Post by payasoloco on Oct 24, 2017 5:36:35 GMT -6
We open on the scene of what appears to be a ruin. Bits of glass, cement and brick lay scattered across the ground, a thin layer of dust in the air. A light crunching sound is heard as a dark figure makes its way into view, stopping to survey the wreckage. His dark, curly hair flows over any part of his face not still covered in shadows.
{Often times, in life, one must survey what he has and re-evaluate his priorities. Sometimes, this means deciding to add things of virtue or subtracting distractions. And in rare circumstances- tho they DO exist- one must tear everything down in order to rebuild.
Take me, for example. I began my rise to glory, challenging the now former Tag Team Champions before they ever had the gold. I fought them over social media, as they paved a road of shame and debauchery over my beloved sport. I had a chance to topple them, to restore respect and dignity to this ring... But I let my arrogance get the better of me, and the Super Stache Brothers pulled just enough brain cells together to take an advantage.
Later, I nabbed a title shot against the undefeated ZMac, and wrestled him to a draw in a title match. Once again, I let a close call cloud my judgment and I paid the price. I stand here with no championships, no solid victories over those champions, and no one to blame but myself.}
Loco paces a bit, sifting through the rubble. After a moment, he spots something under the debris, bending down to pick it up. He stands, rubbing the item on his shirt and holding it up to the light: some form of shiny gold coin.
{But just as I am responsible for my own downfall, so too am I responsible for turning my luck around.
I don't need to focus on the mistakes I've made, so long as I learn from them. I need not hold to my past near-misses; they do not define who I am. Everyone has seen what I am capable of when I put my heart and mind into it, so I need not go on about what it is I can accomplish. All I must do now is to focus myself on what's really important- doing MY sport, MY way.
Something I intend to begin this week against our latest Television Champion.}
Loco breaks a slight grin, barely visible in the low light. He takes a moment to ponder on his next words, taking a deep breath.
{Jack Schlongson. A large part of me wants to group you in with the defunct Mustache Family. To be fair, your past- and present- work in the homosexual pornography business could easily rank you among their kind.
But doing so would mean to discredit how you carry yourself. While the Family has no respect for this industry, for MY sport; you have every bit of love and reverance for it. While you havr an uncanny- and admittedly, oft humorous- way of comparing your two fields of employment, you never cross that line to flat disrespect this business. For that, Schlongson, I give you a nod of respect.}
Loco salutes with his index finger, pacing. He finds a decent sized chunk of rubble and takes a seat. He looks up, a grin.
{That being said, Jackie, I will not hesitate to put you on your back. As I stated previously; I started something a few months back. I went toe-to-toe with the most dominating Television Champion in our history- our current World Champion. And I took him to his limits.
While ZMac may currently be out of reach, however; the championship we waged war over is not. It is currently in the hands of a man who has not been tested against the supposed Immortal One. And while you defeated some stiff competition in the monster Oblivion and even ShadowLard, your opponents since have been... Lackluster, at best.
I've been watching you, Jack. Scouting your matches, picking apart your style and ability. And I will admit, you're pretty damn good- for a rookie. Your time as Andre Holmes' tag partner certainly gave you some valuable experience. But in singles competition, your greatest victory came at a moment when timing and luck were more influential than actual talent. And for that, Jackie, I must apologize for what lies ahead.}
Loco combs a hand through his mane, careful not to expose his unmasked face. He takes a deep breath, continuing slowly.
{At Killing Floor, we will be in a Manhunt Match. Traps of various shapes and severity will await our every misstep.
Have you ever been hunted, Jack? Not figuratively speaking; but honestly thrown to the wild, left to your instincts and PERHAPS some form of tool to fend off very REAL predators??
It's a harrowing experience. Constantly looking over your back, hoping that your knowledge of self-defense is enough to protect you, praying to any and all gods that may exist to keep you as you fall asleep with one eye open; tucked beneath a bed of mud and leaves, just camouflaged enough to avoid being killed.}
A brief pause as a glimmer of light shines over Payaso's eye. He bears a glazed look, as though lost in a memory. He shakes his head, coming back to reality as he focuses back on the camera.
{You're at a disadvantage, Jack. You see; you are both the defending Champion and a target for these traps. Your mission is simple: leave Killing Floor as intact as possible whilst holding firmly to your title. And the terrible part is that you're up against an opponent who is just as unpredictable as the traps in this contest.
Myself? I'm the hungry challenger. The one with nothing to lose. The one who has gone toe-to-toe with the reigning World Champion and damn near won it. I have all the odds stacked in my favor, Jack...
So what does that leave you?}
Loco smirks, taking a moment. He reaches down, brushing against different pieces of rubble until he stumbles across a piece that will work for him. He gently picks it up, holding it in the palm of his outstretched hand.
{That leaves you as the prey in this little cat-and-mouse game.
You have served your time as champion well, carrying that strap with honor and prestige... But come Killing Floor, you will fall. You will be eliminated. I will take the UCI Television Championship, while you...
You will lie beneath my feet. Beaten, battered...}
Loco closes his hand, applying pressure. A moment passes; he reopens his fist to reveal dust that blows off in the wind. Loco chuckles as he bows, turning to leave the scene. The view pans around the dust and debris, falling on a hunting bow and knife. Etched on the bow:
Death Becomes You.
