Redemption.

[The uiltmate prime fan]

{OOC: best read accompanied with "bother" by corey taylor from the first spiderman soundtrack.}

The camera slowly cruises through a darkened locker room, late in an empty arena. the sounds of glories past seem to flood towarc the camera, as it begins to make quick, almost jerky turns back and forth through the aisles. suddenly, we hear the sound tape ripping. the camera races down the long aisles as he come upon the back of a lone wrestler, staring in the dirty, cracked mirror before him.

it is obvious from a first glance that he has seen hell. long angry scars run down his back, his shortly cropped back hair, turning grey with stress, wet with sweat. he is taping his wrists with black sports tape, before pulling his gloves on. as he continues with his task, we hear a voice over begin. the voice is deep, gruff.

voice over: people ask me all the time. why?

Rip

voice over: why do i still do this? its caused me a great deal of pain. its cost me my family. its cost me the respect of the people i trusted the most. and it has never given back.


for a moment, he pauses. fire blazes in his eyes. then, he finishes taping his wrists, and pulls on his left glove, the right already on his hand. he turns, barely contained rage evident in his stance. his voice frightenly calm, he continues.

voice over: its about honor. my father lived his entire life in this buisness. he wrestled until he was sixty eight, and he never cared where on the card. my father today is one of the most respected elder wrestlers on the west coast, not because he is so old, not because of his love for the buisness, but because he never gave up. he never allowed himself the time for tears. during his darkest hours, he refused to give in to what this buisness does to you. he refused to give in to dispair.

slowly, difficultly, he opens the door of the locker room, heading out into the hall way. as he walks, purpose oozing out of each stride, he speaks again.

nemo: its about blood. and sweat. waking up in filthy hotel room every day, always on the road, always alone. i've worked every territory in the country, and others. i've bled till my face was covered in a crimson mask, till my arms were numb. only at the end of the night to return to my hotel room, thirty dollars richer and images of our smiling promoter staying in front of my eyes.

he stops for a moment, lifting the right side of his face to the light. a long, deep scar runs from the bottom of his jaw to the end of his neck.

nemo: you see this? i got the in what was so elegantly labeled a "texas death match" guy slashed me with a nine inch splinter. sonofabi*ch laughed while he was doing it. he stopped after i broke his knee.

he continues down the hall

nemo: its about pride. no matter what injury, no matter what adversity, i remember what my father went through to put food on our table. and so i get up and do it again.

he arrives at the curtain, but just before he goes through, he turns, looking straight into the camera. three days growth of facial hair rests upon this face, and set beneath his brows glow his eyes, wide with intensity.

nemo: and finally, its about ambition. im here now; the days of my independents are over. but, now that im here, its a whole new ballgame. the AWF, where the big boys play. im a big fish in an even bigger sea, and i have to pay my dues just like everyone else.

glady. because i am the goddamn best. i'll prove it every single time i get in the ring, and wither you cheer or not, i'll give you the best goddamn performance you will ever see!

yes, i will sweat. yes, i will bleed. yes, i will go through everyone the AWF has to offer.

i WILL be TV champion.

i WILL be tag team champion

i WILL be intercontinental champion.

and i WILL be World Champion.

because in the end, im not the best because i say so. im the best, because theres no one else who can go where i can.

count on it.

he charges through the curtain, roaring as though possessed. the camera fades out, replaced by the enduring image of a blood red scar. fade to black

[Halfshell]

The HeartBrend Kid slouches in a luxurious leather chair, on the wall in front of him is the biggest television you've ever seen, playing the aformentioned clip.

The HeartBrend Kid is asleep - bored into catatonia by the same thing he's heard over and over again, countless times in the past by countless backstage schmucks.

Nothing changes other than his desire to waste time stating the obvious.

[The uiltmate prime fan]

OOC: okay, no idea how to respond here. i know i should probley trash talk, but its not really in my characters style. i could demand a match, since that is the only true way to prove my character "walks the walk". have no idea.

this is what i get for running my scifi RPG for the last two years. i lose my promo skills.