Sands vs. Suicide vs. Beast

[SteelCitySon]

World Title Tournament Three Way Dance. The man who is pinned is eliminated, and the two who win go on to face one another at Black Dawn for the World Title.

 

[JABolich]

(FADEIN: An intensely white screen with no seams visible between the walls and the floor. CHRISTIAN SANDS stands in the middle of said backdrop, his white FUBU velour tracksuit almost blending in with the backdrop. From the right angle, it appears as if he's just a disconnected head, hands, feet, and FUBU logos floating in midair.)

Sands: My, how plans change around here. Supposedly I was going to square off against Maelstrom this week, but rumor has it that he tucked his dick between his legs and ran when he found out what he was up against. And I can't say I blame him, considering that it took him everything he had to beat that Daymon guy once, whereas I casually beat him twice in one night.

So here we are... with Big Mael off crying somewhere, the three men around here who actually have BALLS remain.

Before anyone brings it up - yes, I did figure out who turned out the lights. Turns out a friend of mine thought I was having trouble and decided to get cute. He was, of course, wrong, considering that I deliberately let Brown go so I could humiliate him by kicking out of his finisher - which I did, with ease, I might add. I'm still rather miffed about the whole thing, but it's not something that's going to haunt my nightmares or distract me from the ass-whipping I'm going to unleash upon Suicide and Beast.

Speaking of Beast... any word back from Ryan yet?

I understand that you and Ryan have beef, Beast - but I sincerely hope that you can put it aside when you step between those ropes, because I do prefer to break a sweat when I dismantle someone. There's just no satisfaction in a short, easy squash match against someone who's got their mind on other things. Don't worry too much, though... because you'll have plenty of time to focus on your issues with Dan after this show, considering that you'll be out of the title picture. With no world title hopes to clutter your focus, you'll have all the time in the world to continue this insipid Ryan-Beast-Troy love triangle that's been turning stomachs all across the globe lately.

And now we come to a man who I, personally, have beef with.

Congratulations, Suicide. You took Rob Sampson out of contention and did it in convincing fashion. But there's a problem.

You're hunting in my range.

I already had my sights set on Sampson. In fact, I was fully intent on putting him in a hospital bed the minute I got him in the ring. But then YOU come along and start butting into my business, shooting down MY targets - trespassing in my yard, so to speak. By beating me to the target that is Sampson you've robbed me of a chance to prove decisively that I AM better than him and pay him back for holding me down in SCW.

Fortunately, I'm an adaptable man - and as I've said before, anything Sampson can do, I can do better. MUCH better. Furthermore, where Sampson fails, I can succeed. Sampson couldn't beat you, Suicide - but I WILL, and in doing so I'll PROVE that I'm better than that f*cker Sampson, and better than YOU.

Step off, boys. That main event at Black Dawn is MINE to participate in, and that World Title may as well have my name on it right now. I've come too far to lose everything now. I've waited too long for a chance like this to let it slip away.

The future is approaching.

Can you feel it?

(FADEOUT)

 

[MarcusWestcott]

BS detector going off loud and clear!!

[The EPW cameras fade in backstage after Week 3 of Aggression, and we're taken to Beast's locker room. The EPW star is seated on a bench, shirtless, in sweatpants. His long blond hair is wet and slicked back behind his head, the ends starting to form curls as it starts to dry. A few beads of water run over his muscular chest - he's just come out of the shower after his match.]

Beast: Well, if it isn't Mr. Attention Whore Christian Sands. You just had to run to the first camera you could find after your big win, all decked out in your little space suit. Trying to draw attention to yourself after the big victory. Are the guys at FUBU paying you enough?

Take it while you can, Christian... get every penny they give you, because after Aggression, the suits over at FUBU Towers are going to be fit to be tied, ready to pull your contract after they see your worthless performance and you get yourself eliminated from this little three way dance.

[Beast grabs a towel and dries his hair a little more.]

Beast: Now, normally, I don't get quite this cocky. It all goes back to what I said against Dan Ryan. It's about being confident, but damn, Sands, after seeing how you "dominated your competition" and had to resort to a low blow to win your match tonight and advance into the semi-finals, color me unimpressed.

But of course, you dress up in your nice little teflon suit, run to the first camera you can find, and proclaim to the world how you dominated Karl Brown in that match. How you humiliated him. How you conveniently let him hit you with his finisher, only so you could kick out and keep the fight going.

Typical...

Now where have I heard *that* before?

Guy comes out and wrestles... sure, he busts his ass, but he's caught by a better opponent. So the guy low blows him, takes the easy way out, and hits his finisher just because, and proclaims he's the greatest thing since Carmen Electra's implants, just because in the end he got the big "W" and moved on.

Let's get something straight, Sands...

Don't give me any of this crap about how you did what you did to get the job done. Don't try and pass off this "well, all that matters if you win" B.S.

Face it, my man, you got outclassed, and took the easy way out.

But now, you're running with the big dogs.

The *two* other guys in EPW that have BALLS.

You sure as hell don't.

I've shown up from day one in EPW, and I've done what the marquee says - I've wrestled. I haven't cheated and scratched my way to where I am in this tournament. Yeah, I got a gift from Dan Ryan, but I proved myself in that match, and I've done more than that since then. You're running with the elite now, Sands, and if you couldn't handle Karl, you might as well just pack your bags and catch the first train, cause you're going to be in a lot of trouble.

This has nothing to do with whoever it was, pulling some indy stunt and cutting the lights. This isn't about what you *might* have been able to do against wrestling-Jesus Daymon.

This is about one thing, and one thing only, the EPW World Title.

This is the reason why I came to EPW in the first place.

And now it's you - Mr. Low Ball {or Mr. Low Brow - I haven't got that one figured out yet}, and a frigging monster named Suicide. Only you two stand between me and that big brass ring.

And I'll be damned if I let some snivelly little punk like you stand in my way.

You see, Sands, I've beaten you already. I've already got you thinking in circles, and I hadn't even started my promo time yet - not that it's that difficlut, mind you, with your three year old intellect. You're all confident in the fact that I'm preoccupied with Ryan because of his screwing over EPW in our first match, and what's happened with him and my girlfriend, Lindsay Troy - who, by the way, has kicked your ass on past occasions.

That's where I've got you.

If you'd stop and smell the vinyl emanating from that horrific track suit you're wearing for just one second, you'd realize that Ryan has been my motivating factor ever since day 1 here in Empire Pro. I'm not going to lose any matches because of him. In fact, it's just the opposite. Not only am I going to win that EPW title to prove to myself and all my fans that I am who and what I say I am...

I'm going to WIN that title in spite of that rat-b*stard, not lose it because of him. I'm going to win that belt, and carry this damn company on my shoulders, just to see the disgusted look on his face. No, Sands, Ryan is my INSPIRATION, not my distraction, and if you're going to enter this match with any other thoughts in your head, then son, you've already lost.

If you think I'll be distracted by him, we'll just see who's distracted when I'm the one dropping you on your head and pinning you for the 1, 2, 3.

But don't worry. I'll even pitch in for a front row seat so you can watch me and Suicide go at it for the belt next week.

Beast and Suicide.

Suicide, I've never seen you before. Never even heard of you until you walked into that ring last week and brother, you did things that I didn't think were possible.

We now know who the two biggest dogs in EPW are, and man, it's going to be great facing you for that title. I've never seen anyone take punishment like you have before, and sit up and laugh about it.

But if you think that's gotten me scared, I'd stop and think again before you fall into the same trap Mr. Sands has. Well, actually, in his case, it's quicksand, and he's going nowhere fast.

Your abilities are only going to make me step it up that much more, and I have to throw everything I've got at you to take home that belt... if you're going to make me dig down and bring up that something extra special...

Then you've got yourself a date. I welcome the challenge, big man.

All I can say is, bring it on.

Oh, and Sands, one more thing...

That huge sonofa***** Maelstrom didn't turn tail and run because he was going to face you this week in the semis. Nah, it was something much, much worse. Something carrying much more respect and fear than your pathetic little Hanson-wannabe self could ever conjure up.

He found out that my girlfriend was coming to EPW, and he didn't want to have his ass handed to him by a woman.
And really, I don't blame him.

She can be a real mean ***** sometimes. I wouldn't want to cross her either.

See you in the ring, gentlemen. Get ready for a war.

Get ready for Aggression.

[The camera fades to black as Beast pulls a tshirt on, and readies himself to go catch his flight.]

 

[JABolich]

(FADEIN: An empty ring in the middle of a gymnasium. CHRISTIAN SANDS sits on the top turnbuckle, a dark trenchcoat covering his plain workout attire.)

Sands: You know, Beast - wait, nevermind. I'm not even gonna call you Beast, because I keep getting an X-Men vibe whenever I say it. So I'll just pick out a more fitting name. Hmm... B*tch seems accurate.

You know, B*tch... It doesn't reflect too well on you when the best comebacks you can hit me with are "Durrr, your tracksuit is stupid" and "durrr, you suck because you used a low blow." Yes. Yes I did use a low blow. And you know what? I'D DO IT AGAIN. Unlike some people around here I'm not bound by some obscure sense of honor. I do what it takes to win, and if that means hitting below the belt, fine. But DON'T make the mistake of assuming that's all I have in the tank, B*tch, because it's not.

Just recently I squared off against the bext technical wrestler in the world in Jean Rabesque, and I took him to a sixty-six minute clean draw - thus proving that I am one of the two best technicians on the face of this planet. I suggest taking a look at that match, B*tch, because you might learn something about me. That is, you'll learn that I'm fully capable of holding my own in a clean contest. What you can learn from the Brown match is that I can also play dirty when I feel I need to end the match quickly - and I did. I anticipated an attack coming when the lights went out, so I decided to end the match then and there and get the hell out of Dodge before the sh*t hit the fan. Of course, the situation turned out quite differently, but I had no way to know that at the time, so I did what I felt was necessary.

But here's a question...

What is it with you A1E guys and your egos?

First it's your tame whore Troy coming around here and talking to me as if I were subhuman... only to cheat her way by me by virtue of a referee blatantly ignoring my foot on the bottom rope. Now here you are, yammering on as if you're somehow better than me. Pff. Yeah right. What've you done, Beast? Squashed Mike Diamond, who has won only one match in his life? Beaten Troy Douglas, who's never made it past the midcard because he's too much of a p*ssy to run with the ball? Don't even mention anything you've done in A1E, because I wouldn't wipe my ass with an A1E title if it were the only thing available. Yeah, great job, B*tch. You're really the man.

But wait... none of that matters, because you're BEAST, dammit! And you're going to prove big ol' Dan Ryan wrong!

No. You're not going to prove anything of the sort. The only thing you're going to prove is that you can't hang with the big dogs here in Empire. Hell... I bet Dan's going to sit there and laugh at you when you find yourself out of the tournament. I'll even laugh with him.

Thus far I've been conserving my energy, waiting for the big match when I could actually justify using every tool in my arsenal to win. Rocko and the dragon boy were just warm-ups. Come Aggression, I switch it into high gear. Which means, Beastie Boy, that all those "ha-ha-you're-not-good-enough" lines you're trying to drop on me are going to get smashed over your head repeatedly. It should be obvious that I'm equipped to handle some JACKED-UP STEROID FREAK from some bush-league after I've wrestled for an hour straight with the best technician in the world.

Despite what you might tell yourself, you're not in my league. Go back to the midcard and play with people like Douglas and Daymon who're too useless to ever break out. They're more your speed.

Because you're not going to make it big at MY expense, sonny. I've waited for too long to break out to let YOU get the drop on me.

Like it or not, this is my time.

And I will NOT be denied.

(FADEOUT)

 

[AUMedina]

Paranoia and Confusion

(Camera fades in to a cafe near Times Square in New York City. The streets around it are busy with the bodies of New Yorkers, trying to get to their destinations. As the world around moves at a blistering pace, a lone figure sits at a table outside of the cafe, perfectly still and comfortable in its chair. Dressed in a black leather trench coat and Fedora, the camera shows him to be vaguely familiar. As the camera moves slowly towards the figure, he sits there, unmoved by everything in his surroundings.)

*No matter what they throw in his way, he has been able to go through it headstrong. He knows no boundaries and yet, they try to set bigger and more difficult ones in his path. Is this just a stroke of luck on his part that he has made it all this way thus far? Or was it more than just pure luck? It doesn't matter, for he will continue to follow his path unmoved by words or actions from any who stand in his way. They try to hold him down, but no matter how they do it, they just keep failing in their goal. Will he succeed this time, as all the others? Only time can tell.....only time can tell....*

(As the camera moves closer to the figure, he is shown holding a glass of wine in one hand, a cigar in the other. As he lifts his head up, a masked face is shown, with a symbol finally revealing him to be none other than Suicide. He takes the cigar in hand and places it in a slit in his mask, as he carefully takes a puff of it. He pulls back the cigar, as the smoke eminates from his mask, dancing in the air all about him.)

Suicide: "It seems the world of Empire Pro, that of which was pronounced the utopia of this great sport, is crumbling before our very eyes. In no less than a month, we have seen people come, people go, people hurt, and people celebrate. The air is thick with fear and confusion, as everyone seems to be trying to grasp for something to keep them steady and safe. And yet here I am, amongst the paranoid and confused, unscathed by this 'madness' that everyone else has created for them. Why? Its real simple: I have created this paranoia. I have created this confusion. Apparently in my last two matches thus far here in Empire Pro, I have single-handedly destroyed those who were in my way; not because I wanted to.....but because of their own foolishness. Mr. Mayhem and Mr. Sampson felt I was a nobody, that I wasn't important enough to focus their mind on and instead, they focused it on the prize. They had their eyes on the prize and I have blinded them permanently. I figured after all of that, I was on my way to my next destination in this little tournament, to take on Beast. But it seems, due to more confusion and paranoia happening as of late, I must once again be thrown into a match against not one....but two individuals. Why I am not surprised? Because Mr. Dan Ryan didn't realize one problem with his plans to make Empire Pro his playground; I wasn't part of them."

(Suicide brings the glass of wine in his hand to his mask and slowly takes a sip. He then places the glass back on the table, tapping the cigar lightly of its ashes.)

Suicide: "But it seems his plans have changed. Because he and Mr. Freeman can't stop comparing who's penis is bigger than the other's, we now lose one great wrestler in its midst. We have never been friends, nor have ever had a chance to face one another in the ring even though we have ran in similar circles, but one thing I can say is Maelstrom isn't afraid of anyone or anything. You see, myself and Maelstrom, whether you want to view it like this or not, are similar in that we represent the same thing that goes missing in this great sport of ours. The fact that we represent honor and glory in the face of adversity and respect this sport, it's what makes us unliked and unwanted by everyone else. So when I heard my two opponents giving their 'opinions' on the whole Maelstrom fiasco, I couldn't help but laugh. Scared of you Mr. Sands? Scared of your significant other Mr. Wescott? The only thing Maelstrom was ever afraid of in my opinion is what he was capable of doing to those who stood in his way. You saw what happened to Mr. Daymon, do you actually believe the same wouldn't have happened to you? Nevertheless, Maelstrom needs not my words to defend him, for a man of honor truly doesn't need to explain his actions. It is why I need not explain mine. But there is one difference that separates Maelstrom from me and it's this: I wouldn't have relented on those like Mr. Daymon. It's why people like Mr. Mayhem and Mr. Sampson breathe through a machine while sucking their food through a hose. Because I have no remorse in what happens in that squared circle. When you enter that ring, you know from the beginning what you are getting yourself into, even if it means risking your very well being."

(Suicide takes off his Fedora hat and places it on the table next to his glass of wine.)

Suicide: "However, even though I am unmoved by my actions, it seems they are focus of my opponent's. Mr. Sands for instance is angry because I beat him to the punch. Well Mr. Sands here's something to consider that'll get you even more upset: I didn't even try to put Mr. Sampson out of action. I apologize if you didn't get a chance to do him what I did, but you could always march yourself right over to the hospital at where he is staying and pull the plug off his respirator. It seems you're pretty good at that anyway Mr. Sands; taking advantage of others at the right moment? You see Mr. Sands, I am but a simple man, a humble man. I don't go looking to hurt people in the ring, it just happens. Why does it happen? Well, if Mr. Sampson was able to awaken from his unconscious state and speak to you, he'd tell you it's because he underestimated me. I thought you were an intelligent fellow and figured that one out. But apparently, as you continue to inflate your ego with your own hype, you go into our match blindly trying to prove you are better than me. It's sad really considering every time I enter the ring, I don't have anything to prove. But if you wish Mr. Sands, I can show you first hand, live and in person, what happens when people look past me. Also, like the guy you wanted to hurt, you think that in this match, there will be just one winner. You do realize if you happen to win, you will move on to the main event, not by yourself, but with either Mr. Wescott or me. So even if you happen to move on, what makes you believe you'll get rid of me so easy? I may just be there, in your face, butting into your business once more. What will you do then? Will it be the same you're doing now? If that is the case.....you've already lost to me. I suggest instead of trying being better than me, just try to work on surviving against me. Learn from the mistakes of others and grow from there. When both of your testicles finally fall down, I'll consider you a man."

(Suicide takes another puff of his cigar, as he then afterwards intertwines his hands together, holding the cigar in the middle.)

Suicide: "But it seems we move from someone who wants to rip my dick off to someone who's already trying to suck my dick off. Mr. Wescott, better known to the world as Beast, seems to think that he and I will be moving on to Black Dawn. He believes we are the top two wrestlers in Empire Pro, that anyone who faces off against us will be crushed by our awesome power. Last time I checked, I didn't ask for a sidekick Mr. Wescott, nor did I ask for a cheerleader. You call me a big dog, a monster, basically describing me of things of which people would fear. And yet Mr. Wescott, you claim you don't fear me. Let me bring you back to reality as I clear the fog of myth you have already surrounded me in. First of all, I am a human being; like Mr. Sands and like you. I don't have any supernatural powers nor am I a superhero. In fact, I'm no hero of any kind. Second, if I am such a big man, why are you 5" taller than me and physically stronger than I? I don't think you're afraid of how big I am, but more of how the damage I can inflict upon you can be big. Third and last, the 'things' I have done thus far aren't impossible. You see Mr. Wescott, pain eminates from one philosophy; if you think pain, you'll feel pain. The reason why I hardly felt pain against Mr. Sampson was the fact that I wasn't focused on what he was doing to me, but what I was going to do to him. If I were of to suffer any injuries at his hands, that wouldn't have derailed me from my train of thought on him.....nor would have it stopped me from getting where I am now. You give your woman too much credit Mr. Wescott, about how she scared off Maelstrom and now apparently, she is requesting the Burning Hammer to be illegal in our match. If I didn't know any better Mr. Wescott, it seems Ms. Troy has more balls than you do. Instead of hiding underneath her skirt and just rambling on like an incoherent idiot, stop her ***** from whipping you for one moment and be your own man. I don't care what restrictions she or anyone else requests, nor do I care if Mr. Ryan decided to accept those requests and put them forward in motion. Nothing and I repeat, nothing will stop me from my destiny..."

(Suicide puts the cigar out in the ashtray and takes another sip of his wine.)

Suicide: "You see gentlemen, when it's all said and done, win or lose, I will walk out of our match a survivor. Neither of you seem to be serious in trying to stop me, but just saying whatever comes of the top of your heads because it sounded good at the time. I'm not here to play games with you, I'm here to get down to business and do what I do best; wrestle. Nothing you say will come to reality unless you show me first hand. What you have seen of me thus far is just a taste of what I bring to the dinner table. You will both come to know first hand why I am The Man.....The Myth.....The Legend and why nothing you can say nor do will change that. Focus on the World Title and it will be the biggest mistake you ever made in your entire lives. Overlook me and underestimate me.....and I will end you. 'Nuff said...."

(Camera fades out to Suicide leaning back in his chair and turning away from view, relaxing.)

 

[MarcusWestcott]

A monster, and a moron

[Fade in to Beast's home in Winnipeg, Manitoba. There's been a lot of snow recently, and we see Beast outside on this warmer winter day, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and he's just making the last walk up his long driveway with the snowblower. When he's done, he shuts the machine off and wheels it back into the garage, and walks back out.]

Beast: You know, it's actually pretty funny. The great thinker of our day, Christian Sands, gets all pissed off because I insult his track suit - which would blind most humans - and then he comes back with the time honored sling of "b*tch".

What's the matter, Sands? Couldn't think of anything else? Your little brain couldn't whip up anything a little more insulting? Couldn't find anything more creative?

I just think it's great when people go off on others for one thing, and then resort to the very same tactics themselves. It's the pinnacle of third-grade mentality.

Congratulations, Sands. I'm looking forward to your next "World's Greatest Insults" book. I'll be the first in line to grab that sucker. I can't wait to find out what your next great insult is. Assh*le, perhaps?

Naw, that'd be too easy.

But it figures, Sands, that you're the type of guy that would take the easy way out. Your brain doesn't function on too high a level, obviously, so yeah, a low blow is certainly within your vacbulary. Sure, you'd do it again, because you're just NOT THAT GOOD. You do what it takes to win, fine, but that's just because you CAN'T win. So you resort to the cheap stuff. And if that's your playbook, then fine, but I just though that someone who wrestled the great Jean Rabesque - whoever the hell that is - and took him to a draw would want to rise up through the ranks and capture the Empire Pro Title on their own merit.

But don't sit there and give me excuses. You knew you were getting all you could handle, and you knew you couldn't win the right way, so you took the easy way out. Try and color it any way you want - you didn't have a f*cking CLUE what was going on when the lights went out. You knew you were in trouble, so you used the old penis punch and go the hell out.

But now, that's neither here nor there. You're in this match, and that's all that matters. But hey, if you want to, use all the cheap tactics in the world. Punch guys in the nuts. Poke them in the eyes. Use all the weapons you can find. And when you win that World Title, everyone is just going to sit back and LAUGH, because they know the guy that holds the belt doesn't deserve it. It'll just be a matter of time before you lose it to a REAL wrestler, anyway.

Everyone will know that you're not the best, Sands, and that's what holding that title is all about.

That's what I'm all about.

[Beast stops and looks around at the great winter day.]

Beast: Ahh yes. The great question.

What is it with us A1E guys? Why do we have such big egos?

Take a look in the freaking mirror, pal.

As I've explained over and over, I really don't have that big an ego. I'm just confident in what I can do. But if you would've listened to anything I've said in the past three weeks, you would know that. But it's alright, Sands. We all know that ADD is certianly sometimes a factor in people with less mental capacity. I won't think any less of you because of it.

You see, Sands, us A1E guys are simply out here to prove that we're what we say we are. I'm here to prove that I can be a Champion. I'm here to prove that I can be the best. There's this whole close-minded mentality that the FW circuit is the place to be. Well boys, PROVE IT TO ME. There's the mentality that if you're not from FW, then you're a sack of monkey sh*t. Hell, who had even HEARD of A1E before we were voted League of the Year by FWI? There's a reason for that Sands, and this week, you're going to find out firsthand.

You put up your nose when you hear names like A1E, but let me tell you something, brother, there's an awful lot of talent in those promotions not from the FW circuit, and I'd be willing to bet my EPW salary that a lot of them could come to EPW, or GXW, or NEW, or any fed here, and be dominant competitors.

That's exactly what I'm going to prove by capturing the EPW title.

But let me ask you a question, Sands? How is it that you can whine and complain about being called on a low blow to cheat your way into the next round, but when you get beat by questionable methods, you're all up in arms about it? When you do it, it's gospel, but when it happens to you, it's a federal crime?

How come I'm not allowed to talk about any of my A1E acheivements, but you're allowed to boast to the world that you wrestled Jean Rabesque to a draw in some other promotion?

What the hell have YOU done here in EPW, Sands? Punched a guy in the nuts to move on to the semis of a tournament? Very f*cking commendable.

Why don't you take your holier than thou bullsh*t and piss right off? And you whine about ME having an ego?

Christ.

Hello pot, meet kettle.

But I wouldn't expect anything less from you.

You're going to switch it into high gear at Aggression? You're going to punch BOTH me AND Suicide in the nuts?

Congratulations.

It'll be great to sit back and laugh when this guy from this "bush league" shows you exactly what he has, and beats you like the rented mule you are. And I'll even do it without the steroids.

That's right, Sands. I'm all natural, unlike all the women you've been with in the past. But it's just something else I'd expect from someone with half a brain.

This IS your time, Sands.

Time to get dropped on your head.

And that brings me to Suicide...

Hell, Sands wants to talk about ego, your name should have been one he brought up. Suicide, you want to be so bold as to claim that YOU are the one responsible for all the chaos going on here in EPW? You want to take responsibility for Johnathan Mark and is oh-so-brilliant little swerve? You want to take credit for Dan Ryan upsetting the order of things here in EPW? You want to take credit for the atmosphere in which Maelstrom turned tail and ran?

You give yourself a lot of credit, pal.

However, perhaps some of that credit is deserved. Now, excuse me for sucking your c*ck a little more, but I didn't know that offering a little bit of respect to one of my opponents was going to be so frowned upon, especially by a man who claims to be all about dignity and honor and respect. I'm not here to be your sidekick, or your cheerleader. I can stand out on my own very well, thank you very much. I was just passing some respect your way, and whether you accept it for what it is, or throw it to the ground and stomp on it, well that's your choice.

Maybe, Suicide, that you did create a little bit of that confusion when you aparently broke the necks of your last two opponents. Maybe you've created this aura of invincibilty. Maybe a guy like Sands is scared of you, because he has the neck of a chicken, but Suicide, I'm not. You may be a simple man, you may be a humble man, but in the end, ability to shut out pain or no...

You're just a man.

Now, excuse me if you think I'm underestimating you like you last two opponents apparently did, but I'm doing no such thing. I'm just telling it like it is. You may be a walking weapon of destruction, but when it all comes down to it, you're just human like I am.

Your muscles will still tear when they're pulled and forced the wrong way. You will still bleed when your head meets steel. Your bones will still break when enough pressure is applied to them in the correct manner.

You're still a man.

And all auras aside, you're still beatable.

And that's what I'm counting on next week. I may be receiving some criticism for calling the main event next week for the EPW Championship between you and I, Suicide, but let's face it, Sands is a tool. Both you and I know that we can get rid of this guy, and then the two behemoths will square off next week for the biggest prize in this company.

We *are* the two biggest dogs here, and your size aside, Suicide, you should know more than anyone else that it's not the size of the dog, it's the size of the fight in the dog. That being said, Suicide, you're a monster, whether you're seven feet tall, or you're five foot f*ck all.

Your abilities make you that big dog, Suicide, and I seem to be the only one to recognize that. I know who it is I have to beat, and once again, you can accept it, or not. They make you that big oak tree that stands out in the middle of the forest...

But come Aggression, it's time for that big oak tree to become nothing but pieces of tinder. It's time to chop the big tree down, to knock it down to size, to erase the aura.

And once that is done, Suicide, then you will be ready for me to defeat for the World Title.

Your mind is trained, it is strong. You know how to shut out the pain.

Excpet, you've never faced me before.

You want pain, I'll bring the pain.

I'll make you feel the pain.

And I'll give you the opportunity to do the same.

I had no idea that Lindsay had requested the Burning Hammer to be illegal in this match until just before my promo time. But right here and right now, Suicide, I'm telling you that I'm not afraid.

Bring on the Burning Hammer.

Bring anything you have. Try and burn the life from me, and I will attempt to cleanse EPW of you with the Absolution. I'm damned serious, Suicide, whether you think I am or not. I'm serious about not only stopping you, but *beating* you for that title.

It's time to expose the Myth for what he really is.

Just a man.

That can be BEAT!

[Camera fades as Beast turns to walk back into his house.]

 

[AUMedina]

Enter Reality

(Camera fades in to a black and white view of a brick wall with the Empire Pro backdrop over it. Standing in its view is a dark figure wearing a black trench coat and Fedora hat. Upon further inspection, it is none other than Suicide, standing silent and motionless, as smoke eminates from the bottom of the screen.)

Suicide: 'Tsk, tsk Mr. Wescott. You most certainly disappoint me. I spoke for no more than nine, maybe ten, minutes and already you're sounding like a desperate man. Taking my words and contorting them to suit your needs, as well as taking other words of mine and using them for your own. Apparently you didn't realize I already stated I thought of myself as a human being just like you and Mr. Sands. But I guess the term 'in one ear out the other' suits just fine. And I never stated I took credit for everything that's been going on in Empire Pro. You see all of this that's been happening thus far in Empire Pro was destined to happen. It was expected Mr. Wescott. The only thing no one expected was some son of a ***** like me to come from the depths of some dark recess in some far corner of Earth and open the eyes of those who wish to be blind to the lie. The lie of which I speak of Mr. Wescott is that everyone in Empire Pro, each wrestler who enters that ring, believes that they are the best. That by thinking as such, no man or woman or child can touch them. Apparently not only have I shown that anyone here can be touched, but can be broken."

(Suicide lifts the cigar that was in his hand and takes a puff.)

Suicide: "I never stated I was invincible, nor that I was untouchable. You Mr. Wescott decided to put those terms in my mouth for the simple fact you can make yourself feel justified in trying to judge me. I care not whether you are afraid of me, even though it seems, you are showing fear. Fear of the unknown, that of which you know nothing about me. All you can go on are presumptions that I'm some guy behind a mask that creates lies to make myself seem dangerous. What you saw of me in Empire Pro thus far have been anything but a lie. You continue to live in your self-created world of fantasy, yet you do not know that reality is staring you in the face, eye to eye. I don't play games Mr. Wescott. Games are for children, but if you wish to continue this game of yours, just remember this: when I play, I play for keeps. That means if I have to win some match between you, Mr. Sands, and myself, defeat Mr. Sands, then face you again, only to go ahead and defeat you to win some silly belt that people get their rocks off of, then so be it. I didn't enter this damn tournament to become a champion. I entered it to be a survivor. So far, I'm doing one hell of a bang-up job, pun intended."

(Suicide takes another puff of his cigar, bringing all his attention to the camera.)

Suicide: "I want you to give me everything you have. I wouldn't want anything else. I want you to try to hurt me, maim me, make me bleed, snap my bones, rip my muscles, and whatever else you can come up with in that feeble mind of yours. I want a ****ing challenge and I won't rest until someone in this damn place gives me one. I hope, nay, pray to the Lord Almighty himself that you are one of those men that can give it to me. I'm telling you Mr. Wescott, nay, promise you, if you don't show me what you're bragging about to me, you'll be wishing you were throwing your toothpick down Ms. Troy's Grand Canyon instead of trying to throw your body into mine. Because I will be waiting with open arms....only to close them around you and squeeze every last breath out of your body. I never stated I was undefeatable, but continue to contort my words into your own empty meanings and my being undefeated here in Empire Pro will continue to be a reality. I'm not defined by one word, by one wrestling move, or by one action. The sum of all my parts equal to the man you will be facing come Aggression, a man neither you nor Mr. Sands should take lightly. So stop with the petty words and show what really means something to me; action. 'Nuff said."

(Camera fades out as Suicide exhales a cloud of smoke into the lens.)

 

[JABolich]

(FADEIN: Nothing particularly exciting, just a room somewhere. SANDS sits on a steel chair, staring straight into the camera.)

Sands: I've learned something today, Beastie Boy - something very profound, just from listening to your little promotional segments.

Never expect intelligence from a Beast.

For a moment there I was going to jump back at you with a few more insults - but then I realized that you were basing your entire impression of me on one match that I happened to use a low blow in. Well, isn't that f*cking something. Let's go ahead and ignore the countless other matches I've won without resorting to such folly... ask Jon Marx about that, not to mention Kin Hiroshi... hell, screw those wins! 'Cause, like, I must be an invalid because I happened to use a low blow in one match! What a f*ckin' revelation, man! You've got me there. I guess one low blow renders my entire career invalid. Guess it's time to go back to the drawing board.

Hah! What a joke.

You've got nothing on me, Beast, and you know it - hell, you're even stealing my material. "What've you done, Beast?" "No, what've YOOOOU done, Master Sands?" Just ask Jon Marx and Rocko Daymon what I've done. Furthermore, ask the people on this circuit whom I've beaten or taken to their limits. People, I might add, who are RECOGNIZED as good by the majority - unlike your little bush-leaguers who are only on the map because Lindsay sucked off the FWI editors to get an award or two. Look at it this way - I routinely challenge people who are legitimate athletes who are more interested in wrestling than in gimmicks. YOU, on the other hand, hang around in a promotion where a recent World Champion used to prance down to the ring dressed as a Roman legionnaire. Maybe you should change your name to the Hallowe'en Wrestling Federation, because the last time I watched an A1E show it looked like a costume party. Wrestling clowns, wrestling Romans... what a circus.

So you wanna prove you can hang with the big boys, eh? Sorry, kid - no dice. Try if you want, but you're going to be disappointed, because you're obviously NOT on my level, and you know it. Hell, everyone knows who the man is around here - that, of course, being me. Well, everyone but a certain delusional Beast who thinks he's somehow better than me because he beat a jobber and a career midcarder to earn his spot.

Oh, and by the way - if your girl Lindsay had actually slipped by me thanks to her OWN dubious tactics, I'd have no problem. I take issue, however, when the fault lies with an IDIOT REFEREE who couldn't notice a foot on the ropes if it hit him in the face. Piggybacking on a ref's ignorance is just cheap. If you're going to play dirty, grow a set and do it yourself.

Heh... I bet she's getting all feisty now. She's cute when she's mad, you know.

But I'll tell you what. You come down to that ring and laugh it up like a good little monkey. And when you're done that, you can amuse yourself further by picking the pieces of your face up off the mat. And once THAT'S done, you can sit down and stare at the ceiling, thinking to yourself... "But... but... He didn't even use a low blow!"

Simply put, you're outclassed. Deal with it.

Now, as for Suicide...

Don't EVER, EVER make the mistake that I'm looking past you, pal, because I'm NOT stupid enough to make that mistake. Rather, I'm looking THROUGH you - and as such I will GO THROUGH YOU to achieve my goals. Namely, winning the World Title and proving that I'm better than both Sampson and you. Yes, we ARE all human... well, maybe not Beast, since he's more of a chimpanzee... but no two humans are created equal. It just so happens that I happen to be one of those who was created GREATER - and the best part is, every time I step between those ropes I become greater still. If you listened to Brown and I talk, you'll know that I fight to prove that I'm the best not only to the world, but most importantly to MYSELF. Thus, I become greater all the time - which means I'm fully capable of moving on in the tournament and proving once and for all that I AM the best there is in Empire Pro Wrestling, PERIOD.

I'll level with you. I honestly don't care which one of you two gets eliminated - at least not professionally. Personally, I'd like to see Beast get humiliated, but on a business level it doesn't matter. As long as I advance, I'm satisfied, because advancement means the opportunity to achieve my goals. So, to whichever of you finds himself out of contention - too bad, so sad.

And to he who moves on - get ready to move the hell over, because I'm coming for my title.

Try and stop me.

You'll fail, of course.

But it's the thought that counts.

(FADEOUT)

 

[MarcusWestcott]

Times change

[Scene fades in to the parking lot of the arena in Augusta, Maine, site of the just completed A1E's Tuesday

Night Warfare, where Beast and Lindsay Troy got a win in tag team action. Beast exits the arena, dressed

in jeans and a leather jacket, carrying two gear bags, his and Lindsay's. He walks up to his rental car, and

tosses the bags in the back seat and closes the door, before leaning on the side of the car, waiting for

Lindsay to show up.]

Beast: I'm sorry to disappoint you, Suicide.

I apologize for not being what you expected. That's fine. I can live with that. That's just one more heads up

I'm going to have on you when we step into the ring at Aggression.

But let me tell you one thing about me. I am definitely NOT a desperate man. Do I look like I'm running

around with a chicken with my head cut off? Am I the one hurling around third grade insults like Mr. Sands

is and blowing up at the slightest perceived indiscretion?

Take a look around, Suicide. When you look at me, you're looking at a pretty cool cucumber, not a guy

that's almost at the end of his rope.

There's a big difference between you and I, Suicide, and that's this whole destiny thing. You seem like a

pretty intelligent guy, an enlightened individual. If you choose to believe that everything that lies before

you, that everything that is going to happen in our futures is pre-determined, I'm not going to stop you.

However, I'm from a different school of thought. I believe that each man and woman has control of their

own destiny. I believe that we all have a big hand in creating our own futures. So you'll have to excuse me

if I chuckle just a little bit when you tell me that everything that's happened here in EPW so far is all destiny

- a madness that you've created, no matter how much you want to backpedal and deny it.

And you'll have to excuse me when I chuckle again and call bullsh*t when you say you're destined to win

the EPW championship.

You see, Suicide, there's two guys standing across the ring from you that would like to say that they're

going to have a hand in creating an alternate destiny for you. It may be your perceived destiny, but don't

you dare ignore the outside factors that are going to contribute to your success...

... or your failures.

Now, I've repeatedly said that I believe that it will be you and I in the finals next week, but even I'm not

closeminded enough to realize that Sands may come out with the world's biggest fluke and upset one of us

this week and change that - however slim the chances may be.

But the point is Suicide, when it comes to that gold belt that you obviously don't care a rat's ass about, men

who DO care about it will perform feats of incomprehensible skill and power to get their hands on it.

And you're wrong about another thing, Suicide. I haven't claimed that I was the best. I said I'm here to

PROVE that I am the best. When, and only when I hold that EPW Championship - THEN I make that claim,

not before.

Looks like I'm not as blind as you thought.

My eyes are open enough to see that anyone CAN be broken, Suicide...

Even YOU.

Ooops. Allow me to apologize. I used your own words against you again.

No, you never said you were invincible. You never said you were untouchable.

In so many words, at least. But coming out and telling everyone you feel no pain and walk through

everyone is close enough for me. Of course, those things were said in trying to impart a little respect on

you for your accomplishments.

But now, I've seen through the cigar smoke and the mirrors.

You're no longer unknown. You live in as much of a fantasy land as I do. As all of us in this business do.

There's nothing to fear.

You are not to be feared.

You are a challenge.

A challenge I welcome with open arms. No self-respecting athlete who wants to prove he is the best would

turn down any challenge from just a man. This is why I do what I do. This is why I wrestle. To take on any

and all comers to prove my worth. And no man that has injured a couple others a lives a myth is going to

stop me now. I don't play games either, Suicide. I am here to compete.

And that's exactly what I'm going to do.

If it comes down to you and me next week as I've predicted, you'd better prepare for the fight of your life.

You're going to get nothing less.

You'll get everything I have. That you can be assured of. Your prayers are answered, Suicide. I am the man you've been waiting for. I'm the man that's going to give you that challenge.

Like you, I am not defined by any one thing. However, what I AM known for is my skill, my heart, my guts, and my desire, and I'll put that up against your pain threshold any day.

That brings me to dear Mr. Sands...

I don't know where you've learned your lessons, Mr. Sands, but you're going to the wrong school. Beasts can be very intelligent, and in fact, several species have been noted for their recently undiscovered mental prowess.

I'd put the mind of any sloth up against your musings any day.

There's a phrase I'd like to bring to your attention, Sands...

First impressions are the most important ones.

I haven't seen you wrestle in any other promotion. I've seen you here in Empire Pro. And what I've seen of you here is that you're a snot nosed little punk who's taken the easy road, who hasn't earned his spot. And funny, here we go again - "ask all these past guys what I've done to them".

Well, Christine, you're the one that invalidated BOTH our past careers by decreeing that it didn't matter who I faced before I got to Empire Pro.

Same goes for you, dipsh*t.

So when asked "what have you done for me lately?", suddenly I'm looking a hell of a lot better than you are. Took Dan Ryan to the point where he had to quit so he wouldn't look bad. Won a three way dance AND beat Troy Douglas to get where I am right now.

CLEANLY, I might add.

And now, you continue to make yourself look like an ass by ripping on A1E for having a few guys who really live their gimmicks, while there are people on the FW circuit who think they have true super powers and fly around from place to place saving the common folk from disaster.

Wake up and smell the f*cking coffee.

If you're going to argue with me, at the bery least present a case where everything you say can't get thrown back in your own face. God, you look stupid when that happens.

You know something, Sands - you're actually right about something.

I'm NOT on your level.

[Beast makes a motion with his hand, waving it by his foot.]

Beast: You're down here.

[His hand goes up to the top of his head.]

Beast: And I'm up here.

You want me to prove I can "hang with the big boys"?

I've already done it.

And I'm going to do it again at Aggression, when I eliminate your sorry ass so the two real wrestlers in this company go on to compete for the title.

It's not going to be with a low blow or a foot on the ropes - a win that again, you'd take if given to you, but scream about when it happens to you. Your middle name should be hippocrite.

And Lindsay sure as hell is cute when she's mad - she's hot, actually. Too bad I'm the one with her, and not you, but I suppose that's the story of your life.

We'll see who's outclassed when you wake up and immediately have to shut your eyes because of the blinding lights up in the rafters. Then, when you sit up and realize the ring is empty, that Suicide and I have already gone to the back and our celebrating our acsension into the finals, you'll finally realize it.

Like Sands through the hourglass, these are the days of our lives.

These are the Beast's days, Sands.

Don't you ever forget it.

[Camera fades as Lindsay Troy walks out of the arena exit and heads over to the car. Beast opens the passenger door for her and gives her a quick kiss before walking around to the drivers side of the car.]

 

[AUMedina]

Let The Children Play....

(Camera fades in to the top of an abandoned building in Bronx, New York. The children around it play in the streets, laughing and enjoying themselves. Carefree of the world about them; as they run to and fro. A lone figure sits on the stoop of the abandoned building, watching them intently. Leaned forward with elbows rested on his lap, Suicide looks at the activity with interest. Wearing an eye patch over his right eye, with his long black hair flowing in the wind, Suicide keeps his focus on the children, as the camera zooms on him directly.)

Suicide: "Innocence, sweet innocence. How the children play so innocently. The harsh, cold world around them not hindering their fun one moment. They don't bicker, they don't snipe, they don't argue. These are the times of each and every person's life that should be enjoyed without a single care in the world. No responsibilities, no rules as far as the world of imagination is concerned; they are the creators of their own future. When anger consumes them and arguments forge, they settle them in a manner that is respected by all who inhabit this Earth. You could say that although they have no rules in the world of adulthood, they are mature enough to know right from wrong, good from bad, reality from fantasy...."

(Suicide turns his focus to the camera, keeping still with his hands clasped together.)

Suicide: "So when my opponents decide to bicker and throw slander at one another, while trying to sound intelligent throwing their banter at me, they do not act like that of respectable, responsible adults but even worse than children; babies. Crying for attention; wanting and needing every substance to keep them going. They don't think what they are saying before hand nor care what they say; as long as it sticks to the other person like glue, they've accomplished something in their mind, giving them their instant gratification. Mr. Wescott throwing the lowball tactics of Mr. Sands in his face; Mr. Sands throwing the on goings of another promotion that Mr. Wescott is currently a part of in his face......and yet they forget what's truly important. They don't realize that while they argue needlessly, they are basically handing me this match on a silver platter. And while some would seize this opportunity and celebrate a bit early.....I'm disappointed."

(Suicide leans back against the stoop, resting his elbows now on the cold concrete steps, still focused on the camera.)

Suicide: "Why am I disappointed? Because you see both Mr. Wescott and Mr. Sands do not take this match seriously. And if they do not take this match seriously....they don't take me seriously. And by not taking me seriously.....they don't take their own lives seriously. I've stated my peace. I've laid down what I feel before them and what do they do? They toss it aside because instead of realizing there are two other people in this match they must face, they only see each other as the threat. Going on and on endlessly like a broken record, trying to spin each other's words to benefit them in their games of mind chess. Instead of studying the board and devising a strategy to make the kill, they move pieces blindly to make it seem they know what they are doing. But you see Mr. Wescott and Mr. Sands....you don't know what you are doing. You may think you know what you are getting yourself into.....but you don't know what it is you are getting yourselves into...."

(Suicide scratches his chin as he looks off to the side for a moment. He then turns his head back towards the camera, staring at it with his left eye intently.)

Suicide: "Mr. Sands, of all the great accomplishments you have made thus far in your career, of all the improvements you have made in your wrestling skills in each and every match.....do you really think this impresses me? If you are so greater than I, why take the low road of spewing profanities to get your point across? Howling like a banshee just so I can notice? Mr. Sands, I already noticed you....the moment you first stepped into the ring and showed the world your prowess. Your obsession with Sampson and the fact that I snapped him as easily like a twig has got to you so much that it has now consumed your every thought when it comes to me. It's eating you up from the inside, which I can perfectly see. You’re blind Mr. Sands.....so blind to the lie. You don't care for the truth because the only thing that you'll ever believe is true in this world.....is what comes out of your mouth. Your mind is deceiving you Mr. Sands, it's telling you that you can defeat me, that I'm just a fluke, someone you can walk all over with ease. What you'll come to learn once I finally open your eyes is, you're no better than me as I'm better than you. When it comes time for our match, it isn't who wants it more Mr. Sands, it will be who wants to survive. I've been a survivor all my life, even if I have had to make sacrifices; physical, mental, or emotional. When you are ready to make that kind of sacrifice Mr. Sands, that's when you are ready to defeat me. But at this point and time......it looks like the only way you're going to win is by pure luck or miraculously wake up from the illusion you surrounded yourself in. It's time to wake up Mr. Sands....."

(Suicide leans now on one elbow, as he continues to keep his gaze on the camera.)

Suicide: "Mr. Wescott, apparently you keep regurgitating the same crap over and over when it's in reference to me. Again you place words in my mouth in the attempt to catch me. Catch me with what? In a lie? Where have I said I feel no pain. I feel pain all the time. Its how much focus you put on that pain. If you make it seem like it's the most important thing in your life, it will consume you and devour you whole. But if you realize pain is nothing more than a thought your mind produces to make you realize something's happening, then you learn to dilute it in your psyche over time. Just like your empty words Mr. Wescott. Nothing more than a thought you’re producing in your mind. And it's not affecting me one bit. If you wish to believe everything that I have done, all that I have accomplished thus far in Empire Pro is mere myth, then Mr. Wescott......you are living a lie as well. Claiming because I don't bust my ass to win a title I don't bust my ass at all is the myth you're producing. Every single night I enter that ring, I give everything I have of myself. Because I know full well that every match I'm in may be my last. I never claimed my destiny was pre-determined. I don't even know what lies before me, even when our match commences. Every destiny is shaped by one's hands, this much is true. But if you don't believe in fate my friend, then what hope do you have? I'm not destined to become World Champion, nor is it fate that I will become it. But if it is my destiny to be the first ever Empire Pro World Heavyweight champion....then so be it. That isn't my concern when the time comes for the final battle to decide such.....nor is it my concern in my match against you and Mr. Sands. My focus isn't a damn strap of leather with gold encrusted on it....it's on you. Until you pull your head from out under yours, Ms. Troy's, or even Mr. Ryan's ass, you leave yourself open for defeat."

(Suicide stands up from the stoop, pushing himself off of it.)

Suicide: "I don't claim to be the best, I don't claim to be brightest, but I am the most effective wrestler you'll ever come across. If you two want to have a debate with one another over who is the better man, go right ahead. Because when the bell rings, none of that matters. What comes down to it are the actions we perform, not the words we form with our mouths. If you want to prove anything; to Mr. Ryan, to Mr. Freeman, to the fans, to the other wrestlers, to each other....to me, then do it in the ring. I'm ready, I'm prepared, and I'm focused for this battle. I will be there at Aggression, battle armor...."

(Suicide lifts up his mask with the futuristic S symbol on the front.)

Suicide: "and weapons...."

(Suicide lifts up his fists to the camera. As he points his fists towards the camera, the right first, shown on the left of the screen, has the words "LOVE" tattooed on them. The left fist shown on the right of the screen has the words "HATE" tattooed on them.)

Suicide: "There's a fine line you gentlemen will have to cross in order to defeat me. I hope you're ready to perform such an action when the time comes. 'Nuff said...."

(Camera fades out on Suicide's fists still jutting out towards the camera.)

 

[JABolich]

The Zoo

(FADEIN: A reststop along some highway somewhere. Parked near a large oak tree is a gloss-black Lamborghini Diablo, next to which CHRISTIAN SANDS sits in his dark trenchcoat and Oakley shades.)

Sands: This is starting to get ridiculous.

Alright, Beast. I'm not even going to try justifying myself to you, because it's clear that everything I say is bouncing off you like a brick wall. If you want to convince yourself that I'm just some punk who can't win matches without hitting below the belt, that's your prerogative - even if you ARE completely and utterly wrong. Your opinion of me means zilch, Beast, simply because I don't take advice from born curtain-jerkers. Listening to you sit there and roll out the old "you sound like a three-year-old" and "you have a small mind" lines OVER AND OVER makes me wonder what you're trying to compensate for. Lack of skill? Lack of knowledge of what I'm really capable of?

Insecurity over the fact that you're in over your head?

But whatever. Think what you want. But your present line of thought is basically setting you up for a fall, because when you come into a match expecting something less than what you get, you're going to have problems - problems that include losing the match in humiliating fashion.

Grow up, Beast. You accuse ME of acting like a child, but you're no better, sitting there talking about how I'm a punk because I happened to use a low blow once and rambling on about how you're SO far above my level because you beat a jobber and a midcarder. Good boy. Now let's shoot you down.

One. You beat Dan Ryan because Ryan LET YOU WIN, sport. As far as I'm concerned that match is entirely invalid.

Two. Mike Diamond has won one match in his career on this circuit. Troy Douglas talks a big game, but as soon as he gets a scratch on his pinky he takes an extended hiatus to "heal".

Three. As much as I like to run him down, Rocko Daymon is a multi-time World's Champion and a fierce competitor when he's motivated - which he was when I fought him. Jonathan Marx is hailed as one of the best and brightest on this circuit and currently leads New Frontier Wrestling's North Division in victories. And the dragon boy knows me better than most people on the circuit, considering that I singlehandedly made his career, so it's no surprise that he's able to give me a good match.

Thus, I think it's safe to conclude that I've faced stiffer competition than YOU have.

But that doesn't matter to you, of course. You're too caught up in the illusion of my supposed ineptitude to admit that there might just be more to Christian Sands than meets the eye. But like I said, that's cool, bro. I'm down with that. I hope you keep it up, in fact.

It'll make my job a LOT easier... and leave me with someone intelligent to banter with in the finals.

Namely Suicide.

Seems you're the only one here who's actually halfway rational, Sui. Good. Means less migraines for me come promo time. Don't worry, though - Beast's mindless drivel gives me enough headaches to cover your share.

I haven't really devoted as much promo time to you, Suicide, because you haven't really said anything to offend me - hell, anything that jumps out at me. But this round is different, because you're wrong about something.

If you think I'm not taking this match seriously, you're falling into the same trap Beast is falling into - that is, not understanding what I'm all about. If you'd listened to my first couple of promos, you'd know that I take this match VERY seriously because it's a chance for me to accomplish my goals. With the Empire World Title on the line, I can't affort NOT to take this match seriously, especially since claiming the title makes me the best in this promotion by default.

But don't you come talking to me about surviving, because I've been there. Last year I was in an unsanctioned match in which I was thrown into a pile of wood and burned to within an inch of my life. Most predicted that I would die of my injuries. Yet here I am. I courted death and SURVIVED. So don't you talk to ME about surviving until you've been there, lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to life-support, watching your life flash before your very eyes, staring down towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

Don't talk to ME about surviving until you've turned the hell around and walked away from that light.

I've stared death straight in the eye and slapped it in the face. I'd do it again if I had to. So don't go thinking that I'm not willing to sacrifice, because that's leading you down the same road Beast's heading down.

My mind is perfectly clear, and my sights are set on the prize. Anything set in my path will be overcome. There will be no luck involved.

I don't care what I have to do to win the title - I'll do it.

Even if it means slapping death in the face one more time.

(FADEOUT)

 

[AUMedina]

Death Becomes Me

(Camera fades in to a large cemetary somewhere located in New York City. Millions of headstones are lined up in military fasion through fields of lightly snowed grass. As the camera moves about the cemetary, a dark figure sits against one such headstone. As the camera zooms in closer, a man dressed in a trench coat and Fedora sits silently. It is revealed to be Suicide, as he stares at the ground through his mask.)

Suicide: "Death is silent, yet effective. Once you're gone, you're gone. There is no coming back. No matter what one has done in their lives, meaningful or not, that will stay with them even when they are six feet under. Death is not a joke. Making light of such, mocking it, joking about it will not make it fade away in obscurity. You either accept it or deny its existance."

(Suicide lifts his head up, staring into the camera from behind his mask.)

Suicide: "Mr. Sands, it seems your stories about your near-death experiences are nothing more than jokes created to try to make me think. Well Mr. Sands, you did a good job in that because I have done some thinking about what you have said. It seems you have a flaw your story. If indeed you were burned to within an inch of your life, wouldn't you have lost at least somewhere around the ballpark figure of 75 to 90 percent of your flesh? And who donated all of that new skin you apparently have on your being right now? Takes a lot of human flesh to cover a body, being it is the largest organ on our body. Would you not only still be suffering to this day? And how do you look so flawless Mr. Sands? Your white flesh having hardly a flaw all over it?"

(Suicide takes off his Fedora and places it on his lap.)

Suicide: "To say I do not know about sacrifices, about near death experiences is a joke. I've been in many death matches; electrocuted and my flesh ripped apart by steel barbs. Of course I don't expect your pity. I've been stabbed in the match Mr. Sands.....literally by someone who I once called my best friend."

(Suicide turns to his side and opens his jacket, showing a 4-inch scar running on the left side of his back.)

Suicide: "On that day, I lost my kidney, my best friend, and any mental stability I had left. But again, I don't expect pity from you or anyone else. I had a ****ing spoon Mr. Sands.....you heard me, a ****ing spoon used to rip out my right eye."

(Suicide reaches for his mask and pulls it off. He then reaches towards his right eye and pulls out the glass eye that was in there. He then rests it in his open palm, shown in front of the camera.)

Suicide: "I'm a walking, talking cyclops Mr. Sands and for the last time, I don't care for your pity. What does it all mean Mr. Sands? Absolutely nothing. The point I'm making it is no matter what kind of near-death experiences you, me, and anyone else in this world have been through, that's all they were; near death. We didn't die, but we survived. Survival is what really matters in this match Mr. Sands. If that isn't what you're gearing yourself for and instead putting your focus on the World Title.....you will cease to exist. Do what you have to do to win the title; I will do the same to survive against you and Mr. Wescott. But I am a man of honor, I need to not stoop myself to succeed. So bring all your dirty little tricks that you can conjure up Mr. Sands; you will need them when you face The Man...The Myth....The Legend.....because you will not just stare into the face of your opponent come Aggression.....you will stare into the face of Death himself......'nuff said...."

(Suicide stands up and walks away off camera. As he leaves, the camera focuses on the headstone, which reads "Here lies Ulysis Carlos Solian". The camera then finally fades out.)

 

[JABolich]

(FADEIN: The shoulder of a highway, where CHRISTIAN SANDS' black Lamborghini is parked. SANDS is standing quietly next to it, his arms folded across his chest,)

Sands: Exactly when did I turn into the laughingstock of this match? First it's Beast acting like I'm a joke, now I've got Mister Cookie-Cutter Grim Insane Badass Suicide passing off my career as a joke. You think it's funny? You think I'm here just to give you a few yuks, pal?

Think what you want, but in the end you won't be laughing.

I honestly can't tell you exactly how I got away from that fire reasonably intact because my memory of the match is very hazy. I was basically walking around unconscious for most of it and had to watch the tapes to remember what happened. But in all honesty this entire line of thought is irrelevant, seeing as I really don't care that you got knifed in a barfight by your drinking buddy or what have you. Really, the only one of those battle scars I'm concerned about is the eye, but the reason for that should be fairly obvious.

You have this obsessive fixation on survival - and frankly, it's starting to sound flat-out stupid. But yeah, you go ahead and approach this match thinking it's just about surviving. Anyone can survive, Suicide. Any average Joe can walk into a match and just survive - but he won't win. Hell, even Rob Sampson - whom I am, incidentally, much better than - even HE can survive. Jobbers like Mike Diamond can survive - but that doesn't mean they win matches. So you're right - you can survive, in that you'll still be around to talk about the match when it's all over

What separates the men from the boys, Suicide, is the ability to not just survive, but to EXCEL.

I approach every match with the mentality of excelling at what I do. Because of that, I'm driven to win, because victory proves to me and to the world that not only can I survive, I can take the next step and excel as a competitor and as a human being. Of course surviving is part of excelling - but NOT all of it, because surviving is something that can be achieved by any wrestler worth his or her salt - even a cycloptic walking cliché.

If you're a Legend, then I'm Barbra Streisand. But really, I invite you to bask in your proclamations that you are indeed the man, the myth, and the legend. Don't get too comfortable, though, because legends aren't always true. Furthermore, legends can be beaten. Long story short: Regardless of how mythical you may fancy yourself, I will shred through that facade and PISS all over your legend.

But that's alright, because you're a survivor, ain't cha?

Well, good for you, boy. I'll even admit it. You're a survivor.

But there are two things you're not going to be.

A winner.

And a MAN.

Catch you on the flip side... Mr. Survivor.

 

[MarcusWestcott]

Return!

Scene fades in to Beast sitting outside on a bench near a public school. The kids are playing outside during a break, when all of a sudden one child takes a ball from another, and when the first one tries to get his ball back, chaos erupts and a brawl nearly breaks out before some teachers run outside to break things up.

Beast: Hmm. Not as innocent as some people would like to believe. Nope. While kids are extremely cute, and they are a joy to be around and the treasures of young families everywhere, don't for a second believe that all children are the epitome of innoncence, cause it just ain't so.

There are rules, and the ones that think they can get away with it, they break them. All the innocence disappears, and they're left with the breakdown of their fantasy into pure reality...

But if Suicide wants to live in his little fantasy world, that's fine with me. Sitting there with his little cigar... immune to all that anyone can throw at him.

Well you know, Suicide, there's always a bully in every schoolyard that thinks that just because he uses bigger words than everyone else, or because he hurts all the others that he can do whatever he damned well pleases.

You're EPW's answer to the schoolyard bully. Just because you say it is so, it is supposed to be so. Just because you create this image, everyone else is supposed to run away screaming, scared to death of what big bad Suicide is going to do to them.

Well, Suicide, all the others can turn tail and run away, but we all know that every bully's end must come. It's inevitable that someone comes along and finally chops the bully down to size. There's always a new hero waiting to be born in every schoolyard, and this week, Suicide, you're standing across the ring from him.

I've sat back the last few days while I've been busy with A1E business, and I've watched what's going on here in EPW, and man, I gotta tell you, a man can only take so much drivel before he throws up. I've sat back and watch you spill nonsense. You think that Sands and I have handed you this match on a silver platter? Think again, dude. As much as I think Sands is a pr*ck, we're the only two guys showing any passion for what we're doing. Sands is defending his career vehemently, with the passion of a man who truly believes in what he's doing, and I'm doing the same, showing my passion for A1E and everything I've done.

All the while, you sit here on your little self-made pedestal, telling us we're a waste of your precious time.

All I can say about that is f*ck you, pal.

I know Sands is going to go in there ready for the fight of his life. He wants to kick your ass as much as he does mine. He's going to give it his all. And me?

Hell, I was ready to make one of the hardest decisions of my life and turn and walk out of EPW because I didn't think I had the time to truly devote myself to two promotions. I didn't think I had what it took to give everyone truly my best.

And then I see you go off and tell us we're not taking anything seriously. We're not taking you seriously. We're not taking ourselves seriously.

Let me tell you something, jack*ss.

I've never been more serious about anything in my entire life. It's not often you get a chance to start over in a new promotion. It's not often you get a chance to build a new company from the ground up and pick it up on your shoulders and carry it to fruition. And it's not too damned often you get the shot to define a new era in professional wrestling, so when I was sitting at home and saw your ugly mug not take US seriously, that's when I decided that a punk b*tch like you had to be taken down. I picked my ass up and I came back, and dammit, I'm here to stay.

And I'm going to be doing it as the first ever EPW Champion.

Suicide, your ego is running at about 13 - the amp's cranked up way too damn high for my liking. It's time to turn you down a notch.

Once upon a time, I said that it was going to be you and I heading into the title finals next week at Black Dawn. I was a frigging idiot. You're not all you've cooked yourself up to be. Empty words? Move over Beast, the King of the Verbal Grand Canyon Suicide is in the house! How much waxing poetic bull**** can one man hide behind?

Look, it doesn't matter you god damned much you think about it, but man, you're going to feel pain this week. You can push it off into the back of your mind, you can not think about, but Suicide, even in the dampness and darkness that is your mind, you're just a man. And a much smaller man than I am, to your own admittance. Every man has a threshold, Suicide - only so much they can take before they snap - or one of their bones do - and I am going to push you to every physical, emotional, and mental limit. I'm going to find that limit, Suicide, and when I find it, I'm going to shove you 10 miles past that limit - no matter little superhuman story you cook up in your own mind - and I'm going to laugh my ass off when I hear that breaking point, when I hear that snap, and then I'm going to break you even farther.

When this is all said and done, I'm going to be remembered less as the first EPW Champion than I will for being the guy that made Suicide crack. The man that broke through that frosty interior and showed the world what you truly are - a man with limits. It's like Rocky against Drago... Hogan against Andre... I'm going to push you past everything you thought possible and do what everyone thought impossible.

I'm breaking you.

As for Mr. Sands...

You know, it is getting a little ridiculous. We can stand here and rip on each other all day long, but we're beyond that now. There's nothing left for words to say. You're confident in your abilities and I'm confident in mine. Only the battle in the ring is going to tell the story.

But the only problem is, we're not going to get a chance to do that this week. We've got a big cigar smoking, patch wearing, hot-air spewing, tatoo wearing sack of monkey sh*t standing in the ring with us, and it's not going to be a clean match no matter how we slice it.

There's only one way that you and I are going to settle this, and that's one on one. We need the ring to ourselves - us and Suicide's ego all aren't going to fit in that ring.

What better way to finally find out who the best is, than to defeat the other for the title? You want to find out who the born curtain-jerker is? Bring it on, pal. Let's find out who the true best is. I walk into each match expecting to get my ass kicked. That's what motivates me to find a way to fight back and take out the other guy before it gets done to me. If you think I'm underestimating you, if you think I'm underestimating anybody, you're way out if left field, and you're looking up into the sun. You're blind, because that simply isn't true.

I know I'm doing a bit of a 180 here - like I said to the schoolyard bully, I had originally thought it was going to be him and I in the finals. But now, I see him for the transparent waste of flesh he really is. I still think you're a bit of a pr*ck, and I'm sure the feeling is mutual. However, at this point, I have a great deal more respect for you right now than I do Suicide.

It's the lesser of two evils, really.

Now, I can sit here and listen to you two bicker back and forth about who's been hurt the most, or who's been burned the most, or who has the longest... scar...

But I'm not going to worry about that any longer.

I'm simply going to show up at Aggression and do what it is I do best. What I was born to do. I live, eat, sleep, drink and breathe this great sport of ours, and I'll be damned if I don't prove to each and every one of the fans, and the guys in the back what Beast is all about...

And that's being the best.

Gentlemen, I will settle for nothing less.

There's three of us left, and it's time for one of the Survivors to get voted off the island. I will not settle for third place. I will not settle for second. I will not stop until that EPW Championship is around my waist - Suicide, Christian Sands - or even Dan Ryan - be damned.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Beast has arrived. And he's here to stay.

Look out, EPW. This Beast's fangs are bared, and he's going to sink his teeth into that Championship...

... or he's going to die trying.

It's time to show everyone exactly who the Alpha Male is.

Beast gets off the bench and walks away as the camera fades to black.