| JM | Date: Thursday, 2011/06/16, 2:00 AM | Message # 1 |
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Jobber
Group: Champion
Messages: 23
Status: Offline
| In the end, there can be only one...champion.
- - Act Three: Highlander - -
The scene opens on the facade of a nondescript office block in downtown New York. One single building – no different than the multitudes beside it – stands tall, reaching into the skies with structural dominance. Unless one was aware of what transpires inside, it would simply be presumed as an investment house or bank. Thousands of people a day walk past the edifice, not giving it a second look. If they knew of what horrors lurked inside, they would not so easily forgive the building for being like the others.
Retaliation.
It is fast approaching. Pay-Per-View extravaganzas like Retaliation are not just put on over night. There are over a million things to plan: advertisements, bookings, pyrotechnics, and all of the different tools necessary to construct a monster like the squared circle. The Production Department has to work hand-in-hand with set designs in order to decorate the Colosseum in such a way that it is set apart from the typical Shatter Point – to make it special. All in all, many things go into preparing for a successful show; and It is no different than the preparation Justin Marsham undergoes to gear up for a match.
Beyond the steel doors of the structure, a long, narrow corridor leads Steven Slade into the main lobby. The sound of his boot heels tap against the concrete floors, offering an echo to denote his arrival. He has been here before, but is oblivious to what Marsham has planned. Upon entering the lobby, he peers up at the walls with chartreuse, serpentine eyes. The words Avenue Crossing preside over the room – ornamented on the wall in large, silver letters. Here, Slade pauses, taking in the distinct scent of Pine-sol.
To each side is a large staircase, leading to more floors which lead to more rooms. Exercise equipment are visible to his left, but are not in use. Marsham instructed him to come to Avenue Crossing, but has no clue why. It is so late at night. What more can be done?
He passes beneath the words Avenue Crossing and through a set of wooden doors into the main ballroom. Cameras follows behind Slade and it becomes quickly clear that this is not your typical ballroom. Avenue Crossing has long been Marsham's training grounds, a building remodeled into a training facility long ago. But, Slade could never imagine what Marsham had done to the ballroom. Mere inches inside the door, Slade simply stands in amazement, unable to proceed any further.
Stairway to Death.
It would be Marsham's match at Retaliation and to properly prepare for such a match, he would have to endure its evil.
One large ring has been set-up in the middle of the room. Its ropes have been replaced by barbed wire. A single large ladder stands in the center of the ring – its price tag from Lowe's still attached around the top rung. Various weapons including but not limited to chairs, tables and a single Singapore Cane reside across the floor. It would appear that Marsham's title match would take place at this very location!
”What in the Hell have you done?” questions Slade – his words barely breaking through his state of awe.
Marsham appears onto the screen, standing up from ringside as he tightens the last bolt to the post – making certain that the barbed wire is secure. He is no longer dressed up in his usual club-going, elegant attire. Now, he bares his wrestling gear, offering the illusion that he is soon to perform in a match. But, no matches are to take place so late after midnight.
”Buzzsaw had me thinking. He has had some damn good points all along and I really need to see past my ego. I am not an advocate for hard-core wrestling; however, to survive in companies like CZW and EWA, you have to adapt and embrace it. I once tried to destroy it and I was the one damn near destroyed, so no. I have no choice but to embrace it. Now, Buzzsaw has said on many occasion that he is more hard-core than me. I'll give him that. He is pretty damn hard-core. But, he has no tangible wrestling ability. Now, how much wrestling can we actually do in a ring that looks like that, right? Well, damn it! I'm gonna find a way to work that in!” Marsham explains while inspecting the ring, now finishing up the last touches on his devilish masterpiece.
”So, you thought it was a good idea to put together the very ring that you'll be facing death in in a couple of days?”
Marsham shakes his head vehemently. ”You don't get it. Look, what do I do to prepare for matches? You've been my training partner, my tag partner, my friend for years now. You should know me better than anyone. I have a regular routine. What do I do?”
”You watch tape of your opponent, the last few weeks of their matches. You watch for technical flaws in their offense or defense. You train intermittently during this time. About three days prior to the match, you go out to a club. You don't drink, but you watch the people and smooze with the ladies. You cut promos in between those times too and then you hit the ring to train with me or Alex Jordan, all depending upon whose available at the time,” recounts Slade, very visibly searching his memory for all of the small details Marsham may do that he left out.
With a nod, Marsham rejoins, ”I do call upon you to train in the ring...and that time is now.”
”Wait. You want me to get in that? I've long put away my wrestling boots to have to deal with a ring that looks like it's straight from the movie Hellraiser.”
”Look, I know Buzzsaw believes that I just think that I'm talented because I'm full of myself and other people have propped me up on a pedestal. He's probably right. Except! I am a calculated BEAST in that ring. People give me the admiration I deserve because I have proven myself. Technical Finesse is only going to get me so far at Retaliation and Buzzsaw knows it. So, this is my way of embracing the darkness that is extreme. To beat Buzzsaw, I will need to beat him at his own game. How does the old saying go? To beat the monster, you have to become a monster? Well, Justin Marsham is gonna have to become the Epitome of Technical Extreme. Good Lord, Brian Kirkland would be rolling in his grave if he heard me say that,” Marsham explains, recollecting back at his matches against Kirkland when he attempted to end the Hardcore Division. He failed, obviously, and received a one-on-one meet-and-greet with an explosive device for good measure.
”I'm pretty sure Kirkland's not dead,” Slade mutters.
Marsham tosses the Singapore Cane to Slade who promptly snatches it before it hits him.
”Wait. Where is the blond girl?”
Marsham directs Slade's attention to the back right corner of the room with a quick flick of his wrist. Slade's eyes trace the path Marsham created, spotting the blond curled up on a brown couch. She is clearly asleep and the banter between Marsham and Slade have no affect on that. She uses her black jacket as a blanket and is curled up nearly in the fetal position.
”Here's the deal,” begins Marsham just before sliding into the ring beneath the barbed wire. ”You work with me and I'll help you get an EWA contract. Deal?”
“That's not fair and dude it's like one in the morning,” Slade responds whilst tapping the shaft of the Singapore Cane against his palm.
Nimble upon his feet, Marsham bounds upwards and nears the wire in Slade's direction. He does not appear amused by Slade's lack of interest. ”I don't give a fuck if it is three in the morning and Megan Fox is waiting in your hotel room, get your damned ass into this ring. Damn, you think Buzz has this much trouble getting people to train with him? Oh wait, obviously no because his training partners are Budweiser and the Marlboro Man – and they're always there for him.”
Slipping into the ring careful enough not to get caught up on the barbs, Slade is quick to come face-to-face with Marsham. Slade's hand slips out from an immaculately tailored cuff, unveiling a pristine Rolex. He is quick to take his silver chain, watch and shirt off – tossing it outside and returning with the cane in hand. Marsham patiently waits for his comrade to get ready; however, Slade would never be ready for what the Epitome of Technical Finesse has in mind.
”Good, you ready?” an eager Marsham questions, rubbing his palms together.
Slade glances around the ring, to the barbed wire and to the ladder immediately to his left. He appears a bit weary about this whole ordeal. ”Ready for what?”
”...to defend yourself,” whispers Marsham, snatching a hold of Slade with a collar-and-elbow tie-up and then shifting his weight immediately to send him towards the barbed wire ropes. The Singapore Cane is dropped in the process, no warning given to Marsham's attempt at an Irish whip.
Instinctively, Slade steps through and reverses – sending Marsham hurdling towards the wire. It only takes a split second for Slade's countenance to be conquered by fright. He winces then conveys an expression of anguish for Marsham, watching as the Epitome of Technical Finesse is flush against the barbed wire. Thorns pierce Marsham's flesh, allowing blood to spill down his ivory flesh as if a faucet were turned on. Surprisingly, Marsham reflects no pain and simply pushes himself off and towards Slade.
The two lock-up once more, but Marsham is quick to slip behind and lock on a rear-waist lock. The technical side of Marsham's arsenal is shown as he pulls Slade up and overhead with a release German suplex! Slade hits the canvas and thanks God for his safety as he lands mere inches from the barbed wire. Before Slade is able to get to a vertical base, he is struck back down by the ladder – is thrown downwards with a great deal of force by the Epitome of Technical Finesse.
Clarity.
In the past, Marsham would have followed up the German suplex with another technical move – usually a bridge for a pin or with a small package as the opponent nears their feet. A possible attempt at the Executioner's Song could have even reared its ugly head, but Marsham will be unable to win his Stairway to Death match with such moves. All of his submission expertise is void for ladder matches and it kills him. But, he knows he needs to adapt; and adapt he will!
It does not take too long for Slade to get up, although he is weary at using the barbed wire for support. When he finally does get to his feet, Marsham is there to greet him again. This time, he uses the Singapore Cane Slade had dropped earlier, presses it against his throat and tears his friend down with a modified neck-breaker. The move itself appears awkward, but was extremely effective. Slade writhes in pain on the mat which causes Marsham to step back.
”Are you kidding me? Get the fuck up,” Marsham shouts.
Never has Marsham and Slade sparred with foreign objects. The two normally practice technical wrestling and – in the worst cases – Slade has been a Guinea pig for new variations of the Wicked Driver. But, never before has he been subjected to such gruesome conditions.
”Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?! You nearly just broke my neck and you want me to do it again? Fuck it! Call Alex. I'm done,” remarks Slade as he rolls to a knee, holding the back of his neck.
Marsham shakes his head, allowing a hint of concern to infect his voice. ”Okay, okay. We don't need to do ALL of the extreme shit. I just need to find my limits. I've been in Deathmatches before. I've had some serious matches in the past. I know I can take the punishment. I really just want to know how much punishment I can take. This isn't going to be a typical Deathmatch with some typical wrestler. It's with a man who only knows Deathmatch. Everyone has their limits no matter how hard-core. I know mine for a typical match. I want to know what it is here.”
A few moments pass before Slade returns to his feet. ”I gotcha! But, damn. Could we lay off the intensity for a minute or so.”
The intensity does not subside. Marsham does not back down. He is hot in the moment, feeling the blood racing through his veins. If Marsham is to overcome Buzzsaw, he would have BECOME Buzzsaw. No. Marsham would never sink that low. Instead, he will subject himself to the dangers of the match...a bit prematurely.
If winning the EWA Heavyweight Championship means he bangs himself up mere days before Retaliation – so be it!
If finally defeating Buzzsaw in a one-on-one match means battling at Retaliation with fresh wounds – so be it!
Literally, Marsham is willing to do whatever it takes to win the title. He has already broken so many laws: assault, battery and kidnapping. What else could he do?
”Hit me!” Marsham screams.
”I always thought that out of the both of us, I was sickest person. But, you are taking the cake.”
”Hit me!” Marsham repeats, his back visibly torn up and eyes burning.
Droplets of blood are scattered across the canvas from Marsham's back. Slade glances down at these small pools while Marsham nears him. The Singapore Cane feels light within his grip. He exhales a single breath, ignoring Marsham as his voice grows louder and more demanding.
”HIT ME!”
Slade rears back and snaps that cane forward, striking Marsham cleanly across the brow. The cane reacts with a slight bend and a resounding THWACK! The impact is loud enough to awaken the blond on the couch, her pale blue eyes peering up to the action in the ring. To her dismay and lack of understanding, she is welcomed to a scene of brutality. Repeatedly, Slade lashes out against Marsham, striking him in the head with the Singapore Cane. His violent swipes with the cane become more erratic as the time passes, even lashing out against Marsham's appendages, leaving long welts that resemble burn scars across his muscular frame.
”Fuckin' Hell!” shouts Slade, continuing the barrage of shots as if intending to murder Marsham.
Countless blows – simply countless – land. Slade is not sure quite when, but one shot is the final one, rendering Marsham unconscious. The Epitome of Technical Finesse – wearing a concussion like a helmet – collapses backwards onto the canvas, his face soaked in blood and ripe with exhaustion. Slade panics and directs his attention to the blonde on the couch. He drops down and tries to awaken Marsham, but to no avail.
”Hey, Blondie! Get over here and help,” Slade shouts, quickly and carefully pulling Marsham out of the ring.
”Did you kill him? No, no, hey I don't want any part of some murder,” she says with shaken voice. ”That's all you! That's all you!”
Slade shakes his head. ”Damn it, no! He's not dead. He's just out cold. Here! Grab his damn feet and help me get him to the car. We need to get him back to the hotel before he wakes up.”
”Are you sure he isn't dead?” questions the woman, uneasily assisting Slade by removing Marsham from the ring apron.
”It'll take a Hell of a lot more than that to kill Justin Marsham,” remarks Slade as the cameras follow the two, lugging around the lifeless Marsham.
Cameras close on the scene, now knowing how Marsham and company had arrived to the hotel suite; and why neither Marsham nor Chris Young could recollect the evening before. BUT – one thing neither one of those men will forget is how amazing EWA Retaliation will be. After Justin Marsham collides head-to-head with Buzzsaw in a Stairway to Death match, regardless of the outcome, EWA will be renowned for presenting its fans a spectacular Pay-Per-View event.
Act Four: The Final Destination
Fast Forward.
It is mere hours from the epic showdown.
In infinite quietude – the Epitome of Technical Finesse sits. Cameras zoom in from a distance, narrowing in on the number one contender at a steady pace. He does not move. He does not speak. He simply sits cross-legged upon the floor. His maimed brow is visible to those watching, evidence of his brutal encounter with Slade days prior. Meditation is perhaps to formal of a word for what Marsham experiences at this time. Instead, rather, he concentrates. He focuses on the road ahead of him and forsakes that which he has traveled. Buzzsaw will require his utmost attention. Anything other than winning the EWA Heavyweight Championship does not matter.
The room he is seated in is dark and shadows close in around him. Cameras cannot even escape the ubiquitous hands of darkness.
The final hour is at hand.
All that he has worked towards. All that he has planned rests upon a single match.
His fateful destination is at Retaliation.
Just like in the closing moments of a movie, when the character has uncovered a self-revelation, Marsham peers up and directly into the camera. His azure eyes never look away; not even as a diabolic smirk develops which stretches wide across his countenance. EWA viewers are granted this as the final image – confirmation of a previously acknowledged quality.
Malevolence.
- - Credits - -
“It's not like I made myself a list
Of new and different ways of murdering your heart
I'm just a painting that's still wet
If you touch me I'll be smeared, you'll be stained
Stained for the rest of your life
So turn around walk away before you confuse the way we abuse each other
You're not afraid of getting hurt
And I'm not afraid of how much I hurt you
Well aware I'm a danger to myself
Are you aware I'm a danger to others?
There's a crack in my soul you thought was a smile
Whatever doesn't kill you is gonna leave a scar
Whatever doesn't kill you is gonna to leave a scar
Leave a scar, leave a scar
Whatever doesn't kill you is gonna to leave a scar”- Marilyn Manson, Leave a Scar
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