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I've seen you before........you're just like him; Ryan Shane Promo
Topic Started: Nov 15 2009, 01:58 AM (187 Views)
xShanex
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On a simple blank screen, blackened by the lack of electricity flowing through it's man-made veins, the reflections of all those tuning into CZW for their annual dose of that violent craze known as professional wrestling that has taken the world by storm as it's own. In a flash that sent many members of the CZW fan base back from their screens out of shock, static took the screen. The "storm" burned for a few seconds before a voice began to speak. The somewhat youthful voice was something completely new to the audience, which attracted their senses even more. As he spoke, the words tat rang through the air appeared through the static on the screen.

""Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix” a quote from Christina Baldwin."

Announcer A: "Can you believe this match! There's nothing stopping Ryan Shane now! All he needs is the cover and he retains his Devil's Hand title!"

Announcer B: "Well don't count on that, look who's behind him!"

WHAM!

The noises that made little to no sense to those who watched on from the comfort of their own homes could be lifted thanks to the sights that now revealed themselves on the screen. Like a revalation to the dumbfounded, a familiar sight, a ring, took form. The canvas was a basic white, a blured logo to avoid copyright issues placed strategically in the center to push the name of the wrestling federation that owned it. Blue ring-ropes surrounded the mat, enclosing it, and seperating those wild, uncontrolable fans from the warriors that battled for nothing but honor and glory inside of it.

Hmm...glory? Is that what they called it? Four men stood on that canvas, painting it with their blood like a carefully-crafted DaVinci painting. It appeared like good sport, almost like art to the hundreds of mindless savages that watched on, chanting for the violence to go to an even higher level, blind to what was really going on. The self-afflicted torture. The suffering. Ah,the suffering, and they wanted more. Perhaps they weren't the only ones?

With great ease and grace, a single man delivered a kick with pin-point accuracy, dropping one of his three opponents to the ground. Sensing another in his presence, a simple leap sent the man above and over his second opponent, following up with yet another kick. The ring was clear, victory was all but certain. The man brushed his long, black hair from his face, his tongue licking the inside of the silver lip ring this went through the right-side of his bottom lip. The spotlights, each positioned on the four corners of the small arena, glared over his body, brightening the many tattoos over his body. The words "Straight Edge" across his abs in an arch burning into the eyes of blood-thirsty masses. Two fists rose into the air, whipping the arena into a frenzy. A smirk grew on the lips with the man who stood above the fallen, his sadistic nature climbing out through his face in the purest form. He liked this. The pain was comfortable, and the war chants of those fans were intoxicating to him. Nothing could change this. Nothing could ruin his moment of glory.

He was wrong..............

He was too focused, some say, that, or not focused enough. He was never the one who cared what the people thought, but tonight his ego got to him. He was before the kingdom, and he was their king. Blinded by fame, he did not see his third enemy, the fourth member of the match, slide into the ring. His ear twitched and he knew he had to turn, but it was too late. The right-leg of his opponent shot up, the hook-like feature of his foot catching him perfectly. The lights, so bright before, now dimmed. Everything became faded. A shake, a rattle, a bump, and the noises began to leave his ears. Everything was going away. Before all was gone, three thuds rang in his ears, then all went black.


His name was Ander. Ander Carvetti. He was the new guy, and hey, I was on top of the world. I was the Devil's Hand champion. A title that,one could argue, was more sought after than the world title itself. I was the king of the castle, and he was just some petty rat. Yeah, a damn rat. This was my time, my show. These were my people, and I was their champion, whether they liked it or not, and trust me, they didn't. They hated me. My face, my life, everthing I did made these people enraged, and I loved it. They were nobodies. Just a mass of intoxicated flesh and blood, downing their cups of poison and mauling the vast amounts of garbage that they called food. They just sat there, getting fatter and drunker, screaming for more blood. Ah....those screams. Those insufferable screams. "We want tables" followed by the claps of those swine's hooves against each other. It was enough to drive a normal man to madness. Too bad I wasn't a normal man. I was on a plane higher than any of these slobs could reach, no matter how much of their special "substnces" they took into their bodies. Who the hell were they to tell me that I was their servant. I was better, plain and simple, and I was going to show it I threw my arms into the air, showing those idiots that their heroes had all just been humbled by the one man they hated simply because they couldn't be him. I was at the peak looking down on them like the Grinch about to steal Christmas, and in a way, I did for that one moment. Then it happened.

WHAM!

I couldn't move. Was it the shock or the impact? Was I going out or ws I just in a transe from the fact that I too had become as much of a war monger as the walking dead that came to see this show? I couldn't tell, but all I knew was that I wasn't in the ring anymore. I was gone, and I knew it. "One, two three". That's the last thing I remember. It's kind of funny, actually, passing out on the count of three like that. I'm glad I noticed that. If it wasn't for a little humor, I'd probably be dead. The strike wasn't lethal, I would've just...gave up. I had nothing left. I woke up a few hours later to find out that bitch pushed this guy, and acted like I never existed. Good, F*(k her, I'm glad her damn husband died! I didn't need her! I didn't need that little no name federation! I was the biggest name from the north to ever live! I was "The Straight Edge Curse"! I don't need anybody!

Now....life has a way of proving you wrong, and this was one of those times. I quit that surpreme failure, and urprise surprise, they went out of business a month later, but I never realized how much I needed that. That feeling of triumph and torment. I lived on the pain of others, an my on suffering. It was just how it was, and nothing more. My gambling money was enough to help me through the days. I watched my riches crumble, and felt my wallet getting smaller and smaller as the days turned into weeks. Tick....tock....tick...tock. Every second, eery day just melded together. I lost my ideals. I had reverted into the animal that we as humans look down upon. My instincts became my friends, and they were screaming for blood.

Indy feds. Uh my lips quiver at the mention of those words. I was an elite warrior, a soldier of a movement that based our lives on fighting against the forces of all that is evil, yet seen as pure fun to the rest of our kind, and now I was to perform like a monkey infront of them in the very bars and whore houses that I preached against. I never thought it would come to that, but I needed to survive. I stepped into each and every one of those no-talented locker rooms with the knowledge that at any moment, I could destroy. Strike like the wolf that I am known to be, and rip these kids to shreds. No, that'd have to wait for the ring, and I couldn't help but love that idea. That's what would get me through this. You see, I'm am a follower of the Straight Edge lifestyle, but I'm an addict. My addiction is pride. It tastes better on the lips than anything I've ever had. Now, I don't speak of my own pride, but the pride of others. I live off the suffering of others, and there is no better suffering than emotional and mental suffering. The look in the eyes of an undefeated wrestler when they receive their first loss is priceless. The sigh of a champion when they realize that their gold is now around the waist of a man who is simply better than them is like ecstacy. I made it my life mission to reap these small organizations and claim their greatest fighters' pride as my own, and no one could quench my thirst. Not Wild Card. Not the man known simply as Franchise Killa. Not even Jorge Fuerza. I was undefeatable, and that should've been enough for any normal man, but as I've stated, I am no normal man. This wasn't enough. I wanted more, and was going to get more. I stepped into the Ring of Fire a few weeks later, and the story stayed the same. Week after week, another drunkard fell. I became accustomed to locking in my famous hold, the "Bleed the Pure", wrenching back on their neck. The gasps for breath ringing in my ear were of a choir to me. The taps of the hand on the canvas a beat to dance to. I didn't need a belt, because I was still their champion, but once again, I remained hungry for better competition. I needed stronger warriors, and more vile hogs to see it. My message would be sent, but I needed the stage for it to happen.

That's why I'm here. CZW is that stage. The competition here is world reknowned. The blood is constantly flowing. It's Ultra....F*(king..VIOLENT! My message will be sent. My war path will rage through the roster of the CZW as I finally satisfy my cravings. The time is now, and I will rise once again. Ryan Shane has arrived.


________________

The scene opened up the streets of Las Vegas, Nevada. It wasn't the usual sight that accompanies "sin city". The bright lights and flashing signs of the city were all off, as the golden sun burned brightly above. The busy streets were slightly less crowded, as the night life was no more. A few stray men and women walked the sides of the strip, trying to hit the stores before the massive rush. All seemed calm, and would remain that way until the scene faded into another. This new scene was set as a Bus terminal at dusk, obviously pre-recoded the night before. Flourecent lightbulbs lined the man-made canapy, which covered a small section of the tar roads below. In white and blue lights, the words "Las Vegas Transit" stood infront of the canapy like silent watchmen to those who wished to enter the building. All was calm, all was quiet, given the occasional car passing by in the streets where the parking lot exited. The lights inside the building were all off, the busy day now coming to a close.

"I'm....a little shocked. I think I expected alot more from this organization when I signed my contract, but I guess for once, I was wrong. I was expecting some negative feedback to my arrival. I mean, who in this world takes kindly to someone who is quite simply better than them? Someone who has made better descisions and done so much better for themselves? The answer to that question is nobody."

A voice called out from the shadows. Within seconds of hearing the tone, any wrestling fan could tell this was the angry and determined voice of Ryan Shane. As the camera panned slowly to the left, a man came into view. He sat on the cold, concrete steps that led up to the main office of the Bus Terminal. With the lights up above, some odd 13 feet up, he could be seen in full-view. A black hooded sweatshirt, the letters "D.E.A.D." lined across the chest in golden, gothic-style letters, covered his upper body, the hood up with a black baseball cap underneath it and the sleeves rolled up, the lights ahead giving an erie glow to the many tattoos that covered his arms. From the weeping brunette woman in a torn wedding dress, sitting as if she had thrown herself on the ground in the sorrow we could plainly see, to the angel hanging upside down above a lone grave, to the words "Anti-Drug" across his knuckles. His lower body was clothed by a pair of black cargo shorts that fell just below his knees, but were pulled back thanks to the angle he sat in. Randomly sown on the shorts were black patches with bold white words, reading multiple phrases like "Drug Free Youth" and "SXE for L-I-F-E", another placed on the bottom of the right leg read "Minor Threat" for the band that is seen as the founders of the Straight Edge Movement. The man sat leaning forward, his arms resting on his bent knees, his hands folded like a young school boy trying to impress the teacher.

"Whenever I debut in any federation, there's always that one.....that one guy that tries to man up and prove my lifestyle wrong. Usually it's some multiple-time world heavyweight champion. Someone the people look up to as a god among men, and a ma who I take pleasure in warping to make seem like an overwhelmingly evil alcoholic. Like a man who's blood consisted of water, iron, plasma, and a sinister cocktail of every drug known to man. It's pretty difficult for me to write out these almost perfectly drawn out insults, but in the end, I claim my opponent's mind as my own, but I'm faced with a prediciment this time around. I don't exactly want my opponent's mind this time, because I'm not faced with a legend-status warrior. I'm not faced with a multiple-time champion. No, in my debut match in Combat Zone Wrestling, I face a drunkard janitor who talk to a mop. Hahaha....this should be easier han I thought."

Ryan shook his head, giving a chuckle out of amusement. The thought of this...this alcoholic nobody trying to face him, a world class athlete, brought Ryan's long-lost sense of humor back for that brief moment.

"Now...Custodian, is it? I'm not sure what to call you, since you seemed to ruin my alias, so I'm worried that you may have been too drunk to even remember your own name. Anyway, I've gone and watched your last little video, and I must say I'm.....I'm hurt. I'm hurt that you think that this whole movement that I'm a part of is a joke. I'm hurt that you think I'm the reason society is wrong. That,my unfortunate friend, is ironic, because I'm not the problem. I'm not the poison in the veins of society. You are! People like you are the reason humanity is slowly crumbling to nothing. You're the gangreen that society refuses to cut out, and watches as it spreads though the body, crushing and crumbling it until it's too late. You're just like all the rest of this country's "blue collar" class, but there's something about you that catches my eye. Something about you makes me want to prove myself, and show that i'm exactly the man to play surgeon and cut into the skin of humanity, and slice you out before you ruin it all. So, if you don't mind.....I'd like to tell you a little story."

Ryan turned his head to the building behind him, staring at it for a few seconds, before returning his attention to the damp roadway below.

"This is where my story begins. This is where the consequences of the unholy connection between a woman with the heart of an angel..."

While we could not see this occuring, Ryan's voice reflected him grinding his teeth as he spoke words that cut his tongue as if throwing up razor blades.

".......and the man, if one could call him that, who would leave his vile seed to grow, ending all hope for the angel's freedom!"

Ryan took a moment to calm himself, fearing that the memories of this man would control him.As he regained what little composure he had to begin with, he continued his tale.

"March second, nineteen eighty-four, a child was born on the back loading docks of the Niagara Transit station in Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada, similar to the station that lays behind me. The child was not delivered by a docter, but by a day-shift janitor who happened to be out back, having his hourly cigarette. There was no medicine to numb the pain, just the cold, polluted hands of the janitor, and the sloshed mumblings of the so-called "Father"."

Ryan rubbed his hands together, trying to pass the time, keeping his mind calm as he spoke. The jitters and sudden movements in his hands showed the unstableness of the "Survivor of a Failing Breed" in plain sight.

"They called it a miracle. It was a work of god that neither mother, nor child perished in the bloody ordeal. "Someone must be looking down on you both" is what I remember hearing the most, even after years, I was constantly reminded of that fateful day."

Ryan placed his hands on the steps, and lowered himself down a step, now on the third and fourth stairs.

"Now, I've already told the tales that followed this, of my youth, on more than one occasion but I never believed I'd ever say what I'm about to say in public, let alone to thousands of people on televison, ready to spread the word at a moments notice like a flood of information you have no right to tell in the first place, but I will. It seems that now, I have no other choice."

Ryan unfolded his hands, and leaned back on the step behind him, his hood moving back slightly, showing the small white logo of his baseball cape. From what could be made out, it was a clown with razor-sharp teeth in a psychotic smile.

"June seventeenth, two-thousand and two. A day that plays over and over in the back of my mind like my own personal hell. It was the day where the greatest gift I could've ever received was finally given to me. It was about nine in the morning, and Dad was upstairs, taking it old-style in the shower. I mean, that's necessary, isn't it. A bottle of Jack Daniels is what every man needs to get them through a thirty minute shower,isn't it? That's what I grew up thinking. I was an idiot back then."

Ryan slipped his hands into his pockets. As he spoke, the third flourecent bulb on the right-side flickered, the rattling of the pieces inside ebcomming almost unbareable, before going out like a candle in a storm.

"Mom and I were in the living room, enjoying the only thing we had together, television. It was just the daily news program, one of the only channels we had then. The story, a car accident down town. It couldn't have been better. The one woman in the world I knew loved me, and the knowledge that the devil himself, at least to me, was out of sight, for at least that one moment."

On this exact moment, one of Ryan Shane's signature staples in any promotional video had appeared, his smirk. A smirk that could only be made by a man with the intelligence and childhood of a breed serial killer. Of a man who's own identity had been lost within himself, and all that remained was a collected demensia.

"That's when we heard it. It was just an ordinary thud, nothing more. It was just loud enough to get our attention. Mom sat there for a moment, the look in her eyes was a mixture of sudden fear and confusion. She pressed the button on the remote to turn off the power with care, then made her way up the stairs behind us, a quiver in her legs, and her upper-lip. I sat there, looking into my own eyes reflecting back from the black-screen infront of me, wondering what it was."

Ryan shifted in his position, now placing his right-elbow on the step behind him.

"That's when the screams began. My mother's voice crying out like a stuck dog. I jumped up, and ran up those haunting steps to see what horror had reduced the woman who gave me life to tears. Mom had collapsed in the hallway, her face buried in her hands. I turned to the corner to see it. the sight I had been waiting for my entire life."

Ryan placed his other elbow on the same step,a more relaxed pose. His left-shoulder shook, showing a mixture of nervousness and constant reminders of the past catching up to him.

"I remember the mixture of Jack, water, and blood flowing down the drain. All those years of abusing. The Drugs, the alcohol, that constant beat of whore's high-heels tapping on the hard-wood floor, finally caught up with him. Dad's liver failed, and then, his heart stopped. Like an act of karma in it's purest form. As he fell, his best friend broke in his hands, leaving deep lacerations. As I stood there, looking into the pertrified eyes of my father, I could hear mom calling emergency services, but it was too late. Dad was dead before they got there."

Ryan slowly rose to his feet, making his way over to the loading docks, taking every step as if he was a paul bearer at a funeral. He once again slipped his hands in the pockets of the hoody, cradling them into a more comfortable position.

"Now, to any normal child, this moment would have been the end of their psyche as they knew it. Well, as you've probably figured out by now, I was never a "normal" child. Life was great for me. The pain and suffering was over for me, and for my mother, or at least I thought."

Ryan turned the corner, the now bright lights of the head office just a faint glow behind him. The loading docks were just as he described them. Dark, disgusting, and empty. There were no vehicles, no people, just the dead silence of cement. Ryan made his way to the second dock, and sat on the edge.

"I was wrong. The man she lived for was gone, and in my mother's eyes, her life was over. She was right. A week later, the world just came down around her, and she found her escape. My Father's "Prescription" drugs, and a bottle of Captain Morgan. I found her hunched over their bed, her lifeless eyes looking at a picture of better times, before my sister Mary or I even existed. Her eyes fixated on my father's. The smell was more than enough to drop someone, but that sight kept me awake. The only person in this world who still cared about me, was gone forever."

Ryan placed his hands at his sides, then turned his attention to the camera.

"You see, Custodian, there's a reason why I live how I do. There's a reason wy I'v decided to cover my body in these various tattoos, an fight on against the forces that you find comfort in. I seek to destroy this broken society, because I was BORN OF YOUR BROKEN SOCIETY! My blood flows with the same mixture as a man who found happiness in the very poison you do, and I battle to break the chains of abuse, and bring about change to the world, whether you want it or not! I used to say there was a war. I used to say the war was waiting to begin against the world of the walking dead. Well, the wait is over! The war isn't sitting on the backburners anymore! Oh no, the war is on and it's in CZW, and you're the first casualty Custodian! So don't even bother unpacking. Keep your mop and jumpsuits all in that backpack you call a suitcase, because you won't need it for very long. You look to make this match a clean sweep, but that....just won't happen. My friend, you've been cursed, and it comes to bite you at Overdrive! Sleep tight in your closet buddy, I'll see you the twenty-third."

Ryan chuckled a bit as he gave a few random slaps on the concrete below, as the camera simply zoomed out before reducing to static once again, then fading to black.
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