The steady thrum of rain fell around him as he made his way around the track, a wooded area with a shimmering lake dead center. It was two miles around, nearly a hundred degrees, humid enough that you could almost see the wall of moisture hanging in the air. The rain did little to cut through it, but at least offered the slightest bit of relief. With his previous fight on his mind, Ryan pushed himself harder, forced himself to move faster. Mind over matter. With his aggravation as his fuel, one lap became two, easily turning to three, then four. He could still feel the tightness of leather around his wrist, the way his muscles tensed as he did everything in his power not to give into the perilous game of Tug of War that they played. His prize was right in his grasp… yet his anger got in the way.
As the fifth lap approached, the man could feel the heat getting to him. It made him itch, his head beginning to spin. A break was unwanted, but definitely needed. Even in this state, he was still aware enough to know his limits. Jogging off the path, he slips down the grassy slope that gave way to a rocky shore, kneeling to sink his hands into the clear water, splashing it over his face. His gaze sinks to the rippling water, his own image staring back at him, distorted by the gentle movement. As he continue to stare, held by his own gaze, his tendency toward vanity, everything seems to slow, each fluctuation of the liquid becoming slower, drawn out, his reflection becoming clearer...
Ryan Keys: “I can still see it. Every rip, every tear… the perfect skin that used to be. Gone. All people see is an illusion of what used to be. Still. They must like what they see. During that match my name was screamed louder than ever before. I can still hear the faint cheers in my ears as the minutes counted down to my victory, while seconds counted down my loss.”
Ryan stared back at himself with a measure of forced indifference, a change stirring in the crystalline depths. Suddenly, his smooth, perfect skin began to darken, to morph into something drawn straight from the shallow depths of his memory. To what gazed back at him in the locker room only a few weeks prior. The wrestler was now faced with the stark reality that his godlike, chiseled features would never be the same. Every time he looked in the mirror, he’d see what he truly was. A shattered man, forever fighting, forever clawing for victory. Would he achieve what he so desperately craved? Only time would tell.
The taste of copper lingered on his tongue, the air stung his face. A sound roared somewhere in the distance. Was it thunder? The remaining light began to fade as the shrouded sun sank from the sky, the darkness starting to creep in. But Ryan paid the world around him no mind. He was fixated, trapped by himself, his insecurity. As he watched, his expression twisted into something else entirely, something Ryan himself hardly even recognized. The image took on a life of its own, snarling back at the wrestler with a perceptible intensity, a white hot rage that sent a chill down his spine despite the heat. It shown with all the seething, bitter anger that Ryan held within, the beast that was fed by each hit, each loss, every taste of victory that had slipped through his fingers.
Ryan Keys: “Tuscini… I had you. Your loss was clear in my head. Until you distorted it. I knew that you were desperate for us to have our match. I knew that you were desperate enough to do everything in your power to make sure nothing went wrong. You played yourself as the oh-so great fighting champion defending his title honorably. But what I didn’t know was that you were so desperate to keep your precious title that you would stoop so low as to get in my face and light the anger that was in me.”
“Broken.”
“That was all you had to say. A simple word coming out of your mouth made every bit of my blood boil with rage. Right then, my world came crashing down. The poster boy, the rising star, the most must see super star in SCW… was broken. And it was all because of you.”
The water shifted once more, his doppelganger’s demeanor changing again. The snarl was replaced with a slowly budding smirk, a wicked, expression that spoke danger, a man on the very edge of sanity. Is this what he was becoming? This… monster? For the first time in his life, Ryan was almost… afraid of what stared back at him.
Light flashed before his eyes, the same sound he had heard earlier came back tenfold. The earth beneath him quivered, shaking him out of the daze he had fallen into. When his eyes once again fell on the water, the image was gone, the rain falling too quickly to allow it to reemerge. The storm had picked up quite a bit, the rain pelting him with a vengeance. The last thing he needed was to get sick before his next match. Pushing himself to his feet, he dusts off his hands and turns to start jogging back to his hotel room, all thoughts of the prior fight shoved from his mind for the time being.
Las Vegas, NV
Broken Glass Hotel
11:45 pm
The scene starts with a simple hotel room. Cast in low lights, the place looks a bit eerie. Colorful Casino lights coming from the window provided the only joyful gesture in the room. The rest was… broken.
Ryan Keys stands outside the balcony, a calm expression on his face as he tries to chase away the thoughts that occupied his mind. His loss. The drama. Now he was starting to sympathize with what Johnny Knock was going through. Relationships were always a bother, which is why he didn’t do them. Stepping off the railing, he walks back inside, a side angle from the camera showed every reflective object broken. With a smile the young man addressed the camera in front of him as he begins to speak.
Ryan Keys: “Cox Pavilion. Las Vegas, Nevada. My hometown.It’s been awhile since I’ve set foot in that ring. Old stomping grounds of what used to be a good looking kid running around the ring barely dressed for people's enjoyment. Some might say that is still the case. Then again, people's heads aren’t always in the right place when they see me. Something else occupies their minds. And it’s definitely not you Mr. TNA.”
A sly grin came to his face as he starts the shoot early in his words. He doesn’t have much to say about his opponent at #CC154. Actions spoke volumes. But words never hurt.
Ryan Keys: "Let's be Frank, you know Frank, right? Frank is a nice guy. And he knows that your little come back ain’t worth all the fuss you get, Travis. How long has it been? A month? Two? A week? I don’t care how long it's been since you’ve been in the ring. I don’t care how long it’s been since you’ve competed in a match. Frankly I just don’t care. And neither do you. I respect that."
He executes a slow nod as he offers the man a bit of praise. Their attitudes were sort of similar. Yet age still separated them. Travis was no longer a young man that could get away with a cocky attitude. Ryan slowly looks over the camera in front of him and a slight twitch came about his face. He can see his reflection. That didn’t sit well with him.
Ryan Keys: "So I’m not gonna go on and on about the great self proclaimed legend that is Mr. TNA. You don’t need it. Coming from the same state as me, I know what a little bit of praise can do to you. All the gambles you can make with a little bit of an ego by your side as a wingman. So… are you feeling lucky? Because you’re going to be stepping inside that ring with someone that is at his highest point in his in-ring ability. And he has a lot of anger built up inside him. Plus, there is something about you that needs a little work."
"Prepare to be... broken."
Without warning the camera was struck, it’s lens cracking from the strike and even more so as it hit the floor. It’s attendant fled from the room and a gentle hand rose the camera from the floor, Ryan’s face soon came into view. The image parted his face in many ways. All showing him… broken. The scene slowly fades away.
