Post by Killian King on Mar 20, 2015 18:55:09 GMT -5
A UGWC.com Exclusive
Highlights begin to play upon the screen, slowed down for more dramatic flair. The video is void of the spectrum of colors, cast in black and white. The sounds of Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds’s “Red Right Hand” can be heard.
We see images of Killian and Chaos staring one another down, before we watch scenes of Killian smashing a bottle of whiskey over Chaos's head, leading to another of Killian bringing a large pipe wrench down upon the skull of his opponent; scenes of Chaos handcuffed to the ropes as Killian and his associates lynch the reigning Chaos division champion's friend Cypress Morgan like a mob scene; Killian gathering his victim's blood and leaving it in a single hand print on Chaos' forehead. Scenes fade to reveal sights of The Arbiter of Violence breaking free of a fisherman suplex and delivering his fabled “Libertine” on Mark Stone before sending him exploding face first into a waiting steel chair. The scenes skip and play again and again. The footage melts into this week's Synergy, a look of desperation in Seito's eyes as she rolls Killian back into the ring, but before she can make the cover, Killian cracks her in the head with his trusty pipe wrench. Her body falls limp and folds into a heap before Killian easily pins her.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of this match, and your new UGWC Chaos Championship Number One Contender…Killian King!!!”
The scene fades slowly to barren nothingness with the booming voices of fanfare and the eerily relaxed face of “The Crucible” Killian King then comes the black screen, the UGWC logo illuminated briefly before fading. A series of white lettering appears on the screen.
“The following production is paid for by The Bryson Enterprises Media Network.”
Backstage at a recent House show… up the entrance area and through the labyrinth of behind the scenes corridors; The UGWC camera crews have caught up with one half of the reigning tag team champions, one half of the union known as “Sex and Violence”.
The Crucible is still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling almost carnally with each breath. After such a brutal match, fatigue has set in, beads of sweat and blood pooling from his face and neck, trickling down his massive frame, Killian’s long raven-hued hair sticking to his face, held there with patches of sweat. The camera man cautiously steps closer to one half of the current Cooperative Champions as Killian's eyes remain locked on a point with the camera. He is still dressed in his ring gear after having participated in a grueling and most gruesome hardcore rules match against some upstart who had the unfortunate luck earn the spot against him.
From off-screen, we hear random spurts of profanity woven about in a fashion that could be given merit if only they were from the lips of a drunken sailor. The camera changes direction for a moment to reveal Killian's steward Richard Nottingham, who appears from the side carrying a bottle of water. You might assume with the title of butler that he would open and hand the cool refreshment to his employer after a stellar match in front of a sold out crowd, but sadly you would be misguided in your assumption. Employer and employee exchange a look before Richard shrugs as if to say “What the fuck now?”
King rises to his feet and slips the beverage from Richard's grasp before taking a seat once again upon the series of stacked boxes. He pours the water from said bottle over his head, tilting his head back and using a single black towel to blot away some of the water and the battle's perspiration before looking once more to Richard who is seemingly in shock. Killian pulls the black towel over his head. A woman in the proper Bryson assigned staff attire walks up gently handing Killian's leather coat to someone already poised and waiting to transfer the garments into traveling bags. Somewhere in the mix, Bryson's personal media consultant Glasses has shown up, papers in hand and is prepping the cameramen and crews about said backstage promo in...
5...
4...
3...
…
..
What should have been the start of the promo is however lulled by the fact that Killian hasn't looked up yet. His eyes still fixated upon the floor, under the confines of the ebony piece of cloth, beads of water and sweat dripping from his brow as Richard looks on in the background. Suddenly, Killian's deep, rich voice fills the silence.
“They say that a man's worth is no greater than his ambition. But, how far will a man go to ensure these aspirations, and how much of himself is left when he achieves those goals? ”
Killians’ hand comes up and slowly moves through his sweat caked hair, pulling the towel from his head as his half of the tag team division championship belts sit beside him, his eyes falling upon it.
“What's worse in reality... the villain who remains honest, or the faux hero who sits on a throne of untruths? Through all my efforts, sure, I've accomplished countless atrocities but I've never born false witness to any of you. See... I don't have to. I won't lie to any of you, because I don't have to lie to myself. I am the way of true freedom... because I am Anarchy. ”
Killian takes a breath.
“ I am Anarchism... I am the liberation of the human mind and the dominion of religion; the liberation of the human body from the dominion of property; liberation from shackles and restraint of government. I am the path to freedom you've thought impossible. I'm the rogue, the rapscallion, the varlet... but what have I been if not true of myself and my nature? I'm a bad guy... but does that make me a bad... guy? I'm a villain yes, but I don't lie about being said villain. Yet they cheer in the masses for their heroes with no such self worth.”
Killian King begins to bring his hands together and clap, briefly.
“...Bravo gentlemen, bravo. You've sucessfully fucking dooped each and every fan in existence as to your merit. But what happens when we peel back the layers of prevarications you've painted on like make-up to cheap bawds? What kind of man is the likes of my opponent for the Chaos championship? A self-proclaimed bibulous troglodyte, or a scared, balding git who's frightened enough of me that he's lost his set? What happened to the barbarian, the maniac from the mountains?
Killians’ expression becomes a bit more stern as he gets to his feet and steps in closer to the camera. He slowly slides his sweat stained towel from his shoulder and lets it fall to the floor by his feet.
“Was it all a bit of theatrics, playing a part for the fans like a goddamned dancing monkey?”
Killian licks his lips, almost in a state of contemplation. His fingers slowly part the hairs of his beard.
“Perhaps if I pull back a few layers and see what's beneath, I and everyone else will get a glimpse of the man inside. Because I want to know... nay, I must know what would cause a man, what must eat you so fucking badly that you would spit in the face of your so-called brethren and take arms with the likes of one who played a part in killing one of your brothers... what, not even a year ago is it? What's the worth of a man who beds his alliance with the man who took him from you?”
Killian's voice trails off for a second.
“What sets a man so aghast that he aligns himself with his own enemies? Not just any foe... but the very root of your stemming hatred. What must Cypress think, that one of his wolves is exposed as a sheep?”
With each and every passing word fixated upon Chaos' new “friends”, Killian begins to grow more and more visibly amused.
“So what's to come of this? What distresses you so gravely that your only choice was drop your tail between your fucking legs and take comfort with your head in Pax's lap? Is it the cut of his jib, the respect you have for one another now? Or is it fear that drives you two together? Of me? ...certainly not.”
Killian sighs softly as he reaches behind himself and pulls a black duffel bag up to his side. The Crucible pats the bag gently as that smirk appears once again. He unzips the bag and peering into its contents, searches through it, before placing his title belt into it.
“But you're afraid of what I represent, what my anarchy lays harbinger to... ”
Killian draws a black tee shirt from the confines of the bag.
“I'm that bloody backer of the fucking truth. ...And that fucking truth is that you, Chaos, are a mere fucking fraud.”
Killian raises a brow as he grasps the material of the black short-sleeved shirt by its shoulders and lets it unroll, to reveal his own “English Import” logo tee shirt. Killian's face drops and he slowly looks back into the camera.
“Why else would a man trade in his patches to ride bitch with the same sorry cocksucker who played sidekick to the death of your own mate? He carried this Mickey Dragon's fucking bags before he ended up back out on the streets and now he, Yoko Ono, and this fed's biggest fucking sopping cunt are the new shite?”
A smile turns up the corners of Killian’s mouth. Killian inhales deeply as he looks to the logo once more, before pulling the shirt onto his arms and over his head, letting it slide down his upper body.
“Kind of all fits in doesn't it? Ezekiel Pax finally gets the validation of another male figure in his life, someone to coddle him and tell him he's doing a good job, and you get someone to help reassure you every waking moment that you still fucking matter.”
Killian looks around, a mildly amused look on his face, more disbelief than entertained, as he continues.
“In the end, it doesn't matter who you surround yourself with, how many times they reassure you that you're the bad ass they know you are. The truth of the matter is you didn't sell your soul for a case of beer, you're a spineless fucking coward who switched his allegiance when the first sign of trouble came about. You fit Klaus well. And this Monday... at Massive Melee, when that truth lands on your door step, you've got no place to go.”
Killian bites his lip lightly as he tilts his head, signifying the obviousness in the nature of the accusations.
“I tried to find reason with you. I tried to find a platform on which you and I, for all your appearances could even respect one another. But under the mask... for all your gloss, for all your flair, you're void of character, an empty shell built on piles upon piles of bullshit lies and the sweat-beaded respect of others. You're a fucking poser. You're not even a real bad ass... you just play one on the telly.”
Killian pauses for a moment.
“Be honest... Just like Mainstreamer carries Dave Rydell week and week out, Cypress Morgan carried you, and now that his relevance is falling quicker than a hooker's knickers on payday, you're fucked to find someone to carry you on. But this Monday... I'll take care of that problem, Chaos; I'll cut from your waist the weight that holds you down, I'll free you from the bonds that hinder you to be more then you are... Come this Monday I'll alleviate you of the Chaos Championship, and bring its name worth and merit once more. You won't have to hide who you are anymore, Chaos. Be free of the binding weight that society put on you. Whether you believe it or not... I'm here to help you. ”
Killian smiles as with his free hand he pushes his long, dark locks of hair back from his face, a few strands still stuck to his beard.
“You know what happens when you try to pretend to be something you're not for too long? It dries you out, it leaves nothing more then a hollow husk with nay a shed of credibility left. Just ask your friend Raenius You see when you pretend to be someone you're not for so long, it begins to eat away at the man you once were and it leaves you vulnerable to attack... isn't that right Graber? ”
Killian a smile slipping from the corners of his lips. The Gentleman's Savage begins to pull himself from the box, he's seated upon.
“When you ignore who you really are for too long, you leave yourself open for an attack. Sometimes, people so sure of themselves, keep walking down that path an they don't even realize that the predators have been following that trail the entire time. And just when you think you're on top of it all... just when you think you've hid it so well... so long that even you begin to question its authenticity, it shows back up and drags you down lower than you’ve ever been before. It's in those times... Mainstreamer... you discover that your friends can't handle the truth, and are horrified by what they've seen, they turn face and turn their back on you. Just how far have you fallen mate? How do you expect to carry the weight of Rydell on your back, only for him to turn on you when he finds out your deepest secrets?”
Killian gathers his belongings up.
“...maybe Rydell will offer himself up as Klaus' next sidekick. That seems to be the in thing to do. A bunch of fucking men following a child to war.”
As Killian King begins to end his interview, a voice prompts him from off camera.
“Did you hear, the reveal earlier, that Ichabod, Rydell, and Mainstreamer... have officially joined KvK's Alliance?”
Killian scoffs for a second, as if being the recipient of someone having a go at him.
“Seriously? ...Well that was fucking lackluster, then. So the dregs of the fed have united behind a man who has only recently broken loose on his own by stabbing his mates in the back and threw a tantrum, like a spoiled cunt... because he lacked the set to do it like a fucking man? Aye... he set fire to doors as if that's supposed be some great 'piss off' to his former crew. Lucky enough for those blokes and motor bike club, he takes his looney ass fucking bird with him. But here's where things get rather complex... the man is in a war with Eden that doesn't exist. He's taking up fucking arms and making a stand against someone who doesn't give a shite about him or his personal vendettas. See, Klaus, it would seem, is smitten with Ms. Morgan. Why else would he devote so much time to her, running around like a fucking love sick puppy, pissing about on everything so she notices him? Not that I can blame that man... she's a number, that Eden Morgan. But when does enough just become a sad rally for her attention, a cry for her to take notice of him? Sad part is, the only thing keeping the belt around his waist until now, is the fact that she hasn't. But fuck yeah, sound the horns, follow this git into battle, that's a sound plan gents. From Mainstreamer and Mini-streamer, I expected this... but Ichabod? That's just... fucking. So much for respect, eh Ichy?”
Killian shrugs lightly.
“Strength in numbers, I suppose. Never underestimate the power of stupid gits in numbers it seems. Keep your circle jerk together gentlemen. But for what? How long are Pax and Rydell supposed to work together? How long before Mainstreamer's little secret goes mainstream and this all begins to crumble? How long can Ichabod tune out Harley without cocking back and laying the silly bird out? This plan is flawed from the start, boys. But you put your little Mid Card Mafia together... you put aside your bitching, your backstabbing, and your gossip for a moment. What's going to happen when Vain nicks that fucking title right off of Klaus' waist? And as focused as he is on Eden? It will bloody well come to pass... how will your plan hold up when for all this show, for all this grab ass you're playing those Co-op titles stay right where they are? And how will you handle yourself Chaos... when 'chaos' isn't enough, and pure fucking bedlam reigns supreme?”
Killian smirks coyly.
“When it's all said and done, you'll all realize, perhaps too late for yourselves, that I still told the truth all along... as you look up from that mat, and you stare at sky lights... when it dawns on you the path I have taken, you'll cheerfully choose to take a little walk with me, to show you the path.... because I am the way. No more pressure of living up to your name, living up to your false standards, no more living up to the person your partner thinks you to be... let reality and honesty takes its course. Take my hand and let me guide you to something better. A world where The Syndicate bear the weight of being the champions you've promised the people. Now I need a shower to wash this conversation away... piss off.”
Black.
Highlights begin to play upon the screen, slowed down for more dramatic flair. The video is void of the spectrum of colors, cast in black and white. The sounds of Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds’s “Red Right Hand” can be heard.
We see images of Killian and Chaos staring one another down, before we watch scenes of Killian smashing a bottle of whiskey over Chaos's head, leading to another of Killian bringing a large pipe wrench down upon the skull of his opponent; scenes of Chaos handcuffed to the ropes as Killian and his associates lynch the reigning Chaos division champion's friend Cypress Morgan like a mob scene; Killian gathering his victim's blood and leaving it in a single hand print on Chaos' forehead. Scenes fade to reveal sights of The Arbiter of Violence breaking free of a fisherman suplex and delivering his fabled “Libertine” on Mark Stone before sending him exploding face first into a waiting steel chair. The scenes skip and play again and again. The footage melts into this week's Synergy, a look of desperation in Seito's eyes as she rolls Killian back into the ring, but before she can make the cover, Killian cracks her in the head with his trusty pipe wrench. Her body falls limp and folds into a heap before Killian easily pins her.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the winner of this match, and your new UGWC Chaos Championship Number One Contender…Killian King!!!”
The scene fades slowly to barren nothingness with the booming voices of fanfare and the eerily relaxed face of “The Crucible” Killian King then comes the black screen, the UGWC logo illuminated briefly before fading. A series of white lettering appears on the screen.
“The following production is paid for by The Bryson Enterprises Media Network.”
Backstage at a recent House show… up the entrance area and through the labyrinth of behind the scenes corridors; The UGWC camera crews have caught up with one half of the reigning tag team champions, one half of the union known as “Sex and Violence”.
The Crucible is still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling almost carnally with each breath. After such a brutal match, fatigue has set in, beads of sweat and blood pooling from his face and neck, trickling down his massive frame, Killian’s long raven-hued hair sticking to his face, held there with patches of sweat. The camera man cautiously steps closer to one half of the current Cooperative Champions as Killian's eyes remain locked on a point with the camera. He is still dressed in his ring gear after having participated in a grueling and most gruesome hardcore rules match against some upstart who had the unfortunate luck earn the spot against him.
From off-screen, we hear random spurts of profanity woven about in a fashion that could be given merit if only they were from the lips of a drunken sailor. The camera changes direction for a moment to reveal Killian's steward Richard Nottingham, who appears from the side carrying a bottle of water. You might assume with the title of butler that he would open and hand the cool refreshment to his employer after a stellar match in front of a sold out crowd, but sadly you would be misguided in your assumption. Employer and employee exchange a look before Richard shrugs as if to say “What the fuck now?”
King rises to his feet and slips the beverage from Richard's grasp before taking a seat once again upon the series of stacked boxes. He pours the water from said bottle over his head, tilting his head back and using a single black towel to blot away some of the water and the battle's perspiration before looking once more to Richard who is seemingly in shock. Killian pulls the black towel over his head. A woman in the proper Bryson assigned staff attire walks up gently handing Killian's leather coat to someone already poised and waiting to transfer the garments into traveling bags. Somewhere in the mix, Bryson's personal media consultant Glasses has shown up, papers in hand and is prepping the cameramen and crews about said backstage promo in...
5...
4...
3...
…
..
What should have been the start of the promo is however lulled by the fact that Killian hasn't looked up yet. His eyes still fixated upon the floor, under the confines of the ebony piece of cloth, beads of water and sweat dripping from his brow as Richard looks on in the background. Suddenly, Killian's deep, rich voice fills the silence.
“They say that a man's worth is no greater than his ambition. But, how far will a man go to ensure these aspirations, and how much of himself is left when he achieves those goals? ”
Killians’ hand comes up and slowly moves through his sweat caked hair, pulling the towel from his head as his half of the tag team division championship belts sit beside him, his eyes falling upon it.
“What's worse in reality... the villain who remains honest, or the faux hero who sits on a throne of untruths? Through all my efforts, sure, I've accomplished countless atrocities but I've never born false witness to any of you. See... I don't have to. I won't lie to any of you, because I don't have to lie to myself. I am the way of true freedom... because I am Anarchy. ”
Killian takes a breath.
“ I am Anarchism... I am the liberation of the human mind and the dominion of religion; the liberation of the human body from the dominion of property; liberation from shackles and restraint of government. I am the path to freedom you've thought impossible. I'm the rogue, the rapscallion, the varlet... but what have I been if not true of myself and my nature? I'm a bad guy... but does that make me a bad... guy? I'm a villain yes, but I don't lie about being said villain. Yet they cheer in the masses for their heroes with no such self worth.”
Killian King begins to bring his hands together and clap, briefly.
“...Bravo gentlemen, bravo. You've sucessfully fucking dooped each and every fan in existence as to your merit. But what happens when we peel back the layers of prevarications you've painted on like make-up to cheap bawds? What kind of man is the likes of my opponent for the Chaos championship? A self-proclaimed bibulous troglodyte, or a scared, balding git who's frightened enough of me that he's lost his set? What happened to the barbarian, the maniac from the mountains?
Killians’ expression becomes a bit more stern as he gets to his feet and steps in closer to the camera. He slowly slides his sweat stained towel from his shoulder and lets it fall to the floor by his feet.
“Was it all a bit of theatrics, playing a part for the fans like a goddamned dancing monkey?”
Killian licks his lips, almost in a state of contemplation. His fingers slowly part the hairs of his beard.
“Perhaps if I pull back a few layers and see what's beneath, I and everyone else will get a glimpse of the man inside. Because I want to know... nay, I must know what would cause a man, what must eat you so fucking badly that you would spit in the face of your so-called brethren and take arms with the likes of one who played a part in killing one of your brothers... what, not even a year ago is it? What's the worth of a man who beds his alliance with the man who took him from you?”
Killian's voice trails off for a second.
“What sets a man so aghast that he aligns himself with his own enemies? Not just any foe... but the very root of your stemming hatred. What must Cypress think, that one of his wolves is exposed as a sheep?”
With each and every passing word fixated upon Chaos' new “friends”, Killian begins to grow more and more visibly amused.
“So what's to come of this? What distresses you so gravely that your only choice was drop your tail between your fucking legs and take comfort with your head in Pax's lap? Is it the cut of his jib, the respect you have for one another now? Or is it fear that drives you two together? Of me? ...certainly not.”
Killian sighs softly as he reaches behind himself and pulls a black duffel bag up to his side. The Crucible pats the bag gently as that smirk appears once again. He unzips the bag and peering into its contents, searches through it, before placing his title belt into it.
“But you're afraid of what I represent, what my anarchy lays harbinger to... ”
Killian draws a black tee shirt from the confines of the bag.
“I'm that bloody backer of the fucking truth. ...And that fucking truth is that you, Chaos, are a mere fucking fraud.”
Killian raises a brow as he grasps the material of the black short-sleeved shirt by its shoulders and lets it unroll, to reveal his own “English Import” logo tee shirt. Killian's face drops and he slowly looks back into the camera.
“Why else would a man trade in his patches to ride bitch with the same sorry cocksucker who played sidekick to the death of your own mate? He carried this Mickey Dragon's fucking bags before he ended up back out on the streets and now he, Yoko Ono, and this fed's biggest fucking sopping cunt are the new shite?”
A smile turns up the corners of Killian’s mouth. Killian inhales deeply as he looks to the logo once more, before pulling the shirt onto his arms and over his head, letting it slide down his upper body.
“Kind of all fits in doesn't it? Ezekiel Pax finally gets the validation of another male figure in his life, someone to coddle him and tell him he's doing a good job, and you get someone to help reassure you every waking moment that you still fucking matter.”
Killian looks around, a mildly amused look on his face, more disbelief than entertained, as he continues.
“In the end, it doesn't matter who you surround yourself with, how many times they reassure you that you're the bad ass they know you are. The truth of the matter is you didn't sell your soul for a case of beer, you're a spineless fucking coward who switched his allegiance when the first sign of trouble came about. You fit Klaus well. And this Monday... at Massive Melee, when that truth lands on your door step, you've got no place to go.”
Killian bites his lip lightly as he tilts his head, signifying the obviousness in the nature of the accusations.
“I tried to find reason with you. I tried to find a platform on which you and I, for all your appearances could even respect one another. But under the mask... for all your gloss, for all your flair, you're void of character, an empty shell built on piles upon piles of bullshit lies and the sweat-beaded respect of others. You're a fucking poser. You're not even a real bad ass... you just play one on the telly.”
Killian pauses for a moment.
“Be honest... Just like Mainstreamer carries Dave Rydell week and week out, Cypress Morgan carried you, and now that his relevance is falling quicker than a hooker's knickers on payday, you're fucked to find someone to carry you on. But this Monday... I'll take care of that problem, Chaos; I'll cut from your waist the weight that holds you down, I'll free you from the bonds that hinder you to be more then you are... Come this Monday I'll alleviate you of the Chaos Championship, and bring its name worth and merit once more. You won't have to hide who you are anymore, Chaos. Be free of the binding weight that society put on you. Whether you believe it or not... I'm here to help you. ”
Killian smiles as with his free hand he pushes his long, dark locks of hair back from his face, a few strands still stuck to his beard.
“You know what happens when you try to pretend to be something you're not for too long? It dries you out, it leaves nothing more then a hollow husk with nay a shed of credibility left. Just ask your friend Raenius You see when you pretend to be someone you're not for so long, it begins to eat away at the man you once were and it leaves you vulnerable to attack... isn't that right Graber? ”
Killian a smile slipping from the corners of his lips. The Gentleman's Savage begins to pull himself from the box, he's seated upon.
“When you ignore who you really are for too long, you leave yourself open for an attack. Sometimes, people so sure of themselves, keep walking down that path an they don't even realize that the predators have been following that trail the entire time. And just when you think you're on top of it all... just when you think you've hid it so well... so long that even you begin to question its authenticity, it shows back up and drags you down lower than you’ve ever been before. It's in those times... Mainstreamer... you discover that your friends can't handle the truth, and are horrified by what they've seen, they turn face and turn their back on you. Just how far have you fallen mate? How do you expect to carry the weight of Rydell on your back, only for him to turn on you when he finds out your deepest secrets?”
Killian gathers his belongings up.
“...maybe Rydell will offer himself up as Klaus' next sidekick. That seems to be the in thing to do. A bunch of fucking men following a child to war.”
As Killian King begins to end his interview, a voice prompts him from off camera.
“Did you hear, the reveal earlier, that Ichabod, Rydell, and Mainstreamer... have officially joined KvK's Alliance?”
Killian scoffs for a second, as if being the recipient of someone having a go at him.
“Seriously? ...Well that was fucking lackluster, then. So the dregs of the fed have united behind a man who has only recently broken loose on his own by stabbing his mates in the back and threw a tantrum, like a spoiled cunt... because he lacked the set to do it like a fucking man? Aye... he set fire to doors as if that's supposed be some great 'piss off' to his former crew. Lucky enough for those blokes and motor bike club, he takes his looney ass fucking bird with him. But here's where things get rather complex... the man is in a war with Eden that doesn't exist. He's taking up fucking arms and making a stand against someone who doesn't give a shite about him or his personal vendettas. See, Klaus, it would seem, is smitten with Ms. Morgan. Why else would he devote so much time to her, running around like a fucking love sick puppy, pissing about on everything so she notices him? Not that I can blame that man... she's a number, that Eden Morgan. But when does enough just become a sad rally for her attention, a cry for her to take notice of him? Sad part is, the only thing keeping the belt around his waist until now, is the fact that she hasn't. But fuck yeah, sound the horns, follow this git into battle, that's a sound plan gents. From Mainstreamer and Mini-streamer, I expected this... but Ichabod? That's just... fucking. So much for respect, eh Ichy?”
Killian shrugs lightly.
“Strength in numbers, I suppose. Never underestimate the power of stupid gits in numbers it seems. Keep your circle jerk together gentlemen. But for what? How long are Pax and Rydell supposed to work together? How long before Mainstreamer's little secret goes mainstream and this all begins to crumble? How long can Ichabod tune out Harley without cocking back and laying the silly bird out? This plan is flawed from the start, boys. But you put your little Mid Card Mafia together... you put aside your bitching, your backstabbing, and your gossip for a moment. What's going to happen when Vain nicks that fucking title right off of Klaus' waist? And as focused as he is on Eden? It will bloody well come to pass... how will your plan hold up when for all this show, for all this grab ass you're playing those Co-op titles stay right where they are? And how will you handle yourself Chaos... when 'chaos' isn't enough, and pure fucking bedlam reigns supreme?”
Killian smirks coyly.
“When it's all said and done, you'll all realize, perhaps too late for yourselves, that I still told the truth all along... as you look up from that mat, and you stare at sky lights... when it dawns on you the path I have taken, you'll cheerfully choose to take a little walk with me, to show you the path.... because I am the way. No more pressure of living up to your name, living up to your false standards, no more living up to the person your partner thinks you to be... let reality and honesty takes its course. Take my hand and let me guide you to something better. A world where The Syndicate bear the weight of being the champions you've promised the people. Now I need a shower to wash this conversation away... piss off.”
Black.