Post by Cyrus Daniels on Sept 20, 2013 22:58:10 GMT
Cyrus Daniels sits in an empty white walled room, backwards on a simple wooden cane chair, with his legs either side of the backrest. He has his massive arms folded across the back of the chair and is wearing a dark green polo shirt with the collar unbuttoned and jeans. Owing to the short-sleeved nature of his casual attire, there is the hint of a tattoo partially obscured by the sleeve on his right bicep.
The word 'VIPERS' is clear below the tattoo which looks like the green tail of a snake wrapped around the edge of a blade, most likely a sword.
They say ya ain't paranoid if they really are out ta get ya, but the way I see it, one man's paranoia is just another man's caution, and my caution is the reason I'm still alive today. It all depends on a person's perspective, I guess. Some may look at this Heavyweight Championship Triple Threat Match n' feel I really don't deserve the shot n' that I'm only here 'cause some Italian decided ta reward me for bein' a loyal henchman, attack dog or just a plain goon. Bein' the cautious fella that I am, I look at it a little differently.
I see this as the act of a desperate man tryna quench the problem his son n myself could present ta his entire organization if he allows Bernie n I ta continue ta act as a unit, so he's tryna divide us in the simplest way possible. Give one of us a title shot n the other will turn on his buddy for it. Very clever ya cunnin' limey bastard, but all that proves ta me is that ya still don't get it.
Ya still see me like ninety percent of the other boys in the back - a cliche ta be appeased by cliches. Honestly De Montford, ain't we well passed this already? We really should be mate, how many more of your top dogs n' money makers do I havta beat in the middle of one of your rings until ya realise that bloke like your son n' I, we're the future of not only this company but of the entire Goddamn industry?
We're not just professional wrestlers, we're a whole new breed of fighter and we intend ta push everythin' people thought they knew about this business to new limits, and unlike the fallen Gods and messiahs, we will not do it simply by slappin' a moniker on a T-Shirt or divin' off a few cages. No, we'll do it by bringin' a legitimacy ta our fights that will help ensure that this product, this entertainment, this world remains TV-14 at the very least.
See I quite like things as they stand. Where else am I gonna go ta fuck my best mate up n then celebrate by fuckin' his baby sisters too, simply 'cause I can? Stephen brought me here, n' since we could not mold thus world inta what we wanted, I've decided that I may as well make the best of my situation n' shape your company inta my vision, inta a world where violence is not an unfortunate consequence of bad men doin' what they do, but rather a necessity if ya wanna survive n' thrive here. A world where heroes, idols, children's entertainers n' role models exist only as victims, as prey for the new predators that are out ta rule this world.
It's time for all those nine year olds who demand their parents pay for T-Shirts of their favourite wrestlers ta learn the truth their parents have kept from 'em in order ta present what is supposed ta be a blood sport between real men as a bit of harmless weekend entertainment. This isn't a world of monkeys in tights. This is a world of dogs. It is dog eat dog out there kiddies, n' the sooner they learn this, the better prepared they will be ta face the world when they grow up...
Two young men in their early twenties are sat outside a small cafe somewhere in Queensland, Australia, across the table from each other. The blonde haired shorter man looks across at his taller friend with the thinning light brown hair.
Short man: Whadda ya say man, ya up for it?
The taller man pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between his lips, and his friend pulls a lighter out of an almost practiced instinct as if they had been doing this dance for years, and he leans back after his cigarette is lit.
Short man: Come on man, they say its the big score and they need help ta pull it off. I told 'em I knew just the guy n' that ya would be up for it. They trust me, don't make me out ta be a liar. I mean, what else are ya gonna do, go ta college?
The taller man clips his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, carefully removing it before blowing a satisfying puff of smoke in his exhalation. The two men chuckle knowing that given where they came from, a college education was an impossibility.
Short man: Hey, just think mate, when we pull this off we can finally get ya a lighter of your own n ya can stop moochin' off me.
The taller man, raises an eyebrow before leaning forward to address his friend.
Taller man: I dunno mate, this ain't the eighties anymore. Banks are a lot better protected than they used ta be. Gone are the days of Jockey Smith and his gang...
Short man: Who says? Just think about it seriously, we could be legends just like Jockey.
Taller man: Now why doesn't it surprise me that he'd be one of your idols?
Short man: Come on man, are ya in or out?
The taller man takes another drag of his cigarette before responding.
Taller man: Big score ya say?
Short man: The biggest they say...
Taller man: Well everybody already says you're like my partner in crime Joey, so what the hell? Sounds like fun. I'm in, mate.
Both men lean back in their respective chairs and grin at each other.
That's right, Isabella. That's right, Landon. Ya daddy thinks you're too young ta know about how big n' scary his world really is, but I think you're both big enough ta know the truth now. I just want ya to know what happens ta your daddy in a few days won't be 'cause I hate 'im but 'cause I love ya, both of ya, even more than daddy does. I love ya both enough to tell ta the truth n' not lie like daddy.
I'm sure daddy has told ya that liars are bad men, he may even say that I'm lyin' n that I'm a bad man, but I'm not. I know ya miss you mommy, maybe even more than daddy does. It's true ain't it? So how can I be a liar when I know somethin' so true about both of ya? I know somethin' about your daddy too, somethin' he wishes I didn't. I know he's been tryna find ya a new mommy, that's why that strange Natalie lady used ta come ta your house, didn't she?
Ssssh, your daddy doesn't think I know 'cause it was before I was 'ere, but I know 'cause I'm smart. But you Izzy and you Donnie, your much smarter than me n' that's why I want ya ta do somethin' for me okay? Next time your daddy introduces ya ta a new friend of his, I want ya both ta tell 'im, its okay daddy, we don't need a new mommy. I wanna help your daddy, but I need your help. Together we will show daddy that hey sometimes it's okay ta lose somethin' ya love n' sometimes ya never get it back.
It's all part of bein' a grown up n' ya wanna show daddy what a big boy n' what a big girl ya are now, don't ya? If ya daddy still cries about not gettin' the shiny belt back this Sunday from the big mean man after so many chances, hug 'im tight, kiss 'im' n' ask 'im why he's cryin' even more now than he did when mommy died. Ask 'im, is it 'cause he loves his belt more than ya both?
Ask daddy why he wants ta help all those kids when he's not wrestlin', but still hasn't helped ya remember mommy. He wants ta forget her, but ya don't, do ya? He wants ta replace her, but ya can't. She's not a title belt, she's your mommy n' if he says ya are both too young ta understand, don't worry 'cause Uncle Cyrus will remind your daddy that ya are never too young ta know the truth.
Ya are never too young ta lose your innocence or your perspective. Your daddy knows I'm not lyin' about that 'cause he's already lost both by tryna fight monsters. Who will keep ya safe when daddy is gone, just like mommy? Eaten by monsters bigger than 'im? When your daddy hugs ya n tells ya not ta be scared n' that there's no such thing as monsters, I want ya ta tell 'im he's wrong. They do exist even if they aren't under your bed at night. Tell 'im you've seen 'em. Tell 'im the big mean ol' man with daddy's belt is one, but tell 'im not ta worry 'cause Uncle Cyrus will take daddy's belt from the monster n' keep it safe, so safe that he'll never have ta worry about losin' it again...
Tell 'im Uncle Cyrus is the best.
Cyrus smiles and it is unsettling to say the least.
Three built men in their mid twenties to late thirties are sat around a table dividing stacks of cash among themselves. The table is also littered with empty crushed beer cans and filled with the smoke of two of the three men smoking. Though the third man wasn't smoking himself, the raven haired young woman who was sat on his lap was.
Man 1: Eight thousand dollars, not a bad little withdrawal boys.
Man 2: Split four ways, it almost doesn't seem worth it.
The first man looks at his colleague, then at the woman before addressing the third man, who thoughtfully strokes his goatee.
Man 1: Yeah, why does she get a share, she didn't even come inside with us.
Man 3: Virginia gets a share 'cause she did her job as well as any of ya.
Man 2: She got our arses outta there, that's for sure.
Man 1: Hey, just whose side are ya on, mate?
Before the conversation can resume, the men are interrupted by the arrival of a short blonde man. The man with the goatee instinctively picks his hand gun off the table and points it in his direction, the blonde man jumps back a step with his hands in the air.
Short Man: Woah, woah, easy there Nick, it's just me....
Nick: Jesus Christ, Joey!
The man with the goatee lowers the gun.
Man 1: How was the little recruitment initiative?
Man 2: Yeah, is he in?
Joey: He's in.
Joey turns his head and nods to someone just beyond the door, the tall man's shadow introduces him before he steps into the little secluded, run down hide away. All three men are a little taken a back by just how tall their newest visitor was as he had to lower his head slightly to get in. They look at the tall man with the stubble, in the battered leather jacket, a cigarette drooping from his mouth, with some curiousity.
Man 1: Jesus, he's a big fucker, ain't he?
Woman: Ooooh, he's delicious!
The tall man takes a moment to take in his surroundings and was quick to notice that all three men were in tank tops and all had the same tattoo on their right bicep. An insignia he'd no doubt have to earn if he didn't turn back now and decide to forget the whole thing. A green snake wrapped around a sword with the words QUEENSLAND above and VIPERS below the symbol.
Nick: Has Joey filled ya in on exactly what we do here?
Taller man: Said somethin' about you guys gearin' up for a big score...
Man 1: The biggest...
Nick picks up his hand gun and tosses it towards the tall man who catches it.
Nick: Before we can let ya in on the main event mate, we're gonna need ya to prove ya have the balls ta be here. Consider this your first test. I want ya to shoot one of the guys at the table, whoever ya pick will be the guy you're here ta replace on the big score. Ya have ta pick one, anyone in this room is fair game. Show me how hungry ya really are, mate....
The tall man looks at the gun in his hands, his fingers tremble, not even soothed by the rush of nicotine from his cigarette. Usually he lived for the rush, the adrenalin, the kick but now his eyes quivered as his senses were overcome with the loud protests of everybody else in the room, cursing the game of Russian roulette that their leader was playing with them. The tall man knew if he didn't make some sort of choice, it would be him who wouldn't be leaving this room alive.
The tall man first turned the gun on the man who brought him here. He deserved to die for bringing him here.
Joey: Hey! Come on now mate, easy!
The tall man then turned the gun to each of the two men he didn't know the names of. He didn't know anything about them, and that would lessen his guilt. They would just be faceless victims, chalk outlines that would remain unknown to him. The two of them told him to shoot the other as he indecisively switched targets. The tall man then turned his gun on the pretty woman who batted her eyelids at him.
Woman: Ya don't wanna kill me, honey...ya'd miss me...
Perhaps he would or perhaps he'd decide to leave the world such a beautiful corpse that the police would be more concerned with why such a sexy young woman was shot and killed rather than who did it. What kind of monster could he become if he killed everything beautiful that was left in this world without flinching?
The tall man finally turned his gun on the man who had presented him with this choice, their leader Nick, and in the face of death he laughed, begging him to do it.
Nick: DO IT! GO ON DO IT! DO IT NOW! PROVE YOU BELONG!
If the man was so eager to die, maybe he should just put the guy out of his misery. The tall man's trembling trigger finger, flirted with the idea and squeezed gently before pulling back and chickening out.
Nick: COWARD!
Nick admonished him as a coward, and the tall man shifted the gun from the centre to the left, lowering it slightly and pulling the trigger, wounding one of the nameless men in the bicep. The man screamed and clutched his now bleeding snake with his other arm, cursing under his breath.
Man 1: AH HELL! YA SONNOVA BITCH! I'LL KILL YA!
The tall man takes a few steps forward and places the smoking gun on the table, sliding it back to Nick, daring him to make the next move even as Nick catches it. Nick raises an eyebrow as he locks eyes with the taller man.
Nick: Why didn't ya kill him?
Taller man: 'Cause ya never asked me ta. Ya asked me ta shoot a man. It's not the same thing, besides if the job really is as big as ya say it is, ya are gonna need all the man power ya have...
Nick settles back in his chair and strokes his goatee before he laughed.
Nick: Well ya just proved ya can follow my instruction precisely and think before ya act. Excellent. Joey told me ya were a smart bloke. What's your name mate?
The tall man pinched the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it under foot before introducing himself.
Taller man: Name's Cyrus. Cyrus Daniels, mate.
Nick smiled as he extended his hand to Cyrus Daniels.
Nick: Well, Cyrus Daniels. Welcome ta the nest of the Vipers.
Cyrus and Nick shake hands firmly as they lock eyes.
Cyrus Daniels: Glad ta be here.
I havta admit Xander, I'm disappointed. How the match ended last week wasn't the way I wanted or even expected it ta go, but I guess it proves two things ultimately. First, that even as a dirty stereotypical Ozzy Crim, I can sometimes work within the law, n' secondly that even as storied as your career is, even someone as big as ya ain't above that law when it is the law of gravity...
Cyrus chuckles.
What's wrong, Famularo? Why ain't ya laughin' mate? I thought it was pretty damn funny myself, though not quite as funny as ya takin' considerable time outta your day last week ta tell me in no uncertain terms that I absolutely, positively n' categorically did not belong in your ring, I grant ya. After all the talk about how I had done nothin' ta prove that I belonged in the same ring with ya, I havta laugh at the irony that technically I ended up provin' that ya didn't belong in the ring with me.
There's proof if ya ever needed it of just what kinda sense of humour fate has. Now Xander, I'm not usually the kinda bloke that gets hung up on the technicalities, but I know ya. Ya live by 'em, every week ya have some technicality ta throw in the faces of blokes who have beaten ya 'cause ya can't give any credit ta anybody who ain't watchin' your back for ya.
Now I'm not normally a bettin' man, Xander, but honestly I don't think I'd be in any danger of losin' my cash if I were ta bet that ya will still tell the world all about your favourite technicality. The technicality that even though the history books will show that I won n' ya lost, ya still weren't pinned n' how ya have never submitted. Honestly mate, it seems ta be the only trumpet ya have left ta blow these days as ya scramble ta find a way ta justify your own self appointed Alpha Male status.
It's a safety net, somethin' ta cradle your fragile ego which will never allow ya ta accept ya are fallible. I bet ya like these triple threats 'cause in 'em there's always the possibility that your go to excuse will save ya from just havin' the stones ta admit ya were defeated on any given night by a better man.
If I really wanted ta Xander, this Sunday I could go outta my way ta make ya my target n' try ta pin ya just ta see what ya would say, but I honestly don't think its worth it, 'cause ya will just say ya were not pinned for however many months or the even more pathetic last resort of an excuse that is simply ta dismiss any loss as a fluke. Ya may as well go all the way at this point Xander, tell me that ya had somethin' in your eye. Tell me ya are still the Alpha Male in IWF despite the fact that technically ya are just Lex's sidekick. Second in the peckin' order at best, hell ya even have the title currently around your waist that says you are second best in the company right now.
But I know ya Xander. Ya will die before your ego ever lets ya admit you're not the alpha dog around here, merely beta at best. Admittedly it doesn't pack quite the punch ta say you're the beta male, so I will concede for now that ya are the alpha just so I can claim ta be the omega n' then the monkeys in the production truck can have the perfect sound bite ta run over the footage of me dumpin' ya out on your arse in the pre-match video package this Sunday. They say lightnin' never strikes twice Xander...
They said I'd never beat Spike Kane on my own. When I did, they said fair enough, but I'll never beat Spike Kane and Xander Famularo in the same match. Now I have, they say okay, but I'll never beat the current and former Heavyweight Champions in the same match. They say I just don't have it in me ta be anythin' more than a hitman for hire. They say alot of things, don't they Xander? Don't they Cross? They say I shouldn't be Heavyweight Champion, but what do they really know? It doesn't matter what they know. What matters is what I know...
And I know I belong among the elite.
This Sunday is just a matter of bringin' home the hardware that proves it.
The word 'VIPERS' is clear below the tattoo which looks like the green tail of a snake wrapped around the edge of a blade, most likely a sword.
They say ya ain't paranoid if they really are out ta get ya, but the way I see it, one man's paranoia is just another man's caution, and my caution is the reason I'm still alive today. It all depends on a person's perspective, I guess. Some may look at this Heavyweight Championship Triple Threat Match n' feel I really don't deserve the shot n' that I'm only here 'cause some Italian decided ta reward me for bein' a loyal henchman, attack dog or just a plain goon. Bein' the cautious fella that I am, I look at it a little differently.
I see this as the act of a desperate man tryna quench the problem his son n myself could present ta his entire organization if he allows Bernie n I ta continue ta act as a unit, so he's tryna divide us in the simplest way possible. Give one of us a title shot n the other will turn on his buddy for it. Very clever ya cunnin' limey bastard, but all that proves ta me is that ya still don't get it.
Ya still see me like ninety percent of the other boys in the back - a cliche ta be appeased by cliches. Honestly De Montford, ain't we well passed this already? We really should be mate, how many more of your top dogs n' money makers do I havta beat in the middle of one of your rings until ya realise that bloke like your son n' I, we're the future of not only this company but of the entire Goddamn industry?
We're not just professional wrestlers, we're a whole new breed of fighter and we intend ta push everythin' people thought they knew about this business to new limits, and unlike the fallen Gods and messiahs, we will not do it simply by slappin' a moniker on a T-Shirt or divin' off a few cages. No, we'll do it by bringin' a legitimacy ta our fights that will help ensure that this product, this entertainment, this world remains TV-14 at the very least.
See I quite like things as they stand. Where else am I gonna go ta fuck my best mate up n then celebrate by fuckin' his baby sisters too, simply 'cause I can? Stephen brought me here, n' since we could not mold thus world inta what we wanted, I've decided that I may as well make the best of my situation n' shape your company inta my vision, inta a world where violence is not an unfortunate consequence of bad men doin' what they do, but rather a necessity if ya wanna survive n' thrive here. A world where heroes, idols, children's entertainers n' role models exist only as victims, as prey for the new predators that are out ta rule this world.
It's time for all those nine year olds who demand their parents pay for T-Shirts of their favourite wrestlers ta learn the truth their parents have kept from 'em in order ta present what is supposed ta be a blood sport between real men as a bit of harmless weekend entertainment. This isn't a world of monkeys in tights. This is a world of dogs. It is dog eat dog out there kiddies, n' the sooner they learn this, the better prepared they will be ta face the world when they grow up...
Two young men in their early twenties are sat outside a small cafe somewhere in Queensland, Australia, across the table from each other. The blonde haired shorter man looks across at his taller friend with the thinning light brown hair.
Short man: Whadda ya say man, ya up for it?
The taller man pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between his lips, and his friend pulls a lighter out of an almost practiced instinct as if they had been doing this dance for years, and he leans back after his cigarette is lit.
Short man: Come on man, they say its the big score and they need help ta pull it off. I told 'em I knew just the guy n' that ya would be up for it. They trust me, don't make me out ta be a liar. I mean, what else are ya gonna do, go ta college?
The taller man clips his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, carefully removing it before blowing a satisfying puff of smoke in his exhalation. The two men chuckle knowing that given where they came from, a college education was an impossibility.
Short man: Hey, just think mate, when we pull this off we can finally get ya a lighter of your own n ya can stop moochin' off me.
The taller man, raises an eyebrow before leaning forward to address his friend.
Taller man: I dunno mate, this ain't the eighties anymore. Banks are a lot better protected than they used ta be. Gone are the days of Jockey Smith and his gang...
Short man: Who says? Just think about it seriously, we could be legends just like Jockey.
Taller man: Now why doesn't it surprise me that he'd be one of your idols?
Short man: Come on man, are ya in or out?
The taller man takes another drag of his cigarette before responding.
Taller man: Big score ya say?
Short man: The biggest they say...
Taller man: Well everybody already says you're like my partner in crime Joey, so what the hell? Sounds like fun. I'm in, mate.
Both men lean back in their respective chairs and grin at each other.
That's right, Isabella. That's right, Landon. Ya daddy thinks you're too young ta know about how big n' scary his world really is, but I think you're both big enough ta know the truth now. I just want ya to know what happens ta your daddy in a few days won't be 'cause I hate 'im but 'cause I love ya, both of ya, even more than daddy does. I love ya both enough to tell ta the truth n' not lie like daddy.
I'm sure daddy has told ya that liars are bad men, he may even say that I'm lyin' n that I'm a bad man, but I'm not. I know ya miss you mommy, maybe even more than daddy does. It's true ain't it? So how can I be a liar when I know somethin' so true about both of ya? I know somethin' about your daddy too, somethin' he wishes I didn't. I know he's been tryna find ya a new mommy, that's why that strange Natalie lady used ta come ta your house, didn't she?
Ssssh, your daddy doesn't think I know 'cause it was before I was 'ere, but I know 'cause I'm smart. But you Izzy and you Donnie, your much smarter than me n' that's why I want ya ta do somethin' for me okay? Next time your daddy introduces ya ta a new friend of his, I want ya both ta tell 'im, its okay daddy, we don't need a new mommy. I wanna help your daddy, but I need your help. Together we will show daddy that hey sometimes it's okay ta lose somethin' ya love n' sometimes ya never get it back.
It's all part of bein' a grown up n' ya wanna show daddy what a big boy n' what a big girl ya are now, don't ya? If ya daddy still cries about not gettin' the shiny belt back this Sunday from the big mean man after so many chances, hug 'im tight, kiss 'im' n' ask 'im why he's cryin' even more now than he did when mommy died. Ask 'im, is it 'cause he loves his belt more than ya both?
Ask daddy why he wants ta help all those kids when he's not wrestlin', but still hasn't helped ya remember mommy. He wants ta forget her, but ya don't, do ya? He wants ta replace her, but ya can't. She's not a title belt, she's your mommy n' if he says ya are both too young ta understand, don't worry 'cause Uncle Cyrus will remind your daddy that ya are never too young ta know the truth.
Ya are never too young ta lose your innocence or your perspective. Your daddy knows I'm not lyin' about that 'cause he's already lost both by tryna fight monsters. Who will keep ya safe when daddy is gone, just like mommy? Eaten by monsters bigger than 'im? When your daddy hugs ya n tells ya not ta be scared n' that there's no such thing as monsters, I want ya ta tell 'im he's wrong. They do exist even if they aren't under your bed at night. Tell 'im you've seen 'em. Tell 'im the big mean ol' man with daddy's belt is one, but tell 'im not ta worry 'cause Uncle Cyrus will take daddy's belt from the monster n' keep it safe, so safe that he'll never have ta worry about losin' it again...
Tell 'im Uncle Cyrus is the best.
Cyrus smiles and it is unsettling to say the least.
February 7th, 2001
Somewhere in Queensland, Australia.
Three built men in their mid twenties to late thirties are sat around a table dividing stacks of cash among themselves. The table is also littered with empty crushed beer cans and filled with the smoke of two of the three men smoking. Though the third man wasn't smoking himself, the raven haired young woman who was sat on his lap was.
Man 1: Eight thousand dollars, not a bad little withdrawal boys.
Man 2: Split four ways, it almost doesn't seem worth it.
The first man looks at his colleague, then at the woman before addressing the third man, who thoughtfully strokes his goatee.
Man 1: Yeah, why does she get a share, she didn't even come inside with us.
Man 3: Virginia gets a share 'cause she did her job as well as any of ya.
Man 2: She got our arses outta there, that's for sure.
Man 1: Hey, just whose side are ya on, mate?
Before the conversation can resume, the men are interrupted by the arrival of a short blonde man. The man with the goatee instinctively picks his hand gun off the table and points it in his direction, the blonde man jumps back a step with his hands in the air.
Short Man: Woah, woah, easy there Nick, it's just me....
Nick: Jesus Christ, Joey!
The man with the goatee lowers the gun.
Man 1: How was the little recruitment initiative?
Man 2: Yeah, is he in?
Joey: He's in.
Joey turns his head and nods to someone just beyond the door, the tall man's shadow introduces him before he steps into the little secluded, run down hide away. All three men are a little taken a back by just how tall their newest visitor was as he had to lower his head slightly to get in. They look at the tall man with the stubble, in the battered leather jacket, a cigarette drooping from his mouth, with some curiousity.
Man 1: Jesus, he's a big fucker, ain't he?
Woman: Ooooh, he's delicious!
The tall man takes a moment to take in his surroundings and was quick to notice that all three men were in tank tops and all had the same tattoo on their right bicep. An insignia he'd no doubt have to earn if he didn't turn back now and decide to forget the whole thing. A green snake wrapped around a sword with the words QUEENSLAND above and VIPERS below the symbol.
Nick: Has Joey filled ya in on exactly what we do here?
Taller man: Said somethin' about you guys gearin' up for a big score...
Man 1: The biggest...
Nick picks up his hand gun and tosses it towards the tall man who catches it.
Nick: Before we can let ya in on the main event mate, we're gonna need ya to prove ya have the balls ta be here. Consider this your first test. I want ya to shoot one of the guys at the table, whoever ya pick will be the guy you're here ta replace on the big score. Ya have ta pick one, anyone in this room is fair game. Show me how hungry ya really are, mate....
The tall man looks at the gun in his hands, his fingers tremble, not even soothed by the rush of nicotine from his cigarette. Usually he lived for the rush, the adrenalin, the kick but now his eyes quivered as his senses were overcome with the loud protests of everybody else in the room, cursing the game of Russian roulette that their leader was playing with them. The tall man knew if he didn't make some sort of choice, it would be him who wouldn't be leaving this room alive.
The tall man first turned the gun on the man who brought him here. He deserved to die for bringing him here.
Joey: Hey! Come on now mate, easy!
The tall man then turned the gun to each of the two men he didn't know the names of. He didn't know anything about them, and that would lessen his guilt. They would just be faceless victims, chalk outlines that would remain unknown to him. The two of them told him to shoot the other as he indecisively switched targets. The tall man then turned his gun on the pretty woman who batted her eyelids at him.
Woman: Ya don't wanna kill me, honey...ya'd miss me...
Perhaps he would or perhaps he'd decide to leave the world such a beautiful corpse that the police would be more concerned with why such a sexy young woman was shot and killed rather than who did it. What kind of monster could he become if he killed everything beautiful that was left in this world without flinching?
The tall man finally turned his gun on the man who had presented him with this choice, their leader Nick, and in the face of death he laughed, begging him to do it.
Nick: DO IT! GO ON DO IT! DO IT NOW! PROVE YOU BELONG!
If the man was so eager to die, maybe he should just put the guy out of his misery. The tall man's trembling trigger finger, flirted with the idea and squeezed gently before pulling back and chickening out.
Nick: COWARD!
Nick admonished him as a coward, and the tall man shifted the gun from the centre to the left, lowering it slightly and pulling the trigger, wounding one of the nameless men in the bicep. The man screamed and clutched his now bleeding snake with his other arm, cursing under his breath.
Man 1: AH HELL! YA SONNOVA BITCH! I'LL KILL YA!
The tall man takes a few steps forward and places the smoking gun on the table, sliding it back to Nick, daring him to make the next move even as Nick catches it. Nick raises an eyebrow as he locks eyes with the taller man.
Nick: Why didn't ya kill him?
Taller man: 'Cause ya never asked me ta. Ya asked me ta shoot a man. It's not the same thing, besides if the job really is as big as ya say it is, ya are gonna need all the man power ya have...
Nick settles back in his chair and strokes his goatee before he laughed.
Nick: Well ya just proved ya can follow my instruction precisely and think before ya act. Excellent. Joey told me ya were a smart bloke. What's your name mate?
The tall man pinched the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it under foot before introducing himself.
Taller man: Name's Cyrus. Cyrus Daniels, mate.
Nick smiled as he extended his hand to Cyrus Daniels.
Nick: Well, Cyrus Daniels. Welcome ta the nest of the Vipers.
Cyrus and Nick shake hands firmly as they lock eyes.
Cyrus Daniels: Glad ta be here.
I havta admit Xander, I'm disappointed. How the match ended last week wasn't the way I wanted or even expected it ta go, but I guess it proves two things ultimately. First, that even as a dirty stereotypical Ozzy Crim, I can sometimes work within the law, n' secondly that even as storied as your career is, even someone as big as ya ain't above that law when it is the law of gravity...
Cyrus chuckles.
What's wrong, Famularo? Why ain't ya laughin' mate? I thought it was pretty damn funny myself, though not quite as funny as ya takin' considerable time outta your day last week ta tell me in no uncertain terms that I absolutely, positively n' categorically did not belong in your ring, I grant ya. After all the talk about how I had done nothin' ta prove that I belonged in the same ring with ya, I havta laugh at the irony that technically I ended up provin' that ya didn't belong in the ring with me.
There's proof if ya ever needed it of just what kinda sense of humour fate has. Now Xander, I'm not usually the kinda bloke that gets hung up on the technicalities, but I know ya. Ya live by 'em, every week ya have some technicality ta throw in the faces of blokes who have beaten ya 'cause ya can't give any credit ta anybody who ain't watchin' your back for ya.
Now I'm not normally a bettin' man, Xander, but honestly I don't think I'd be in any danger of losin' my cash if I were ta bet that ya will still tell the world all about your favourite technicality. The technicality that even though the history books will show that I won n' ya lost, ya still weren't pinned n' how ya have never submitted. Honestly mate, it seems ta be the only trumpet ya have left ta blow these days as ya scramble ta find a way ta justify your own self appointed Alpha Male status.
It's a safety net, somethin' ta cradle your fragile ego which will never allow ya ta accept ya are fallible. I bet ya like these triple threats 'cause in 'em there's always the possibility that your go to excuse will save ya from just havin' the stones ta admit ya were defeated on any given night by a better man.
If I really wanted ta Xander, this Sunday I could go outta my way ta make ya my target n' try ta pin ya just ta see what ya would say, but I honestly don't think its worth it, 'cause ya will just say ya were not pinned for however many months or the even more pathetic last resort of an excuse that is simply ta dismiss any loss as a fluke. Ya may as well go all the way at this point Xander, tell me that ya had somethin' in your eye. Tell me ya are still the Alpha Male in IWF despite the fact that technically ya are just Lex's sidekick. Second in the peckin' order at best, hell ya even have the title currently around your waist that says you are second best in the company right now.
But I know ya Xander. Ya will die before your ego ever lets ya admit you're not the alpha dog around here, merely beta at best. Admittedly it doesn't pack quite the punch ta say you're the beta male, so I will concede for now that ya are the alpha just so I can claim ta be the omega n' then the monkeys in the production truck can have the perfect sound bite ta run over the footage of me dumpin' ya out on your arse in the pre-match video package this Sunday. They say lightnin' never strikes twice Xander...
They said I'd never beat Spike Kane on my own. When I did, they said fair enough, but I'll never beat Spike Kane and Xander Famularo in the same match. Now I have, they say okay, but I'll never beat the current and former Heavyweight Champions in the same match. They say I just don't have it in me ta be anythin' more than a hitman for hire. They say alot of things, don't they Xander? Don't they Cross? They say I shouldn't be Heavyweight Champion, but what do they really know? It doesn't matter what they know. What matters is what I know...
And I know I belong among the elite.
This Sunday is just a matter of bringin' home the hardware that proves it.
Well howdy there pardner.