Post by Killian King on Oct 31, 2015 22:29:32 GMT -5
Tuesday Morning, October the 27th
New Orleans, Louisiana
The Devil's Most Wanted Clubhouse
The pouring raindrops strike the tin on the roof of the warehouses ceiling like a thousand needles tapping the side of an empty soda can, echoing through the open windows of the aged and withered building. The light of an approaching morning struggles to unwrap itself from the blankets of darkness that is the storm that engulfs the south this time of year. Fall for other places means a chill in the air nipping at the tips of your nose and the fall of vastly colored leaves scattering the grounds at your feet. Here in the depth of America's armpit, down a back road just outside of New Orleans, it means a miserable fucking mess of cold flooding waters, and the sloshing of mud on foreboding depressant mornings.
"Let's cut through all the bullshit and do this..."
The deep rustling voice is that of Cypress Morgan, The Devil's Most Wanted's commander-in-chief. We find Cypress sitting at the head of a pool table made into a makeshift meeting place. A few chairs pulled up to it, a piece of plywood laid over top of the green velvet.
"Right then."
Across from Cypress sits an unlikely associate or bedfellow in reigning UGWC World Champion, Killian King. Beside Cypress to his left sits his right hand, the man known as Chaos. Jet Somers hovers over the two, swaying back and forth, his dislike for their “guest” evident on his face. A few other bikers and members of the leather vest clad fraternity walk around the building and surrounding area.
"You trust this mother fucking limey bastard?" Chaos grumbles from beside Cypress, their eyes never leaving the man across the table from them.
Killian leans back in his chair, his tailored coat unbuttoned and open as he situates himself. A smug look plays across his lips. Before Mr. King sitting on the table is a cardboard box, the kind for the storage of files and evidence.
"No... But I trust the man behind him." Cypress growls, a cigar clenched between his teeth.
Chaos huffs a breath of air as if about to choke on his words as he shakes his head. From off the the side of Killian King, another man in a lighter toned suit makes his way into the light of the low hanging lamp.
"Chad... I don't expect you to understand the nature of everything that has transpired before now, and I most certainly don't expect you to forget the actions between you and Killian, that goes for Jet as well."
The man is the entrepreneur and CEO of Bryson Enterprises, known to the world once as “The White Knight” Bryan Bryn Bryson; he was once the tag team partner of Cypress Morgan, as well as Bloodhound. He was the man who once helped train Jezebel Saint, gave Cypress the collateral to start his thriving brewery, and he was the signature on the blank check for Cypress and Jez's wedding.
Before he was known to the world as the driving force behind The Syndicate, he was known as a brother in arms of Cypress Morgan. He was the acting Chairman for the Board of Directors of uCw, as well as the heart of the dominating Illuminati that was “The Order of Chaos”.
"We go way back, dude... but you backed these bastards all the way." Chaos retorts.
"I did... but we all know what was at stake." Bryson answers Chaos. Cypress lays a light hand across Chaos' chest, assuring him that all is well. Not many had suffered at The Syndicate's hand as much as Chaos, and knowing all he did... none of this could have been easy.
"Well... you got your fucking golden boy." Chaos declares outright.
"That's true... that I do...” Bryson continues. “But we all knew what was at stake in this endeavor. I get my choice of protege, and you get all of your enemies housed in one convenient place, so that you can keep an eye on everything... And I did more then that, if I may remind you.”
Killian again smiles coyly as his knee bends and brings his foot up the edge of the table.
Cypress nods slowly in agreement. “That you did.” he begins.
"Need I remind you, that I had already sold Pierce back his company before his match for control ever took place. Save a small option in stock, licensing, as well as a new deal to show uCw footage on the network..."
A small snicker creeps from the head of the table, drawing everyone's attention back to Killian who has been sitting quietly for the most part.
"Which was a shame, because I really wanted to keep on being 'The New Piercing Weapons', that was gold..."
Killian's eyes stay fixated on Jet, who has begun to crack his knuckles.
"Contain yourself, Killian..." Bryson continues. “Need I remind you, that you each had a hand in creating the problem? Cypress and you also, Somers, more than any... I simply cleaned up the mess, contained it and made myself an adherent with a World Heavyweight Title, in the process.
"You cleaned up... our mess?!?!" Chaos begins...
Chaos begins to stir in his seat, as if about to spring at what he takes as blatant disrespect from a man he himself once considered a close friend.
"Your friends here,” Bryson starts out, pointing at Jet, “pushed one to the best that she could be, to succeed by any means that were necessary to do so, and so she did... she evolved from a trusting, dreamed-filled kid... Into one cold-hearted, venomous, blood thirsty bitch. If it wasn't for that one's lack of trust, which also falls on your laps, I may have chosen her."
As Bryson continues Killian sits in absolute muteness for a few moments, cautiously deliberating his thoughts. Killian then breaks his silence.
"Another... in the cusp of his rise to glory... you my friend.” Killian looking to Cypress. “Royally fucked him out of his world title. And if that wasn't bad enough... you showed up to do it again, in favor of your associate Klaus vonKnorre, and to this day I'm not even mad at you... I was impressed. But it's no wonder he's a fucking nutter. Another former associate of mine breaks your wife's spine, and I'm just along for the ride. Imagine my surprise to find out... that Cypress Morgan was behind the creation of The Syndicate, from the very beginning.”
Cypress smirks slightly, a billow of smoke slowly rolling out for his lips and nostrils.
"You're a barmy bastard for it... but I didn't see it coming. All this... just to keep all of your ducks in a row. Just so you and your mates here could come and fuck shite up at your convenience. So that's that, then is it? Everyone's left ass over tit and you're free to pick everyone off as you like? Brilliant... but...we still have one other issue to discuss."
“Which is why we asked you here today...” Bryson intervenes.
“A gesture of good faith if you will, in hopes of some kindness in return.” Killian adds.
Chaos sighs aloud, running his hand over his bald head as Jet shakes his head slowly, both of them looking at Cypress and his business like demeanor.
"I suppose this has to do with your box..." Cypress interludes.
Killian smiles and takes his foot off of the table, leaning forward. “That's why he's the brains of the operation isn't it?”
“Don't push me, boy.” Cypress adds.
Bryson slowly takes the lid off of the wax coated, protective box. Reaching into it he reveals a few of it's unknown contents in the form of a series of manila folders. Various files begin to land on the table, each one filled to the brim. Jet's brow raising as he recognizes the work, and he should... he taught it.
“The private files on each and every one of you and various associated members of your little club...” Killian adds as he passes them in the direction of The DMW.
Cypress takes one and slowly slides it to Chaos, another he hands straight to Jet, who begins to look over it as he steps back from the table. Cypress however, his eyes never leave the end of the table or Killian.
“Chad's... contains at the very least, paternity test results, all forged and original documents. This box also contains everything she had concerning the disappearance of Mickey Dragon, and everything she ever had on Klaus. Notes on possible and future plans and counter attacks to be used. Batman level shit... and you're welcome.”
Killian ends his statement as The DMW continue looking through files, a disc or dvd in Cypress' hand as he tosses it back into the box from which it came.
“At what price?” Cypress begins, all of them beginning to look up and watch Killian. After a moment, Killian smiles and begins.
“Simple... I want Jase, and I want him back from his... vacation if you will, by tonight. See I'm eager for Mr. Ingalls to get back to work. He's missed so much already. I'd simply like to know where I can pick my associate up.
The Devil's Most Wanted members looking back and forth to one another.
“We'll bring it to the table, after you leave... and we'll see if we know how to contact our old friend.” Cypress explains to his guest.
Killian's brow raises as he relaxes in his chair. “Well... that would be most generous of you gentlemen. Well if that's that then, off we...”
Killian begins to stand, but Cypress holds up his hand.
“Not exactly...” Cypress begins. “Why... why in all this was your entry into The High Rollers paid for by... “
Killian grins arrogantly for a moment, before looking back toward their end of the make shift meeting table.
“Well... I must be a hell of a kisser. These fucking lips, lad. Weapons I tell you!”
Saturday, October the 31st
Los Angeles, California
Bryson Entertainment Studios
A montage of various scenes begin to flood the screen with sights of classic uCw moments, all revolving around the once lead interviewer of the epic wrestling fed that put so many on the map. Only made more dramatic by the opening theme song for uCw Tuesday Night Havoc, Godsmack's “Keep Away”. Various scenes of past backstage interviews with the likes of Klaus, Dirge, a masked Cypress Morgan as The Boogeyman, Chaos, “The Grinning Reaper” Carnival, Mickey Dragon and Raenius. The video ends with a scene of a jam packed crowd, the echos of “UCW...UCW...UCW...UCW!!!”
As the video, and the chants fade away, our scene comes into being. A simple background of shadowing reds, cascading shades of white over black. In the middle of it all, center of the scene, a large flat screen mounted to the wall reflecting a revolving “Glasses” logo. Before the television sits a massive silver non-reflective desk adorned with two white laptops laid open, two table-top microphones, and various Killian King related merchandise including but not limited to a “Made in England” shirt hung from the front of the desk, accompanied by a Killian King “Better Breed of Badguy” shirt and other various loot. Sitting behind the computer to left of the scene we find none other than the voice of Universal Championship Wrestling, and Play by Play Icon... Glasses. To his left and our right one of of the current UGWC World Heavyweight Champion, Killian King. His championship belt is displayed in front of his computer on the desk, along with both a regular replica title behind him and a foam child's belt near Glasses.
“Welcome everyone and thanks for joining us for our multi award winning podcast, unlike that over paid whore Roxy Malone, suck it... This show also available for viewing on The Bryson Video onDemand option with a monthly subscription. First of all, if you don't know my name... well you're actually one of many. My name is Glasses and my guest at this time is none other than “Her Majesty's Most Beloved Grappler”... The reigning World Heavyweight Champion Killian King.”
Our camera pans over to find Killian King, seen from the waist up in a Killian King “Long Live The King” teeshirt under a black sports coat. Killian rocks back in the large plush office chair, nodding to the camera, before wrapping his hand around a bottle of water and sipping from it.
“I'm gonna go ahead and start off by thanking you for being on the show once again, as always it's a pleasure having you with us and... and... You've been out here playing with our props haven't you?”
Glasses cuts himself short while staring at the front of his desk at some of the various merchandise that's been set up before hand. A Killian King action figure is clearly mounted behind the figure of the only female opponent of those he'll be facing this week at Battleground. The camera pans in on Killian's face as he bites his bottom lip.
“I might have perhaps...” he answers. “ I was checking for points of articulation. Quality control if you will.”
Both men look to one another, then back to the figures at hand. Glasses then glares at Killian with a look of disbelief, shaking his head slowly. With a heavy sigh Glasses slowly reaches out to move the figures from their compromising position, but Killian's reach is farther, as he picks them up and moves them both to his side of the table.
“Is it going to be that kind of interview?” Glasses inquires.
“It would appear so...” Killian adds.
“Right, so let's get to it... The first ever English born UGWC World Heavyweight Champion. You must be proud...” Glasses mentions.
“Absolutely... I could not be prouder of any other accomplishment beyond that at this point in time. It was just a moment of grandeur that I'm still coming down from. I mean to be the first at anything is amazing, but it was rather monumental for me. There were celebratory tweets from the likes of Matt Smith, David Bowie, Simon Pegg, The Duchess of Cambridge tweeted me... again and again and again... and so on. Ozzy Osborne called me and wished me a heart felt congratulations... I think. Don't quote me on that though, he may have been asking me to pick up his dry cleaning. I'm still not sure. Halford even met me backstage and hugged me... and he kept hugging me, it was honestly a bit awkward, but I mean that just shows the passion he has for his fellow Englishman winning the title.
“With all of this going on, what's next for The Syndicate?” Glasses asks looking back up to Killian from his laptop.
Killian sipping his water, gives a shrug.
“I mean... The Syndicate is dead, it's been gone. Bryson made his choice, I made it to the glass elevator and the rest get nothing. We had a rare opportunity to change the world like nothing the world had ever seen before. And we suffered on our own indulgence until there was nothing left, brilliantly mind you. We were the elite, the premier collection of the best that this generation of wrestlers had to offer. No other group can say that... Not the DMW, not the Puppet Masters, certainly not The Covenant. No group... dominated the landscape in the fashion that we were. But when you're at the top and there's no one else left on your level... you start to fight among one another. We became too big, too strong, too fast... and we began to devour ourselves from the inside out, like a cancer. And when something like that is sick... no matter how grand or magnificent it is, you have to pull the kill switch... you have to put it down.
Killian looks to Glasses who's nodding.
“You mention The Puppet Masters...” Glasses adds. “Why Travis Roberts? Why was he your choice of proxy?”
Killian pauses for a moment.
“Why not? He's a former World Champion himself, he knows the pressure of being in that spot, and he's no stranger to no win situations. The man announced his place in Battleground, and no one's seen the guy in a while... after some pretty heavy losses I thought he needed that spotlight, I felt like he had something to prove. Build some momentum going into the Pay-Per-View. But he has a lot going on... his tag team partner has a new man in his life, Hastings is looking at a newer younger model. Maybe Roberts is looking too far into his own ideas of the future, to see where he's at now. Let's hope he does better at Battleground then he did on Synergy... or it won't be him, that I'm looking across the ring from in the main event at Horizons.
Glasses concentrates of Killian's expressions in his answers.
“So, let me ask this... because it seems that you winning the championship was a bit of a shock...” Glasses continues. “How do you react to that mentality..? Where some feel you may have been rushed to that spot.”
Killian takes a second, his fingers fiddling with the desk.
“Like I said before... I came in fresh, I came in hungry. I came in with something to prove. You know there was this talk where people felt it was my tag team partner that carried me in the beginning, when it was just the opposite. I came in to revitalize a broken down career, and not my own. There are those who want to talk about spinning their wheels with no place left to go... when that's where I found them. When you can go from taking old dusty championship belts out of your closet and claiming you're still the champion of a defunct has been fed, that ran in bingo halls and highschool gyms... while you're playing board games with other superstars, what does that say about you? That makes you the Al Bundy of professional wrestling. You talk about being on top of your game... way back when. Making up, titles, think about that. Then I show up... and not even a few months later, it's tag team titles, double titles... World Heavyweight Championship. What does that tell you? You went from one used up whore and fucking KvK's sloppy seconds... to a plethora of hot women.
Killian raises a brow.
“If you would... put into your own words.... about the former members of The Syndicate. Where you are now, where you see this going...” Glasses adds.
“Zane... is a broken man. He's an absolute fucking nutter, and I think the boundaries of what's real and what's not are slowly fading. The problem lies with... he would have you believe he's sick with rabies, that he's gone mad; but in the end it's far less chilling, in fact, it's rather sad. It's not rabies... no, it's more like parvo. There's no killer on the loose behind those eyes, there's just a shaking fucking mess. While he would have the world see him as Jack the Ripper, the only person he's convinced of such is himself. I think half the roster in the back just plays along out of bloody kindness more so than anything else.”
Glasses looks to Killian a bit stunned almost. “You touched earlier about I assume...”
But Glasses is cut off as Killian takes over.
“Alan... he's an amazing talent, that's not without warrant, but I mean he's going around taking credit for running off a bunch of jobbers and washed up talent? You get no stripes for that. At this point in the game it's not about what you have done... it's about what you're going to do. That thing about being the future... you have to move in that direction. You can't dwell solely on the past and expect that to impress anyone. We're moving in a new direction... myself, the championship, the fed... we're heading into the the future. I just don't know now if there's a place for guys like Wallace there. We don't care about what you did back in the indie scenes, this is the big leagues, and that's where your mind needs to be.”
Before Glasses can further comment Killian cuts him off once again.
“As far as Eden goes, she's run as long as she can... the privileged and pampered bitch gimmick is only going to get you so far. She's reached the limitations of her ability long ago. Now the rest of the world sits there and watches in silence expecting the final straw to break and watch her highness crumble. Because when she goes out... it's going to be a train wreck the likes of Miley Cyrus and Britney Spears. She most of all has made too many enemies... too many people who want to watch her fail, and that's the thing about not burying things deep enough. Sometimes they find their way home.”
Killian finishes meaningfully, taking a drink of water. Glasses pauses, considering his words and then starts to speak again.
“So Killian, are you--”
Killian glances down at his arm where a watch should be but one isn't.
“Look at the bloody time, I've got to be off to my next engagement,” he grins at the camera. “It's not easy being the King,” he says cheekily and meanders offstage, leaving Glasses with his jaw dropped.
“I... but... well... sadly, ladies and gentlemen, it appears that's all the time we've had for tonight. I enjoyed this immensely, good night everyone!”
Just as the camera is about to go out, Killian's face appears again in a close-up.
“And don't forget to pre-order Battleground where you can see me, Killian King, retain the championship to once again be named the King.. of your hearts,” he makes an overly exaggerated gesture, placing a hand over his heart and dabbing at a teardrop from the corner of his eye. In the back, Glasses huffs.
“Seriously? No. Cut this sh--”
Black.
2013, '18, '23 
2013 