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"My Will be Done"; Greenhouse RP vs EP
Topic Started: Aug 1 2012, 03:12 AM (109 Views)
xShanex
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Stay Down
A metallic echo let off by the natural creaking of a large building greets us as we arrive on the scene. Due the sheer emptiness of this warehouse, the slight shifting of the building which would otherwise go unnoticed amplifies into a thunderous boom into the dark. A dark that is only pierced by the scarcely placed lights that hang down from the ceiling, the light in the furthest corner of the room flickering rapidly under the stress of old age. They just sit there as blank circles of light on a black canvas, save for solitary bulb which serves as the meeting ground for a group of men and women who have stepped into a company that itself was facing dark times, but just as the lights do, these individuals pierce through the void. The low murmur of conversation in the distance, as well as the slight humming of the lights, are the only sounds left after the rumble of the walls. As we come closer to the group, we come to see that confusion is not only accompanying us to the meeting, but is a guest amongst The Uprising as well.

Cassidy Fontaine and Allyson Thorn go on with a conversation they had been having since they arrived. The months had been good to the relationship between the women of the movement, and has built a trust between them. Now, they find themselves in a familiar scenario, with Cassidy listening to the everyday struggles of Allyson, and attempting to lend a helping hand. The politeness ends there, as the Spectacle too pick up their discussion of conquests. Brian Blaze motions a spanking action with his hands, then folds then behind his head and begins to pelvic thrust, smirking at Johnny Kerosene while he does so. Kerosene gives a faux impressed face to his tag-partner, simply motioning to his waist, once again bringing up his CZW World Title match to the jealousy of Blaze, who rolls his eyes. The last man in the row preferred to stay to himself, as his time with the group had been short. Gregory Grantham shocked the world as he turned back on his words, making a deal with the pro-wrestling devil and aligning himself with The Uprising. He had been asked here personally by Ryan, and was the first one on site. He crossed his arms and waited inventively, knowing that he would not have been summoned for a petty reason. It’s a natural meeting of associates, albeit in a strange location, but the man who sat facing the group was known to work in mysterious ways. At his side stood the muscle-bound bad ass, Matt Covey. As was his way of letting the world know how absolutely jacked he was, Covey wore a pair of blue jeans and a white tank top. He occasionally looks at his allies, but does not dare to turn his head to the man who sits to his left. That man sits upon a wooden crate, eyes to the floor in a state of meditation. That man wears black cargo shorts, though remained shirtless in the summer heat, thus allowing those around him to look at a lifetime worth of tattoos that defined him as a person. That man’s steel eyes hid behind a pair of black aviator shades, and a white towel found home around his neck. That man is Ryan Shane.

He had sat like that for what seemed like an hour, not even bothering to greet the others as they arrived. He had found his own inner world far more important than the world around him, and the other members of the collection found it wise not to break his concentration. That is, until right now, as impatience leads wise people to do very, very stupid things. Of course, the first one to speak up would be Brian Blaze. Blaze removed the toothpick he had clenched in his teeth, unbuttoning the bottom button of his Hawaiian shirt before motioning to the nothingness around him.

“Hey, uh, Ryan? We going to talk about something or what? Don’t know about if I speak for all of us, but I kind of want to know why I was told to meet up in the bat shit cave. If it was just to watch you think, we probably have better things to do.”

At the end of Brian’s comment, Ryan Shane raised his head, a blank face looking upon the sleazy superstar. His eyes could not be seen, but the stare of Ryan Shane was a happening that one did not need to see to feel in their very core. Blaze took a step back, laughing defensively as he put his hands up.

“No offense, of course.”

Ryan had seen the time had come and removed the towel from around his neck, placing it on the crate. The looping tattoo across his chest was now unveiled, the words “Forgive me Mother” in a gothic font, never once letting him forget his past sins. Ryan turned back to his group, running his eyes along the line they made. They observed their own reflections within his sunglasses, each one proud to look themselves in the eye. That is what separated them from the rest of the CZW, and the rest of the world.

“The walls have ears, friends.”

Ryan’s cryptic words were not lost on any of the faithful present. This was a war that they were fighting, and unless they were absolutely sure that they would not be monitored, they would not speak. Any leverage Derek Damage could use would be used to its full extent. That being said, this warehouse was far more secluded than need be. Still, they listened closely.

“My Brothers and Sisters, we are on the threshold of our destination. There stands one more blockade us……..and a CZW we could all be proud of. Kingdom Come.”

Ryan folded his hands once again, resting his lips on them in a bit of silence. The Uprising feared that another hour of thought would follow, Blaze bringing his hands up and slapping them on his thighs, and Allyson leaning in to Cassidy to ask her what Ryan’s deal as of late was. She couldn’t answer. Covey had kept his eyes to his shoes, as to not catch the disappointment in the man who saved his life’s demeanor. Ryan then turned his face back to the group.

“You’ve all made me very proud in our mission so far. You’ve stayed loyal to the cause, and in some cases put our history with each other behind you in order to achieve a common good. You are some of the best combatants this sport has ever seen, and I have no doubt our goals will be reached. In New York City, a City that is known for embracing men and women such as us, a City that I occasionally call home, we have our collective destinies placed in our hands. Now all we need to do......is execute our plan.”

Ryan sat up, removing his sunglasses in the process and placing them down next to him. His piercing gray eyes had finally met the group unhidden, an honor not many individuals could say they had been given.

“There is a time and a place for everything, even defeat. Our record has not been spotless since our mission has begun, but it is not remaining undefeated that seals in domination. No, it's the victories that come when they are most crucial that matter. There is time for defeat. There is time for loss.”

Ryan pushed off of the crate, landing on his feet. He shoved his right hand into his pocket, keeping the left free to give a visual of his emotion. With a swipe of his hand, he parted the doubt in his leadership like Moses did the Red Sea.

“But this is not that time! This is the time in which we show no mercy! This is the time in which we use these talents that we have honed over the years that have given us the titles best in our respective divisions! Best in the world!”

Ryan observed the team’s reaction. Thorn had taken the phrase ‘No Mercy’ to heart, and couldn’t help but bring out a devilish smirk. Cass, on the other hand, tried to look away, not wanting to be a part of the bloodshed. The Spectacle nodded with arrogant grins, Blaze motioning to Kerosene and declaring that he would be bringing the gold home. Grantham’s reaction was the most interesting to Ryan. He had none. He only looked forward with determination, never once breaking his focus on his match with Mike King. Ryan could only be drawn to this focus, stepping closer to ‘The Graduate’ into he stood directly in front of him.

“Greg, you're still freshly introduced, and yet you have a task that I would personally see to if not for Derek's intervention. You have Mike King. While typically I would say a man like King would be no problem for someone like you.........but as much as I hate to admit it, the defeat of Mike King is crucial to our victory. It's not the man we need break, no. Mike King has slowly tried to place himself on the same pedestal as me, and for the most part he is succeeding. As long as there remains any doubt in any minds that we can deliver the prestige CZW deserves, or that we have other intentions in mind, our mission will never fully succeed. Mike King is a symbol of defiance that can't be allowed. Your job is to crush this symbol. Your job is to embarrass him, and then put him out like a candle facing a storm. Snuff him out, Greg. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for us all?”

Gregory turned to his new allies, then back to Ryan. That cockiness the CZW nation had learned to expect from Grantham returned at that moment. He adjusted tie he wore around his neck, leaning his head back in an expression that seemed to be amused that Ryan had to even ask the question at all.

“I’ll make him scream.”

Ryan bowed his head to him, walking further down the line until he was able to turn and face the resident Rockstar of CZW, Johnny Kerosene. He took a moment to motion to Brian Blaze, actually placing a fist out and touching knuckles with him. Ryan made eye contact with Kerosene and did not break it.

“and Johnny. You've been the shining example of the power that is our Uprising. You've always told the world how good you were, and even when we were on opposing sides of the ring I always saw the potential in you, but Derek Damage didn't. You and Brian changed the tag-division for the better, but still you were stuck with comic, cartoon-like personas. Those people who used to chant your name, they never knew. They never cared about The Spectacle as a dominant team; they only wanted you to make them laugh. Now, now these people have no choice but to see it. They have no choice but to accept that Johnny Kerosene is one of the best they'll ever see!"

Ryan placed a hand on each of Kerosene’s shoulders, looking to the ground for three seconds before looking back to Kerosene.

“I only have one job for you, Johnny.”

He paused as Kerosene prepared himself for his assignment. Ryan had not spoken to him much since the group had formed, but the tone of his voice let on great importance.

“Win…………………..Win…………………….Win at all costs. Do it for yourself, but even more important, do it for our cause. Do it for CZW. Whatever it takes, you need to walk out of this match as the World Heavyweight Champion. With their precious title in our ranks, they'll have no choice but to bend to our demands. You need to fighter harder than you ever have before. You need to fight until you can't stand, and then fight past that!”

Ryan pushed off of Kerosene, stepping back so all could see the fiery intensity in his eyes. Ryan motioned to all of them with another hand swipe.

“That goes for all of you! Damage may have isolated me, but he refused to look at the group as a whole. If Johnny can't win on his own, Brian, make him win! If he can't, you will, Allyson! Is that understood?”

Both Thorn and Blaze could only stand and watch, but Ryan knew they were ready to do what was needed to win. There was no room for quarter, no time for prisoners. Ryan’s words were taken to heart. Ryan placed his hands back into his pockets, his voice only growing louder, echoing through the empty warehouse like the voice of the devil welcoming damned souls to the gates of hades.

"We will hit Damage's poster boys like a flood until they cave in, and then we'll wash away this.......failure!"

The word ‘failure’ boomed over and over as Ryan turned his back to the group, walking back to the crates.

“Speaking of failure…………”

Ryan pivoted on his heel and turned back to the group. Hearing the cue, Matt Covey let out a sigh, almost as if to prepare himself for something.

“As I said, there was a time and a place for defeat. Our friend Mr. covey has met defeat at the wrong time when he fell to Krimzon Blaze, a man who was made an example of, as well as a symbol of our threat to Derek Damage’s regime. All of that was lost in the three seconds it took for him to be pinned.”

Ryan circled his head to meet Covey who finally worked up the strength to look back at him. Ryan only offered up a single nod. Covey took the hint, and began to step forward. He walked slowly in front of Ryan, facing the group, then dropped to his knees.

“I have discussed this with Matt, and I had the full intention of letting this pass. Matt has already proven his worth to the cause.......but he refuses to go on without consequences.”

Ryan moved past Covey with a single hand in his pocket, placing a single hand on Covey’s head as he did so. Covey closed his eyes, but he did not waver. He was ready for what was to come. Ryan pulled his hidden hand from his pocket, a quick metallic flash catching The Uprising as he did so. Cassidy knew better than anyone what was about to happen, and turned away to not witness it. The rest of the group only watched, knowing there was nothing they could say to stop it. Ryan took in a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so, and exhaled through his lips, a single haunting phrase being heard.

“So let there be consequences.”

Ryan snapped around like a snake striking its prey, arching his arm and driving the malicious railroad spike into the hairline of Matt Covey! Covey recoiled back from the strike, but pulled himself back up. A small trickle of blood begin to slide down his face and drip from the tip of his nose. Ryan jutted a finger out at covey, barking to the rest of the warehouse’s occupants.

“Let this image always be your reminder that we cannot afford to fail! If we fail, all of this time, the violence, will be for nothing!”

Ryan plunged the spike back into the wound, this time sending Covey almost to the ground, but still, Covey pushed back to an upright position. The blood grew thicker, beginning to cover half of his face. Ryan circled around Covey, he himself recording the sight to be used as future motivation.

“THIS is dedication! This man has seen his wrongs and chose to atone for them! He chose to spill his own blood, just for what he believes in! Learn from this man! Live as he would!”

With a wild yell Ryan struck Covey one more time, this time flooring him upon impact. Blood began to pool on the concrete as Ryan tossed the spike, grabbing the towel and dropping to the floor. He wrapped the towel around Covey’s head, blood quickly seeping through it. It was as if he held his friend in an embrace, helping him through the suffering.

“We’ve come too far to fall, now. We will win this.”

He let go of Covey, who know had the strength to hold the towel to his head himself, a testament to his legendary endurance.

“In New York, the CZW will no longer be the same!”

The energy that flowed from Ryan possessed the others like a demonic spirit, sending shivers through their spines. Ryan’s voice only grew louder.

“In New York, CZW will see that we are plague and that we will not be cured, and at that very moment it’s mind will become our spoils of war!”

The Uprising began to stir like caged animals, Cassidy still refusing to look back, placing her hands just below her ears as if she was ready to block them out entirely.

“In New York…………”

Ryan’s fist shot into the air, a manic look of wide-eyed rage covered his face as he shouted into the air.

“CZW DIES!!!”

His fist was joined by the fists of his allies, a war cry leaving their lungs as they prepared for victory. Ryan helped the downed Covey back to his feet, and then gazed at the anticipation of the men and women around him. These were his dogs of war, and in just a few days, they would tear the CZW to shreds in their fangs.

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The hotel room has been described by many involved with the occupation of professional wrestler as a home away from home. A bed that serves as a replacement for the one they miss in their dwelling. In recent days, a young woman had become accustom to these two places being one and the same, with no home to call her own. We join this woman in the latest room she called home, sitting on the edge of her bed that she did not own. Cassidy sat with the TV on, but she did not watch it. There was no reality show on the air that could possible erase the thoughts she had been battling for weeks. She wondered how her life had changed so drastically. In the beginning of this year she was on top of the world, sleeping in a multi-million dollar penthouse, dining at the finest of restaurants, wearing only the most elite clothing labels. Now, she slept in bargain hotel rooms, wearing the clothes she could afford when working at a café she didn’t like, and enjoying fast food as if it were her last meal. She played with the multi-colored wristbands she wore on both of her arms, going over the retro Legend of Zelda t-shirt she had on. She just wanted to know how the hell she got there.

As if the sign had materialized outside in the hall, there was a knock at her door. Cass jolted once, not prepared for the noise. Nobody had ever shown up at her door unexpected. She didn’t move at first, only observing the door as if the person on the other side would simply walk through the solid barricade. After another knock, she hurried to the door, turning the handle and opening it, only to be struck back by surprise.

“R-Ryan?”

As she spoke, Ryan Shane looked even more lost than usual. He tossed is eyes around the mascara circle that surrounded them, keeping his hands in his pockets as he commonly did.

“Hey……….can I come in?”

Cass nodded, still left in a stupor by the sudden surprise.

“Yes, yes! I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect to see you so…….suddenly.”

Ryan entered without another word, Cass letting go of the door and just allowing it to close on its own as she did so. Ryan slumped down on the end of the bed. Cassidy reached over and turned off the TV before sitting down next to him. She only knew Ryan would show up when something went wrong, so that would be her first inquiry.

“What’s the matter?”

Ryan, for once, was unable to answer without collecting himself. He fought with himself, taking a breath and blowing it out through the side of his mouth. He looked around the room.

“I just needed to talk to you.”

Cass’ eyes scatter as well, uneasy with not knowing exactly what Ryan meant by what he said.

“What’d….Derek do?”

Ryan groaned, pressing the palms of his hands to his face and rubbing his eyes.

“Derek didn’t do anything.”

Instantly, Cassidy’s face shifted. If there was no need to plan an attack, Ryan was here to tell her that someone was injured. She began thinking of the members, worried for their safety.

“Did somebody get hurt?”

Ryan looked to her and shook his head to try and deter any thoughts of concern in she had.

“No, no, nobody’s hurt.”

This didn’t help. Cass’ confusion only grew worse, and she had no other options to go to. There would be no other reason Ryan would need to see anyone, let alone her. He just signed her checks, and she just cashed them as far as he was concerned.

“So………….what is it?”

Ryan sighed, then made eye contact with her.

“I just needed to tell you…………I’m sorry.”

She was almost left breath taken. There was no way she could respond right away. Ryan Shane, apologizing? There was a better chance of seeing a Ghost, and in this case Cassidy acted as such.

"This whole time you've been travelling with me, I've made you see things that nobody as kind as you should see. I treated you like a tool. I'm sorry for that."

Cass just turned to him with almost puppy dog eyes, her hands folding nervously in her lap.

“Ry………….”

"I saw how you were when we went to Allyson's. You've been through so much of my violent world that you haven't had time to enjoy your own."

Ryan scratched the back of his head and leaned back.

"So I owe you. I'd like to bring you somewhere, I don't care where. I've prepared myself for any bar or club with some meditation."

She was struck dumbfounded, but broke out into a sweet smile. A smile that hadn’t been seen in months.

“That’d be great.”

Ryan nodded, standing up.

“Great, I'll be waiting in the lobby tomorrow morning. I'll see you then.”

Ryan said nothing more, not even letting another glance pass before he whipped open the door and disappeared down the hall. As the door closed, that smile of Cassidy came back. She had witnessed something not many could say they had. The human side of Ryan Shane.

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The sun hung high over the green of Central Park, the perfect opportunity for families to go out and enjoy the day. Young children run and play through the walkways and up onto the grass, doing as the child should do. Couples walk hand in hand, soaking up the gorgeous weather. It is the perfect place to find tranquility on this day, and the perfect place to find Cassidy Fontaine and Ryan Shane. Both sat on a small hill, just watching the people go by. Cass ran her hand through the grass, the blades tickling her palms.

“How did I know you wanted to come here?”

Cass could only grin. It was good to be home. Ryan placed his hands behind his head and leaned back.

“Only fitting we come back here after the travelling. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. I love this place.”

She turned her face to the sky, closing her eyes as she let the sunlight wash over her. She was naturally tan, but what could a little more sun hurt? A light breeze pushed her hair around.

“Thank you, Ryan. I needed this.”

Ryan had been watching a small group of children play in the distance. He enjoyed seeing their innocence, as he had let his own die years ago. Theirs would die soon too. This world would not allow such gentle creatures to continue. It was a brutal cycle, one that he would not continue himself.

"Cass.......I don't want you to accompany me to the ring on Sunday. I don't even want you to watch the match."

Cass took the words as if he had asked her to cut off her own hand. Her eyes pleaded for a different opinion.

"No, no I want to be there for you!"

Ryan’s voice shifted, a more demanding rumble to his words. His face went cold.

“You’re not going out there.”

Cass couldn’t understand.

“But………….why?”

Ryan sat up and bents his knees, resting his arms on them.

"I......am going to do unspeakably violent things to El Pablo. I can't afford to let him walk out of the match."

Ryan said so as if he was speaking of the weather. Nonchalantly, uncaring, regretless, and that was why he couldn’t allow her to see it.

"I'm a horrible person, Cass. I do horrible things. I have the full intention of ending his career in the most violent way possible............and he, mine. I'm going to slice him up, and he's going to do the same to me. I don't want you to see that."

Ryan’s eyes narrowed, but the emotion ended there.

“You’ve seen enough already.”

Cass tried to work everything he said out. It was true; she had witnessed acts of violence that would have led to incarceration under different circumstances. Now, the man who committed such crimes pleaded for her to see no more of them. He wasn’t going to stop, but he at least cared enough for her to keep her out of the line of fire. She could only repay him with a smile.

“Ryan……….thank you.”

She took his silence as a response. It was his way of avoiding being too nice. They sat without speaking for a moment, before Ryan let out a chuckle.

"You know, you're more important to this mission than you could even understand."

He sparred her a look before turning to the tree line.

“I have big plans for you.”

Cass looked off with Ryan. She wondered what these plans were, but she had learned something even greater than her place in his plans. Ryan had cared, and her life change was not for nothing. No matter how uncomfortable her hotel room was, how basic her wardrobe remained, and how far out fine dining was from reach, she would be happy. She would matter.

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The Hammerstein ballroom. How many bloody battles had painted a wrestling ring inside this world famous venue? How many broken bones had been used to build thrones for the very best of their craft? He knew the answer very well, as he was a member of both categories. The CZW ring had been set up already in the center of the ballroom, the new black and red color scheme fluttering on the apron in the empty room. In just a few days, the fans of New York City would witness a show that they would never be able to forget, and a match in which violence would be redefined. Hatred, rivalry, and a just cause were the perfect ingredients to a recipe of destruction, and they were all present. Also present was a man who sat upon the ground, leaning against the ring. He looked around at all of the levels of the ballroom, memories of his time in this building playing out before him like a masterful performance. He saw pure chaos unfold as men threw each other over the ropes into various weapons stacked outside where he sat now. He saw his friend rise to the top of a company, taking his place as world champion. He saw himself, arms outstretched on the balcony, kicked over and down, crashing into the tables below. Thus was the fate of Ryan Shane.

Ryan looked out from underneath the strands of hair that were pressed down by a black wool cap. A black high-collared leather jacket covered up most of his upper body tattoos, and black pants served the same on the lower-half. Over the entire jacket, hat, and the right pant leg, shimmering deep blue circuit-like patterns crawled, the name “Ryan Shane” placed on the shoulder and the side of the hat in a fashion similar to the famous Tron logo. Ryan refused to acknowledge the camera at first, but turned his head up to the magnificent art work that was the Hammerstein ceiling. He had missed seeing it as often.

“They say you see a man's true colors in his final acts of desperation. A brave man will always quiver when the knife is plunged deep into his soft underbelly. A Mother will always leap to the defense of her child, even in her last breath. A personal favorite scenario is how a civil group of people will act when their plane goes down in a remote location. Men and women who would sooner turn down the animals they see taken prisoner at the zoo become them. Do you understand that? If the right cards are played, those people will eat each other to survive. Fear releases all inhibitions. All of your hopes and dreams, the things you hold dear, the people..........they all fade away. All there is………..is the need to survive. The need to move on with your life. In that one moment, everything becomes sacred, and you realize the value of your legacy.”

Ryan looked back down to the camera, bending his right knee and placing his arm on it.

“Change and Fear are eternally intertwined. There is no major change that comes as a preemptive strike. It always takes an act of great devastation, something just so vile and disgusting that you have no choice but to react to it, to bring any major changes. This is what I've supplied. In the past months that this abomination that dares call itself CZW has been clambering about, I have made it my mission to slowly burn it asunder. I've now gone through what could be seen as a third of the roster, and I can see the tides slowly shifting. The tension has mounted, it's almost overwhelming.........it's beautiful. The hope that Derek Damage, in the same way that a small child hopes to find comfort in their Father, can end the revolution I've introduced is all but gone, and has now been replaced with the foreboding realization of the war on the horizon. The war that will erase this new CZW from history, and restore the honor it once held.”

An aura of glee was almost visible around the ‘Straight Edge Curse’ as he continued his tirade. Utter devastation was the closest Ryan would get to actual happiness, and he was not willing to let it pass him by. He had struck up the orchestra, and was ready to conduct the song of destruction.

“I call this a work of charity................but some don't exactly see things the same. Some would go to claim that I view myself as a savior.............and some say,”

The smirk of Ryan Shane appeared again, never a good sign for the world of CZW.

“I'm a terrorist. What I ask is……………..what's the difference? Am I not giving the people what they deserve through the use of fear? Am I not taking back and returning what belongs to the people with horror? With my Uprising I've drawn out terror in the hearts of both the fans and the roster, and for that you should thank me. I've set us all on the course of rebuilding by breaking what should be changed. There are no excuses, now. There is no valid reason not to stand on our side for the cause in the war against oppression and mediocrity…………………….and yet, the majority of our colleagues simply refuse to see what we're really trying to gain. They only see the violence, too stubborn to look deeper to see what the violence is for.”

Ryan rested the side of his head on his hand, just watching as a small dust ball rolled by his feet. He just let the disappointment in the small minds of his co-workers wash over him. Oh, what it must be to be such a lower life form.

“That scares me. I find myself enjoying a share of this fear that I've used to strengthen the faithful. I've looked inside myself and I've found my own desperation. I've come to see that my rebellion has been observed by a large portion of these mindless sheep as nothing more than just another 'faction' of names beating up nobodies for kicks. I've come to see that the men and women in the back that once fought back a band of renegades with me years ago only did so because it's been chiseled into their little, mushy brains that going against the superiors is wrong.”

Ryan covered his eyes with his palm, hoping that the pressure and darkness would assist and relieving him of the headache that was the zombies he had to deal with. He motioned with an unfolded hand to the camera, looking deep into the lens as he did so.

“I've also come to realize that these complacent sheep have been marching in their single files lines right over the edge, but more importantly their blocking the path between my Uprising and our goal. I'm afraid that these men and women have now become obstacles, and I have no choice but to eliminate said obstacles if my plan is to come to light; and for this fear of failure.............I thank you.”

He brought his hands up to eye level, looking directly into his palms. Outside of the tattoos, they seemed clean to the normal person, but Ryan could only help thinking about the future. On these hands he saw shards of glass, both plunged in and stuck on. It would ran glass if he had the choice, but more importantly, he saw blood. His blood, the blood of El Pablo, and the blood of Combat Zone Wrestling.

“I now see the fear I have, and a means of correction. I no longer have to blindly fire into the crowd. I've had a list drawn up and handed to me. My targets are clear. Targets like my old buddy Mike King, and his breakfast club of mediocrity.”

With hands clapping back down to his legs, Ryan arched his head back as to look down at the world, and into the unworthy eyes of King.

“I never thought I'd have to say this to another man in my life, but Mike King, hop off my nuts. Never before have I met such a hypocrite, such a self-righteous fool as Mike King. I've known you for quite a while, king, and it’s always been the same thing. You always have to try and be important, no matter how much these people you pander to just don't care. The moment you see that someone else is gaining recognition, you need to change your whole persona to beg and plead someone, anyone to care. You've been a faux-straight-edger, a phoenix, and wacky rudo, and egoist, but there's one thing you could never be......”

A single finger jutted up to his face.

“Better than Ryan Shane. That kills you inside, Mike. I know it does. This kid you and Kirkland let into their fold on a second choice to some pompous nobody who would've fit your style better, just excelled and exceeded you in everything, and make no mistake about it, I was always better. King goes on and on about how Kirkland and he taught me everything I knew. The only thing I learned from those two biters is how weak their movement would've been without me. I am self-forged weapon of the most lethal variety. But that's just your way of clinging onto my coattails, eh Mike? Any amount of success I gain, and there's been a lot of it, you always have to try and insert yourself into the scene. I'm your meal ticket, because without me, Mike king would not exist anymore.”

Ryan let his left arm bend back and placed his palm upon the apron, his right hand whirling around in a non-amused fashion.

“And now we come back to the new cretin that has become CZW, and surprise, surprise, Mike King leeches onto my momentum yet again as some leader of the meek in a sad attempt to try and eclipse the truth of my actions. You just know it all, don'tcha Mikey? Here comes the big bad Ryan Shane and his band of miscreants, tearing up the system and holding the little man down! Blood in the streets! Total Anarchy! Ryan Shane is an Anarchist!”

There was just something about the word ‘Anarchist’ that drove Ryan mad. His eyes narrowed, his eyebrows slanting downward. He locked onto the camera.

“No…………….I’m not. I'm not an Anarchist; I don't want these idiots who can't see the truth right in front of their faces controlling anything, because they might hurt themselves. I am not chaos, I am order. I'm the judge to which everyone who denies the crimes of Derek Damage must answer to. I seek a new order in which their interests are heard and taken into account, but not one in which they blindly slur their demands. People like you show me that not every can be trusted with their own well-being. Luckily for you, my Uprising knows what's good for you and your merry men. You talk about how we want to hold you all down, the typical American standpoint. You just can't come to grips that you're the fucking reason you're in obscurity. Did you ever think of that, Mike? You can look at guys like Josh Newsome and Chris Tolwar and say they're the future of the business, hell you've been stroking yourself and saying it for years, but that doesn't change the fact that you're all just meat sacks with faces there for the rest of us to kick around.”

Ryan could only shrug. He knew Mike King better than Mike knew himself. It’s much easier to pick up on a subject’s weaknesses when finding them is the only reason you watched him in the first place.

“But you're not going to hear truth, Mike, because it doesn't fit the false reality you've built for yourself. You want to build yourself up as some superhero to the worst this company has to offer, fine, but keep thinking you're on my level. Keep thinking I even attempted to take you out; it's really entertaining that you think you mattered that much. I'll give you the chance to test your metal, Mike, since you think I'm holding you down so much. You've never been where I've been, not matter what you say, but if you want to find hell, you've the right man to drag you there himself. Get your pity patrol together, keep preaching your nonsense of how the guy who has been in the business half as long as you needs to hang it up and let the new guys flourish, and meet my Uprising on the battlefield when the time comes, and when you realize that your slingshots don't match up to the tanks I have at my disposal, and your eyes widen in the realization that, once again, Ryan Shane has left you in the dirt........that's when I'll kill you. That's when we'll kill you all. Then again, you might not make it to that meeting if Grantham does as he's been instructed. He's quite intelligent; I doubt he'll make that mistake.”

Ryan decided to stand, leaning against the corner as he did so. He examined his nails on his right hand.

“But for now it seems the powers that be have decided to lay their trump card down early in hopes that they can quell the fire before it burns the entire CZW to the ground. That card is none other than a man I consider a personal favorite opponent, one El Pablo. I first must compliment your drive, Pabs. I would've expected a much lesser man to reconsider his occupation after our last encounter, but low and behold a year later the outright sensation known as El Pablo returns once again.”

A hint of annoyance passed over Ryan’s words. He rolled his eyes and looked away from the camera.

“Unlike Mike King, I must admit, I did try to put you out of this business. I tried, and I tried, and I tried again, and every time you just keep getting up. It irritated me before, Paul, it really did. It ate me up inside that there was one person I could never permanently make Stay Down, but……..I’ve had a change of heart. There’s got to be some reason why you keep coming back, no matter what I did. It’s got to be some kind of sign, right?”

He had to laugh. He just had to. It was all ridiculous to him. He, the great Ryan Shane, having been brought to an equal level with another. It was rough.

“I sort of think we need each other. There’s almost no doubt in my mind. Why else would we have faced off in so many companies, so many times? Ryan Shane versus El Pablo is a rivalry that will stand the test of time. Two of the world’s finest, one being the pinnacle of the sport in myself, clashing in ways that only we can. This rivalry will redefine what it means to run with CZW. A rivalry that I've been the victor in more times than not. What's the score now, Pabs, four to one? And that one is a tag-match I wasn't even pinned in. That should be enough for me to walk into this match with my head held high and a sense of victory before I even grab it............but it's not. I'm not going to make the same mistake I did a year ago, when I shrugged you off and went into battle with an ego. Egos get men killed, and right now I'm entering into your domain. Derek Damage has made his intentions very clear. He aims to isolate the head of the demon in hopes that killing it will cease the body. That means going into this match I not only have my goals in mind............but my physical well-being.”


He placed his index finger and thumb together, pointing to the camera with the sign as he did so. He narrowed one eye and leaned in as if he was about to explain something to Pablo about himself that even he didn’t know.

“See it's your fear that I fear, Paul. Your back is against the wall in this match, no matter how stacked the deck is against me. The CZW is weighing down on your shoulders. I'm sure Damage has been buttering you up since the day he called you. What'd he promise you, money? A world title shot? Probably both, that honor less whore. Either way, add that on top of your need to win this match. I've already beaten you in every singles stage we've ever met on, and now we meet once again, right in your greenhouse. This is your last resort, and your last chance. You know exactly what this is. This is the final stand for both you and CZW. The world will be watching what happens at Kingdom Come with baited breath and Pabs, I can't afford to lose, and neither can you. The winner of this match decides the future of CZW, whether this insult to everything you've done that you still somehow fight for remains, or whether I tear it down with my bare hands. You got everyone cheering your name, Pabs, don't want to let them down, do we? In order to do so, you'll need to do what Derek wants you to do and put me out. You have plenty of tools at your expense to put me down, glass tables, panes of glass, light tubes.............but never forget that I am the owner of the most dangerous weapon in the game today....The Murder Scene.”

Ryan held his hands out flat, his fingers slightly twitching as he did so.

“From what I’ve heard, they say the paralyzation begins in the very tips of your fingers, as is the case in most neck injuries. In some cases, your lights are put out instantly. You can’t respond to the call of the referees, and that’s the least of your worries. The unlucky are left awake for the defeat. The instant shock of the crash renders their body useless for few short seconds. You can only fear for the rest of your life, pleading with whatever god you see fit to please, just please allow you to walk again, and by the time it’s all over, I’ve already won. That's what awaits you. We may be in your house, but we're in New York City, my second home. I'll shatter your glass house with a single thrown stone, and then I'll break the foundation of CZW........and you have no choice but to watch, Derek.”

Ryan marched closer and closer to the camera, the cameraman backing up, not knowing exactly what Ryan’s intentions were. He pointed directly at Damage through the virtual world.

“You can only sit there in awe as I take your white knight and break him in half, and then crush your company in the palm of my hands. We started this struggle by hanging a man by his ankles above the ring, and at Kingdom Come, I plan on hanging your company and building a new empire around the gallows. In New York City, my brothers and sisters will rise just as our name depicts, but all of this............this disgusting mistake that is the new CZW, and everyone who refuses to abandon ship.........”

Ryan’s hands gripped into iron fists, thrusting out toward the camera. The words which he had based his new life could be seen clear across his knuckles, the prized possession of his tattoo collection. He growled once in a fit anxiety and adrenaline, speaking those exact words once again.

“They’ll all Stay….the fuck…Down.”

He held the position for a moment, then turned his back on the camera and the CZW nation. He stepped closer to the ring, looking about the ballroom one more time. This building would be his display, and he would once again craft a work of art with the goriest means possible. He brought his arms up at his sides and let the spirit of the ballroom possess him. With that, the feed was overcome with wild static, and then reduced to a still black.
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