The scene is a darkened warehouse with one flickering lightbulb hanging overhead. In the foreground is The Amazing Logan, dressed in a tattered blazer, a faded Sonic Youth t-shirt and ripped jeans, wearing a top-hat and leaning on his cane. Behind him is Michael Bastard, in ring attire, saliva drooling out the corner of his lip.
TAL: I told all of you.
I told all of you that Michael Bastard, the NEW Craziest Bastard in Wrestling, the Man without Conscience, the Wrestler Your Favorite Wrestler Is Afraid of, would unleash a dawn of destruction and despair upon Empire Pro Wrestling at Black Dawn. There were doubters. There were those who thought that Stalker was too formidable. Those people were proven wrong when Michael spiked Stalker's head off the mat and buried his reputation as the company's hardcore icon with the subsequent count. Michael put the Empire on notice, and now, it's time for him to rise up the ladder. What better opportunity could have arisen than King of the Cage? The brutality, the violence, the potential for bloodshed...
Bastard licks his lips.
TAL: ...well, this tournament was TAILOR-MADE for Michael take the fast track to the top of this company. They say wrestling is all about paying dues, and it takes years for men to get to the pinnacle. Some men are poor in the currency that that it takes to pay this grappling Charon to get to the other side, so poor that it takes decades before they finish their debts if they're able to pay them at all. But with King of the Cage? The currency is the ability to inflict and absorb pain. Luckily for Michael, he's wealthy in that regard. He can pay years worth of dues in one tournament's time. He's also wealthy in luck, it seems, as the gods have blessed him with a chance at revenge at a transgression inflicted by a cowardly FORMER Champion now.
Layne Winters. I'd be reminding you of your cowardly act if you weren't so brazen and foolish to bring it up yourself. I'd ask sarcastically if you really were proud at waylaying a man with his back turned and then running away like the punk you are, but you've already and unironically answered that question for yourself. Such hubris from you, a man whose ego has disenfranchised you of any and all friends you might have had in this world. If you had pulled that stunt when Michael was looking at you instead of when we were between matches, not only would you not have run away from it with aplomb, but you'd be missing about half of your natural teeth in the process. Of course, your victory was shallow, as Michael got right back up, went out and fought Jonathan Marx in a sham of a mockery of an "MMA fight" right thereafter. Pretty impressive on your part though, if your aim was just to piss Michael off.
I know it doesn't mean much to you, since you've already crowned yourself World Champion. Of course, as bombastic and overblown as our World Champion is himself, you stand as nothing but a cheap imitation, one that isn't fit to shine his tattered shoes. Feh, you talk about Michael being a cheap imitation of Stalker, when you yourself model your whole persona after a dead junkie of a lead singer. Furthermore, you bluster and blabber on like you're Sean Stevens and yet you couldn't even hold onto a second-tier Championship for half as long as he had his World Championship. Pity. I admit, there are similarities between those who fight in the same style as Michael does, but hey, leave it to you, the pot, to call out this kettle. As if it mattered in the end.
No, you see, where the similarities between Stalker and Michael, Omega and Michael, really, anyone else and Michael is that their ceilings? Not nearly as high as Michael's. See, they needed to hide their inadequacies by saying trite rubbish like "Oh, I don't care about titles! I care about inflicting pain!" As if the two were mutually exclusive. What I'm out to prove, what Michael is out to prove is that there's room in the soul for the desire to do both. I mean, what, do you think that because Michael likes to break people's bones for leisure that he doesn't want to be compensated for it? Layne, you silly bastard, way to generalize. Par for the course with you, but hey, at least I'll know what to expect so I can condition Michael to expect it as well. The other guys, well, I'm pretty sure deep down inside that they wanted to win gold too, but let's face it, they were inadequate to begin with. Always trying to latch onto someone else's coattails, content to be the minion and not the overlord. Michael is not content to be the minion, Layne. I know it's hard for a feeble-minded blowhard know-it-all such as yourself to comprehend, but I'm not pulling the strings here.
You read comics, right Layne? Well, even if you don't, you know the story of Galactus. Consumer of worlds, the size of Jupiter. Well, that's Michael. He's Galactus. The consumer of souls, dealer of destruction. Me? Just call me Uatu. I only speak for him. Sadly, you don't seem to have the moxie of a Ben Grimm, the brains of a Reed Richards or the quiet work ethic of a Sue Storm. No, you've just got Johnny Storm's cockiness without his ability to fly around in the air while on fire. That just makes you a target, Layne. A very big target. One that is suitable for a predator the likes of what Michael is.
In a way though, although Michael and I wanted payback for what you did to him at the Supershow, I'm not at all thankful that our date with destiny happened in the first round. You see, the higher the perch you were on, the closer you were to attaining that impossible goal you have, the sweeter it would have been to see you tumble to earth. You see, the wrestling world wouldn't see it as a humiliation if by some token of God's grace you defeated Michael despite it being in an environment that he feels at home in. No, they would see it as a rookie losing to one of the established stars of the Empire. However, you are right, there will be humiliation in this result, although that humiliation will soon turn into shock and horror after the crowds and the locker rooms see how badly Michael mauls you.
Layne, you've tempted fate. Now prepare to feel the wrath of vengeance and the scorching flame of desire, the desire not only to destroy you for your cowardice, but to attain the glory of Championship gold in a short, fleeting time. You've already opened the door, now peek your head in, embrace your Welcome into the Freakshow, Layne.
Because as God is my witness, your assimilation into it, your change forever, is inevitable.
MB: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!
As Bastard lets out a primal scream, Logan takes a baseball swing at the camera, knocking it down and jarring the screen into static.