Post by nbk on Jun 17, 2011 19:13:01 GMT -5
WrestleStock was a huge success, for you at least. You had no clue about the viewing figures, no idea's about critical observations and no interest in the buy-rates and exposure it brought UGWC, all that mattered to you was that your plans came together. The entire show was shot in a professional and exciting manner and Harvey was the first to credit your planning and vision for this. Your stock had risen hugely in the past week, and were being given more say on which matches you covered on Synergy, meaning you chose to be on hand to capture the excitement of a Chaos match, and ended up filming another chapter in an unfolding soap opera you have no interest in involving a Bill Cosby look alike and the young Christopher Lloyd who wanders around backstage in his stained dressing gown. Apparently it was a pretty seminal event in the show, and you had caught the gormless reactions of both men impeccably.
But despite you undoubtedly stellar work in the past few weeks, you were still unable to get out of your weekly NBK assignment. They had agreed to give you the week off after WrestleStock but this apparently led to The Killer being off camera until you finally caught him during the show itself, which had convinced the powers that be that your immediate future lay shadowing this walking medical case study. You had however forced a concession, and they sent one of UGWC's many intern's to accompany you and learn the ropes.
What seemed like a great idea quickly turned into an obvious mistake within five minutes in the cab that would take you to a location where The Killer had been sighted. The kid sat next to you was nervous, but not because he was worried about doing a bad job, not because he had been waiting for his moment to break into the industry for years and didn't want to blow his chance. No, this grown man, easily 21 if not older, was afraid of the boogeyman under the bed, it was pathetic. He asked question, after dumbass question, with a stammering voice about The Natural Born Killer. 'Was it true he once ate triplets?', 'Does he read and control your mind?', 'I heard if you get too close to him your pubic hair is replaced with small eggs that hatch and then insects burrow into your skin and get into your blood stream, after about 6 months you then give birth to an enormous maggot through your anus, which then grows into a huge Mothman that hunts you for the rest of your life until it kills you in an unexpected car and train collision in Delaware?'
After what had seemed like an eternity trapped with this nonsensical dullard you finally arrived at your destination, and aptly, once you exited the cab, you found yourself stood outside an abandoned warehouse. You don't have to be psychic to tell how this story ends, our intern friend takes one look out of the door, slams it shut and through a hail of screaming and tears orders the driver to get as far away as possible. You turn and watch as the cab speeds off into the distance with a wildly flailing young man unrestrained in the back. You really had to ask yourself where the Unified Global Wrestling Coalition did the vast majority of it's recruitment drives, Arkham Asylum maybe?
As the clichéd water drips from the rood and various pipes inside the warehouse you make your way through it's vacated and, if your believe in that kind of drizzle, haunting work floor, you turn your torch on, and luckily you do not have to venture to far into this health and safety nightmare.
You set up the camera and start it rolling.
The light from the camera illuminates The Natural Born Killer, he sits upon the machinery of a long disused production line, swinging his legs happily, stroking the UGWC Chaos Title, as the light catches it he giggles and turns it in his hands, following the light as it is reflected into the deep dark of this shell of a building. He plays for a few moments before realising that we are watching him, and as he does he slowly lowers the belt and rests it on his lap, before turning and looking at the camera.
And he begins to speak...
But his legs still swing.
”Welcome, welcome. The day it draws closer, the day that a Saint will come to dance, the first Cha-Cha of a Champion, and it will be grand. That is the expectation we live under, each and every day, that finally the prey they throw at us, will be an adequate partner. We await the end of the drought, we have wandered in UGWC for some time now, with only the rarest of morsels to whet our appetite, the culinary delights we had been promised held from our grasp...a sea of indifference, a desert of unfocus...
Frustration overwhelmed us for so long, the Screams they were louder and more impertinent than ever before...and it seemed we would not achieve the sanctuary we had hoped UGWC would provide. Instead each and every week, the prey put in front of us...would not open themselves, would not involve themselves in the dance...dancing with oneself is lonely, dancing on your own with just The Screams is a fate no other should suffer...I shouldn't have to suffer it...but each an every week suffer The Killer did...throwing the likes of Medos, and Chris Peterson my way....all individuals with minds firmly somewhere else than in the ballroom with The Killer....
Then it became clear...that which can focus the minds of even the weakest of UGWC's so far unfulfilling prey...the one thing that can turn a question mark into a religious icon...the only thing these misguided buffoons really care about. Not their friends, not their family...not their sanity...just...this....”
The Killer holds up the belt with his left arm and strokes in gently with his right.
”This...this....is the key to the promised land, the path to a possible...eventual...redemption. They lie hushed in anticipation, they still scratch away at the inside of The Killer's skull...but for them they are relatively dormant...this symbolises our hope, this is why they torment me less and less...they approve of my actions for the first time in memory... and this...this beautiful, glorious and stunning monument to stupidity and shallow greed...is the route of our peace. How ironic, that you all know it, as the Chaos Championship....”[/b]
The Killer places the belt in his lap once more, and he looks at the camera, his hand still stroking it's metallic face, but the swinging of his legs slows to a stop.
”But they are not silent...they do not sit idle...they are too old to be accused of complacency, they have seen far...far...too much. But this time, the pressure is not on the Natural Born Killer, it is on Enigma, for the balance has somewhat changed....if Saint James fulfils their expectations, he can look forward to the dance of agony and despair...but if he displeases them, he will face a Killer, tortured by the screams most horrid, forcing him to finish you swiftly, so that you never bother them again.
They are proud to be the current stewards of Chaos...and they expect those that attempt to take that honour from them to be focused, sharp and ready. If not....The Killer will not be the only one to feel their retribution. So, Enigma, it is best for you, and to a lesser extent, for me...if you forget about the betrayals of the past, put to the back of your mind the crippling inadequacies that keep you awake each night...and turn your attention towards NBK.
It seems your parents never taught you the importance of learning to walk before you run. You aspire to things beyond your reach, The Chaos Title is but one of those, albeit it the most forgiveable act of over reaching you have displayed. Ambition is no bad thing, but like anything it is only healthy in moderation, too much ambition and you will more likely than not crash and crash hard. You are but one man, despite your claims of sainthood, you are one individual man, and the battles you strive to take up will leave you in a familiar place, drooling in a pool of your own blood whilst your enemies continue to laugh at you as they grow stronger at your offence.
Bring yourself back to reality, you cannot hope to compete with those that dominate the upper echelons of this company, despite your past connections you cannot hitch a ride on their coat tails to the top...you must become your own man, in your own right. One day...we feel you might, be a glorious success story in the Chaos division...but that day will not be Monday.
Enigma, it seems that for as long as NBK has been struggling with his passengers...you have been reaching too high. You have tried, and failed to defeat former World Champions, you have been betrayed and humiliated in front of millions, yet you still come back for more. There may be people out their that admire your heart...your drive...but there is not a soul out their that admires your mental capacity. Whilst you have spent so much time chasing a myriad of impossible dreams, you have failed to make anything of yourself...
The Chaos title will prove, next week, to be yet another thing that lies far from the grasp your abilities allow you...but that is no real shame, because if you pay close attention, you may be one of the first uin UGWC to truly realise why The Natural Born Killer is....The Most Dangerous Rumour You've Never Heard.”[/b]
With that NBK hops off the conveyor belt and past the camera, out of the light and into the darkness.
And you stop recording.
Well, he seemed a little calmer than normal, but still spouting the same old nonsensical garbage. Time to get back into the cab....which you slowly realise the Intern hijacked, leaving you stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no transportation...
You check your cell...
And no reception.
You laugh, because the only other option is to cry.
But despite you undoubtedly stellar work in the past few weeks, you were still unable to get out of your weekly NBK assignment. They had agreed to give you the week off after WrestleStock but this apparently led to The Killer being off camera until you finally caught him during the show itself, which had convinced the powers that be that your immediate future lay shadowing this walking medical case study. You had however forced a concession, and they sent one of UGWC's many intern's to accompany you and learn the ropes.
What seemed like a great idea quickly turned into an obvious mistake within five minutes in the cab that would take you to a location where The Killer had been sighted. The kid sat next to you was nervous, but not because he was worried about doing a bad job, not because he had been waiting for his moment to break into the industry for years and didn't want to blow his chance. No, this grown man, easily 21 if not older, was afraid of the boogeyman under the bed, it was pathetic. He asked question, after dumbass question, with a stammering voice about The Natural Born Killer. 'Was it true he once ate triplets?', 'Does he read and control your mind?', 'I heard if you get too close to him your pubic hair is replaced with small eggs that hatch and then insects burrow into your skin and get into your blood stream, after about 6 months you then give birth to an enormous maggot through your anus, which then grows into a huge Mothman that hunts you for the rest of your life until it kills you in an unexpected car and train collision in Delaware?'
After what had seemed like an eternity trapped with this nonsensical dullard you finally arrived at your destination, and aptly, once you exited the cab, you found yourself stood outside an abandoned warehouse. You don't have to be psychic to tell how this story ends, our intern friend takes one look out of the door, slams it shut and through a hail of screaming and tears orders the driver to get as far away as possible. You turn and watch as the cab speeds off into the distance with a wildly flailing young man unrestrained in the back. You really had to ask yourself where the Unified Global Wrestling Coalition did the vast majority of it's recruitment drives, Arkham Asylum maybe?
As the clichéd water drips from the rood and various pipes inside the warehouse you make your way through it's vacated and, if your believe in that kind of drizzle, haunting work floor, you turn your torch on, and luckily you do not have to venture to far into this health and safety nightmare.
You set up the camera and start it rolling.
The light from the camera illuminates The Natural Born Killer, he sits upon the machinery of a long disused production line, swinging his legs happily, stroking the UGWC Chaos Title, as the light catches it he giggles and turns it in his hands, following the light as it is reflected into the deep dark of this shell of a building. He plays for a few moments before realising that we are watching him, and as he does he slowly lowers the belt and rests it on his lap, before turning and looking at the camera.
And he begins to speak...
But his legs still swing.
”Welcome, welcome. The day it draws closer, the day that a Saint will come to dance, the first Cha-Cha of a Champion, and it will be grand. That is the expectation we live under, each and every day, that finally the prey they throw at us, will be an adequate partner. We await the end of the drought, we have wandered in UGWC for some time now, with only the rarest of morsels to whet our appetite, the culinary delights we had been promised held from our grasp...a sea of indifference, a desert of unfocus...
Frustration overwhelmed us for so long, the Screams they were louder and more impertinent than ever before...and it seemed we would not achieve the sanctuary we had hoped UGWC would provide. Instead each and every week, the prey put in front of us...would not open themselves, would not involve themselves in the dance...dancing with oneself is lonely, dancing on your own with just The Screams is a fate no other should suffer...I shouldn't have to suffer it...but each an every week suffer The Killer did...throwing the likes of Medos, and Chris Peterson my way....all individuals with minds firmly somewhere else than in the ballroom with The Killer....
Then it became clear...that which can focus the minds of even the weakest of UGWC's so far unfulfilling prey...the one thing that can turn a question mark into a religious icon...the only thing these misguided buffoons really care about. Not their friends, not their family...not their sanity...just...this....”
The Killer holds up the belt with his left arm and strokes in gently with his right.
”This...this....is the key to the promised land, the path to a possible...eventual...redemption. They lie hushed in anticipation, they still scratch away at the inside of The Killer's skull...but for them they are relatively dormant...this symbolises our hope, this is why they torment me less and less...they approve of my actions for the first time in memory... and this...this beautiful, glorious and stunning monument to stupidity and shallow greed...is the route of our peace. How ironic, that you all know it, as the Chaos Championship....”[/b]
The Killer places the belt in his lap once more, and he looks at the camera, his hand still stroking it's metallic face, but the swinging of his legs slows to a stop.
”But they are not silent...they do not sit idle...they are too old to be accused of complacency, they have seen far...far...too much. But this time, the pressure is not on the Natural Born Killer, it is on Enigma, for the balance has somewhat changed....if Saint James fulfils their expectations, he can look forward to the dance of agony and despair...but if he displeases them, he will face a Killer, tortured by the screams most horrid, forcing him to finish you swiftly, so that you never bother them again.
They are proud to be the current stewards of Chaos...and they expect those that attempt to take that honour from them to be focused, sharp and ready. If not....The Killer will not be the only one to feel their retribution. So, Enigma, it is best for you, and to a lesser extent, for me...if you forget about the betrayals of the past, put to the back of your mind the crippling inadequacies that keep you awake each night...and turn your attention towards NBK.
It seems your parents never taught you the importance of learning to walk before you run. You aspire to things beyond your reach, The Chaos Title is but one of those, albeit it the most forgiveable act of over reaching you have displayed. Ambition is no bad thing, but like anything it is only healthy in moderation, too much ambition and you will more likely than not crash and crash hard. You are but one man, despite your claims of sainthood, you are one individual man, and the battles you strive to take up will leave you in a familiar place, drooling in a pool of your own blood whilst your enemies continue to laugh at you as they grow stronger at your offence.
Bring yourself back to reality, you cannot hope to compete with those that dominate the upper echelons of this company, despite your past connections you cannot hitch a ride on their coat tails to the top...you must become your own man, in your own right. One day...we feel you might, be a glorious success story in the Chaos division...but that day will not be Monday.
Enigma, it seems that for as long as NBK has been struggling with his passengers...you have been reaching too high. You have tried, and failed to defeat former World Champions, you have been betrayed and humiliated in front of millions, yet you still come back for more. There may be people out their that admire your heart...your drive...but there is not a soul out their that admires your mental capacity. Whilst you have spent so much time chasing a myriad of impossible dreams, you have failed to make anything of yourself...
The Chaos title will prove, next week, to be yet another thing that lies far from the grasp your abilities allow you...but that is no real shame, because if you pay close attention, you may be one of the first uin UGWC to truly realise why The Natural Born Killer is....The Most Dangerous Rumour You've Never Heard.”[/b]
With that NBK hops off the conveyor belt and past the camera, out of the light and into the darkness.
And you stop recording.
Well, he seemed a little calmer than normal, but still spouting the same old nonsensical garbage. Time to get back into the cab....which you slowly realise the Intern hijacked, leaving you stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no transportation...
You check your cell...
And no reception.
You laugh, because the only other option is to cry.
