WRESTLEVERSE III - Main Event: World Title - Sean Stevens (c) vs. JA vs. Rocko Daymon
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"Trip, it's time for you to shut the fuck up."
Fade into the parking lot at the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Richmond. Lollipop is supervising a bellhop loading up his Ford Escape Hybrid, while Jericoholic Anonymous stands in the forefront.
JA: All the bravado, all the cockiness, all the proclamations of false dominance, it stops. You've got nothing left to say, especially now, since your actions at Aggression Forty-Three said more than anything that comes out of that ugly mug of yours. When the going gets rough, Sean Stevens gets the hell out of dodge.
Ooh, but wait, I thought you were the King? I thought you could beat me with one arm tied behind your back? I thought you dominate me all the time? If that were the case, then why did you turn tail and leave in the middle of Hitting Your Finisher One-Oh-One? Well, maybe I was proven right. Maybe in the back of your mind, you are scared of me, that I did put the fear of God in you. Again, you never have to admit it, because I know you won't. The only words that ever come out of your mouth are usually mangled misinterpretations of things. Like when you made that half-assed comparison about how your position on the card correlated to what you ate? I guess it means you don't have to be smart to be King, since it was obvious that I wasn't eating the ribs and that it wasn't a structured eating contest, but some redneck jackass thinking he could best my wife at eating just because of appearances.
I guess that just means you don't have to be smart to be King. Just paranoid, pompous and in possession of some weirdo jackasses willing to do whatever you want them to do.
Well, now that we've established that you're running scared, it's time for the endgame in the Jay-Aye/Trip-Ecks saga. You know, where I finally beat you for that title and put you out of your misery for good. Sure, Rocko's involved, and I'll get to him later, but from the moment you and I stepped into that cage, this moment was on its way. You see, back at King of the Cage, you were a different superstar. Sure, you still had the bravado and the delusions, but there was still a part of you attached to reality, albeit a small part. That part knew that you had to fight for what you wanted.
But now, that's all gone. You don't fight. You look for shortcuts, and when you can't find one, you run. Well, there'll be nowhere to run. You'll have me in one corner. You'll have Daymon in the other. And when the night's over, you'll be about twenty pounds lighter.
Now, speaking of Rocko Daymon, Rock, I do have to admit, I was expecting Hugo Reyes to come back with all those numbers being floated around the screen. However, I will give you a hearty welcome back and say I'm glad you've fully recovered. But that's where the pleasantries end.
I know why you're back. That belt that Trip has, it's something you never lost in the ring. You had to give it up because he attacked you like the paranoid coward he was. I know that you think this is your happy ending, getting back something that you never intended to lose in the first place.
Well, Rock, I'm sorry to say, but it seems like your narrative is in huge conflict with mine. While I'm sympathetic to, that doesn't mean I'm gonna let your story end happily. It sucks, and it's really eating at me, since I love it when that pompous nitwit gets his comeuppance. But Rock, you're going to have to stand in line. You've been away from the game for awhile, and well, you've lost your seniority. I know, it sucks, but it's true.
That's not to say that you won't get your shots at Trip during the match. And afterwards, you can have his sorry behind all you want to take your aggressions out on. But at WrestleVerse, on the biggest stage in the business, I'm taking my spot among legends. I'm going to get the Ee-Pee-Dubya World Heavyweight Championship back and I'm gonna take my place among the legends in this business.
And not you, nor the pinheaded quote-unquote king can stop me.
JA turns to help the bellhop pack as the scene fades to the EPW logo.
Fade into the parking lot at the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Richmond. Lollipop is supervising a bellhop loading up his Ford Escape Hybrid, while Jericoholic Anonymous stands in the forefront.
JA: All the bravado, all the cockiness, all the proclamations of false dominance, it stops. You've got nothing left to say, especially now, since your actions at Aggression Forty-Three said more than anything that comes out of that ugly mug of yours. When the going gets rough, Sean Stevens gets the hell out of dodge.
Ooh, but wait, I thought you were the King? I thought you could beat me with one arm tied behind your back? I thought you dominate me all the time? If that were the case, then why did you turn tail and leave in the middle of Hitting Your Finisher One-Oh-One? Well, maybe I was proven right. Maybe in the back of your mind, you are scared of me, that I did put the fear of God in you. Again, you never have to admit it, because I know you won't. The only words that ever come out of your mouth are usually mangled misinterpretations of things. Like when you made that half-assed comparison about how your position on the card correlated to what you ate? I guess it means you don't have to be smart to be King, since it was obvious that I wasn't eating the ribs and that it wasn't a structured eating contest, but some redneck jackass thinking he could best my wife at eating just because of appearances.
I guess that just means you don't have to be smart to be King. Just paranoid, pompous and in possession of some weirdo jackasses willing to do whatever you want them to do.
Well, now that we've established that you're running scared, it's time for the endgame in the Jay-Aye/Trip-Ecks saga. You know, where I finally beat you for that title and put you out of your misery for good. Sure, Rocko's involved, and I'll get to him later, but from the moment you and I stepped into that cage, this moment was on its way. You see, back at King of the Cage, you were a different superstar. Sure, you still had the bravado and the delusions, but there was still a part of you attached to reality, albeit a small part. That part knew that you had to fight for what you wanted.
But now, that's all gone. You don't fight. You look for shortcuts, and when you can't find one, you run. Well, there'll be nowhere to run. You'll have me in one corner. You'll have Daymon in the other. And when the night's over, you'll be about twenty pounds lighter.
Now, speaking of Rocko Daymon, Rock, I do have to admit, I was expecting Hugo Reyes to come back with all those numbers being floated around the screen. However, I will give you a hearty welcome back and say I'm glad you've fully recovered. But that's where the pleasantries end.
I know why you're back. That belt that Trip has, it's something you never lost in the ring. You had to give it up because he attacked you like the paranoid coward he was. I know that you think this is your happy ending, getting back something that you never intended to lose in the first place.
Well, Rock, I'm sorry to say, but it seems like your narrative is in huge conflict with mine. While I'm sympathetic to, that doesn't mean I'm gonna let your story end happily. It sucks, and it's really eating at me, since I love it when that pompous nitwit gets his comeuppance. But Rock, you're going to have to stand in line. You've been away from the game for awhile, and well, you've lost your seniority. I know, it sucks, but it's true.
That's not to say that you won't get your shots at Trip during the match. And afterwards, you can have his sorry behind all you want to take your aggressions out on. But at WrestleVerse, on the biggest stage in the business, I'm taking my spot among legends. I'm going to get the Ee-Pee-Dubya World Heavyweight Championship back and I'm gonna take my place among the legends in this business.
And not you, nor the pinheaded quote-unquote king can stop me.
JA turns to help the bellhop pack as the scene fades to the EPW logo.
Undying
(The excessive and gut wrenching low-end drawl of "Return Trip" by Electric Wizard pulsates over the soundtrack. We fade in from black onto the streets of Tacoma, Washington. A low-angle shot only reveals a pair of rain-soaked jeans and sneakers as they exit through the front door of a weathered apartment building. The remaining end of a cigarette hits the pavement, and is promptly snuffed out by one of the feet. Raindrops begin forming on the pale concrete as the legs begin moving down the street at a leisurely pace.)
(We cut to a higher angle shot, now catching the figure, clad in a dark brown hoodie with a familiar logo scrawled across the back, raising his arm to hail a taxi. A cab pulls up as the music breaks for a moment. The passenger gets in, and as the door closes, the rain starts coming down, first in a sprinkle. As the car pulls away, the rainfall gets heavier. The camera follows the taxi's trip as the song's main riff blares back over the soundtrack.)
"The sun burns in the stranger's eyes
"Just one tear before he dies
"Black mass can't ease the pain
"There's nothing here, there's nothing sane"
(A long shot shows the rain-glazed cab crossing the bridge from Tacoma into Seattle.)
"I hope this fuckin' world fuckin' burns away
"And I'd kill you all if I had my way
"But I'll live forever, questions curse me why
"Oh Lord above, why won't you let me die?"
(The rain now coming down at a heavy pour, the cab pulls up in front of a dilapidated building that appears to be boarded up. The figure, still with his back to the camera, exits the vehicle, pays his fare, and steps up to the rotted double doors with chipped paint marking the building's entrance. A key from his pocket undoes the padlock, and he lets himself inside.)
(The camera cuts to an interior shot as the door comes open, revealing the faceless figure's silhouette and the glass display case hanging on the near wall, bearing an almanac of titles and belts. A brief glimpse of these golden treasures is all that can be savored as the door is promptly closed, and the figure shuffles forward through the darkness.)
(Something can be heard popping, followed immediately by the snap of electricity, and slowly, illumination sets in from a series of fluorescent lights hanging from a high ceiling. The room is quite large, and by the full-sized ring and various weight-lifting equipment furnishing the surroundings, one could come to the conclusion that it's a gym, though likely private, and seldom used. The figure now stands before the ring, silently and stoically gazing upon the symbolic ground of conflict and turmoil. As the music enters its guitar solo, it fades out. The figure pulls back the hood... and grave brown eyes bore straight into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
You knew it was coming...
...but were any of you prepared for my return. That's the real question.
(Daymon breaks his gaze for a moment to come around the ring and come into a secluded corner of the gym where resides the very bare necessities to his existence: a simple armchair, a television set, and an ashtray filled to the brim with at least a few dozen crumpled remains of Marlboro Reds. Daymon falls into the chair, eyes fixed on the darkened TV screen in front of him, casually examining the longer brown hair and the thick beard around his jawline; changes in his appearance from when we last saw him. It should be noted that there are no vanity mirrors to be found in the gym, possibly having been broken out years before, and this is Daymon's only means of reflecting upon his own form.)
Rocko Daymon
In two days... it will be the one year anniversary of Black Dawn 2008. The day I proved to the people of this world I was more than they always believed of me. On that day, I won the EPW World Heavyweight Title.
It's been a full year since that night... and a much has changed in that brief amount of time. In that time, my name has scarcely been mentioned, as if everything I accomplished was nothing more than a distant memory that one mere man tried to erase. In that time, I found the opportunity to sit and observe this industry looking from the outside in. It seemed ironic, being forced out of this sport I love against my own will, given how many times I've "retired" in the past. But while I couldn't continue to make an impact inside the ring, I continued to do the very thing I do better than anyone else.
I learned... I grew... and I evolved.
(The corners of his mouth twitch slightly, forming the closest to a smile that he can possibly manage.)
Rocko Daymon
The span of one year has brought me back full circle to my Goal... but I'd be lying if I said I was walking into this the same man that walked into Houston and changed this entire industry's opinion of the name "ROCKO DAYMON." Everything is different now: The show. The city. The people in this match. Even I'm different, after everything I've experienced and sacrificed over the course of my injury.
Even so, I have every intent to walk out of that ring the same way I left it a year ago: with the Belt around my waist.
Two men stand in my way... consequently, the only two men to have held my Title after my departure. Two men who have been at war with each other this entire time... and are now both faced with the unenviable task of dealing with a man who is determined more than ever to take back what is rightfully his...
"The Anglo Luchadore" Jericoholic Anonymous...
"Triple X" Sean Stevens...
(Daymon reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, pulls out his pack of Marlboro Reds, and lights one up.)
Rocko Daymon
I’ll start with you, JA, since you’re the first man to say anything on the subject of this match...
(He savors the first drag as if it’s the best thing he’s felt in a long time. His eyes don’t leave the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
I know you never really cared for me on a personal level, JA. That’s never bothered me in the past, because in spite of your dislike for me, I still accomplished my Goal, and well before you did. But now, back from taking several months off to nurse a dislocated shoulder and torn ligament, somehow I've earned your "sympathy"...
You fully understand the fact that I was robbed of an opportunity to reign as this federation's champion for the better part of '08... yet because you think I've lost my "seniority" in this federation, for something completely out of my control, you're more than willing to deny me the justice to reclaim what's been so unjustly taken from me: The Title.
And all you have to say is that you're sorry.
(He shrugs indifferently.)
Rocko Daymon
Fair enough.
Professional wrestling is a dog-eat-dog world, JA. The both of us know that. I wouldn't expect you to simply lay down and let me have my way under any circumstances. I wouldn't want it that way, regardless...
But what's ironic about all that is... while you’re there, feeling sorry for me, here I am, feeling sorry for you.
(He lets out another drag from his cigarette, and through the smoke we can see a sardonic half-smile form on his face. At least it could be a smile... though in this light, it looks more like a sneer than anything.)
Rocko Daymon
I don't think you realize it... yet... but your time in the spotlight is quickly coming to its end. The inspiring story that was Jericoholic Anonymous and his perilous quest to find his place among the legends of EPW... well, it's come to the final, tragic chapter. I'm giving you my sympathy, JA... because I'm the one that's going to close the book and put it back on the shelf to collect dust.
Even worse, I'm going to expose you for what you really have been all this time: a proxy to me.
(His gaze drifts down to the trail of smoke rising from the cigarette clenched in his hands, his mind recalling past events.)
Rocko Daymon
You see, when I was forced to leave this sport almost a year ago, I left a noticeable void in this federation. Luckily for the fans, they had you to step up and fill that void.
You picked up the “Superman” cape I left behind and decided to be this federation’s hero. You made a statement by knocking this federation's "KING" off his throne... for a minute, anyway. You had a brief fling as this federation's champion.
(He looks back to the camera with all the humor of a dead dog in a ditch.)
Rocko Daymon
But right now, JA... I want you to think about the past year of your career, and how much it means to you...
I want you to think about everything you've accomplished while I was away, and ask yourself if you could have done it all if I was there standing in your way.
I want you to look into your heart and find the answer, JA. I want you to ask yourself if you could've stepped up and taken the title without the motivation to save this federation from a tyrant's rule. Ask yourself if you could have beaten ME for that title, had you just been any other run-of-the-mill challenger with the age-old desire to find your "place among the legends."
If that had been the case, then I can say in all confidence that you wouldn't be here now, in the main event of Wrestleverse III. You wouldn't be fighting for this industry's most prestigious title of the past five years. Your fifteen minutes would have come and gone, and after you realized that you were never going to be this federation's hero as long as I was around, you'd be back in the midcard, quarrelling with names and faces that don't matter and chumming it up with guys like Douglas and Fusenshoff over in the "prove yourself" camp.
My injury was the best thing that ever happened to your career, and my return is going to be the exact opposite. Just like you put it... it sucks, but it’s true.
(With the subject coming to its close, Daymon rams the rest of his cigarette into the ashtray where it disappears amid a crowd of other yellow-tipped butts. Before the last wisp of smoke can even dissipate, Rocko has his pack out again and his already in the middle of lighting it.)
Rocko Daymon
Now... while I’m on the subject of people who have been taking opportunity of my being gone... it’s to for me to speak to an individual I’ve been meaning to have a dialogue with for quite some time.
The World Heavyweight Champion. The “KING.” The Blue-Eyed Bullshitter.
That’s right, Sean... I’m talking to you.
(He lets out the first drag of his third cigarette in this promo, and as the smoke clears, his eyes are burrowing straight into the camera, straight into the viewer’s very soul with the intensity of a thousand vengeful warriors.)
Rocko Daymon
Do you remember what you said to me a year ago, Sean? About how you were prepared to kill me to keep the Belt around your waist?
Of course, when you said that, we were less than a week away from our meeting in Houston, where you fell a tad short of that claim. As a result, rather than kill me, you tried instead to remove the competition by killing my career.
...so you kicked me out of a third story window with Stalker clinging to my leg, and made your second attempt to kill me.
(A brief pause follows as Rocko relives this traumatic episode, continuing to stare, unblinking, right into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Behold the fruits of your labor, Sean: A full year of dominance here in Empire Pro, without me to get in your way. You’ve marked yourself as the federation’s ONLY two-time Champion, and outlasted all those, both young and old, that tried to throw the “KING” out of his castle.
If the ends justify the means, I’d say that your choice in trying to kill my career was a wise decision on your part.
But I think you forgot something, Sean... so I’ll remind you:
I CAN’T DIE.
(The words seem to reverberate through the spacious room as Daymon gives a second to let them sink in.)
Rocko Daymon
In order to die, one has to be human first… but I know now that all the humanity has left me in the better part of the last year. No emotion. No love. No family. No weakness.
...just a cold, dark determination slithering somewhere deep inside me that wants to see you as a broken, bleeding mess at my feet.
Once again, you’ve managed to orchestrate your own demise, by giving me all the motivation I need to kick your ass. It seems to be the tragic flaw of one so talented, and yet so egoistic. Last year, you did everything you could to piss me off, in hopes that you’d destroy me at my best in the most anticipated match of my career. But this time… you’ve robbed me out of a YEAR of my career that I’ll never get back… and so much more than that.
If you thought I was pissed off back in Houston… wait until you see the fury and rage I bring with me into the ring at Baltimore.
(He hasn’t taken a drag off his cigarette in some time. It continues burning, leaving a tower of ash in its wake. The fire nears Daymon’s knuckles, but he doesn’t break gaze from the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
This time, Sean, there’s no room for ego or underestimation. This isn’t me trying to prove that I can beat you; I’m going into that ring to strangle the life out of you because of what you’ve done to me.
This time, I’m putting last year’s claim of “kill or be killed” to a real test.
(Finally realizing his knuckle is burning, Daymon breaks his gaze from the camera all but briefly to toss the remains of his cigarette into the butt-graveyard right next to his armchair.)
Rocko Daymon
Like I said earlier… though the both of you may have expected this, I doubt either of you were sufficiently prepared to deal with it now. You’ve both had a very successful past year, thanks to my absence… but that success ends now.
When I left this EPW, I was its ICON, ALPHA MALE, and WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION. In spite of all that’s changed in the months I’ve been gone, that much will forever remain constant as long as I draw breath.
(Daymon pulls the hood back over his head to conceal his face, and as it disappears, so too does the scene as we go to black to the droning outtro of “Return Trip”.)
(The excessive and gut wrenching low-end drawl of "Return Trip" by Electric Wizard pulsates over the soundtrack. We fade in from black onto the streets of Tacoma, Washington. A low-angle shot only reveals a pair of rain-soaked jeans and sneakers as they exit through the front door of a weathered apartment building. The remaining end of a cigarette hits the pavement, and is promptly snuffed out by one of the feet. Raindrops begin forming on the pale concrete as the legs begin moving down the street at a leisurely pace.)
(We cut to a higher angle shot, now catching the figure, clad in a dark brown hoodie with a familiar logo scrawled across the back, raising his arm to hail a taxi. A cab pulls up as the music breaks for a moment. The passenger gets in, and as the door closes, the rain starts coming down, first in a sprinkle. As the car pulls away, the rainfall gets heavier. The camera follows the taxi's trip as the song's main riff blares back over the soundtrack.)
"The sun burns in the stranger's eyes
"Just one tear before he dies
"Black mass can't ease the pain
"There's nothing here, there's nothing sane"
(A long shot shows the rain-glazed cab crossing the bridge from Tacoma into Seattle.)
"I hope this fuckin' world fuckin' burns away
"And I'd kill you all if I had my way
"But I'll live forever, questions curse me why
"Oh Lord above, why won't you let me die?"
(The rain now coming down at a heavy pour, the cab pulls up in front of a dilapidated building that appears to be boarded up. The figure, still with his back to the camera, exits the vehicle, pays his fare, and steps up to the rotted double doors with chipped paint marking the building's entrance. A key from his pocket undoes the padlock, and he lets himself inside.)
(The camera cuts to an interior shot as the door comes open, revealing the faceless figure's silhouette and the glass display case hanging on the near wall, bearing an almanac of titles and belts. A brief glimpse of these golden treasures is all that can be savored as the door is promptly closed, and the figure shuffles forward through the darkness.)
(Something can be heard popping, followed immediately by the snap of electricity, and slowly, illumination sets in from a series of fluorescent lights hanging from a high ceiling. The room is quite large, and by the full-sized ring and various weight-lifting equipment furnishing the surroundings, one could come to the conclusion that it's a gym, though likely private, and seldom used. The figure now stands before the ring, silently and stoically gazing upon the symbolic ground of conflict and turmoil. As the music enters its guitar solo, it fades out. The figure pulls back the hood... and grave brown eyes bore straight into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
You knew it was coming...
...but were any of you prepared for my return. That's the real question.
(Daymon breaks his gaze for a moment to come around the ring and come into a secluded corner of the gym where resides the very bare necessities to his existence: a simple armchair, a television set, and an ashtray filled to the brim with at least a few dozen crumpled remains of Marlboro Reds. Daymon falls into the chair, eyes fixed on the darkened TV screen in front of him, casually examining the longer brown hair and the thick beard around his jawline; changes in his appearance from when we last saw him. It should be noted that there are no vanity mirrors to be found in the gym, possibly having been broken out years before, and this is Daymon's only means of reflecting upon his own form.)
Rocko Daymon
In two days... it will be the one year anniversary of Black Dawn 2008. The day I proved to the people of this world I was more than they always believed of me. On that day, I won the EPW World Heavyweight Title.
It's been a full year since that night... and a much has changed in that brief amount of time. In that time, my name has scarcely been mentioned, as if everything I accomplished was nothing more than a distant memory that one mere man tried to erase. In that time, I found the opportunity to sit and observe this industry looking from the outside in. It seemed ironic, being forced out of this sport I love against my own will, given how many times I've "retired" in the past. But while I couldn't continue to make an impact inside the ring, I continued to do the very thing I do better than anyone else.
I learned... I grew... and I evolved.
(The corners of his mouth twitch slightly, forming the closest to a smile that he can possibly manage.)
Rocko Daymon
The span of one year has brought me back full circle to my Goal... but I'd be lying if I said I was walking into this the same man that walked into Houston and changed this entire industry's opinion of the name "ROCKO DAYMON." Everything is different now: The show. The city. The people in this match. Even I'm different, after everything I've experienced and sacrificed over the course of my injury.
Even so, I have every intent to walk out of that ring the same way I left it a year ago: with the Belt around my waist.
Two men stand in my way... consequently, the only two men to have held my Title after my departure. Two men who have been at war with each other this entire time... and are now both faced with the unenviable task of dealing with a man who is determined more than ever to take back what is rightfully his...
"The Anglo Luchadore" Jericoholic Anonymous...
"Triple X" Sean Stevens...
(Daymon reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, pulls out his pack of Marlboro Reds, and lights one up.)
Rocko Daymon
I’ll start with you, JA, since you’re the first man to say anything on the subject of this match...
(He savors the first drag as if it’s the best thing he’s felt in a long time. His eyes don’t leave the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
I know you never really cared for me on a personal level, JA. That’s never bothered me in the past, because in spite of your dislike for me, I still accomplished my Goal, and well before you did. But now, back from taking several months off to nurse a dislocated shoulder and torn ligament, somehow I've earned your "sympathy"...
You fully understand the fact that I was robbed of an opportunity to reign as this federation's champion for the better part of '08... yet because you think I've lost my "seniority" in this federation, for something completely out of my control, you're more than willing to deny me the justice to reclaim what's been so unjustly taken from me: The Title.
And all you have to say is that you're sorry.
(He shrugs indifferently.)
Rocko Daymon
Fair enough.
Professional wrestling is a dog-eat-dog world, JA. The both of us know that. I wouldn't expect you to simply lay down and let me have my way under any circumstances. I wouldn't want it that way, regardless...
But what's ironic about all that is... while you’re there, feeling sorry for me, here I am, feeling sorry for you.
(He lets out another drag from his cigarette, and through the smoke we can see a sardonic half-smile form on his face. At least it could be a smile... though in this light, it looks more like a sneer than anything.)
Rocko Daymon
I don't think you realize it... yet... but your time in the spotlight is quickly coming to its end. The inspiring story that was Jericoholic Anonymous and his perilous quest to find his place among the legends of EPW... well, it's come to the final, tragic chapter. I'm giving you my sympathy, JA... because I'm the one that's going to close the book and put it back on the shelf to collect dust.
Even worse, I'm going to expose you for what you really have been all this time: a proxy to me.
(His gaze drifts down to the trail of smoke rising from the cigarette clenched in his hands, his mind recalling past events.)
Rocko Daymon
You see, when I was forced to leave this sport almost a year ago, I left a noticeable void in this federation. Luckily for the fans, they had you to step up and fill that void.
You picked up the “Superman” cape I left behind and decided to be this federation’s hero. You made a statement by knocking this federation's "KING" off his throne... for a minute, anyway. You had a brief fling as this federation's champion.
(He looks back to the camera with all the humor of a dead dog in a ditch.)
Rocko Daymon
But right now, JA... I want you to think about the past year of your career, and how much it means to you...
I want you to think about everything you've accomplished while I was away, and ask yourself if you could have done it all if I was there standing in your way.
I want you to look into your heart and find the answer, JA. I want you to ask yourself if you could've stepped up and taken the title without the motivation to save this federation from a tyrant's rule. Ask yourself if you could have beaten ME for that title, had you just been any other run-of-the-mill challenger with the age-old desire to find your "place among the legends."
If that had been the case, then I can say in all confidence that you wouldn't be here now, in the main event of Wrestleverse III. You wouldn't be fighting for this industry's most prestigious title of the past five years. Your fifteen minutes would have come and gone, and after you realized that you were never going to be this federation's hero as long as I was around, you'd be back in the midcard, quarrelling with names and faces that don't matter and chumming it up with guys like Douglas and Fusenshoff over in the "prove yourself" camp.
My injury was the best thing that ever happened to your career, and my return is going to be the exact opposite. Just like you put it... it sucks, but it’s true.
(With the subject coming to its close, Daymon rams the rest of his cigarette into the ashtray where it disappears amid a crowd of other yellow-tipped butts. Before the last wisp of smoke can even dissipate, Rocko has his pack out again and his already in the middle of lighting it.)
Rocko Daymon
Now... while I’m on the subject of people who have been taking opportunity of my being gone... it’s to for me to speak to an individual I’ve been meaning to have a dialogue with for quite some time.
The World Heavyweight Champion. The “KING.” The Blue-Eyed Bullshitter.
That’s right, Sean... I’m talking to you.
(He lets out the first drag of his third cigarette in this promo, and as the smoke clears, his eyes are burrowing straight into the camera, straight into the viewer’s very soul with the intensity of a thousand vengeful warriors.)
Rocko Daymon
Do you remember what you said to me a year ago, Sean? About how you were prepared to kill me to keep the Belt around your waist?
Of course, when you said that, we were less than a week away from our meeting in Houston, where you fell a tad short of that claim. As a result, rather than kill me, you tried instead to remove the competition by killing my career.
...so you kicked me out of a third story window with Stalker clinging to my leg, and made your second attempt to kill me.
(A brief pause follows as Rocko relives this traumatic episode, continuing to stare, unblinking, right into the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
Behold the fruits of your labor, Sean: A full year of dominance here in Empire Pro, without me to get in your way. You’ve marked yourself as the federation’s ONLY two-time Champion, and outlasted all those, both young and old, that tried to throw the “KING” out of his castle.
If the ends justify the means, I’d say that your choice in trying to kill my career was a wise decision on your part.
But I think you forgot something, Sean... so I’ll remind you:
I CAN’T DIE.
(The words seem to reverberate through the spacious room as Daymon gives a second to let them sink in.)
Rocko Daymon
In order to die, one has to be human first… but I know now that all the humanity has left me in the better part of the last year. No emotion. No love. No family. No weakness.
...just a cold, dark determination slithering somewhere deep inside me that wants to see you as a broken, bleeding mess at my feet.
Once again, you’ve managed to orchestrate your own demise, by giving me all the motivation I need to kick your ass. It seems to be the tragic flaw of one so talented, and yet so egoistic. Last year, you did everything you could to piss me off, in hopes that you’d destroy me at my best in the most anticipated match of my career. But this time… you’ve robbed me out of a YEAR of my career that I’ll never get back… and so much more than that.
If you thought I was pissed off back in Houston… wait until you see the fury and rage I bring with me into the ring at Baltimore.
(He hasn’t taken a drag off his cigarette in some time. It continues burning, leaving a tower of ash in its wake. The fire nears Daymon’s knuckles, but he doesn’t break gaze from the camera.)
Rocko Daymon
This time, Sean, there’s no room for ego or underestimation. This isn’t me trying to prove that I can beat you; I’m going into that ring to strangle the life out of you because of what you’ve done to me.
This time, I’m putting last year’s claim of “kill or be killed” to a real test.
(Finally realizing his knuckle is burning, Daymon breaks his gaze from the camera all but briefly to toss the remains of his cigarette into the butt-graveyard right next to his armchair.)
Rocko Daymon
Like I said earlier… though the both of you may have expected this, I doubt either of you were sufficiently prepared to deal with it now. You’ve both had a very successful past year, thanks to my absence… but that success ends now.
When I left this EPW, I was its ICON, ALPHA MALE, and WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION. In spite of all that’s changed in the months I’ve been gone, that much will forever remain constant as long as I draw breath.
(Daymon pulls the hood back over his head to conceal his face, and as it disappears, so too does the scene as we go to black to the droning outtro of “Return Trip”.)
jayshort
Long Live THE KING
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]FADE: The weather channel called it one of the worse tornado's of the year. The down pour was frightening. Tree's fell, panel literally peeled off of the sides of houses, and several of the neighborhood's roofs caved in. It was a cold, unforgiving night filled with thunderous roars, and terrifying lightening bolts...[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]... and, there he stood, in the midst. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]He wasn't Jesus Christ, but he was the closest thing to the perfect specimen. He had the stature of the Greek God Adonis, and despite the 50 mile an hour winds, and heavy rain drops, that pounded against his head and left him soaked, he looked the part. He was fearless, undeterred, and unflinching. His wardrobe was simple, a wife beater, and army fatigued cargo shorts, he was the EPW World Heavyweight Champion, and he was preparing for war. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]He was the Blue-Eyed Badass himself, SEAN "TRIPLE X" STEVENS.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]TRIPLE X: You don't get to where I've been by being stupid. I know "the score", I read the dirt sheets, and will not walk into this match-up blind. I know what Lindsay Troy wants to see, because Lindsay Troy is a self centered prima donna that can't stand the fact that her name is no longer synonymous with Empire Pro Wrestling, and mine is. Lindsay Troy is furious because *I* replaced her as the face of the EPW, and did it my way, instead of in the manner in which she wanted it done. She wanted to leave on her own terms. Retire being heralded as the greatest champion in this company's history, before handing the title to someone sugary sweet and safe like JA, stamping him as her successor, simultaneously earning the praise of all of the smarks for passing the infamous torch. [/FONT]
"It was a brilliant scheme, that almost worked to perfection.
"Until I came along and threw a monkey wrench in it.
"I ran roughshod over her, her boyfriend, and her hand selected next-in-line. I became the King of the Cage, the only two time EPW World Heavyweight Champion, and she's nothing more than a warm and fuzzy reminder of a time when this company accepted being average. And, that's why she's angry and that's why you two are in this match."
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]Water dripped down his face at a rapid pace, as a strong gust of wind blew, causing shaky footage. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]TRIPLE X: You two both want to be champion, and will do anything in order to achieve that goal, but you also have something in common. In the past two years, I've either fucked your wife, fucked up your life, threw you out of a three story building, or ended your career, literally, and/or figuratively. And, Lindsay's banking on your equal amounts of disdain for me to be enough to do what she never could, and that's take the EPW World Heavyweight Championship away from me permanently, and again, she gets an A for effort, even if it's for being clever enough to get you two pawns to bite the bait, hook, line and sinker. [/FONT]
"She played with your emotions, dangled the title in your faces like a carrot, and you two silly rabbits saw opportunities for you to get your lives back, and you took it ... and, I don't blame you. But, let me remind you just who in the fuck you're dealing with.
"JA, do you remember that guy that whipped your ass in five minutes at Aggression 27? The guy that took your best efforts and turned it into a ten minute conquest in the King of the Cage finals? The man that – after being robbed of the EPW title by you and your cohorts – went to Unleashed with no momentum, supposedly down and out, in a match that was billed as your coming out party, and my last dance at the top, and walked out, not only as a two time Empire Pro champ, but the first to ever do so?
"I'm still that guy.
"See, I've got you all figured out. You say a bunch of shit in an effort to showcase your extensive vocabulary, but all of the big words ultimately mean nothing. You'll call somebody a promo bot, you'll talk about how we all say the same thing over and over, and, you'll find the most vile, disgusting form of feces to describe the rest of the members of The Fallen, and accuse them of assisting me in my efforts of defeating you, as if I needed them to do so.
"Yet, I'm the arrogant one.
"For all of the shit you talk, you still can't point to one single time in the JA/Triple X rivalry – if you want to call it that - that any member of The Fallen did anything to help me beat you. Every single time I've beaten you in the center of that ring, I did it by my lonesome. Sure, you'll tell yourself I needed the assist, but in all actuality, it's because you hate the fact that you have to look yourself in the mirror and know that in the grand scheme of things, you never measured up."
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]A huge bold of lightening struck behind him, causing the footage to become snowy. Triple X didn't even budge, or turn his head to look. He continued. [/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]TRIPLE X: And, maybe that's your biggest gripe with me. You were hand picked by this company to be better than you've been. Your EPW legacy was supposed to be so much more, but ever since I've stepped foot in this promotion, I've exposed you for what you really are. You're good, but you're not great. You have talent, but you're not elite. You're upper midcard, but you'll never be any company's standard bearer for little more than a week or two. [/FONT]
"And, *I* did that to you. *I* pulled back that curtain. When your EPW legacy is mentioned, people will only talk about how you were on the opposite end of history, and it's all my fault. So, go ahead and puff your little chest out, about Aggression. Oh, he walked out because he was scared! What kind of King walks out on a match! Blahblahblah Yeahyeahyeah.
"What kind of person would risk injury, knowing that one of the biggest pay-per-views in company history – that he's headlining – is right around the corner? I walked out of that match because – unless my title is on the line – I don't have anything else to prove against you. You're the one that has to prove that he still belongs. That I didn't kill your spirit after our last encounter, when you began to lose to every midcarder on our roster. Not me. Besides ... I knew there was a bigger picture."
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]A smirk formed on the champions face, as he licked the rain from his lips.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]TRIPLE X: And, you're right Rocko, I expected all of this. From the first time those numbers interrupted one of my matches, I expected you to rear your ugly head. I expected you to come charging down the aisle, to cut a promo talking about how you never lost the EPW title, about how I took a year from your life, and how this is all personal. But, if you would've listened, you would've realized a very long time ago, that it's been that way for a very long time. From the day I beat you in the King of the Cage, til the day I scrambled your brains against that cinder block wall, before sticking my tongue down Caitlyn's throat. Remember when you beat me for the EPW title, then went on national television and told the world that I was a bitch? I took that personally. Remember the day you called yourself one-upping the world by locking Caitlyn in your trunk, so we couldn't harm her? That was the same day I outsmarted you – again – and hid in your hotel room's bathroom, and fucked her over your toilet seat, as she moaned my name ... that was personal. And, let's not forget the time I almost murdered you.[/FONT]
"You see, you say you can't die, Rocko, but I've already proved that theory to be a lie. Rocko Daymon was a fun loving, married, blue collared, people's champion, that switched gimmicks like underwear. You're an angry, alcohol abusing, brooding, shell of your former self. I killed the spirit ofRocko Daymon, and all that's left is his body.
"Where's Caitlyn, Rocko? Let me guess. One night, she comes home, tells you that she can't take it anymore, then walks out on you, right? Blame me. Motherfucker, *I* did that to you. I ruined your existence, I erased your legacy, I had sexual intercourse with the woman you loved and treasured the most, and I turned one of the hardest working and beloved wrestlers in history into ... you. The last two years in the EPW have been 'the Stevens era', and you were nothing more than an honorable mention.
"And, you actually have the audacity to tempt me to ruin your personal and professional life even more?"
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]Stevens shrugged.[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif][FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]TRIPLE X: Okay, if you say so. But, just remember, when I destroy you physically, and finish off what's left of you mentally, you asked for this. You should've just stayed at home, Rocko. You should've left well enough alone. I gave you a way out that was painful, but it allowed you to still exist. Now, you've tied my hands, and have given me no other option. It was nice knowing you, Rocko..."[/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif][FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]Taking two steps forward, Triple X was now face to face with the camera. [/FONT][/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif][FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]TRIPLE X: You said I needed to kill you in order to beat you at Wrestleverse? ...your wish is my command."[/FONT]
[FONT=Tahoma, sans-serif]FTB[/FONT][/FONT]