Post by Cable Arcane on Jul 27, 2016 14:53:15 GMT
Cable Arcane walked slowly past the gorilla position ignoring all the eyes watching him as he passed. Someone said “Good match!” and patted him on the shoulder but Cable was quick to slap his hand away, he didn’t like being touched by plebeians, especially curtain jerking ones who will never make it past the opening match.
Good match?
For whatever reason the compliment insulted him, what was so good about it? He’d gotten the early advantage over Ryan Shane but that little bastard grounded him and wouldn’t let him get up. He was better than he anticipated and it almost cost them the match, not to mention the oh so precious points in the Heir to the Throne.
He couldn’t let himself get cocky like that again, it doesn’t matter how much of a push over someone seems to be, how many matches they’ve lost, he can’t allow himself to be made to look like less than the Best in the World.
The thought made him laugh, there was another man in this company who thinks he’s the Best in the World, a man who pushes himself harder and harder every single week, a man who much like himself refuses to settle for being mediocre.
Problem was, Nighthawk isn’t as good as he thinks he is.
Even if he was the Best in the World at one point that was a long time ago, long before Cable Arcane ever stepped foot into a wrestling ring and made this industry his personal bitch. He knows the supposed Man of 1000 Holds will be training hard for this match but his broken body wasn’t the work horse it used to be and he’s never faced a man quite like Cable.
It’s not about money, power or fame, Cable could care less how many cute t-shirts he sold or how many of the baying sheep in the crowd screamed his name. He cares about being the unopposed Best in the World. It didn’t matter to him what he had to do to achieve that, broken bones, bloody canvas, ended careers, he’d do it all just to accomplish his goal…
In the end that’s why he accepted the Best of Five Series against Nighthawk.
He wanted to show all of Imperial Wrestling that it doesn’t matter who you are, what you’ve done or where you’ve been, all of you are just victims to him…
It was quiet in his mostly empty loft apartment, the only sound coming from a metal chain which hung down from the rafters holding a tattered old and duct taped together heavy bag. Cable sat only a few feet away from it on a single mattress that was awkwardly placed in the middle of room.
His eyes were burning as he stared a hole through the heavy bag, his mind racing, it never seemed to stop, jumping from one thought to the next, one memory to another. Sometimes it would take him hours to relax enough to fall asleep, sometimes he didn’t sleep at all, he’d just lay there staring up at the wooden beams which supported the floor above, sometimes he’d practice his craft to the point of exhaustion and just pass out.
He found himself looking at a picture on his phone; not remembering pulling it from his pocket or turning the screen on; it was several years old. He knew he was looking at himself but he didn’t recognize the smiling man in the picture. He couldn’t really remember ever being that happy.
He felt his heart beat rise, anger seeping through his every pore, he rose up from the bed dropping the phone to his side.
The heavy bag swayed slightly in front of him, mocking him, he raised both fists and sneered, doing the only thing that ever brought him peace any more.
Hitting as hard as he could for as long as he could…
Good match?
For whatever reason the compliment insulted him, what was so good about it? He’d gotten the early advantage over Ryan Shane but that little bastard grounded him and wouldn’t let him get up. He was better than he anticipated and it almost cost them the match, not to mention the oh so precious points in the Heir to the Throne.
He couldn’t let himself get cocky like that again, it doesn’t matter how much of a push over someone seems to be, how many matches they’ve lost, he can’t allow himself to be made to look like less than the Best in the World.
The thought made him laugh, there was another man in this company who thinks he’s the Best in the World, a man who pushes himself harder and harder every single week, a man who much like himself refuses to settle for being mediocre.
Problem was, Nighthawk isn’t as good as he thinks he is.
Even if he was the Best in the World at one point that was a long time ago, long before Cable Arcane ever stepped foot into a wrestling ring and made this industry his personal bitch. He knows the supposed Man of 1000 Holds will be training hard for this match but his broken body wasn’t the work horse it used to be and he’s never faced a man quite like Cable.
It’s not about money, power or fame, Cable could care less how many cute t-shirts he sold or how many of the baying sheep in the crowd screamed his name. He cares about being the unopposed Best in the World. It didn’t matter to him what he had to do to achieve that, broken bones, bloody canvas, ended careers, he’d do it all just to accomplish his goal…
In the end that’s why he accepted the Best of Five Series against Nighthawk.
He wanted to show all of Imperial Wrestling that it doesn’t matter who you are, what you’ve done or where you’ve been, all of you are just victims to him…
I don’t need five matches.
I don’t need 1000 holds.
I only need one match.
One move.
To show the world who truly is the Best in the World.
I’m sorry to break the news Nighthawk but it isn’t you, it hasn’t been you in a very long time and Sunday Night you’re going to learn the hard way exactly how out classed you truly are when you step into the ring with me.
I get it, you think you’ve still got something to give back to this industry, you’re one of those old vets who says he isn’t going to stay longer than he’s welcomed and despite your body telling you otherwise, the boys in the back telling you and your dead mentor telling you…
You’ve over stayed your welcome.
Your body is a broken shell, barely capable of putting on a half way entertaining performance against even the lowest of Imperial Wrestling’s current crop of “talent.” Yet every week you still drag yourself out from behind the curtain, trying as hard as you can to ignore the pain in your knees and the feeling that your back is about to give out at any moment and you step inside the ring.
Refusing to see the truth.
What you do, your willful blindness to your own inability, it’s not honorable, no one respects you for it, it’s plain and simple selfishness. There comes a time in every wrestler’s career where he needs to step aside and let the next generation lead the charge, only the truly incompetent veterans of the industry hang on like a leech trying to suck whatever life force they can before someone smartens up and pry’s them off.
You’re a parasite.
A symbiote.
You no longer provide anything beneficial to this company, to our industry, you simply exist to further your own ego. Hoping beyond hope that you’ll get lucky enough to pick up a few wins, maybe one more championship before you finally head off to that big wrestling ring in the sky. Thing is Nighthawk, I don’t respect you like a lot of the other boys in the back do. I don’t give a damn about your contributions over your very long career.
Because I’m selfish too.
The Heir to the Throne is MY chance to climb to the top of the Imperial Wrestling mountain and take a title that should have always been MINE! So you have to understand something here Nighthawk, I’m not going to hold back like some of the others do, I’m not going to pull my punches so the legend can continue another day, no.
I’m going to do everything in power to make sure this Best of Five Series ends in one match.
I’m sure a lot of people have made that claim over the years but none of them have been me Nighthawk, none of them have been Cable Arcane, the BEST IN THE WORLD! You come from a place where despite what happens on screen you were all brothers in the back. Jake Keeton may have talked big but he still shook your hand when the cameras went off, same with Ryan Shane, JJ Biggs and all the other supposed legends who never made a name for themselves outside of Pretentious Wrestling Assholes!
You’re in MY company now, MY ring and you’re fighting in MY tournament! I’m not your friend backstage, I don’t want to grab a beer with you and talk about our match. I don’t give a damn if anyone here likes me because I’m only here for one reason and that’s the Imperial Championship.
That’s why when I say I’m going to try and end your career you should take me very fucking seriously.
You should be scared.
I know you’re going to bend me, twist me, try to turn me into all sorts of different shapes but me? I’m just going to try and break you.
I’ll start with those weak knees, kicking them until you can barely stand.
Then I’ll move onto your back, dropping you over my knee until I herniate every disk in your spine.
Finally I’ll target that over inflated head of yours, driving it into the mat over and over until you black out and the referee is forced to stop the match for your own well-being.
Then as you lay there struggling to remain conscious it’ll finally dawn on you how past your prime you are, how out dated you are and how ill prepared you were for the next Imperial Champion. I’m not going to wish you luck, I’m not going to promise you a good match, all I’m going to say is welcome to the last days of your career.
No sleep. No rest. NO MERCY!
I don’t need 1000 holds.
I only need one match.
One move.
To show the world who truly is the Best in the World.
I’m sorry to break the news Nighthawk but it isn’t you, it hasn’t been you in a very long time and Sunday Night you’re going to learn the hard way exactly how out classed you truly are when you step into the ring with me.
I get it, you think you’ve still got something to give back to this industry, you’re one of those old vets who says he isn’t going to stay longer than he’s welcomed and despite your body telling you otherwise, the boys in the back telling you and your dead mentor telling you…
You’ve over stayed your welcome.
Your body is a broken shell, barely capable of putting on a half way entertaining performance against even the lowest of Imperial Wrestling’s current crop of “talent.” Yet every week you still drag yourself out from behind the curtain, trying as hard as you can to ignore the pain in your knees and the feeling that your back is about to give out at any moment and you step inside the ring.
Refusing to see the truth.
What you do, your willful blindness to your own inability, it’s not honorable, no one respects you for it, it’s plain and simple selfishness. There comes a time in every wrestler’s career where he needs to step aside and let the next generation lead the charge, only the truly incompetent veterans of the industry hang on like a leech trying to suck whatever life force they can before someone smartens up and pry’s them off.
You’re a parasite.
A symbiote.
You no longer provide anything beneficial to this company, to our industry, you simply exist to further your own ego. Hoping beyond hope that you’ll get lucky enough to pick up a few wins, maybe one more championship before you finally head off to that big wrestling ring in the sky. Thing is Nighthawk, I don’t respect you like a lot of the other boys in the back do. I don’t give a damn about your contributions over your very long career.
Because I’m selfish too.
The Heir to the Throne is MY chance to climb to the top of the Imperial Wrestling mountain and take a title that should have always been MINE! So you have to understand something here Nighthawk, I’m not going to hold back like some of the others do, I’m not going to pull my punches so the legend can continue another day, no.
I’m going to do everything in power to make sure this Best of Five Series ends in one match.
I’m sure a lot of people have made that claim over the years but none of them have been me Nighthawk, none of them have been Cable Arcane, the BEST IN THE WORLD! You come from a place where despite what happens on screen you were all brothers in the back. Jake Keeton may have talked big but he still shook your hand when the cameras went off, same with Ryan Shane, JJ Biggs and all the other supposed legends who never made a name for themselves outside of Pretentious Wrestling Assholes!
You’re in MY company now, MY ring and you’re fighting in MY tournament! I’m not your friend backstage, I don’t want to grab a beer with you and talk about our match. I don’t give a damn if anyone here likes me because I’m only here for one reason and that’s the Imperial Championship.
That’s why when I say I’m going to try and end your career you should take me very fucking seriously.
You should be scared.
I know you’re going to bend me, twist me, try to turn me into all sorts of different shapes but me? I’m just going to try and break you.
I’ll start with those weak knees, kicking them until you can barely stand.
Then I’ll move onto your back, dropping you over my knee until I herniate every disk in your spine.
Finally I’ll target that over inflated head of yours, driving it into the mat over and over until you black out and the referee is forced to stop the match for your own well-being.
Then as you lay there struggling to remain conscious it’ll finally dawn on you how past your prime you are, how out dated you are and how ill prepared you were for the next Imperial Champion. I’m not going to wish you luck, I’m not going to promise you a good match, all I’m going to say is welcome to the last days of your career.
No sleep. No rest. NO MERCY!
It was quiet in his mostly empty loft apartment, the only sound coming from a metal chain which hung down from the rafters holding a tattered old and duct taped together heavy bag. Cable sat only a few feet away from it on a single mattress that was awkwardly placed in the middle of room.
His eyes were burning as he stared a hole through the heavy bag, his mind racing, it never seemed to stop, jumping from one thought to the next, one memory to another. Sometimes it would take him hours to relax enough to fall asleep, sometimes he didn’t sleep at all, he’d just lay there staring up at the wooden beams which supported the floor above, sometimes he’d practice his craft to the point of exhaustion and just pass out.
He found himself looking at a picture on his phone; not remembering pulling it from his pocket or turning the screen on; it was several years old. He knew he was looking at himself but he didn’t recognize the smiling man in the picture. He couldn’t really remember ever being that happy.
He felt his heart beat rise, anger seeping through his every pore, he rose up from the bed dropping the phone to his side.
The heavy bag swayed slightly in front of him, mocking him, he raised both fists and sneered, doing the only thing that ever brought him peace any more.
Hitting as hard as he could for as long as he could…
Well howdy there pardner.