Post by Dre Cutler on Nov 3, 2013 20:49:38 GMT
First and foremost, congratulations are in order for Nero Blake. You wrestled a decent match, but when the finish came, everything had happened exactly as I said it would. We established last week that you're the type of guy who enjoys listing the people he's beaten; but sometimes the list of people you've lost to is more impressive. You didn't know the name Killian Creed going into the match, but I promise you it'll now be a name you'll never forget. When you're ready for another ass kicking, I'll be around, Nero.
But I digress, professional wrestling stops for no one, so it's important that I get ready for my next match. But I do feel the need to mention something that has been bothering me. I appreciate the fact that a lot of people refer to be as a "promising up-and-comer" or the "future" of this business. But I'm a bit annoyed with those monikers. You see, I'm not some snot-nosed kid; I'm not green like a dollar bill. I've been around the block quite a few times. Fuck, I'm almost forty years old. I am old enough to be the father for a lot of the wrestlers on this roster -- and who knows, I just might be -- but one thing I'm not is a fucking kid.
I'm not a rookie. And if everyone's not smart enough to comprehend that on their own, then maybe I'll just have to beat it into your thick skulls. Killian Creed is here to stay; the legend will continue to grow as the days, weeks, months pass, and before I'm finished, everyone will know exactly who I am..
and what I am about...
-----
Killian Creed: I don't know what's going on anymore, man. I'm just -- I don't know, I think I'm starting to fucking lose it or something.
Killian Creed, clad in only a pair of black Nike shorts, is standing in front of a punching bag, which is slowly coming to a halt following a brutal beating. He's standing inside a musky, aged gym, which in its prime, housed the training for many of South Carolina's up-and-coming professional wrestlers. Now, the gym features old and out-dated training equipment and has suffered from years of neglect from repairs. It barely stays afloat; but the owner refuses to close it down and a few wrestlers and locals manage to bring enough money in to keep the doors open. A lot of people would stick their nose up at a place like this, but Killian will never train anywhere else -- in a way, it's home to him.
Standing next to him, wearing a white t-shirt and white Nike shorts, is Kraven Jones. Kraven is a local wrestler, a man that has been in wrestling for as long as Killian has. He goes by the nickname of "Suicidal" Kraven Jones, which is probably why he's still wrestling on the independent scene. Not many major companies want to sign a guy with Kraven's style; the man should have "liability" tattooed on his forehead.
Kraven Jones: (shaking his head) It's all fucked to me, man. I can't imagine what you're going through. I wish there was something I could do to help out, you know?
Kraven and Killian have been friends for many years; and with the exception of Sam, Kraven is the only person Killian trusts. They put on some amazing matches before Killian went to prison; and while Killian jumped back into the business after fifteen years and found himself on the road towards success, Kraven hasn't been bitter about it -- he's been there to support his friend, through professional issues and personal ones, such as Killian's current dilemma.
Killian Creed: I just -- I lost it for a minute. And you know Sam, a minute is all it takes. I shattered thirty years of trust I built with her because I let my temper get the best of me. And now she's gone. And I haven't the slightest fucking clue where she is.
The anger and frustration builds inside Killian, burning his organs and lighting an uncontrollable fire in his chest. He shakes his head before going off on the bag in front of him. He leads with a left, follows it with a right; left, right, left, right. The bag bounces on its chain, nearly coming off from the power behind Killian's blows. Kraven watches on, not wanting to interrupt his friend as he tries to vent some of his anger.
Killian Creed: (while he's punching the bag) I don't even know if he's okay. She... she ---
He ends the assault with a solid right hand, which causes the bag to nearly swing far enough to hit Kraven. He puts his hands on his hips and walks a small circle, trying to catch his breath.
Killian Creed: She needs to know that I'm sorry, you know?
Kraven Jones: (nodding) Yeah, man. And wherever she is, I'm sure she understands that, Killian. She loves you, man. You know that.
Killian Creed: (sighing) I feel like such a bitch talking to you about this. I need to fucking man up, but I can't -- as much as I tried to be a crutch for her, she was a two crutches for me.
Killian heads over to a table against the wall, removing his gloves as he walks. Kraven, following close behind him, tries to figure out what he can say to make his friend feel better. But it's becoming increasingly clear for him just how fucked this entire situation really is. He shakes his head, at a loss for words, as the two reach their destination. Killian grabs a water bottle and takes a big swig from it, before looking at his friend.
Killian Creed: I don't know, man. I'm not going to keep going on about it like a bitch. We got some training to do, right? Let's get in the ring -- I'll kick your ass like I've always done.
Killian looks towards the beaten-and-battered wrestling ring in the center of the facility; it's seen better times, but it still get the job done. Kraven looks over his shoulder at the ring, and lets a small smile slip as he looks back at his friend.
Kraven Jones: Kick my ass? You're out of your mind, old man.
Killian Creed: Old man? You're like t--
A voice from the other side of the gym interrupts Killian in mid-sentence. He looks over to see one of the staff members holding the telephone for him. Killian nods to Kraven before walking towards the phone. He grabs it and places it up to his ear.
Killian Creed: Yeah?
Woman: Is this Killian Creed?
Killian Creed: (confused) Uh, yeah, it is.
Woman: Hi, I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Creed. My name is Kim and I'm calling from Palmetto Health Richland Hospital. The reason for my call is we've had a young lady brought to us, a Ms. Samantha Williams. We had old paperwork in our system for her and you were listed under family, and this number was under emergency contact. I - uh, I'm sorry to tell you this, but it appears she may have overdosed on heroin and at this moment, she's currently in a medically induced coma.
Killian tries to process the information, but he doesn't want to believe what he's hearing. He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
Kim: Are you there, Mr. Creed?
Killian Creed: I -- uh, God -- is she -- is she going to be okay?
Kim: It's too early to tell, sir. But you're more than welcomed to come see her, I think she can use someone by her side.
Killian once again opens his mouth to respond, but nothing leaves his lips. His grasp on the phone gradually weakens, to the point where it slips and crashes on the hardwood floor. He stumbles forward, in the general direction of the exit, as Kraven hurries over to him.
Kraven Jones: Hey, is everything okay, man? Are you all right?
Both questions fall on deaf ears as Killian's legs start to work a bit better, allowing him to move more fluently towards the exit. He gives Kraven a shove to move him away as he continues on. Kraven starts to go after him, but thinks better of it, realizing that something awful happened on the phone and Killian wants to have his space. Kraven watches on as Killian grabs his duffel bag on the way and stumbles out of the door, allowing it to slowly close behind him...
-----
Brad Kane. Brad Kane. Brad Kane.
It's so wonderful to see a legend such as yourself return to the wrestling ring. I feel like, as a wrestling fan, there's been a void in this business ever since your departure a couple of months ago. I mean, when you were dropped on your head over and over and over again, we all thought the worst, you know? I know I did, I thought for sure Brad Kane was dead; if not physically dead, then at least brain dead following that assault. Unfortunately I wasn't here at the time, but I witnessed it on television and man, it was awful. Just awful.
It was just -- okay, okay, I can't do it anymore. No one fucking cared, okay? No one cared. And no one cares that you're back in professional wrestling. No one's ever cared, Brad. The fact that you're back in this company, in this business, just shows everyone how stupid you truly are.
You're a total fucking moron.
You've been getting your ass kicked for years. You've been dropped in your head continuously since birth. Your glory days in professional wrestling are behind you, what few of them there were. The only reason your here is to collect a paycheck, and quite frankly, I don't think you're worth the money they're paying you. There are hungrier wrestlers out there; not only do they bring more to the table performance-wise, but they are also more dependable and respectful. But here you are, Brad, back on the saddle again, eh?
You'd think after all these years in the business, perhaps you'd bring something more to the table. But you don't, do you? You have absolutely no name recognition. When people hear the name "Brad Kane," they don't think of you as professional wrestler, Brad. They immediately say: "oh, that's Spike Kane's brother!" And that's all you are, Brad. You didn't make the Kane name, Spike did. You didn't make Brad Kane, Spike made Brad Kane. And you know what?
This week, I'm going to BREAK Brad Kane.
You don't belong here. You're like a morbidly obese man at a natural foods store. You're out of place. And once I'm through with you this week, you'll be gone for good. But don't worry, you'll still collect a paycheck. But it won't be from the IWF; you'll be collecting disability while your son wipes your ass and feeds you soup for the rest of your life. How's that for supporting your family, Brad? Sound like a plan?
It's funny because I really don't hate you, Brad. I hate what you've become. You're one of those professional wrestlers that can never say gone for good. You always have to come back. ALWAYS. And for what? You're not good enough for one last ride at the top. You don't hit as hard as you used to. You don't move as fast as you once did. Your brains resemble an off-brand potato salad. You're just a shell of what you once were, Brad.
So, I feel the need to say it again: you're fucking stupid.
Don't get me wrong, at one point, you were successful. You've done a few things many wrestlers will never have the opportunity to do. But that's all gone now. Everyone's forgotten about your successes and only remember you for your failures, and unfortunately for you, you have many, many more failures for everyone to remember than successes.
I'm going to finish the job this week.
I'm going to eliminate you from professional wrestling for good.
I'm sure Spike would enjoy your elimination from the profession, but I'm not doing it for him. I'm doing it for myself. It disgusts me to see people like you in this business. Some people spend their lives fighting for fifty bucks a match, hoping to one day make it to the big time. But they never do, but there you are, Brad. Coming and going as you please, always returning to find an open spot, just waiting for you to take it.
That ends now.
YOU end now.
Brad Kane, after our match at Sacrifice, you'll be no more. You'll be... done. For good.
And that's just the way it has to be, Brad. I'm appreciative for what little you've done for the business, but your time is done. Spike is the only Kane needed in professional wrestling.
See you on Monday, Brad.
But I digress, professional wrestling stops for no one, so it's important that I get ready for my next match. But I do feel the need to mention something that has been bothering me. I appreciate the fact that a lot of people refer to be as a "promising up-and-comer" or the "future" of this business. But I'm a bit annoyed with those monikers. You see, I'm not some snot-nosed kid; I'm not green like a dollar bill. I've been around the block quite a few times. Fuck, I'm almost forty years old. I am old enough to be the father for a lot of the wrestlers on this roster -- and who knows, I just might be -- but one thing I'm not is a fucking kid.
I'm not a rookie. And if everyone's not smart enough to comprehend that on their own, then maybe I'll just have to beat it into your thick skulls. Killian Creed is here to stay; the legend will continue to grow as the days, weeks, months pass, and before I'm finished, everyone will know exactly who I am..
and what I am about...
-----
Killian Creed: I don't know what's going on anymore, man. I'm just -- I don't know, I think I'm starting to fucking lose it or something.
Killian Creed, clad in only a pair of black Nike shorts, is standing in front of a punching bag, which is slowly coming to a halt following a brutal beating. He's standing inside a musky, aged gym, which in its prime, housed the training for many of South Carolina's up-and-coming professional wrestlers. Now, the gym features old and out-dated training equipment and has suffered from years of neglect from repairs. It barely stays afloat; but the owner refuses to close it down and a few wrestlers and locals manage to bring enough money in to keep the doors open. A lot of people would stick their nose up at a place like this, but Killian will never train anywhere else -- in a way, it's home to him.
Standing next to him, wearing a white t-shirt and white Nike shorts, is Kraven Jones. Kraven is a local wrestler, a man that has been in wrestling for as long as Killian has. He goes by the nickname of "Suicidal" Kraven Jones, which is probably why he's still wrestling on the independent scene. Not many major companies want to sign a guy with Kraven's style; the man should have "liability" tattooed on his forehead.
Kraven Jones: (shaking his head) It's all fucked to me, man. I can't imagine what you're going through. I wish there was something I could do to help out, you know?
Kraven and Killian have been friends for many years; and with the exception of Sam, Kraven is the only person Killian trusts. They put on some amazing matches before Killian went to prison; and while Killian jumped back into the business after fifteen years and found himself on the road towards success, Kraven hasn't been bitter about it -- he's been there to support his friend, through professional issues and personal ones, such as Killian's current dilemma.
Killian Creed: I just -- I lost it for a minute. And you know Sam, a minute is all it takes. I shattered thirty years of trust I built with her because I let my temper get the best of me. And now she's gone. And I haven't the slightest fucking clue where she is.
The anger and frustration builds inside Killian, burning his organs and lighting an uncontrollable fire in his chest. He shakes his head before going off on the bag in front of him. He leads with a left, follows it with a right; left, right, left, right. The bag bounces on its chain, nearly coming off from the power behind Killian's blows. Kraven watches on, not wanting to interrupt his friend as he tries to vent some of his anger.
Killian Creed: (while he's punching the bag) I don't even know if he's okay. She... she ---
He ends the assault with a solid right hand, which causes the bag to nearly swing far enough to hit Kraven. He puts his hands on his hips and walks a small circle, trying to catch his breath.
Killian Creed: She needs to know that I'm sorry, you know?
Kraven Jones: (nodding) Yeah, man. And wherever she is, I'm sure she understands that, Killian. She loves you, man. You know that.
Killian Creed: (sighing) I feel like such a bitch talking to you about this. I need to fucking man up, but I can't -- as much as I tried to be a crutch for her, she was a two crutches for me.
Killian heads over to a table against the wall, removing his gloves as he walks. Kraven, following close behind him, tries to figure out what he can say to make his friend feel better. But it's becoming increasingly clear for him just how fucked this entire situation really is. He shakes his head, at a loss for words, as the two reach their destination. Killian grabs a water bottle and takes a big swig from it, before looking at his friend.
Killian Creed: I don't know, man. I'm not going to keep going on about it like a bitch. We got some training to do, right? Let's get in the ring -- I'll kick your ass like I've always done.
Killian looks towards the beaten-and-battered wrestling ring in the center of the facility; it's seen better times, but it still get the job done. Kraven looks over his shoulder at the ring, and lets a small smile slip as he looks back at his friend.
Kraven Jones: Kick my ass? You're out of your mind, old man.
Killian Creed: Old man? You're like t--
A voice from the other side of the gym interrupts Killian in mid-sentence. He looks over to see one of the staff members holding the telephone for him. Killian nods to Kraven before walking towards the phone. He grabs it and places it up to his ear.
Killian Creed: Yeah?
Woman: Is this Killian Creed?
Killian Creed: (confused) Uh, yeah, it is.
Woman: Hi, I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Creed. My name is Kim and I'm calling from Palmetto Health Richland Hospital. The reason for my call is we've had a young lady brought to us, a Ms. Samantha Williams. We had old paperwork in our system for her and you were listed under family, and this number was under emergency contact. I - uh, I'm sorry to tell you this, but it appears she may have overdosed on heroin and at this moment, she's currently in a medically induced coma.
Killian tries to process the information, but he doesn't want to believe what he's hearing. He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
Kim: Are you there, Mr. Creed?
Killian Creed: I -- uh, God -- is she -- is she going to be okay?
Kim: It's too early to tell, sir. But you're more than welcomed to come see her, I think she can use someone by her side.
Killian once again opens his mouth to respond, but nothing leaves his lips. His grasp on the phone gradually weakens, to the point where it slips and crashes on the hardwood floor. He stumbles forward, in the general direction of the exit, as Kraven hurries over to him.
Kraven Jones: Hey, is everything okay, man? Are you all right?
Both questions fall on deaf ears as Killian's legs start to work a bit better, allowing him to move more fluently towards the exit. He gives Kraven a shove to move him away as he continues on. Kraven starts to go after him, but thinks better of it, realizing that something awful happened on the phone and Killian wants to have his space. Kraven watches on as Killian grabs his duffel bag on the way and stumbles out of the door, allowing it to slowly close behind him...
-----
Brad Kane. Brad Kane. Brad Kane.
It's so wonderful to see a legend such as yourself return to the wrestling ring. I feel like, as a wrestling fan, there's been a void in this business ever since your departure a couple of months ago. I mean, when you were dropped on your head over and over and over again, we all thought the worst, you know? I know I did, I thought for sure Brad Kane was dead; if not physically dead, then at least brain dead following that assault. Unfortunately I wasn't here at the time, but I witnessed it on television and man, it was awful. Just awful.
It was just -- okay, okay, I can't do it anymore. No one fucking cared, okay? No one cared. And no one cares that you're back in professional wrestling. No one's ever cared, Brad. The fact that you're back in this company, in this business, just shows everyone how stupid you truly are.
You're a total fucking moron.
You've been getting your ass kicked for years. You've been dropped in your head continuously since birth. Your glory days in professional wrestling are behind you, what few of them there were. The only reason your here is to collect a paycheck, and quite frankly, I don't think you're worth the money they're paying you. There are hungrier wrestlers out there; not only do they bring more to the table performance-wise, but they are also more dependable and respectful. But here you are, Brad, back on the saddle again, eh?
You'd think after all these years in the business, perhaps you'd bring something more to the table. But you don't, do you? You have absolutely no name recognition. When people hear the name "Brad Kane," they don't think of you as professional wrestler, Brad. They immediately say: "oh, that's Spike Kane's brother!" And that's all you are, Brad. You didn't make the Kane name, Spike did. You didn't make Brad Kane, Spike made Brad Kane. And you know what?
This week, I'm going to BREAK Brad Kane.
You don't belong here. You're like a morbidly obese man at a natural foods store. You're out of place. And once I'm through with you this week, you'll be gone for good. But don't worry, you'll still collect a paycheck. But it won't be from the IWF; you'll be collecting disability while your son wipes your ass and feeds you soup for the rest of your life. How's that for supporting your family, Brad? Sound like a plan?
It's funny because I really don't hate you, Brad. I hate what you've become. You're one of those professional wrestlers that can never say gone for good. You always have to come back. ALWAYS. And for what? You're not good enough for one last ride at the top. You don't hit as hard as you used to. You don't move as fast as you once did. Your brains resemble an off-brand potato salad. You're just a shell of what you once were, Brad.
So, I feel the need to say it again: you're fucking stupid.
Don't get me wrong, at one point, you were successful. You've done a few things many wrestlers will never have the opportunity to do. But that's all gone now. Everyone's forgotten about your successes and only remember you for your failures, and unfortunately for you, you have many, many more failures for everyone to remember than successes.
I'm going to finish the job this week.
I'm going to eliminate you from professional wrestling for good.
I'm sure Spike would enjoy your elimination from the profession, but I'm not doing it for him. I'm doing it for myself. It disgusts me to see people like you in this business. Some people spend their lives fighting for fifty bucks a match, hoping to one day make it to the big time. But they never do, but there you are, Brad. Coming and going as you please, always returning to find an open spot, just waiting for you to take it.
That ends now.
YOU end now.
Brad Kane, after our match at Sacrifice, you'll be no more. You'll be... done. For good.
And that's just the way it has to be, Brad. I'm appreciative for what little you've done for the business, but your time is done. Spike is the only Kane needed in professional wrestling.
See you on Monday, Brad.
Well howdy there pardner.