A Snuff Film
Nov 8, 2020 21:35:46 GMT -5
βThe RevolutiDaddyβ Wesley, Lissie Hope, and 5 more like this
Post by ππ’π₯ππ¬ πππππ on Nov 8, 2020 21:35:46 GMT -5
Evening sets on the small fishing village overlooked by the castle on the cliff side. A stage is set up in village square, between all the markets and people selling wares. In the distance the lake's waters crash into the beach where at this time, nobody roams. Everyone is stationed at the stage, awaiting the show about to be put on.
A young man runs up onto the stage, followed by another and one more. A bunch of crew bring out set pieces, a turnbuckle, ropes, another turnbuckle, One of the young men is dressed in black and white stripes, another in a wig and faux beard, the last a slicked back hairdo and a smug look on his face. The crowd cheer, they clap and heckle. In the back, behind all the villagers stands a man with a hood over his head. his long dark beard extends out, but he is nearly camouflaged in the shadows.
Up on the stage, under some lights brought in, the young men begin tussling around with one another. Within moments, the man in the striped shirt is on the wood on his hands and knees counting one... two... three! The beard wigged man stands arms raised, as an older man in a gray hood and cloak walks over with a championship belt. He speaks out to the crowd.
"And your winner.. he who wields the hammer!"
The crowd cheers, all the villagers happy with the display. The older man hushes them with a few hand waves.
"Alas, these men are but actors. They portrayed the upcoming battle as best they could yet they are not fighters. Like one of the Aesir before us, Heimdallr, the challenger for he who wields the hammer this week mostly sits watch over the proceedings. Heimdallr is not a fighter, his greatest asset is diversion. He changed shape to hide in plain sight and when the time is right he strikes. An Aesir that warns rather than battles. Heimdallr watched and listened, observed around the cosmos. The mighty Gjallarhorn at his side to trumpet any impending threat. In the times of Ragnarok, it is told Heimdallr will trumpet his horn loudly when the giants storm the rainbow bridge. As the same, the challenger should sound his horn as well for he is in grave danger. He who wields the hammer is charging with no end in sight. He needs not a horn to call for help nor one to warn of destruction as he is the beast of a thousand battles. Four limbs of fury. Earth's Mightiest. He shall conquer the actor and continue on to bring prosperity and pride to all of us!"
The old man thrusts his hands into the air in a clap as he kneels, the villagers all do the same. The hooded man in the shadows slips behind a wall and walks out of the village, up a winding path toward the castle on the cliff side.
He reaches the gate and the gatekeeper allows entrance, going straight for the front door when he hears behind him, "stop! Do not go any farther!"
Turning around to see the commotion, the young actor from the stage is standing at the gate. Corey Black peels his hood off and dismisses the gatekeeper, inviting the boy inside. He happily runs in, Corey follows and points to the grand hall.
"Were you here last week when I hosted the village to feast for early Yule?" Corey asks.
"I was! I was! The food was so good, I just wish I could have seen the rest of the castle," responds the boy.
"I'll show you around quickly but I have other matters to attend, you understand?"
"Yeah! Let's go!"
The boy, still in the wig and beard, follows Corey through a doorway into the kitchen. Corey smiles and waves his hands around like he's Vanna White, the boy peeking around corners and in cupboards. They go through another door and enter a hallway but they're stopped.
"Excuse me, you didn't say we'd have guests?!"
The tall blonde woman stands in a doorway, leaning on the frame with her arms crossed. The young boy runs up to her with a piece of paper.
"Holy crap can I get your autograph?!"
Corey laughs, reaching into another room and pulling out a silver marker and a CD. The music disc is signed and the boy nearly glows.
"Wow, this is awesome! I have to get back though, we're doing another show."
Corey puts a finger up and disappears into another room. He comes back out with an official Corey Black t-shirt, an elbow pad and a pair of boots.
"There, now you really look the part."
"WOW THANKS!"
The boy scurries off, out the front door and nearly wiping out at the front gate. The gatekeeper opens it slightly and closes it behind as Corey watches out the door.
"You're in a good mood for a man that has to fight across the world in a day's time."
Corey closes the door and turns, facing Taylor.
"I'm actually thrilled."
"You sure? You know who you're dealing with?"
"A man of many faces is Sam Kidsgrove. Many film roles, thirty box office hits and wealth beyond imagination. Every single character he has played, every last one, an extension of himself. He put his heart, soul and being into the characters portrayed on movie screens across the world.
But little does everyone know.. Sam Kidsgrove is also a character he is playing.
He doesn't need to turn himself into something else, he does it through his forked tongue. Touts his own charitable works and then claims my friend Frank Patrick Venable is a fake. The Headshot Initiative, according to an A-List Hollywood actor, is a front for FPV - one of the biggest and most well known wrestlers in the world. His persona of hero of the weak, savior of the masses is vomit inducing at best and a crime against humanity at worst. How does he come out with a straight face and claim Frank is a fraud while claiming to do so much more? It's unreal. While this jackass and his political boo schmooze it around and show up to places for free? Sam Kidsgrove wouldn't wear a pair of socks that weren't sponsoring him in some way or giving it to him for some free advertising, there's no way he's go to a fundraiser for kids of broken homes for less than ten large.
But that's the way it goes with those with fame and fortune, sometimes there's never enough. So he'll shape shift into whomever he needs to be that day to line the pockets. Sam Kidsgrove the pro wrestler, Sam Kidsgrove the actor, Sam Kidsgrove the Hollywood Elite, Sam Kidsgrove the member of Parliament and Sam Kidsgrove the whatever else - but never just Sam Kidsgrove.
Who the fuck even is he anymore? Does he know or is he in a constant state of acting, switching faces and being a pleaser? I can tell you who he is - he's my bitch. Talks this huge game like he's the gift to us all and every time he steps into the ring with me - I send him packing. A-list movie star, D-list wrestler. It's an absolute miracle and he should be thanking whatever deity he prays to for his victory over Graham Baker, I guarantee it'll never happen again. He's ridden that wave for too long as it is. By the time I am done with this guy his only identity will be 'second round chump.'"
Corey walks through the landing and right up to Taylor and boops her on the nose.
"And I know who I am - I'm the World Champ, baby."
She rolls her eyes and follows him up the stairs to the second floor. The second door on the left and the room is set up like a small studio. A ring light around a camera in front of a big Action Wrestling banner. Corey grabs the World Championship from a small stool and slings it over his shoulder, it glistens in the light.
"A lot better than the dungeon downstairs, Corey."
"Only the best for Sam. Hit it."
Taylor walks over and hits the space bar on a computer, starting the recording.
"So here you are, Sam. Second round against a Man Made God. Last year you were ranked one ahead of me. You were twelve. Now you're ranked seventh after an impressive display of United States Title domination. You held that title for two and a half months. You pulled out a big win against Nightingale after all that mess and ... what? This is what constitutes a place in Wrestler of the Year?
Kidsgrove, it if were up to me, you'd have been opening the show against Zaigon Carter last week, you've done nothing to warrant your place in this tournament. Is it a pity placement considering everything Nightingale did to you? Is it a pull that the 'A-Lister' used to get his way? Or did you switch faces again and charm the higher ups?
Look at me, Sam. I am the antithesis of what you are. Ranked third best this year in Action Wrestling. I have been champion for twelve of the last fourteen months. I live and breathe this sport. I don't take months off to go produce and star in a film, I grind every month, week and day. In the recent past my career was thought to be done. Just last year all my chips had been cast aside, my stock as a wrestler was less than zero.
And it's people like you that pushed me to come to Action Wrestling full time. The people that say one thing, say another, and mean neither. The nose in the air types that believe their own hype and disregard everything I have and can do. Because I'm older. I'm slower. I'm weaker. I have shown time and time again that time is nothing but a rotation of this planet around the sun, I am not bound by the laws of this universe. I have transcended space, time, companies and any other divide that has been placed before me. And you, Kidsgrove, turn a blind eye to it all.
Eighteen months ago you thought you should be battling me in dream match. A year ago we 'cost' you the World Championship to make a name for ourselves in a company that matters. Two weeks ago I'm the bonafide legend of wrestling with the World Title on my waist.
So which is it, Shape shifter Kidsgrove?
That's the kind of shit I'm talking about when I say you don't even know who you are. Your trajectory changes course every turn of the clock to suit whatever little need you have. Convince yourself that I am not worthy of a contract here, divert and claim my status is beyond comprehension when the need arises to explain your impending loss. To turn to Zooey and say 'shit I did good against the very best right?' and beg for a pat on the head.
I have plenty on my plate, this title, the tournament, XIII, Philidor.. but your assistance, Kidsgrove? So you can do what you think Frank and Graham are doing, use my spotlight to boost your own lumens? Honestly Sam, I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you. Maybe a fourth that far since we know I can toss your carcass pretty fuckin' far. You stand there and smile at the camera but as soon as the lights go down you're a pathetic dog in sheep's clothing, not even worthy of being compared to a wolf. You're a mutt slumming it around with big names in hopes yours is boosted back along with it. I'm not Ben Affleck or Matt Damon, I'm not desperate for the attention you all crave and I damn sure have enough backing to wipe Philidor's name from this planet without your pitiful assistance."
Corey turns and looks toward the banner, then back to the camera. He holds the World Heavyweight Championship at chest level.
"Welcome back to the main event, the last time you were here it was... against me! And before that? Against me. Do you see a theme forming? You aren't on my level, Sam. You're not even a professional wrestler, you're a professional actor and part-time wrestling sideshow. The only time your name is in lights when it is across from mine.
How fitting a member of Parliament stands before a King above Kings. Even your Queen, Elizabeth the second bends the knee to me. We have Kidsgrove in Parliament and Zooey running for Senate as if politicians are truly the most outstanding of us all. An actor in Parliament, no less. An actor who moonlights as a pro wrestler in Parliament, even. A shape shifter after his own interests, under the guise of helping others.
It all circles back to the claims of help, doesn't it Sam? You claim to have helped the Hollywood Elite reach the mecca of pro wrestling when you were slapped down and laughed at. TFK and Shadowlove are hardly remembered and when they are their names are spit upon, those are the kind of people you were middling with. A porn director who certainly had a dark path he was riding and an egomaniac unwilling to take his sunglasses off because it was so fucking bright on Planet Cool. Two men that were abusers, downtrodden pricks of humans that you viewed as a charity case.
You can't help people that don't want it, Sam.
Yet you're out there interjecting yourself in everything you can to grow your portfolio. Pad that resume more and more until you are undeniable. Quantity over quality if your philosophy. Throw a million bottles of water at Flint, Michigan instead of fixing their water supply. Donate thirty pizzas to a homeless shelter instead of building affordable housing. Ad nauseam until you've checked more boxes than an Amazon employee. Then what, what is the end goal for Sam Kidsgrove? Everyone in the world has been given something by you so you're globally adored?
Newsflash; nobody fucking buys it. Anyone that you think does is yucking it up because they're banking on your vote or your 'donations.' You think Zooey is really interested or is she using your star power to boost her own and get her to the senate? It's the industry you're in Sam, everyone thought Johnny Depp was the greatest in the world and now look at him; fired for being a piece of shit and fucking with someone even more conniving than he. Do you honestly believe Zooey wouldn't cry 'me too' for that extra push at your expense?
Maybe she wouldn't. Perhaps you have her fooled somehow. Maybe she truly does care and your half-truths are enough for her. I'm right there with you in a sense, the lady on my arm has a legit claim to being more famous than I am but that's just it - I'm not out here flaunting it like a trophy. As if it's just two actors out there acting like they give a shit to get ahead. You're so proud of yourself for landing a girlfriend the caliber of talent as Zooey Deschanel and every single chance you get you make sure everyone remembers it. To the point of you may as well just suck it up and change your name to Sam Deschanel, it certainly holds more value than Kidsgrove does.
That isn't even half of it, Sam. You're willing to go to war to help those you care about, and it's commendable. You nearly gave your life. You prevailed and... all you could ask yourself is 'when does my documentary begin filming?' That's why you aren't fit for wrestling. You aren't willing to give one hundred percent of yourself to this craft and it's insulting you even think you have a chance against me. I'm insulted you are going through with this match instead of conceding and bending the knee to your King of AlL Wrestlers. You've watched me as I took down giant after giant. Alex Richards, Corey Bull, Oblivion, Odin Balfore and Walter. You've seen me take down technical wizards like Graham Baker, Teo Blaze, Kyle Kemp and Carter Shaw. You, Sam, land somewhere between Hot Shot Wayne Austin and Jaice Wilds. At least they were cut from the same cloth as the rest of us. Your velvet rope DNA is about to get cut down.
In the interest of fairness, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. A little nugget of information that'll give you a leg up in this contest. When I have you lined up and I'm about to run my elbow through your head, in the split second between contact and your brain bouncing off your skull and knocking you out - TMZ will probably snap a photo and you'll be back on their website. Headlined with "Actor Sam Dechanel Finally Gets What is Coming to Him." And all the people you've been a snob bitch to, a fake as fuck actor type to will rejoice in watching me make you go from box office smash to just regular fucking smashed across the canvas.
I'm not looking past you. But I'm also not looking at you. You're a little yellow blip on my radar that comes up every couple of months and I have to snuff before it gets too far. I don't want your head getting any bigger than it is, that ego doesn't need a boost knowing that I give even a little bit of a shit about you. After tonight you're just ether until you show up again on my radar, probably in the main event - you're welcome - and I am forced to once again lower myself to fight some fucking Hollywood scum like you.
'But Corey!' You say, chest puffed. 'I took Graham Baker's US Title!' Ya sure did. The world watched as Graham lined you up and blew your face off in Trios. I'm giving back to the new crop of talent and every time you're on the opposite end of it. Why Sam? Why buck back against the likes of Graham Baker and RJ Collins? Is it because you know, deep down, that in due time they'd have blown past you like you were a turtle on its shell? Like everyone else has? You're low man on the totem pole no matter how bright your star shines. You chin is being tickled by grass, that's how down the rungs you are.
Me? I'm touching the sun. I've got one hand on its core and another shoving this company forward. I removed the mongrel from the top, something you sat there and dreamed about every night in whatever country you were currently residing in. You probably woke up sticky from it, too. I lived it, I am the one who put him down. Not you Sam. You put down James Nightingale and got NOTHING for it except a number seven seed in a tournament designed for me to win. A clear path to Wrestler of the Year, something I earned before July. Something I cemented in October. And something I'll get in gold in November. You, Sam, belong nowhere near either of my crowns.
So run back to Hollywood where people might pretend to respect you, you won't even get that courtesy here. Stick to something you will succeed at. Playing make believe. In real life, in the wrestling world, your role is simple - you're the victim of this film. A horror movie about a pissed off viking stalking a snobby bitch and in the end, unlike most movies, this one ends with the victim lying in a pool of their own blood. Choking on the remnants of their world as it comes shattering around them. The antagonist revealed protagonist. This film isn't a story of how Sam Kidsgrove lost his name and his will to continue, it's about how Corey Black flipped the script and finally laid his claim to immortality. Stuck it to every single wrestler that has come up to him in the last ten years and cast him aside because he's old, his time is up and whatever other horseshit that has been spewed.
This is your fate. Signed, sealed and delivered by your own mouth. Your own actions. Your own devious ways. I'm coming for your head harder than Dandy and Nightingale did. I'm looking to lop it off and send it back to Zooey in a box. She can sit and decide if it was all worth it. In the end, I think she'll come around and realize it wasn't. Whatever game it is, whether yours or hers, the final beat of your heart will ring louder than any charity you have supported.
I've been Wrestler of the Year before, Sam, just like I have been World Champion before. I've had nearly every accolade known in this business. You know the drill, you get a Golden Globe and you hope for an Oscar. This World Title is different than all the others. This one tastes sweeter. This tournament win, I can smell the aroma from a mile away. I can taste it in the air. It smells like my grandma and grandpa's house on Thanksgiving Day, a kitchen filled with pies, cookies and brownies. A taste I haven't experienced for far - far too long.
I'll be damned if you are the one to take it away from me."
Corey walks off screen and Taylor stops the recording, the camera's slight hum coming to a stop. She looks over to Corey who seems to be visibly upset.
"You're right about people in the entertainment business. The good ones are few and far between. The fact that this guy is an actor, a politician and a pro wrestler is a recipe for snake in the grass."
Corey smiles.
"I already decimated one of those."
"And you'll decimate this one too. You're more focused than you have ever been and that gold is adding to the inertia. Your momentum is undeniable."
Corey looks up toward Taylor, slapping the Championship.
"When I win this tournament, it'll be the greatest achievement of my career. The pinnacle of a twenty year journey through this business. Through a retirement tour, injuries, friendships and enemies.. I have never wanted anything more."
"What happens after you win it? You've got the title, you had an unreal showing in Havoc.. what more is there?"
"It doesn't matter.
I will never stop fighting. I will never stop wrestling. I will never stop being the King of All Wrestlers."
Taylor smiles, knowing full well.
"This is my life. My entire work. My legacy. I will put a stamp on it with Wrestler of the Year."
A young man runs up onto the stage, followed by another and one more. A bunch of crew bring out set pieces, a turnbuckle, ropes, another turnbuckle, One of the young men is dressed in black and white stripes, another in a wig and faux beard, the last a slicked back hairdo and a smug look on his face. The crowd cheer, they clap and heckle. In the back, behind all the villagers stands a man with a hood over his head. his long dark beard extends out, but he is nearly camouflaged in the shadows.
Up on the stage, under some lights brought in, the young men begin tussling around with one another. Within moments, the man in the striped shirt is on the wood on his hands and knees counting one... two... three! The beard wigged man stands arms raised, as an older man in a gray hood and cloak walks over with a championship belt. He speaks out to the crowd.
"And your winner.. he who wields the hammer!"
The crowd cheers, all the villagers happy with the display. The older man hushes them with a few hand waves.
"Alas, these men are but actors. They portrayed the upcoming battle as best they could yet they are not fighters. Like one of the Aesir before us, Heimdallr, the challenger for he who wields the hammer this week mostly sits watch over the proceedings. Heimdallr is not a fighter, his greatest asset is diversion. He changed shape to hide in plain sight and when the time is right he strikes. An Aesir that warns rather than battles. Heimdallr watched and listened, observed around the cosmos. The mighty Gjallarhorn at his side to trumpet any impending threat. In the times of Ragnarok, it is told Heimdallr will trumpet his horn loudly when the giants storm the rainbow bridge. As the same, the challenger should sound his horn as well for he is in grave danger. He who wields the hammer is charging with no end in sight. He needs not a horn to call for help nor one to warn of destruction as he is the beast of a thousand battles. Four limbs of fury. Earth's Mightiest. He shall conquer the actor and continue on to bring prosperity and pride to all of us!"
The old man thrusts his hands into the air in a clap as he kneels, the villagers all do the same. The hooded man in the shadows slips behind a wall and walks out of the village, up a winding path toward the castle on the cliff side.
He reaches the gate and the gatekeeper allows entrance, going straight for the front door when he hears behind him, "stop! Do not go any farther!"
Turning around to see the commotion, the young actor from the stage is standing at the gate. Corey Black peels his hood off and dismisses the gatekeeper, inviting the boy inside. He happily runs in, Corey follows and points to the grand hall.
"Were you here last week when I hosted the village to feast for early Yule?" Corey asks.
"I was! I was! The food was so good, I just wish I could have seen the rest of the castle," responds the boy.
"I'll show you around quickly but I have other matters to attend, you understand?"
"Yeah! Let's go!"
The boy, still in the wig and beard, follows Corey through a doorway into the kitchen. Corey smiles and waves his hands around like he's Vanna White, the boy peeking around corners and in cupboards. They go through another door and enter a hallway but they're stopped.
"Excuse me, you didn't say we'd have guests?!"
The tall blonde woman stands in a doorway, leaning on the frame with her arms crossed. The young boy runs up to her with a piece of paper.
"Holy crap can I get your autograph?!"
Corey laughs, reaching into another room and pulling out a silver marker and a CD. The music disc is signed and the boy nearly glows.
"Wow, this is awesome! I have to get back though, we're doing another show."
Corey puts a finger up and disappears into another room. He comes back out with an official Corey Black t-shirt, an elbow pad and a pair of boots.
"There, now you really look the part."
"WOW THANKS!"
The boy scurries off, out the front door and nearly wiping out at the front gate. The gatekeeper opens it slightly and closes it behind as Corey watches out the door.
"You're in a good mood for a man that has to fight across the world in a day's time."
Corey closes the door and turns, facing Taylor.
"I'm actually thrilled."
"You sure? You know who you're dealing with?"
"A man of many faces is Sam Kidsgrove. Many film roles, thirty box office hits and wealth beyond imagination. Every single character he has played, every last one, an extension of himself. He put his heart, soul and being into the characters portrayed on movie screens across the world.
But little does everyone know.. Sam Kidsgrove is also a character he is playing.
He doesn't need to turn himself into something else, he does it through his forked tongue. Touts his own charitable works and then claims my friend Frank Patrick Venable is a fake. The Headshot Initiative, according to an A-List Hollywood actor, is a front for FPV - one of the biggest and most well known wrestlers in the world. His persona of hero of the weak, savior of the masses is vomit inducing at best and a crime against humanity at worst. How does he come out with a straight face and claim Frank is a fraud while claiming to do so much more? It's unreal. While this jackass and his political boo schmooze it around and show up to places for free? Sam Kidsgrove wouldn't wear a pair of socks that weren't sponsoring him in some way or giving it to him for some free advertising, there's no way he's go to a fundraiser for kids of broken homes for less than ten large.
But that's the way it goes with those with fame and fortune, sometimes there's never enough. So he'll shape shift into whomever he needs to be that day to line the pockets. Sam Kidsgrove the pro wrestler, Sam Kidsgrove the actor, Sam Kidsgrove the Hollywood Elite, Sam Kidsgrove the member of Parliament and Sam Kidsgrove the whatever else - but never just Sam Kidsgrove.
Who the fuck even is he anymore? Does he know or is he in a constant state of acting, switching faces and being a pleaser? I can tell you who he is - he's my bitch. Talks this huge game like he's the gift to us all and every time he steps into the ring with me - I send him packing. A-list movie star, D-list wrestler. It's an absolute miracle and he should be thanking whatever deity he prays to for his victory over Graham Baker, I guarantee it'll never happen again. He's ridden that wave for too long as it is. By the time I am done with this guy his only identity will be 'second round chump.'"
Corey walks through the landing and right up to Taylor and boops her on the nose.
"And I know who I am - I'm the World Champ, baby."
She rolls her eyes and follows him up the stairs to the second floor. The second door on the left and the room is set up like a small studio. A ring light around a camera in front of a big Action Wrestling banner. Corey grabs the World Championship from a small stool and slings it over his shoulder, it glistens in the light.
"A lot better than the dungeon downstairs, Corey."
"Only the best for Sam. Hit it."
Taylor walks over and hits the space bar on a computer, starting the recording.
"So here you are, Sam. Second round against a Man Made God. Last year you were ranked one ahead of me. You were twelve. Now you're ranked seventh after an impressive display of United States Title domination. You held that title for two and a half months. You pulled out a big win against Nightingale after all that mess and ... what? This is what constitutes a place in Wrestler of the Year?
Kidsgrove, it if were up to me, you'd have been opening the show against Zaigon Carter last week, you've done nothing to warrant your place in this tournament. Is it a pity placement considering everything Nightingale did to you? Is it a pull that the 'A-Lister' used to get his way? Or did you switch faces again and charm the higher ups?
Look at me, Sam. I am the antithesis of what you are. Ranked third best this year in Action Wrestling. I have been champion for twelve of the last fourteen months. I live and breathe this sport. I don't take months off to go produce and star in a film, I grind every month, week and day. In the recent past my career was thought to be done. Just last year all my chips had been cast aside, my stock as a wrestler was less than zero.
And it's people like you that pushed me to come to Action Wrestling full time. The people that say one thing, say another, and mean neither. The nose in the air types that believe their own hype and disregard everything I have and can do. Because I'm older. I'm slower. I'm weaker. I have shown time and time again that time is nothing but a rotation of this planet around the sun, I am not bound by the laws of this universe. I have transcended space, time, companies and any other divide that has been placed before me. And you, Kidsgrove, turn a blind eye to it all.
Eighteen months ago you thought you should be battling me in dream match. A year ago we 'cost' you the World Championship to make a name for ourselves in a company that matters. Two weeks ago I'm the bonafide legend of wrestling with the World Title on my waist.
So which is it, Shape shifter Kidsgrove?
That's the kind of shit I'm talking about when I say you don't even know who you are. Your trajectory changes course every turn of the clock to suit whatever little need you have. Convince yourself that I am not worthy of a contract here, divert and claim my status is beyond comprehension when the need arises to explain your impending loss. To turn to Zooey and say 'shit I did good against the very best right?' and beg for a pat on the head.
I have plenty on my plate, this title, the tournament, XIII, Philidor.. but your assistance, Kidsgrove? So you can do what you think Frank and Graham are doing, use my spotlight to boost your own lumens? Honestly Sam, I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you. Maybe a fourth that far since we know I can toss your carcass pretty fuckin' far. You stand there and smile at the camera but as soon as the lights go down you're a pathetic dog in sheep's clothing, not even worthy of being compared to a wolf. You're a mutt slumming it around with big names in hopes yours is boosted back along with it. I'm not Ben Affleck or Matt Damon, I'm not desperate for the attention you all crave and I damn sure have enough backing to wipe Philidor's name from this planet without your pitiful assistance."
Corey turns and looks toward the banner, then back to the camera. He holds the World Heavyweight Championship at chest level.
"Welcome back to the main event, the last time you were here it was... against me! And before that? Against me. Do you see a theme forming? You aren't on my level, Sam. You're not even a professional wrestler, you're a professional actor and part-time wrestling sideshow. The only time your name is in lights when it is across from mine.
How fitting a member of Parliament stands before a King above Kings. Even your Queen, Elizabeth the second bends the knee to me. We have Kidsgrove in Parliament and Zooey running for Senate as if politicians are truly the most outstanding of us all. An actor in Parliament, no less. An actor who moonlights as a pro wrestler in Parliament, even. A shape shifter after his own interests, under the guise of helping others.
It all circles back to the claims of help, doesn't it Sam? You claim to have helped the Hollywood Elite reach the mecca of pro wrestling when you were slapped down and laughed at. TFK and Shadowlove are hardly remembered and when they are their names are spit upon, those are the kind of people you were middling with. A porn director who certainly had a dark path he was riding and an egomaniac unwilling to take his sunglasses off because it was so fucking bright on Planet Cool. Two men that were abusers, downtrodden pricks of humans that you viewed as a charity case.
You can't help people that don't want it, Sam.
Yet you're out there interjecting yourself in everything you can to grow your portfolio. Pad that resume more and more until you are undeniable. Quantity over quality if your philosophy. Throw a million bottles of water at Flint, Michigan instead of fixing their water supply. Donate thirty pizzas to a homeless shelter instead of building affordable housing. Ad nauseam until you've checked more boxes than an Amazon employee. Then what, what is the end goal for Sam Kidsgrove? Everyone in the world has been given something by you so you're globally adored?
Newsflash; nobody fucking buys it. Anyone that you think does is yucking it up because they're banking on your vote or your 'donations.' You think Zooey is really interested or is she using your star power to boost her own and get her to the senate? It's the industry you're in Sam, everyone thought Johnny Depp was the greatest in the world and now look at him; fired for being a piece of shit and fucking with someone even more conniving than he. Do you honestly believe Zooey wouldn't cry 'me too' for that extra push at your expense?
Maybe she wouldn't. Perhaps you have her fooled somehow. Maybe she truly does care and your half-truths are enough for her. I'm right there with you in a sense, the lady on my arm has a legit claim to being more famous than I am but that's just it - I'm not out here flaunting it like a trophy. As if it's just two actors out there acting like they give a shit to get ahead. You're so proud of yourself for landing a girlfriend the caliber of talent as Zooey Deschanel and every single chance you get you make sure everyone remembers it. To the point of you may as well just suck it up and change your name to Sam Deschanel, it certainly holds more value than Kidsgrove does.
That isn't even half of it, Sam. You're willing to go to war to help those you care about, and it's commendable. You nearly gave your life. You prevailed and... all you could ask yourself is 'when does my documentary begin filming?' That's why you aren't fit for wrestling. You aren't willing to give one hundred percent of yourself to this craft and it's insulting you even think you have a chance against me. I'm insulted you are going through with this match instead of conceding and bending the knee to your King of AlL Wrestlers. You've watched me as I took down giant after giant. Alex Richards, Corey Bull, Oblivion, Odin Balfore and Walter. You've seen me take down technical wizards like Graham Baker, Teo Blaze, Kyle Kemp and Carter Shaw. You, Sam, land somewhere between Hot Shot Wayne Austin and Jaice Wilds. At least they were cut from the same cloth as the rest of us. Your velvet rope DNA is about to get cut down.
In the interest of fairness, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. A little nugget of information that'll give you a leg up in this contest. When I have you lined up and I'm about to run my elbow through your head, in the split second between contact and your brain bouncing off your skull and knocking you out - TMZ will probably snap a photo and you'll be back on their website. Headlined with "Actor Sam Dechanel Finally Gets What is Coming to Him." And all the people you've been a snob bitch to, a fake as fuck actor type to will rejoice in watching me make you go from box office smash to just regular fucking smashed across the canvas.
I'm not looking past you. But I'm also not looking at you. You're a little yellow blip on my radar that comes up every couple of months and I have to snuff before it gets too far. I don't want your head getting any bigger than it is, that ego doesn't need a boost knowing that I give even a little bit of a shit about you. After tonight you're just ether until you show up again on my radar, probably in the main event - you're welcome - and I am forced to once again lower myself to fight some fucking Hollywood scum like you.
'But Corey!' You say, chest puffed. 'I took Graham Baker's US Title!' Ya sure did. The world watched as Graham lined you up and blew your face off in Trios. I'm giving back to the new crop of talent and every time you're on the opposite end of it. Why Sam? Why buck back against the likes of Graham Baker and RJ Collins? Is it because you know, deep down, that in due time they'd have blown past you like you were a turtle on its shell? Like everyone else has? You're low man on the totem pole no matter how bright your star shines. You chin is being tickled by grass, that's how down the rungs you are.
Me? I'm touching the sun. I've got one hand on its core and another shoving this company forward. I removed the mongrel from the top, something you sat there and dreamed about every night in whatever country you were currently residing in. You probably woke up sticky from it, too. I lived it, I am the one who put him down. Not you Sam. You put down James Nightingale and got NOTHING for it except a number seven seed in a tournament designed for me to win. A clear path to Wrestler of the Year, something I earned before July. Something I cemented in October. And something I'll get in gold in November. You, Sam, belong nowhere near either of my crowns.
So run back to Hollywood where people might pretend to respect you, you won't even get that courtesy here. Stick to something you will succeed at. Playing make believe. In real life, in the wrestling world, your role is simple - you're the victim of this film. A horror movie about a pissed off viking stalking a snobby bitch and in the end, unlike most movies, this one ends with the victim lying in a pool of their own blood. Choking on the remnants of their world as it comes shattering around them. The antagonist revealed protagonist. This film isn't a story of how Sam Kidsgrove lost his name and his will to continue, it's about how Corey Black flipped the script and finally laid his claim to immortality. Stuck it to every single wrestler that has come up to him in the last ten years and cast him aside because he's old, his time is up and whatever other horseshit that has been spewed.
This is your fate. Signed, sealed and delivered by your own mouth. Your own actions. Your own devious ways. I'm coming for your head harder than Dandy and Nightingale did. I'm looking to lop it off and send it back to Zooey in a box. She can sit and decide if it was all worth it. In the end, I think she'll come around and realize it wasn't. Whatever game it is, whether yours or hers, the final beat of your heart will ring louder than any charity you have supported.
I've been Wrestler of the Year before, Sam, just like I have been World Champion before. I've had nearly every accolade known in this business. You know the drill, you get a Golden Globe and you hope for an Oscar. This World Title is different than all the others. This one tastes sweeter. This tournament win, I can smell the aroma from a mile away. I can taste it in the air. It smells like my grandma and grandpa's house on Thanksgiving Day, a kitchen filled with pies, cookies and brownies. A taste I haven't experienced for far - far too long.
I'll be damned if you are the one to take it away from me."
Corey walks off screen and Taylor stops the recording, the camera's slight hum coming to a stop. She looks over to Corey who seems to be visibly upset.
"You're right about people in the entertainment business. The good ones are few and far between. The fact that this guy is an actor, a politician and a pro wrestler is a recipe for snake in the grass."
Corey smiles.
"I already decimated one of those."
"And you'll decimate this one too. You're more focused than you have ever been and that gold is adding to the inertia. Your momentum is undeniable."
Corey looks up toward Taylor, slapping the Championship.
"When I win this tournament, it'll be the greatest achievement of my career. The pinnacle of a twenty year journey through this business. Through a retirement tour, injuries, friendships and enemies.. I have never wanted anything more."
"What happens after you win it? You've got the title, you had an unreal showing in Havoc.. what more is there?"
"It doesn't matter.
I will never stop fighting. I will never stop wrestling. I will never stop being the King of All Wrestlers."
Taylor smiles, knowing full well.
"This is my life. My entire work. My legacy. I will put a stamp on it with Wrestler of the Year."