Post by (Temorarily) haVoc on Dec 19, 2021 14:59:45 GMT -5
I’ll be whoever you want me to be.
The man lurks in the shadows - his face hidden behind sunglasses, his eyes positioned downward toward the cement floor. A lightbulb string dangled inches from the top of his bushy hair.
Action Wrestling is looking for a savior. For a man to take form, take flight, and fix everything that has been broken. And you’ve opened up the competition to anyone, and everyone, from all corners of the industry. You need someone to crash-land in the center of this ring, and toss every motherfucker out until there’s only one left remaining.
The man looks up to the ceiling. The camera catches a glimpse of a cheshire grin, the bends of his mouth, the dimples on his cheeks. There is a nice structure on his cheekbones, particularly when he turns sideways, and the camera catches his silhouette.
The Cruiserweight Championship has been passed along from bitches to bastards, and no one can seem to grab the bull by the horns and fucking ride. The notoriety is just too big for some - for the whores like Addy A and Azurine Vebbins to the psychos and sadists like Regan Voorhees and VOID and Sara Pettis and J.C. Keeton.
From the stagnant like Teo Blaze and Andre Jenson and Karlie Nash and Roddy Zalez, who are too chicken-shit to ditch their tag team glory and step up to spotlight.
Aphriya Adler shows promise, but she’s one-dimensional.
Jane Doe is of no dimension at all.
This is a goddamned clown show, and not a single one of you have the balls to step up to the fucking plate. This is embarrassing - I almost don’t even want to give Action Wrestling the satisfaction.
But we all have to sacrifice a little of our dignity.
The man pulls down on the cord and lights up the room. His back is turned to the camera.
To get what we want.
The smoke of a cigarette billows into the air.
To get what we deserve.
The man spins on his heels and turns to face the camera now. Draped in a fitted red blazer and black button-down dress shirt, he flicks the cigarette off to the side. He grins again, this time showing the whites of his teeth, his bruised nose draped with a bandage.
I’ve been training for this moment for all of my life. To step into a ring, in a company established such as this one, to make my mark in this industry - tossing out one person at a time, like a human wrecking ball with superhuman powers.
I’m 190 pounds.
I’ve just made the cut.
I don’t need to generate my own hype. I don’t need the rest of the wrestling world to do it for me. I’m just going to show up, and do me, and let the rest of the field sit and wonder who the hell stepped up to the plate.
Because everyone falls into one category.
People who make shit happen.
People who watch shit happen.
And people who wonder what the fuck just happened.
Which one are you?
He smiles again, pointing straight towards the camera.
I’m talking to no one in particular.
Or I’m talking to everyone at once.
Only I truly know the answer.
The smile curves in the opposite direction, and now he stares at the camera with a look of fierce determination. Without saying another word, he reaches up and grabs the string to the lightbulb once again.
The sky is lit with a signal from the gods. It’s up to you if you decide to pay attention. Because this is your only warning.
He pulls down the string, and the camera is now shrouded in darkness for his final parting words.
Dark Kent has arrived.