Post by Dre Cutler on Oct 27, 2013 21:04:04 GMT
The question everyone is asking: "why, oh, why did you join The Empire, Killian?" That's a fair question, and I understand why it's coming out of so many people's mouths. But unfortunately for all of the curious individuals that are balls deep in the happenings of the Imperial Wrestling Federation, it's a question that I'm not going to answer. It's important for everyone to understand that Killian Creed doesn't make baseless decisions. I don't do things just to do them; when I do something, there's a reason for it -- a method to the madness, if you will.
So, keep that in mind. Everyone wants to know why I joined The Empire? Just watch. And wait. Because some day, maybe next week, next month, or next year, you'll all have your answer.
But until that day comes, I think it's important for people to focus on Killian Creed, the individual. See, I'm not done making a splash in this company. Think of me as a fat fuck attempting a cannon ball off a high dive -- my splash is endless. My success in the wrestling ring has only just begun. I am still hungry. I have so many more goals I want to achieve before I'm ready to walk away. The era of Killian Creed is still in the infant stages. Beating people like Gjenrei (no hard feelings, right?), Davey Ortega, and Mike Laszlo is enjoyable, but there's bigger fish to fry.
Things are only just beginning for me, ladies and gentlemen. If you think my resume is starting to look decent now, just give me a few more months. I won't stop until I get where I want to be. My goal is to make everyone know and respect the name Killian Creed.
It'll happen. I promise you that... it will happen.
So, keep that in mind. Everyone wants to know why I joined The Empire? Just watch. And wait. Because some day, maybe next week, next month, or next year, you'll all have your answer.
But until that day comes, I think it's important for people to focus on Killian Creed, the individual. See, I'm not done making a splash in this company. Think of me as a fat fuck attempting a cannon ball off a high dive -- my splash is endless. My success in the wrestling ring has only just begun. I am still hungry. I have so many more goals I want to achieve before I'm ready to walk away. The era of Killian Creed is still in the infant stages. Beating people like Gjenrei (no hard feelings, right?), Davey Ortega, and Mike Laszlo is enjoyable, but there's bigger fish to fry.
Things are only just beginning for me, ladies and gentlemen. If you think my resume is starting to look decent now, just give me a few more months. I won't stop until I get where I want to be. My goal is to make everyone know and respect the name Killian Creed.
It'll happen. I promise you that... it will happen.
January 7th, 2012
A light snow falls from the clouds above, fighting it's way through the thick, cold January air in Bishopville, South Carolina. The ground is painted white, covered with five inches of snow that has accumulated over the past few days. Standing out like a fortress protecting an enclosed city is Lee Correctional Institution; a building that houses hundreds upon hundreds of prisoners.
A loud siren echoes throughout the air, followed by a loud beep, which signifies that the huge, over-sized metal doors that guard the prison are opening. The doors take an eternity to open, but once they do, they reveal a fully-bearded Killian Creed standing on the other side of them. He's wearing a pair of white sweat pants and a matching sweatshirt; a gift given to him by the prison, if you want to call such ugly attire a gift.
He's holding a small trash bag in his left hand, which contains his personal items he had at the time of his arrest. There are two guards standing on either side of him. Once the doors stop, one of them motions with a nod for Killian to leave, signifying his freedom. He pauses for a moment, as if he's forgotten how to walk. It's a feeling only people who have spent years behind bars will understand; a feeling of "what do I do now?" But as if his question is met with an immediate answer, he spots a familiar looking woman leaning against a car parked at the curb.
The woman is Samantha Williams, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a thick winter coat. Killian takes a deep breath before walking out of the prison and as soon as he clears the doors, the loud beep echoes throughout the air once more and the doors slowly close. He makes his way over towards her and she greets him with a massive hug and a huge smile.
Samantha Williams: You look fantastic, Killian. Were they slipping steroids into your chow at dinner or something?
Killian Creed: (smiling) Who knows? I found a finger in the chow once, so anything's possible. But how did you know I was being released today? I didn't tell anyone.
Samantha Williams: I have my ways, Mr. Creed. I have my ways! And when I found out, there wasn't going to be anything in the world that stopped me from being here to greet you. I just -- I freaking missed you so much, Kill. It hurts how badly I've missed you.
Killian Creed: Words can't express how much this means to me, Sam.
She hugs him again before snatching the bag away from him.
Samantha Williams: Well, let's get the hell out of here. So much to do, so much sex to have -- let's roll, Killian. Fun times await!
She giggles like a school girl as she runs around to the driver's side of the vehicle. Killian hesitates for a moment, admiring the wheels she's brought with her -- it appears a little rough, but it's a vintage brown Camaro. He smiles before opening the passenger seat and plopping inside. Almost before he can close the door, she hits the gas and takes off down the road, disappearing following a right turn.
-----
A loud siren echoes throughout the air, followed by a loud beep, which signifies that the huge, over-sized metal doors that guard the prison are opening. The doors take an eternity to open, but once they do, they reveal a fully-bearded Killian Creed standing on the other side of them. He's wearing a pair of white sweat pants and a matching sweatshirt; a gift given to him by the prison, if you want to call such ugly attire a gift.
He's holding a small trash bag in his left hand, which contains his personal items he had at the time of his arrest. There are two guards standing on either side of him. Once the doors stop, one of them motions with a nod for Killian to leave, signifying his freedom. He pauses for a moment, as if he's forgotten how to walk. It's a feeling only people who have spent years behind bars will understand; a feeling of "what do I do now?" But as if his question is met with an immediate answer, he spots a familiar looking woman leaning against a car parked at the curb.
The woman is Samantha Williams, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a thick winter coat. Killian takes a deep breath before walking out of the prison and as soon as he clears the doors, the loud beep echoes throughout the air once more and the doors slowly close. He makes his way over towards her and she greets him with a massive hug and a huge smile.
Samantha Williams: You look fantastic, Killian. Were they slipping steroids into your chow at dinner or something?
Killian Creed: (smiling) Who knows? I found a finger in the chow once, so anything's possible. But how did you know I was being released today? I didn't tell anyone.
Samantha Williams: I have my ways, Mr. Creed. I have my ways! And when I found out, there wasn't going to be anything in the world that stopped me from being here to greet you. I just -- I freaking missed you so much, Kill. It hurts how badly I've missed you.
Killian Creed: Words can't express how much this means to me, Sam.
She hugs him again before snatching the bag away from him.
Samantha Williams: Well, let's get the hell out of here. So much to do, so much sex to have -- let's roll, Killian. Fun times await!
She giggles like a school girl as she runs around to the driver's side of the vehicle. Killian hesitates for a moment, admiring the wheels she's brought with her -- it appears a little rough, but it's a vintage brown Camaro. He smiles before opening the passenger seat and plopping inside. Almost before he can close the door, she hits the gas and takes off down the road, disappearing following a right turn.
-----
Present
Killian Creed: I, uh -- I don't know; to say that I am surprised to be here is an understatement.
Killian Creed, clad in a pair of faded blue jeans and a black Metallica shirt, sits awkwardly inside the confessional located in the Catholic church in downtown Charleston. The confessional contains very little light, it's eye-angering dim. But this is perfect for Killian as he has black bags under his eyes and his face is plastered with stress. The man has developed a small case of insomnia over the past week or so, finding himself unable to deal with the burden of the Samantha situation.
Killian Creed: I guess -- you know, I guess I've hit a wall, Father. I just -- I didn't know where else to turn. You, uh -- I don't know.
In the middle of the confessional, separated by a thinly woven grid, is Father Roy. Killian rubs both hands over his face, annoyed with himself that he can't find the right words to explain the reasoning behind his visit.
Father Roy: I want you to listen to me, Killian. You know I love you; you know I'm always here for you, and you know I will speak with you about anything, anytime. If speaking in this booth makes things harder for you, there's no need for us to stay here. We can go to the back, have a nice cup of coffee, and we can talk.
Killian Creed: (shaking his head) No, I'm fine -- it's just, there's so much going on right now, Father. And you know I'm not a religious man, but I was hoping you had some answers for me.
Father Roy: If I don't have the answers for you, God will. Just say whatever it is you want to say, Killian. I will help remove any darkness that is hanging over your head.
Killian pauses for a moment; inhaling slowly and gradually exhaling. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, trying to run through the words he plans on saying before opening his mouth.
Killian Creed: It's Sam, Father. She's -- I don't know how to say it, but I guess I think she's in trouble. And I haven't seen her in weeks and there's been this -- I don't know, some guy who's been messing with me. I think -- this sounds stupid, but I think he's keeping her holed up somewhere.
Father Roy: Are you saying she may have been kidnapped?
Killian Creed: No -- maybe, I don't know, Father. You and I both know that no one truly knows Sam, Father. I just -- I feel like I did this to her. She could be in a rough situation because of me; I -- I did what I said I would never do to her. I yelled at her, attacked her emotionally, and she left. Well, I told her to leave -- damnit, you see? This is all my fucking fault.
The Father's ears burn after hearing the foul language from Killian, but he decides not to comment on it. His goal is to get Killian to come to the church more often and if he attacks his language of choice, he'll just push him farther away. Roy digests the information as Killian waits patiently on the other side.
Father Roy: Listen, you can't blame yourself for this, Killian. I've known you and Sam since you were both very young. We witnessed her childhood; the abuse she received from her parents. I tried to be there for her, but she rejected me -- but you, you were always there for her, Killian. She loves you and I know you love her, but you can't blame yourself for this. Whatever is happening, has happened, or will happen, is not your fault. I promise you that. Do you think we should notify the authorities? If you think she may be kidnapped or something, they will help.
Killian Creed: (shaking his head) I don't know what's going on, Father. I don't want to call anyone -- it's just, I don't know. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can hardly breathe. I don't know what's going on. And I guess -- I don't know, I thought I could find some answers here. But that was stupid; I fucked up, so I'm going to have to fix this myself. I'm sorry, Father. I just -- I don't know, I thought I'd find some answers here. Sam is my responsibility and I will find her.
Silence fills the confessional following Killian's reply. It's obvious he regrets coming here, but he felt that maybe getting a few things off his chest would make him feel better; and maybe, just maybe, the Father would have answers that would direct him towards his next move. Killian hears the Father clear his throat and suddenly a voice, an unfamiliar voice, enters his ears.
"You know, you're right -- this is all your fucking fault. And thanks to you, Sam is going to die. YOU HEAR ME? SHE'S GOING TO FUCKING DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!"
Killian lunges towards grid separating him and Father Roy. He does his best to look inside and once he does, he doesn't see Father Roy. No, instead he sees the man that has been following him around since Sam's disappearance. The man smiles back at him; a toothless, evil smile, and Killian loses his freaking mind. He slams his fist through the grid; he tries to grab a hold of the man, but he can't.
Killian Creed: (yelling) I'm going to fucking kill you!
He kicks the door open to his side of the confessional. He grabs the handle of the section of the booth containing the man and yanks it open, nearly ripping it off the hinges. He lunges forward and grabs two handfuls of shirt and pulls the person out.
Father Roy: Killian! Please, Killian! What are you doing?
Killian has his fist back, ready to strike, but he realizes he's holding onto Father Roy. He blinks a couple of times, trying to figure out what's going on. He lets go of Roy, who falls to the ground; and he goes back to the booth, searching every section for the man. There's nothing -- no one.
Killian Creed: (yelling) WHERE IS HE?!
Father Roy: Who? No one's in there, it was just you and me, Killian.
Killian starts kicking and punching at the confessional, ripping away the thin wood and punching holes into the doors. The church, which contains about fifteen random individuals paying their respects to Christ, is completely quiet and every one is staring at Killian as he continues his rampage.
Killian Creed: What's your problem, Father? You think it's funny to fuck with me? Does this get you off, you sick prick?
He stands directly over Father Roy, who's visibly frightened by Killian.
Father Roy: Killian, please, son -- listen to me, I don't know what's going on. But I promise you, I'm not trying to irritate you. I just want to help you.
Killian continues to stand over him, a million questions and thoughts racing through his head as he looks at the destroyed confessional. He looks at everyone staring at him, before looking down at Father Roy. He grabs at his hair with both hands; visibly frightened and fragile emotionally. He shakes his head before turning on his heel and hurrying towards the exit.
Father Roy: (yelling) Killian, wait, please -- let me help you.
Killian continues walking, ignoring the Father's call as he reaches the doors. He slams his way through them, exiting the church and leaving everyone inside confused and scared as the doors slowly close behind him...
-----
Things are starting to get interesting, aren't they? I may not be able to challenge for a championship the remainder of the calender year, but nothing's stopping me from making people tap out. Last week, Mike, you became just another addition to my list. You put up a good fight, but like many before you, you just came up a bit short. Apologies, but at least you're still able to walk, right? Well, at least you could after I finished with you. Might be a different story after you ran into Cable. I'm not sorry about that one.
But that was last week; this week, a new adventure awaits for all of us. See, this week I find myself stepping into the ring with someone new, a person I'm not very familiar with. Nero Blake; first and foremost, congratulations on your victory last week. Beating a has been is such an integral step towards the top. Kudos to you, Nero. I'm surprised they didn't give you a shot at Spike Kane this week. I mean, it was such a huge win, right? It seems like the right thing to do in my book.
Big. Fucking. Deal.
You beat Davey Ortega. He's been getting his ass kicked when he was still in his daddy's ball sack.
If you think Davey gave you a fight last week, you're in for a rude awakening, Nero. I don't care who your brother is, I don't care what you've accomplished, I don't care how talented you are or aren't -- none of that matters to me. The only thing that's relevant is your name was placed next to mine on the card. You're going to share the same wrestling ring as me. And that means you're my next victim.
Should I crush your windpipe or cave your face in?
It'd be a shame if I went with the latter, wouldn't it? That feminine blonde hair of yours would be tarnished by all of your blood. And believe me, there'd be a lot of blood. I wouldn't say I get off on it, Nero, but it makes me incredibly happy to beat the living shit out of another person. Maybe that's a bit violent, and perhaps a bit over the top, but that's me. And then I'm just like a shark once I see it, you know? I just need more! And that's when the fun really begins. Do you want that, Nero? I could cave your face in so bad that your brains, what little there are, would seep through your eye sockets. Would you enjoy that? I know I would.
Or maybe the former is the best choice, hmm? It's just so hard to choose!
I apologize for being so graphic, Nero. My goal is not to make you piss your panties before our match. I'm just having a hard time right now, you know? And when things are rough outside the ring, I like to use my time in the ring to vent some frustration. And I think you and I can both agree that beating on another individual is a terrific release for frustration.
I just don't want you to get a big head, is all. You seem very quick to list off everyone you've beaten. I can do that too, I mean, I listed a few of them earlier -- want me to list more? I can. If that's what you think people want to hear. I think I've been here long enough that people know what I bring to the table. Everyone might not know who I am or know what I'm about, but I've made a big enough impact to this point. And for those that don't know, they will very, very soon.
So, Nero, I don't really know what else to tell you. If you're thinking this match will be a walk in the park for you, you're sadly mistaken. Don't let my age fool you, I'm not as young as most of the people on this roster, but I can keep pace with anyone. Age isn't a factor; my prime is never ending. My desire to be the best is always growing. And my desire to kick ass is never fading. The legend of Killian Creed is in the whispering stage now, but the talk will grow louder as more and more people end up in hospital beds.
And fortunately for you, Nero, I've reserved one for you in New York. You're welcome.
The strong only get stronger, the weak get weaker. Where do you fall, Nero? You seem to believe you're a threat to champions everywhere; if that's the case, I'd expect you to take the ass beating this week like a man.
The time has come, Nero. The time has come. It's time you for and I to go our separate ways. I may not be able to challenge for a title for the rest of 2013, but the year is almost over. By continuing to destroy people like you, I'll create an opportunity for myself at the beginning of next year and I'll be ready.
I'm always ready.
For anything and everything.
And I love to fight.
The question is, Nero... are you ready?
Well howdy there pardner.