| Reach.; vs Martin Robertson @ Fight Night, EWA Network Championship | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 4 2016, 11:55 PM (38 Views) | |
| NOTHING | May 4 2016, 11:55 PM Post #1 |
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The Purveyor of HATE
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[The shot opens up into a familiar darkness. By this time, we know where we are and who we're about to see. A low level of light illuminates the area with particles of dust shimmering as float into and past the lens. Directly in front of us we see what appears to be a reflective surface. It's hard to tell with the amount of light in the room, but it looks as though we're staring back at ourselves. We hear footsteps off-screen and then see someone walk in from the left behind whatever reflective surface we're staring at. This someone, shrouded in darkness, is reaching around for something. We can see his arms outstretched, feeling around with his hands until - CLICK. A short row of fluorescent lights begin to flicker on over head. To the left, one of the bulbs pops and fizzles out. The set of lights directly overhead remain illuminated, however, revealing our scene and our stranger. We appear to be looking at a ticket booth of sorts; a plexiglass window separates us and our host, "The Harbinger of HATE" NOTHING. Behind the window we see a mess of papers and documents on top of the counter in the booth. NOTHING pauses to look around for a moment. He reaches out slowly and spreads some of the papers apart. It's clear that he isn't looking for anything in particular, but instead aimlessly looking at whatever history is laid out in front of him. He turns slowly toward the camera, still standing behind the glass and not yet making eye contact with the viewer. He now has both hands on top of the counter in front of him, his head still looking down at the mess of documents surrounding him. He closes his eyes and takes in a long, deep breath. He holds the breath for a moment - it seems as though something here is triggering a memory, or maybe too many memories to handle all at once. NOTHING slowly lets the breath out and lifts his head to look at the camera head-on. The microphone in the ticket booth is surely long since dead, but we can still hear him through the glass as he begins to speak.] When I was a child, I would sit in the back yard for hours. Alone. Sitting there by myself just [He mimes digging with both hands on the pile of papers in front of him.] digging and digging and digging. Reaching my hands into the cold Earth and heaving out pile after pile of dirt. I don't know why I did it then. In fact, I still don't know why I did it. I would just get this sort of tunnel vision and would need to keep reaching further and further into the ground. Without knowing it, I would be knee deep in the yard - still reaching down and digging with my bare hands. [He holds his hands up in front of him like claws and looks down at them] My fingernails would be covered in filth. Dirt lodged on top of and underneath them. [He slowly clenches his fists and pauses for a moment. He drops his left hand to the counter and brings his right hand to his face repeatedly stroking his eyebrow with his index finger.] I didn't really care about any of that, though. I was just trying to get as far down as possible. And, again, before I knew it - there I was several feet into the ground. The first couple of times, I'd try to climb out by myself but as I gripped the walls of dirt around me they just crumbled in my hands and fell at my feet. I was in so far over my head that I'd have to call out for help. My parents would come running and pull me out, asking how I got in there and what was going on. Every time, though, they came a little bit more slowly. Eventually they just sent my brother out to get me. No matter who it was, though, someone was always there reaching a hand down to pull me back out when things were just a little too much for me to handle. [He looks down and runs his thumb and index finger along his hairline before running his hand through his hair. He says nothing at all and exits the same way he came in. For a few seconds, we appear to be all alone. We can hear his footsteps off-screen again, but we have no idea of knowing where he is or where he's going. Shortly, though, NOTHING walks back into view from the left side of the screen. This time he is in front of the glass. The fluorescent light backlights him as he leans against the ticket booth. He crosses his arms, settles in, and begins to speak again.] I don't tell you this story because I needed to get it off of my chest. I tell it to you because it holds so many striking similarities with the man with whom I will compete at Fight Night. Martin Robertson - at Fight Night, you and I go toe to toe with your beloved EWA Network Championship on the line. Now, I don't expect this to be a fair fight. I'm no fool, and I've been around the block long enough to know exactly how Alexander Haven, Chris Kage, and The Youth operate. I know that, even if you were to come to the ring alone, you wouldn't be alone for long. Waiting in the wings would be your saviors. The very moment you appeared to be in trouble, the cavalry would charge the ring and sway the numbers in your direction. It's a commendable thing they do. It doesn't upset me, of course - I used to utilize the same tactics when I ran roughshod over the NYSWF way back when. Having the numbers on your side is one of the most important things you can have in this business... especially when you don't have the self-confidence or ability to stand on your own two feet. At Fight Night, Robertson, I step into the ring but you're stepping into something much more different. You're stepping into a hole you've dug for yourself and you are going to be in far, far over your head. You'll be waiting for Haven or the other cronies in The Youth [He extends his right arm out straight as if to grab something in front of him] to reach their hands into that hole and pull you back to the surface. To put you back on solid ground where things are a bit more comfortable. You'll be hoping for somebody to dust you off, pat you on the back, and bring you safely back home. [He crosses his arms again] That's not going to happen at Fight Night, Robertson. I'm not saying that The Youth won't attempt to get involved in this match - I expect them to. What I am saying, though, is that it won't be a factor. That's the difference between you and your friends and myself - I don't seek or need help from others to gain my victories. What's frustrating for me, though, is that ever since I've stepped foot in the EWA I haven't been able to have a one-on-one match without incident. My first week back, Indrid Calder got involved in my match against Dredd. I didn't ask for Calder's help then and I certainly didn't want or need it. In my second week, a mysterious video began to play and captured the attention of Dietrich. I took advantage, of course, because that's what you do when you arrive at such a situation. I certainly didn't need that assist, though. And just this past week, Lunatikk Crippler stuck his nose into my match with Ray Willmott in the first round of the Path of the Warrior tournament. At this point, I was fed up and I made sure Crippler knew exactly how I felt about his involvement. It seems like this is par for the course around here, though, doesn't it? A fresh face like myself steps onto the scene, a man with no grudges to hold with anyone around here, and in every single match some third party is stirring things up. At Fight Night, Robertson, I am hoping that none of the enemies you've made decide to step between us. I won't need any third-party help to tear you down and rip you to pieces, and I don't want anything to tarnish the moment when I pin you to the mat and become the new EWA Network Champion. [He reaches his hand up and begins rubbing his chin. He looks off to the side and pauses briefly before beginning again.] At Fight Night, we will both stand in the spotlight after taking very, very different paths to get there. You, with your massive amounts of backup and me - standing alone and standing tall with a pile of bodies left in my wake. I'm no longer the child who dug himself in over his head, reaching his hand out looking for his family to save him. The sounds quite a bit more like you, Martin. Whether as a child yourself just reaching and hoping that your father would be there for you when you wanted and needed him the most, or now as an adult with your new family in The Youth. You're still just reaching your hand out hoping to be saved. If I have to, I will be more than happy to grab that hand and snap your arm into pieces. [NOTHING pushes himself away from the ticket booth and begins to slowly walk away, the camera following at his side. The flickering fluorescent light illuminates far enough to still see him.] Those holes in my back yard, Martin - they have a lot in common with what I see around me today. In fact, they have quite a bit in common with you and your reign as EWA Network Champion. You fight to break ground and then dive head first into this pursuit until you just can't dig anymore. Sooner than later, you hit bottom. Sooner than later, all things end. [He holds up his index finger as if to pause and make a correction.] Well, most things end. [He stops walking and turns toward the camera] At Fight Night, Martin, you learn the lesson that so many have learned already in the EWA... NOTHING LASTS FOREVER [NOTHING stands still in front of the camera, the fluorescent still flickering around him. The camera begins to fa-BANG BANG BANG! Suddenly, we hear a harsh banging that echoes throughout the room we're in. The camera fades back up and NOTHING, not taken aback by this at all, turns and walks away from the camera. We trail behind slowly, the person operating the camera clearly not as confident in the noise as NOTHING is. NOTHING eventually stops walking once he reaches a door at the back wall and grasps the door knob. He shoves the door open hard with his shoulder. We can hear the rain pelting the concrete in the pitch black night outside. Nobody enters through the door - NOTHING simply keeps his hand on the door knob and speaks to whomever was banging.] I'm glad you showed up. ... I guess that means you're all set for Battlelines? ... Good... good. We're going to make sure it's a night that nobody forgets. [NOTHING looks back at the camera which is still several feet away. He turns back to the mysterious visitor and exits through the door. The camera rushes toward the door, but it quickly and harshly slams in our face. As the deafening sound of the large metal door being so forcefully closed reverberates through the room, we fade to black.] |
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10:52 AM Jul 11