Post by Spayde Martinez on Feb 28, 2021 22:57:55 GMT -5
Spayde stands before a camera. Nothing fancy. All business. She stares into the lens.
Spayde dismissively spits on the ground.
Spayde’s face reflects her disgust.
Spayde holds up her hand in the shape of a zero.
Spayde smirks.
Fade to black.
Who the fuck do you two think you are anyway?
Me? I’m the GOD. DAMNED. CHAMPION.
You? Don’t get me fucking started.
I have been the baddest woman in the game from the
moment I stepped foot in an action wrestling ring, from
the second I Busted Out Nikki Vaughn, from the second
I ended the career of Nate Parker or Clay Ford or whatever
that dipshits name was, from the second I beat Karlie Nash
and Miss Mae and every other scrub little bitch on this roster.
The Cruiserweight Divison belongs to me!
This title around my waist belongs to me!
Who the fuck are Sara Pettis or VOID to think they
have an ice cube’s chance in hell to challenge me for it?
Spayde’s face reflects her disgust.
VOID, why are you coming back for more? Didn’t you
get your fill when I choked you out weeks ago?
Didn’t you realize your lot in life was going to mean you’re
at best second place to me? If you didn’t know by now,
after Battlefield, you will have less than zero doubts. VOID,
when you came to Action Wrestling, did you just decide
the roster didn’t have enough brooding little scary boys
or did you simply have no idea you were taking a number in
that line of people who want to lead the even weaker willed?
I just don’t know what you have against being your own
person or standing on your own two feet, but it’s
clear that your engine isn’t firing on all cylinders so
who knows what’s going on there. It’s honestly appropriate
that the name you decided to call yourself translates to
NOTHING.
Because VOID, when anyone thinks about you,
that’s all they’re thinking:
NOTHING.
When anyone tries to make a list of their
favorite VOID matches, it’s
NOTHING.
When anyone who knows anything predicts your future, it’s
NOTHING.
Come Battlefield, VOID, you’ll walk out of the ring
holding on to exactly what you walk into it holding:
NOTHING.
Spayde holds up her hand in the shape of a zero.
Almost as if by fate, huh, Sara? It’s about time we
meet in the ring, right? It’s been a long time coming. After all,
I made my debut on your hubby’s memorial show, and
ever since, we’ve both been Cruiserweights but
we’ve just never crossed paths unless you’re counting
that bullshit XIII battle royal. I assure you, I ain’t counting it.
So D-Day finally decided it’s your turn to go the way of the
dodo… how’s that feel? If Sara Pettis was going
to get the widow’s consolation prize, it sure seems to fit
that she’ll have to fight for it in the match that’ll put her
In that Jersey ground right next to her old man.
She couldn’t manage to get shit done here until he was
worm food, and before his body was even cold, she was
getting cold sweats and flicking the bean to the idea of
having her husband’s murderer’s baby...what kind of twisted
shit is that, huh? Makes sense that she’s tied up with
that fucking prison asylum like VOID and Metzger and the rest.
Spayde smirks.
Fine. Fine. Really. It’s all fine. D-Day can book me in
what essentially amounts to a 2-on-1, and I’ll just show the
whole company that there isn’t a goddamn thing they can
do to stop me from serving as the standard bearer of this
division and the company itself. When I beat both of these
motherfuckers at Battlefield, there’s no argument anymore:
Spayde Martinez is the greatest superstar in Action Wrestling today.
Fade to black.