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Nothing to See; NEW Friday Night 39
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Topic Started: Nov 12 2013, 03:52 PM (76 Views)
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Trenton Page
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Nov 12 2013, 03:52 PM
Post #1
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- Posts:
- 25
- Group:
- Members
- Member
- #554
- Joined:
- July 22, 2013
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There's no fancy lines of poetry, no room of manufactured dereliction to give proper ambiance to the message. Not this time. The few hallmarks we've come to expect in the short time that Sombra Roja has been part of the NEWEra roster are neither seen nor heard this time around. Suffering his first loss at Fear Itself to the tenacious Jynx LeVeux and having go deal with the incarceration of the woman who guided his career in Aurelei Donavan, the masked man is apparently in no mood to put on a show for the jeering masses who simply don't understand...who CAN'T understand. Instead of the usual, he's on a normal-looking chair in a comfortably tidy room, presumably in either a hotel aparment or his own home. we have no way to know for sure either way. At the very least it looks comfortable but his attention isn't on his surroundings. His mask, today pure black without the trademark red ink blot on the front, displays his mindset quite well.
Empty. Lacking. Blind with fury.
His breathing steadily grows heavier as the moments pass, knowing that the camera is on and the world is watching, waiting for a ferocious tirade the likes of which he delivered to both Jynx and the new World Heavyweight Champion last time.
"I know what you're all expecting. Especially you, Steven James..."
He lifts his head slightly, tilting it as he stares at the camera. At least that's where we think he's looking.
"What, you're surprised that I even know your name, that I'm aware of our match at NEW Friday Night this time around? Oh, I know plenty about you, Steven. About your abbreviated World Tag Team Title reign, about your propensity for stabbing people in the back and your questionable loyalty toward people you call friend or partner."
The chuckle is marred somewhat by the mask, yet the dry mirthlessness of it still hits home.
"I just don't care."
A snarl slips out.
"I'm sick of hearing people bitch about how they've been screwed in their matches or backstage, how the office is holding them down and about their old grudges. None of you know what pain is. You don't know what suffering is. James Stall whining and complaining about how people only remember his old title reigns and Disturbed is bitching about how Robbie Priest got in his way again...as if they expected it to be any other way. The wrestling business is carnivorous at best, eating its own history to make room for the future. No one...NO ONE...gives a shit about what you did once upon a time. They only care about the now, and that attitude ranges from promoters and bookers down to the lowest peon fans in the cheap seats. What have you done for us lately?
No one cares that the woman who picked me up and nursed me back to health, accelerating my return to the ring for the purpose of vengeance, is about to go to prison for several years. No one cares that my life is half-empty thanks to the machinations of NEWEra's freshly-minted World Heavyweight Champion, Eric Donavan. All they know is that the Dark Angel is gone, I've suffered my first loss and while that Cajun tramp is facing another Cajun tramp for the No Limits Championship on NEW Generation, I'm stuck facing a barely-was former tag team champion who can barely wipe the drool off his trembling chin without his chumpstain partner at his side."
Bolting to his feet with such suddenness that the chair tips backward and clatters to the floor, Sombra clutches at his head, shaking it back and forth.
"You're nothing, Steven...nothing, nothing, nothing. A quivering bag of meat waiting to be stomped. Just another victim. I'm going to eliminate you...yes...that will feel...nice."
His hands lower, his focus on something off-camera.
"That's what I'd like to say. I'd love to say that with conviction and have a punk like you quivering in your shoes. And I have little doubt that you are because even without this..."
He gestures to the oddly-blank mask.
"...you still know very well what I'm capable of. No one in this company can fly like me, Steven, and no one has so little disregard for their own or their opponent's well-being as I do. Not Nightmare, not Kyle Travis...no one. Look at every champion in this company, everyone who thinks they'll be the next one to carry gold and then look at me, Sombra Roja, and you'll see the difference immediately:"
There's a smile behind those words...a sick, twisted one. This man is very unwell.
"They care. They might convince the masses, the bosses...they might even convince the rest of the boys and girls backstage...that they don't. Just because they bust someone open or use a weapon or two, maybe because they strike at someone's family or take a cheap shot, we're supposed to buy that they're cold, heartless monsters who'll destroy anyone in their path. But that's bullshit. Bullshit that I SEE through. Like I see through your sham of a tag title reign. Like I see through your attempts to get chummy again with that clown Tommy Zeller. I see this business through fresh eyes, not eyes that are blinded by glitz, glamour and lies. I see the truth and only the truth, Steven...and that goes for the rest of you, too. Every single one of you parasitic pretenders on this entire motherfucking roster.
That's right. I said it. Any of you want to come make something of my words? Maybe Kyle Travis wants to wander up with his crowbar and take a swing? Perhaps Stall will pull his sledgehammer out of Isabel Marie's gaping crotch hole and aim for my melon."
Sombra chuckles, then laughs...uproariously, violently he laughs. It reaches a near-shrieking level before he puts it to a quick stop, his voice dropping to a lower, darker tone.
"I'm fucking begging you to. Make my day...make me FAMOUS. Because right now, I have nothing left to lose. Everything that gave me purpose is gone and all that remains is pain. There's nothing anyone in this company can do to me that will hurt worse than my life already does. I've survived worse and I'll keep surviving just to spite the wrestling business and the world at large. But I can hear the rocks rattling in your empty skull, Steven. You want to know where all this came from, what it might mean for you Friday night."
Calmly righting the chair, the masked man takes a seat upon it again, staring at the camera anew.
"It means you're an example, you unwashed simpleton. No short, fat partner to watch your back...no moron in a bear suit to boost your flagging confidence. You're in a fight with the worst kind of opponent, Steven: the kind who has nothing to lose.
I mean, suppose you manage to luck out and beat me. What, then? You beat a man who has nothing and who, to this company, means nothing. I'm big enough to admit that I have no stroke here, nothing to hold onto except what's here..."
He puts a hand to his chest, over his heart...
"...and here."
...and then taps his temple before his hands go back to his lap.
"Heated fury and cold, calculating focus. In that order. It's a dangerous combination, Steven. More than a lout like you who gets off on wearing dead animal flesh and riding motorized tricycles can handle. You don't want any of me, but you're getting it whether you like it or not. This isn't going to be a new genesis for your career, the end of a downswing. It's going to be the end. I'm going to fuck up your career, boy. I'm going to fuck up your LIFE. All you'll SEE is the black of this face and the red of your own blood dripping into your eyes.
Because until the entire world is suffering the same pain as I do...I will NEVER rest."
Getting up, he walks out of the shot to bring an abrupt end to the feed.
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"In a world passing through my fingers I still chase the wind."
NEWEra North American Champion x1
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