January 24
Early evening
Brooklyn, New York
Change was in the air. A new year, a new chance for Lachlan Kane to climb the ladder of success in SCW. 2019 had been full of obstacles that he had stumbled over, first losing the Mixed Tag belts to Gamers Inc, then failing to regain them in the title tournament, falling to Griffin Hawkins for the Roulette title, and finally his unsuccessful attempt to become the SCW World Champion. There was only so much one man could take, and it seemed like Lachlan was hitting his breaking point, if his recent interaction on Twitter with Daniel Morgan was anything to go by. The normally light-hearted Irishman seemed uncharacteristically bitter, even angry.
So now, the match was set. Which made Lachlan scoff loudly as he sat on the rooftop of his Brooklyn apartment. It was a mild January night as he watched the sun set off in the distance, a bottle of beer in his hand. He raised it to his mouth and took a long swallow, fixing his intense blue eyes on the camera set up just off to the side of him.
“You know...I’m getting real sick and tired of people treating me like a fuckin’ afterthought around here. Sierra and I busted our asses to make that mixed tag division into something great. Hell, we weren’t even gunning for it, but Christian and Mark asked if we wanted to take part. So we figured why the hell not? And look what we did. We took a division no one cared about and made it the hottest commodity for SCW. Everyone was talking about it. But no, tell me again how worthless we are.”
He let out a harsh laugh, sounding almost bitter. “We have been the most dominant mixed tag team in the history of the company, but do you think we get the fuckin’ respect we deserve? Not a single fuckin’ one of your supposed ‘great’ teams stepped to us. It wasn’t until we lost the titles that they were quick to come crawling out of their caves to denounce us. You stand in the backstage, running your mouth, thinking you’re tough shit all of a sudden. You think you ran us off? Where the fuck were you when Sierra and I were out there week after week practically begging for challengers? I’ve yet to hear you actually answer this question, so let me do the honours. The lot of you were off doing fuck all in this company. And yet you got the fuckin’ STONES to say that you ran off Sierra and I? We were the ones putting in our time. We brought the mixed tag division up to a respectable place...just to watch it go straight back down the shitter once Gamers Inc got their fuckin’ hands on our titles and promptly disappeared back to their shitty little consoles. And once a tournament was announced to crown new champions - THAT’S when you johnny-come-latelys decided to fuckin’ put your time in.”
He finished off the last of his drink, tossing the bottle to the side where it smashed against a low wall. “Do I seem bitter? Maybe because I fuckin’ am. I’m tired of all these entitled little shitheels trying to make their name off me. I’m tired of everyone shitting on my accomplishments just to make themselves feel like the big man on campus. I’ve had more title opportunities in one year than most of you fuckers will ever get in your entire careers. And yes, I haven’t exactly been successful in all of them...but that all changes this year. This year, I don’t give a damn what I have to do or who I have to go through. I’m coming for that World title, so consider this my official notice. But first, I’ve got a little business to take care of, don’t I?”
He stood up from the chair he had been sitting on, his imposing figure filling the frame as his face grew dark. “It’s one thing to talk shit behind a screen, Daniel, but it’s gonna be real hard for your to tweet once I bust every knuckle on both your hands this Sunday. You think you intimidate me? Think you’re so tough talking shit when you know I’m nowhere to be found? Without your little cronies around you, you ain’t shit to me. Hell, even with your cronies around, you still ain’t shit to me. You’re just another obstacle for me to overcome on my way to take over this whole goddamn company. On Sunday night, you become my example. You become the answer to the question, ‘What will Lachlan Kane do to every fuckin’ worthless shitheel that dares to stand in his way?’ And that is beat you to a bloody, lifeless pulp.”
He smirked, uncharacteristically sinister in the darkness of the twilight setting in. “And I would say that it’s just business...but let’s face it. I’m gonna enjoy the hell out of it on Sunday night.”
He raised his hand to the camera, index finger and thumb extended in a gun shape, and mimicked pulling a trigger as the camera immediately cut to static, before fading out to black.
