and his nose is twitching profusely. His pupils violently dilate as he turns his gaze upon Justice. Justice takes half a step sideways and puts his hands up in a semi surrender to the irate man in front of him. Chaths inhales and exhales torridly as he returns his gaze to his feet.
Chaths: I had his pride.
He looks up to the camera, his mouth crunched in a violently throbbing scowl.
Chaths: I had Chris Bond’s pride. I had his only reason for coming back to this sport, and I let him take it back.
He starts to scoff almost uncontrollably.
Chaths: My hatred for that man and EVERYTHING that he stands for… My passion for wanting to make him see NOTHING but the darkness of unconsciousness… And the referee actually counted me out, for my passion…
Chaths shakes his head and begins to chuckle maniacally. He throws his head back, enjoying his laugh at the mockery of officiating that took place in Dearborn. Justice looks to Blayze uncomfortably, but Blayze just smirks barely able to contain himself from joining in. Chaths finally begins to calm, sarcastically wiping a tear from his eye as the natural scowl sets upon his face.
Chaths: And everyone wonders why we have made it our goal to obliterate this company and everyone that stands loyally at its side. They wonder why we go after poor, innocent Jason Richards…
Chaths contorts his body sideways and points behind him at the new FGA tarp, his eyes darting between it and the camera.
Chaths: It is simple. He thought that he could be a savior for THIS company, but it turns out that HE was the one who needed saving. We came down to the ring to give Jason the chance to see the light, but then Sylar Drake came down and pulled him back into the darkness.
Chaths turns his body towards the camera and looks to Blayze, and then to Young. He extends his arms outward and behind the two men that surround him.
Chaths: WE are the true saviors of this company… Nay, of this entire SPORT. WE are the apex, the crème de la crème… We are the perfect mixture of brains…
He looks to Blayze who smirks.
Chaths: Cunning.
He looks to Young, who reclaims his half step back towards Chaths, a smug grin on his face.
Chaths: And physicality.
He brings his arms downward and into himself, using his outstretched hands to point at himself.
Chaths: WE are the Trinity of Power, and Jason Richards has the GALL to profess himself as a righteous man of FGA. And then there’s you, Sylar Drake. You, a man who didn’t even have a stake in FGA. You did what can only be described as the epitome of stupidity. You Pissed. Me. Off. No one… NO ONE! Gets in our way when we are administering justice. You want to make a name for yourself by going after the top dogs, Sylar? So be it. I am going to personally make your name the most irreverent and infamous name in the history of this sport when I write your epitaph with your blood, using the ring as the headstone. You have dug your own graves, and I will jubilantly cast you both into them while you barely cling on to the precipice of consciousness. Burn in hell.
Chaths inhales and exhales deeply, the menacing scowl causing his nostrils to flare. Justice Young softly places a hand on Chaths’ shoulder, the eternally smug grin still upon his lips.
Justice Young: Words from the mouth of the damned. I hope you live your lives to the fullest gentlemen. I hope you enjoy each day as best you can. I hope I get to see you two carried off on a stretcher with a flatline and a next of kin notification. Because The Psychotic One and The Beast are coming to Toronto...and by night's end, the flag won't be the only thing red in Canada.
And we fade.
