Anger

[Top Tier Terry]

So I’m not the number one contender.

These words echo in the darkness of the empty LDFC facility until the person speaking them walks into view. 

TRIPLE T: I’m not the number one contender because I lost to Emily Carter. A match I should have won. And now I’m stuck in the squalor, forced to face off against people beneath me. A top tier contender shuffled down to wallow in the dank undercard I busted my ass to get away from. And that…that makes me angry. It sickens me to know that I’m the pound for pound best athlete in the organization and my time and talent is being wasted. It pisses me off to know that I am still disrespected by the majority of the roster even though I have proven time and time again to be exactly what I say I am. And it’s that anger that has been driving me. Its’ that anger that has fueled me…influencing my choices. It’s what made me drive to the LDFC training facility on a Sunday to confront your bitch of a champion that loves to run his mouth thought the comfort and distance of social media. It’s what made me confront a glorified ring card girl that is literally riding the coat tails of her past his prime boyfriend, who is in turn clinging for dear life to Cordy Stevenson to make him relevant again.

Tillman looks down for a moment, shaking his head before continuing. 

When will the nonsense end? This place use to be revered. The LDFC was supposed to be a proving ground for the future but instead it is a joke. It’s a bunch of pretenders. We have swimsuit models pretending to be wrestlers, the literal definition of a one legged man in an ass kicking contest, girlfriends that try to get into the sport because their “man” is partners with a clearly superior woman, and a little sister who thinks that for some reason she will ever be more than that chick that lost a fight with a bathroom door.


And then we have El Grande Malo…The Big Bad…the purest definition of how far the LDFC has fallen. A man that throws on a mask, talks with a broken accent , does a couple cartwheels in the ring, and considers himself a Luchador? High fiving fat headed kids in the front row doesn’t make you great. All it does is cover the fact that when it all boils down to it, you’re just subpar.


Let me guess Malo. You got the card info and saw you would be facing me at Pride, and you got excited didn’t you? You probably did one of those weak ass cartwheels and everything. You finally got a match with the best of the best right? Here is your chance right? But then something happened. A week went by and reality set in. You realized that you weren’t giving an opportunity; you were being fed to the superior being. You realized that in this David vs Goliath scenario Goliath has a semi-automatic and David has spitballs. Now you have to think about how all of your fair weather fans are going to react to the fact that you are a fraud. All flash and no substance.


But if there is one thing I can give you is that you are not the first or the last. This match will show you just how much further you have to go. Maybe help you to move on form the ridiculous walking punchline you have become. Either way at Pride, I hope you press that mask of yours. Make sure your ring gear is spotless. Lace up those boots real nice cause you get to sit at the big people table. You get to go one on one with the man that is everything you will never be. The man that for a short moment in time will make you relevant and you will learn first-hand that you don’t belong there.

Triple T smirks before walking out of frame. 

Fade