Author Topic: There's No Enigma. Your Ass Is Mine!  (Read 929 times)

Offline The_Jackal

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    • "The Jackal" Adam Smith
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!
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