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| Triple 6 vs. Razer; No Disqualification | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Apr 15 2007, 11:48 PM (471 Views) | |
| Vegeta | Apr 15 2007, 11:48 PM Post #1 |
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--- Razer --- Razer enters. --- Triple 6 --- The lights in the arena slowly dim to a black and an all too familiar guitar riff resonates from the speakers. The crowd members lead their seats, preparing to herald this latest entrant just as the iconic battle-cry fills the arena. THE TIME HAS COME, IT IS QUITE CLEAR! OUR ANTICHRIST IS ALMOST HERE! With those words spoken, the arena explodes into a fusion of Marilyn Manson’s Antichrist Superstar and the rabid cheers of the PWA fans. The black drapes of the entryway rustle a little before being thrown back all together. From behind them steps The Antichrist Superstar himself, Triple 6. His appearance is greeted with an elevation in cheers, to which he can’t help but smirk at. He begins his descent down the ramp, clad in his traditional attire: a black leather jacket, a vintage Forsworn t-shirt, and a pair of weathered blue jeans. The Heartstopper climbs the ring steps, entering the ring for the first time in quite awhile. He resists the urge to play to the crowd, instead retreating to a turnbuckle on the side of the ring farthest from the ramp, reclining against it as the referee goes through his pre-match ritual. Meanwhile, the ring announcer formally introduces him to the crowd, as if an introduction is needed. Announcer: Weighing in at two-hundred and eighty pounds, hailing from Chicago, Illinois… Trrrrrrrrrriple SIX! The Father of the Forsworn steps out from his sanctuary for a brief moment to acknowledge the crowd’s cheers, but he just as soon returns to it. It’s clear he’s more than ready to just get the match underway. DING DING DING!!! |
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| Razer | Apr 16 2007, 08:21 AM Post #2 |
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One Man Army (Hall of Famer)
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The echo of the bell is muted from the noise from the crowd. This match was inevitable since both men returned, but after the events of massacre its really drawn their attention. Two of the biggest names in PWA history squaring off against each other yet again, but this time in singles compotition. A first for both of these men. The junkie stands opposite the corpsemaker and stares at him, he knows he won't be intimidated easily and this match will be an uphill struggle all the way, but still, this struggle will be an enjoyable one, the chance to take another peg out of vegeta's campaign to cling to PWA and the chance to throw the balance of power further into the open so its up for grabs. The junkie steps forwards, as he does it almost invites triple 6 to step out to meet him. The two-time world champion does so, as both men advance, they meet each other in the middle of the ring. The tension continues to rise as the chants for triple 6 begin to each around the arena. This is one main event where everything is stacked against the junkie, but from the look on his face, this doesn't bother him one bit. He looks up at the slightly taller man and mouths something at him. Triple 6 steps in even closer and looks down on him and mouths something back. Before triple 6 can even smirk, the junkie takes a step back and as he does, he slams his right fist into the abdomen of the former world champion with a stiff, yet quick body shot. Triple six staggers back slightly, shocked more by the fact he couldn't see the cheap shot coming. Before he cna even regain some composure, Razer charges in after him. The junkie lowers his body slightly and turns side on and slams his left shoulder into the sternum of the corpsemaker with a shoulder block knocking him even further back towards the ropes. The corpsemaker however does not hit the floor but staggers backwards and holds onto the top rope. The junkie takes a step back and judges the situation, he knows a foolish charge will see him over the top rope or faceplanting the turnbuckle. Instead of keeping up the attack, the junkie takes another step back and points at triple 6. He nods at him then motions for him to come an get some. This sends the crowd into a frenzy of chanting for triple 6. The more established PWA vetran looks round, he knows he has to deliver by the crowds request, but he knows that razer is one never to be underestimated. Instead of biding his time anymore, Triple 6 slowly approaches the junkie. At the last possible second, both men lunge at each other and tie up in a battle of strength. Johnny: Look at this, Razer is buckling under triple 6's sheer strength. Donny: True, the height and weight advantage has disasterous consequences for our hardcore champion, theres only one thing to do.... LOW BLOW HIM!!! The junkie's back foot begins to slip. He can't overpower the 6'6", 280lb technician. He tries to pry his hands from his shoulders but it is to no avail, the smaller englishman can only try to hold out as long as he can or launch an unexpected sneak attack, but before he can even begin to formulate such an assault, he feels a sharp pain on his forehead as the corpsemaker delivers a swift Headbutt. The junkie lets go of the corpsemaker, as his arms go free, the former two-time world champion takes hold of the junkie and sends him across the ring with an irish whip. Razer hits the ropes on the opposite side of the ring and rebounds off them. The junkie heads straight back into triple six who catches the running englishman with a powerful sidewalk slam. The crowd bursts into a roar of approval as the junkie rolls onto his chest and presses both his hands firmly into the canvas. He slowly begins to push himself up but it is futile as the corpsemaker has plans for him already. Triple 6 takes hold of the junkie's hair and forcibly drags him up to his feet. As he does this, a sly knee strike to the abdomen of the junkie keeps him subdued long enough for the corpsemaker to get Razer into place. Triple 6 effortlessly elevates the junkie into the air and holds him inverted for the whole ring to see. Johnny: What power! Without any warning, the corpsemaker twists the junkie round and slams him down onto the canvas with a modified variant of a Jackhammer. The crowd roars in approval as triple 6 hooks the leg of razer 1..... ooc: edit - desig, good luck man |
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| Triple 6 | Apr 16 2007, 08:01 PM Post #3 |
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Hall of Famer
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Kickout! It’d have been embarrassing for Razer to even let things get to a two-count. He crawled through the darkest depths of hell last night and came out the other side; he’s not going to let his enemy put him away in the mere opening seconds of this contest. His canvas springs off the canvas, displaying surprising vigor. One would assume that after all he went through the night before, Razer wouldn’t have much left in him. One would assume wrong. It appears that years of substance abuse and utter neglect for his body has steeled Razer’s nerves. He’s hardly even human anymore. The kick-out hardly surprises Triple 6; the pin attempt had been an incredible long shot at best. But alas, to expect the disappointing is to not be disappointed at all. That is how The Heartstopper is able to climb back to his feet without having his mind tied up by “could-have-been-victory” scenarios. Razer follows him to vertical base, though he’s a little more sluggish. The Corpsemaker takes advantage of his adversary’s lagging motor functions, decking Razer in the nose with a biting Right Jab the very instant the Junkie gets his footing. The drug addict stumbles backwards blindly, now intoxicated with a substance very different from those he enjoys in his recreation: agony. Triple 6 follows up the jab with a flurry of like-minded maneuvers: punches, chops, forearms, and even a few slaps. Razer’s head has become his stress ball. With each blow he deals, he recalls his memories from the night before. As his knuckles tattoo themselves across the jaws of his enemy, he remembers the lump that still throbs at the base of his skull. This is a man who maimed him last night; a man he shall now maim himself in return. Razer continues to stumble away from his attacker, but he’s in no state of being to actually flee. Eventually, he ends up trapped in a turnbuckle. His back falls against it, his arms tossed over the sides of the top rope to support himself. God knows he needs it, for the Antichrist Superstar continues to unleash a barrage of strikes into his upper body. The fans can’t even discern the blows any longer; the volley of punches and chops blends together in a dazzling exhibition of human ferocity and kinetic energy. Mr. Thompson would love to counter, to resist his oppressor, but he’s simply unable to. He might as well rebuke a Howitzer battery. Eventually, the seemingly endless barrage slows. Then, it ceases all together. Yet, it’s not quite the calm after the storm passes; it’s the calm that precedes it. He feels Triple 6’s arms as they twine around his chest. He’s aware of what’s happening yet he is unable to stop it. All he can do is wait for time to pass, wait for an opening where he just might be able to turn the tables against his foe. Soon, he is hoisted off his feet. His restrains slacken and he’s launched into free-fall. He travels through the air like a rag doll, limbs completely loose at his side. He makes one forward rotation before coming to a crash landing atop his back. Streaks of pain slice across his back and spine, triggered by a rather impressive Release Belly-to-Belly Suplex. If Razer had been watching the maneuver rather than being placed on the receiving end of it, he might even have marveled at its majesty. His reaction on this occasion is a little less enthusiastic, unfortunately. Triple 6 rises back to a standing position, dusting off his hands as he surveys his handiwork. The writhing of the Hardcore champion is a very welcome sight indeed, but it’s simply not good enough. A belly-to-belly suplex is within the realm of fair play in the sport of wrestling. Driving the unforgiving face of a steel chair into the back of a man’s skull? Not quite so much. The Antichrist Superstar is disgusted with Razer. He’s nothing more than a hound for Steele to sic upon his enemies. Well, what good is a hound that cannot bite? Just how do you keep a hound from biting, anyway? You remove its fangs. Triple 6 ponders this and is struck by revelation. He saunters towards Razer’s writhing mass. He lifts his foot from the canvas, smiles inwardly, and stomps it down across the hand of Peter Thompson. The reaction is instantaneous: a tormented howl that fills the arena, issued from the lips of the newly crowned king of hardcore. It’s satisfying; it’s gratifying. Triple 6 imagines the way he feels now must be the same way the Junkie feels whenever he inhales the chemicals that govern his life. It’s an orgasmic experience, one he just has to feel again. And so he delivers another Stomp to the same hand. The howls amplify twofold in volume. The Corpsemaker smiles a sickly smile. This should be fun. Donny: This is sick! Triple 6 is one disturbed individual! He could cripple Razer’s hand permanently! Razer might never be able to lift another joint! Johnny: Well, what goes around inevitably comes around… OOC: Good luck to you, too. |
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| Razer | Apr 18 2007, 05:50 PM Post #4 |
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One Man Army (Hall of Famer)
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Granted, for the cheap chair shot from behind, Peter "the Junkie" Thompson, more commonly known as Razer when in the squared circle deserves this slow and torturous disection at the hands of the corpsemaker. The blow to the back of the head is as vivid as yesterday to one of the most decorated PWA superstars.... then again, it only happened yesterday night so that probably explains the extra venom and ferocity in his attacks, not just because he is the hero in this bout and the man who he is stomping all over is the villan. Once more, the black boot is brought down on the hand of the fallen junkie. The left hand of the junkie is now bright red and quite tender, and unfortunately for Razer, anything goes in this match for whoever has the advantage. That of course is the downfall with such a stipulation, no disqualification only favours he who has a contingency plan with a weapon or somewhat illegal under normal circumstances way out near by unless he is the agressor, then it favours him outright. Razer clutches at his hand, he howls in pain once more and for those fortunate few who are in the front row get to hear a nice string of profanities which would make a rated-R movie seem tame come from the englishman. Triple six pauses to admire his handy work, very few superstars in the history of PWA have managed to have the junkie at their mercy like this, right now he has everything where he wants it, in the dead centre of the ring, no debris or weaponary near by, its just him, the man in the stripes and the drug addicted hardcore champion. The corpsemaker holds his right hand high in the air and makes a fist. As he does this, the fans burst into a roar of approval and begin to loudly chant for him as his opponent rolls onto his side, clutching at his newly given weakness. He bites down on his bottom lip hard and lets go of his left hand and glances up at his tormentor. The corpsemaker looks down on him once again and brings his foot up again for another vicious stomp. The junkie knows this is his only shot at trying to get the match back into his favour. He holds his hands up to cover his face and at the last minute, he catches the foot of the corpsemaker with his good right hand. Using all his upper body strength he manages to force it upwards and then using this brief pause in the action, he twists his body under the corpsemaker and hooks the ankle of the corpsemaker ijn the groove of his left arm, trapping it. With one mighty push, the junkie throws all his weight behind his shoulders and twists, dragging the aggressor down to the canvas. The crowd boos at this, but for the junkie, it is the best offence he has landed all night. In one quick motion, the junkie pulls himself up. Knowing he can not afford to waste time fretting over his hand, he bites his bottom lip and clenches it into a fist as he stands up over triple six. He untenses his left hand and then takes hold of the head of triple six with it and pulls on his hair tightly. Knowing that this is the weaker hand, he only has one good shot before the corpsemaker can take advantage again, with this in mind, the junkie pulls his right arm back, makes a fist and then drives it into the nose of the illinois inhabbitant with a solid right punch. The corpsemaker holds his nose in agony as the junkie releases his head from the grasp. Still on his knees, the corpsemaker holds his nose and slowly drags himself to his feet but before he can do anything, the junkie delivers a nasty elbow shot to the back of the corpsemaker's head, hitting that exact same spot which the chair did. The corpsemaker staggers forward, completely dazed by the blow untill he reaches the ropes. He leans on them to try and regain his composure, only partially aware that the junkie is approaching. Johnny: Now razer is repaying triple six for that small but relentless assault on his left hand earlier Donny: and because its anything goes, i can see this payback being rather entertaining. See kids, don't piss off drug addicts, do anything which could interfere with their habbitual use, you could face dire consequences Razer takes hold of the corpsemaker's hair once again, he forcibly drags him off the ropes and twists him round and takes him by the left wrist. The fans boo loudly as the junkie sends triple six towards the turnbuckle with the irish whip and then boo even louder as he follows this up with a stinger splash, sending the sternum of the corpsemaker into the padded corners, knocking the wind out of him slightly. As the corpsemaker staggers back, the junkie shoves him aside and smiles that same, memorable sick sadistic grin. He approaches the turnbuckle and pulls the padding off the top pad, exposing the unforgiving steel bolt which lies beneath. Waiting for the opportune moment, the junkie stands infront of the turnbuckle, watching the corpsemaker slowly regain his senses. As soon as the two mens eyes meet, the corpsemaker slowly advances towards the junkie once again |
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| Triple 6 | Apr 21 2007, 05:15 PM Post #5 |
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The Junkie is simmering with malice. This is where he will beat his opponent; where he will break his opponent. Let him be shown that a steel chair is nothing. Triple 6 is already coming to his feet; he is groggy, but still remains aware of his surroundings. Before he becomes too alert, Razer snatches up his wrist. Using his own weight as momentum, Razer swings The Heartstopper around, throwing him into the mercy of the steel turnbuckle with a short Irish Whip. While Triple 6 manages to revolve an additional 180 degrees, so that he absorbs the impact with his back rather than with his sternum, the end result is excruciating. His spinal column is lanced with searing agony. It creeps along his entire torso, seeping into his arms and legs. It’s a flood, and his dam has burst trying to withhold it. Slowly but surely, the pain lays siege to his entire body. No fiber of his body is left unscathed. His eyes swell to egg-like sizes and he stumbles forward, teeth grinding together as he tries to copy with this. Every fan in the arena empathizes with their valiant hero. One man does not: Razer. In fact, the former World Champion isn’t even close to being satisfied with his handiwork. This is a war, and his opponent must be destroyed entirely. He must be broken to the point that he cannot be repaired. He must be killed. These hateful thoughts are what fuel Razer’s war machine. He initializes a volley of hard Knife-Edged Chops that batter his opponent’s chest rapidly and ruthlessly. The chop isn’t the most lethal of maneuvers, but just as a drop of water can wash away a wall of granite if given the time, a chop can eventually fell a legendary grappler. Unfortunately for Razer, this anti-Triple 6 propaganda he has filled his own head with for the sake of tenacity takes precedence over his common sense. All it takes with one chop with his maimed arm and it all comes to a halt. The instant this renegade left chop strikes flesh, Razer knows his error. Sure, the fiery bolts that clench his arms point it out to him, but he knows even before that. He knows as soon as it’s too late to undo it. He locks up, clenching his wounded appendage with his good one. He desperately wants to nurture this wound, but the sight of Triple 6 reanimating forces him to ignore his own troubles and focus on intensifying the woes of his nemesis. This time, with the right hand, he goes for one ultimate chop. It goes awry. As soon as Razer’s arm begins to swing forth, Triple 6 bolts out of the way, pivoting to the side and ducking. It just so happens that The Heartstopper’s solar plexus was aligned perfectly with the metal knob at the ropes’ cornerstone. Razer’s last remaining vehicle of attack, his healthy right hand, essentially slams headfirst into a stone wall. He could swear he has a broken bone. He could swear he has several broken bones. Did his fibula shatter as well? His face contorts into a sickly grimace, his eyes clenched tightly shut and his teeth gnashing as he curses. For awhile he curses. At first he curses himself for making such a foolish mistake. But no, it’s not his fault… It is the fault of Triple 6, the Antichrist Superstar. It was he who dodged out of Razer’s path at the last possible instant. He planned this all along! He had to have! Now, two wounded appendages try to nurse each other. They won’t be given long. The Junkie knows he’d need nothing short of a miracle for his hands to return to fighting shape before Triple 6 launches his attack. It’d take an act of God himself. It would seem that the divine have turned a blind eye to the plight of Peter Thompson. Triple 6 knows he has time. While he still might not be as at ease in the ring as he was in his prime, he can still estimate the effectiveness of an injury and how much time that will buy you. This particular instance has given him a great deal of leeway. Finally, after struggling for a bit, he has forced open a window of opportunity. Now to leap through and play his trump card. He kneels down and begins unlacing his left boot. He doesn’t just loosen it; he removes the lace from leather altogether, until he holds all five feet of it between his two hands. The Corpsemaker makes sure the line is taught and then he strikes. Coming up from behind Razer, Triple 6 hooks his impromptu weapon under his enemy’s jaw line. Then he pulls the lace tight. Razer immediately begins emitting wet gasps, a blend of anguish and surprise. The crowd watch, completely stunned that Triple 6 has been driven to such measures. The arena falls silent, except for The Junkie’s frantic cries as Triple 6 chokes the life out of him. This time, that is meant quite literally. Razer can feel his body heat rising. He can hear his lungs screaming, crying for him to inhale. He tries, of course; he tries incredibly hard. He can’t be faulted for his lungs being refused oxygen; it is simply beyond his control at this point. Eventually, he begins to fade. His arms, which were once proud and mighty warriors, grow lifeless, naught more than empty shells of the shark ethic they once embodied. His knees give out beneath him and the two collapse to the canvas together. At this point, The Antichrist Superstar applies a pair of Body Scissors around his captive’s gut, thus lessening Razer’s chances for survival even further. His eyes begin to glaze over, and this time it’s not from a euphoric high, but rather a ghastly low. It would seem Razer requires intervention from the divine once more, and we are all aware of how they responded to his last request for assistance. OOC: Good luck in the polls, man. The match was pretty short, but it was fun for what it was. I enjoyed it, at least. Let's do this again sometime. |
![]() ::Accomplishments:: Voted Best Roleplayer Ever PWA Hall of Famer (Inducted September 2007) PWA World Champion (x4) Voted Best World Champion Ever Only Person To Win The World Title With Two Different Characters PWA Tag Team Champion (x7, w/Sambo (3), Deception, Tony Xtreme, Razer, Organon, Jebediah, and Vegeta respectively.) Voted Best Tag Team Competitor Ever Voted Tag Team of the Year 2002 (with Sambo as Death Metal) Runner-Up For Best Tag Team Ever With Both Forsworn and Death Metal 4-1 in Wrestlefest Rumbles First Winner of Three Hours of Power (2002) Only Person to Headline Four PojoCades Only Person To Win Four Matches On One Show Voted Best Stable Ever With Forsworn RPer of the Year 2004 (joint w/ Deception) Match of the Year 2004 (Razer/Steele vs. Deception/Triple 6) PPV Match of the Year 2004 (Team Extreme vs. The Forsworn) World Champion of the Year 2004 Tag Team Champions of the Year 2004 (w/ Deception) Match of the Year 2005 (Triple 6 vs. Jeff Holsten: 2/3 Falls) PPV Match of the Year 2005 (Triple 6 vs. Jeff Holsten: 2/3 Falls) Feud of the Year 2005 (Forsworn Schism) Most Memorable Moment of 2005 (Forsworn Ending At ED) Tag Team Champions of the Year 2005 (w/ Organon, tie with MoP) RPer of the Year 2007 Return of the Year 2007 World Champion of the Year 2007 Tag Team Champion of the Year 2007 (with Vegeta) Undefeated When Challenging For Tag Titles (7-0) Held World Title A Combined Time of 543 Days Held Tag Titles A Combined Time of 659 Days Author of Longest Existing Roleplay (10K Words -- SHIFTY NO MORE!) Author of Second Longest Existing Roleplay (6.5K Words) ![]() Received Twice As Many Votes As Hajjhowe For Best Promoer Ever (Runner-up, tied with Jeff Holsten) Has Made Kalevala Tap Three Times (Twice In One Month) 11-0 Winning Streak to Begin Return in 2007 Has Heard Mysterio's Girly Voice Winner of PWA Mafia ![]() ::Hall of Fame Matches:: Steele vs. Vegeta vs. Triple 6 from PojoCade I (Main Event) Triple 6 vs. Hajjhowe from Pandemonium 2003 (Main Event) | |
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| Triple 6 | Apr 22 2007, 08:57 PM Post #6 |
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The referee is startled by the events unfolding before his eyes. He witnesses everything up close, and he can do nothing but watch as the life leaves Razer. Something has to be done before there’s nothing left but a cadaver and Triple 6 lives up to his billing as The Corpsemaker. He decides to check for the TKO. He lifts Razer’s arm into the air and it drops. This happens once more, and then once more again. Every fan knows what it means the third time his arm hits his side: another victory for Triple 6. The ring bell rings and the crowd explodes in cheers. Announcer: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner by technical knock-out, Trrrrrrrrrriple SIX! Despite the match being over, Triple 6 continues to choke his enemy. Apparently, the match wasn’t about redemption; it was about revenge. Something happens, however, that forces Triple 6 to abandon his efforts to strangle the Junkie: Kamikaze Kid comes out of the crowd and slides into the ring. The Heartstopper quickly rolls to his feet and the two begin slugging it out, trading Right Fists in a bout of fisticuffs. Triple 6 appears to be gaining a slight edge on the rookie when another intruder enters the ring: Alex Giltinane. Alex comes to his teammates aid, assaulting Triple 6 from behind with some fists of his own. The Antichrist Superstar tries to fend off his two assailants as best he can, but it’s a losing battle. Fortunately for him, aid is on its way. Vegeta comes sprinting down the ramp with impeccable speed. He’s more prepared for a ring encounter this time, however, coming well-armed with a lead pipe. He slides into the ring on his belly and scrambles to his feet. Giltinane attempts to approach the owner of the PWA, but is met with a blow from the pipe. Kamikaze Kid is about to meet a similar fate when two more unwelcome figures slide into the ring: Vegeta’s son and Chaz Steele himself. They enter the ring without being spotted by Vegeta, and so you can imagine the owner’s surprise when he feels a sharp blow to the back of his head, courtesy of The Franchise. He collapses in a heap on the ring floor. Meanwhile, Triple 6 continues his exchange with Kamikaze Kid in the corner. He manages to drop Kamikaze with a particularly brutal Right Hook to the jaw, but it isn’t long afterwards that he himself suffers some blunt force trauma: a Superkick. The once mighty Father of the Forsworn falls to the canvas, broken. Then, the surprise. Three more figures materialize at ring side, each armed with a steel chair. Who are they? None other than Sparkle Motion!, Tommy Dragon and Piccie Smalls, as well as "The Don" Anthony Pelizzoli. The crowd begins booing instinctively, convinced these two have decided to align themselves with Steele’s ever-growing faction. These boos stop as soon as the surprised expression on Steele’s face is plastered across the PojoTron. He quickly realizes the danger he’s in and balls his right fist. Too late; the steel of Tommy Dragon’s chair comes crashing down upon his forehead. Piccie delivers a similar fate unto Vegeta’s son. They even throw a few stomps on their victims for good measure before helping Vegeta and Triple 6 to their feet. Piccie summons a microphone from the timekeeper and passes it along to Triple 6. The Heartstopper flips the microphone on and walks a circle around the carnage. Razer begins to stir, and so he deals the Junkie a stiff stomp of his own. Razer’s writhing stops. The Heartstopper begins to speak. Triple 6: Steele, you know as well as I do that I never returned to get involved with you. As far as I was concerned, whatever was going down between you and Vegeta, whatever problems you two had, that was a personal issue. That was for you two to settle, man to man, one on one. But it would seem that you just can’t play the game fairly, Steele. What happened to you, Chaz Steele? What happened to The Franchise? Where’s the PWA Champion you used to be? And when I say that, I’m not talking about a slab of gold on a leather strip, I’m talking about someone who embodied the Pojo Wrestling Alliance and everything that it stood for. You refused to man up and settle your differences with Vegeta on a level-playing field. No, Chaz Steele, you had to roll out the cavalry! You didn’t want the situation to be a duel; you wanted it to be a slaughter! Well… Look at the massacre your ignorance has brought you. Triple 6 spreads his arms out at his sides, emphasizing the carnage strewn across the ring floor. Tommy, Anthony, and Piccie patrol the bodies, stomping any corpses that attempt to stir again, making sure all of them are down for the count. Vegeta has retreated into a vacant corner where he nurses the growing lump on his skull. Triple 6: I came back here to put an end to one revolution, not two. I came here not on behalf of Vegeta, but on behalf of the PWA. I didn’t want this Steele, you wanted this. You wanted to drag this company through the mud. You wanted to defame the company that gave you everything, EVERYTHING! You had it all, Mr. Franchise. You had it all, but you threw it all away in your arrogance. You convinced yourself that you were above it, that you didn’t need it. You convinced yourself that Sergeant Chaz Steele stood on a plateau high above the PWA! You had a problem with one man… You had a problem with one man, and in turn you ignorantly involved several dozen. You’re no different than that scum, Julio Guerrera. You sought to divide a company, to bring it to ruin so that you could urinate on the pieces and then rebuild it in your own image, so that you can craft your own perverse version of the Pojo Wrestling Alliance. Instead, what happened? The exact opposite. Look at the four of us. Do you think we’d ever have united on our own terms? Do you think we could all coexist in a pacifist environment? No. No. No, not a chance. We’re not here for personal gain anymore, Steele. We’re not here for championship belts, for tournament wins, or to headline pay-per-views. We’re here to stabilize. To make sure there will continue to be championship belts, tournaments to win, and pay-per-views to headline. You guys and WAR, you might have different monikers, but if either of you are allowed to run rampant, we’re going to end up with the same result… And I’m sorry, Chaz, my dear old friend… But I can’t allow that to happen. The Heartstopper takes a moment to pause and collect his thoughts. When he speaks again, the anger from his voice is gone, replaced with something that could almost be mistaken for concern. Triple 6: You ever heard the story of Elliot Ness, Steele? I know you’re not from Chicago, but I am, and everyone over there knows the legend of the Untouchables. We’re all told about a group of twelve men who cleaned an entire city of seemingly infinite corruption. You see, they came after the crook of crooks, the fucking God of organized crime, Al Capone. They targeted him specifically, because how do you stop an infestation? You destroy the hive. Now Capone, he underestimates the situation. He has half of the city’s legal system bought and paid for, everything from low-level police officers to high-ranking judges. Almost no one in the Capone family does time. So, why should this be any different, right? Who says these twelve men can’t be paid off? So he makes them an offer you’d think they couldn’t refuse. But you know what? They turn it down anyway. They’re untouchable. They spit in the face of a man who could have them and their families massacred at the snap of a finger, and they did so willingly. Instead of taking his money, they raid his empire, shutting down his illegal breweries and locking up his cronies. Then, finally, Elliot Ness nails the fucker. Locks him away in a jail cell, where he wastes away to nothing until all that’s left of him is his name. Why am I telling you this, Steele? Because you’re in my city. Our city. I’m not going to let you corrupt and pollute it. You’re Al Capone, Chaz. And I’m Elliot fucking Ness. Insanity fades to black. OOC: I didn't want to use anybody else's characters too much because I didn't want to encroach and stuff, so sorry if it seems a little Triple 6-centric. |
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3:35 AM Jul 11