Post by Press1269 on Feb 11, 2020 17:52:30 GMT
The scene opens to a shot of a confident Oliver Black making his way to the locker room with a bottle of water in his hand. Just as he’s about to enter a plastic bag suddenly appears over his head, and his first reaction is to panic. As the camera is shoved back, it reveals Press and Flaming Youth, The BombTrax, pressing Oliver up against the door.
The big man has Oliver’s hands twisted behind his back while Youth quickly winds duct tape around his wrists. All the while Oliver is gasping for air within the confines of the plastic bag.
Once his arms are secured, the big man spins him around and holds him steady against the door while Youth slaps a strip of tape over his mouth, making the suffocation worse.
Press: So…you probably need to give him some way to breathe before this turns into murder.
Youth: You’re probably right…besides, we need him coherent so he can understand what we’re about to say.
Youth reaches two fingers up and rips a hole in the bag where Oliver’s nose should be, and the IPW Television Champion takes in huge snorts of glorious air. Black then immediately moves to try and land a kick into the big man’s groin, but he’s quick to turn to his side. An open hand slap across the face by Youth knocks Oliver back, and he grabs him by the chin, tearing the bag even more so that you can now see The Nightmare’s baleful glare at his assailants.
Youth: Take it easy, Oliver! If we really wanted to hurt you, we’d have done it by now. We’re just here to have a chat.
Press readjusts his stance, but now has an even better grip on Oliver to keep him from trying for another escape.
Press: You see, kid, we didn’t want to rough you up too much. No need, really. We actually want to talk to you about your future…
Youth grins from ear to ear, a Cheshire type affair that would put anyone off base.
Youth: So here’s what we were thinking. While you are one spooky looking dude, and you’ve got all the goth kids a flutter, we have decided that IPW deserves a different kind of ‘TV’ champion. The kind that the promotion could be proud of. I know what you’re thinking. Where would we find someone with a chiseled jaw, that old school movie star type of style…well, look no further, cause we’ve found him.
Press: Zachariah Krahe.
Youth claps he’s so giddy with excitement.
Youth: Just imagine it Ollie…do you mind if I call you Ollie?
The Nightmare is fuming at this point, eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he jerks his body to unsuccessfully try and escape the vice like clutches of Press.
Press: He doesn’t mind.
Youth: Right…to my point. Just imagine the box office draw in a match between you two…
Press: Careful, Youth. You know that Cross Recoba might take exception to you using his catchphrases.
Youth chuckles.
Youth: Box Office. Yeah right…It’s nice to see some things never change. He’s jerking the curtain, and we’re main eventing…
Press: Don’t lose your focus. We’re talking about Zachariah Krahe right now.
Youth: RIGHT! You see, Oliver, Zach’s a humble guy. He’d never come out and ask you for a title shot, but the fact is he’s just more television friendly than you. I mean…you have a reputation for being…hrm…how do I put this…
Press: Dark, Shadowy, Theatric….gimmicky?
Youth: That’ll work. But Zachariah Krahe…he’s The Catalyst. He’s the guy who kicks things off, gets people’s blood pumping. The kind of guy who puts asses in those seats out there. We realize you’re going to defend your title at ‘New Year, Who Dis?’…
Press: Wait…that’s seriously the name of it?
Youth: Fraid so, bud.
Press looks as if he just smelled a foul odor, but this doesn’t deter Youth.
Youth: But here’s what we’re thinking. Why not make it a triple threat match? Better yet, just hand the title over to Krahe, and we’ll call it square. Whaddaya say?
Oliver looks like he’d be saying a whole lot if he wasn’t jammed up against a door by a behemoth and didn’t have duct tape stuck over his mouth along with a half shambled plastic bag. Youth looks to the big man for a moment with a triumphant grin, and then turns back to Oliver.
Youth: I’m going to take your silence as you agreeing with us. Man, I just knew you’d see things our way, Ollie. You’re a real gem.
Youth gently tapped his fist against Black’s chin, and if looks could kill, the Television Champion would be a murderer. Press suddenly reaches down and turns the knob on the locker room, and with a shove sends the bound and gagged Nightmare tumbling through the door.
The two men turn to walk down the hallway towards the gorilla position.
Youth: You see, I told you the guy would be reasonable. Anyone who wears that much eyeliner must know he’s compensating for something.
Press shrugs as they walk out of view, and the camera cuts to a commercial.
The big man has Oliver’s hands twisted behind his back while Youth quickly winds duct tape around his wrists. All the while Oliver is gasping for air within the confines of the plastic bag.
Once his arms are secured, the big man spins him around and holds him steady against the door while Youth slaps a strip of tape over his mouth, making the suffocation worse.
Press: So…you probably need to give him some way to breathe before this turns into murder.
Youth: You’re probably right…besides, we need him coherent so he can understand what we’re about to say.
Youth reaches two fingers up and rips a hole in the bag where Oliver’s nose should be, and the IPW Television Champion takes in huge snorts of glorious air. Black then immediately moves to try and land a kick into the big man’s groin, but he’s quick to turn to his side. An open hand slap across the face by Youth knocks Oliver back, and he grabs him by the chin, tearing the bag even more so that you can now see The Nightmare’s baleful glare at his assailants.
Youth: Take it easy, Oliver! If we really wanted to hurt you, we’d have done it by now. We’re just here to have a chat.
Press readjusts his stance, but now has an even better grip on Oliver to keep him from trying for another escape.
Press: You see, kid, we didn’t want to rough you up too much. No need, really. We actually want to talk to you about your future…
Youth grins from ear to ear, a Cheshire type affair that would put anyone off base.
Youth: So here’s what we were thinking. While you are one spooky looking dude, and you’ve got all the goth kids a flutter, we have decided that IPW deserves a different kind of ‘TV’ champion. The kind that the promotion could be proud of. I know what you’re thinking. Where would we find someone with a chiseled jaw, that old school movie star type of style…well, look no further, cause we’ve found him.
Press: Zachariah Krahe.
Youth claps he’s so giddy with excitement.
Youth: Just imagine it Ollie…do you mind if I call you Ollie?
The Nightmare is fuming at this point, eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he jerks his body to unsuccessfully try and escape the vice like clutches of Press.
Press: He doesn’t mind.
Youth: Right…to my point. Just imagine the box office draw in a match between you two…
Press: Careful, Youth. You know that Cross Recoba might take exception to you using his catchphrases.
Youth chuckles.
Youth: Box Office. Yeah right…It’s nice to see some things never change. He’s jerking the curtain, and we’re main eventing…
Press: Don’t lose your focus. We’re talking about Zachariah Krahe right now.
Youth: RIGHT! You see, Oliver, Zach’s a humble guy. He’d never come out and ask you for a title shot, but the fact is he’s just more television friendly than you. I mean…you have a reputation for being…hrm…how do I put this…
Press: Dark, Shadowy, Theatric….gimmicky?
Youth: That’ll work. But Zachariah Krahe…he’s The Catalyst. He’s the guy who kicks things off, gets people’s blood pumping. The kind of guy who puts asses in those seats out there. We realize you’re going to defend your title at ‘New Year, Who Dis?’…
Press: Wait…that’s seriously the name of it?
Youth: Fraid so, bud.
Press looks as if he just smelled a foul odor, but this doesn’t deter Youth.
Youth: But here’s what we’re thinking. Why not make it a triple threat match? Better yet, just hand the title over to Krahe, and we’ll call it square. Whaddaya say?
Oliver looks like he’d be saying a whole lot if he wasn’t jammed up against a door by a behemoth and didn’t have duct tape stuck over his mouth along with a half shambled plastic bag. Youth looks to the big man for a moment with a triumphant grin, and then turns back to Oliver.
Youth: I’m going to take your silence as you agreeing with us. Man, I just knew you’d see things our way, Ollie. You’re a real gem.
Youth gently tapped his fist against Black’s chin, and if looks could kill, the Television Champion would be a murderer. Press suddenly reaches down and turns the knob on the locker room, and with a shove sends the bound and gagged Nightmare tumbling through the door.
The two men turn to walk down the hallway towards the gorilla position.
Youth: You see, I told you the guy would be reasonable. Anyone who wears that much eyeliner must know he’s compensating for something.
Press shrugs as they walk out of view, and the camera cuts to a commercial.