Post by Caleb Lockwood on Mar 18, 2021 1:51:43 GMT
"So. Here's the thing, IWF..." Caleb looks up from the roof of what appears to be a tall urban building, exhaling slowly through his nose. "I had one reason I came back, and it wasn't because Roberto Verona dangled the promise of a World Title shot in my face. No, I came back to ensure my boy got what was coming to him. To make sure Warren Kane achieved the title he's so richly deserved for years." He reaches out and taps the camera. "World Champion."
"And how does he repay me?" Caleb laughs nervously, shaking his head. "He repays my loyalty by doing what he always does, coming back to the same...damn...piece of shit that has always, ALWAYS killed his hope!" He looks up into the camera, laughing with a distinct lack of amusement, more of a shaking, trembling frantic laughter than anything else. "He turned back to the man that we all thought was going to save us, but ended up damning us more than anything else. Dean. Harper."
Caleb shakes his head, flexing his hands with a wry, wrathful smirk on his face. "Alright. Alright." He nods along, inhaling through his nose sharply. "So that's how it's going to be, Warren. I love you, brother, but you just can't stop thinking with your dick. So I guess I'll have to be your good graces, your better angels yet again. While you fuck around with, as some have called him, the Whore of Babylon, our modern Judas, I'll be the one looking out for you. Again."
He rubs the bridge of his nose, rolling his shoulders back with a sickening clicking noise and a low chuckle. "I'm not the same man I used to be, boys. You can't do the stupid shit I do and come out unscathed. But you can stitch it together, one match at a time, if you're smart enough outside the ring. You pick your spots. You take your time to heal. And if I play my cards right, I can do the impossible again."
"Because who thinks that the skinny, angry little shit is going to win a match like the Roulette?" Caleb tilts his head to the side, a curious expression on his face. "I mean, look at me. I look like I haven’t so much as seen a hot meal in weeks at all times. But here’s the trick of that. That’s just what the hunger looks like. That’s what my hunger looks like, always. It eats me from within, and I need to sate it through food or fighting. And right now, I don’t feel like sitting on my ass and gorging myself. I’d rather let off some rage."
He stands up, bouncing on the heels of his feet a bit, smiling as he walks away from the ledge. "I want to hurt people. Big shocker there. But it’s not just that I want to hurt people. It’s that I want to hurt people and cost them something bigger than just a match, just a payday. I want to steal dreams. I want to destroy ambitions. I want to make people wait. Just. Like. I. Did. Because that’s what I am. I’m a bitter little bastard who hates that others got it easy. I want to see if you little shits can take the slow path."
"Like you, Jackie boy." Caleb smirks. "Sold out to the Church of Crosse so you wouldn’t be alone? I’ve been there. But that was when I had nothing left. When I’d burned my old life down because there was a part of me that knew I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve the good things in my life, Jack. But you? You were the never-say-die youngster. You had years ahead of you to make your name. But no, it got too cold and lonely too quickly." He shakes his head, smirking. "You dumb son of a bitch. Enjoy the view. Enjoy watching it all fall apart. And even if you do somehow triumph, enjoy knowing that your greatest moment will be in someone else’s name."
"But if I sat here and called out everyone in this match, I’d be here all night. No, no. I just wanted to let you all know that yes, I am in the Roulette this year." Caleb grins, holding his hands out to his sides. "And I’m coming with a bloody vengeance. Number one with a bullet, motherfuckers. And if you get in my way, I don’t care if you’re Xavier Zion or a Hall of Famer, I’m happy to leave you concussed and bleeding on the floor. My hunger yields for no man, and it will devour everything in its path until I get what I want."
He turns, looking across the way to a sign advertising Night of the Immortals, and shakes his head, looking at the face of Warren Kane staring out into the night, the IWF Men’s World Championship over his shoulder. Caleb points at the sign, looking back over his shoulder. "I love Warren Kane, more than anyone on this roster does. More than anyone in this world. And that’s why I won’t slap him in the face and pretend that if we meet in that ring, at the biggest show of the year, I won’t give him anything less than the fight of his fucking life."
Caleb turns to face the camera fully, smirking to himself, at a joke nobody else can hear. "So come the Roulette, I promise you all that you’re going to see why the sharpest minds in wrestling have always wanted me on their side. I am nobody’s fool. I am nobody’s tool. I am a wrecking ball, I am a demolition man, I am a starving man presented with a buffet in the form of twenty-nine other souls...and I am going to FEAST." Caleb winks at the camera. "See you soon."
"And how does he repay me?" Caleb laughs nervously, shaking his head. "He repays my loyalty by doing what he always does, coming back to the same...damn...piece of shit that has always, ALWAYS killed his hope!" He looks up into the camera, laughing with a distinct lack of amusement, more of a shaking, trembling frantic laughter than anything else. "He turned back to the man that we all thought was going to save us, but ended up damning us more than anything else. Dean. Harper."
Caleb shakes his head, flexing his hands with a wry, wrathful smirk on his face. "Alright. Alright." He nods along, inhaling through his nose sharply. "So that's how it's going to be, Warren. I love you, brother, but you just can't stop thinking with your dick. So I guess I'll have to be your good graces, your better angels yet again. While you fuck around with, as some have called him, the Whore of Babylon, our modern Judas, I'll be the one looking out for you. Again."
He rubs the bridge of his nose, rolling his shoulders back with a sickening clicking noise and a low chuckle. "I'm not the same man I used to be, boys. You can't do the stupid shit I do and come out unscathed. But you can stitch it together, one match at a time, if you're smart enough outside the ring. You pick your spots. You take your time to heal. And if I play my cards right, I can do the impossible again."
"Because who thinks that the skinny, angry little shit is going to win a match like the Roulette?" Caleb tilts his head to the side, a curious expression on his face. "I mean, look at me. I look like I haven’t so much as seen a hot meal in weeks at all times. But here’s the trick of that. That’s just what the hunger looks like. That’s what my hunger looks like, always. It eats me from within, and I need to sate it through food or fighting. And right now, I don’t feel like sitting on my ass and gorging myself. I’d rather let off some rage."
He stands up, bouncing on the heels of his feet a bit, smiling as he walks away from the ledge. "I want to hurt people. Big shocker there. But it’s not just that I want to hurt people. It’s that I want to hurt people and cost them something bigger than just a match, just a payday. I want to steal dreams. I want to destroy ambitions. I want to make people wait. Just. Like. I. Did. Because that’s what I am. I’m a bitter little bastard who hates that others got it easy. I want to see if you little shits can take the slow path."
"Like you, Jackie boy." Caleb smirks. "Sold out to the Church of Crosse so you wouldn’t be alone? I’ve been there. But that was when I had nothing left. When I’d burned my old life down because there was a part of me that knew I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve the good things in my life, Jack. But you? You were the never-say-die youngster. You had years ahead of you to make your name. But no, it got too cold and lonely too quickly." He shakes his head, smirking. "You dumb son of a bitch. Enjoy the view. Enjoy watching it all fall apart. And even if you do somehow triumph, enjoy knowing that your greatest moment will be in someone else’s name."
"But if I sat here and called out everyone in this match, I’d be here all night. No, no. I just wanted to let you all know that yes, I am in the Roulette this year." Caleb grins, holding his hands out to his sides. "And I’m coming with a bloody vengeance. Number one with a bullet, motherfuckers. And if you get in my way, I don’t care if you’re Xavier Zion or a Hall of Famer, I’m happy to leave you concussed and bleeding on the floor. My hunger yields for no man, and it will devour everything in its path until I get what I want."
He turns, looking across the way to a sign advertising Night of the Immortals, and shakes his head, looking at the face of Warren Kane staring out into the night, the IWF Men’s World Championship over his shoulder. Caleb points at the sign, looking back over his shoulder. "I love Warren Kane, more than anyone on this roster does. More than anyone in this world. And that’s why I won’t slap him in the face and pretend that if we meet in that ring, at the biggest show of the year, I won’t give him anything less than the fight of his fucking life."
Caleb turns to face the camera fully, smirking to himself, at a joke nobody else can hear. "So come the Roulette, I promise you all that you’re going to see why the sharpest minds in wrestling have always wanted me on their side. I am nobody’s fool. I am nobody’s tool. I am a wrecking ball, I am a demolition man, I am a starving man presented with a buffet in the form of twenty-nine other souls...and I am going to FEAST." Caleb winks at the camera. "See you soon."
Well howdy there pardner.