Monday, Dark Monday
Jan 7, 2018 17:44:17 GMT
via mobile
bonnieblue, Commish Lamarche, and 1 more like this
Post by DarkSpectre on Jan 7, 2018 17:44:17 GMT
"You never really learn much from hearing yourself speak"
George Clooney
George Clooney
Static fades into a view of a cliffside. A bird swoops down over the abyss, gracefully manuevering about the air high above the chasm. A voice is heard as the view stays on the canyon below.
Some people believe that they can speak and people will fear them. Respect them, even. They believe that if they get the biggest words or the most quantitive amount of words out, their opinion becomes the only one that matters. Unfortunately, these people have a tendency to speak out of turn, seemingly undeterred from exposing their own arrogance.
A certain male model who enjoys talking in circles for the sake of hearing himself talk, for example. Someone with mild success, who believes his mere presence defines not only the level of competition, but the very grounds upon which a federation stands upon. But when one listens closely- it all fades away. All the big words, all the bravado, all the long-winded soliloquies that define his persona break away to reveal a lackluster child who still struggles for acceptance. Which would be endearing, if it wasn't so goddamn pathetic.
The view shifts to that of Dark Spectre, perched over the edge of a cliff. His feet dangle as he lays back, staring at the clouds. He inhales deeply, sorting his thoughts before continuing his speech.
Let's take two seconds to be honest, here. Shadowlove's success rate is mediocre at best. His "anti-social media" outlets... He has as many followers as I have arms. And one of them is his paid girlfriend. Yes, I said it; Miyamoto is clearly paid. She jumps into your video shoots to help you address your opponents- suggesting that you simply lack the ability to do so on your own- she accompanies you to matches- again, because you couldn't win a match on your own merits to save your life- and she looks past your flaws- your many, many flaws- to stand by your side. Seriously, anyone willing to stand beside your arrogant, egomaniacal ass HAS to be making money to do so. Otherwise, I would have to assume that she's almost as much of an airhead as you- or moreso, as unlikely as that is.
Frankly, Tainted Love, you're a speck on the greater spectrum of this whole industry. Overconfidence based on listening to yourself talk in circles, all the while ignoring the threats before you in hopes that you make it out with your pretty little face still intact.
I don't know what you're trying to achieve here. Perhaps you feel the pool of lesser knowns will add legitimacy to your career. Maybe you feel that, with NBW being fresh on the scene, you'll finally have a chance to outshine the guys who are signing bigger contracts elsewhere. Or, and this is most likely, you came to Pryde after noone else would have a talentless, arrogant hack such as yourself and Vinny took pity on you to round out the roster numbers. Did you lick his boots, too, or are you saving that to get an undeserved title opportunity? Don't answer that; I feel like I already know.
Spectre rolls backwards, kipping up to his feet safely away from the edge. He turns, walking towards the camera as he speaks.
Let's get to brass tax here, Shads. You've got all of... Oh, two years of experience. Wow,that... That's just a lot of time. Me? I've been breaking knees and nabbing threes for a decade. While you were standing in front of a camera while a manager read to you from "Word Of The Day" calenders, I was spilling my enemies' blood across the squared circle.
While you were banging models who signed Non-Disclosure Agreements to conceal the fact that you have a micropenis, I was banging down doors and signing contracts with companies whe helped me reach Main Event status.
While you were debuting against other rookies who couldn't hold a candle to my shine, I was smacking around talent who would make you their bitch in a heartbeat.
You are a blight on this roster, ShitLove. An irritating pest which has become my duty to eradicate. And when shit hits the fan at Monday, Bloody Monday, the trap will be set. The bait will be placed. I will tear you apart mentally, physically, emotionally...
Until you are BEGGING me to end it all. Until you pray to me as a god to just stop the pain and misery that is Dark Spectre utterly embarassing you inside that ring. Test your will against me, Shadowlove. Test your strength and ego, and know that it is powerless.
Spectre walks towards a small parking lot, where his motorcycle is parked. He takes a moment to breathe in, pondering.
As far as this... "Heavy Metal" Masutarou character. I see your unique fighting style, and the size advantage you have over me. And I assure you, despite having the utmost respect for such things, I will not hold back from grinding you into a thing of the past. I may look like another luchador, simply flying about the ring. But I am a homicidal daredevil with no prejudice against my foes. A suicidal maniac willing to put mind, body and soul on the line to assure victory at any cost. A genocidal explosion ready to wipe out armies of my foes with every move I have in my ever-growing arsenal.
Bring your A game, Masu. Bring everything you have, everything you are to the table. When I defeat you and obliterate Shadowlove this week, I want there to be absolutely NO excuse from either of you. Only knowledge that at your best, neither of you had the ability to go toe-to-toe with the Chaos Killer and win.
My victory this week is the stepping stone from which I will launch myself into the World Title picture, where I will PROVE to the world that I AM the driving force to be the face of this company. Come hell or high water, come foes great and small, I will vanquish and eradicate all foes on my road to the top.
Anyone who doubts that will be forced to come to terms: when you face the Chaos Killer, Darkness Abounds...
Spectre mounts his bike, revving the engine. He takes off, leaving a trail of dust and smoke in his wake as we fade to static.
Some people believe that they can speak and people will fear them. Respect them, even. They believe that if they get the biggest words or the most quantitive amount of words out, their opinion becomes the only one that matters. Unfortunately, these people have a tendency to speak out of turn, seemingly undeterred from exposing their own arrogance.
A certain male model who enjoys talking in circles for the sake of hearing himself talk, for example. Someone with mild success, who believes his mere presence defines not only the level of competition, but the very grounds upon which a federation stands upon. But when one listens closely- it all fades away. All the big words, all the bravado, all the long-winded soliloquies that define his persona break away to reveal a lackluster child who still struggles for acceptance. Which would be endearing, if it wasn't so goddamn pathetic.
The view shifts to that of Dark Spectre, perched over the edge of a cliff. His feet dangle as he lays back, staring at the clouds. He inhales deeply, sorting his thoughts before continuing his speech.
Let's take two seconds to be honest, here. Shadowlove's success rate is mediocre at best. His "anti-social media" outlets... He has as many followers as I have arms. And one of them is his paid girlfriend. Yes, I said it; Miyamoto is clearly paid. She jumps into your video shoots to help you address your opponents- suggesting that you simply lack the ability to do so on your own- she accompanies you to matches- again, because you couldn't win a match on your own merits to save your life- and she looks past your flaws- your many, many flaws- to stand by your side. Seriously, anyone willing to stand beside your arrogant, egomaniacal ass HAS to be making money to do so. Otherwise, I would have to assume that she's almost as much of an airhead as you- or moreso, as unlikely as that is.
Frankly, Tainted Love, you're a speck on the greater spectrum of this whole industry. Overconfidence based on listening to yourself talk in circles, all the while ignoring the threats before you in hopes that you make it out with your pretty little face still intact.
I don't know what you're trying to achieve here. Perhaps you feel the pool of lesser knowns will add legitimacy to your career. Maybe you feel that, with NBW being fresh on the scene, you'll finally have a chance to outshine the guys who are signing bigger contracts elsewhere. Or, and this is most likely, you came to Pryde after noone else would have a talentless, arrogant hack such as yourself and Vinny took pity on you to round out the roster numbers. Did you lick his boots, too, or are you saving that to get an undeserved title opportunity? Don't answer that; I feel like I already know.
Spectre rolls backwards, kipping up to his feet safely away from the edge. He turns, walking towards the camera as he speaks.
Let's get to brass tax here, Shads. You've got all of... Oh, two years of experience. Wow,that... That's just a lot of time. Me? I've been breaking knees and nabbing threes for a decade. While you were standing in front of a camera while a manager read to you from "Word Of The Day" calenders, I was spilling my enemies' blood across the squared circle.
While you were banging models who signed Non-Disclosure Agreements to conceal the fact that you have a micropenis, I was banging down doors and signing contracts with companies whe helped me reach Main Event status.
While you were debuting against other rookies who couldn't hold a candle to my shine, I was smacking around talent who would make you their bitch in a heartbeat.
You are a blight on this roster, ShitLove. An irritating pest which has become my duty to eradicate. And when shit hits the fan at Monday, Bloody Monday, the trap will be set. The bait will be placed. I will tear you apart mentally, physically, emotionally...
Until you are BEGGING me to end it all. Until you pray to me as a god to just stop the pain and misery that is Dark Spectre utterly embarassing you inside that ring. Test your will against me, Shadowlove. Test your strength and ego, and know that it is powerless.
Spectre walks towards a small parking lot, where his motorcycle is parked. He takes a moment to breathe in, pondering.
As far as this... "Heavy Metal" Masutarou character. I see your unique fighting style, and the size advantage you have over me. And I assure you, despite having the utmost respect for such things, I will not hold back from grinding you into a thing of the past. I may look like another luchador, simply flying about the ring. But I am a homicidal daredevil with no prejudice against my foes. A suicidal maniac willing to put mind, body and soul on the line to assure victory at any cost. A genocidal explosion ready to wipe out armies of my foes with every move I have in my ever-growing arsenal.
Bring your A game, Masu. Bring everything you have, everything you are to the table. When I defeat you and obliterate Shadowlove this week, I want there to be absolutely NO excuse from either of you. Only knowledge that at your best, neither of you had the ability to go toe-to-toe with the Chaos Killer and win.
My victory this week is the stepping stone from which I will launch myself into the World Title picture, where I will PROVE to the world that I AM the driving force to be the face of this company. Come hell or high water, come foes great and small, I will vanquish and eradicate all foes on my road to the top.
Anyone who doubts that will be forced to come to terms: when you face the Chaos Killer, Darkness Abounds...
Spectre mounts his bike, revving the engine. He takes off, leaving a trail of dust and smoke in his wake as we fade to static.