“The world is going mad.”
Blade Alexander, dressed in a fine white suit, facing back to the camera looks out over a bustling Sin City.
“The whole world is going mad. Someone has to step in and stop this insanity. Everyone's got delusions of grandeur and the SCW Champion just up and ran away. Some tough guy he turned out to be. Casey Williams ranted earlier this week about the farce that was the NWA year end awards, but it shows just how little that voting body knows about wrestling. Where was my name? Nevermind that. Unlike some people around here, I don't need their validation, and after WrestleClassic, they're going to find out it's them who need mine.”
“But let's go back a bit. I've been a bit to silent about things for far too long, and things are just not sitting right. First of all let's go back to December to Dismember... There's that... tag team tournament. I'm stuck alongside that fair-weathered moron Casey Williams who rants about wanting nothing more than the tag team titles, but first chance he gets he turns on me, his partner. He's an idiot and that idiot is yesterday's news.”
“The real issue coming out of that pay per view is not the rematch to the most boring hour long draw in the history of prowrestling, but rather the crowning of a new number one contender in Nick Jones. A nobody. A nothing. A glorified wannabe, and just how was it that Jones got himself out of the tag team tournament and into a number one contender match? We got that answer last week in the form of Mark Ward. The man was even going to go so far as to just hand the belt over to a loser.”
Blade shakes his head.
“JT Underwood bails and Nick Jones celebrates the only way he can. Getting someone to hand him over a title belt.”
“Hold the press, what is this? Of all people it's Christian Underwood, relative of the wayward former champion himself come to the aid of SCW and say that's not how things are going down.”
The relative quiet of the dimly lit room is cut but one short burst of laughter from the original Sinner.
“Nick Jones stages himself a little stunt last week to award himself a count-out victory over the former champion, but Nick Jones, there's only one man who holds a REAL SCW victory over JT Underwood. There's only one unbeaten man who's the REAL number one contender to the SCW title. And there's only one man who JT Underwood would rather run away from than face for that very championship, and he's ME, Blade Alexander.”
“It was when our match on the biggest stage SCW has known at WrestleClassic was announced that the champion got cold feet and became a runaway bride. It wasn't in fear of Nick Jones, it was out of sheer terror at the knowledge that he would inevitably lose to me.”
“I've come too far to look back. I've seen the bleak outlook that is SCW's future if this sinking ship stays it's course. Doubt me? Take a look at Italy. I'm sure you've all seen that business with the cruise ship. Survivors telling harrowing stories of escape. The Captain that somehow made it to shore, and the blame being pointed in every direction. That's what is happening to SCW right now. In the beginning so much hope. So much possibility. So much potential. What happened though? Potential isn't always reached. People have bombshells like Misty shoved down their throats. People have to suffer though awkward gimmick matches like the Halloween fiasco. People are put through the punishment of seeing not one, but two car wrecks masquerading as wrestling matches when Gabriel and Underwood fought not once but twice, then are force fed a long, drawn out experience worse than visiting a back alley dentist with Nick Jones and his little skit trying to award himself the SCW championship.”
“Milk and cookies.”
“Bread and butter.”
“Boredom and death.”
“Welcome the future of SCW.”
His shadow flashes briefly on the glass in front of him. His features are dark and shadowed. It gives him a chilling look.
“But all may not be lost. The message persists.”
“What message you ask? You do not have to accept this. You do NOT have to submit. Fight the corruption. Fight the status quo. Just FIGHT. What SCW needs is not another glistening body, full of more chemically injected muscle than brain. What SCW does not need is a politician telling you what you want and need. What SCW NEEDS is for someone to introduce a little... Ultraviolence.”
Blade slowly turns to face the camera, an sinister grin spreading across his face. Under his right eye there is black paint in the style of a gear, the spokes of which spreading outward. He slowly reaches up and places a white bowler hat with a thick black band around it on his head.
“It's time to remember what it was we wanted to do when we gathered here. It's time to shake from the slumber of dreams forced upon us by those not worthy of calling themselves our peers. It's time to call to arms, brothers and sisters, and feel what is was that made our blood boil with that hatred those months ago. It's time to show them all. It's time to show the Nick Jones' and the Mark Wards and the Casey Williams, and even the Bo Dreamwolfs that it is WE who are to be feared. It's time to show them it is WE who are to be hated. It's time to show them it is WE who shall dominate.”
“Throw away that which bonded us. Held us back. Judged us by their mold. This is our world. Our order. Our city. Our SIN.”
“This is not the beginning of the end, brothers and sisters. They will view it that way, but this story is no longer theirs to write. This is our story. WrestleClassic is only the end of our beginning.”
“But to get there we still have steps to take. Things will change, but they wont want to believe. It is up to us to show them proof. That is what brings us to Bo Dreamwolf. The man who has escaped a 90's french soft-core porn. The look. The music...”
“It's a good thing, little dreaming wolf, that you were born into the heritage you were and not into... say a feudal Japanese society. Had you, you would be dead by now. Face down, the blood coagulating around you after you committed Seppuku so that the rest of your family may retain their honor.”
“You came to SCW for a reason Dreamwolf, what was it? Do you remember? What did you plan to do here aside from cashing a cheque? You were upset at being thrown into the same tag title tournament with the rest of us, but what did you do about it? What have you done since then? What have you said since then? You've forgotten who you are. You've forgotten where you've come from. You've forgotten why you're here. This weekend at Climax Control you have options. Remember. Live again. Let the blood rise up, or let it be your final cut.”
“You know nothing.”
“None of you do.”
“Yet.”
Fade.
