Post by Graham Baker on Aug 3, 2021 10:17:53 GMT -5
"Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, who's the gnarliest of all."
Graham Baker holds the United States Championship in one hand, cigarette dangling from between his teeth as he looks out over the horizon.
"It's gotta be me, right? Judging by the fact that all the fuckin' knives are comin' out, week after week now, tryin' to dig away at the wall of flesh that is Graham Fucking Baker. Since I've been back, I've been workin' myself to the fuckin' bone. Six days after I won this belt, I defended in Glory, I won Glory, and then had to defend again against some fuckin' loser who thought he had a shot. Hurt like a bitch, you know, but it is what it is. I come out to make my fuckin' statement last night that there ain't a goddamn contender in this company worth my salt, and, what do you know, I get pinged for two things-another defense, and this Deathmatch Medal.
The former can wait. The latter can't.
Corey knows exactly how goddamned good I am. Corey knows I'm a fucking deathmatch animal, and that when I went to Japan, I entered as a man but left as a megalith, a creature of fury and destruction, the exact kind of thing to win this medal and hold it high above my fucking head. I look at the field before me, and I'm unimpressed. No rope barbed wire was how I nearly won the SPLAT Multiuniversal Championship at one of the last XIII's, and now I'm going to enter it again. I'm gonna run my hands along that spiny shit, and I'm gonna do it with a smile on my face. This might be Norway, one of the few countries I've never wrestled in, but this ring is my home turf. This match is my fucking territory, and the rest of you sorry bastards are gonna have to soak it in.
Let's gander at the field, shouldn't we?"
Baker takes a drag from the cigarette before he flicks it into the void, holding a finger up.
"Let's talk about Metzger. Rough and tumble bastard, the guy who held this," Baker motions to the United States Championship, "before I slipped in through the back alley and wrapped my gnarled claws around it. Devil's Gate ain't been too big a devil lately, though, have they? Everywhere I look, I see the signs that the fuckin' plot's been lost, that the era of dominance seems to be coming to an end. Last time we saw Metzger, he was losin' to Lissie Hope, someone who's had trouble scraping together anything resembling a win as of late. I mean, fuck, Metzger needed two shows to even try to put Lissie away, so what does that tell you about the big guy?
It tells you he's a fucking fluke. A choke artist. He had two shots at keepin' his hands on the United States Championship, too-at Evolution and at Glory, and he failed in both. I tell you that this motherfucker should take a hint, head to the trash heap and carve out a little niche for himself, because the minute that real competition stepped back into Action, his whole dominant stretch over the United States division came to a fuckin' crash. Real shame for him, too. Perhaps Devil's Gate can give you a bit of occupational therapy and whip you back into something that looks less like a fucking bitch.
And speaking of bitches-hey, look, it's Corey Bull! Action Wrestling's perennial fucking loser who spent an era as Lowe's whipping boy before he actually grew a pair of his own lowe-hangers. Bull, you would've had an opportunity at the old Graham Baker's US Championship way back when, assumin' you could bank all your hopes and prayers on beating me. Back then, you were a titan of the fuckin' company. People thought I was for sure fucked, and, oh, what happened? You lost? Goddamn shame. I know you've changed and you've become a bigger and better man, among all that shit, but so have I. You've grown complacent, you've got boys to get your work done for you, even though the Dead Cell don't seem to be quite cutting it in recent days. You look a lot like that ol' Lowe Hanger yourself, nowadays. Even got his boys backing you up.
It doesn't impress me. It doesn't make me fear you. The cleansing you claim to bring to Action is one that I've been doing just fine on my fuckin' own, without some goons having to give me a shoulder rub and tug on my ego every time I slip and stumble. You weren't shit when I was around last, Bull, and you ain't shit now. At XIII, it'll be just like old times when I dump you into barbed wire and embarass you, one more fuckin' time.
And just like old times...Frank, man."
Baker sighs.
"I don't enjoy havin' to do this, time after time, but it seems like fate's intent on drawin' us back against one another, again and again and again. First, it was Glory, and I wanted to get the chance to face off against you. I figured it could be you and me, and I could finally show everyone watchin' that I was made of sterner stuff, that I was capable of bein' the Man Made God that you and Black knew I was. I didn't get that chance, because you couldn't hold up your end of the bargain, you couldn't evade Jill Park, you couldn't keep up. I don't know what's been goin' through your head, man, but...I gotta beat it out of you.
I used to think I was in your shadow, but now? You don't even show up enough for me to stand behind you.
At XIII, I'm gonna get my hands on you, finally. I'm gonna get to do what I was gonna do at Glory, only this time, I won't be beatin' you to prove dominance, I'll be beatin' you to get the real Frank back, the Boom, Headshot! strong-style bastard, former world champion. I want you to bring your best to my fuckin' turf, I want you to show me that you've still got it in a terrain where if you don't got it, you fuckin' die."
Baker rubs his knuckles on the United States Championship's plate.
"Action Wrestling has so desperately needed a raise in competition, needed a level up. I've brought it, time and time again, and I don't even show. These fuckers who're here week in and week out are complacent, willing to let this shit slip through the cracks, I'm not. I'll fuckin' throw myself into wire right alongside these poor, unfortunate foolish bastards if that's what it takes to secure the win, I'll bleed just as much if not more if that's what's necessary to carry me to the fucking win. There's not a line I won't cross, a glass ceiling I won't shatter to fuckin' make this medal mine. This'll be just another notch on my belt, another tag in the record books, and when I've got that medal 'round my neck, I'll carry it to the real fuckin' deathmatch spots. I'll make y'all proud, even if you don't know it quite yet.
I'll keep doin' what I'm doin', and bringin' pride to this company in ways that none of your golden geese ever fucking could."
Baker cracks a half-sincere grin as he points a finger gun at the camera.
"Make sure this thing's warm for me, Corey. You know this is a foregone conclusion. You know who's walking out of this match victorious. After all, you put me in here with these clowns for a reason, right?
To make you proud."
Baker walks off, and we cut to black.
