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Climax Control Archives / There's No Enigma. Your Ass Is Mine!

« on: May 18, 2012, 10:23:21 PM »

It still didn't work, did it? Of course it didn't. Ever since his arrival in Sin City Wrestling, the number of successes he's had could be counted on less then one hand. In other words, he has none. Despite the praise that's been heaped on him, "The Jackal" Adam Smith has failed to live up to expectations. A string of failure is not uncommon for Smith; in the past he's suffered strings of defeat in between runs of success. But in this case, where there's no success at all? It's a sad and sorry state of affairs, especially compared to the other superstars in SCW. Leading into the supercard, all of the failures he had run into in the past brought him into a pattern of anti-depressants and alcohol, and even a stern talking to and a beating from his friend and mentor Matt Matlock wasn`t enough to help him get out of it. Now shush, because they think he`s quit. They don`t know he`s still coping, and trying to pull himself out of the deepest rut he`s ever found himself in. This week, as he heads to battle against a mysterious figure known as `The Enigma" X, or "Cross" apparently. One has to wonder if Smith is able to rebound from all his troubles at long last?

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He made sure no one was around, and that no one was looking. He knew Christine was around, but she was out of the room getting a shower. He had hidden them where she wouldn't be able to see them. He needed a hit, and he needed it now. He opened up the drawer and withdrew the pill bottle, popping two of the anti-depressant pills. He put the bottle back in the drawer and buried them under the clothes. He made sure to hide them well, as Christine had once been in the same situation a long time ago, so she would know where he was hiding them. Then again, she didn't know he was still taking them. She figured after the beating he took from Matlock to knock some sense into him, he had stopped. However, he still needed his fix. For now though, he was fine.

Sin City Wrestling, really the only place he remained under a contract to. He had all but abandoned one of the places he had been in, and the other had shows so infrequently he didn`t even bother. However he had sunken to the depths of the roster it seemed, with loss after loss after loss. This could not continue, under any circumstance. After losing out on chances at the Roulette Championship, and even at the Heavyweight Championship, he needed to regain his footing. His opponent was a strange one, calling himself simply The Enigma. No one knew a lot about his past, but there was some mention of him being accused of murder, acting as some sort of vigilante. In Smith's mind though, it was all a gimmick, and a facade. This kid was nothing. Just some bald headed prick, looking to gain notoriety, and do it at the expense of The Jackal himself.

Christine came back into the room now, blisfully unaware of Smith and his pill popping. She embraced her husband and kissed him, the comfort of her arms being enough to take Smith's mind off of his troubles, if only for a moment. This Sunday, his mind wouldn't be on his troubles. They would be on The Enigma.

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So, they call you The Enigma, do they? X, or is it Cross? Or is it little white prick who thinks he's special? I prefer the latter. Sadly I don't know much about you, because you're a scared little bitch who is too frightened of his past to let anyone know anything about him. But I'm not stupid, nor do I lack resources. I know about your sketchy history Enigma. I know you seem to consider yourself something akin to Batman, a sort of vigilante. I'd say your more ``Kick Ass" then anything. You're a goofball thinking he's fantastic when he's anything but.

You kill people, don't you Enigma? That's what I've heard. You kill criminals and thugs, thinking you're doing a service to society. Then again, that's just a story I've heard. And if you ask me, that's all it is. Just a story. Just something I think you yourself perpetuated and spread around to make yourself sound more lethal, and more intimidating then you actually are. When i see you, I see a skinny white kid, and nothing more. How long have you been wrestling X? I've been doing this for nine years, and my body aches every fuckin' day when I wake up. I've bled, I've sweated, and I've fallen off of cages and through tables. Still, I struggle and climb and try to get to the top. Still, I falter. Yet all the attention seems to be on you. Why? WHY?!

I'm not coming to Climax Control to leave with my fourth loss X. You see there's no enigma here, or any mystery. I'm walking in, and I'm kicking your ass and I'm leaving with my first victory. If you think there's going to be a different result, or if you think this air of mystery around your persona is going to intimidate me, then you're wrong. This is my match, and my night. That's all there is to it!

Supercard Archives / Remembering Who I Am

« on: April 28, 2012, 12:05:08 AM »

It was happening all over again. No matter what was done, or what was tried, he continued to fall into a vicious cycle. He would arrive in a new promotion, and proclaim to start this 'hunt' for success, and for glory, and for the chance to become the champion he's never been. Opportunity after opportunity would be given, and each time would constitute a failure, slowly and surely slipping away into obscurity, becoming just another name that was on the roster, rather then becoming 'the' name on the roster.

There had been only three promotions in his career where this hadn't happened, and two of them were long since closed down. The other he didn't want to return to. The entire purpose behind coming to new promotions such as Sin City Wrestling, was to break the cycle, to break free of his past reputation as the underdog under the glass ceiling, and break through it on his own.

Instead, he's floundered, desperately trying to reach that point where he can reach success, but each time it's been snatched from his grasp. The initial Roulette Battle Royal at the last supercard? Foiled by Bo Dreamwolf. The singles match against Goth, with a victory that could have catapulted him up in the rankings? Foiled. The tournament to determine the new #1 contender? Foiled, again.

It's almost enough to make a man fall into a depression. Oh wait....

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The city of St. John's, Newfoundland, in the 'Smith' household. One could be forgiven for thinking this was just the home of a regular person, not a semi-famous professional wrestler. The Smith couple preferred to keep their money saved for eventual retirement from the sport, rather then spend it on lavish things. At least, not spend it all the time. Inside the home, the living room is a disgraceful sight, as countless bottles of beer adorn the floor. On the couch, Adam Smith is seen, sitting upright, but with his eyes black as the night. On the TV, are tapes of some of his recent matches, or losses to be more specific. Most of them are included, but primarily his losses in SCW. The problem is, he hasn't had a single victory, and it bothered him immensely. He felt awful at what he was doing; his wife Christine entered a state of depression just like this during a period where she suffered little success in the ring. After talking her out of it, he was here doing the same. He had hit rock bottom, almost.

In the back of the room, stood his wife Christine, almost in tears. Next to her was their longtime friend, wrestling sensation Matt Matlock. His face wasn't really one of empathy, but rather disgust, looking at his friend and tag partner in such a state.

Matlock: Good grief. I knew this was going to happen eventually.

Christine: How could he do this though? After all I went through, h---

Matlock: We all deal with failure in different ways Christine. I left the sport for almost two years. Adam....he's taken to this. He lacks confidence.

Christine: So he needs to win a match?

Matlock: No, he needs something else. Adam! Adam you prick, get up!

Matlock walked over to where Adam was sitting, standing in front of the television. Adam looked up at his old friend, his eyes practically empty, like he wasn't even there. He looked back down, ashamed. Matt grabbed him and stood him upright.

Matlock: Outside. Now.

Jackal: Matt, don---

Matlock: I said outside! NOW!

Without further hesitation or protest, Adam "The Jackal" Smith led his friend outside, where Matlock shut and locked the door behind them. They walked out to the middle of the yard. It was late, and the sky was dark, but there was enough light that they could see each other.

Matlock: You remember when you & I first started? How bad we were?

Jackal: Yeah.

Matlock: You never had to resort to this, did you?

Jackal: .....No.

Matlock: How did we get better?

Jackal: After getting our asses kicked.

Matlock: Exactly. So, sorry.

Jackal: Sorry fo---

Matlock took a swing at his old friend, punching him square in the jaw. Matt knew how his old friend operated, and a fight would get the juices flowing again. But Smith didn't react, so Matlock punched him again. That did it, and Smith took a swing back. The two tussled, exchanging blows and rollling about in the yard. Eventually, Smith found himself on the ground helpless.

Matlock: You see? What the hell happened to The Jackal who could hand me MY ASS on any given day, huh? You want to know what happened? You're weak. You've let yourself get complacent, and you've forgotten your goals. You're the predator right, the goddamn predator of the wrestling world!

Jackal: Yeah...

Matlock: You're not acting like it! And at this rate, your ass is going to end up losing to those peons at London Brawling! You want to let some pussy like Bobby Cage or Old Skool get the better of you? You want that freak Tommy Skaggs to get the better of you?

Jackal: No...no I have to win.

Matlock helped his friend get up.

Matlock: Then remember who the fuck you are, clean your ass up, and you go to that pay per view and you FUCKING WIN! You get me? Stop with this goddamn drinking, get some sleep, stop focusing on how badly you've lost, and focus on kicking ass!

Jackal: Yessir!

Matlock: Sir?

Jackal: Fuck, I called you sir. I mean, jackass.

Matlock: Better.

Jackal: .....You hit hard.

Matlock: That's the point.

Jackal: Right....thanks Matt. I...I guess I needed that. But I don't think I can get over this that easily. I've.....well, I've kind of been doing this for a while. I've just been hiding it.

Matlock: You'll get through it man. But now, focus. London Brawling; Roulette Rules; ass kicking, got it?

Jackal: Got it.

Climax Control Archives / It's Time To Show What I Can Really Do

« on: April 06, 2012, 10:45:10 PM »

It seemed that whenever he first arrived into a company, there was always a delay when it came to success. He once went eight matches straight with a loss as a rookie, and other times had fluctuated from victory to defeat before gaining any momentum. Here within the walls of Sin City Wrestling, things were no different. His debut coming at the supercard ended in spectacular defeat as he lost to Bo Dreamwolf. His subsequent match a few weeks later against the monster known as Goth didn't go any better, as he lost despite a great effort. But those who say that effort doesn't get you results should take notice. An eight man tournament has been set up to determine the next person to challenge for the Heavyweight championship, and Adam Smith is in the first round. His opponent, happens to be on the opposite end of things, coming into the tournament with two victories and no losses. Both men are fierce, and both have the desire, but only one can advance.

Brown might think he'll have it easy. But he hasn't seen what his opponent is truly capable of; not yet.

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It was Good Friday, the Roman Catholic holiday where believers remember the day the lord Jesus Christ was crucified, died, and was buried; thus leading to his ressurection three days later on Easter Sunday. He would be facing a man from across the pond, Johnny Brown, a tough English punk with a no nonsense attitude. Not to mention it was the first round of the tournament to crown the new #1 contender. For such an important match, you need to be prepared, and maybe even have the Lord on your side.

Unfortunately it was Good Friday, and Adam had a craving for meat. But breaking the fast might anger the Lord and affect his chances on Sunday. It was because of this that despite staying in a hotel, but his wife forbade him for ordering a steak or a burger.

The Jackal: C'mon babe. I'm sure the Lord will forgive me for breaking the fast for one hamburger or one small steak. I got a crazy craving for it.

Christine: You want to have the lord on your side when the day , so it's better to not break the fast. Come on, you love fish burgers.

The Jackal: Not this cheap imitation crap. I like a fish burger made from real fish, like back home. I'm not sure what the fuck this crap is they have here in Vegas. It's not fish though.

Christine: I'll tell you what. You win this Sunday, and I'll make you some steak when we get back to Newfoundland.

The Jackal: Alright fine, I'll eat this "fish" and have some real meat when we get back. So when do we order?

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So now we fade in to the image of a crucifix against a plain dark wall. The typical sort of image you would see on a day like this. As the camera zooms out from it, we see the back of Adam Smith, facing the wall and thus the crucifix, and, well, not really doing anything. He remains silent for the most part, that is until he raises his head and begins speaking.

The Jackal: According to Christian belief, two thousand and twelve years ago, the living embodiment of God himself walked among us. He was born in a horse barn, slept in hay, and was the son of a carpenter. Thirty years after that, he died a crueler death then even the worst criminal day would get. We kill child rapists and murderes with a needle, while an innocent man who does no wrong is flogged, busted wide open, and hung on a wooden cross? It's pathetic. But the lord Jesus Christ was more of a man then any of us. He was willing to accept a terrible beating and go through excruciating pain in order to achieve his goal; to redeem us all and open the gates of heaven, which had been shuttered thanks to the war with hell. Or so I've been told.

Smith turns now, his eyes narrowed and looking into the camera.

The Jackal: Not to sound overly blasphemous, but the lord Jesus and I share a common trait. I can't walk on water, heal the sick, or raise the dead. But I am also committed to going to whatever lengths necessary to achieve my own goals; even if this means putting myself through extreme pain and agony. I can't help but feel my whole career has been a part of some bigger plan. While it's not a physical agony, going for nearly a decade without a world championship to my credit is a mental agony I suffer almost daily. Now here I am in a tournament, and maybe, just maybe, all of these years of agony are going to pay off. I have a feeling my ability to cope with what I've been dealt is going to be rewarded when I ascend to the top and claim that Heavyweight prize. You think you all can stop it? I'm a man who's been through everything. There's not a type of match you can come up with that I haven't fought in, or any weapon I haven't been hit with, or used as a weapon myself. I can put up with as much pain as any man, and even if you bust me open wider then Jesus himself was, I will still come for you.

Smith's gaze softens slightly, as he pauses a moment to ponder his next words.

The Jackal: Despite being from across the pond, me and Johnny Brown share a lot in common. We're both fiercely proud of our countries, we're both tough sons of bitches, and both of us are hungry for the gold. The main difference being I can speak worth a damn without that horrible accent. And perhaps you should listen to your friend. My father was one of the toughest sons of bitches you'd never want to meet, and I'm sure he could handle your 'gramps' easily. But I guess having the two of them up in heaven watching their kin knock each other's lights out will have to suffice. Can't really picture this going to a submission, as you use the same move I've been using for years, and I can slip out of that easily. Nah, you're gonna have to beat me until I can't get my shoulder up; you're gonna have to beat me senseless there Johnny boy. That's a task easier to say then it is to do, and even the best in the world have struggled with it. Despite what you think about my backstory and all that 'garbage shit', it's all true, and I've lived through things that would kill a man like you. Hence, your task is even harder.

Smith's gaze turns off camera a moment, then returns to the camera.

The Jackal: This week, the SCW gets to see what I can really do, and you'll be the one to experience it firsthand Johnny. Sitting there and making fun of my heritage, my nickname, my family, my looks, it's all funny shit. But it's just words. You can talk about punching me in the face over and over, but what happens when I grab that fist and punch you right in the fuckin' nose? What do you do when I lift you high over my head and drop your carcass to the mat? What do you do when you realize all your words mean jack shit and you have to actually put up, or shut up? I'll tell you what you do; a whole fuckload of nothing is what. The lord Jesus may have died for our sins, but you die for yours tonight; pride, sloth, and being British. I'm not a holy man, but this is a holy weekend. And on Easter Sunday my career will rise from the dead, and I will move on in this tournament and become the next SCW Heavyweight Champion.

Fade out.

Climax Control Archives / Are You Supposed To Be Impressive?

« on: March 16, 2012, 09:21:40 PM »

So much for dominance from the start. I came into Sin City Wrestling with a head full of steam, and I ended up losing to a goddamned Native American. What the actual fuck? I lost to a guy named Bo Dreamwolf? I mean sure, he's talented and everything, but still. So much for the shot at the Roulette Championship. Hell, Dreamwolf won the damn title to! Once again, a case of some young punk getting one up on me. It's enough to make a man go mad.

However, I have at least made a good impression on someone. They are predicting big things for me in the future, but as it says on the card, I have a huge roadblock in my path. This man, known only as Goth, is known as one of the best men in SCW. Supposedly, anyway. But I am indeed one of the fastest rising stars in SCW, and if this Goth felllow is supposed to be impressive? Ha! He has another thing coming.

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The Jackal: The life of a God, eh Goth? It looks more to me like the life of a loser.

Fade in into the backstage area, where we find The Jackal standing in front of a wall, in black track pants. He stands there wrapping tape around his wrist, smirking at the camera.

The Jackal: Two losses in two matches, and that will soon turn into a third loss in a third match. They aren't joking when they declare me as one of the fastest rising stars in SCW. Make no mistake Goth, I am no rookie. I've been in this business perhaps longer then you, toiling away and trying to reach the top for years, always held back by a glass ceiling. Have I complained? You're damned right I have complained. This way of life is an insane way to make money, but what has it gotten me? Has it gotten me the success I crave? The success that I deserve? No. The fame, the glory, and the cheers of a crowd meaning nothing to me if I have no recognition as the best of all time. You talk about getting to the point where you made it. The thing is Goth, I never have made it. That's why you need to lay down tonight and lose. I will not accept defeat, and I will not accept another step backwards in my effort to get to the top of SCW. In other words, I'm not accepting you defeating me.

Smith finished wrapping the tape around his wrist, and grabbed his red fingerless gloves. He slid them on, and cracked his knuckles.

The Jackal: I think that the reason you've survived so long is not because you are great, but just because you've been lucky. I think they were right when they said that you couldn't achieve anything. Because well, what have you achieved really? Nothing that I've seen. But you will get what you deserve; a really good ass kicking. Pain, suffering, blah blah blah. I've heard that dozens of times before from dozens of other guys. If you intend to make a joke out of me, and show that you need this victory, you will fail. You won't be showing the world anything other then the fact you have become a total failure, and a shell of who you used to be. You asked me if I thought you were sane? Yeah, I think you're completely sane, just slightly delusional. You make yourself out to be this big lethal and intense badass, but all I see is a scared man with a failure of a past looking to redeem himself. I'm still on my way to the top Goth, and you are just struggling and climbing to get there. You want to make an example out of me, but again, it's something I've heard before. Many men have tried to make an example out of me, and they have failed. What makes you different? Nothing, that's what.

The Jackal pauses and laughs a moment.

The Jackal: I won't leave and come back when you retire. I'll make you retire, because it seems obvious the two of us won't be able to co-exist. i believe in my hype, because right now it's all I have to really believe in. The world is tired of you Goth, and ready to embrace the predator of the wrestling world.

Showing he is just a 'normal person' as mentioned in Goth's promo, The Jackal just laughs and flips off the camera as we fade.

Supercard Archives / Dominant From The Start

« on: February 18, 2012, 11:36:42 PM »

Let me ask you a question. Imagine if you will, you're a professional wrestler. Not just any wrestler, but a professional. A professional who has been wrestling for the better part of nine years; since 2003. You would assume you'd be famous, with people everywhere knowing who you are, and multiple title reigns on your resume.

But imagine then, if you didn't. Imagine being that wrestler, imagine having wrestled for those nine long years, and not being a household name. Imagine not being a world champion. Imagine that most of your success came from a company that used to be a global promotion and is now barely supporting itself. Imagine that the rest of your accomplishments came from a now defunct promotion. Sit back and think upon the fact that any other place you've been apart of, you've accomplished absolutely fuck all.

Bothersome, isn't it? It would hurt your pride, your dignity, and would make you insecure. It would make you angry, hateful, full of disdain for mostly everyone. If you can picture all of that, you've just managed to put yourself into the head of Adam Smith, aka The Jackal; a man who will be making his debut for SCW at the upcoming supercard "Blaze of Glory". The powers that be have seen fit to grant him right away, a contendership match for their Roulette Championship. All he needs to do is win a battle royal. All he needs to do is succeed. All he needs to do is hunt, like only he can.

There have been too many false starts. There have been too many times where he's barely started at all. This time around, The Jackal is looking to be dominant from the very start. If you can't figure it out, that's bad news for everyone involved.

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Newfoundland. You go up to the glorious country of Canada, and this province is about as far east as you go. The capital city of the province. Saint John's, is about as far east as you can go in the province. And for years it's held the home of "The Jackal" Adam Smith, a man that some people say is the best man to never have held a World Championship. Not that he's never had the shot, but it continues to elude him to this day.

On this day however, we do find Adam inside of his home. This isn't a big fancy mansion. Despite the wealth he and his wife had, they always chose the same comfy middle class home. It was snowy and rainy, which was good because they hadn't planned on going outside anyway. He sits at his kitchen table with his wife, Christine. The two of them had been through so much, including a divorce and then getting married again. It's that sort of love that won't go away.

Christine, since she was not a full time wrestler at the moment, had taken up the position of Adam's agent. He was currently contracted to two promotions, but one only ran a show it seemed like once a month, and was filled with superstars who had been there before him. He was getting lost in the shuffle. The same with the other promotion. He was struggling to get to the top through the large sea of contracted superstars, and it was getting aggravating. Luckily though, she had a solution.

"The Jackal" Adam Smith: Okay, so what's your big idea then? You get me a contract to go work somewhere else alongside both of these promotions?

Christine Smith: Exactly. But this promotion doesn't have like fifty males on its roster, so you'll be able to stick out more. Plus it actually seems to have a show on a regular basis.

"The Jackal" Adam Smith: Hey now, don't come down on those places. I like working in both places, despite the flaws.

Christine Smith: Well, I now have you a contract for Sin City Wrestling. It's based out of Las Vegas, Nevada; it's been open for quite a while, has a decent sized roster, good competition, and regular cards.

This wasn't good at all. Smith knew the name of Sin City Wrestling. He knew that "he'd" be there. His old partner, the world famous wrestler Matt Matlock. He was on a roll there, some big shot. Smith didn't like this one bit. Everytime he ended up in the same promotion as Matlock, the two ended up crossing paths, and his old "friend" would steal his limelight.

"The Jackal" Adam Smith: No.

Christine Smith: What? Why not?

"The Jackal" Adam Smith: Because Matt will be there. I hate having to compete against that son of a bitch.

Christine Smith: Heh heh, you won't have to?

"The Jackal" Adam Smith: What do you mean?

Christine Smith: I know this is going to sound completely crazy, but there are in fact two promotions, both based out of Las Vegas, and they are both called Sin City Wrestling. Matt competes in the other promotion, I made sure of that. No, it's all you this time babe. And even better, it's part of the NeWA, which is based off of the old NWA. So you do well, you get notoreity enough to compete for the NeWA World Title. If that doesn't get you recognition, nothing will.

"The Jackal" Adam Smith: Now that sounds more like it. When do I start?

Christine Smith: You have your first match at their next Supercard, Blaze of Glory. You're against five other men with the winner getting a shot at the Roulette Championship, which is some sort of odd title where the type of match is in fact chosen by the spin of a Roulette Wheel.

"The Jackal" Adam Smith: Heh, now that sounds right up my alley. A perfect chance to get off on the right foot and show everyone in that place I mean business. I'd say there's no time like the present to speak my mind, wouldn't you agree?

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Fade in on a simple scene, consisting of "The Jackal" Adam Smith standing in front of a black wall, while dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt. He's grinning and laughs out loud before he begins.

Ladies and gentlemen of Sin City Wrestling, the hunt is officially on. You now lay your eyes upon the official predator of the wrestling world; "The Jackal" Adam Smith. Now you might ask yourself, what is it I hunt? It's a simple question, with a simple answer. I hunt for success. That fair maiden, that mistress that has for SO LONG...eluded me. Time after time, match after match, I find some success. A tag team championship reign, a hardcore title reign, or a cruiserweight title reign. But none of that is sufficient. None of it good enough. I've never climbed the mountain, I was never able to stand there and say that I am the best in the company, or that I am the best in the world. Never. So that's my goal, ladies and gentlemen. That elusive success of mine is my quarry and I hunt it constantly. Now of course, anyone who gets in the way of that? Well, they have to be taken out as well. Someone's bound to get caught in the crossfire.

Right off the bat I'm in a match that's going to determine the number one contender for the SCW Roulette Championship. You take me, and you take five other men, and put us into a battle royal. So all I have to do is take five men and toss them over the top rope? No pinfalls, no submissions? Heh, easy enough. Especially considering who I'm up against. I mean look at this Bobby Cage guy. Some guy thinks he's all badass because he was in prison getting raped for sixteen years, because he was stupid enough to beat a man to death with a piece of wood. You think your impressive big shot? Not in the slightest. My name might not be 'Carlos' but I can still take your goddamned head off. Try me punk, I dare ya.

Then on the other side of the coin we have Brandon Meideros. Again some kid who thinks he's tough because he won a bunch of street fights. Trust me junior, I've only been in one real street fight in my career, and it probably meant more then any of the little victories you got. You're looking to be the best of all time, well that's fine and dandy. You can do that in a couple of years time once I've had my shot at greatness. Too many times I had to sit by and watch some young punkass like yourself get to the top. I'd sooner end your career then see you elevated over me. If you value your young career you should be backing off.

Who else? Well we have a man who won a gold star for being the "Hardest Worker" in his last promotion. Of course I'm talking about the big bad British douchebag, Prime Time Matthew Kennedy. This guy walks all over the place, acting all smug, again, thinking he's top shit. Why? Because he's from Britain and he finished wrestling school at the top of his class. La dee damned da kid. I didn't go to wrestling school, I got 'taken' to wrestling school, if you get my meaning. You play dirty because you're a coward, a yellow backed jackass who wouldn't know a wristlock from a wristwatch. If I have to play dirty, I do so because I have no other choice. You see because I have the balls to fight someone man to man. I don't have to hide behind a fancy nickname and tell people they're going to be cancelled. Although, if they keep putting you on the card, Climax Control is liable to get cancelled.

We got two contestants left now ladies and gentlemen. First off is OLD SKOOL! ....Yeah that's his name. Sorry but is that not the most dumb as shit name you could have come up with son? But hey, thanks for the kind words. I will "give it my best shot". Unfortunately for you Mr. "Sin-Sational", my best shot means tossing you over the ropes. Do your homework, go try to find some stuff on me. That's the only way you're gonna have an 'edge' over me.

And to the last we have Bo Dreamwolf. Now the reason I left him for last is the odd fact I really can't say anything too bad about this guy. I can't mock him like I did Old Skool because his name is actually rather uinque. He's not smug like 'Prime Time' and he doesn't appear to be any sort of coward. And this guy doesn't think he's top shit because of being in prison or winning a bunch of street fights. Part time teacher, part time wrestler, and a Native American at that. You see, it's guys like Bo Dreamwolf I can respect. Despite being a minority, he goes out and competes and enjoys it. Plus he has a second occupation in case he gets hurt. Lord knows I was never smart enough to do that. But make no mistake Bo. It's like I said earlier, I have been at this sport far too long to let a youngster get the better of me. Nine years is a long time to wait to be a recognized household name. I respect you, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to kick your ass and send you packing.

So that's that. Six men, all rookies to SCW, and looking to make their big impact. But as much as these give want to make an impact, it won't happen. I didn't come here to lose, I didn't come here to be overlooked. I came here to win. Right from the start, I'm planning on winning. Right from the start, I plan on becoming a contender. Right from the start, I will be dominant.

End promo.

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