Post by The Pac on Jun 19, 2013 22:32:08 GMT -5
"When your boot is on the enemy's throat, you crush it."
"Another week, another dollar..right? Wrong. This is no longer fun. No more games. No more playing. Ruthlessness is my business..and business just picked up. You think that I am just another guy running around trying to make his way in this world? I am not. You think that I am some petty opponent to be disposed of with ease. I am not. This is how things are: Those employed by P.C.W. are nothing but rats in a maze compared to The Devil Himself. The Devil Himself is playing the role of the cat to your mouse. To the normal world I am but entertaining...to P.C.W. I am a fate worse than death. Mind games are fun, but this is business and no one plays with business. Come Slamathon there will be no more games. It is time to start crushing throats, Dante's way."
The P.C.W. cameras are set. It is time to roll. The P.C.W. logo appears at the bottom right of the screen before our scene opens up.
We find ourselves inside a rather sizable laboratory. The walls are a medium blue color to compliment the cream of the floor tiles. Off in the back left of the laboratory we see two familiar faces that we have not seen in a while. One is, of course, the Marvelous Midget himself David the Retarded Barbed-Wire Wrapped Midget. The other is the lovely, and never forgotten, Ashley 'Jynx'. David and 'Jynx' are both sitting on stools at the back counter. In front of them is a Little Einstein's chemistry set. As 'Jynx' watches on closely, David is seen mixing and shaking all different kinds of colorful liquids. One of these liquids is smoking, one looks to be a rather solid looking mixture that is stuck within its test tube. The other is nitroglycerin. David reaches for another of the containers and grips it in his hands. After swirling it around a bit in the container, David proceeds to upturn the liquid contents of this container onto his person. 'Jynx' is unable to catch him in time to prevent this and thus we find David's face and parts of his arms wet with this liquid that he spilled.
As 'Jynx' tries her best to clean up David's mess, our scene switches over to a table sized maze set up on the center display table of the laboratory. Within this maze are three laboratory mice, each in its own corner of the maze. A hand with an off-white collar on it enters the scene to flip a switch on the table next to the maze. Three confining walls of the maze retract and thus set the mice free to roam the maze. Slowly each mouse begins to traverse the maze. One gets stuck at a dead end. We see the hand come into view once again to coax the mouse along a different path. After a few minutes of these mice navigating the maze, they all finally make it to the center of the maze where they all converge with one another. The scene pans back a bit and now we see that the off-white collared hand belongs to none other than The Devil Himself Dante Daevain. With a gentle stroke, Dante runs the back of his fingers along each of the backs of the mice. Once done, Dante reaches to his right to fetch a few sizable slices of cheese. As a reward for navigating the maze, Dante provides each mouse with a slice of cheese for it to consume. The mice all take part in this celebratory meal. Petting the mice one last time, Dante finally addresses the P.C.W. camera that is present with a smirk on his face.
Dante: "Wow, Wallace. Just..Wow. Is that all you have in you, Wallace? A bit of name calling and second grade trash talking? Really? I believe that it is high time you grew up and learned a thing or two about this business. Now, I will give you props for taking note of the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad presence of P.C.W.'s Broadcast Champion and the fact that he does not even deserve the right to breathe on that strap that he holds...but your accolades stop right there. You have some learning to do?"
We hear the mice squeaking rather audibly.
"Of what, you ask? Business. You see, Wallace, Your paltry showing for our encounter this weeks serves but one purpose. My purpose. The purpose of The Devil Himself. You, like so many more before you, make the mistake of thinking of The Devil Himself as one who simply plays games. Someone who beats around the bush. Someone who seeks to gain favor by means of heavy weighted words."
Dante takes a leaning seat on the table that the maze sits atop.
"That is what you perceive. Meet the real Devil Himself. The real Dante Daevain. For thirteen years I have plagued this business. Thirteen years have I raised hell. Son, you really are nothing compared to me. Your resume is but a scrap piece of paper compared to mine. You have never faced anyone inside the squared circle that is my equal. Just because you managed to win two matches in this company does not mean that you have the skills to take down The Devil Himself. So you beat the Broadcast Champion Brian Stryker. It has already been said by both you and me...he is nothing. And what about Sexton? Anything remotely decent about Sexton? Not a thing. Hell, the guy never really had the heart for this business. I put him right on par with Brian. What does that say for you, Wallace?"
Dante has a rather interested look on his face...bordering on intrigued.
"There is no hiding the fact that you, Wallace, are simply an overblown talent looking to score a break in this business. That's admirable. All too common, but admirable. I think you know just as well as I do that what you have done in P.C.W. thus far is far from meaningful. In your mind you need this match. Too bad for you that The Devil Himself came to do business."
Dante smirks as he places his left hand inside his pant pocket.
"See, Wallace, you need this match...but you did not show it. You talk about this upcoming encounter like it is a walk in the park for you. Far from it. It is more like a maze..twisting and turning with all sorts of walls to block your path whilst The Devil Himself looks on and leads you astray for his own amusement. You do not have the passion for the Scars of Wrestling Cup, Wallace. You just want the shiny that comes with the title..just like every other man. You will not have it, though. You will fall just short of that prize you seek. Fall short of making a name for yourself in this company. After Slamathon you will simply have to find another way...A way that does not have you crossing paths with The Devil Himself."
Dante raises both of his eyebrows briefly as he smiles at the camera. After taking a deep breath and a momentary pauses, Dante gets a sarcastic look of worry on his face.
"Viktor? Oh, Viktor? Where art thou? Oh there you are, Viktor! Oh...poor Viktor. Dead to the world...unable to outlast anyone else in the fold. The weak link. Surprising, though, is it not? The one man who has a claim to the Scars Cup...The least likely to emerge from the flames come Slamathon. What has happened to you, Viktor? Lose your will to compete after the last go round? Still scarred? Still..scared? Oh come now, Viktor, there is nothing to be afraid of at Slamathon. Maybe only some blood and broken bone...but that is nothing you cannot handle, right? I mean for a former winner you are the only one that can claim this as a walk in the park..."
Dante shakes his head slowly and shakes his right pointer finger at the camera.
"I am ashamed, Viktor. I really am. You shy away from your moment of glory. You, Viktor, have shown the world just what it is you are made of...Not guts and glory. Not nerves of steel. Nope. Cowardice. Fear. These things eat at you. They will continue to eat at you until Slamathon. They will haunt you. Your fear is going to cripple you, Viktor. You have no chance to repeat your past glory. You will be too scared off in a corner to seize the glory. I am sure there will be, at least, one more opportunity for you. No sweat."
Dante shrugs with an R.V.D.esque grin.
"Thus we come to none other than SJ Funk. A man that, really, needs no introduction in P.C.W...A man who has accomplished much in his time with the company. A man that has an agenda. A man...that will fail to see his goal reached at Slamathon."
Dante winks at the camera as we hear more squeaking of the mice, only much less audibly this time.
"Now, now...Do not get me wrong, SJ. I mean no disrespect to a man such as yourself. I, of all people, should know what a man like yourself goes through week in and week out of this business. You know your stuff. You know the ropes...But you do not know The Devil Himself."
Dante shakes his head a couple of times.
"You had your shots, SJ. You had your spotlight. It is now your time to step aside and move on to other ventures that do not interfere with The Devil Himself. This is my time. This Scars of Wrestling Cup is mine to win."
"You know as well as I do that the P.C.W. Tag Team Championships are only a beginning. They are a means to another end. The Devil Himself aims to see Himself atop the ladder of P.C.W. The Scars Cup is the means to accomplish that end. Smith Jones was no walk in the park for you, SJ. Smith got the better of you and you faltered. Not so great a return for a man like yourself."
Dante gestures his hands in a lecturing sort of way.
"But let us be honest with one another, SJ. You do not need the Scars Cup. You do not need another accolade to add to your list. You have done enough. At this point it is all downhill for you, SJ. You are coasting. Coast on down the hill past the Scars Cup. Your heart is not in it. You know that. I know that. In months past you were unsure about where your career was going. You say you wanted that ill fated title attempt...but you did not. Deep down you knew you wanted that opportunity to pass you by. You did not need it. It would have only served as icing on your cake...like this match at Slamathon. But since you know deep down that you do not want this...The Devil Himself will gladly take it from you."
Dante pauses for a moment and glances down at the mice in the center of the maze. Two of the three mice now lay dead in the middle of the maze with half eaten cheese. The final mouse is still alive, though not moving much. Dante glances back to the camera with another smirk on his face.
"As you can very well see...The Devil Himself is the single most dangerous individual involved with the Scars Cup at Slamathon. No one wants the glory of this match...no one shows the desire to take their future into their own hands. Except The Devil Himself. He wants the glory. He wants to take that next step in P.C.W....I..want that Scars of Wrestling Cup."
Dante stands back up and motions his right hand to the maze on the table.
"Each and every one of you at Slamathon are but mice in a maze. The Devil Himself is the one in charge. I give you the morsels to nibble on..you end up crushed under my boot as I press it upon your throats. It is as simple as that. I control the destiny at Slamathon. Not Viktor, not Wallace, and certainly not SJ Funk. None of you have the drive of The Devil Himself. None of you have the tenacity needed to succeed. I will walk away with the Scars of Wrestling Cup and my very future in my hands. Not a one of you will succeed in stopping me."
With this...Dante picks the remaining live mouse up into the palm of his right hand and a piece of the cheese in his left. With care Dante feeds the cheese to the mouse. The mouse does not take very long to consume the cheese. Dante sets the mouse back into the center of the maze before walking away. Dante motions for 'Jynx' and David to come with him. We now see that David's face and arms that were exposed to the liquid are now brownish-black in color. That silver nitrate will take hours, maybe even days, to wear off of David. Dante pays it no mind as 'Jynx' grabs David's hands and walks with him out of the laboratory. The scene now focuses in on the remaining mouse as it clings on to the last seconds of life. One final squeak exits the mouse before the mouse definitively passes away. The scene slowly fades out to black.
"Another week, another dollar..right? Wrong. This is no longer fun. No more games. No more playing. Ruthlessness is my business..and business just picked up. You think that I am just another guy running around trying to make his way in this world? I am not. You think that I am some petty opponent to be disposed of with ease. I am not. This is how things are: Those employed by P.C.W. are nothing but rats in a maze compared to The Devil Himself. The Devil Himself is playing the role of the cat to your mouse. To the normal world I am but entertaining...to P.C.W. I am a fate worse than death. Mind games are fun, but this is business and no one plays with business. Come Slamathon there will be no more games. It is time to start crushing throats, Dante's way."
The P.C.W. cameras are set. It is time to roll. The P.C.W. logo appears at the bottom right of the screen before our scene opens up.
We find ourselves inside a rather sizable laboratory. The walls are a medium blue color to compliment the cream of the floor tiles. Off in the back left of the laboratory we see two familiar faces that we have not seen in a while. One is, of course, the Marvelous Midget himself David the Retarded Barbed-Wire Wrapped Midget. The other is the lovely, and never forgotten, Ashley 'Jynx'. David and 'Jynx' are both sitting on stools at the back counter. In front of them is a Little Einstein's chemistry set. As 'Jynx' watches on closely, David is seen mixing and shaking all different kinds of colorful liquids. One of these liquids is smoking, one looks to be a rather solid looking mixture that is stuck within its test tube. The other is nitroglycerin. David reaches for another of the containers and grips it in his hands. After swirling it around a bit in the container, David proceeds to upturn the liquid contents of this container onto his person. 'Jynx' is unable to catch him in time to prevent this and thus we find David's face and parts of his arms wet with this liquid that he spilled.
As 'Jynx' tries her best to clean up David's mess, our scene switches over to a table sized maze set up on the center display table of the laboratory. Within this maze are three laboratory mice, each in its own corner of the maze. A hand with an off-white collar on it enters the scene to flip a switch on the table next to the maze. Three confining walls of the maze retract and thus set the mice free to roam the maze. Slowly each mouse begins to traverse the maze. One gets stuck at a dead end. We see the hand come into view once again to coax the mouse along a different path. After a few minutes of these mice navigating the maze, they all finally make it to the center of the maze where they all converge with one another. The scene pans back a bit and now we see that the off-white collared hand belongs to none other than The Devil Himself Dante Daevain. With a gentle stroke, Dante runs the back of his fingers along each of the backs of the mice. Once done, Dante reaches to his right to fetch a few sizable slices of cheese. As a reward for navigating the maze, Dante provides each mouse with a slice of cheese for it to consume. The mice all take part in this celebratory meal. Petting the mice one last time, Dante finally addresses the P.C.W. camera that is present with a smirk on his face.
Dante: "Wow, Wallace. Just..Wow. Is that all you have in you, Wallace? A bit of name calling and second grade trash talking? Really? I believe that it is high time you grew up and learned a thing or two about this business. Now, I will give you props for taking note of the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad presence of P.C.W.'s Broadcast Champion and the fact that he does not even deserve the right to breathe on that strap that he holds...but your accolades stop right there. You have some learning to do?"
We hear the mice squeaking rather audibly.
"Of what, you ask? Business. You see, Wallace, Your paltry showing for our encounter this weeks serves but one purpose. My purpose. The purpose of The Devil Himself. You, like so many more before you, make the mistake of thinking of The Devil Himself as one who simply plays games. Someone who beats around the bush. Someone who seeks to gain favor by means of heavy weighted words."
Dante takes a leaning seat on the table that the maze sits atop.
"That is what you perceive. Meet the real Devil Himself. The real Dante Daevain. For thirteen years I have plagued this business. Thirteen years have I raised hell. Son, you really are nothing compared to me. Your resume is but a scrap piece of paper compared to mine. You have never faced anyone inside the squared circle that is my equal. Just because you managed to win two matches in this company does not mean that you have the skills to take down The Devil Himself. So you beat the Broadcast Champion Brian Stryker. It has already been said by both you and me...he is nothing. And what about Sexton? Anything remotely decent about Sexton? Not a thing. Hell, the guy never really had the heart for this business. I put him right on par with Brian. What does that say for you, Wallace?"
Dante has a rather interested look on his face...bordering on intrigued.
"There is no hiding the fact that you, Wallace, are simply an overblown talent looking to score a break in this business. That's admirable. All too common, but admirable. I think you know just as well as I do that what you have done in P.C.W. thus far is far from meaningful. In your mind you need this match. Too bad for you that The Devil Himself came to do business."
Dante smirks as he places his left hand inside his pant pocket.
"See, Wallace, you need this match...but you did not show it. You talk about this upcoming encounter like it is a walk in the park for you. Far from it. It is more like a maze..twisting and turning with all sorts of walls to block your path whilst The Devil Himself looks on and leads you astray for his own amusement. You do not have the passion for the Scars of Wrestling Cup, Wallace. You just want the shiny that comes with the title..just like every other man. You will not have it, though. You will fall just short of that prize you seek. Fall short of making a name for yourself in this company. After Slamathon you will simply have to find another way...A way that does not have you crossing paths with The Devil Himself."
Dante raises both of his eyebrows briefly as he smiles at the camera. After taking a deep breath and a momentary pauses, Dante gets a sarcastic look of worry on his face.
"Viktor? Oh, Viktor? Where art thou? Oh there you are, Viktor! Oh...poor Viktor. Dead to the world...unable to outlast anyone else in the fold. The weak link. Surprising, though, is it not? The one man who has a claim to the Scars Cup...The least likely to emerge from the flames come Slamathon. What has happened to you, Viktor? Lose your will to compete after the last go round? Still scarred? Still..scared? Oh come now, Viktor, there is nothing to be afraid of at Slamathon. Maybe only some blood and broken bone...but that is nothing you cannot handle, right? I mean for a former winner you are the only one that can claim this as a walk in the park..."
Dante shakes his head slowly and shakes his right pointer finger at the camera.
"I am ashamed, Viktor. I really am. You shy away from your moment of glory. You, Viktor, have shown the world just what it is you are made of...Not guts and glory. Not nerves of steel. Nope. Cowardice. Fear. These things eat at you. They will continue to eat at you until Slamathon. They will haunt you. Your fear is going to cripple you, Viktor. You have no chance to repeat your past glory. You will be too scared off in a corner to seize the glory. I am sure there will be, at least, one more opportunity for you. No sweat."
Dante shrugs with an R.V.D.esque grin.
"Thus we come to none other than SJ Funk. A man that, really, needs no introduction in P.C.W...A man who has accomplished much in his time with the company. A man that has an agenda. A man...that will fail to see his goal reached at Slamathon."
Dante winks at the camera as we hear more squeaking of the mice, only much less audibly this time.
"Now, now...Do not get me wrong, SJ. I mean no disrespect to a man such as yourself. I, of all people, should know what a man like yourself goes through week in and week out of this business. You know your stuff. You know the ropes...But you do not know The Devil Himself."
Dante shakes his head a couple of times.
"You had your shots, SJ. You had your spotlight. It is now your time to step aside and move on to other ventures that do not interfere with The Devil Himself. This is my time. This Scars of Wrestling Cup is mine to win."
"You know as well as I do that the P.C.W. Tag Team Championships are only a beginning. They are a means to another end. The Devil Himself aims to see Himself atop the ladder of P.C.W. The Scars Cup is the means to accomplish that end. Smith Jones was no walk in the park for you, SJ. Smith got the better of you and you faltered. Not so great a return for a man like yourself."
Dante gestures his hands in a lecturing sort of way.
"But let us be honest with one another, SJ. You do not need the Scars Cup. You do not need another accolade to add to your list. You have done enough. At this point it is all downhill for you, SJ. You are coasting. Coast on down the hill past the Scars Cup. Your heart is not in it. You know that. I know that. In months past you were unsure about where your career was going. You say you wanted that ill fated title attempt...but you did not. Deep down you knew you wanted that opportunity to pass you by. You did not need it. It would have only served as icing on your cake...like this match at Slamathon. But since you know deep down that you do not want this...The Devil Himself will gladly take it from you."
Dante pauses for a moment and glances down at the mice in the center of the maze. Two of the three mice now lay dead in the middle of the maze with half eaten cheese. The final mouse is still alive, though not moving much. Dante glances back to the camera with another smirk on his face.
"As you can very well see...The Devil Himself is the single most dangerous individual involved with the Scars Cup at Slamathon. No one wants the glory of this match...no one shows the desire to take their future into their own hands. Except The Devil Himself. He wants the glory. He wants to take that next step in P.C.W....I..want that Scars of Wrestling Cup."
Dante stands back up and motions his right hand to the maze on the table.
"Each and every one of you at Slamathon are but mice in a maze. The Devil Himself is the one in charge. I give you the morsels to nibble on..you end up crushed under my boot as I press it upon your throats. It is as simple as that. I control the destiny at Slamathon. Not Viktor, not Wallace, and certainly not SJ Funk. None of you have the drive of The Devil Himself. None of you have the tenacity needed to succeed. I will walk away with the Scars of Wrestling Cup and my very future in my hands. Not a one of you will succeed in stopping me."
With this...Dante picks the remaining live mouse up into the palm of his right hand and a piece of the cheese in his left. With care Dante feeds the cheese to the mouse. The mouse does not take very long to consume the cheese. Dante sets the mouse back into the center of the maze before walking away. Dante motions for 'Jynx' and David to come with him. We now see that David's face and arms that were exposed to the liquid are now brownish-black in color. That silver nitrate will take hours, maybe even days, to wear off of David. Dante pays it no mind as 'Jynx' grabs David's hands and walks with him out of the laboratory. The scene now focuses in on the remaining mouse as it clings on to the last seconds of life. One final squeak exits the mouse before the mouse definitively passes away. The scene slowly fades out to black.
