Post by kaster on Apr 6, 2023 6:12:27 GMT
“Hit me.”
Seven. Heart. Red. Fourteen is the new total.
“Do you want to hit again, sir?”
In the first class section of an airplane, Caleb Cannin rests in a lounger. In the seat next to him rests the IWF World Television Championship. He gives a longing look to the title before making his acquaintance with the camera. Fitted in a salmon-colored suit, he presents a confident demeanor. The tilt of his tinted sunglasses sets his speech into motion.
“It’s shocking that you two are delving back into singles competition when you were doing so well in the tag division. You had such a nice little thing going and gee whiz, fellas, I’m sure if you worked hard enough and gave it your all, you’d be fighting for those tag championships. Except… you got beaten by two men who are better than you. I hope Harper and Keeton do exactly what should have been done to the My Chemical Romance tribute team a long time ago. You two never would have been able to dethrone them. It takes elite level talent to do that and neither of you possess what JC, Dean and, of course, myself do. Do I have to bring up the fact that your mentor couldn’t put his own ego aside and quit while he was ahead? You two idolize a man who would rather die in that ring than let someone else take his spot! But don’t worry, RAM, you’re making headlines on your own! In fact, I think I even have an article here…”
He whips out a phone, showing a picture of the recent headline describing RAM’s public outburst.
“To me, you’re a little boy stepping into a place where men belong. You can throw tantrums and try to pass yourself off as the toughest guy in the room, but the champion is supposed to bring this company to the next level. If we’re going to be honest, RAM, it would only be a matter of time before you disappoint this company again. I will not allow you to carry the ball for this company if all you’re going to do is drop it.”
“It’s game over, bud. Go shine Old Man Gilmore’s shoes before you try to face me again.”
“Again.”
The card slides across the table. Four. Spades. Black. It’s up to eighteen. Hitting again would be a big risk. The chances of having a bust are near certain.
“You know what? Hit it.”
“Then, we have little Nicky Danger. How have you been, man? It feels like only yesterday that I was kicking your ass all over the arena at Legacy! But, like the little bitch that you are, you’ve been barking up trees and chasing cars in order to get another match against me. If I had it my way, you would be the last person on this roster that I would want to defend against. Not because I’m threatened by you, no, I’m worried for you. The last time you tried to step up to me, you were left in a bloody and beaten mess. Granted, I was also bleeding buckets by the end of that fight, but the difference is that I came out as the victor. You left with nothing but disappointment. In a way, you’re just like your pal RAM!”
“Since I beat you, I moved on to bigger and better things, just like I said I would. But you? All you’ve done is eat more pinfalls and give more empty speeches. You even anchored yourself to RAM and now, he’s losing just as much as you are! I have won gold, something neither of you douchebags can claim to have done! It will remain that way because nobody can hold a candle to my ability in that ring. Danger, you have the DNA of a third-generation superstar with the mind of a man who can’t make it past his first lock-up. It doesn’t matter what is in your blood, it’s what’s inside your head that trumps all. From what I know about Nick Danger, he has nothing in that brain of his. To be honest, he is a great fit for James Gilmore’s little ‘family’. He checks all the boxes. Mindless, reckless and talentless.”
“Face the facts, Nicky. You’ve never beaten me and that is not going to change at Odyssey. Take a good long look in the mirror and then check the papers for a new job, because this one isn’t for you. I’ll be busy wrestling in main events and selling out arenas while you’re throwing yourself another pity party. And if you think you have the skill to beat the greatest Television Champion of all time, I’d love to see you try.”
“When you’re in my ring, Danger, you play my game. I say that it’s aces low.”
The final card slides across the table. He can’t keep the tension for any longer, he HAS to know what it is.
“Blackjack. Congratulations, sir!”
Three. Diamonds. Black. The total is twenty-one. Chips are slid in his direction. A grin comes across his face.
“Care to play again?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
He slings his suit coat over his shoulder, leaving behind the mound of chips and one particular card on the table. A special one that he’d been saving for a while, but he hasn’t had to use it… yet.
“Before my flight lands, I want you both to know that this champion is staying right where it belongs. It seems like the whole Striking Unit thing hasn’t worked out. I know the reason why. RAM, you’re being held back by Nick Danger. Trust me, bud, I notice these things and you do have potential… but you’ve been given a massive anchor. It’s not just him, it’s the entirety of Gilmore’s academy. I tried to warn Danger, but he followed Gilmore like the little sheep that he is. If you took the time to reflect on what you’ve actually done in your time with the IWF, think about how long it took me to become a champion. I didn’t need a mentor, I didn’t need any sort of back-up… I didn’t even need my own family at the end of the day. So why would you need all that to succeed? Can you not get the job done by yourself? Apparently not, which is why I remain as the GOAT and you continue to jump over the lowest bars in an effort to reach me. Neither of you can maintain the work that I’ve done over the past several months. One of you is a massive screw-up and the other is a colossal idiot. I’ll leave it up to you to figure out which is which.”
“I will continue my path to being the top dog in this company. Defense number three. After that, it’s seven more to go. I’ll even dedicate this defense to our old pal, James Gilmore. I know he’s watching at home, cuddling up to his… oh wait, he doesn’t have a wife anymore! And they call you a role model. If your own woman can’t respect the type of man that you are, what makes you think that these guys should? It’s another reason why you two, who have idolized a relic of the past, should look beyond an old man and his waning stardom. You should simply just join me in embracing…”
He puts the championship into his lap before giving a big smile to the camera.
The camera zooms in on the Television Championship, lingering on the shot before cutting to black.
Well howdy there pardner.