Post by Press1269 on Jan 30, 2016 7:16:47 GMT
**The Harley's powerful engine rumbled as Press gripped the handle bars a bit firmer. His mind raced at to who his opponents would be. He was supposed to be meeting up with his partner in crime, and also best friend, Flaming Youth. Today was the day that their New Life came full circle. The Ascension Wrestling promotion was a new order for the field of Sports Entertainment. One could only wonder if there was even any point to signing on with them. That is of coarse, unless Johnny Storm is footing the bill. Then, anything is possible. Johnny Storm...the name itself made Press want to throw up. After all this time it was his old boss...the very same boss that turned on him once in his career to put him out of action for three months....was the same boss that would now contract him to face off here in the AW. Indeed times were changing, as were the seasons as Spring has long since left us...and Summer's blaze is heating up the asphalt as you read this. The Harley continues it's coarse down the road at a steady speed, Press making sure to watch out for cops. The destination that these two friends would meet was obvious enough....Chicago, Illinois...the site of the very first Ascension Wrestling program. Saturday Night Illusion indeed Mr. Jackson. Mr. Levine. After all the bickering and fighting that took place within the FWF Invasion, how quaint to see you two getting along together in the same fed no less. Well it's nice to see you guys have patched up your differences, because the new employer of the Bombtrax isn't to happy with your lack of performance. We'll see how high this Ascension can really get when you have animals like us running through the programming week in & week out.
Press smirked at his thoughts as he changed lanes to pass a car, the Harley's engine rumbling loudly down the highway. He was almost within the city limits of Chicago, and could feel the hustle & bustle of traffic slowly but surely pick up. The time was about 4:20, and it wouldn't be long before many offices would be letting out for the day. Kicking it into high gear, and increasing his speed...Press zips down through traffic for another few miles before finally arriving at his destination. Smokey's Bar & Grill. A cheap side of town type of place, greasy food & more than likely greasy spoon's too. Throwing down the kickstand with his foot, he leans the bike over carefully onto it as he throws his massive weight out onto his feet. He stretches a bit to get the traveling stiffness that had set in over the length of the trip out of his system. Finally, taking in a not all that refreshing gulp of air...he makes his way towards the entrance of the bar.
His thoughts jumble now as the cloud of cigar smoke, and distinct smell of beer & piss fill his nostrils. The last time he had come here to Chicago to this very bar was back before Redemption. Back before his life had been fucked over. He had come here......with Tammy. The thought of his beloved stopped him for a moment, right there in the doorway. He searched for her now in the crowded room of bar room brawlers, truck drivers, and bikers. Yet...she was not there. No, not there at all. She was no longer the sweet, beautiful, innocent girl he had come to love. She was now a monster. Twisted & Evil, like out of some sort of horror movie. She stalked her prey, fed like a wild animal, and drank the blood of her victims while it was still warm....just as a vampire might. She had been changed by Redemption, and for some reason.....things didn't get better for her as it did for all the rest. Perhaps her vestige in Evil wasn't completely because of Redemption. Maybe, just maybe....she wanted this transformation. Perhaps she was never tricked as Youth & Press had been. Pushing these thoughts from his mind, he was brought back to the here and now as he scours the room only to find his old partner, Flaming Youth, sitting over in a corner by himself. A pitcher of beer his only companion. Press smiles, thankful to see the familiar face within a crowd of strangers. Slowly but surely Press claws his way towards the table that his friend is occupying, until finally he occupies it as well. Press plops down as Youth looks up from whatever it is he's reading. He smiles cheerfully as he see's his partner.::
Flaming Youth: So what do you got for us Pal? A steady gig, or what? I mean....why meet way out here in Chicago if it doesn't have anything to do with this city?
::Press smirks while pouring himself some beer into a mug::
Press: Whoever said it didn't have anything to do with this city?
::Youth's brow furrows, his lips tightening into a thin line of agitation.::
Flaming Youth: You did you big dolt! You said that we were meeting here just for Nostalgia! Now what the hell is going on around here?
::Growing a bit more serious, Press takes a sip of his Beer before answering.::
Press: I got us a gig lined up. It's with this new promotion called the Ascension Wrestling. Real five star calibur performers, and a pretty descent set up.
::Excitement is apparent in his eyes as he sits up in interest.::
Flaming Youth: So what are they saying? How did you get in touch with them?
::Press avoids the questioning eyes of his partner as he dips his hands into a bowl of bar peanuts....popping a few in his mouth, acting as non-chalantly as he can....he utters a response.::
Press: Johnny Storm informed me about it.
::Youth's eyes go wide as he stares at his friend in not only amazement, but disbelief.::
Flaming Youth: Johnny Storm? The Same Johnny Storm that we've been staying with? The same Johnny Storm that ran your ass over with a limo? The same Johnny Storm who own's the GWA? The same Johnny Storm we were tracking all these years for Redemption? THAT JOHNNY STORM?!?!?!
::Press raises his hand, and allows an agitated expression as he tries to give the signal for Youth to quiet himself. Youth lowers his voice, but keeps the tinge of seriousness along with anger apparent as he speaks.::
Flaming Youth: Listen Press, I've always trusted your judgement and all...but his is insane. If that son of a bitch is the one that set this up, then you can count me out. I know he's been helping us recently, but that doesn't make up for the fact that this guy is dangerous...and not only that..he vendictive. He's not going to hit you straight up in the face..he's going to jam the knife right in your back! If we get started up with him again, then we might as well figure that everything is going to fall apart. I don't want to work for him. I don't like owing him anything....but I've staid at his manor mainly out of respect for you while you tried to help Tammy. But Tammy is not going to be able to be helped..even you've realized that. Preston, we don't need this fool. We can do it on our own...as a team!
::Press sat back in the seat, looking down into the swirling fizz of the beer in the pitcher. Maybe they could do this as a team, after all..it was they who went undefeated as the ECWF Tag Team Champions. Maybe they didn't need Storm after all. They were accomplished wrestlers & athletes...they had been on their own before. Of coarse, that had been nearly four years ago as well...back when the Total Carnage Wrestling Federation was still a major source of Entertainment. Now where was the fed? Washed up as so many other promotions have. Their enemies weren't even the same type of enemies anymore. Before men used to go out and fight for a living...now....they were intent on maiming, damaging, and even ending someone's career. There was no sport to it anymore....somewhere along the line.....Wrestling had become hauntingly real. IN a world & industry like this..that has evolved so drastically, they would need help. Help from perhaps the most unlikely of sources...a man who has thrived in this evolved industry. A man who has thrived in the industry of the past. A man who was built for survival, and the advancement of only himself. Johnny Storm. And here Press Was....someone who hated Storm with just about as much passion as anyone could...taking orders from him.::
Press: I've already signed us up.
::Youth's eyes go silver dollared once more. His senses completely leaving him.::
Flaming Youth: AND WHEN THE FUCK WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME?!? After we were already booked?
::Press feels his face burn hot as he looks towards the magazine that Youth was reading before he had shown up. Wrestling Illustrated. He jerks the magazine up off the table, and looks to Youth.::
Press: Have you read the last page in this magazine?
::Youth's face twists from anger to confusion.::
Flaming Youth: No...why?
::Press flips to the end, and opens the magazine to the last page. Throwing the magazine down on the table..Youth skims the page to an expensive looking advertisement where a wrestling card has been listed for the city of Chicago. The federation...the AW. Youth skims the card, still confused, until he comes to one match in particular.....The BombTrax v.s. Chase Maxim & Nate The Great. Youth's eyes move upwards towards Press who is apologetically staring forward. Youth opens his mouth to say something, but finally...stops himself from growing angry...and sighs heavily.::
Flaming Youth: Do you know anything about our opponents?
::Press smiles broadly as he leans in closer, and the two of them begin discussing their match up. Indeed, things will now be turning around. Indeed, this will be a new beginning to a new life. A new level of violence, a new level of Excitement. Like the trak of a bomb, be ready for the explosion.::
{Chapter 2 - Let's Talk Some Smack!}
::Press & Flaming Youth both thundered into the parking lot of the Chicago Arena that just happens to be hosting AW's first annual event. The two Harley's rumble loudly as passer's by look in in wonder. Finally, the ignitions are turned off, and the two team mates swing themselves off of their rides so as to enter the building for Television Taping, and shoot interviews. Slowly they begin to see more members of the fed show up. A few are obvious rookies, their eagerness setting them apart from the rest of the bunch. Some of them not so young to wrestling, but young to the bigger business...used to the good old armory days of Independent Organizations. Places where there were no health benefits, and you got paid maybe gas money if you were lucky. It is a time in a man's career where you know you will never forget it. It's a time, when you do it for nothing but the pure love for the Business. But then money comes into the picture. Fame. Titles. Gold. Gimmicks. Television. Popularity. Autographs. And then, next thing you know....that love is replaced with another adoration, much more powerful than most can imagine..........a little thing called Greed. Which, when one thinks about it, isn't a little thing at all.
Press & Youth don't bother exchanging scowls with the rest of the adolescence. Although this was a new fed, and there were several rookies being hired to it.....these men were not rookies. Make no mistake about it gentlemen, they are very much Professionals. Professional Wrestlers? I wouldn't go quite that far. Let's just say, that when they step in that ring.....they will stomp your ass....like they have a PHD in ass kicking. Moving along the dark hallways of the arena, a feeling of remembrance washes over them. IT's the limelight of their careers...tag gold thrown over their shoulders, glory there for the taking. Victims laying down on the mat, bleeding out of every orifice due to the violent encounter. Yet, within a blink, they are awake. Right back where they were, stalking down the corridors. Before long, they come to a room entitled "Sound Room 1", in underneath.."Wrestler Promos". The two men exchange glances, and then move to enter the room.
From within the doorway they see a great many things. Their eyes roll across the room taking in all that they encounter. Camera's are strategically staged all around the room, with men to man them. A sound guy sits over in the corner with a pair of head phones, and a switchboard. Microphone's hang over top of a structured set, the AW logo hanging from steel cables...a black curtain creating the dark drop so that the logo shows up better on camera. A skinny little man stands on set, with a microphone in hand...a dorky expression as he converses with someone who seem's to be his professional overlord. Both of the wrestlers exchange glances, and then a smile as they enter the room. To their surprise, the room hushes to silence as they enter and all the attention turns to them. The Professional Overlord turns, and holds up a chart....skimming over it blankly. He then looks up from his clip board, and allows an idiotic fake smile.::
Johnny Wilson: Can we help you?
::Press & Youth exchange glances again, this time turning back to the cocky little twerp with a more authoriative heir.::
Press: We're here to cut an interview for the AW.
::The man's face brightens, and he nods.::
Johnny Wilson: Yes, yes....come right in, right in indeed. I am Johnny Wilson, the Head Reporter for the AW. What are your names?
Press: I'm Press, and this guy here is Flaming Youth.
::Wilson skims the chart, and then his face twists into a frown.::
Johnny Wilson: Yes, well I'm afraid that you aren't scheduled for right now. I"m sorry about that my friends, but schedules are schedules. If we go around making exceptions, everything will turn to Chaos. And...well hell, we can't go around having the show in a chaotic fashion. Everyone must check and go by the schedule, or all will be ruined.
::Press & Youth exchange glances, yet again, but now they begin to laugh. Bemused with their amusement Mr. Wilson also begin's to laugh, not knowing that this laugh wasn't intended as Amusement, but as Sarcasm. Press slowly moved, hulking over the tiny announcer as he stared down at him. With lightening speed he snatches the chart away from Wilson, and flings it over to Youth. Youth, then finds an appropriate spot for it in the trash...right along a spit cup one of the cameramen had been using....a cup that just happened to let it's sick contents spill out all over the chart ruining the schedule. Press smirks as Wilson gulps loudly for all to hear. Intimidation takes over, and fear is met with the cold, cool, calm voice of authority speaking.::
Press: I think you can make time for us on your...(Ahem) Schedule now...can't you Mr. Wilson.
::Fearfully backing away, Wilson simply nods..pointing to the cameramen & sound guy to listen to whatever the hulking man and his partner had to say. Press & Youth both step up onto the ready built stage, where the skinny man is waiting on them with a shy, yet excited smile.::
Andy Richmen: Oh, How honored I am to meet you. Andy Richmen, field reporter for AW. I'll be conducting your Interview this week. I'm so excited about you too. You know, I actually got the chance to cover one of your stories when I was first starting out..way back in the TCWF...it's been ages since I've even thought about such thi.....
::Andy is brought to a sudden stop, a shriek, and then a thump as he is thrown off stage by Youth who just shakes his head at the ramblings of the star struck anouncer. Press points to the sound guy, and the cameramen..and nods as if to call for action...He & Youth simply stand there with not very impressed expressions smeared all over their faces.::
Press: So this is the AW. Ascension Wrestling. What do you think Youth?
Flaming Youth: Same old Bullshit, spewing out of a different freakin' Shit hole!
Press: My thought's exactly. So who are our opponent's anyways.
::A technician from off stage can be heard in a low rumble calling out, "Chase Maxim & Nate The Great". Press goes to speak, and then stops with a befuddled look upon his face. He looks to Youth, who simply gestures with a shrug of his shoulders, and then Press peers back at one of the cameras.::
Press: Chase Maxim....and.....Nate The Great?
::A "yes" can be heard once again lowly rumble on set as an answer. Press' confusion, however, continues.::
Press: Ok...um...errr.....What is he Chasin'?
::"huh" can be heard from off stage.::
Press: What the hell is he chasing? I mean....what the hell does Maxim stand for? Maximum? Maximus? Maxi...pads? And he's chasing them? Ok...that's it. Someone fire the creative consultant around here, because it's obvious he can't do his job right! And second off, Nate The Great? NATE THE GREAT? Excuse me for sounding like a valley girl, but...Oh.....My......GOD!
Flaming Youth: Um...Dude....no offense or nothing, but you could never sound like a valley girl.
::Press stops for a moment, and looks to Youth, and then shakes his head and looks back to the camera.::
Press: Anyways! Does this not concern you in the least? We're facing ass clown's in our very first match in the AW! I mean, hell...one guy is chasing a Maxi Pad, and the other guy's name fits in great with a third grade rhyme scheme. What else is next? Cheddar Cheese Man? Better yet, let's just give Ren & Stimpy a call and get Powdered Toast Man out of retirement. The AW must not have put much thought into their marketing department when they thought up these genius names. It's a good thing that we came well equipped. See, my name...is Press. That is short, for my real name...Preston. Press, is a normal nickname. It is a name that can be understood. Flaming Youth is an obvious one. The kid is young, and he's got the potential to be THE HOTTEST THING GOING in this business. So thus, Flaming Youth. Some thought was put into these names. Some actual intelligence put into the meanings behind them. They aren't just gimmicks, they are who we are. And someone...in the AW....and the AW Marketing Department...decided that you reminded them of a guy who Chases Maxi Pads, and a guy who couldn't pass Elementary School. I'll say one thing to your team's credit. At least one of you is smart. You see, Nate has yet to come forward and make a comment. He's yet to utter a word. It's just as well Nate, because you have not one thing to do other than lay on your back and get pinned. That's all your really good at. That's all any of you will be good at if you step in the ring with The BombTrax. I'm sick and tired of these rooki.....
::Youth suddenly cuts Press off in mid sentence, and Press just looks to youth in confusion.::
Flaming Youth: Hey! Nate Was Late because he was chasin' a Maxi Pad!! Think about it.....
::Press blinks.::
Press: What the fuck Youth? Why in the hell would anyone want to think about that? Can you not be serious for one freakin' second. I mean, here we are, being taped to be put on the air so millions of people can go ahead and recognize us, and begin to enjoy us, and begin to be entertained by us...thus creating a revenue for AW, and putting asses in seats every fucking show! Can you not see that we are in the middle of all that, right here and right now?
::Press turns back to the camera.::
Press: You see Chase, Nate.....even in argument, even in idiocy, we are better. We appeal to these crowds. We sell them what they want. Right now they want quick wit, intelligence, talent behind a microphone. ON Saturday however, they want talent in that ring. And when it comes to ring talent, I know for a fact that there isn't one guy in this fed that stands a chance. I don't give a shit who you think you are, or thought you were in some other fed. You have yet to face me! You have yet to step up to the plate, and try me on for size. Me & Youth have laid the Trax, follow them and try to survive the explosion!
Flaming Youth: You know big man, I couldn't have said it any better myself...but I got to throw out a few words of my own so the fine people at home don't think I'm the shy & quiet type. Hell no, I just let the big man get out his bit, and then I add mine. Let's face it, guys like Chase Maxim & Nate The Great are a dime a dozen nowadays. It's the same old tired story, with the same old tired gimmicks. Win or lose you only make us look good. That's the only thing the rest of you on the roster are here to do. To make us, the real freakin' Superstars of this joint, LOOK GOOD! Although, if you look at us...we do that pretty well on our own. Despite what you may have been expecting when you came to this federation, you might as well drop it right out the window. We aren't here to play games, we are here to dominate. We are here to scare you all into hiding. We are here to run this fed right into the fucking ground! We are here to take all the gold, without hesitation. We are going to be the animals. We are going to be the greedy bastards that all of you are secretly within. Except we aren't going to hide it boys. We are going to show it, and show it we shall. This Saturday, we are going to show it to you Chase Maxim. To you Nate The Great. And then, after that occasion, names won't mean all that much to you two. What will, however, is the fact that you just had your ass handed to you by two of the best in this business. Consider this your chance to be in the ring with greatness, because lord knows.....it's not just your names that lacked thought. It was the people who decided to fucking hire you as well. Talent is a word used to describe men with skill. In this business, we go un-paralleled. No one can touch us. No one. When it's all said and done, you'll be just another casualty in the dust.....and our star's will continue to rise, as you are left in the afterglow....left only to BURN!!
Press: Fight Me If You Want To...
Flaming Youth: Hate Me If You Have To...
Press: Pin Me If You Can...
Press & Flaming Youth: But Defeat Me You Will Never!!
::The once cocky undertones & expressions are now replaced with unbridled aggression, and deadly serious stares. The men meant business, and just as this phrase implies........just because you pin a man, doesn't mean you defeat the man. Defeat.....must be reached on a higher level than just the win or loss column. Guess what guys.....You just got defeated!!::