Post by Roberto Verona on Apr 24, 2016 17:46:10 GMT
{ Our scene opens in the mansion of the IWF COO Roberto Verona, isolated deep in the wilderness away from the hustle and bustle of city life. Verona walks slowly down a long ornate corridor, adorned with a variety of portraits and landscape paintings before finally coming to a halt outside a white door with a gold handle which flashes in the dim light. Roberto raises a hand, knocking gently as he waits for a response. }
Roberto Verona: Jess, do you have a minute?
{ Verona leans in slightly, waiting for a response. }
Roberto Verona: Listen… we need to talk. I know I’ve been incredibly busy lately and you might feel I’ve been ignoring you…
{ Verona waits for a response again but as he receives none, he continues talking. }
Roberto Verona: Things have just been hectic recently, I know I promised to make sure you were allowed to compete full-time again, but with Kathy so focused on the Iron Maiden and Jake’s Roulette win things just didn’t work out the way we planned. I was hoping we could talk about getting you ready to compete at Night of the Immortals….
{ Verona pauses again, yet receives no response. }
Roberto Verona: The show could really do with your infectious enthusiasm, I know your real return has been continually delayed but what better place to finally make your come back than the biggest show of the year, right?
{ Verona pauses again, his face awash with increasing concern. }
Roberto Verona: Jess? Come on, talk to me.
{ Verona knocks again, waiting for a moment. He stands in silence, confused by the total lack of noise emanating from Jess’ room. }
Roberto Verona: Jessica?
{ Roberto lifts his hand to the door, placing pressure against it as it gently creeks open. Verona steps inside, peering around the dark room before flicking a light switch on to reveal a scene of chaos. Clothes are strewn across the floor and the drawers to Jess’ numerous sets of furniture are pulled wide open. }
Roberto Verona: What happened here?
{ Verona walks into the room, pushing open the door of the en-suite bathroom and clutching the frame firmly, calling into the darkness. }
Roberto Verona: Jess? Are you here?
{ Verona turns, his demeanour becoming increasingly frenetic as he begins to pace around her room, turning over bits of paper as he pushes the debris out of the way, desperately searching for clues. Suddenly, his eyes land on a corner of the room, widening as he freezes on the spot. }
Roberto Verona: Her bag…
{ Verona slowly walks to a corner of the room which is glaringly empty, Jess’ familiar bag, complete with her essentials, no longer laying in its regular heap. Verona gets down on one knee, placing a hand on the empty space. }
Roberto Verona: What have you done?
{ Verona waits for a moment, collecting his thoughts before hastily plunging his hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out his mobile phone. He punches at the touchpad before raising it to his ear, his heart pounding in his chest as he stands up, listening to the agonising sound of the call ringing and ringing until finally cutting to voice mail. Roberto lowers the phone before turning back around to look at the chaos as his eyes dart back and forth. }
{ Our scene re-opens inside the IWF Headquarters’ in Chicago as Roberto Verona rushes down the long corridors which window around the building, stemming off into several different departments. Roberto pants loudly as he walks with haste, weaving his way around the staff who stand in the corridor talking to one another before finally stopping outside a door. Verona bursts into the legal office, taking the occupants by surprise as he rushes to the office of his long term partner, Hannah Reed. Verona ignore the pleasantries of the staff as he barges into Hannah’s office, finding her standing over a desk, a set of paperwork clutched in her hand. }
Hannah Reed: Roberto?
Roberto Verona: Why weren’t you answering your phone?
Hannah Reed: And hello to you too.
Roberto Verona: That doesn’t answer the question.
Hannah Reed: I was busy, you know that.
Roberto Verona: Too busy to answer the phone when it’s me ringing?
Hannah Reed: Look, Roberto, I honestly don’t have time for this. I didn’t pick up the phone because I’m neck deep in shit. Adam and Trent have, somehow, managed to scramble through some sort of legal text and file an injunction against us after we forced them to compete last week…
Roberto Verona: Hannah, listen!
{ Verona shouts, taking Hannah by surprise. }
Roberto Verona: I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t urgent, I have more important things to focus on too, but this can’t wait.
Hannah Reed: Then spit it out.
Roberto Verona: Jessica is gone.
{ Hannah looks at Verona quizzically. }
Hannah Reed: What do you mean she’s gone?
Roberto Verona: I mean she’s taken her things and won’t pick up her cell phone.
{ Hannah puts down her paperwork, withdrawing into herself for a moment as the colour rushes from herself. }
Hannah Reed: Are… are you sure?
{ Hannah stumbles over her words. }
Roberto Verona: I wouldn’t be stood here if I wasn’t sure. She taken everything she cares about. Her ring gear, her favourite clothes, her laptop… everything.
Hannah Reed: You’re positive she isn’t just preparing for this weekend?
Roberto Verona: Hannah… she isn’t booked, she has absolutely no commitments for the show, there’s no reason for her to leave.
{ Hannah shakes her head. }
Hannah Reed Why… why would she do this?
Roberto Verona: I don’t know.
{ Verona places a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. }
Roberto Verona: But that’s what we’re going to find out.
Roberto Verona: Jess, do you have a minute?
{ Verona leans in slightly, waiting for a response. }
Roberto Verona: Listen… we need to talk. I know I’ve been incredibly busy lately and you might feel I’ve been ignoring you…
{ Verona waits for a response again but as he receives none, he continues talking. }
Roberto Verona: Things have just been hectic recently, I know I promised to make sure you were allowed to compete full-time again, but with Kathy so focused on the Iron Maiden and Jake’s Roulette win things just didn’t work out the way we planned. I was hoping we could talk about getting you ready to compete at Night of the Immortals….
{ Verona pauses again, yet receives no response. }
Roberto Verona: The show could really do with your infectious enthusiasm, I know your real return has been continually delayed but what better place to finally make your come back than the biggest show of the year, right?
{ Verona pauses again, his face awash with increasing concern. }
Roberto Verona: Jess? Come on, talk to me.
{ Verona knocks again, waiting for a moment. He stands in silence, confused by the total lack of noise emanating from Jess’ room. }
Roberto Verona: Jessica?
{ Roberto lifts his hand to the door, placing pressure against it as it gently creeks open. Verona steps inside, peering around the dark room before flicking a light switch on to reveal a scene of chaos. Clothes are strewn across the floor and the drawers to Jess’ numerous sets of furniture are pulled wide open. }
Roberto Verona: What happened here?
{ Verona walks into the room, pushing open the door of the en-suite bathroom and clutching the frame firmly, calling into the darkness. }
Roberto Verona: Jess? Are you here?
{ Verona turns, his demeanour becoming increasingly frenetic as he begins to pace around her room, turning over bits of paper as he pushes the debris out of the way, desperately searching for clues. Suddenly, his eyes land on a corner of the room, widening as he freezes on the spot. }
Roberto Verona: Her bag…
{ Verona slowly walks to a corner of the room which is glaringly empty, Jess’ familiar bag, complete with her essentials, no longer laying in its regular heap. Verona gets down on one knee, placing a hand on the empty space. }
Roberto Verona: What have you done?
{ Verona waits for a moment, collecting his thoughts before hastily plunging his hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out his mobile phone. He punches at the touchpad before raising it to his ear, his heart pounding in his chest as he stands up, listening to the agonising sound of the call ringing and ringing until finally cutting to voice mail. Roberto lowers the phone before turning back around to look at the chaos as his eyes dart back and forth. }
We all knew that this day was coming.
It was, regardless of whatever anybody else may have believed, an inevitability.
We were always going to collide sooner or later, the only question was when that would be, where that would be and what precisely the exact stakes involved would be. It just so happens that it has transpired that we will be standing in a ring, together, with the single greatest odds on the line.
The right to enter Night of the Immortals, the biggest show of the entire year, as the Imperial champion. There simply are no greater odds available before that night and, arguably, there is no greater honour than representing this company in the month long build up to what is a global phenomena.
So here I stand, preparing to face the two men who, more than any other, have defined the opposition to my tyrannical rule. The two men who have fought with more determination, more relentless energy and who have refused to give up against what they have defined as a regime where people have prospered, not on merit, but on connections.
A regime that they have defined as one which doesn’t give what people deserve, but what they have bought via a mandate of nepotism. All whilst the rest of the roster have been forced to suffer as mere pawns in a game they can never win. Yet, the defining feature of my mandate of survival of the fittest has never been about holding anybody down, it has never been about creating animosity for the sake of spiking view rates and it has never been about simply placing people in positions based on their ability to politic.
It has always been about giving people what they truly deserve.
It has been about giving people a champion they deserve and as a by-product of that desire, the challengers to that champion they deserve.
Title reigns aren’t defined by their length, regardless of the fact that people have an almost singular focus on such an arbitrary statistic, they’re defined by the obstacles which the champion overcame through their reign. Nobody cares about a champion who simply racks up month after month by default, rarely defeating anybody of real note before inevitably slipping into the history books when their luck runs out.
What will my reign as Imperial champion be remembered for? It’s a question every champion asks themselves and it’s a question the greatest champions are not only aware of but more importantly they act on.
I am reticent of the fact that my reign has not been built upon the consistent defence of a championship against what many regard as the crème de la crème of professional wrestling, yet I have utilised it to construct a roster of challengers against who I can truly define my greatness.
The Jake Conways, Rob Diamonds and Warren Kanes of April are not the same as those of November, December and January.
Do either of you honestly believe I simply cheat, connive and slither my way through title defences to simply satiate my own insurmountable ego? Can you possibly be that naĂŻve?
My entire title reign has been an activity in not only proving to the world that I am still the complete package, a true icon of professional wrestling, but also an exercise in fermenting frustration, anger and absolute determination to remove my crown. Including in the hearts of men I would call my friends.
Every week, every single screw job and every single cheap victory has been part of a well-orchestrated, intentional, survival strategy to foster the kind of obstacles that will define my reign as one of the greatest in company history. I have built up such animosity towards me that there is now a rank and file of men who either want to gain a measure of vengeance for the obstacles I created, or are determined to prove that they have not just succeeded because of my good will.
I have created an environment where nobody can be in any position to doubt my victories, or, should fate dictate, the man who finally conquers me.
Simply beating the pair of you either at once, or one after the other, would never have truly sufficed to prove anything of substance about my quality as a champion. Without the individual motivations I have provided you, I’d simply be picking off two permanently self-destructing men who were incapable of truly confronting their demons. Neither of you truly deserved to share a platform with a champion of my calibre before I placed the very carefully manipulated hurdles in front of you.
The hurdles you have both overcome.
I didn’t just want to beat Rob Diamond, I wanted to beat a Rob Diamond who has been persistently held back, routinely denied the fruits of his labour and who is now hell bent on not only beating me but proving he is more than some cheaper catchphrase laden caricature.
I didn’t just want to beat Warren Kane, I wanted to beat a Warren Kane who has seen his glittering career stall, who has been betrayed by a man his entire existence has been shaped by and who is not only absolutely prepared to put me away to capture the biggest prize of his career but also to prove he is own man, free from the shadow of his blood.
Obstacles, and our ability to surmount them and grow as men and as professional wrestlers is what defines us in the eyes of our peers, our colleagues and the men and women watching us perform week after week at home. They are what truly proves who does, and doesn’t, deserve to compete for the biggest accolades in our business.
Without them, you’re just hollow
Despite your protestations Rob, and the “pops” you garnered, deep down nobody ever truly cared about the façade you showed the world. Your cheap little insults, your vulgar, juvenile, ramblings, were nothing but a mask behind which a broken man hid, a man who was nothing but a vehicle behind which fans could gain a source of amusement on a weekly basis. You sold t-shirts, not pay-per-view buys, you were nothing but a cash cow this company could milk to its heart’s content.
You were not a man who, truly, deserved to be anything more than the court jester he sold the world.
Fools don’t rule kingdoms, they merely entertain their betters, never rising above their station in life, stuck in a perpetual cycle of subservience. Whilst you refused to confront the deep-seated feelings of inadequacy that you bottled deep inside your tortured soul, you were never going to fulfil your potential and you certainly never deserved to be anything more than a comedic side-act to the main event.
Then we come to your own perennial side-act. Regardless of your achievements, Warren, you constantly existed within the shadow of a man who you have so desperately tried so hard to avoid becoming and at the side of another who wasn't able to stand alone. No amount of accolades or accomplishments were ever going to free you from the bonds of your blood, Warren, it never mattered to anybody watching at home how great an Invictus champion you were. You were just another Kane in a sea of failed family protégés who promised so much but inevitably delivered so little because you were always going to be defined by the man who came before you and aligned to the unions he created.
A man who inevitably never surpassed the founder of the dynasty.
Heirs routinely fail to live up to the standards of those they are destined to replace because they allow themselves to become defined by the actions of their forebears. They only ever truly replace those who came before them by learning not to define themselves by those who paved the way for them, but by becoming their own man and dictating their own future.
By forcing you to face adversity, real adversity, I allowed you to unlock parts of yourself that you can utilise to construct your own destiny, free of your self-inflicted bondage. Now you can define the man you are, now you can allow your title reigns to be viewed in isolation on their own merit and now you can prove that you’re more than just another Kane.
You’re Warren Kane.
Argue as you both might, the simple fact is that before I invoked the spirit of survival of the fittest neither of you were truly in any position to deservingly not only be called a champion, but even to truly deserve a title opportunity beyond the name value the pair of you were inherently reliant on. Until I created the obstacles for you to overcome, the obstacles to challenge how you perceived yourselves, you were simply two men showing up, going through the familiar motions and racking up victories.
Mere shells who would have been washed away by the irresistible tide of an Imperial champion who has already booked himself a spot at the top of anybody’s unbiased list of professional wrestling’s icons.
Yet, do not mistake my words as the rambling of a noble altruist, I haven’t just created these obstacles for you to overcome and become better men out of the kindness of my heart.
I’ve built you into the competition this company deserves. I’ve built you into the competition I deserve. A company, a champion, can only ever be defined by the quality of the opposition it creates to stand as the challenges which the latter must overcome. Now, you are stand before my, not solely reliant on your reputations and talent, but as men who have proven, categorically that you deserve to stand there.
The exact type of opponent I can truly build my legacy with.
This weekend I will vanquish two men who are finally worth of their position opposite the ring from me, I will display to the world the fruits of my hard fought labour before I harvest them and cement my legacy as one of the greatest Imperial champions in company history.
This weekend I will prove to the world exactly the kind of champion I am.
And I will deserve it.
It was, regardless of whatever anybody else may have believed, an inevitability.
We were always going to collide sooner or later, the only question was when that would be, where that would be and what precisely the exact stakes involved would be. It just so happens that it has transpired that we will be standing in a ring, together, with the single greatest odds on the line.
The right to enter Night of the Immortals, the biggest show of the entire year, as the Imperial champion. There simply are no greater odds available before that night and, arguably, there is no greater honour than representing this company in the month long build up to what is a global phenomena.
So here I stand, preparing to face the two men who, more than any other, have defined the opposition to my tyrannical rule. The two men who have fought with more determination, more relentless energy and who have refused to give up against what they have defined as a regime where people have prospered, not on merit, but on connections.
A regime that they have defined as one which doesn’t give what people deserve, but what they have bought via a mandate of nepotism. All whilst the rest of the roster have been forced to suffer as mere pawns in a game they can never win. Yet, the defining feature of my mandate of survival of the fittest has never been about holding anybody down, it has never been about creating animosity for the sake of spiking view rates and it has never been about simply placing people in positions based on their ability to politic.
It has always been about giving people what they truly deserve.
It has been about giving people a champion they deserve and as a by-product of that desire, the challengers to that champion they deserve.
Title reigns aren’t defined by their length, regardless of the fact that people have an almost singular focus on such an arbitrary statistic, they’re defined by the obstacles which the champion overcame through their reign. Nobody cares about a champion who simply racks up month after month by default, rarely defeating anybody of real note before inevitably slipping into the history books when their luck runs out.
What will my reign as Imperial champion be remembered for? It’s a question every champion asks themselves and it’s a question the greatest champions are not only aware of but more importantly they act on.
I am reticent of the fact that my reign has not been built upon the consistent defence of a championship against what many regard as the crème de la crème of professional wrestling, yet I have utilised it to construct a roster of challengers against who I can truly define my greatness.
The Jake Conways, Rob Diamonds and Warren Kanes of April are not the same as those of November, December and January.
Do either of you honestly believe I simply cheat, connive and slither my way through title defences to simply satiate my own insurmountable ego? Can you possibly be that naĂŻve?
My entire title reign has been an activity in not only proving to the world that I am still the complete package, a true icon of professional wrestling, but also an exercise in fermenting frustration, anger and absolute determination to remove my crown. Including in the hearts of men I would call my friends.
Every week, every single screw job and every single cheap victory has been part of a well-orchestrated, intentional, survival strategy to foster the kind of obstacles that will define my reign as one of the greatest in company history. I have built up such animosity towards me that there is now a rank and file of men who either want to gain a measure of vengeance for the obstacles I created, or are determined to prove that they have not just succeeded because of my good will.
I have created an environment where nobody can be in any position to doubt my victories, or, should fate dictate, the man who finally conquers me.
Simply beating the pair of you either at once, or one after the other, would never have truly sufficed to prove anything of substance about my quality as a champion. Without the individual motivations I have provided you, I’d simply be picking off two permanently self-destructing men who were incapable of truly confronting their demons. Neither of you truly deserved to share a platform with a champion of my calibre before I placed the very carefully manipulated hurdles in front of you.
The hurdles you have both overcome.
I didn’t just want to beat Rob Diamond, I wanted to beat a Rob Diamond who has been persistently held back, routinely denied the fruits of his labour and who is now hell bent on not only beating me but proving he is more than some cheaper catchphrase laden caricature.
I didn’t just want to beat Warren Kane, I wanted to beat a Warren Kane who has seen his glittering career stall, who has been betrayed by a man his entire existence has been shaped by and who is not only absolutely prepared to put me away to capture the biggest prize of his career but also to prove he is own man, free from the shadow of his blood.
Obstacles, and our ability to surmount them and grow as men and as professional wrestlers is what defines us in the eyes of our peers, our colleagues and the men and women watching us perform week after week at home. They are what truly proves who does, and doesn’t, deserve to compete for the biggest accolades in our business.
Without them, you’re just hollow
Despite your protestations Rob, and the “pops” you garnered, deep down nobody ever truly cared about the façade you showed the world. Your cheap little insults, your vulgar, juvenile, ramblings, were nothing but a mask behind which a broken man hid, a man who was nothing but a vehicle behind which fans could gain a source of amusement on a weekly basis. You sold t-shirts, not pay-per-view buys, you were nothing but a cash cow this company could milk to its heart’s content.
You were not a man who, truly, deserved to be anything more than the court jester he sold the world.
Fools don’t rule kingdoms, they merely entertain their betters, never rising above their station in life, stuck in a perpetual cycle of subservience. Whilst you refused to confront the deep-seated feelings of inadequacy that you bottled deep inside your tortured soul, you were never going to fulfil your potential and you certainly never deserved to be anything more than a comedic side-act to the main event.
Then we come to your own perennial side-act. Regardless of your achievements, Warren, you constantly existed within the shadow of a man who you have so desperately tried so hard to avoid becoming and at the side of another who wasn't able to stand alone. No amount of accolades or accomplishments were ever going to free you from the bonds of your blood, Warren, it never mattered to anybody watching at home how great an Invictus champion you were. You were just another Kane in a sea of failed family protégés who promised so much but inevitably delivered so little because you were always going to be defined by the man who came before you and aligned to the unions he created.
A man who inevitably never surpassed the founder of the dynasty.
Heirs routinely fail to live up to the standards of those they are destined to replace because they allow themselves to become defined by the actions of their forebears. They only ever truly replace those who came before them by learning not to define themselves by those who paved the way for them, but by becoming their own man and dictating their own future.
By forcing you to face adversity, real adversity, I allowed you to unlock parts of yourself that you can utilise to construct your own destiny, free of your self-inflicted bondage. Now you can define the man you are, now you can allow your title reigns to be viewed in isolation on their own merit and now you can prove that you’re more than just another Kane.
You’re Warren Kane.
Argue as you both might, the simple fact is that before I invoked the spirit of survival of the fittest neither of you were truly in any position to deservingly not only be called a champion, but even to truly deserve a title opportunity beyond the name value the pair of you were inherently reliant on. Until I created the obstacles for you to overcome, the obstacles to challenge how you perceived yourselves, you were simply two men showing up, going through the familiar motions and racking up victories.
Mere shells who would have been washed away by the irresistible tide of an Imperial champion who has already booked himself a spot at the top of anybody’s unbiased list of professional wrestling’s icons.
Yet, do not mistake my words as the rambling of a noble altruist, I haven’t just created these obstacles for you to overcome and become better men out of the kindness of my heart.
I’ve built you into the competition this company deserves. I’ve built you into the competition I deserve. A company, a champion, can only ever be defined by the quality of the opposition it creates to stand as the challenges which the latter must overcome. Now, you are stand before my, not solely reliant on your reputations and talent, but as men who have proven, categorically that you deserve to stand there.
The exact type of opponent I can truly build my legacy with.
This weekend I will vanquish two men who are finally worth of their position opposite the ring from me, I will display to the world the fruits of my hard fought labour before I harvest them and cement my legacy as one of the greatest Imperial champions in company history.
This weekend I will prove to the world exactly the kind of champion I am.
And I will deserve it.
{ Our scene re-opens inside the IWF Headquarters’ in Chicago as Roberto Verona rushes down the long corridors which window around the building, stemming off into several different departments. Roberto pants loudly as he walks with haste, weaving his way around the staff who stand in the corridor talking to one another before finally stopping outside a door. Verona bursts into the legal office, taking the occupants by surprise as he rushes to the office of his long term partner, Hannah Reed. Verona ignore the pleasantries of the staff as he barges into Hannah’s office, finding her standing over a desk, a set of paperwork clutched in her hand. }
Hannah Reed: Roberto?
Roberto Verona: Why weren’t you answering your phone?
Hannah Reed: And hello to you too.
Roberto Verona: That doesn’t answer the question.
Hannah Reed: I was busy, you know that.
Roberto Verona: Too busy to answer the phone when it’s me ringing?
Hannah Reed: Look, Roberto, I honestly don’t have time for this. I didn’t pick up the phone because I’m neck deep in shit. Adam and Trent have, somehow, managed to scramble through some sort of legal text and file an injunction against us after we forced them to compete last week…
Roberto Verona: Hannah, listen!
{ Verona shouts, taking Hannah by surprise. }
Roberto Verona: I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t urgent, I have more important things to focus on too, but this can’t wait.
Hannah Reed: Then spit it out.
Roberto Verona: Jessica is gone.
{ Hannah looks at Verona quizzically. }
Hannah Reed: What do you mean she’s gone?
Roberto Verona: I mean she’s taken her things and won’t pick up her cell phone.
{ Hannah puts down her paperwork, withdrawing into herself for a moment as the colour rushes from herself. }
Hannah Reed: Are… are you sure?
{ Hannah stumbles over her words. }
Roberto Verona: I wouldn’t be stood here if I wasn’t sure. She taken everything she cares about. Her ring gear, her favourite clothes, her laptop… everything.
Hannah Reed: You’re positive she isn’t just preparing for this weekend?
Roberto Verona: Hannah… she isn’t booked, she has absolutely no commitments for the show, there’s no reason for her to leave.
{ Hannah shakes her head. }
Hannah Reed Why… why would she do this?
Roberto Verona: I don’t know.
{ Verona places a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. }
Roberto Verona: But that’s what we’re going to find out.
Well howdy there pardner.