Macc24
League Member
Survival is the ability to last another day. You know how to survive, Brock, but can you kill? Can you smell blood?
(FADEIN - to the very blurry, 90s rendition of high tech camera equipment. There's just something about the picture that screams... prehistoric. The streets of Detroit Avenue are littered and unkept. Michigan Avenue is a ghost town these days, but at this time... with Tiger Stadium still looming in the backdrop and the mediocrity of the Tigers enough to sell maybe 2000 tickets a game, the morale in the city of Detroit is at an all time low. The crime rate at an all time high, the city is among the nations leaders in crime rate.)
(CUTTO - A young, 20 year old Brock Alyas... pumped up with anabolics and half-drunk of the remains of a fifth of rye. Clad in a Al Wissam sweatsuit, toothpick charasmatically hanging out of his mouth... he looked like he meant business this morning. He looked like he was waiting for something... and then the nearby payphone rang.)
BROCK: "Hello?"
UNKNOWN: "Okay, he should be walking Eastbound down Mich. Ave. any second. You can't miss him, the fat ****in' tub of lard. Do 'em nice and you'll be rewarded,"
(BROCK hung up the phone and moved swiftly down the nearest alley. The housing projects allowed for you to see across the street from the alley and Brock used them as a guard but also as a vantage point. He caught sight of a fat italian male who even walked with an attitude. Around this time, the warlords of Detroit were at war with out of towners from New York trying to expand their family business, small-time mafia. Brock worked for the local gang who was predominantly ran by blacks, but also worked hand in hand with impoverish whites who were living through the same struggle of the auto industry dominant neighbourhoods.)
(BROCK took a deep breath and headed down back towards that payphone. He kneeled down to hide himself, threw on his hood and slipped on a skimask. The italian male approached the corner and Brock looked as if he was seconds away from making his move. At this point he removed the Glock 17 from his waist line and held it at his side, clicking off the safety. The obnoxious bastard approached where Brock was hiding and as he was in hearing distance away, BROCK proceeded to fire shots in the air to prove his point.)
(The man tried to flee, he was familiar to the sound of a glock. Brock however, had different plans as he kicked him in the back of the leg and brought him into. The man weeped and pleaded with BROCK, but it appeared as if he didn't want to hear any of it.)
BROCK: "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! You're in the wrong neighbourhood. You're ****ing with the wrong people and you get to be made an example. Don't worry, all your friends are soon to follow,"
POP POP! POP POP!
(FF to PRESENT DAY)
(BROCK awoke from his terrible day-dream/nightmare. Cold sweat appeared on his face, an alarming heart rate along with an increase in blood pressure followed. CVS' most recent promo played on the flatscreen in his living room. BROCK caught his breath and calmed himself down, using breathing techniques and the notice of reality settled in. This was a place he hadn't been for a long time, and some demons he hadn't had an encounter with.)
BROCK: "Am I able to kill? Your ignorance to the one whose earned himself contendership to your title amuses me, Castor. I wouldn't expect any less from an unworthy champion much like yourself. It doesn't surprise me anything I've said or done in this company has flown under your radar. Remove the cobweb props you spend so much time decorating your promos with and take that stupid gasmask off your face and listen closely,
"If you think, for one minute that you can take me lightly and assume that your ridderic can apply to, like it has - the weak, inferior opponents you've gotten to defend your title against... you're even crazier than you've all lead us to believe. You think you can disect me like some sort of ****ing therapist and attach a cheesy gimmick or storyline to my name? You've got another thing coming. I've dealt with unpredictable idiots like you my entire life, what makes you any different is the fact that my vision is clear now. My path to legacy has been swept and if you'd like to continue to play the role of misinformed, ignorant champion... it will make my job of taking that title off of your hands... that much easier."
"I've heard I'll be stepping into the ring with the most deviant, the most dangerous man with every opponent I've had in this entire company. Nobodies been capable of doing what you claim to be able to do, break my will. I've come just about as close to ending undefeated streaks as ANYBODY in this company... a man you wouldn't dare even step in the ring with yet. So what makes you think you're so volatile? Talk is cheap and when you finally figure out just who the number one contender for your title is, we'll see the real Castor, the man behind the gas mask. I cannot WAIT to be the guy who shows NFWnation who the **** you REALLY are,"
(FADE)
(FADEIN - to the very blurry, 90s rendition of high tech camera equipment. There's just something about the picture that screams... prehistoric. The streets of Detroit Avenue are littered and unkept. Michigan Avenue is a ghost town these days, but at this time... with Tiger Stadium still looming in the backdrop and the mediocrity of the Tigers enough to sell maybe 2000 tickets a game, the morale in the city of Detroit is at an all time low. The crime rate at an all time high, the city is among the nations leaders in crime rate.)
(CUTTO - A young, 20 year old Brock Alyas... pumped up with anabolics and half-drunk of the remains of a fifth of rye. Clad in a Al Wissam sweatsuit, toothpick charasmatically hanging out of his mouth... he looked like he meant business this morning. He looked like he was waiting for something... and then the nearby payphone rang.)
BROCK: "Hello?"
UNKNOWN: "Okay, he should be walking Eastbound down Mich. Ave. any second. You can't miss him, the fat ****in' tub of lard. Do 'em nice and you'll be rewarded,"
(BROCK hung up the phone and moved swiftly down the nearest alley. The housing projects allowed for you to see across the street from the alley and Brock used them as a guard but also as a vantage point. He caught sight of a fat italian male who even walked with an attitude. Around this time, the warlords of Detroit were at war with out of towners from New York trying to expand their family business, small-time mafia. Brock worked for the local gang who was predominantly ran by blacks, but also worked hand in hand with impoverish whites who were living through the same struggle of the auto industry dominant neighbourhoods.)
(BROCK took a deep breath and headed down back towards that payphone. He kneeled down to hide himself, threw on his hood and slipped on a skimask. The italian male approached the corner and Brock looked as if he was seconds away from making his move. At this point he removed the Glock 17 from his waist line and held it at his side, clicking off the safety. The obnoxious bastard approached where Brock was hiding and as he was in hearing distance away, BROCK proceeded to fire shots in the air to prove his point.)
(The man tried to flee, he was familiar to the sound of a glock. Brock however, had different plans as he kicked him in the back of the leg and brought him into. The man weeped and pleaded with BROCK, but it appeared as if he didn't want to hear any of it.)
BROCK: "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! You're in the wrong neighbourhood. You're ****ing with the wrong people and you get to be made an example. Don't worry, all your friends are soon to follow,"
POP POP! POP POP!
(FF to PRESENT DAY)
(BROCK awoke from his terrible day-dream/nightmare. Cold sweat appeared on his face, an alarming heart rate along with an increase in blood pressure followed. CVS' most recent promo played on the flatscreen in his living room. BROCK caught his breath and calmed himself down, using breathing techniques and the notice of reality settled in. This was a place he hadn't been for a long time, and some demons he hadn't had an encounter with.)
BROCK: "Am I able to kill? Your ignorance to the one whose earned himself contendership to your title amuses me, Castor. I wouldn't expect any less from an unworthy champion much like yourself. It doesn't surprise me anything I've said or done in this company has flown under your radar. Remove the cobweb props you spend so much time decorating your promos with and take that stupid gasmask off your face and listen closely,
"If you think, for one minute that you can take me lightly and assume that your ridderic can apply to, like it has - the weak, inferior opponents you've gotten to defend your title against... you're even crazier than you've all lead us to believe. You think you can disect me like some sort of ****ing therapist and attach a cheesy gimmick or storyline to my name? You've got another thing coming. I've dealt with unpredictable idiots like you my entire life, what makes you any different is the fact that my vision is clear now. My path to legacy has been swept and if you'd like to continue to play the role of misinformed, ignorant champion... it will make my job of taking that title off of your hands... that much easier."
"I've heard I'll be stepping into the ring with the most deviant, the most dangerous man with every opponent I've had in this entire company. Nobodies been capable of doing what you claim to be able to do, break my will. I've come just about as close to ending undefeated streaks as ANYBODY in this company... a man you wouldn't dare even step in the ring with yet. So what makes you think you're so volatile? Talk is cheap and when you finally figure out just who the number one contender for your title is, we'll see the real Castor, the man behind the gas mask. I cannot WAIT to be the guy who shows NFWnation who the **** you REALLY are,"
(FADE)