The Beast Within
#NP "Big Bad Wolf" by In This Moment
Locale: Mercure Gold Hotel Al Mina Road, Dubai
"Even in these chains, you can't stop me... even in these chains, you can't stop me... even in these chains, YOU CAN'T STOP ME!"
As the sounds of In This Moment blare through Tim's headphones, he storms out of the hotel he planned to stay at until his flight in the morning. He has his duffel bag flung over his shoulder, and his suitcase rolling quickly behind him. His tattered jeans and studded leather boots and accessories give us a slight nod at his father's style, while the black hooded jacket gives it a spin all his own. There is a fire building in Tim's eyes, and everything down to the light breeze, seems to be adding fuel to this fire, as his scowl becomes more and more angry. He walks past a few guests on their way into the hotel, paying no mind to them as they do the same to him. Once he makes it to the street, he looks for a taxi at the ready, spotting one. As he approaches it, a man in a business suit steps in front of him, opening the door and getting inside. Tim growls loudly. He turns to walk away as the man on the cell phone waves him off in annoyance. Tim stops dead in his tracks, glaring at the man, who shakes his head as he returns to his phone call. Tim keeps his headphones in as the music gets louder. His breathing becomes more shallow as his nostrils flare. After the events of this past Sunday night at the Shiekh's palace, he is in the foulest of moods. As the brake lights of the taxi cast a red glow upon Tim's face, something within him snaps. He pulls the door open and grabs the man by his tie, yanking him out to the ground. The taxi driver begins shouting at him, but he can't hear him over the music. He straddles the man's stomach as he begins driving fist after fist against his face until a trickle of blood begins to drip from his lip. He looks up at Tim in surprise. However, the pause is only momentary as he drinks in the power he holds over the man, his punches becoming harder and harder as he relishes the feeling of his knuckles driving into the man's face. A sort of sadistic pleasure fills him, and he becomes drunk on the feeling.
The feeling of the man's blood dripping from his knuckles causes a sadistic smile to come over his face as he drives his knuckles into his lips. The slickness of the blood and saliva cause a bit of a wicked cackle to escape Tim's mouth. The feeling of the cartilage of the man's nose snapping under the presure of his blows only intensifies things. He'd never felt something so satisfying in his life as he watches the man's busted lips moving, trying to plead for mercy from Tim. Tim stops punching him for just a second to allow him to plead, but his words don't make it past the music. The man struggles a bit, ripping at Tim's headphones in the process, causing the music to become a light buzz in the background.
Man: Please! Yuh-you can have the taxi... Oh, please stop...
Tim: I...
Tim reaches back, driving his knuckles into the man's face once more.
Tim: ... will...
Tim gets more insulting now as he backhands the man in what can only be described as a bonafide pimp slap.
Tim: ... not be...
Tim grits his teeth as the man's blood sputters into his face. Instead of wiping it away, he lets it drip down his cheeks. He swings his head down, catching the man between the eyes with a hard headbutt that knocks the man's head into the concrete, sending him into an unconscious state.
Tim: ... IGNORED!!!
Tim notices the man's body goes limp under him and he stands up, placing the headphones back in his ears. He closes his eyes as he awaits the moment when this daydream of violence comes to an end with him standing on the street, watching the man ride off in the taxi in contempt. His heart sinks as he opens his eyes, only to see what had happened was not only real, but even bloodier than he had realized at first. His face goes white as he looks down at the man. The taxi driver gets out of the vehicle, on his cell phone, likely notifying the authorities. Tim trembles a bit as he slowly leans down. He reluctantly places his finger to the man's jugular vein, waiting a second to acclimate. There was a heartbeat that alleviates most of the dread induced adrenaline pumping through his body.
"I... I can't believe I just did that..."
Never having so much as jay walked in his life, he begins to pace back and forth, tangling his fingers in his wet ginger locks. Should he do the right thing and wait for the police to arrive so that he could be locked up where a lunatic such as him should be to pay for his crimes? Or, should he run. His eyes rest on the horizon, seeing a very clear path of escape, since this is not the most upscale (protected) part of Dubai. He looks down at the man who begins to stir slightly, though he is clearly still unaware. He sighs as he leans against the taxi, awaiting justice. The taxi driver shouts at Tim, though the sound doesn't seem to raise above the music at first, until the song begins to fade out.
Driver: What is wrong with you, son? You beat this man senseless, and then you stand around, awaiting punishment?
Tim removes his earbuds slowly, one at a time. He taps a button on the headphones to stop the music before slowly wrapping his headphones around the iPod as his eyes slowly raise to the irate, and albeit highly confused taxi driver.
Tim: It doesn't matter... A few nights in a foreign jail and a fine that my dad will sweep under the rug to avoid embarrassment for the family... I deserve punishment. But, at the same time, that guy was a total dick. He deserved to get knocked out. They all do...
The taxi driver doesn't quite get it, but he doesn't have time to as Tim leans off of the car, quickening his pace. A sleak black car pulls up next to him as he walks along. He doesn't notice it at first, despite the bright halogen lights beaming from the front, and the street lights reflecting from the tinted windows. However, the driver honks the horn, grabbing his attention. He turns to face the car, a quickly passing shortness of breath overcoming him. However, upon sight of the car, he smiles in relief and surprise.
Tim: Kris... Thank god. After what I said about you two weeks ago, I thought...
The mechanical buzzing of the window lowering doesn't stop him as he is ready to go into a form of apology... until the face looking back at him is not who he was expecting. His expression sours slowly, going from glee to utter contempt.
Delia: What are you waiting for? Get in!
Tim crosses his arms over his chest in utter refusal. He is about to fling some sort of negative retort in her direction, but the sound of police sirens causes him to quickly change his tune. He jogs around the car as Delia opens the passengers side door for him. He flings it the rest of the way open and then steps inside, slaming it behind him quickly. The car speeds off as the camera pans over toward the police car and ambulance. Paramedics check on the man as police interrogate witnesses.
Witness #1
Taxi Driver
The stocky Arabic man stands in front of the camera directly. He is wearing a stained white t-shirt and khaki pants, along with leather sandals. His face is filled with an unusual excitement, considering the situation. He speaks with such enthusiasm.
Driver: The passenger stole a cab ride from the tall teenager, so he opened the door and pulled the man from my back seat. He get many good hits in on this man. I wouldn't mess with him.
Witness #2
Pedestrian
The slender, middle aged woman with flowing blond hair is dressed in exercise clothing, which is a real stretch considering it looks as if even she struggles to move in them. She is likely trying to show off her assets, trying to reel in a rich one, but she doesn't realize she's in the wrong part of town for that. She looks shaken as she bites her bottom lip for a second. She shakes her head before looking into the camera with despair.
Woman: ... and then he just... it was so bloody. He, um... he just kept punching the handsome man in the suit, and laughing. It was very disturbing.
Witness #3
Bellhop
The bellhop on duty for the hotel is dressed in full uniform. He is obviously caught on a cigarette break from work as he takes a long drag from a cigarette, flicking the ashes upon the dusty ground. He chuckles as he recalls what he'd just witnessed.
Bellhop: ... and then Rupert Grint spit on the guy, and pulled out a wand to cast a spell on him. Some real Hogwarts shit, officer. You won't find the body, because he's not human any more. He's a frog!
Officer: Sir, are you on drugs?
The bellhop narrows his eyes, furling his eyebrow as if to ask the officer if he's serious. When the officer doesn't respond, the bellhop laughs, ready to plead his case before making a quick run for it, off into the night as the officer simply sighs.
Witness #4
Jason Adams
Without explanation, we see Sin City Wrestling sitting in an office chair, in the middle of the sidewalk. He is wearing an SCW polo shirt and jeans as he begins spinning around in the chair.
Jason Adams: Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Witness #5
Falafel Vendor
The man is wearing a white paper hat and a white apron over a black and white checkered shirt, and jeans. He scoops up the falafel onto a plate as he hands it toward the camera. A hand reaches forward to retrieve it. The vendor places a lid over the pan and he leans against the counter of his cart.
Vendor: No, I don't recall anything specific about the boy. He was American, plain looking. I think he had red hair and blue eyes, about 180 centimeters. He was singing terribly as he punched the man.
Cop: Are you referring to Ed Sheeran?
Vendor: Maybe.
Cop: He's British, sir.
The vendor tilts his head to the side for a second, trying to rationalize it. Not even quite sure he knows who this is, he shrugs his shoulders.
Vendor: All white people look the same to me. But, it was definitely Ed Sheeran. Ed Sheeran beat the hell out of that Arabic businessman!
The vendor nods his head, sure of this as we fade back.
Inside of the car, Tim's brows are furled as he looks out of the window, remaining silent as Delia drives along. She occasionally glances over at Tim, but trying to respect his feelings, she doesn't say anything right away. She hopes that he might even make a slight acknowledgement of her saving him, but it doesn't come. After driving along for about five minutes, Delia can't take the silence any longer.
Delia: Hmmm... What was z'at back z'ere? Crazy...
Tim: Just drive.
Delia sighs as she returns her gaze to the road full time. However, she can't remain silent as curiosity gets the better of her.
Delia: I mean, don't get me wrong, because I... I love it, but... I mean, I just never expected you of all people, to...
Tim: I'm starting to rethink this whole Arabic prison thing. It's starting to seem much more appealing.
Delia: No, I get it. I'm like your least favorite person. You detest me. I'm sure z'ere is a club you can join, but if you own dad can forgive me, z'en why can't you?
Tim scoffs at the idea of his father forgiving her for anything. He rolls his eyes until he catches sight of a Staggs Dungeon duffel bag in her back seat from the rearview mirror. His jaw hangs open, but he still refuses to acknowledge it. He simply rests his chin on the palm of his hand, waiting for this ride from hell to end. Delia turns down a side street, parking the car at the earliest convenience.
Delia: I never intended for s'ings to go as far as z'ey did, Tim. I assure you, I did not.
Tim quickly snaps his head toward Delia, shooting daggers in her direction.
Tim: You used me, Delia! You got close to me so that you could eliminate any competition for your spotlight. You made me think I stood a chance at being someone. But then, you made sure to rub it in my face that you would never be seen with someone like me in public. You made me realize that I am nothing but an awkward, geeky teenager who will never get the spotlight. I will never get the push that others get, even when I work twice as hard to prove myself. I'll never get the pretty girl. I'm as unnoticable as someone can get. You turned me into what I am. What I'm becoming. You, and Liz FUCKING SMALLS! Anybody and everybody who has ever called themselves a Mean Girl.
Delia: Z'at can't be completely true, I mean...
Delia reaches her hand over to Tim's knee, attempting to liven up his spirits, but she can't even bring herself to pretend to be interested in him. She gives an awkward pat on the knee cap before giving a light, playful jab to his shoulder, the gesture almost dripping with sarcasm as she does so.
Tim: Yeah, that's exactly what I thought. You know, you might be fooling the fans. You might be fooling everyone else, the same as Liz Smalls, but you aren't fooling me. You're just a Veronica Taylor in sheeps clothing.
Delia: Oh, as if... I use a Clueless reference because it is much like Veronica, it went out of style in z'e late nineties... Look, I'm not saying I'm a saint. I'm far from it, actually. But z'is road you are headed down, it's not heals'y. I have traveled it, and it is not an easy one to come back from. I might have done some wicked s'ings to you, but I want nos'ing more z'an to save you right now. It is why I picked you up in z'e first place. Please...
Tim: It's too late. I tried to come in and point out the obvious to everyone. It felt like being Dib from Invader Zim. I'm pointing at a little green monster, screaming "ALIEN!" and everyone is looking at me like I'm the weird one.
Delia nods her head, though the allusion to the last good Nickelodeon cartoon is completely lost on her, and her expression shows it. She just continues to nod.
Tim: I tried to go about things in a respectful manner, but that has only served to blow up in my face, time after time. I saved Kris' title from going into the hands of Kain, and what do I get in return? Nothing. Wait, scratch that. I get made out to be a whiny bitch on Twitter. The only person I can even remotely think of as a friend-like figure, in or out of this business, doesn't so much as stick up for me on social media. He only adds salt to my wounds. Honestly, it's hurtful. How can I expect anyone in this business to take me seriously when my own *air quotes* friend won't.
Delia: I can imagine... It must be hard to prepare for your tag match wi's him, feeling z'is way.
Tim: Yeah, exac... wait, what?
Delia reaches into her back seat to retrieve a piece of paper from it. She pulls it out and hands it over to Tim, pointing down a few matches to the description of his match with Kris against the former Tag Team Champions, Steve Ramone and Joshua Acquin. He slowly shakes his head. He hands the card back to Delia. As Delia prepares to comfort Tim, he simply begins to jiggle the door handle. The door doesn't open, so Tim tries even harder to get it open, fidgeting with the automatic lock, but still seems unable to get it open.
Delia: Tim, wait.
Tim: Unlock the door...
Delia: I will be your friend. Talk to me, I will listen. I...
Tim: UNLOCK... THE FUCKING DOOR!!!
Before Delia even has a chance to react, Tim begins ramming his shoulder into the door, trying to bust it open. Delia's jaw hangs down as she tries to get past the shock. She presses a button on the middle console, and Tim is able to get the door open. He snatches his bags up as he makes a quick and hasty exit from the vehicle. Delia's eyes sink as she sighs. Before she has a chance to react, Tim is booking it down the long street. She gets out of her car, but she doesn't stand a chance with the squirrely one, especially while she is wearing heels. She pulls her phone from her pocket, dialing as the scene fades out.
Keep Your Eye On the Grand Old Flag
#NP "1812 Overture" by Tchaikovsky/"National Anthem" by Lana Del Rey
Locale: Mission Hills Park; Henderson, Nevada
The sounds of the Henderson Symphony Orchestra's rendition of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture is well into it's second half as the thunderous boom of flaming white rockets burst in the air above the large crowd seated in front of the orchestra. The violinists are frantically working their bows before slowing down. We hear the whistling of screamers as they spin in the air, exploding with a pop as yellow sparks burst in a cloud that rains down from the sky. We move across the crowd and out into the open field next to the ampitheater as we approach the final minute of the song where the drums pound, accompanied by the red, white, and blue rockets bursting in the air. The crowd lets out a lot of "ooh" and "ahh" of delight. As we move across the large sea of people, and the crowd starts to break apart, we see a large hill that is surprisingly empty. Sitting upon a yellow blanket, is Tim Staggs, all by himself. He is wearing his usual black hooded jacket, along with black jeans. He hugs onto his knees as he watches the fantastic display of fireworks, accompanied by the music.
"This is just... amazing. I'm no patriot, but who doesn't love watching things blow up? It's like watching V For Vendetta right now, only without Natalie Portman. But seriously, there has always been something so comforting about a fireworks display."
Tim's eyes look up toward the sky as he watches a a fast series of white tails fly into the air, bursting with a simple pop that seems more like a bottle rocket, until the sparks that seem to be the size of stars, fall down over the audience below him. He sighs as he lets go of his legs, straightening them out.
"After the last month, I really need a minute to clear my head. It's like I've got too many boxes open up there, and it's just so cluttered. It's like my past, present, and future are all in a three way brawl, and no side wants to give in. As soon as I try to close one box, another one opens up, and all of the crap inside of that box spills out. Skeletons, ghosts... shells of my former past are colliding with the reptilian scratching at the back of my brain, reminding me of all of my flaws. All while the monster I'm surely going to become is sitting there laughing. He laughs at me through the laughs of others. The world needs a monster..."
Tim sighs as his eyes look further up into the sky. Another whistle from the spinning screamers, accompanied by a large blue star shoot off above him. He leans back a little more, leaning back on his hands. Suddenly, another hooded figure walks over to Tim, slowly sitting down on the blanket next to him. The figure hands him a bottle of Code Red Mountain Dew, as they open one themselves. Tim slowly twists the cap off as the bottle sprays all over him. He doesn't look pleased as the figure chuckles. Tim shakes his head, and turns the geyser of soda back toward the figure, spraying them. They hold up a gloved hand to try to stop it, causing a slightly wicked grin to come over Tim's face.
"I don't know why I can't get what Belinda Simone said to me on Twitter out of my head. She was obviously just trying to ruffle my feathers. My dad told me this would happen, but I didn't expect it to be so heavy, coming at me from all directions. But, just like my dad finds a calm in the eye of the storm that is Vixen, I found the one person who gives me that same relief. It confuses me in a way... Can one really find a such a comfort zone within a friend?"
The figure opens their soda again and begins splashing it back on Tim. Tim grabs onto their shoulders to stop it from happening as the two lock up while sitting down, each one wrestling for power as they both laugh, though the competition is on. Eventually they both wrestle one another down to the blanket, where they've reach a slight exhaustion. Tim's face glows red from the large burst of red sparks in the sky as they both just lie there, breathing heavily.
"Even if I wanted something more from this, it would be impossible. My dad, Misty, and Vix would never approve of it. Plus, I'm young. I've got a lot to figure out. I'm not going to become like my dad. I'm not going to give my heart to someone so easily, and have them abuse it like my mother did, or abandon it like my adopted mother did. I want to find my one and only before I give them my heart. For now, I can just focus on those blue eyes, the wisdom within them giving me solace, reassurance."
As he lies there with the hooded figure, staring into their eyes, his breaths become deeper and more stable. However, such a long trip back home, and all of the thinking he's been doing, cause him to just want to lie there longer. The figure concedes, staying at eye level with him, despite the shadows shrouding their identity.
"No one could actually like me in that way, anyway. I'm always thrown into the friend zone from the start, and that's if anyone even gives me a chance. I can only tell myself that I'm unique for so long before the word gains a negative connotation. I can only listen to those bitches Jessie Salco and Veronica Taylor tearing me down for so long, calling them morons before I start to believe that, if even morons can see I'm pathetic and ugly, then I must really be pathetic and ugly. The sad part is that I'm becoming ugly on the inside as well. I feel all of these verbal jabs tearing at my insides, making room for the beast to emerge. Sticks and stones can break bones, but words can ruin lives. A comment on Twitter can really tear a young person down. Some people need to think about these things."
Tim feels it coming on as soon as he breaks his gaze, but he can't stop it. The burning of his cheeks and eyes, the stinging within his tear ducts soon find a bit of relief as a few tears roll down his cheeks. He turns away to conceal this from the other hooded figure, looking up at the sky, as the multi colored sparks illuminate on the tears of his cheeks. He closes his eyes, trying to find the strength within, when the figure sits up, extending their arm out to him. He tries to resist, but this only lasts a few seconds before he gently rests his head on their shoulder. The figure holds the back of his head against their shoulder as they pull him in for a strong embrace. He doesn't fight it as he just sits there.
"All I can do is try my best to get through this match with Kris, try to hold it together to get the first win, and hope that things start to fall into place... No... No! I'm tired of waiting, wishing, and hoping. Even if Belinda Simone was being a bitch to me on Twitter, she was right. I need to step up and take charge. I have to make people take notice, and realize that I'm the innovator of this stable. I'm the general of the judged. I'm the dealer of the damned. The Dark Knight of the Nobodies. I have to do something drastic. It may not change the fact that we're a bunch of misfits running around in hoodies, losing matches, but it will make people realize that we're serious. The worst enemy to face is one who feels they have nothing else to lose. Right now, I feel like it can't get any worse. I can't trust anybody until they've earned it. I'm sorry (NAME CONCEALED TO PROTECT IDENTITY) but after Into The Void, everybody will have to prove their loyalty to me. When there is trust, we can tear down empires. We can destroy the Pharisees and Sadducees of Sin City Wrestling. We can be the Zealots, the revolutionaries who seek to make a change, whether we are viewed as good or bad. We must unite and fight for the greater good. But, how can we do this when there is little or no trust? This has to change..."
Tim wipes away the tears from his eyes, the stickiness of the soda on his skin causes the other hooded figure's jacket to cling to him as he pulls away slowly. Both chuckle at this as the mood slowly lightens up. Both lean back and look up at the sky, watching the grand finale, a large burst of fireworks in rapid succession, of many colors, shapes, and sizes, as the song on Tim's iPod slowly fades out, along with the scene.
The Art of War
#NP "Bat Country" by Avenged Sevenfold
Locale: Royal College Sports Complex; Colombo, Sri Lanka
Darkness envelopes the screen as the music kicks off with a bang. Accompanying the music is the sound of a loud motor running. The camera turns slightly to catch the faint flame from within a furnace. The light doesn't go very far, only casting a light glow upon the metal boiler a few feet away. However, footsteps can be heard, getting louder as the heels of shoes hitting the cold, hard concrete echo through what is obviously the boiler room of the venue holding Sin City Wrestling's next edition of Climax Control. There must be at least four people walking around within, their shuffling becoming louder as they approach our our location. As they get closer, the number of people can be heard to be more along the lines of ten to twelve. Once they are within a few feet of us, the light barely catches a glimpse of a lantern. The glass panes surrounding the squared lantern reflect the light of the furnace before a gloved hand reaches around toward the dial, slowly turning it on at its lowest intensity. The halogen light, even at such a low setting, still illuminates the masked face of a Nobody. However, instead of black, this time the mask and hooded jacket are camouflage colors. Upon the head of this particular Nobody is an iconic hat representative of a Five Star General. It is black, with gold trim around the visor, with leaves emroidered along the lining, and a golden eagle emblem on the front. The hand sets the lantern down at eye level, atop a nearby boiler. They slowly reach up to lift up the camouflage mask to reveal themselves as none other than Tim Staggs. He lets the mask rest against his forehead as he glares into the camera for a moment. Soon, he spins around on the balls of his feet. He reaches back and slowly turns the lantern up, giving us a view of what appears to be at least twenty hooded figures with masks. They are of different shapes and sizes, and they all have their hands up to their foreheads, awaiting orders. However, Tim doesn't give the "at ease" command. Instead, he walks ever so slowly along the members of The Nobodies, in four rows of five. He inspects everyone carefully as he makes his rounds. Just as everyone thinks he's done, he takes another very slow round, staring at each and every one of them. Once he returns to his spot in the front of the figures, he lifts his head, staring down at them down his nose with a stern look on his face.
Tim: In just a few short days, another mask will be lifted, and another purpose fulfilled.
Tim narrows his eyes as he looks toward the last row of the group. His nostrils slowly flare up as he sharply exhales through them.
Tim: Did I say, "At ease, soldiers"?
Collective Nobodies: SIR, NO SIR!
Tim strokes his chin as he takes a few steps closer toward the group. His eyes never lose his target, even though they quickly go back to the proper stance. Tim walks between members until he is right upon the culprit, the tallest of the group, with a bit of a hefty build.
Tim: I thought maybe I had, and just did not realize it. Tell me, soldier... why would you break your salute if I hadn't.
Soldier: I... I thought.
Tim: SPEAK UP, SOLDIER!
Soldier: SIR, I FIGURED WE WERE TO LISTEN NOW, SIR!
Tim strokes his own chin as he nods his head. However, his understanding side seems to have left the building as he rams his elbow into the bigger man's stomach, causing him to double over. Tim looks down at him with disdain.
Tim: Are you slow, soldier? Can you only perform one duty at a time? Do your ears not work when you're saluting your acting superior, soldier?
Soldier: No, sir.
Tim: LOUDER, SOLDIER!
Soldier: SIR, NO SIR!
Tim: Do you not respect me as your superior, soldier?
The soldier looks down at the ground, showing a bit of humility, while also opting not to answer the question. This only serves to infuriate Tim as he grabs onto the collar of the hooded jacket. He lifts the soldier up a few inches, forcing him to look Tim in the face.
Tim: I won't say it again, solider. SPEAK THE FUCK UP!
Soldier: I DO NOT!
There is a collective gasp amongst the Nobodies in attendance. Even Tim seems shocked with how upfront this soldier is being. Part of him wants to give him the benefit of the doubt and ask why, while the other part of him wishes to beat him down as he had the taxi thief in Dubai. Both sides struggle very hard for control, but ultimately, valor prevails.
Tim: Please do explain, soldier. Enlighten me as to why I am not fit to be a leader.
The soldier is hesitant as Tim kindly lets go of his collar. He stands up on his feet, straightening out his poster, almost in a defiant manner. He puffs his chest out, towering over Tim by nearly a foot.
Soldier: Because, you're just a kid. You're seventeen, and you said it yourself. You're not fit to lead anybody, let alone the Nobodies.
Tim: Interesting... You have a point. But, I believe that things can change. I believe that people cha...
Soldier: I wasn't finished... I joined the Nobodies because I believed that everyone would have an equal say. Nobody would be a lea...
Tim: As I said, things...
The soldier gives Tim a rough shove, causing another round of gasps to echo through the room.
Soldier: I still wasn't finished, punk. Nobody should lead us. We're a democracy.
Tim's eyes are on fire, yet he shows little fault in his stance, shy of a light shake of anger. He straightens out his own jacket. He tilts his head slightly to the side as he nods his head. He looks around at the other soldiers, who refuse to turn to face the situation, staring ahead with their salute still firmly in place.
Tim: You finished now, Roger? Can... can I speak now? Great. I've listened to this, and up until two weeks ago, I agreed fully with you. Nobody needs to lead the Nobodies. Heh, get it? Yeah, well since that's been working out so... swimmingly, I decided that such an idea is pure idiocy.
Soldier (Roger): That seems like something that should be decided by the majority, and not by you.
Tim: Unlike certain people within our... organization... I'm not some fuck up with no real ambition. I don't want to carry my social status around as a token to gain pity fucks from Liz Smalls. I'm not content with being served to the big dogs as fodder. I'm not satisfied with dwelling in the low to mid card for the duration of my career. My goals are larger than those of the co-creator of our organization, and tag team partner for this week. If that's the camp you belong to, then by all means, please do depart.
Roger: There are no camps. It's not about sides. It's about shaking up the game, and bringing about anarchy.
Tim glares at the man, though a wickedly wide smile comes over his face as he chuckles, angering the man in front of him.
Tim: Have you got your mask on too low, Roger? Are your eyes covered? We're an even bigger joke than we were when we entered and nobody knew who we were. That's not freaking working, Roger! Knock, knock, is anybody home in that thick skull of yours?
Having had enough of this, Roger grabs onto Tim's jacket and brings him in for a punch, but Tim ducks it, ramming his shoulders into Roger's midsection. He crashes the mammoth into the boiler, causing him to collapse. He goes full rage on the guy as the other soldiers remain obedient. They don't so much as glare at the incident as Tim takes care of business. After several hard hitting punches, he stands up, spitting down on Roger. He reaches down and pulls the mask off of Roger, along with the hooded jacket, as Roger cowers on the ground. He looks up in shock at Tim, who points off into the darkness.
Tim: You're beyond pathetic, even by our pathetic standards of what pathetic is... You no longer have a purpose within our organization, Roger. Now leave... LEAVE!
Tim shouts at the top of his lungs, causing Roger to scramble to his feet. Roger makes a quick exit, as Tim inspects the rest of the group.
Tim: Does anybody else have a problem with the new pecking order around here?
Nobodies in Unison: SIR, NO SIR!
Tim: Great, then we can proceed... At ease, soldiers!
With the order, the soldiers lower their arms to their sides, but keep their heads held high, and standing proudly with discipline. Tim nods his head in approval before he proceeds.
Tim: Soldiers, this is a new day for the Nobodies, for yesterday we were nothing but a joke. Yesterday, we saw Johnny Tsunami and myself get humiliated by J2H and Casey Williams. We saw Kris Halich lose the Internet Championship to Despayre as I predicted he would. It was a dark day for us, and it made me realize that we need a leader. Since nobody else stepped forward, I've decided I should. It is in my blood, and by God, it is in my will after the immense embarrassment we have suffered since day one. I believe the twen... nineteen... of you standing before me are here because you know I am meant to lead us to glory. You don't believe that Kris gives a shit about anything but his own personal interests. That's fine because we all have our personal interests. But a leader has to think beyond what is right in front of him. A leader must have vision, something that Kris lacks. Objectively, Kris lives in the moment. This does not make him bad, and my momentary ill will toward him will not cause me to say otherwise. He is a champion. He's the only unmasked one to gain a victory since our inception. He's the only former champion in our midst. That has to say something, right? But, a leader he is not...
Tim looks around for anyone who might disagree. Once he realizes no one does, or at least they won't admit to it after seeing what happened to Roger, he looks back to the collective.
Tim: I'm not too concerned with Steve Ramone or Joshua Acquin. They are just a couple of Nobodies in denial. Fluke champions who defeated two men that I could have defeated blindfolded, arms and legs bound. I wouldn't even have to be in the arena to defeat R.O.A.R. Okay, let's be honest... my little sister could defeat them in two minutes, so Steve and Josh don't need to keep patting themselves on the back for that. No, you see, my main concern is Kris. Surely, after a loss like he suffered, he can't be completely focused on this match. Part of me wonders if he will even show up. It seems tag team partners have been pretty unreliable for me lately.
Tim shrugs his shoulders as if to say he doesn't care, but his shaking head and his teeth biting onto his bottom lip says otherwise.
Tim: But then, there is another question. Should he actually show up, and let's give him credit for just a second here and assume he's heard the things I've said about him... will he take exception to them? Can I truly trust him to be in it to win it? He's not the one with something to prove here, as much as he tries to pretend he does. I am. And now that I represent the collective, it's very important that we win. Kris? I'm willing to let bygones be bygones under one condition. Show up on Sunday, and give some sort of a hint that you feel bad about throwing me under the bus in order to try to impress a girl. You don't even have to apologize, Kris. Just prove to me that you are in this thing with me. An honest handshake will do. It's not unreasonable, Kris, is it?
Tim looks around at the collective Nobodies, who are all shaking their head from side to side to confirm Tim's suspicions. Tim points to this as he looks into the camera. He closes his eyes for a moment as he collects his thoughts, ready to move on.
Tim: As for our opponents, Joshua Acquin? You are just a victim of circumstance here. I have no real beef with you as of yet. You've done nothing to inspire any ill will from me. You seem like a goal oriented guy, with his hands in many pots. I guess that's why you haven't accomplished much here in SCW. I know, I know... I have no room to speak. Two tag title reigns isn't something to laugh at, but you've had so many great opportunities here in SCW. If your focus were where it belongs, you might be someone I would fear. Instead, I just see you as the guy teaming with Lucian Frost, or Steve Ramone. You don't have a real identity in this world, Josh. It's sad, because you've got a wealth of potential. You could really benefit from being in a group such as The Nobodies. You would fit in perfectly... unless you are already in this room right now?
Tim gives a sly smile as he slowly walks between the members of the group, implying that Joshua Acquin could very well be amongst them right now. He stops and looks at a couple people who match his build as he continues speaking.
Tim: Ripping a page out of Lucian Frost's playbook might not be a bad idea, really. He's been a Tag Team Champion three different times, and he was the first ever SCW Roulette Champion. He might not be the most successful man in SCW history, but he's done big things. Isn't it about time you tasted similar success? I think you deserve it.
Tim winks at the camera as he rounds the collective once more, coming back to the head of the group. He stands proudly in front of the Nobodies.
Tim: Now, Steve... that begs a very important question. You yourself have made it clear that you already don't trust Josh. You stated that you're ready for singles action again after you feel Josh let you down. I can imagine saying such things about your partner could really weaken your ragtag team. I'm fully aware that my rants could have done the same, but we're bonded by something beyond lusting for gold. We have more leeway than you and Josh. You two teamed together all of two times, and haven't spoken beyond that I'd assume. Kris and I might be a little dysfuntional right now, but I haven't blamed him for our loss against the Seven Deadly Sins, despite him being the one to have been pinned. We entered that match together, and we lot together. Just as you and Josh lost together at Into The Void almost two weeks ago.
Tim slowly begins pacing back and forth with his hands folded behind his back. He has his head held high as he turns back around to walk the other direction.
Tim: You're on a campaign right now, aren't you, Steve? I generally tune you out, because I find you to be an even bigger nag than I've been accused of, but I think I've seen your face on political posters. You claim to be... "The Champion The People Deserve..." Something like that, right? If I were "The People"? I would be freaking insulted by that sort of tagline. By insinuating that you're the type of champion the people deserve, you're saying that the people are pure and utter shit. If you think for one minute that the people deserve to be represented by an asshat such as yourself, then your opinion of them must be as low as the expectations people have of you, Steve. That's beyond rock bottom. That's staring down a huge freaking hole, and seeing the Great Wall Of China low. Anyone who would vote for you, or root for you would be an idiot. But, then again, this is Sin City Wrestling, and if people vote for the likes of Mitt Romney, then I'm sure there will be a couple idiots who cheer for you, even if they do it from home because it embarrasses them to do so in public.
Tim continues his slow pace, though he can't remain as stoic as he wishes to. He cracks a smile, even going as far as to chuckle at his own insults.
Tim: I'm sure you probably think that because you won the tag titles with Josh, that you suddenly are some wrestling God. You probably think you're superior to me, but as I stated before, your opponents practically laid down on the mat and begged you to pin them and take their titles. It was pathetic. If I were you, I would honestly deny that reign, especially when it ended on your first defense. It's embarrassing. So, really, we're on the same level. The difference is that I'm seventeen. You're thirty. You're almost twice my age, with a decade in the business, and you still can't clinch a title, and actually keep it for longer than a couple weeks? It's sad, and if Acquin actually wants to be saddled with a sack of crap partner such as yourself, then he deserves a loss. Hopefully he has enough sense to knock your head off, even if he doesn't join us. Otherwise, you won't just be making a joke of your career, but a joke of his career as well. If you two stick together, you can achieve one thing. You both can be the greatest punchline in SCW history.
Tim stops pacing and looks back to the collective, and the camera as well. They all pay close attention to Tim as he grabs the lantern off of the boiler. It hides him in the shadows, but better illuminates the nineteen Nobodies standing in front of him. They look much like statues, almost identical in their stances.
Tim: There will be blood shed on Sunday, and it will happen in the six sided ring. Climax Control in Colombo, Sri Lanka will belong to The Nobodies. It's not just an empty threat, it is a bonafide promise.
With that, Tim slowly turns off the lantern, shrouding the room in darkness. We hear the footsteps marching against the hard concrete as they exit the boiler room. The door creaks open as the scene fades out... TO BLACK!
