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NWL Combat: The Watcher vs. Krusher

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Starbreaker

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Joined
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Messages
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Location
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One-way trip....

Fade in: on a pitch-black sky. Only a clump of stars show here and there, due to the thick clouds blocking most of what lies above. The moon does shine brilliantly down onto the streets, which are mostly desolate right now as the shot pans down to them. The focus then moves back, the streets being enclosed upon by the wooden framework of a glass window. Still drawing back further, we see a sterno set up on a small table, with a pot being heated on it. The shot stops moving back as the shabby apartment housing of the Watcher is shown. Bunches of three candles have been placed in two corners of the room, providing some illumination. The shot then finds the man, himself, and immediately something is different. Watcher is not wearing his usual costume, gloves, and mask. He still has on a pair of boots, but this time we see more casual attire. A black hooded sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants make up his attire. The hood is placed over his head, however, and Watcher keeps his face lowered to the wooden floorboards as he sits against a wall. The circular rug in the middle of the room has a newspaper spread out upon it, but Watcher doesn't look at it. He is sitting with one leg bent and the other crossed under it, his arms resting on his knee and thigh.

Watcher: The National Wrestling League has gotten underway. Taking its first steps, officially, by starting the Heavyweight Title tournament. It was a success, and that means the next show will go on. The only significance that has to me...is that I will continue to compete in the Heavyweight Title tournament. Nothing else matters right now....only the fact that I move on, and Edy Feria does not. I was expecting to take on Theo again, or Shawn Hart...but that will not happen. Both men have withdrawn from the tournament.

Watcher pauses and draws in a breath, sounding like a sniff.

Watcher: Ohh, but Medina still has plans for me. I can't say I wouldn't have taken a pass in the second round to the finals, but there is a certain...satisfaction to earning one's way to that point. Being that I have been a victim to circumstance and controversy for so long that I can't even recall the exact time period....I didn't expect my path to be standard. Conventional. Smoothly set out. Instead, things have been reworked where I am concerned. The matches have been organized in my bracket so that....Krusher...you will be the next one that I step into the ring with.

The sound of the wind beating against the shut window can be heard above Watcher, but he remains in his slouched and bent position and simply listens for a few moments.

Watcher: I'll make things clear to you right away, Krusher. I don't want your pity, nor do I want to hear your rap. I know it, I heard you before your match against Minion. There's no need for you to try showing how tough you are through words or actions outside of the ring. It won't make a difference in the end. Hopes and dreams do not exist for me anymore. I thought they might...but I was wrong, and I learned that only after stepping into the ring here. I learned that there is no hope other than the one that cannot be described. There is hope. But there are no hopes, because that's the equivalent of ambitions...and ambition does not mean one single thing here. Ambition cannot help anyone...there are only two things that can. Action and reaction. Your reaction, and subsequent actions towards my words will have an affect on both of us, and vice versa. When we get into the ring, actions and reactions will determine our fates. Those two things will decide who gets each of the five slots for the Round Robin.

Watcher moves his arms off of his knee and thigh, placing them in the pockets on the front of the hooded sweatshirt.

Watcher: How will you react to seeing me...a man in a mask. Will that bother you, that I conceal myself? Some might say yes...other no. There is no wrong answer. I have my reasons for donning the gear, and invoking the name of the Watcher.....

Removing his hands from the pockets, we find Watcher holding the mask in his hands, unfolding it. He lifts up his head, but has the mask block the camera's view of his face. The mask itself has silver strands sewn into the dark blue, making a silver "W" across the front.

Watcher: I have to treat it well, this mask...the name. All of it. It takes a certain type of person to don this mask. There are no easy routes left to be taken. Once it is decided, and the Watcher is reanimated, the one behind the mask must live up to the name. My life does not revolve around anything else right now....only the NWL, this tournament. While some in this place may be returning to show they are still as good as when they left...others may be out seeking to fulfill their vendettas....elsewhere there are those in the NWL who simply want to show they are the best right now...and still others have their own reasons. But my reason for being here, for competing, has a very simple reasoning. I come not with hopes, but with assurance. I don't dream of winning...I just know what I must do. There is no alternative for me, and so I dedicate myself fully, to the NWL Heavyweight Title, and claiming it for my own. So Krusher, if you are feeling ambitious, and think you can stop me, then I welcome you to try.

Watcher brings the mask closer to his face and removes the hood, as he finishes sliding the mask over his head.

Watcher: But how you turn that ambition to reality is another story entirely. Because ambitions are meant to be crushed, eventually, by those who have no flexibility in their course.

There is a sudden banging on the apartment door. The shot swings over to the door as Watcher passes by, his back to us as he puts the hood back on and removes the mask, tossing it onto the newspaper and rug. He opens the door to find two people, dressed in what looks like police attire, standing there.

Police Officer: Hello, sir. We're just here to check out your place.

Watcher: What is this about?

Officer #2: We've heard about a few...incidents occurring around the area, and then received some information about this place in particular.

Police Officer: So, if you'll just step aside, sir.

Watcher: Do you have a search warrant?

The officers, who had begun to move forward, stop and look at Watcher.

Police Officer: Sir, we just want to have a quick--

Watcher: I said, do you have a search warrant? And on top of that, where are your badges?

Officer #2: Please, sir, we don't want to make this difficult....

Watcher: Difficult? I don't see the problem in you answering my questions, before I let you into my home.

The two officers exchange looks.

Watcher: So...do you--

Police Officer: Fine. If that's how you want to do it...we'll be back with a warrant to search the place.

The second officer tries to look over Watcher's shoulder, into the apartment, but Watcher steps forward and backs him up a bit.

Officer #2: What? It's not like there's much to search.

Watcher: If you don't have a warrant, I must ask that you please leave.

Officer #2: Oh yeah? Well I say you watch your tone...sir.

The second officer stares at Watcher, his hand moving toward his gun holster, but the other officer puts a hand on his shoulder.

Police Officer: We'll be back.

The two officers leave. Watcher closes the door and, keeping his back to us, walks over to the sterno, taking the pot off the heat source as it shows signs of boiling. The shot looks down at the newspaper on the rug. It's open to show a two-page article, with a photograph focusing on a portly man with a thin mustache and round, balding head. He looks to be middle aged, possibly, and is getting out of a limousine in the photo. The man is wearing a couple expensive looking rings on his ring fingers, and also has on a nice looking suit, with handkerchief sticking out neatly from a breast pocket. The article heading reads, "Muracci Suspected, Questioned in Drug Ring Investigation." The shot then pans up again to show Watcher pouring some of the boiling water into a ramen bowl. Fade out.
 
M

Menace

Guest
Here I am...

BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP!

‘Ah…shut the hell up…damn alarm clock. Ugh…what time is it anyway?’

[Up]

[Slowly, a hand emerges from the beneath the sheets, coming down hard on the alarm clock. It takes a few times but on the fifth try the alarm is finally silenced. His arms lays draped on the side of the bed, he is slow to get up as he kicks off the sheets on the bed. He sits up stretching and yawning, wiping the crud out of his eyes. He blinks a few times, looking around, taking a moment to look at the alarm clock on the left side of the bed sitting on the dresser. It reads 10:32 am. He lets out a sleepy groan and sits on the side of the bed, before getting up. He stands up, pushing off the bed and walking over to the window, he pushes the curtains out of the way, allowing the sun to spread into the room. Instinctively, he shields his eyes from the direct shine of the sun and walks away from the window to the door leading into the bathroom. He cuts on the water to the sink and places some toothpaste on the bristles of his toothbrush before placing the toothbrush in his mouth. He reaches over, grabs a wash cloth and throws it into the sink, leaving the bathroom as he jerks the toothbrush in and out of his mouth, creating a mint foam edging around the corners of his mouth. He looks around; finally becoming fully awake, he walks back into the bathroom, removing his wash cloth from the sink and spitting into it. He places the toothbrush on the side of the sink, rings out the cloth and then wipes his face with it. He drapes the cloth on the side of the sink and cuts off the water as he takes a moment to look into the mirror. He douses his face with water from the sink and watches as it drips down the sides of his face.]

“If you're good to the game. The game will be good right back to you. In a way, it’s a scratch my back and I’ll give you a fat paycheck. With a so-far successful career, I’ve been taken care of quite well. Hell, I’m not the one to complain, but when you think about it...I’m doing what others dream about. I get into the ring and entertain thousands and afterwards grab my check and head out of the door. Damn, life is sweet. Doesn’t get any better than this.”

[Krusher just shakes his head as he leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He walks across his bedroom to his closet. He rubs his chin, pulling out a plain white tee shirt and a pair of dark blue P. Miller jeans. He throws the articles of clothing on the bed as he looks up at a nearby shelf lined with an assortment of shoes from Nike Air Force Ones to various pairs of Timberland boots. He reaches up and grabs a pair of wheat colored Timberland boots from the shelf, before walking back to his messy bed. He sets them at the foot of his bed, as he reaches behind his head, untying his do-rag, throwing it on the bed. He reaches up running a hand over his tight corn rows that appear to form a maze on the top of his head.]

‘Once again…I get to prove that I have what it takes to rise to the top here in the NWL. It seems that I came up short against Minion, but hey I'm still in the game and that's all that really matters in the end player.'

[He reaches down tapping the black plastic knee brace the doctors have ordered him to wear for a month. He hated wearing the damn thing, but yet he wanted to wrestle, so he swallowed his pride and will wear it.]

‘I thought about what I should say to Watcher. What would be best thing to argue about after all that he said, but I really couldn't figure out why I should even bother. The guy talked himself into so many circles he's probably dizzy by now. So, I thought maybe I should just brag, and say that this match will be a walk in the park, and that he has no chance of beating me, but what would that possibly do except make me look like an ass if I lose. So, I decided to let the man talk his trash for now. It’s that simple, no need for it to be all complex and get all cocky about it, just do what I got to do to make sure I get the job done.’

[His master bedroom door creaks open as a large male Alaskan Huskie strolls into the bedroom, jumping up placing its large front paws on the bed. Krusher looks over at the dog as its blue collar reads ‘Spook’ in red stitching. Krusher smiles as he rubs behind its ears softly. Spook’s tongue hangs from the side of his mouth as Krusher scratches his head. The dog jumps down from the bed walking out of the room with his large fuzzy tail wagging from side to side.]

‘Any other time, I would just be a cocky, loud, son of a ***** that I usually am once I step into the ring. But yet…this time…there’s no need to be arrogant about it. There’s no need for all the damn drama about how I’m going to come to the ring and kick your *****monkey ass or all of that. There’s no sense in it at all, we’ve all heard it before and after a while…it becomes quite mundane and boring, so there is need for me to waste my breath anymore.’

[Krusher just smirks, as he starts to get dressed. He slides the jeans over his boxers, and wraps a black leather belt around his waist, even though the jeans hang halfway off his ass. He walks over to the dresser, lifting up his arms, putting some deodorant on, and slips the white tee over his head, slipping in his arms into the sleeves. He looks into the mirror as he stands in front of it and slides on a diamond covered or better yet ‘iced out’ watch over his wrist and slides a diamond studded earring into his pierced left ear. He slips on his Timberland boots without much effort, before he walks out of his bedroom, grabs a set of keys and brown wallet off the table next to the door. He runs a hand over his hair as he walks down a flight of steps, making his way to the garage. It smells of rubber and motor oil inside of the dark garage until he presses the garage door opener. Sunlight floods into the garage shining over two cars in the rather clean garage, a 2002 white Yukon Denali with twenty inch chrome rims and tinted windows stands on the far side of the garage but the one closest to him sends a large smile over his face. Krusher walks over to a 2004 black Hummer H2 with twenty-six inch rims as he rubs his goatee. With his keys, he makes his way over to the driver's side, then opens the door slowly. He slides one leg inside of the cockpit of the SUV as he looks up at the camera.]

‘The Watcher versus Krusher…’

[He rolls his eyes.]

‘…What a blockbuster match. Now, I know I don't rank alongside Maelstrom or Dakota Smith, I’m no where near the type of Superstars they are, but yet I’ll give you the fight of your life just like everyone else. I was never an easy win and to this day nothing has changed. You don’t know me…you have only seen me in the ring once. You go along absorbed into your own little life without thinking for once that there was that selected few who are hungry for the one shot at the top and once they get it…they’ll grab it and run like they stole it and never look back. Makes you start to wonder…is Krusher as hungry as he says he is…you damn straight I am.’

[Krusher steps into the SUV placing the metallic key into the slot. With a flick of his wrist the H2 comes to life with a loud roar as he closes the door behind him. Krusher just smiles, placing his left hand on the black ball of the gearshift. He puts the Hummer into reverse, pulling out of the garage as the engine growls. He whips it out of the driveway, quickly popping it into first gear, all four wheels of the Hummer spin causing a little smoke to bellow from the back of the car as the tires grip the road and Krusher takes off down the street as the scene fades...]

[Black]
 

Starbreaker

Member
Joined
Jan 10, 2004
Messages
409
Points
16
Age
40
Location
New York
The stakes rise....

Fade in: on the apartment of the Watcher. Aside from the absence of the newspaper on the rug, article clippings on the walls, and the sterno, the apartment is as it was the last time. The Watcher, himself, is sitting on a wooden chair, looking down at the floor. He has on a pair of black sweatpants, turtleneck sweater, gloves, and boots. His head is covered by a mask.

Watcher: There are times when people do get a bit too deeply involved with their goals. By doing this, they miss what the competition may have to offer, what they may be up against. This is unexcusable, and it is something that has caused many problems in the past, and still in the present. In wrestling, the competition can be fierce, and the prizes very nice for those who make it to claim them. This tournament is for the right to lay claim to the biggest prize that the NWL has to offer. It is for the right to be called the top Champion of the circuit. And while that may make you water at the mouth, Krusher....it is not something you should look forward to...because you won't be getting to that round robin, much less have a chance to claim the NWL Heavyweight Title by way of this tournament. Not if I have something to do with your getting there...and I do.

Watcher looks up at the camera.

Watcher: I see you live a nice lifestyle, at least in material possessions. I don't doubt you've worked at your craft to gain those things, and that you are hungry to get bigger paychecks and even a title here. Much like my own situation, however, the situation you have currently found yourself in is much bleaker than you may think. I was talking no trash when last you saw me, let me assure you of that. There is no arrogance here, only an increasing need for success. If you think I am not as hungry as you are to win, then you are sadly mistaken and, at Combat, will find out just how painful it can be to mistake me for someone who is blowing smoke.

Watcher stands and picks up the chair, bringing it to the door and lodging it securely under the doorknob. Once satisfied, he walks over to the window, looking out of it briefly before sitting below it.

Watcher: You're smart to tread only where you feel is necessary, and not get arrogant. You're right, this won't be a 'blockbster' match...not on paper. But in the ring, if you are committed to giving your all, then this match will be one hard to top, because I do not plan to hold back. I was trained to get my work done quickly and efficiently. There was no half-***ing it, no dragging your feet, and above all...no mistake went without a repercussion. If you made a mistake, you would pay for it. Now, wrestling is not exactly the same. Mistakes do occur, but they are not always paid for. Only some make their opponents pay for their mistakes. I don't know if you ever had someone pick up on your errors, punishing you for them, but I assure you that I will not let you slide. Missions only get accomplished faster when one capitalizes on mistakes, and the faster I can finish you, the sooner I can move onto the round robin. There's nothing arrogant about it. I just don't prefer to let my targets squirm and cling to any hope if I can help it. I just go in for the kill as soon as possible. Maybe you would have beaten Minion had you done as much, Krusher.

Watcher pauses and says nothing for a time. He then slowly moves his head up to the window, looking through the bottom of it before pushing it open. Watcher then sits back down.

Watcher: I don't have such luxuries as you do, Krusher. I don't blame anyone but myself for that, however, I have recognize and accepted my past mistakes. I learn from every one of them, and know when I am going down the same path to failure. Just as in a wrestling match, I know when I may be taking a risk that could lead to being a mistake, and subsequently have repercussions. But some risks are meant to be taken. It is a fine line between success and failure that all of us in this tournament must walk. We are placed directly on that line, because it's one loss and we're out. You managed to cling to the line by your very fingertips last match, as you were falling to failure. You didn't fall off, though...you hung on just long enough -- three seconds, in fact -- to the line. You kept Minion's shoulders down just that long, and then Theo and Shawn Hart helped you remain in this tournament. Well, Krusher, that was your one mulligan. That was the one time when you would be allowed such a luxury in this tournament. When we get into the ring, at Combat, you won't have any luxury. You'll be in my world, a world that I have adapted to being in, and you will have to beat someone who has, in obscurity, kept honing his own craft, just like you. You'll have to beat someone who is not just hungry for success in this tournament...but in need of it. You'll be facing me...and you won't be making it to the round robin. I will not risk having you clinging to the line, because I will throw you off of it, and into failure by the end of our match. You will find out who was one of the few selected to grab the opportunity presented to them, and run with it; quite literally, in fact. The sad thing for you, though, will not be when you find out who it is...but when you find out that it was not you who is going to make good on the opportunity. I will be that one, Krusher. Not a 'superstar,' not even a star....just the Watcher. As for Dakota Smith, Minion, Maelstrom, you, and all the rest...superstars or not...you will all witness your stars being....broken.

Watcher removes a floorboard and takes out a duffel bag from under it. He then replaces the floorboard as there is suddenly a knock on the door, followed by a jiggling of the doorknob, and a call of, "POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!" Watcher ignores it and takes off his mask, revealing a black cloth wrapped to cover his face, leaving openings for the eyes and mouth. He takes a winter hat out of the bag and places it on his head, then stuffs a small stack of newspaper articles inside the bag and zips it shut, swinging it over his shoulder. The door begins to budge open but the chair keeps it from being open just a bit longer, as Watcher goes out the window, dropping down onto a fire escape and making haste. As the door is busted open, a small group of police officers come in, slowly, guns drawn and surveying the area. They start looking around, but the walls are bare and nothing seems to be around that they are looking for. Then, one of the officers opens the door to the bathroom, and gasps.

Officer: Damnit...holy ****.....

Fade out.

"6 hours earlier"

The Watcher, dressed in the same clothes, is taking down the various newspaper clippings on the walls surrounding his bed when there is a knock on the door. Watcher takes his mask off, showing the wrap, and goes over to the door, opens it and finds the same two "officers" from a day or two ago.


Officer #1: We meet again.

Watcher: You stole the words right from me. Are you here to steal anything else?

Officer #2: Ever the sharp one, aren't you? I guess that's why we were sent here. But don't take us for petty burglars. We aren't here to steal anything. You heard me the other day, there's not much to see here.

Watcher: Then what do you want with me?

Officer #1: That's a nice cover job you did with your face. You weren't so shy the last time.

Watcher: I wasn't expecting visitors. I usually keep myself away from socializing.

Officer #2: We couldn't agree more. Especially when a visitor..(glances at the other guy, then smirks)..or two, are working for a...disgruntled, former boss of yours.

Officer #1: You'd prefer we say 'former,' don't you? It won't be that way soon enough.

Watcher: Really....

Officer #1: I'm afraid not. We're here to take you back.

Watcher: Oh? Now that's fascinating. It really is. I find it hard to believe you'd be able to do that....

Officer #2: And why is that, heh?

Watcher: Just because...it's hard to carry one person's weight, especially your own, when your legs are broken.

With that, the fight ensues as both men go after Watcher. He fends them both off, until one takes out his pistol and nails Watcher from behind with it. Watcher falls to the floor, motionless, as the other guy shoves the one who made the strike.

Officer #1: What do y'think you're doing? He told us not to use the guns unless the situation was out of hand!

Officer #2: Hey! Better we keep the situation from getting out of hand, by you know...bending the rules a bit.

Officer #1: We didn't need to do it that way. We could have taken him with our fists, man! We don't need anything else for this exile. Don't insult me.

Officer #2: Whateva! We got the job done. Let's get him and go.

The two pick up Watcher by the arms, each slinging an arm over their neck. As they drag him towards the door, though, there is a "flick" sound, and two blades come from Watcher's hands. He slits one on the forearm, while stabbing the other one in the neck. Watcher breaks free and then darts to the first, stabbing him in the gut as the second takes a kick to the face, sending him down as a pool of blood forms. Watcher wrenches the knife into the other's stomach as he curses at the man. He finally pulls the knife out and the guy falls to the floor in a heap. Watcher wipes the switchblades on the two's clothes, then puts them away in one of the pouches on his belt. He then begins taking the bodies into the bathroom, and brings out a rag to clean up the blood.

Fade in: on Watcher walking down a street. A television in a store display is showing a news report. Watcher stops and looks at it for a moment.

Reporter: Two men were found dead, last night, in a south side district apartment. Early reports indicate a double homicide, but police are having trouble gathering leads, as little to no trace of evidence was on the scene of the crime. Already there is a complication to the case, as the building's landlord claims nobody was checked into the apartment where the bodies were found. No further information has been released yet on either of the victims. And now for the latest in sports.....

Watcher turns and continues walking down the street, taking out a cigarette, lighting it up with a match and tossing the match to the ground. The flame burns to the end of the short matchstick before fizzling out. Fade out.
 
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